“Granville?” He must have seen me when I rode into town the day before. Maybe he would be loyal and try to join our cause. “Why were you following us?” The brothers had arrived at my side.
“My prince.” He remained motionless under my weight. “I merely want to serve. I never expected to see you again, alive.” His eyes were fierce as always. “It seems like forever since we lost you. Things have gotten very bad, my prince, in so little time. Tryst has made things harder on everyone, and he rules by fear alone. If you are here, then you must be doing something against him. I want to help.”
Rising to my feet, I offered Granville my hand. “It is good to see you, and to know that you are with me.” If I could not start to trust him again, then I would hardly be better than Tryst. As he took my hand and stood, I told him that Jon and Wren and I would be joining the Lycurgus today.
He smiled as his gaze shifted to my companions. “It looks like you are building the opposition,” he stated. “And with these two, you will have the funds to support it.”
“Granville, it is good to see you too,” Wren responded levelly. “We are glad to have you with us, but you need to be silent if we are to succeed.”
I remembered that Wren had some bad dealings in the past with Granville. They were combustible opposites: a fiery and loud blacksmith, not known for intelligence, versus a sly and savvy merchant. They had clashed over their differences before, but we could not have that now. Disunity among our small numbers would be deadly.
“We will be working together,” my words sliced between their locked stares, “but in separate teams.”
I began to explain enough to have Granville involved, but to avoid risking too much. He did not need to know all that I had told the brothers. That knowledge was dangerous.
“Jon and Wren will be joining first today. They are too well known to be with me. They will be merchants who want to serve their nation in war. No one doubts Jon’s prowess or Wren’s strategic mind. The army will welcome them with open arms, and I would be surprised if they do not reach a high rank immediately.”
I suspected that Tryst would knight Jon, but perhaps not Wren. The brothers grinned at the game of it but were surely uneasy at selling themselves as supporters of Tryst. There were so many uncertainties about this part of the plan, but I needed to at least try to plant them close to my opponent.
“Granville,” I continued, “you will join tomorrow, as a blacksmith. You must know other smiths in the army, and they will welcome your help. You will make a sword and armor for me while the army travels. If anyone asks, explain that you are making them for Jonas Davosman, made at the request of his noble father, Sir Justus Davosman. No one will doubt that you need to spend time making glorious arms for him. You will keep hidden that these arms are actually fit for me.” Granville nodded his acceptance with due seriousness.
The mention of Jonas flooded my mind with memories. We shared a father, because Justus had rescued me from the orphanage, raised me like a son, and championed me to become the prince. He was the only noble I had sent a message to since my return. My fate rested in part on his ability to rally support in Valemidas in the coming days. I trusted that he would be one of my champions again when the time came. I could not say the same for my adoptive father’s true son.
Watching Jonas grow as a boy, I often chided him for spending more time combing his long hair than polishing his sword. He had become soft, preferring the banter of court to the force of his father, preferring the friendship of Jacodin Talnor to brotherhood with me. When I had learned in Valemidas that Jonas would be joining this march, I decided that it would make sense for a skilled blacksmith to devote great efforts to the armament of the wealthy scion.
“I will be joining the infantrymen later today,” I said as I pulled my thoughts back to the moment. “You do not need to know more at this point. If you happen to see me, be sure that you do not recognize me. I will contact you if we need to speak. Otherwise, do your duty and serve for Valemidas. Profess your support of the people and leave it at that. No one questions a professed love for the people, even if no one really means it, or knows quite what it means. Most importantly, remember that I am not alive.”
The men nodded earnestly to my words.
We had lingered long enough in the alley, so I mounted my steed and led us out of Albemarle. By the time we reached the hills stretching north from the town, the dawn had given way to a bright mid-morning sun. The hills were beautiful, with a light breeze blowing ripples over the fields of grain. We rode north for a mile and then turned east, parallel to Prince’s Road.
I saw the first scout of the army before the others. He was slightly south and east of us, sitting in one of the few trees on the open plains. He saw us just a few seconds later. As he climbed out of the tree and took off at a run, I pointed at him. I had explained that this was when Jon and Wren would split off.
They said their goodbyes and rode after the scout. They would reach him at the edge of town and announce their intentions to the army’s front line. The scout would surely report that he had seen others, and Jon and Wren would admit as much but claim vaguely they were just riding along together. It might plant a seed of confusion among the scouts. Every hint of discord would help me. I was thankful for the brothers and hopeful that I would see them again soon.
Granville and I rode on, due east, for another few hours. Sweat dripped from Granville’s smooth head as the sun passed its peak. The blacksmith looked uncomfortable as a traveler. We had gone far enough.
“It is time, Granville. Your task is simple but absolutely critical. Stay focused on being a blacksmith. It is who you are, and you have special orders from the great patron of House Davosman for his son. Make me the best sword and armor you can with the supplies the army has. The sword will be four feet long, simple and sharp. The armor will be complete but light, leather with thin strands of metal woven through the core spots.”
Granville bit his lower lip. He seemed uncertain about speaking anything contrary to me. “But, my prince, if I may?”
I urged him to continue.
“Before,” he said, “I made you a very different set of armor. Do you remember? It was a masterpiece of full plate, nearly indestructible. What you have asked for will leave you vulnerable.”
He was a genius with metal, and it was interesting to see his humble point, given his typical commanding style. “Some things changed while I was gone, Granville. It is more important that this armor be very light. I need to have full range of motion more than I need an impenetrable shell. This suit needs to keep glancing arrows and slashes away, but I will avoid anything aimed intentionally at me.”
His eyes widened but he said simply, “I will do as you say, my prince. And the helm?”
“I will not need one, Granville. Protect my back, my sides, my stomach, my chest, but do not let it weigh me down.”
He nodded in agreement but still seemed troubled by the instructions. Heavy metal was his forte, but this battle was not going to be won by enduring blows. I had to approach this with more finesse. Still, Granville’s expectations might be shared by others—no Davosman would commission armor without a helm.
“On second thought, Granville, maybe you are right. Make me a helm, and make it huge, with a ridge of barbed metal flowing out of the middle. Color the tips of the sharp crest with gold, but the rest should be glimmering steel. Something that demands attention and can resist all but the most serious attacks.” The blacksmith seemed more excited with this assignment. “I may not wear it at first,” I added, “but there will be a time for it.”
“It will be done. I am looking forward to this. I ask only one thing in return.” He waited a moment before continuing. “I will make you this light set, and it will be strong, as long as you allow me to make you a proper suit of full plate once you are back in your rightful place as prince.”
“Deal,” I said. “Once this is over, you can forge a masterpiece for me. I will raise you back to your p
roper blacksmithing reign in Valemidas.” His eyes seemed to reflect the intensity of the sun and a deep gratitude. “For now, though, forget that promise and forget that I am here. Sir Davosman needs some armor and a sword for his son.”
He turned towards the marching army to the south. After a couple paces, he looked back with a smile. “You of course will not need a finer sword. Zarathus will be back with its proper owner soon.”
“Indeed it will. We will meet again soon. Thank you, Granville.”
We parted ways from there. I continued riding east, passing more scouts along the way. Some of them arched back towards the camp, probably to report that there was a rider. When the sun was half way through its descent to the west horizon, I turned due south. The tail of the army had advanced past me an hour before. I would approach it from the back, riding hard from a mile to the east—like a straggler from Valemidas. No one important lingered at the back of a marching army. No one important enough to recognize me, at least.
The timing was perfect. Just as I reached the lagging infantrymen, they were reaching Albemarle. The sun was level with our eyes. Many of the men held up hands to shadow the sun. They looked weary, and none of them paid me much attention as I posed questions casually to a few of them. “Where do I sign up?” “Who is in charge of this brigade of infantrymen?” “I finally caught up with you guys; wife held me back. Where are we staying in this little town?”
I got my answers without trouble, and I liked them. This group, the Fourth Marchers, had about two hundred men and could use a lot more. A young knight named Keli Sullivan, who had recently been raised by Tryst for his skill with the pike, was in charge. Everyone called him Pikeli. If I wanted to sign up, I could talk to him or his squire, Laniel. They were both average height, with brown hair, brown eyes. I could find them under the red flag bearing the Fourth Marchers’ emblem, a black row of infantrymen with pikes raised.
Armed with that information, I made my way to Pikeli as the sun touched the ridge of mountains far west of Albemarle. When I approached, his men were setting up camp. They would not stay in Albemarle—the town could hold only so many—and instead had stopped beside the Prince’s Road just outside the town. An old stone wall, held together by moss and inertia, marked the border of their small encampment.
At the northwest corner of the camp, the corner closest to town, a bright red tent was being raised. It looked like Pikeli’s base. Three men were straining to raise it, under the barking orders of an older boy. He was wire thin with a self-important posture, which marked him as the squire. He could not have been more than sixteen, and any of the men working under him could have been his father. All around the central tent, men were putting up small tents for two or three. There was good order to the process.
I caught my first sight of Pikeli from fifty feet east of his tent. I sat on the old stone wall and watched him. As I had suspected, I did not know him, which was a good start. The descriptions of him were correct. Where the infantrymen were ragged, if good-natured, this Pikeli was more of a soldier. His armor had more composed metal in it, as any knight’s should. He was maybe twenty-five, with a lively face. His straight dark hair was unkempt, falling unnoticed on his forehead.
He had set up an office a few feet from his tent. Men came with questions, and walked away satisfied. The young knight would look up from the map he was studying and fire off words in quick succession. I could not make the words out, but I could tell they had an air of feisty authority. Between these visits, he would resume his focus on the map spread over the stone wall. It seemed Tryst was at least picking out some talent. I had to be careful, even if this knight did not know me.
With the day’s light fading, I walked calmly towards the main tent. Keeping my head low, and slouching, I came to face Laniel. “Good sir, men tell me you are in charge of who joins this fine army.”
He swelled with pride at the apparent mistake of his identity. “Well, yes, I am in charge of some things.” He glanced over his shoulder towards Pikeli, who was watching us. “Do you want to join? This is going to be a major war, so we could, um, use more soldiers.”
“I do want to join. What do I need to do?”
Pikeli practically bounced over to us and offered an answer. “You need to be loyal to Tryst and to Valemidas. A little skill with the pike would not hurt either. Laniel, bring me the scroll. We train twice a day, first thing in the morning and early every evening. In between, we march hard. We stay here in Albemarle one day, and then we are heading north and west. The Icarians are deep in the western ridges of the Targhee Mountains. We are hoping to reach them by the end of the month. But under Tryst’s great command, I am betting we make it in three weeks. He is as strong a leader as the world’s ever seen.”
He cut off as quickly as he spoke. I smoothed my face, fearing what it might betray upon hearing such adoration of Tryst. Pikeli did not slow a beat. “What is your name, and where are you from?”
I tried to keep my voice bland. “My name is Walt, sir, Walt Francone. I am catching up with your fine brigade from Valemidas. I was—”
“We left Valemidas several days ago,” Pikeli cut me off. “Why did you not join us then? Are you loyal to our Prince? Here, sign this scroll if you want to join us.” He saved me from answers with his incessant talking. As long as he kept asking questions and giving orders before I could give any answers, this would work out well.
“Yes, my lord, I will sign it now. I just want to serve and to help in the fight, my lord.” I scribbled my name, as Pikeli continued spouting words.
“I am no lord, Walt, but I am a knight. Tryst raised me last week. We had a tournament of team melee with the pike. I led five men to victory. True to his word, Tryst knighted me, as the champion, and picked me to lead this here group, the Fourth Marchers. We will be the front line in the great battle. Tryst told me himself that he trusts me. We are going to be the very first part of the victory.”
“I am glad to hear that, sir.” I was relieved to learn that he was not from a noble house. That would make my rise in the Fourth Marchers easier, as would the position on the front line. Until that battle, I needed to be a simple soldier.
“Walt, it is good to have you with us. Laniel, get Walt here suited up in some armor, and give him a training pike. Then spread the word about tonight’s training.” Pikeli turned to face the men standing around him and raised his voice. “We start our evening session soon. It will be a free-for-all among small teams. The team left standing wins. And remember, I do not want to see anyone hurt badly. The real battle comes soon enough.”
Pikeli scurried away, hastening towards the middle of the camp. I followed Laniel, and a few minutes later, I found myself standing outside a large open circle surrounded by torches. The sun was nearly touching the horizon, and the torches cast a glow on the ground. It felt strangely like the Gloaming. I had a long pike that had its blade removed and replaced by a cushioned tip. My armor was a loose leather smock and an atrocious leather cap.
Pikeli walked to the middle of the circle and yelled out. “Okay men! This is our third night of melee. We train for Tryst, we train to protect Valemidas. What do we do when the horses ride?”
Everyone around me moved into position as they chanted out rhythmically: “Down on a knee, raise the steel pike, forty-five degrees, and roll right at the strike.”
“Good, good,” Pikeli responded. “And then we fight, stay in tight groups of four. We practice it again tonight. We learn in fading light, because you cannot always trust your eyes in the midst of battle. Now, choose your teams, and remember, it cannot be the same as your team from our last two nights.”
With that, a murmur spread around the circle of men. They began to group themselves with their surrounding friends. A group of three beside me was looking for a fourth. All it took was a nod and we were together for the faux fight. Like most of these infantrymen, they looked like simple and wholesome young men. Their weathered faces and hands marked them as farmers or the like—not wa
rriors. On the front line, they would have the honor of being the first deaths in this war.
We had only a minute for introductions before everyone moved into the circle. It was a simple melee, my teammates explained hurriedly. Fifty teams of four would fight until one remained standing. If one man in a team went down, the team was out. None of these men had won in the prior nights, they admitted, but it was rumored that the winning team would be able to join the feast with Tryst in Albemarle later tonight. Just perfect for me, I thought uneasily, the thirst for victory and the threat of premature proximity to my enemy. Before I could fully consider the implications, the fight started.
“Get ready and…go!” I heard the shout and saw another team charging us. In the moments before they reached us, I reacted without thought and yelled orders. We were near the edge of the circle, and I planted myself between my team and the others. “Stand still and watch my back.”
Their eyes lifted in surprise. Perhaps they were not used to being commanded. In this position, no one could come from behind us and take out the weak members of my team. “No matter how many charge, stand your ground.”
The approaching team was spread in a line, running hard. Only one man had to fall, but more could. I lunged forward with dulled pike aimed at chest level. Just as their two center men spread out, I ducked and swung the pike hard, knocking the legs out from under the man on the left. I began to lose myself in the moment.
The pikes of the two nearest men had plunged into the space where my head had been. I spun the other end of my pike as a staff, landing a second man on his back. My next swing caught the back heel of the fourth man, who was ignoring me and charging my team. He tripped and slid to stop in front of them, their pikes held forward languidly.
I immediately thrust my pike back and felt it slam into something hard. Spinning again, I missed the only one of their team still standing by inches. He turned and ran out of the circle.
Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One) Page 12