by Swanson, Jay
Someday their politics and selfish ambitions would be neutered forever. When that happened she knew her family would be safer, and the people would benefit immensely from greater equalities. But conspiring how to remove the nobility from power while they still held it so strongly was a greater puzzle than Rendin had been able to fully piece together. It had been so for her father as well, but she had faith that if anyone could manage it, her brother could.
She hoped that they would have an opportunity to discuss his thoughts concerning all that was unfolding on the march north, but she feared they would rarely have any time alone. There was too much to attend to; the simple logistics of this movement alone could keep him preoccupied daily. Thankfully her father had raised good counselors around the throne and, more importantly, taught Rendin how to choose his own. His couriers were apt at delivering messages, but experienced men like Bramblethorn were chosen to take more stern orders to the various commanders.
“Your Highness.” One of the men near her brother guided his horse over towards her as he touched his first two fingers to his forehead. “I doubt you remember me, but I am pleased to see you well and rested from your journey.”
The man was handsome, the deep tan on his face and neck contrasting with the shiny polish on his armor. He was fresh from ranging. “Sir Beldin,” she said as soon as his name came to her. “A pleasant surprise to see you as well. Thank you again for your escort into Albentine.”
Hearing his name on her lips drew a smile to his face; men liked it when you knew their names.
“My men were wondering what news you carried, though now I suppose we all know. The dust from the nameless mountain settled all across the eastern hills for leagues.”
“We were grateful the wind did not carry much down into the Vale,” she responded calmly. However her heart was suddenly working to undo her composure. “It would have been most devastating, but the Dragon's Teeth protect us yet.”
“Where is your companion from before?” Beldin looked around as if he might find Ardin hiding in the bushes. “Is he no longer with you?”
Was there more hope in the question than curiosity? Don't be foolish, she chided herself. “He is not here, no.”
“What has become of him, Highness?”
For some reason she blushed against the curiosity, which only caused her anger to flare in response. “I'm afraid I do not know, Sir Beldin.”
Beldin gracefully evaded the rebuke. “Could a man so easily vanish from your welcoming company?”
The response disarmed her anew. She didn't know how much she should say, let alone what to say, but before she had to, Sir Beldin's eye was caught by movement below.
“It looks like I should be going,” he said as he turned his horse to leave. “Until the next time, my lady.”
Rain realized she was disappointed to see him go. From the base of the low hill, a group of mounted men in massive white plate armor broke from the column and made the ascent towards them. Her brother's bodyguard was placed to bar the path up, but parted to let them through.
“Chaplains, brother,” Rain said to let him know they were coming. The sight of the crimson pennants of the bloodthirsty holy men made her uneasy. They were great soldiers, but rogues at best. Dangerous to the enemy, but potentially more so to her brother.
“A moment, please.” Rendin dismissed the messengers softly and walked his horse forward a few steps to wait for the Chaplaincy. Blassen moved to stand on Rendin's left. The man's face almost appeared more grim than usual to Rain.
“I see the Trench is leading them today,” Rain said as she came up to join them.
“He'll probably be leading them from now on.” Rendin never turned to look away from the approaching knights. “Hallofax is on his deathbed by all accounts. I'm surprised they responded to my summons at all.”
“The Trench was always one for a fight,” Rain said softly.
The Trench was known as such because of a massive gash in his armor that ran from the eye of his helmet down to his chest and then across his shield. It was said he earned the scar fighting a river Titan, and never had it fully repaired to remind men just who they were dealing with. Rendin waited until the men were well within hailing distance and slowing before he acknowledged them.
“Hail the men of the White Shield! May the Maker smile upon your blades and rust the enemy's in his sheath.”
“Indeed,” growled the Trench from behind his high visor. The amount of metal each man carried on his shoulders and head alone weighed as much as all of Rain's armor combined. “Well met prince-king. We have had word of your movements and will accompany you north.”
“Of course,” Rendin conceded politely. “Your famed war hammers will be welcome on the battlefield.”
“And much needed, I should imagine,” another of the masked Chaplains scoffed from behind the Trench.
In their whitewashed armor and crimson mail, each looked relatively like the other. Save for the devices on their shields and chest-pieces that had been painted over, the only discernible difference was the shape of each one's helmet and epaulettes. The difference in styling of their armor was different enough for the warrior's eye to distinguish, but most would think them identical at first glance. It piqued Rain's curiosity every time she saw them, for she knew that the armor underneath the coats of white belonged to men who no longer existed. Men who had sworn themselves to the Chaplaincy.
“Wherever evil persists, there we shall be to right it.” The Trench repeated the old oath solemnly. “We will ride with your van, and kill any who harry your scouts.”
“You will find supplies and a warm welcome, to be sure.” Rendin nodded his consent again.
“A chance to fight the Relequim himself, that is what we want!” A Chaplain near the rear raised his massive war hammer, the head of which alone was as large as Rain's torso.
“Indeed.” The Trench lifted his broad visor. The scar on his cheek was surprisingly deep, instantly lending more weight to his name. “We fight not for you, prince-king, though I need not remind one so learned as yourself. We fight for all that is righteous in the world, with one Master above and one Enemy below. We will help you fight your war, so long as it aligns with our purpose, and in return we expect to be left well enough alone.”
“You won't be disturbed,” Rendin said. “So long as I am permitted to call upon you in my need.”
Rain stiffened as the Trench ground his teeth at the request. No one made requests of the Chaplaincy, unless they were begging, but to her surprise the flare of anger she saw in the huge man before her faded as quickly as it showed itself.
“Well met, prince-king. Of course. As long as your wisdom prevails and we can trust your broader vision of the field, we shall assist you as you need.” He lowered the thick visor back over his face before lifting his hammer towards Rendin. The rest of the Chaplains followed suit. “Lead the fight well, young king, and our hammers are yours.”
They turned and rode back down the hill, perhaps forty in total, though surely more were nearby. Rain exhaled as a huge weight lifted from her chest. The encounter had gone far better than she could have hoped. The bodyguard had been watching the entire exchange; some hands still rested on the hilts of their swords. As the thunderous sound of the Chaplains' horses joined the clamor of the army below, she turned to her brother.
“How did you know he would accept your leadership?”
“I didn't.” He looked at her without smiling. “But I couldn't accept any less.”
They took their place at the center of the army, traveling amidst the safety provided by sheer numbers. On days spent traveling, her brother only had the energy to continue forward. When they gave the men a day to rest, he would ride among them, inspecting the camp and offering visible proof of his presence. He had to maintain appearances, which served to help morale. It wouldn't be hard at the beginning, he said, when the march was fresh and battle a distant and glorious myth. But keeping them together after weeks of marching and
a few skirmishes would be far different.
What trouble brewed early on fermented in Hembrody's camp, which came as no surprise to any of them. The man was prickly and proud to begin with, but the knowledge that his son had died while serving Rain only embittered him further. His men picked up his attitude quickly enough. Rendin found them cold, even hostile, when he rode among them. On more than one occasion Bramblethorn picked a fight with some heckling soldier as they passed through.
“Why do you visit their camp, then?” Rain asked him one night. “Wouldn't their hatred fade if you were to give it time to do so? Putting yourself before them continually must only serve as a constant reminder of Branston's death.”
“I have no choice,” Rendin said in response. “As is true with many aspects of the life of a king, Rain, I must often do what is expected rather than what is prudent. To stop walking or riding among them is to tell them I fear them. They are to fear me, sister, not the other way around. I won't undermine my own authority by letting Hembrody's foolhardy temper push me away from his men. It is to me that they owe their lives, not him. Let them hate me, if they will not love me, so long as they fear me.”
The forested foothills to their left and grassy plains on their right steadily gave way to increasingly barren lands. The road curved away from the mountains by the sixth day, and soon their northeasterly path took them far enough away that Rain could no longer see them on the horizon. Before long they would be in the barren wastes of the north, where she knew they would find the Relequim. Whether he would meet them on the open field or attempt to ambush them along the way, no one seemed certain.
Her brother's nightly councils brought in little new information. The scouts reported nothing to be found in any direction, no sign of the enemy in any form. The maps of the north were old and often conflicting. The location of Krakador was listed in three different places according to ten maps, and even among the ones that agreed, there were significant differences as to the lay of the land. The lack of scouting activity from the other side also led to a broad difference in opinion among her brother's tribunes.
Some believed they were walking into a trap, being monitored from afar and allowed to progress as far as they had. Others saw it as a glistening opportunity.
“He's making the same arrogant mistake he made last time,” Sir Beldin consistently put forward. “We haven't seen any sign of the enemy's forces for months on our patrols. He's sufficiently convinced that we've been cowed, and he moves to strike Veria in the east. This is our opportunity to flank him and catch him unawares.”
“Surely he must know we still have a strong fighting force,” Hembrody would counter. “He is not nearly so blind as we would like to believe him to be. We are walking straight into the gaping jaws of the dragon.”
The reference to dragons always hung heavy in the air; they all feared the possibility of running into the monsters. They were rare, but reputed to be near unstoppable, giving even the Magi a lethal challenge during the war of their past. They were largely believed to have been scattered after the Relequim's defeat, but even if he managed to gather just a few to his cause, they could wreak havoc on the soldiers of Islenda.
The baggage train and supply lines were becoming problematic already as well. The tribunes who controlled the territory up until this point had been able to stockpile supplies in advance along their route, permitting them to resupply as they marched without the need to slow or forage for food. It also meant that the army's quartermasters had supply caches they could work on bringing towards the front from a shorter distance, and left a good emergency supply along their route in case they needed to retreat.
The immediate problem facing them was that many local farmers resented being forced to hand over their own reserves, and some were refusing their own nobility. This didn't bode well for their longer-term problem, which was that the farther they drew out their supply line, the more vulnerable it became to an attack. This was an issue that most wished to gloss over, but Rendin returned to it regularly, especially concerned with a potentially unruly population.
“Your Majesty, we haven't even seen a solitary enemy soldier during our entire march.” Sir Theddalt was ever the optimist, Rain was coming to realize. “What risk could there possibly be?”
“If our supply line is disrupted, or worse, is destroyed, we'll run out of food in a matter of days.” Rendin repeated the problem yet again as if barely holding onto his temper.
“We will forage, your Highness. Surely our men are capable of finding their own food.”
“An army of this size cannot simply forage for food where we are headed,” Rain finally stepped in, unable to listen to any more ignorance.
Theddalt was visibly taken aback. “Excuse me, young lady, but we are of course speaking of matters of war. This isn't a pack of children we are attempting to usher home from the Temple ceremonies.”
Chuckles rolled around the room until Rendin glared at Theddalt. “My sister is, of course, correct in her assertion.”
“We have forty thousand men, sir.” Rain continued unfazed. “Ten thousand horses. That doesn't include the cooks, smiths, craftsmen, camp followers, or work animals. There are probably close to seventy thousand mouths to feed wandering into the barren wastes with us. Have you been to the barren wastes, Sir Theddalt?”
Theddalt set his jaw, then shook his head. His land was so far south she wondered if he had ever been north of Islenda.
“It's called the barren wastes for a reason, sir. And our end goal is somewhere in the desert mountains, also not named with any sense of irony. We won't only run out of food in a matter of days, but will starve for inability to find it in any form around us.”
Theddalt muttered something under his breath about women knowing their place, but kept his thoughts to himself as Rendin continued to speak.
“I need a volunteer to guard the train,” he said as he looked from one man to the next. “There is little apparent glory in such an assignment, but without our supplies we are lost from the start.”
It was no surprise to Rain that no one volunteered outright for the task. What came as a surprise was who eventually did.
“My house and I shall accept your call, your Majesty.” Sir Hembrody stepped forward and laid his hand on the table. “I understand that success rides on so important a task, and am willing to see it through to the end.”
Rain would have rejected the offer outright if she had the authority. Why is he doing this? The cowardice of Branston rang in her mind, his insistence on staying behind to avoid a fight prevalent until his attempt to murder Ardin. He hadn't volunteered for anything but guard duty until that fateful journey into enemy territory. Now his father wished to remain behind as well.
She looked at her brother, pleading as subtly as her eyes would speak not to permit the old man to guard the train. Keep him close brother, keep your eye on him.
“Thank you Hembrody,” Rendin nodded his consent. “But your house is too large and contributes far too many swords to be placed on duty in the rear. You are needed at the front, as always.”
Hembrody smiled. Perhaps he was simply looking for validation of his importance. The thought almost made Rain relax.
“I insist, your Highness.” Hembrody lowered his head. “I would give you direct command of half my men; the rest I would keep with me. This should be an agreeable number, and there are none you can count on more than me to keep the supply line straight and flowing.”
Everything seemed wrong with this. Even the rest of the tribunes seemed ill at ease with the arrangement, though she knew it was his assertion of his superiority over them that was eating at most of them. But that hardly bothered Rain in the slightest. It was expected that Hembrody would think himself above the rest. It was his willingness to give her brother half of his men to command that scared her half to death.
Rendin took a long pause, the concerns Rain held reflecting subtly on his brow. She knew he sensed a snare as much as she did, but she could als
o see his inability to refuse the offer staring him plain in the face. Especially with no one else stepping forward. He was trapped.
“Very well, Sir Hembrody. I give you the train.” Rain could feel the blood drain from her face as her brother said the words. “Please stay after the council is over to arrange the transfer of your troops to my commanders.”
TWENTY
POMPIDUS MERODACH COULDN'T HELP BUT LAUGH AS HIS MEN CLEARED THE ROOM, killing every member of the Council in the process. Things couldn't have gone much better for him. The Relequim's attempt to silence him had been thwarted by Keaton's ill-fated push for justice. The treacherous Gredge had finally been taught a lasting lesson with a bullet through the skull, and the Council's seditious tendencies would be forever put to rest. Everyone had shown their true colors, and in one fell swoop, he had managed to secure an unbreakable grip on Elandir.
There would be a mess to clean up, to be sure. The City Guard would take convincing, but he had called for the Western Battalion to be brought in and secure the peace. The citizens would need to be addressed, their Council openly demonized, and Keaton would have to die a traitor rather than a hero.
Where is Anders anyways? Merodach looked around the room, unable to find the Hunter anywhere. “Hey!” He yelled at one of the soldiers in plain clothes that was shoving people out of the room. “Where's Anders? Have him brought back in here!”
“Sir!” The man disappeared to look for Keaton.
“And someone get me out of this God-forsaken cage!”
It took a painfully long time to get out of the cage. The light infantry from the Western Battalion had done a fantastic job infiltrating the crowd with their weapons, but were having a more difficult time controlling and expelling them now that they had revealed themselves. The last of the Council members was executed in the corner before someone found the keys and let Merodach out. He stood, stepped out of the cage, and stretched.