The Swampling King (The Windwalker Legacy Book 1)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “Very busy, I’m sure,” Carissa said, and glanced at Shona, acknowledging her without any particular show of respect. “Hello, Shona. We’d heard that the Falloways were visiting Goldstone. I hope we aren’t interrupting anything terribly important.”

  “You could never be an interruption, Lady Carissa,” Lenoden said before Shona could answer. “We’ve simply been arranging aid for Greenwall. I promised I would see the wall repaired, but it occurred to me that I could do more. The fortifications could be strengthened, the weapons improved—thunderbolts every ten yards instead of fifty might give even the Deeplings pause. We rely on those fields, and no cost is too high to keep the Peaks fed. Isn’t that right, Shona?”

  “I’ve always thought so.” Shona’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it was convincing enough. “Not everyone does, though. Your generosity is… almost unbelievable, Duke Castar.”

  There’s no point in trying to be clever, my dear. Rudol is never going to notice subtlety. Still, Lenoden watched Rudol’s face for any sign of awareness. Nothing. He just looked uncomfortable, and that was far from unusual. A bit of prompting would be necessary to get him talking—otherwise, they might be there all day.

  “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about Greenwall, though,” he said. “This is about what happened in the Plateaus, isn’t it? The attack.”

  Rudol tensed, cracked his knuckles. “Yes.” Nothing else for a moment, and then he exhaled through his nose and said, “The people need to know who their king is. If they aren’t claiming Josen lives, they’re talking about you and this boy with Windwalker eyes. It has to stop.”

  “You’re right, of course. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  “Why, then?” Rudol leaned forward and pressed his hands against the desk. “Why didn’t you tell me about the boy? Is he… is he really what they say he is?” There was confusion in his voice, and hurt.

  Lenoden felt a twinge of guilt about that—he really was fond of the lad—but it was necessary. Rudol had to be rudderless, lost. Eager to be led in the right direction. He would be happier without a crown on his head in the end—he’d never wanted it. He only wanted his father to want him to have it. This was best for Rudol and for the Peaks. Lenoden wasn’t deluded enough to convince himself that his ambition was selfless, but he would be a better king than either of Gerod’s sons.

  He looked away and bowed his head for just a moment before meeting Rudol’s eyes again—chastened, but not weak. “The boy is real, Rudol. He has the Sky God’s mark. You must understand, when I found him—when I saw his eyes—I didn’t know what to do. I sought guidance from the Convocation. His Eminence made me promise to stay silent while he read the signs in the sky and consulted the Word. He assured me that we would present Eroh to you and your father on the night of your coronation, but… well, you know why that didn’t happen.” He reached across the desk to grip Rudol’s wrist. “I wanted to tell you, but you must understand, I was bound to accept his decision. I don’t like how he chose to reveal the boy, but I am no chastor. It isn’t my place to interpret the Word. And afterward… I should have explained myself to you sooner, I know that. But I feared what you might think. I didn’t know if you would hear me out.”

  “So these rumors that you seek my crown…”

  “They are just that. Rumors. I have made no claim to the throne. People will always talk, there’s no stopping that. But they know nothing. You must trust me, Rudol.”

  Rudol glanced sideways at his wife; when she gave a small shake of her head, he pushed on. “And Cer Eian? The Falloways? Father’s advisors fear that you are building an alliance with Gryston and Greenwall so that you can take power by force.”

  “The last thing I want is a war.” Lenoden gestured toward Shona. “I understand if you have trouble trusting me, given everything that has happened, but you have known Shona all your life. She will tell you the same.”

  “Shona?” There was an almost apologetic cast to Rudol’s face when he looked at her.

  Shona bit her lip and hesitated for an instant, then nodded. “It’s true. My family only came to arrange repairs for the wall. Duke Castar has… assured me that he wants this confusion resolved peacefully.”

  Lenoden smiled and spread his hands, palms up. “You see? All I want is to serve the Peaks. You are a Knight of the Storm, Rudol—you should know better than anyone that Greenwall must be protected.”

  “I know that. I do. I just…” Rudol’s shoulders slumped. “Spirit of All, I told them you could be trusted, but I had to ask. Everything’s gone wrong, since Father…” His voice trembled slightly. “I don’t know what to—”

  “Dear.” Carissa took Rudol’s hand, caught his eye, and ever-so-slightly tipped her head toward Shona. Lenoden could read that message as clear as the sky: Control yourself. You have an audience. He wouldn’t have expected Carissa Theo, of all people, to show such caution. Perhaps the woman was not as oblivious as she pretended to be. Interesting.

  Rudol cleared his throat and straightened his spine. “I’m sorry. This has been… a difficult time. I need to keep the kingdom together until… until Father wakes. I can’t have people rioting in your name, or in Josen’s. I wish I didn’t have to ask, but I need you to denounce these rumors that you seek the throne. Publically, before all of Goldstone. I am told it would be best if I was there to accept your fealty, so it must be soon—we return to the Plateaus on the next wind.”

  “Of course,” said Lenoden. “This afternoon should serve. Marcas!”

  Tammen was waiting outside; he poked his head in the door. “Your Grace?”

  “I will be addressing the people of Goldstone this afternoon in the market square. Put out the word. An hour before dinner, I think. Have the mines release that shift early so they might hear.”

  “Of course, Your Grace. I will see to it now.” Tammen pulled the door closed again behind him.

  “Thank you,” Rudol said when Tammen was gone. “For making this easy. It is an insult to your loyalty that I have to ask.”

  “I only want to help, Rudol.” And Lenoden meant that—it suited him well enough to appear loyal to the king for now. Gerod would be dead soon enough.

  “I know,” Rudol said, but he didn’t look any happier. “If only I could address the rumors about Josen so easily.”

  “Yes, Marcas told me what people are saying about your brother. He lives? We both know that is impossible.” Or do you know something I don’t? Lenoden watched Rudol’s face closely. Tammen’s investigation had uncovered several men and women who swore they’d seen Josen in the Swamp with their own eyes—lies and delusion, most likely, but Rudol had taken the body away, and been alone with it for a time. There was a possibility there.

  “We do. But apparently my word is not enough.” It might only have been his usual discomfort, but Rudol’s eyes flicked downward under Lenoden’s scrutiny.

  Does that mean something? Josen couldn’t have survived, but if he had—if he came back—he could ruin everything. He knew the truth, and the truth would mean war. Unlikely, but even without Josen, there is so much in motion now, so many promises made… If Rudol will not surrender the throne, it might come to blood either way. That was far from what Lenoden wanted, but he had to be prepared for it.

  “You must show the people what your word means, then,” said Lenoden. “But forgive me—I’m offering advice that wasn’t asked for.”

  Rudol shook his head. “No, I… I would value your insight. What would you do?”

  “Have you dealt with the men who attacked you? You are within your rights to have them executed, but let me suggest this: have their leader stand the cliff instead. Both ways he dies, but on the cliff his death means guilt in the Sky God’s eyes. Show the lowborn that you offered him justice, and that he was found wanting. That will discredit his babble far more than cutting off his head behind closed doors.” Or make him a martyr for his cause, perhaps. Either way, it was harmless advice to give: both results suited Lenode
n, whether the executions quelled rumors of Josen’s return or simply made the people angrier with Rudol.

  “I would sooner take his head at the Keep and avoid the spectacle, but if you think it would be best… Polt suggested something similar, and I suppose I would be a fool to disregard both of you. Cadill will stand the cliff.” Rudol sighed and rubbed a hand against his bare scalp. “I hope the lowborn take some lesson from it. Enough to keep things under control until… until Father wakes.”

  In that brief hitch in Rudol’s voice, Lenoden heard an opportunity. “Rudol… I’m sorry if this is hard to hear, but what if he doesn’t? Have you considered that? He has been ill for years—he may be too far gone. Have you thought about going to Skysreach, meeting Eroh yourself? You could be king very soon, and it would certainly change the conversation.”

  Rudol shook his head vehemently. “No. The high chastor demands too much in exchange. And besides that, the last Windwalker is meant to counsel a king, and while Father still lives… He will wake. And when he does, he will decide how to deal with this boy, and with Benedern.”

  Lenoden had never expected Rudol to submit to the high chastor’s demands, not without his father’s permission. Eroh wasn’t even in Skysreach—leaving him in Benedern’s grasp would have been too great a risk. No, the boy would stay hidden in Goldstone until he was needed. Mentioning him was simply a means to an end.

  “Forgive me, Rudol, but… are you sure your own wishes aren’t clouding your judgement? I know you. You never sought the crown, or even wanted it. You are a knight, and a good one. If you continue to serve, you will almost certainly be lord general someday. I think perhaps you do not want to give that up. And if your father heals, you won’t need to, at least for a time. I see why you want to believe in that.”

  Rudol furrowed his brow. “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that perhaps Eroh is a gift. An opportunity. You don’t have to take your father’s place.”

  “I don’t…” Rudol’s hesitation was telling. “It isn’t that—”

  “My husband will not abandon his responsibilities, Duke Castar.” There was a fire in Carissa’s voice that Lenoden had never heard before—he’d never known her to talk about more than gossip and fashion. “He is no coward. The Aryllian line will not end with King Gerod. You should be ashamed of yourself for suggesting otherwise.” She clasped Rudol’s arm, and looked up at him with wide, passionate eyes. “Tell him, Rudol.”

  There was something unexpected in Rudol’s face when he looked down at his wife. His perpetually clenched jaw relaxed, his brow unknit, a brightness dawned in his eyes. There had always been some amount of fondness there, and Lenoden had accounted for that, but this was new. He’s not supposed to be a romantic.

  “Carissa is right,” Rudol said, though not without a certain resignation. “I cannot abandon my responsibilities. There is tradition to consider, and my family’s legacy. I will do what I am called upon to do.”

  “Of course.” Lenoden raised his hands in surrender. “I am sorry if I overstepped. I only spoke out of concern, as your friend. As a man of the Nine Peaks, I am glad to know that you will be my king. I could not ask for better.”

  “No,” said Carissa. “You could not.” It took a moment for her to reclaim her vapid smile; to hide the sudden keenness in her eyes. But not a long moment. “Well, I’m sure you meant nothing by it.” She stifled what Lenoden felt certain was a fake yawn. “Dear, you know how the baskets always leave me tired.” She laid a hand on Rudol’s arm. “If you men are done speaking of important matters, perhaps we could find our rooms and rest before the duke’s address?”

  “Oh.” Rudol nodded dumbly. “Yes, I think…” He looked at Lenoden. “You’ll see that we’re—”

  “Roused in time to be groomed and dressed, of course.” Lenoden stood and strode to the door, pulling it open. A pair of attendants waited outside in Tammen’s place. “Escort Prince Rudol and his wife to their chambers, and see to whatever they need. I will take Lady Shona back to her room myself.”

  Rudol rose and offered Carissa his arm; he nodded a goodbye to Shona as they made to leave.

  “Rudol, wait.” Shona leapt to her feet and grabbed Rudol’s sleeve, her gaze flicking toward Lenoden.

  Lenoden raised an eyebrow at her. Don’t do anything stupid, girl.

  She saw him looking; a spark of defiance kindled in her eyes, and then faded just as quickly. “I… I’m sorry about your father. I tried to see you after it happened, but there were so many others waiting.”

  Rudol gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, Shona. I’m… I’m sure we’ll see you again while we’re here.” And then he and Carissa strode through the open door, following the servant down the hall.

  Lenoden stroked a knuckle against his beard as he watched them go. It was obvious that something had changed there, and he didn’t like it at all. Carissa’s grip on her husband’s arm was as delicate as ever, but now it looked very much like she was leading the way.

  He was going to have to find a way to speak to Rudol alone.

  Rudol

  “Where are we going?” Rudol asked as the carriage turned off the main road into the shadow and lamplight of Goldstone’s Silver District. “This isn’t the way to the market.” Bad enough that he was about to stand before all of Goldstone; he had no use for surprises just now.

  “A short stop,” said Duke Castar. “I think it will help to put your mind at ease.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before we left?” asked Carissa, and Rudol thought he felt her stiffen slightly at his side.

  “Secrets aren’t kept by revealing them,” Duke Castar said with a slight smile. “I didn’t want to risk it getting out.”

  The carriage was already coming to a stop; through the curtains Rudol could see another already waiting beside them. Where the duke’s carriage was all gilded accents and brightly painted coats of arms, this one was plain and unadorned.

  A moment later, there was a knock at the door on Carissa’s side. “Your Grace.” Rudol knew Marcas Tammen’s nasally voice right away.

  Duke Castar opened the door. Tammen was waiting just outside, in what appeared to be a small carriage-house.

  “What is this?” Rudol put out a hand to stop Tammen from entering, but it was Duke Castar he looked to. “I’ve had enough mystery.”

  “Of course,” said Castar. “Forgive me for saying so, but it has been clear to me since you arrived that you are ill at ease, Rudol. I know that you must be anxious after what happened in the Plateaus, and now to stand before so many people so soon after—any man would find that difficult. I thought that it might help if you knew that your wife was out of harm’s way, so I asked Marcas to make some arrangements.” He gestured for his steward to explain further.

  Tammen inclined his head in deference to Rudol. “It is quite a simple plan, Your Highness. Lady Carissa will leave here in this second carriage, a suitable length of time after you and Duke Castar depart. The roads will be full of others like it—no one should have reason to pay this one any mind. She will be delivered to watch the address from a safe distance with the rest of Goldstone’s highborn. I believe Lady Shona will be there to keep her company.”

  “And you will be able to concentrate on the task at hand,” Duke Castar finished, “knowing that she is safe should anything like what you went through in the Plateaus happen again.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Carissa said, and wrapped her fingers around Rudol’s arm. “I intend to stay by my husband’s side. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Rudol wanted to agree, but it was hard not to think of that day in the streets of the People’s Plateau—of an angry mob, advancing on the carriage where she waited helplessly. “Should we expect something like that to happen today?” he asked.

  “Not at all.” Duke Castar flicked his hand dismissively. “My people are loyal. But if it gives you peace of mind, what is the harm in a bit of subterfuge?” He sounded very certain.

  You k
now better, little brother, Josen’s voice whispered. They might love him, but they don’t love you.

  Carissa must have seen him flinch, because she squeezed his arm the way she always did when she was trying to reassure him. “Nothing is going to happen, dear. You don’t have to be frightened of these people. You are going to be their king.”

  “Even so, I… I think you should go with Tammen,” Rudol said, avoiding her eyes. The road to the market would be full of lowborn like the ones who had ambushed them in the Plateaus, far too many for any amount of guards to hold back. Even if they didn’t go so far as Cadill and his men had, they would throw jeers and insults—and perhaps things more solid than that. Rudol had no choice but to face it, but he could spare Carissa the indignity.

  “What?” She tightened her grip on his arm. “No! I won’t—”

  “Carissa, please.” Rudol swallowed, and rubbed his free hand over his scalp. “I can’t take the risk.” He lifted her fingers from his arm and gripped them in his. “If I am going to be their king one day, I need to show them strength now. I can’t do that unless I know you’re safe.”

  She stared back at him for a long moment, frowning, and then she glanced sidelong at Castar with narrowed eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Fine.” It was curt, far from happy, but if his wife’s ire was the price of protecting her, Rudol was happy to pay it.

  Tammen helped her down from the carriage, and before he closed the door, she looked back at Rudol. The anger was gone from her eyes.

  “Show them the king you can be,” she said. “And then come back to me.”

  Rudol only nodded. If he’d promised her that he could do this, it would have sounded like a lie.

  He and the duke sat without speaking for a time after they started moving again. It was only when they emerged from the Silver District’s facade and back into daylight that Rudol broke the silence.