Steel and Valor: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 3)

by Andy Peloquin

  He studied the two parchments closely. The differences were minimal—a few extra flourishes here and there, tighter grouping of the words, lower dips and higher rises on certain letters—but they were there.

  Yet, as he studied the wax seals still affixed to the letters, he could not differentiate one from another. They both bore the same image: a griffin holding a sword and torch, the Prince’s insignia.

  “If the person who penned the letters is different but the seal is the same—” he began.

  Skathi’s eyes flew wide. “Someone’s gotten their hands on the Prince’s seal!”

  “Or crafted an identical forgery.” Aravon’s brow furrowed.

  Wax seals were intended to prevent tampering with private messages and military dispatches. A broken seal meant the letter had been opened prior to receipt—a simple yet effective security measure. However, there were flaws, chief among them the seal itself. Anyone could hire an artist to replicate the insignia, essentially duplicating the stamp or, more difficult, signet ring. The Royal Seal was doubtless kept securely in Icespire Palace, yet Aravon had little doubt the traitor would have found a way to get their hands on the stamp to make a duplicate. Anyone receiving a sealed message bearing that insignia would accept it as from Prince Toran himself—the deceit used on the Shalandrans by Lord Aleron Virinus.

  “Food’s up, Captain.” Belthar’s voice cut into Aravon’s train of thought. He held out a bowl of the steaming stew, which Aravon took with a grateful nod. Huge chunks of meat floated in the bowl, along with a handful of unfamiliar root vegetables and grassy herbs Colborn had collected along the way. The smell of their campfire’s smoke, the fresh scent of pine, and the sweet tang of berries in the air faded beneath that rosemary-heavy fragrance of the venison stew.

  For a few moments, the utter delight of hot, savory food consumed Aravon’s attention and pushed all other concerns from his mind. Snarl feasted at his feet, wolfing down the haunch of venison Colborn carved specifically for him. The Enfield’s teeth made quick work of the meat and he set about gnawing at the joint, his sharp claws clicking on the scrap of bone.

  Finally, after his third bowl of stew and a generous chunk of the venison roasting on the improvised spit, Aravon managed to pull his thoughts back to the matter of the traitor in Icespire.

  It’s someone close enough to the Prince that they have access to the Royal Seal. That almost ruled out Lord Aleron Virinus—though powerful and wealthy, the Icespire nobleman wasn’t a member of the Prince’s Council, and had only limited access to the Palace. However, his immense wealth meant he could simply bribe someone on the Council or in the Palace to get him what he wanted.

  He spoke his conclusion aloud to his six companions. “The question is how we’re going to find out which it is.”

  “We can’t exactly march up to the Palace and ask to speak to the Prince.” Noll gave a derisive snort. “We are, after all, supposed to be dead, remember?”

  Aravon pursed his lips. “We are, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do a bit of digging in disguise.”

  Noll cocked his head. “You thinking of taking up mummery, Captain?” A wry smile broadened his face. “I could certainly see you playing the role of the brave and beautiful Berella in the Inamorata Caduti.” He batted his eyelashes in what he doubtless imagined to be a feminine manner and pitched his voice higher an octave. “Woe fills my soul, my dear Kalunis, for in the fortnight since last I held you to my bosom, it feels as if an eternity—”

  “Keeper’s teeth!” Belthar hurled a piece of firewood at Noll, who cut off his recitation of the famous stage play to avoid being clouted in the head. “Haven’t we suffered enough without having to put up with that horror?”

  “I’d rather cut off my ears than listen to that again.” Skathi shot Noll a glare. “Fiery hell, better just kill me first next time, yeah?”

  Noll threw up his hands. “Hey, I’m not the one who came up with the idea of playing thespian!”

  “Noll’s rubbish acting aside, he’s not as far off the mark as you’d expect.” Aravon lifted his leather greatwolf mask from where he’d left it next to his spear. “We’ve been playing a role all these weeks. Can’t be that much difference playing another role in Icespire.” His brow furrowed. “The right disguise could get us around the city without drawing attention.”

  “How about sellswords?” Belthar spoke around a mouthful of venison. “That’d give us an excuse to be armed around Icespire, and to pay a visit to the Shattered Shield to ask around about Otton.”

  Aravon’s eyebrows rose. “A damned fine idea, Belthar!” His mind raced. “We can’t go into Icespire wearing these masks, so we’ll have to come up with another way of concealing our features.”

  “I can sort that out.” Belthar spoke in a quiet voice, and a shadow deeper than the dense night in the forest settled over his face. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Surprise hummed within Aravon’s chest, yet a part of him knew he should have expected it. Belthar’s capabilities extended far beyond swinging an axe and aiming his massive crossbow. He’d been the one to figure out the route into Duke Leddan’s fort at Ironcastle. He’d found the smugglers’ tunnel out of the Oldcrest city, and recognized the Brokers’ handiwork at Rivergate. Whatever past Belthar had with the Brokers, it included a broad range of skills uncommon to the average Legionnaire…or upstanding Princelander.

  “You’ve donned an actor’s wig and dress, Belthar?” Skathi teased. “Playing the role of the giant in Agarre’s story?”

  “Something like that.” Deep lines of tension formed around Belthar’s brow and tight-pressed lips.

  Skathi’s eyes narrowed, curiosity burning on her face. She, like Aravon, clearly wanted to know more of whatever Belthar was keeping hidden from them.

  Perhaps that would be for the best, Aravon decided. Perhaps getting it out in the open will make this easier. After all, we’re going to be facing enemies from all sides. Better we know what we’re getting into before we do it.

  Snarl gave a little whining bark of protest as Aravon rose. Finding his source of warmth departing, the Enfield padded over to Skathi and curled around the archer’s feet.

  Aravon turned to the big man. “Belthar, a word?” He thrust his chin toward a dense cluster of trees a short distance away.

  The big man stiffened, his face going hard, his expression unreadable. He nodded and, rising to his feet, followed Aravon into the forest.

  Overhead, the dense tree canopy blocked out the light of the crescent moon and the glimmering stars, plunging the forest into a thick, inky blackness. Even the glow of their small campfire could only push back the shadows so far. Aravon led Belthar just beyond the radius of firelight, out of earshot, and turned to the big man.

  Belthar spoke before he could. “I know what you’re going to say, Captain. But I can’t.” He shook his head fiercely. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Aravon spoke in a quiet, gentle voice. “Are you afraid of what they’ll think of you?”

  Belthar’s silence and the storm cloud in his eyes served as answer enough.

  “After all we’ve endured together, you still doubt us?” Aravon gestured toward the figures seated around the campfire. “Doubt them?”

  “No, Captain.” Sorrow filled Belthar’s eyes. “But if they knew what I’ve done, what I had to do…” He swallowed. “Some things are just too despicable to be forgiven.”

  “You think you’re the only one with things you’d rather leave hidden in the past?” Aravon asked. “That wants to hide things that make you feel ashamed of who you were?”

  Belthar’s gaze dropped away and he shifted from one huge foot to the other. “No, sir, but—”

  “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” Aravon moved within Belthar’s line of sight and met the big man’s gaze without hesitation. “All of us. Which means none of us are in a position to judge anyone else. No matter what it was, we know the kind of man you are now. That’s the man who’s marche
d, fought, and bled by our sides. Who’s given his all time and again, all to help protect us and the people we fight for.” He jabbed a finger into the big man’s chest. “That is the man who we all see. And nothing you say about your past will change that.”

  The shadows of night deepened the gloom etched into every line of Belthar’s miserable expression. He was hesitant, it was plain, afraid of what they’d say when they knew whatever truth he kept hidden from them.

  “I trust you, and everyone else trusts you, too.” Aravon’s voice rang with calm reassurance. “Don’t you think they deserve for you to trust them as well? To trust that they won’t reject or despise you because of something you’ve done, or someone you once were. If necessary, to forgive and forget anything that you feel ashamed about. I’ve marched beside the six of you for all these weeks, and I can tell you with full certainty that they can. But if you don’t tell them, if you keep hiding yourself from them and it ends up putting them in danger or—Swordsman forfend—gets them killed, that could be the thing they can’t forgive or overlook.” He gripped the big man’s shoulder. “The time has come, Belthar. For better or worse, now’s your moment to trust us.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  A tense silence hung in the air. For a few long seconds, only the crackling of the fire and the whisper of the evening breeze echoed in the forest. Finally, the big man nodded. “Yes, Captain.” Reluctance echoed in his voice, mingled with acceptance. Belthar acknowledged that Aravon spoke the truth, but that made it no less difficult to reveal his secrets.

  “Give them a chance,” Aravon said. “They deserve it.”

  Together, they strode back to the fire and resumed their seats. Curiosity sparkled in the four pairs of eyes fixed on Belthar—all but the fatigue-numbed Rangvaldr—but none of them spoke. Even when Belthar remained silent for long minutes, the Grim Reavers gave Belthar his peace. The big man needed time to muster up the courage to share whatever dark secret he’d been afraid to reveal.

  Aravon didn’t press, either. Instead, he picked up a chunk of meat and waved it in a vain attempt to coax Snarl back to his side. The Enfield glanced once at him, gave a little sniff, and settled comfortably around Skathi’s legs once more.

  Traitor. Aravon glared at the little fox-creature. He’d just given up trying to lure Snarl over when Belthar spoke.

  “Once, I had a sister.” His words came out barely above a whisper. A faraway look entered his eyes, and he seemed lost in distant memories. “Younger than me, by three years. Smaller and frailer, too.”

  Aravon shot a glare at Noll, half-expecting the scout to make a joke that “everyone’s smaller than you.” It wasn’t needed; Noll’s gaze locked on Belthar’s face, a look of mingled interest, suspicion, and doubt in his eyes. That was the Noll Aravon had come to know. The man who, beneath the sardonic, mocking façade, cared fiercely for his companions. For his friends. And no doubt about it—over the last few weeks, Belthar and Noll had become as close as brothers, with the rivalry and combative nature to boot. But at the end of the day, they were on the same side.

  “We never really knew our parents,” Belthar continued. He never took his eyes off the fire as he spoke. “Mother died giving birth to Inaia, and our father…I think he might have been a Legionnaire or mercenary, but Mother never spoke of him.” He swallowed, his huge hands flexing and relaxing. “Life in the slums of Icespire was tough. Lots of nights going hungry, cold, and dirty. Dodging the Icewatch and trying to scrape together enough coin begging or stealing to keep from starving.”

  Aravon’s curiosity burned as bright as the flames of their campfire. The rest of his companions, too, leaned forward, their eyes fixed on Belthar. Even Rangvaldr seemed to have emerged from his exhausted trance somewhat. He still lay back, slumped against a thick oak tree, his face ashen and deep-lined. Yet his green eyes had lost their faraway, vacant look and now fixed on Belthar.

  Belthar finally tore his gaze from the dancing flames. “Until the Brokers, that was. They found us, took us in, taught us the ways of the streets. For me, that meant…” He stared down at his balled fists. “…doing things I’d rather forget. Hurting people. Not always people who deserved it.” He let out a long breath. “I thought I had no other choice. No other way to survive but doing what they told me to.”

  The light of the campfire etched deep shadows in his heavy brow. “Until the day I beat a man to death.” His broad shoulders hunched forward, and remorse blazed in his eyes. “It was an accident, I swear! I was just supposed to rough the shopkeeper up, make sure he kept his mouth shut about one of the Brokers’ operations—but he fell. Hit his head. There was so much blood…”

  He opened his hands and stared down at them, as if expecting to see his knuckles stained crimson. “That was when I realized what I was doing. What I’d become. Out of necessity, yes, but also because it felt good. After years of starving, going hungry, and freezing on the streets, I finally knew what it was like to have the power. Up until that moment, I’d never given my life with the Brokers a second thought. But staring down at that body, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  Silence hung thick over the camp. Even the fire seemed to burn lower, the wind falling still, as if holding its breath in expectation of what came next.

  “That didn’t go over well with the Brokers.” Belthar shook his head. “The leader of my crew, Gengibar Twist, threatened Inaia if I left. Said he’d kill her, or, worse, sell her to the cheapest dockside brothel in Icespire.” His fists closed again, so tight his knuckles turned white, and his jaw muscles twitched. “So I stayed. Even though I knew that I was doing wrong, I stayed.”

  “For your sister.” Skathi’s voice held no trace of judgement, accusation, or acknowledgement. Simply a statement, impassive as the cold earth beneath their feet.

  Belthar nodded, but his expression was glum. “Until the Bloody Flux took her two years later. Even as I watched her dying, all I could think about was that I was finally...” His voice broke and tears streamed down his huge cheeks, slithering tracks through the road dust and disappearing into his beard. “Finally free. I didn’t have to hurt anyone for the Brokers anymore. That’s what I was thinking as I held my sister’s hand and watched her die!”

  He turned away from them, hiding his face in his hands. Sobs wracked his shoulders as he wept silently.

  For long moments, no one spoke. The only sound to break the quiet was the sizzle of grease dripping from the venison into the fire. None of the Grim Reavers looked at each other, either. Instead, they stared into the flames, each digesting Belthar’s story in their own manner, offering the big man his privacy.

  Skathi moved first. She stood and, disentangling herself from Snarl’s furry body, moved to crouch beside Belthar. “Everything you did, it was for her.” Her voice was quiet, soothing. “To protect her.”

  “But when she got sick, I wanted her to die!” Belthar’s voice dripped with the bitter acid of shame. “I wanted her to be free of our life in the Brokers, and there was no other way out for her. What sort of monster would wish that on their only family?”

  “A monster who cares.” Skathi placed a hand on his huge knee. “A monster who finds himself in an impossible situation.”

  To Aravon’s surprise, Snarl was the next one to move. He’d never shown much affinity toward the big man, his attentions reserved for Skathi and Aravon. Yet now he padded over and curled up around Belthar’s feet. His round amber eyes gleamed as he stared up at Belthar and, with a little yipping bark, he nuzzled the big man’s legs.

  “You sacrificed yourself,” Skathi continued, “chose the harder path because it was your only way to keep her safe. You bore the stain on your soul, accepted the burden of guilt you’ve carried around for years. That’s the sort of thing family does.” She swallowed and leaned closer to the big man. “It’s what I did for my sister.”

  Aravon’s eyes widened a fraction. He’d never heard Skathi mention family—he knew nothing of her life before their company.

/>   “When it came down to a choice between her or me, of doing the unthinkable, it was no choice at all.” Skathi’s face hardened, and a shadow passed behind her eyes. “We take the pain, the guilt, the torment for them. We face it so they don’t have to.”

  “We give of ourselves to keep them safe.” Noll spoke now. His voice held no accusation or recrimination, simply understanding, acceptance. “Even if it means we have to die to keep them alive.” He glanced at Aravon. “If it’s what’s best for them, we bear those burdens because of our love for them.”

  Aravon nodded; Noll had spoken of the sacrifice he’d made for his family—a wife and three sons in Lochton—joining the Legion then the Grim Reavers to ensure they had a future.

  “There is no shame, Belthar.” Skathi pulled the big man’s hands from his face, gripping them in hers. “You did what you had to for her sake. But now you’re free. Free of that life.”

  “But I’m not!” Belthar’s voice rose to a shout. “That’s just it! Inaia’s death wasn’t the end of it for me. If I go back to Icespire, the Brokers will kill me.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “What?” Skathi recoiled, her eyes going wide. “Kill you?”

  Belthar nodded. “When I left, Gengibar Twist swore that he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. Said it was exactly what I deserved for betraying them, after all they’d done for me.”

  Keeper’s teeth! A burden settled on Aravon’s shoulders. That explained Belthar’s surprise at discovering they were, indeed, returning to Icespire. And it made his promise to return all the more meaningful.

  “But even knowing what danger he faced,” Aravon spoke up now, “Belthar swore that he’d help hunt down the traitor in Icespire. He’s willing to put his life on the line not just for us, but the Princelands and all of Fehl.” He fixed his gaze on the big man. “That, Belthar, is not the action of the monster you believe yourself to be.”