Broken Stone 02 - Warlock's Sun Rising

by Damien Black

  Adhelina sat by the window, staring despondently into the courtyard below. She had barely registered the arrival of the monk and his strange retinue a half hour ago. The two foreign knights who had seemed to show some interest in her were with him – not that that would avail her much now.

  She looked around her chamber, once a riot of green, now bare and empty like the prison cell it had become. Her father had ordered all her things confiscated – there would be no more clever escapes. She wondered what had become of the guards she had doped; two different men now stood outside her door.

  And just to make sure she didn’t try anything again, she had Sir Ruttgur and Sir Agravine for constant company. Hettie had been packed off to Lothag monastery to be treated by the Marionites after her ordeal. She hoped they would do her some good, but she knew the real reason had been to separate them. At least her father had spared Hettie – Reus knew, she didn’t deserve to be punished any more for her loyalty.

  Ruttgur stood silent and stoical, but Agravine stared at her with sad and troubled eyes. He certainly wasn’t flirting with her anymore – he hardly dared.

  ‘The Lanraks will be arriving shortly,’ the young knight ventured. ‘You should think about getting ready for the feast. Shall I send for a lady-in-waiting?’

  Adhelina turned her gaze pointedly back to the window. ‘I care not,’ she said sullenly. Yet again she felt incipient tears pushing themselves into the corners of her eyes.

  Agravine’s voice became earnest. ‘My lady, you must shrug off this melancholy,’ he urged, walking over to stand next to her. ‘The future of Dulsinor is at stake.’

  ‘We’re lucky it still has a future,’ muttered Ruttgur. ‘It’s a miracle the Lanraks didn’t call off the wedding after this fiasco.’

  ‘Hengist may be a fool, but his steward isn’t,’ shot back Agravine. ‘Albercelsus understands as well as the Eorl that this alliance must take place.’

  He knelt, trying and failing to catch Adhelina’s weepy eyes. ‘This situation… it isn’t as bad as you think.’

  Adhelina laughed bitterly. The handsome knight had always been so charming, when things were easier. Now he sounded clumsy of speech.

  ‘There’s no use trying to convince her,’ said Ruttgur sourly. ‘If her ladyship understood in the first place none of this would have happened.’

  ‘Her ladyship needs to prepare for the feast – why don’t you go and fetch her a lady to help her dress?’ asked Agravine pointedly.

  Sir Ruttgur gave a disgusted sneer but did as the knight suggested.

  When he was out of the room Sir Agravine suddenly rediscovered his eloquence.

  ‘My lady Adhelina, you are passing fair and keen of mind,’ he said. ‘Every man in the castle with an ounce of wit can see that. This is why I say that this situation is not so bad as you think.’

  He surprised her by taking her hand. Her eyes met his.

  ‘You simply must marry – a woman in your position has no other choice. And yes, the Herzog is a foul bedmate… but he needn’t be your only one.’

  Adhelina surprised herself by what she said next.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Lady Adhelina, I think I have made my feelings for you clear,’ said Agravine. ‘In a few days all the knights of Dulsinor and those the Lanraks have brought with them shall enter the lists. I would fain have your favour. Let me compete on your behalf – for your glory and honour!’

  She had seen this coming but all the same she was a little shocked. She knew the Laws of Romance well enough, though they certainly didn’t agree with the realities of politics.

  ‘You are asking to become my paramour? Do you know what will happen when my father learns of this?’

  ‘I do, and I care not,’ replied Agravine. ‘Set me as many tasks as you will, and I shall fulfil them – as an errant if need be.’

  He must have read the anguish she felt on her face.

  ‘Oh why so troubled, my lady?’ he asked, leaning forwards with a half smile, his voice smooth and seductive. ‘Adhelina, a damsel like you was not meant to go through this world without lovers! Take this loathsome man to your bedchamber, for it is your duty. And then do what every noblewoman in the Free Kingdoms has done since the time of King Vasirius, aye and probably before! Take on paramours, as many as you care for! If you consent to make me one of them – after you’re married – I’ll consider it an honour greater than any position at court!’

  She did not doubt his sincerity. And he was right – what he was suggesting certainly wasn’t unheard of. Besides, wasn’t this what she had dreamed of all along, brave knights winning her favour? She just hadn’t chosen to dwell on what happened to the damsels Gracius had written about before they embarked on their romantic love affairs – most of them were married, usually against their will.

  She looked away. Yes she had been naïve, she supposed. Sir Agravine was doing his best to be romantic, but he was a realist too.

  ‘At least consider my suit!’ he said, sounding earnest again. He was obviously making a concerted effort to woo her. He probably had no intention of making her his only paramour – he clearly didn’t expect to be hers.

  And yet the thought of it pleased her. It was certainly preferable to that of marrying the Herzog.

  ‘All right,’ she said at length. ‘I’ll consider it.’

  The door opened. Sir Ruttgur strode back in, a lady in tow.

  Agravine got to his feet, making sure he didn’t look too hasty.

  ‘The Lanraks have arrived at the lists, their knights are settling in for the tourney,’ announced Ruttgur. ‘The Herzog and his retinue are making their way here to the castle, so you’d best be getting ready, my lady.’

  Adhelina stood slowly. Her court clothes were in the next room. At least she’d get some time away from the menfolk while she prepared for the feast.

  She caught Agravine’s eye one last time as she made her way over to the side chamber. His expression looked impassive enough, but there was a gleam in his eyes that spoke volumes.

  A thrill of excitement coursed through her. She had denied herself for so long, and Agravine was brave and comely. She held on to the feeling as she began to undress.

  Perhaps there was life beyond marriage after all.

  CHAPTER VI

  A Tryst For New Lovers

  Hannequin’s face was grave as he gave his report. ‘We conducted a divination at the Wytching Hour last night,’ he said. ‘We detected strong traces of sorcery across the Free Kingdoms. There appears to be a powerful concentration here, here and here...’ The Grand Master placed Jedrez pieces on a map of Urovia to demonstrate his meaning. The first two pieces sat on Thraxia and Vorstlund. He placed the third piece on the edge of the map, where a stylised hand pointed downwards. ‘There’s someone at work in the Southlands too – whether the Pilgrim Kingdoms or the Sassanian Sultanates beyond, we can’t be sure at this range.’

  The King sighed and shifted in his seat, looking visibly bored. They were in a private audience chamber. Wolmar shared his boredom. He was heartily sick of all this talk of sorcerers.

  ‘Are you able to be more specific?’ asked Carolus. ‘Do you know who exactly is responsible?’

  Hannequin shook his head. ‘We know of several powerful warlocks said to be operating across Urovia and Sassania, so those emanations could well be from them. Normally we’d be able to tie it to a more specific location but…’ here Hannequin paused, his brow furrowed in consternation. ‘… it would appear somebody is using powerful blanketing magic. It’s known by warlocks as counter-scrying and prevents us from divining exactly – ’

  Carolus cut him off. ‘So in other words, some unknown mages are plotting to reunite an ancient artefact that could spell the end of the world – but you are unable to do anything about it.’

  Hannequin frowned, not relishing the pointed remark. ‘We need more time, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘We shall gather our spiritual fortitude with prayers and fasting, then perhaps when Horskram
arrives, he can join his elan to our efforts. He is gifted with – ’

  Carolus flicked a hand dismissively, snatching up the ebony pieces and tossing them back into a silvered mahogany box. ‘Yes, yes, spare me the details, Grand Master. I have been apprised of enough already as it is. If you’ll forgive me, I shan’t concern myself with calamitous events that may or may not happen – especially when no culprits present themselves. I’ll leave you to worry about that, just keep me informed.’

  Hannequin seemed satisfied at that, though the man sitting opposite him evidently felt quite differently. Cyprian, the Supreme Perfect of the Creed, wore his seventy-odd years with a weathered sort of pride. His white beard flowed to his waist and looked just as ornamental as his bejewelled robes of office that shared its colour.

  ‘If I may interject, Your Majesty,’ said Cyprian. ‘We have just now learned that the Argolians were keeping a cursed fragment of this anti-relic and let it go! I say charges of demonolatry and witchcraft should be reopened against the Order forthwith!’

  Hannequin rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that.

  Fortunately for him the King seemed of the same mind. ‘As to having another Purge in my realm, I don’t think I’ll entertain that notion,’ said Carolus. ‘The last one wasn’t too popular if I recall. No, let the Argolians make up for their gross oversight by investigating the matter further.’

  ‘Your Majesty, this is most irregular!’ protested the Supreme Perfect.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s irregular,’ retorted the King. ‘The fact that one of your senior clerics kept hidden the existence of a sacred relic of the Creed – be thankful that this Lorthar has been exposed. If I were you, I would divide your time between organising pilgrimages to Strongholm and giving thanks to the Almighty for this revelation.’

  Cyprian favoured the King with a cold stare, but appeared mollified. ‘It is indeed a blessing that the iniquity of Lorthar has been revealed – and that of the Northlending temple.’ He turned his frosty eyes on Wolmar. The princeling could not help but flinch. The last thing he wanted was to offend the head of the Temple – Reus knew he had enough sins on his conscience as it was.

  ‘Very well,’ said the Supreme Perfect, his eyes not leaving Wolmar. ‘I shall defer to your wishes in this matter – for now.’

  ‘You have the crown’s thanks for it,’ replied the King cordially. ‘Grand Master Hannequin, I have just vouched for you. I take it you shall repay my kindness by taking this matter in hand.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ replied Hannequin, looking grateful. ‘Rest assured we shall conduct further divinations.’

  Wolmar despised the Grand Master even more for his obsequious ways. He agreed with Cyprian – the Argolians should stand trial. But then he’d given up arguing that, nobody listened to him anyway.

  ‘There is some good news as well,’ Hannequin added. ‘Our divination detected only trace elements of Left-Hand sorcery in the area of the Argael, whither our brother Horskram was bound. Perhaps that suggests he has been successful in rooting out the warlock Andragorix.’

  ‘Perhaps it does,’ said the King, looking even more bored. ‘I care not. Matters of state are my business, I leave matters of magic to you and your ilk. Now if that is all, I believe I have a tournament to preside over. Good day.’

  They all rose to leave the chamber. Wolmar felt his heart quicken at the mention of the Crescent Bridge Tourney. Lord Ivon had entered him at the last minute. There was a strict quota, and the flower of the kingdom’s chivalry came from all over the realm to compete: Ivon had probably pulled a few strings to get him in.

  That was good, Wolmar reflected as he marched back towards his quarters to arm himself. Today he’d show these haughty Pangonians some northern mettle.

  Sir Wolmar winced as the chirurgeon removed his armour to tend to his dislocated shoulder. Sir Aremis had sent him sailing over the crupper of his saddle, dashing his hopes of victory. Oh the shame of it – bested by a Pangonian in the third round of a prestigious tournament! At least the joust here was a formal event with no ransoms and he didn’t have to forfeit his horse and armour. Losing a prized Farovian destrier to a foreigner would have been even more shameful.

  Lord Ivon entered the tent. He was grinning urbanely, as though nothing much had happened. ‘Well, never mind,’ he said, spotting Wolmar’s downcast expression. ‘Sir Aremis is the top seed, you were unlucky being drawn against him so early. At least you managed to knock Kaye out in the first round – he’ll have to show you more respect now.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about Lord Kaye and what he thinks,’ Wolmar shot back. ‘I wanted to win!’

  Lord Ivon stroked his head affectionately. Wolmar pulled away irritably, wincing again as an invisible lance stabbed his shoulder. He still didn’t feel comfortable displaying unorthodox desires publicly. The manners of this strange country were deeply unsettling – how could they be so formal and yet so candid?

  ‘Ah, sweet prince, always wanting to win…’ Ivon went on. ‘Did you know some Sassanian mystic sects teach that one can learn more in defeat than in victory?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, and I don’t give a damn – aaaargh!’ Wolmar yelled as the chirurgeon pushed his shoulder back into place with an audible crack. He thanked him for it by lashing out and sending the man flying across the tent.

  Ivon pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘Sir Wolmar, that was most unnecessary,’ he said, watching impassively as the chirurgeon staggered to his feet clutching a bloody nose.

  ‘No, it was entirely necessary,’ said Wolmar venomously. Rising to his feet, he stalked past Ivon out of the tent. ‘Have your squire pick up my armour, I’m in need of a drink.’

  Sir Wolmar glowered at his platter. Several stoops of strong wine had not improved his spirits. Sir Aremis had been crowned champion of the joust, but losing to the eventual victor did not make him feel better about his defeat. The lists had been taken down and rows of trestle tables set up in their place. The summer night was balmy, meaning the celebration feast could be held outdoors.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ said Lord Ivon, leaning in close so no one else would hear. ‘I know of a lovely spot but half a day’s ride from here. Let us go tomorrow, you and I – a break from the city will do you good, I trow.’

  Wolmar sneered into his goblet. ‘A lovers’ tryst? We shouldn’t keep indulging these effeminate desires, they clearly aren’t doing my fighting prowess any good.’

  ‘Yes, well as to that, there are other kinds of prowess one can cultivate,’ replied Ivon.

  Wolmar glanced at him. The Margrave’s face was oddly neutral.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Wolmar, deciding it wasn’t an innuendo.

  Ivon replied by patting him gently on the shoulder. ‘We’ll set off tomorrow, at first light. I’ll have the necessary arrangements made. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some mingling to do…’

  He left Wolmar alone at the table, pondering the meaning of his words.

  From the high hills they watched the last of the sun slip below the horizon. The green fields and meadows of the lands around Rima were bathed in a blanket of dusk, as was the River Athos that poured down towards the city, now reduced to a collection of twinkling lights off in the distance. To the north the hills rose gradually to meet the Orne ranges.

  They were both naked beneath the blankets that swaddled them; up here at the hunting lodge Ivon had brought them to the air was chillier.

  The Margrave let out a satisfied sigh. ‘Did I not say the view was spectacular?’ he asked.

  ‘We have just such views in my country,’ said Wolmar. ‘Though yes, it is pleasing enough I suppose.’

  ‘Always so defensive,’ purred Ivon, refilling their cups. ‘I was not inviting another debate on the relative merits of our countries.’

  ‘I can hardly be faulted for that,’ said Wolmar, taking the cup. ‘Given the way your countrymen behave.’

  ‘Let us not dwell on the manners of my countrymen,�
�� said Ivon, sipping at his wine. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something else.’

  Wolmar glanced at him sidelong. Something in the Margrave’s tone caught his attention.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘As you know, I am held in high esteem because of my family’s lineage, but I have also made myself indispensible to Carolus. You may recall I mentioned that Sir Odo has eyes and ears everywhere… But there are times when more than just spies are needed to carry out the business of state. That is where I come in.’

  Ivon paused to sip his wine again.

  ‘Go on,’ said Wolmar, unsure what else to say.

  ‘His Majesty has made himself unpopular for two reasons,’ said Ivon. ‘First, he is suspected of murdering his father to get to the throne sooner. Carolus II was a much loved monarch, as pious and honourable as the day is long. Many in our realm still grieve for him.’

  Wolmar shrugged his shoulders. ‘What of it? The affairs of your kingdom are of little interest to me – ’

  Ivon laid delicate fingers on the knight’s lips. ‘Let me finish. Second, and far more significant, are the high taxes he has levied since coming to power. Now, our King is a man of vision, you understand. He wants to make the realm truly great, not just the best of the Free Kingdoms. But many of his nobles are too self-seeking and near-sighted to realise this. Running a prosperous kingdom won’t be enough – he needs to give them something they’ll like.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Ivon smiled. Turning to point at the mountains, he said: ‘Do you know what lies past yonder ranges?’

  Wolmar wasn’t used to travelling far and had to think a moment.

  ‘Vorstlund…’ he said, his voice trailing off as he suddenly grasped his lover’s meaning.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Ivon. ‘A rich realm, divided and leaderless – ripe for conquest! The King plans to invade, and I’ve been charged with drumming up support for the invasion. About half the barons have already agreed, the other half… may prove somewhat awkward.’