“Fine,” Langelo said with a hard swallow. “I’ll take you to them.”
“To who? Your conspirators?”
"The… My employers. Who has the rest of the money."
“Good. Let’s go.”
Langelo stuck his hands in his pockets and followed the captain’s sword tip toward the flap of the tent. As he lifted the flap, a twig snapped, causing the captain to flinch.
“What the hell is this?” Philo hacked at the empty barrels with his sword, sending them rolling around the back of the empty wagons.
“I… I don’t know,” Langelo said. He approached the wagon and looked at the empty bed, scratching his head with his bound hands. “This is where I was supposed to come back to meet them.”
“What’s this?” one of the soldiers said. He held up a strip of paper. “I can’t read.”
Philo snapped it out of the soldier’s hand and read it. “Blast it, it’s for this scum here. Says they abandoned the wagons and went round the north side, where the river runs. Run down and have both squads move to cover the river valley. Go.”
One of the soldiers saluted. “And what of the prisoner?”
“Leave him to me.”
“Aye,” the soldier said, and mounted his horse. He shot down the road in a puff of dust.
The captain turned to Langelo. “What are you playing at?”
“Nothing.”
The captain walked to the edge of the wagon and kicked Langelo in the head, sending the boy sprawling. Philo leapt down from the wagon and moved to kick Langelo again, but as he wound his leg up he heard a soft crack and collapsed. He was in shock for a few moments, then the pain kicked in with force and he began to scream in agony. Langelo spun up in shock, his eyes wide as he watched Philo writhe on the ground.
The one remaining soldier ran over, drawing his sword, but was hit in the neck with a crossbow bolt that burst the links of his mail coif with ease.
Sharona, Michael, and Guissali stumbled down the hillside from behind a rock. Michael was holding his crossbow, already fitting on the crank he used to span it while in the saddle. Langelo pushed himself up and stared at the thrashing, screaming captain, clawing at his misshapen leg like a beast.
“I’m sorry, Langelo,” Sharona said with a huff as they crossed back into the road. “I should have done that sooner. Luckily I’ve been saving chicken bones.”
Michael ran to the captain and kicked him in the head, rolling him over. With a toe, he stilled the man, then bent down and cut the bag of gold from his belt.
“Glad you were able to snap that twig,” Michael said, putting the gold in the bag at his hip. He moved to Langelo and began untying his hands.
“Me too,” Langelo said. “I don’t think I care to be a spy, sir.”
“Understood, but I think you did well,” Michael said.
“What should we do with the captain, my lord?” Guissali said.
“Let him cry with that broken leg. I have no compassion for greed.”
“To his credit,” Langelo said, “Philo did try to protect his border.”
“He took the gold,” Michael said. “That would be enough for me to hang him, were he under my command.”
“You’re - I saw you once... You’re the prince of Artalland,” the soldier croaked.
“So I am. Good luck telling that tale.”
“Lord,” Guissali said. “I cannot allow you to endanger yourself by letting such a man pass on the truth that you are in Ferralla.”
Michael took a breath and nodded. "Make it merciful."
“Yes, my prince,” Guissali said. He looked at Sharona and said, “My lady, please avert your eyes.” Sharona obeyed.
Though he might have been held a lowly retainer due to politics, Guissali was as deadly with a blade as any knight of Artalland could be; with a single swift stroke of his heavy curved blade, he severed the head of the Ferrallese captain, ending his suffering and misdeeds in the world that is.
Langelo, watching the head roll away, suppressed a retch. Michael patted him on the back.
“It’s never pleasant, son,” he said.
*
“It was necessary,” Michael said.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sharona said. They were riding out past the Ferrallese army encampment, their troops having left it abandoned save for a few cowardly men who refused to bar the way forward as they approached, instead merely asking their business and letting them pass when they saw how many of them bore swords and lances.
“The look on your face said that you didn’t care for our dispatching of the captain."
“I don’t believe it was the only solution, ‘tis true,” Sharona said. "I broke his leg so we would not have to kill him. Otherwise, I would have done something to simply kill him quickly."
“If we didn’t kill him, the army would have, for bribery and other high crimes. The only other solution would be to take him with us, and we can’t spare the thought for an injured man. If anything, we treated him mercifully, for the army would have given him much more pain in the departure.”
*
Sharona rode beside Michael along the wide road that cut through the open plains of Ferralla. Farmhouses long gone to ruins dotted the grassy landscape around them, along with remnants of stone walls and the occasional fence post. Herds of antelope roamed unmolested between groves of dry oaks and willows near creek beds. Dry grass rippled in the high wind.
“How much longer, do you think?” Sharona said.
"By our old catalogues, we will reach the city tomorrow night. We should find some semblance of civilization today, though I think we may find it somewhat diminished."
“What happened here?”
Guissali cleared his throat. “My lady, do not trouble yourself over the details. The people that were here, left.”
“I am strong of stomach, if you are thinking of describing a battle, or plague,” said Sharona, smiling at the frowning Guissali, bent over on his horse in a sort of bow.
“It was one, then the other,” Michael said. “But of a terrible sort. It is considered bad luck to speak of it.”
“I told you that there is no such thing as luck,” Sharona said.
Michael smiled. “It was during the reign of my grandfather, when the kingdoms of the Divine Strand were poised to once again be united as the once great Empire of the Divine. Pious Patruffi, the king of Verbia by original title, was uniting all the twelve kingdoms, one by one, under the banner of the Golden Sun. The first few kingdoms to fall - Nautalia and Nosterina, if I remember well my books - fell by the white sword, but the other kingdoms, witnessing the might of Verbia and the swiftness with which Pious was reorganizing their militaries in imperial form, soon began to form tentative alliances with one another, which is unheard of in these times.
“The conquest continued, but mostly via civil machinations. Pious satisfied many by removing the title of emperor from himself and agreeing that it should belong to his daughter. A daughter that would be birthed by the princess of Ferralla, that being the only country whose military might could withstand him without an alliance."
“Why a daughter?” Sharona asked.
“That no king might seek the seat of the empire for himself. It tempted many, for therein seemed to lie the prospect of peace in our wide lands. Even my grandfather Tomas, shrewd and cautious, saw the virtue in it and soon swore fealty to Pious.”
“He saw the way the wind was blowing, your highness,” Guissali said. “He was never a fool to believe in prophecies and promises. He knew that if Ferralla was under the influence of Pious, we wouldn’t stand a chance on the battlefield. Better fealty with conditions than servitude in conquest.”
“Guissali has his opinions,” Michael said. “Being a great veteran, he sees it partly as it was. There was no way we could resist without our alliance with Ferralla. But,” Michael raised a gloved finger, “these things did not come to pass. The princess of Ferralla, the mother of queen Alanrae, usurped her father and claime
d the monarchy for herself. In truth of course the coupe had been staged by the Artallan spymasters. Adonala was the name of the princess, and her coupe was swift and total, supported by most of the land’s lords. The king was forced into exile.
“She nullified the arranged marriage with Pious, who was more than twenty years her senior, and the great war began.”
“This plain held a great battle,” Guissali said. “The greatest that has been fought in the Fourth Dominion. It was here that Pious revealed a bit of who he really was - an apostate and a sorcerer. He used... forbidden magic.”
Sharona raised an eyebrow to Guissali, who chewed his lip.
“He raised the dead,” Michael said. “A forbidden act, even among mages, or so I am told. A contagious was spread, and men fell. They rose again as undead thrall.”
“That is ancient magic,” Sharona said. “I presume he was stopped?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “The church removed its blessing, the clerics fled. My grandfather betrayed his oath and turned on Pious. With Ferralla and Artalland working together, Pious was stalled, even as the ranks of the dead grew. What happened after is… uncertain.”
“It was a dragon,” Guissali said. “A dragon brought the men of the north down and slew Pious.”
“It was not a dragon,” Michael said.
“Not to contradict you, your highness, but there were many there who saw it. My own sire, for one.”
Michael shrugged. “Well, there was a cadre of sorcerers who came from the north, mostly a mix of elves and men of the petty kingdoms. Nobody was sure of who assembled them, but they broke the stalemate and gave the dead back to the peace of the earth. Pious was killed by my grandfather in the final fight, but Tomas was struck dead as soon as his sword fell, a consequence of his betrayal and the magic that Pious had laid on him when he swore fealty.”
“That’s where Towler’s from,” Guissali said. “He came down at the end of the war and just ended up sticking around, helping the young king do everything important.”
“How did you go from being allies to enemies?” Sharona asked.
“Politics,” Michael said. “Ferralla Failed to honor agreements made in the wake of that conflict, which, if I am to be honest, could not be met anyway.”
“What about your father’s aims?” Sharona said. “Did he not wish conquest?”
“He does desire conquest. He is not faithful Tomas, after all. However, one cannot propose a campaign of conquest in the high court of Artalland, for it is now considered exceedingly distasteful. You have to cook up other reasons for a war to fund the damn thing, and then act like conquest is a happy accident when you pass out knew fiefdoms to your power base.
“Now that we are at last successful in this war, these lands can be re-settled by Artallan people, the fields resown and renewed.”
“If any will come,” Guissali said.
*
They stayed in a town called Lore that night, under the story that they were merchants traveling to Forgoroto, though the mood in the town was sombre and nobody, not even the sheriff, seemed to care about their story. Many of the houses stood dark and shut. Whether they were abandoned for a long or a short while, they could not say, for the occupied houses looked as shambled as those left empty.
The next day brought them within sight of Forgoroto, which was built upon a defensible hill of rock, its proud gates of iron shut and guarded, its banners bearing a bright red hammer flying proudly in the winds of the plains. Before it and around the walls stood encamped the great first army of Artalland with its three legions. Michael’s legion now flew the green banner of Butler’s command, a sign that he had truly been excised from the force he had spent the last few years training and deploying in war to great effect. He gritted his teeth as he gazed.
Michael watched the fires of the night, in both city and the army camp, being lit from where he had set up with his own party, on a tree-clad hill a mile or two away. A fenced area within the camp held what Michael knew to be the remaining prisoners of war from the last battle, a bargaining chip to proceed a possible siege, though Michael thought from the size of the enclosure a good portion of the Ferrallese army had managed to flee back to Forgoroto and add to its final defense, or else been turned loose disarmed as part of the conditions of surrender, which Michael knew nothing of.
Michael stood as a horseman approached. The man atop waved a banner on a lance that could just be discerned to be blue in the failing light.
“Angelico!” Michael said, laughing as his friend rode forth. “I thought you’d have been discharged for sure!”
Angelico slowed and dismounted. “Evening sir. I was discharged actually, along with the sergeant major. Butler gave me a new commission before I could pack up and leave camp. He offered to reinstate Gadero, even demanded it, but he said he’s as soon be hung a deserter as work a day past when his proper retirement ought to begin.” Angelico laughed. “He wanted you back, too, but you left so quickly. You might yet get your commission back, actually. I can just talk to Butler for you, tell him you are here.”
Michael was silent for a moment, mulling it over in his head.
“I don’t think so, just yet at least,” he said. “I didn’t come here to try to get my position back. I came here because I believe there is a traitor somewhere in high command.”
“What?” Angelico said. “Come off it.”
“Have you spent much time thinking about the battle?”
“Well, yes of course, sir. I’ve been thinking about how damn lucky I was you showed up.”
“The luck was Palsay seeing the approach of the Ferrallese division, if there was any luck. Have you thought about why the enemy sent that many men down that corridor, away from the field?”
“Trying to flank us.”
“I forget you weren’t in the war council,” Michael said. He scratched his chin nervously. “I foiled a plan to make us lose that battle. Someone in the council sent a message to Ballaco, and he acted on it. I believe it is Fowler, but I cannot prove it yet.”
“The mage? Why him?”
“He’s the only one that had anything to gain.”
“Maybe he sent a message using magic, eh?”
“Maybe, maybe not. A good spy could have gotten a message out without much difficulty. We like to pretend we have good security, but if you spend a little time at the top of command and you know that security always has flaws. Anyway, I need your help to corner Fowler, before he can try to do anything else.”
“What do you think he’ll do?”
Michael put his palms up. “I really don’t know, partly because I don’t know what’s going on here. My guess is that he’ll do something to push this into a proper siege and then sabotage our efforts.”
Angelico looked off to the camp with a puzzled look on his face. “Why not just kill the king? He’s around him all the time.”
“I don’t know, but I presume if that is what he intended he would have already done that.”
“Then it seems likely to me to be someone other than Towler. Somebody else lower down the command chain without access to the king.”
“Or mayhap he feels the need to escape. It would be easy to do in a battle route.”
“True, true. Or in a siege turned into open battle.”
Michael snapped his fingers. “What if he’s attending the negotiations with the king?”
“It would be an opportunity to kill your father, whilst everyone in the room is disarmed.”
Michael nodded. “We’ve got to keep him away from the king in that contingency. When are the negotiations taking place?”
“Tomorrow at sundown.”
“That’s not much time. Is there some way to keep him occupied and away from the meeting?”
“I’ll try to think of something. Maybe we could start a fire or let the horses out. An event that would force him to attend to the immediate danger and ignore the council, or risk being outed.”
Michael thought for a momen
t. “I’ll present myself tomorrow. My father and brother may accept me into the council as a member of the royal family.”
“What are you going to do against a mage?”
“I have my own mage. She’s very clever. She was with us in the battle.”
“I think I remember her. Sharona? Your brother sent her home quite abruptly. She didn’t seem to care, though. Actually, she seemed a bit happy about it.”
“My brother sent her on?”
“Yes. It was father who sacked the rest of us. But your brother wanted that woman out of camp immediately for some reason.”
Michael frowned. “She can be a bit much. Personality-wise, I mean. But she’s very talented and a sore asset to be lost to the military.”
Angelico shrugged. “That’s not my area of expertise - magic.”
Michael smiled. “I’ve learned a bit. Do you have any men you can trust?”
“Of course. Palsay can always be relied upon, as can Doboro. And you’ve earned a great amount of goodwill yourself. There’s plenty of men in the legion who would follow you to hell and back after what you did in the last battle.”
“What are they calling that battle anyway?”
“The men are calling it Ballaco’s End.”
“Good name,” Michael said, smiling.
*
Michael startled awake and reached for his sword before realizing the face above him in the dim lantern light was Langelo.
“What is it?” Michael croaked.
“Your Highness, I’ve seen a man go over the wall.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was keeping watch on our camp. The big army camp, I mean. I saw a man go up to the city wall and over it.”
“He climbed the wall, or had a ladder let down?” Michael said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
"Neither, Highness. He sort of… floated up."
“Magic?” Michael said, looking around the tent, confused.
“Can’t think of anything else.”
“It’s Towler. We need to watch and see if he comes back down.”
“I’m on it,” Langelo said.
Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness Page 8