“He was supposed to be watching over Johan during his meeting with Queen Alanrae. A bit of a chaperone, I suppose, but it’s more likely what my father said, to counter her magic.”
“Who is protecting him now?”
Michael scratched at his beard. “I don’t know. Probably another mage. But she didn’t use any magic last night-”
“You don’t know that. We should find them and make sure.”
“I’m more concerned with keeping Towler occupied.”
Sharona groaned. “He’s occupied. The woman will keep him occupied as long as she feels she wants to, I’m sure.”
“Well, we did throw plenty of money at her. Maybe you’re right. I think Johan and Alanrae were meeting at a grove up by the river, if Angelico heard correctly. We’ll need our horses.”
Sharona pulled up on Rabble-Rouser’s reigns, stopping him well before Michael allowed his own destrier to slow. Two knights stood a few spans away from each other on the plain. The grove of Willows, a sacred site to the people of Ferralla, stood some fifty yards beyond. The knights, bearing the purple tabard of Johan’s legion, each held a crossbow, with a tall lance fitted upright in the saddle.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Michael said, pulling up short.
“Nobody is admitted to yonder meeting,” said one of the knights, a middle-aged man Michael did not recognize.
“I am a prince of Artalland!” Michael said.
“I am sorry, your highness,” said the knight. “But my orders are what they are, and you no longer have command over us.”
“It’s important.”
“Then you can fetch the king, your highness. Until then, we stand for the crown prince.”
Michael growled and pulled Calot around, back to where Sharona still sat, patting the neck of her nervous horse.
“Do you really think they’d shoot you?” Sharona said. “You are the prince, after all.”
“I don’t know what to think. Something’s afoot.”
“I can do something about those men, if you feel it necessary,” Sharona said. “Nothing too permanent.” She shook a bag hanging at her hip.
Michael took a breath. "No. I'm not going to harm good soldiers simply because they are in my way at the moment. We'll - I'll - go find my father. It's best he does not see you. Sorry."
“Why?” Sharona said, her brow wrinkled.
Michael shook his head sighed.
*
The king looked at himself in the mirror, which had cracked somewhere along the long and bloody road from the Citadel of Artifia. He checked his beard and ran a hand through his hair, then checked the fit of his jacket.
"This is all part of the game and the plan, Michael," he said as a servant polished his boots below him. "You need to pay attention and stop second-guessing me. You will soon be the consort of a queen."
“Then why are you allowing Alanrae to meet with Johan?” Michael said, checking his own boots, which were scuffed and muddy, along with his leggings. The cooking oil that had provided such a good shine the day prior had now collected large amounts of dust.
“To make you seem like a compromise, of course.”
Michael cracked his knuckles. “You intend to get rid of me. First, my command, now my place as a prince in Artalland.”
Eduardo looked over at him, his eyes open wide. He looked back at himself in the mirror. “Yes, that is what I intend.”
“Why, father?” Michael said, his voice impassive.
“You leave much to be desired in a king’s son.”
It was an odd feeling to hear his father speak plainly, a kind of sick relief, for Michael had always felt his father had been disappointed in him and favored Johan.
Michael swallowed and cleared his throat. “What have I done to fail you?”
“Many things,” the king said. “But your nature is my primary concern. You are impatient and ambitious. You’re an excellent battlefield commander, your men love you, but these things do not make for a ruler. You have never been willing to be patient or to make the trades necessary to allow a fief or kingdom to endure. Frankly, you are a liability at court. You think not at all of your words or what they might mean. Many times I have had to play politics to protect you and our house from your wagging tongue. I imagine you have no idea how many men have wanted to duel you.”
“I have always done what is right, and spoken the truth as I see it,” Michael said calmly.
“Right is relative, my son. The dictates of the gods are for peasants and their need to be controlled, not for a ruler. The truth… you avoid the truth just as much as the rest of us, but you choose to believe the lie - that is the differences between you and Johan.”
The king turned to him, his face calm. "I bring these imperfections to your attention seldom, and perhaps too gently, because of my love for you. I bring them now for the same reason, that you may improve them, but I know now, and this is the truth, that some things are part of the nature of a man, and cannot be changed. Forever he will be pretending, if he acts other than his nature. For this reason, I choose to remove you, to protect our family, but know that I love you, Michael. You will never be king, but I do love you."
The king sighed and put his arms on Michael’s shoulders. “That is why I will send you not into exile, but into comfort and power, with a beautiful woman. What man could say I do not love my son, given what awaits him?”
“I could,” Michael said.
“And there the truth fails you yet again, my son. Now, it is time. Let us create the finality of this war, and celebrate it. Go fetch some clean clothes.”
“What happened?” Sharona said. “You look pale and disturbed.”
Michael didn’t meet Sharona’s gaze, but stared out at the city of Forgoroto with a frown.
“Michael?” Sharona said, and laid a hand on his arm. He turned back to meet her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. The final agreements on settlement will be happening soon. I… I need to clean up.”
“What about your brother in the grove?”
“All part of my father’s plan, apparently, to make Alanrae desire my brother. He intends for me to marry her, though. He wants... to send me away.”
Sharona looked away and rubbed her horse’s nose lightly. “If he wants you away, you can simply leave. I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Michael said. “I have a duty to my father and my country, to peace, if it is within grasp. Besides, Alanrae is a queen and a beautiful woman. That will be a good life.”
“But will it be your own life?” Sharona said. She looked up at him and he saw that she too was sad.
“Whose else?”
Sharona shook her head and stepped into her saddle. "You should have less muddy clothes. Let's head back."
Michael nodded and mounted Calot.
*
Michael walked to the left of his father between the assembled and armed ranks of the army, determined to match the old man’s impassive forward-facing stare. Things were at least laid bare, and whether his subterfuge against Towler had prevented anything or not, there was a truth looming that soon it would no longer be an obligation upon his honor. He would depart the House of Harthino, if things went according to his father’s plan, and he could not see now how they would not, unless they were thwarted at the last by Towler.
Perhaps I should trust my father more. He has probably considered all of this, he thought to himself, as they walked through the rows of men standing at attention, their armor burnished and shining orange in the fiery sunset. Their faces were clean and hard, their eyes the only thing that moved, watching him and his father and brother walk as kings and princes, arrayed in gold and blue silk.
The meeting place waited beyond the legions, a wide stretch of grass, now missing its tall tent and holding at its center a single wooden table flanked by priests - two from the cult of Artifia, dressed in clean linen, two from the cult of Ferral, wearing black leather. Far on the other side stood the iron gates and the wall of Fo
rgoroto. Before it was arrayed two legions of Ferrallese warriors of various function, with the archer corps lining the parapets of the walls in bright mail.
“I should say something more to each of you,” King Eduardo said, as they passed through the last ranks of soldiers: knights and cavalry officers with their lances raised and meeting high above, forming a tunnel of waving flags and painted oak.
"Yes, father?" Johan said, from the King's right-hand side.
“I owe thanks to each of you for this victory. Your command of your soldiers in battle has grown in the campaign, and here we reap what was sown in blood. You too, Michael,” the king said, turning to look at his younger son. “This victory is as much yours as anyone’s, though I was forced to bring judgment upon you. I regret that I will be giving the best cavalry officer in a generation to my enemies. May you turn your tact to other borders.”
“I am still of the House of Harthino,” Michael said. “Wherever you send me, you cannot take away my true name. That should be enough to satisfy you, father.”
Eduardo nodded. They walked on in silence for a few minutes, the yards from their lines growing until the men looked like an indistinct mass of spears and shields. They approached the table, which was simple and rugged, at the same time as Alanrae and her cousins from the other side. All of them paused, and the king and queen approached the table alone.
Eduardo held forth a scroll and Alanrae took it. She read it over.
“Which one shall be consort?” she asked.
“Michael, the younger,” Eduardo replied.
“Johan could not convince you?”
“It is my decision which is most valuable to my house,” Eduardo said.
"Michael was well spoken of by the crown prince. A man of courage and loyalty. He will make a noble consort and righteous father. And in compromise, we shall keep the east end of Pious’s Fall.”
“So let it be written.”
Alanrae took a pen from one of the clerics in black leather, wrote upon the scroll, and signed her name. She handed the pen to Eduardo, who signed as well.
“Peace now lays between us,” Alanrae said. She looked to Michael and smiled, and Michael saw that she was indeed beautiful. Her eyes lingered on him, searching him, but they seemed at that moment unloving, though certainly powerful.
“May it lay long with the blending of our blood,” Eduardo said.
Slowly, they all turned to leave the table, and a great roar went up from both encampments.
Michael took a deep, cleansing breath. The war was at last over.
“What now?” Michael said as they walked back, raising his voice to carry over the sound of shouts and claps, spears on shields, and the sounding of war horns. They entered a vast stretch between the first formations, waving. General Butler stood waiting for them in his full armor, and his visor up. He wore a smile that wrinkled his old face beyond its normal hard frown lines.
"We drink and be merry," Eduardo said. "We'll leave three companies on guard at all times, still, for there could still be betrayal or, more likely, misbehavior in the ranks."
“A little tolerance will go a long way toward engendering loyalty at home,” Johan said.
“I agree, but this is still an army.”
“I meant,” Michael said, now having to shout over the cheering. “What is next with Ferralla and Alanrae. When…”
“Details of the marriage will be worked out in due time. You will remain here when we leave, then I or Johan will return as witness for the ceremony. Unless you wish to wed her straight away.” Eduardo laughed. “And I would not blame you.”
"Luckily, I brought along most of my effects," Michael said. "But I, of course, I would love to-"
Michael stopped on the ground, feeling an odd sensation in his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Johan said, stopping and turning back.
“Come along,” Eduardo shouted from some paces ahead, not breaking his stride. Butler had fallen in beside him, and they were talking to one another.
“You feel that in the ground? Do you hear that?” Michael said.
“I hear cheering and feel stomping,” Johan said.
“There’s a.... a whistling.”
Johan inclined his head. “I hear that, too.”
“No! What I mean is-” Michael broke off as he felt a twig snap in his pocket. “Something’s wrong!” He drew his sword. “Father! There’s something wrong!”
“What?” Eduardo said, finally pausing. He turned around to face his son, and that is when Michael saw it: a misty smoke was rising from the earth around his father and the general, spreading out over the ground. It seemed to be billowing from the ranks of the soldiers pressed around them as well, but Michael could not see from whence it came.
“Run father!” Michael said, charging up the hill toward the king. He paused in his stride as an arrow landed nearby. He searched around and saw that it had come from their own lines, some twenty yards to his right. A few more arrows were loosed, along with crossbow bolts, all aimed at him but flying wide of him. “You fools!” Michael shouted. “I’m not trying to kill the king!” Two arrows landed in front of him, and his momentum caused him to fall to avoid them.
He was too late, though. The mist was drawing up, obscuring the king. A curtain of smoke appeared, dashing out into the ranks on either side with supernatural speed. Michael saw rush from the lines, as if sprinting, two indistinct shapes roughly like men. Michael felt the twig in his pocket break two more times. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the bag of charcoal. He flung it as hard as he could toward the king and the general. It burst into a ball of fire and smoke, ash falling in a curtain by the two men.
The two man shapes were clear now, covered in burning soot which did not seem to phase them. They were already too close to the king. They seized upon Eduardo, dragging him down to the ground. Black steel flashed in the mist. Butler drew his sword and went to kick one of the shadowy figures, but no sooner had he attacked then both shapes were on him, each wielding a sword and a vicious black dagger. Even in the mist Michael could see the points working into the gaps of Butler’s armor as he tumbled. Michael leapt up again, pumping his arms to sprint toward his father. Johan was near him as well, his sword drawn. The lines were holding on either side, uncertain as to what was happening and blinded by the smoke.
As they approached the king, the shapes leapt back. Michael saw two pairs of eyes of shifting colors, glowing with their own inner light, and long, slightly drooping ears above black masks. Their shapes, as Michael watched them regard him, were indistinct around the edges, almost blurry. With a snap of magic, they unleashed a circle of fire that sent Johan diving away and came running toward him. Michael held up his sword, but, as if suddenly aware of the steel, the figures dashed wide.
Michael felt suddenly torn for an agonizing moment. He saw his father and Butler lying motionless in front of him, blood oozing from wounds that were barely visible in the ashen smoke. He turned and saw the figures dashing away, smoke and mist encircling them, obscuring their shapes and confusing the lines of fighting men, who were finally moving to attack them.
"Go!" Johan said. "I'll see to Father."
Michael nodded and tore off after the two… were they elves? Michael had seen orcs and elves before, but these looked different, their ears, eyes, and hair strange. He sprinted forward with reckless determination, but the mist that had sprung up during the attack seemed to be following the assassins and thickening, and they were outpacing him easily, becoming mere shadows in a smokey reek. The lines of fighting men shouted from his left, and Michael had to force his watering eyes open to keep sight of his target.
“Here, take my hand!”
Michael had not heard the approach of the galloping horse. On his right appeared Sharona, looking scared, her eyes watering and her face stained with tears. She reached an arm down and Michael grabbed it, nearly pulling her off the horse.
“It’s not going to work,” Michael said. “Slow down
!”
She complied, and he was able to climb on top of the horse and slide down into the saddle behind Sharona. She lashed the reigns and Rabble-Rouser took off again, running into the mist.
“I’m sorry,” Sharona said. The mist was now swirling all around them, lit only by the dying light of the setting sun in a dull red.
“Just keep on,” Michael said. “How can you know where they are in all this?”
“I can feel the magic,” Sharona said. “I’m sorry I was too late. I felt them coming.”
“Just keep on,” Michael said. “I fear they have slain my father.”
“They have. Even if he breathes, I fear there will be no healing that can save him. Those daggers have a magic to them.”
“Damn it!” Michael said.
They galloped on, until Rabble-Rouser was foaming and crying for a pause, into the mist that led ever onward, the assassins running with an inhuman amount of speed, and yet Michael could still catch sight of them in the fog here and there, or at least thought he could. At last, Sharona slowed the beast. Before them rose trees: willows and hemlocks, alongside great oaks, massively tall, tightly grouped, with a diversity of natural paths splitting the foliage, paths which seemed to disappear into glowing obscurity in the mist.
“They’re gone,” Sharona said.
Michael leapt out of the saddle. “They’ve gone into the wood here.”
“Michael!” Sharona said. “Wait, please!”
“There’s no time!” Michael said. He stopped, panting, as Sharona cut him off with her horse.
“Michael! Look at the trees.”
At last feeling out of breath, Michael looked carefully at the trees, which seemed lit strangely, as if from below, but there was no source to be seen. They, like the assassins, seemed blurry and indistinct, difficult to see clearly. Michael felt almost drunk gazing at them. Above, he could see nothing but mist.
“Where are we?” he said at last. “There’s not a forest for miles and miles.”
“I don’t know,” Sharona said. “But those were mages, and dark elves at that. We dare not follow them into that… whatever realm that is, if we even can.”
Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness Page 11