Heedless of the sun’s glare and the gusting breeze, Roderic watched as the battered regiments staggered through the main thoroughfare of the tent city surrounding Ithan and disappeared through the gates. He frowned as he recognized the colors of the regiments. These were the men he had sent to Dlas with orders to reinforce the garrison there. Brand was going to be frantic.
Grim-faced, he marched down to the hall, to find a scene bordering on chaos. The exhausted men were slumped on every available bench or chair. The wounded lay in long rows near the dais, and Lady Norah, with the other women of the household, bustled about, finding blankets, offering cups of hot wine and cider steaming with spices, or pieces of bread and hastily sliced meats and cheese. Among the wounded, the physicians bent here and there, calling for bandages, ointments, and salves, and more than once, a sheet to place over the face of a dead soldier.
Roderic glanced around the room. Brand and Miles were nowhere to be seen. He squatted next to a man who huddled by one of the hearths, hands cradling a goblet. On the tattered tunic were the remnants of a captain’s insignia. “What happened, Captain?”
“Lord Prince.” The man offered a weary salute. “I didn’t think we’d make it back. We were lucky to get so far, and then we ran into the bad weather. Storms, Lord Prince, swirling clouds of dust which reached from the sky to the ground. They came up out of nowhere, it seemed. We must have lost almost half again as many on the Arkan Plains.”
“Did the Harleyriders attack?” Brand spoke quietly, grimly, and Roderic looked up to see his brother standing over his shoulder. He knew by the look on Brand’s face that he, too, had recognized the troops.
“Harleyriders? Monsters. They looked like Harleyriders, Lord Prince. But—”
“What do you mean?” Brand demanded, and Roderic knew that worry for his son made him sound harsher than he would ever intend otherwise. “Was it Harleyriders, or wasn’t it?”
The other man stared up at him. “I wish I could say, Captain Brand. But in truth—yes, they were Harleyriders. They looked like Harleyriders and smelled like Harleyriders. But they fought like no other men I have ever encountered in my life.” He shuddered and, despite the heat of the day, pulled the blanket tighter around him.
Brand narrowed his eyes. “Captain—”
Roderic rose and put his hand on Brand’s arm. It was obvious to him that the men had been through a great deal. There would be plenty of time to hear them out, to ask questions and gather information.
“Lord Prince,” said a man who wore a sergeant’s stripes on his bloodstained sleeve, “Captain Brand. It wasn’t Harleys. Was monsters dressed as Harleys. I’ve never seen the like. They looked like men from a distance, but when we got up close, it was like they were already dead.”
“What?” The hair rose on the back of Roderic’s neck.
“Where did you meet these—these monsters?” asked Brand, his voice taut with suspicion.
“When we reached the border of Dlas, Captain,” answered the sergeant. “We never made it to the garrison. They just appeared out of the desert and kept coming.”
“What do you mean by that?” A tic had appeared beneath Brand’s left eye.
“We crossed into Dlas, and right on the Loma border, in the hills, they were waiting for us. We couldn’t shake them—they just kept coming.”
“Day and night, Lord Prince,” said the captain. He stared into the cold hearth with dull eyes. “We had no sleep—they followed us all the way back to Arkan, and then the dust storms hit.”
“What’s your name, Captain?” Brand bit out the words.
“Jonovon, captain of the Fourth Regiment, Fifth Division.”
“Your orders were clear,” Brand said.
Jonovon raised his face and met Brand’s angry eyes calmly, wearing the expression of a man who knows he has done his duty. “Captain, I am well aware what my orders were. But you have to believe me when I tell you I have never seen anything like this. These soldiers, whatever they were, had such accuracy—whatever they took aim at, they hit.”
“Lord Prince.” Another man, roused from a fitful sleep by the voices, struggled to a sitting position near the sergeant, “My name is Athal. The captain’s right. These Harleys weren’t like any others I have ever seen in my life. I saw them take direct hits and just ignore them. There was no way we could have gotten any further in Dlas without losing every man.”
“Lord Prince—” Another tugged at Roderic’s hand. His voice was no more than a weak whisper, and Roderic bent down on one knee to hear him. “The winds, Lord Prince, when the enemy stopped, the winds followed us, as though some hand controlled nature itself.”
Roderic looked at Brand. He got to his feet once more. “All right, men. Thank you for the information. We’ll need to talk more with you, but for right now, rest. Lady Norah will see you have all you need.” He cleared his throat and gestured to Brand. “Come.”
The two threaded their way through the ranks. In the doorway of the council room, Roderic paused and saw Miles cross the hall, dismay plain on his face. He motioned to Miles. As the Senador made his way to the council room, Roderic shivered, despite the warmth of the stuffy room. “What do you think of this?”
“Call up every available reserve. Someone’s got to get down there and relieve the garrison at Dlas as soon as possible. If those things—whatever they are—intercepted these men, then there’s a likely chance the garrison is besieged.”
Roderic caught Miles’s eye. The Senador’s face was set and grim, but there was a wordless pity in his expression as he looked at Brand. Miles understood that Brand spoke as a father. “First,” Roderic said, choosing his words carefully, “I need reports from all those men, especially the officers. We have to know what we are dealing with.”
“I agree,” Brand said, still frowning, “but dispatches should go out immediately to the reserves held at Ahga.”
Miles drew a sharp breath and Roderic shot him a cautionary look. “Why don’t you do that now, Brand? I’ll have Henrode and his scribes begin to take down the reports. It won’t take long to find out what we need to know.”
Brand spun on his heel and was gone before Roderic had the chance to say anything more. Miles let out a long breath. “He’s more upset than I’ve ever seen him.”
Roderic nodded. “He’s lost his wife in this war. He can’t stand the thought of losing his son, too.”
Miles nodded slowly, and the two men stared a few minutes as the hall was gradually restored to some semblance of order under Norah’s capable ministrations. Roderic watched her moving amongst the wounded men and something twisted in his gut. The thought of losing Annandale was more than he could bear.
Long into the night, Roderic read the reports scribbled in Henrode’s hastiest hand. As dawn approached, he put the last piece of parchment down on the stack piled high on his desk and covered his tired eyes with one hand. What the reports amounted to was terrifying in its simplicity. Ordered to reinforce the garrison at Dlas, the army had met no resistance at all, until they had crossed the Loma border. There, as they headed toward Dlas, they encountered an enemy such as they had never met before. Although the soldiers looked like Harleyriders, they didn’t fight like Harleyriders. Some were clad in rags, and some wore the black leather of the Riders. All fought with polished steel. They fought with grim ferocity, stopped by neither dark, nor weather, nor lack of food or sleep. Their numbers were impossible to estimate.
In their thousands, they pursued the hapless troops across Loma, through swirling storms of dust and debris, then, as if by some internal signal, the enemy stopped in a silent line at the Loma desert, in an eerie row, staring north at the escaping troops.
As Roderic shuffled through the pages, reading the grim news over and over, one parchment caught his attention. He paused, fingering the report as a chill shuddered through him. In the center of the page, one poor wretch had drawn the symbol on the shields carried by these unknown foes: an inverted triangle topped by a crescent
. The hair on the back of his neck rose. It was the same sign he had seen in Nydia’s flames all those months and months ago, on the day he had first met Annandale.
He wet his lips and closed his eyes, and Annandale’s face rose before him. Those eyes, blue as the summer sea beneath a cloudless sky, gazed back at him, and he remembered the nights spent in her arms, her gentle smile, her merry laugh. What if she were lost to him forever? he wondered. How could he endure her loss?
He shoved the thought aside. Nothing was to be gained by brooding upon things which had not yet come to pass. Annandale was safe among the Mutens. She had to be. The remains of the fire hissed in the hearth and a low wind moaned. He glanced outside the window, where a gray dawn was spreading behind the purple mountains.
He rubbed his eyes, gathered the parchments together in one neat heap, and went to dress. There was no chance of sleep for him.
Henrode was waiting as he strode into the council room, his ink-stained fingers already scratching his pen over parchment. “Henrode,” Roderic said, surprised, “what are you doing here?”
The scribe shot Roderic a look of exasperation. “Lord Prince, I have been your scribe for more than three years now. I know when you will want to send out dispatches. Here. You might sign these.”
Amused, despite the situation, Roderic picked up the papers. Among them were the summons to the last of the reserves held at Ahga. Roderic picked up Henrode’s pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom. A small stab of anxiety quivered through him. These were the last of the professional troops. It would be well to order a conscription of the able-bodied men amongst the farmers and the merchants. As he opened his mouth to tell Henrode to write an additional order, Brand entered the room.
“Good morning, Roderic.” Brand’s face was pale and the shadows were dark beneath his eyes. He looked like a man who had spent the night fighting demons.
Before Roderic could respond, bearers carrying Phineas’s litter marched into the room, followed by a yawning Miles.
Roderic took his customary seat at the head of the table. A servant brought food and set plates and goblets on the table. He bowed briefly, then shut the door behind him. Roderic reached for a piece of bread and gestured to the other men to help themselves. He tapped the stack of parchments on the table. “I will assume you all are aware of what is in these reports.”
Miles nodded slowly. “I’m not sure I believe it. I’ve never heard of anything like this before in my life.”
“There’re too many men involved not to believe it,” Roderic replied.
“Oh, I agree, Roderic. The question isn’t whether it’s real or not, it’s—”
“How we fight it,” interrupted Brand.
“Exactly.” Roderic pushed back his chair and walked over to the windows. “Recommendations, gentlemen?”
“We must get down there as quickly as we possibly can,” said Brand. “Are those dispatches ready to go out?” He glanced at Henrode.
“I signed them this morning,” answered Roderic.
“Gentlemen,” Phineas said softly, “I agree that the garrison at Dlas must be relieved. But I think the reports we have all heard warrant greater caution. Given the depleted state of our men and our supplies, sending more troops down there may be suicidal.”
“Phineas,” Brand said, “Dlas is too important—”
“Brand.” The older man spoke so quietly, Roderic had to strain to hear him. “Dlas is of minor strategic importance at the moment. I know the safety of the men at the garrison means a great deal to you—it means a great deal to us all. But this is an enemy unlike any our men have ever faced. We have to consider how best to fight him.”
“Him?” Miles asked.
“Amanander’s behind this,” said Roderic. “The reports are too similar to the soldiers Amanander used last summer. The only difference is he seems to have recruited Harleyriders.”
“We suspected that from the beginning,” said Brand. “What does it matter who fights for him? And I beg to differ with you, Phineas. Dlas is of strategic importance and always has been. Dlas protects the underbelly of Arkan. From Dlas, it’s an easy march into Missiluse. We lose Dlas and we lose a key position.”
“We don’t know yet if we’ve lost Dlas,” replied Phineas. “You are making an assumption that the garrison has either been attacked and is lost, or is under attack and must be relieved. Neither is certain.”
“So you’re suggesting we sit and wait? For what?” Brand thrust his chair back from the table. “Must Amanander’s army come knocking on the walls of Ithan?”
Roderic exchanged a glance with Miles. “We haven’t exactly been idle here, Brand. Fighting a war on this many fronts requires a certain amount of coordination—”
“Indeed. And while we coordinate, Amanander gains ground.”
“What ground has Amanander gained?” Roderic shot back. “Our troops were beaten once. Kye maintains his position in Atland, the Arkan lords hold fast, Everard has contained the Mutens in the North. Yes, I agree that the time is coming soon for us to plan a major offensive. But, Brand, we have to know what we’re fighting in order to win.”
“So what are you suggesting, Roderic?”
“I am suggesting that a scouting party be sent into Dlas. We need to know everything we can learn about these Harleyriders. It won’t take the scouts long to return. And by the time they do, the reserves I’ve called from Ahga will be here. Then we can act.”
“And in the meantime, brave men at Dlas may be under siege or worse, while we sit and wait for information?” Brand got to his feet. “No. That’s not acceptable.”
“Then what would you find acceptable?’ asked Phineas.
Brand stared at Phineas and force of long discipline made him square his shoulders. “Let me take some men down there. Send the scouts with me—you know I have more years fighting the Harleys than almost anyone here. That way I will be in position to command the reserves from Ahga—to secure the roads from here to there—”
“And to ensure that Barran is alive and safe?” Phineas spoke gently.
Brand’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Are you suggesting—?”
“No,” interrupted Phineas. “I understand your concern for your son, Brand.” He cleared his throat and looked at Roderic. “What do you say to the captain’s suggestion, Lord Prince?”
Roderic thought quickly, and looked from one man to the other. He loved both of them, had trusted their counsel for as long as he had been Regent. He understood Brand’s fear for his son. Forcing Brand to stay at I than would only further frustrate him. “I think,” he said slowly, “I shall miss your presence, Brand. But I also think your absence may serve us well.”
He saw the satisfaction leap into Brand’s eyes and knew that Phineas watched them both with a troubled frown.
A cold sun rose on the day Roderic bid good-bye to Brand. The calendar proclaimed it the first of Gost; Roderic, shivering as he rose before the stars had set, thought it felt more like the first of Tober. There was an autumnal chill in the morning air as Roderic walked down the steps of Ithan where his brother awaited him, already mounted on his horse.
As the heralds blew the orders to move out, Roderic reached for his brother’s hand. “The One be with you.”
“And keep you,” Brand answered.
“Remember, don’t provoke an attack. We need information more than anything.”
“Roderic, you sound like an old woman.”
“I’ll send those reserves out as soon I can.”
“I know. Farewell, little brother.”
Unexpectedly, Roderic’s throat thickened and his vision blurred. He had relied upon Brand’s experience and his advice for so long, it seemed unbelievable that his brother was leaving without him. “Farewell.”
With a grim little smile, Brand tugged at the reins and turned his horse. He rode out the gates after the long column of men and wagons.
Roderic stood watching as the regiments were lost in the misty daw
n. He heard a distant cheer go up as Brand galloped past the lines to take his place at the head of the army. Would Brand have been so eager, Roderic wondered, if he knew that the Prince he fought for was not the true heir? If he knew that the man whose blood he sought to shed was more his brother’s than the man whose blood he’d pledged to die for? Yes, he decided at last, it wouldn’t matter to Brand. For Brand went to fight for his son, and Barran meant more to him than all the gold in Ahga. He thought of Rhodri, of the child who lay sleeping in his cradle, of Melisande who played and danced and laughed with such abandon. Perhaps Brand was right, he thought. Perhaps children were the only thing worth fighting for.
Chapter Twenty-four
Less than a week after Brand’s departure, the first of the reports from the scouts began to filter into Ithan, and Roderic lingered long into the nights with Phineas and Miles, drawing upon every scrap of information they could glean from the soldiers who had returned from Loma. On a chilly Gost night, it seemed Roderic had just closed his eyes when frantic knocking at the door of the outer room made him bolt awake.
By reflex, he grabbed for his sword, encountered a bed robe instead, and threw it over his shoulders. He hurried into the outer room to see a sleepy Ben opening the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Roderic tied the belt around his waist as the old man threw open the door. “What’s wrong?”
In the rushlit hall, a sentry stood at attention. “You must come at once, Lord Prince.”
“What’s going on? Has anyone died?”
“No, Lord Prince. Chiavett Kahn, Lord Prince. He arrived moments ago.”
“Who?”
“He claims to be the leader of the Harleyriders.”
“What? A Harleyrider? Here? In Ithan?”
“As I said, Lord Prince.”
Roderic stared at the man. His stolid face was set. “Where is he now?”
“In the hall, Lord Prince.”
“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I dress. Take him— have someone take him to the council room. PU be there as soon as I can.”
The Misbegotten King Page 20