Devil's Night Dawning: The First Book of the Broken Stone Series

by Damien Black

  ‘If only I could believe the Temple always justified the Crown’s generosity,’ interjected Horskram sourly.

  Lord Ulnor shot him a piercing glance. ‘Nonetheless, master adept, the Temple is the Almighty’s true agency on this earth – and my understanding is that you crave some sort of boon from its leader here in Strongholm. Might I suggest therefore that such remarks are somewhat injudicious under the circumstances?’

  Horskram scowled, not caring to meet the wily seneschal’s eyes. ‘Indeed you might,’ was all he said, before turning to gaze out of the window.

  ‘Besides,’ continued the steward. ‘There will be foreign mercenaries in our ports, but scarce enough to make a difference to a full-scale war at such short notice. And even if there were, the loan needed to hire them would take too much time to raise.’

  ‘There shall be no further debts incurred by the Crown,’ said Freidheim with an air of finality. ‘Not on this upstart’s account! The White Valravyn and loyal knights and lords shall uphold the security of the realm, as has ever been the case! Let the muster continue – Lord Visigard, send messengers back up north and tell the Woldings to get a move on. Agree nominally to anything within reason if it gets them here in a tenday – I want a united loyalist army on the move by the 15th of Vaxamonath at the very latest.’

  ‘It shall be as you say,’ said Visigard with a stiff bow before leaving, his chequered cloak and Sir Bragamor trailing in his wake.

  The King turned to Horskram. ‘Master monk, as you see I have precious little time to help you in your peculiar mission – though you have impressed on me the importance of its outcome.’

  Hjala caught Lord Ulnor’s eyes narrowing at Horskram. Oh, he didn’t like being kept out of secrets, not one jot.

  Freidheim paused a few moments, as if giving the matter one last weighing before deciding on a course of action.

  ‘You have asked for an audience with the Arch Perfect and leave to make your way to Rima,’ he said. ‘I shall grant you both, but on my terms. Some days from now we shall hold council on the matter of your strange quest. I shall invite His High Holiness to this council, where you can make your petition to him after giving full disclosure of the details surrounding it. Also present shall be my right hand Lord Ulnor, and my brother whom you have already spoken with.’

  Lord Ulnor relaxed visibly. So he would get to learn his precious new secret after all. Hjala sighed inwardly. Men were so predictable in their lust for control. Some might say it was lust for knowledge in this case, but after nearly forty years at court the princess knew it boiled down to the same thing in the end.

  ‘Tarlquist and Torgun and my nephew Wolmar have also had some hand in this affair – I will have them party to this as well,’ her father continued. ‘Finally, my daughter and my dear late wife’s sister Lady Walsa shall be present – the one is as shrewd a counsellor as any despite her gentler sex, and has her letters, which I feel may be of some use in this eldritch matter. The other will simply never let me rest if she hears of her worshipful Horskram on a dangerous mission against the netherworld that she is not privy to!’

  Princess Hjala had to smile at this. Her aunt was as fiery and pious an old harridan as any that ever stalked a king about his court. Horskram suddenly looked extremely bashful, but said nothing.

  As for her own inclusion in the secret council, she was content but hardly happy. Her father often took her into his closest confidence, but that would never mean taking her word over a man’s. Never mind that she was wiser than most men.

  The King added: ‘Whether you choose to include your novice in the council is up to you, master monk. But I must point out that yon squire you travelled with has since been bound to one of my vassals for the duration of this war. I could permit you to summon him without his new knightly master of course – but such a thing would be in breach of all decorum.’

  ‘I quite understand,’ replied Horskram. ‘If I may speak freely, Your Majesty, I am already slightly dismayed by the size of this so-called secret council. It will be no harm if the youth Vaskrian is not present – he already knows everything anyway.’

  The King’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the wilful monk. ‘Your Order’s penchant for secrecy is precisely what got it into such trouble twenty years ago,’ he said frowning. ‘Oh and that reminds me – the Abbot of Ulfang is too far away to summon to this council, but I will not have the head of the local Argolian chapter kept in the dark about something that concerns his Order so closely. Ulnor, you will send word to Prior Holfaste at Urling Monastery as well as the Arch Perfect. Tell them both they are summoned to court for a secret council. On no account will they breathe a word of the reason for their coming, not even to adepts and senior perfects.’

  ‘I shall see to it at once, Your Majesty,’ replied Lord Ulnor, shooting a triumphant glance at the peeved-looking monk before turning on his cane and sweeping out of the chamber.

  ‘Now, if that is all pressing matters dealt with for the time being, I think I will repair next door to eat,’ said the King, relaxing visibly. ‘I have not had the chance of a meal since this morning and ruling restive realms is hungry work! Hjala, my dear, you shall join me. Private council is hereby dismissed.’

  Princess Hjala caught Sir Torgun’s eye as he turned to leave with Sir Tarlquist and the irascible old monk. Her heart skipped a beat as he smiled faintly at her... but then his back was to her, his armour jingling as he strode from the room.

  She sighed inwardly and forced herself to let it go – the ashes had been raked over the fires of that romance long ago.

  Her father sent the page boy to tell servants to prepare food, leaving the two of them alone in the solar.

  Getting to his feet and walking over to a window, the King gazed out at the city he had ruled for half a century and sipped at his watered wine broodingly. Hjala walked over to join him as he emitted a sigh that heaved his broad shoulders up and down.

  ‘After all these years of peace, Ezekiel and Stygnos come to test my resolve again,’ he muttered. ‘Haven’t I shed enough blood already? Don’t I deserve to see out my wintering years untroubled by yet another war? This is what comes of taking the Code of Chivalry too seriously – I should have killed Krulheim when I had the chance! Everyone near me at the time counselled such.’

  His only daughter rested her long, elegant hands on his shoulders. She could feel his muscles, taught beneath the fur cloak he wore over his blue mantle. ‘You would not be the King the people love if you had done such an unmerciful deed,’ she said softly. ‘Krulheim was but a boy.’

  ‘Aye, ‘twould have been an evil deed and a dishonourable,’ muttered her father glumly, taking another swig. ‘I should have disinherited him at least though – now that was foolish.’

  ‘Many said at the time that Krulheim would have been far more likely to rebel had you spared his life but taken away his ancestral birthright,’ she reminded him in a cool voice. ‘It was kill a lordling child in cold blood or spare him and forgive him his father’s sins completely – there was no in-between. And besides, does it not say in the Scriptures that he who visits not the sins of the father on the son is blessed in the Almighty’s eyes?’

  The King grunted noncommittally. ‘Never mind fathers, now you’re sounding like your aunt,’ he said over his shoulder.

  They both chuckled – ever since she had been saved from perdition by Horskram, Lady Walsa had taken to praying and reading the Book of Holy Scripture every day. Princess Hjala was fond of jesting that if she were a man her aunt would have joined the Argolian Order long since.

  ‘No good will come of it all the same,’ continued the King grimly as he finished off his wine. ‘This war will be as bloody as the last one – and this time I will have to be severe with the surviving ringleaders. It would be suicide to be so clement again. So if it’s war Krulheim wants, he’d better make sure he wins or dies in glory on the battlefield – because his life is forfeit if he falls to the Crown alive! Thank Reus he’s got n
o children of his own – at least I’ve been spared having to make that decision again.’

  ‘And what of the other southron barons?’ Hjala pursued.

  The King turned to face his daughter, his grey eyes keen. ‘You mean the brother of your late husband Ulfric? Lord Aelrod will not be spared either. He and every last man of the southron noble houses – their lands, titles and lives are forfeit. Their children I shall send into exile, to live abroad as beggars – I’ll not kill babes in cold blood, not even now, but I won’t spare them the rod either this time around, mark my words!’

  Princess Hjala had let her hands fall to her sides where they clenched into fists of suppressed anger. She hated it when her father reminded her of her dead husband, a man she had loathed at first sight. Especially now, given that his younger brother had allied himself with the new rebellion. Forestalling another uprising had been the whole point of her marriage to Lord Ulfric of Saltcaste in the first place.

  ‘I am sorry that my nuptials were not sufficient to prevent another rebellion,’ she said coldly.

  Her father’s voice softened as he took her gently by the shoulders. ‘Hjala, Hjala – daughter dearest!’ he said. ‘Think not that I blame thee – why, you’ve suffered more than any woman deserves to! It grieves me to know that my only daughter has had to endure such sorrows – ach, truly the Almighty tests us in strange ways!’

  Hjala shook her head to clear away the incipient tears. Unbidden, the bloated faces of her drowning children came floating across the vision of her mind’s eye, tiny bubbles streaming from their mouths through the murky waters of her darkest imaginings.

  Blinking a couple of times, she forced the thought into the back of her mind as she replied stoically: ‘Never mind my grief, at least it is old. All across the realm folk low-born and high are suffering fresh tragedies. No, you are right to be ruthless, father. This time when you ride victorious across the battlefield, you must be merciless – for all our sakes! The southron threat must be extinguished once and for all.’

  The page boy returned to inform His Majesty that a board had been laid in the chamber next door. Without further word on the gloomy subject of war, the two royals went to take their meal. As they did Princess Hjala wondered at their audacity, talking of being ruthless in victory. By land and sea, the rebels outnumbered them nearly twofold.

  CHAPTER V

  A Tryst For Old Lovers

  Princess Hjala pulled her fur blanket further up towards her chin to ward against the chill of early morning; it would be some time before the spring sunshine spread its warmth across her expansive chamber. The windows were covered with thin panes of translucent bone; she disliked shutters and preferred to wake at the first touch of dawn. Oftentimes she awoke long before, for her slumber was frequently troubled and uneasy.

  Happily last night that had not proved to be the case, although she had still forgone a full night’s sleep. At least it was for the best of reasons, she reflected as she turned to stroke Torgun where he lay half asleep beside her. Both of them were naked beneath the blanket, another reason for her feeling cold. But then she had wanted to know him completely last night – it had been so long since she had lain with him.

  Of course it had not been meant to happen at all. Their romance was three years dead, ever since her swain had announced he was joining the White Valravyn and must keep himself pure for the cause. At the time she had remonstrated wildly – Torgun was perhaps the only man she had ever truly loved, assuming she could fathom was love really was.

  It was nonsensical, she had pointed out: the Order was military, not religious; devoted to king and country, not god and temple like the Bethlers of the Pilgrim Kingdoms. Plenty of ravens had wives and mistresses – they didn’t get to see them often, but they kept them nonetheless. Why even his aunt, Lady Karlya, was married to a raven, none other than his own commander Tarlquist.

  But her remonstrations had come to nothing. To be a knight of the Order meant to renounce all other ties, in his stubborn opinion – let others do as they will, he had been gently insistent on that point.

  Besides that, his connection to a member of the royal house was too politically sensitive (though he had hardly put it like that) not to conflict with his new duties.

  And so she had reconciled herself to the inevitable, and learned a bitter lesson: that whilst her paramour might love courtly romance, he loved glory on the battlefield better. For all his charming airs and graces, his outward humbleness, his gallantry and gentleness, in that respect he was a typical knight.

  But during the dancing after last night’s supper – a relatively meagre affair of three courses, ordained by her father in sympathy for victims of the civil war – they had shared a few movements together. And that, it seemed, had rekindled an old flame she had thought long burned out.

  Afterwards all it had taken was a few goblets of strong wine and some kind words to cajole him up to her bedchamber.

  It had been worth the effort. She felt an afterglow in her shapely body that even the morning chill could not completely banish. However, she was still a little shiverish, and so...

  She let her long fingers trace their way across the blond hairs on his muscled torso as she reached down towards his sex. He turned over to face her, his eyes a curious mixture of guilt and desire.

  Happily for her – for them both – Hjala saw to it that the latter soon won.

  When it was over she lay cradled in his arms, enjoying the sensation of warm flesh touching. Turning to look at him again she found to her consternation that the troubled look had returned to his face.

  ‘What is it now?’ she asked, trying and failing to keep the sharpness from her tone.

  ‘Nothing, my sweet princess,’ he replied bashfully. ‘As much as I am honoured by your favours... you know how I feel about this. Last night should not have happened.’

  ‘Oh, no?’ she replied, her face buckling as she propped herself up on a white arm and looked down at him with scorn. ‘And I suppose what happened between you and that little strumpet Lady Merith after you won the tourney at Linden last summer shouldn’t have happened either?’

  The look on Torgun’s face went from troubled to pained. Raising a broad forearm to cover his eyes he replied: ‘Would you had never learned of that. Another mistake.’ Pulling his arm away, he sat up in bed and sighed: ‘Yes, it is true, the Lady Merith and I did have a... romance, for a few moons. But I broke it off with her last year before the coming of the first frosts, I swear to thee!’

  He was looking at her so earnestly now – with those intense blue eyes she loved so much – that the princess had to laugh.

  ‘Oh don’t flagellate yourself about it, my sweet knight,’ she said, sitting up further to face him and pulling the blanket up around them both. ‘I seduced you last night knowing full well what had transpired between the two of you, or have you forgotten? Just don’t lie with me all night and morning and then tell me how “guilty” you feel about it. Save that for your next confession – that’s what the perfects are for, after all.’

  ‘Aye, as you say my princess,’ he muttered. ‘You are right of course – my behaviour just now was churlish. Please accept my humble apologies.’

  Again that earnest look. It inspired contempt in her even as she loved him for it. She doubted there was a sincerer knight in the realm. The kingdom’s greatest warrior, and yet in her arms he was just a troubled and bashful youth again. She loved exercising that hold on him – even as she resented him for knowing how to break it. But she had him now – for a little while longer at least.

  ‘You have my profound forgiveness,’ she said lightly, running her fingers through his rich golden tresses and kissing him full on the lips. Even now she felt desire for him welling up inside her – she who so seldom concerned herself with pleasures of the flesh. Perhaps that was why it was so acute now, she thought reproachfully. But she wasn’t done playing with her paramour’s emotions just yet.

  ‘Now tell me, my sweet paladin,
how many tasks did she set you?’

  Torgun looked at her uneasily, and feigned incomprehension.

  ‘What do you mean, my royal princess?’

  She laughed again, not entirely unkindly, before replying: ‘The lovely Lady Merith – how many tasks did she set you, besides winning the tourney at Linden, before allowing you to enjoy her favours?’

  ‘Why, but I wore her favour on the tourney field before I even won – ’

  ‘Not that kind of favour, Torgun, my prince among knights. I mean the favours of her bedchamber, as well you know.’

  Wincing at her unseemly frankness, he tried to change the subject, but Princess Hjala was in a cruel mood and pressed him ruthlessly.

  ‘Three – including the winning of the tourney,’ he confessed at last in a subdued voice.

  ‘Three!’ she exclaimed, throwing her head back and laughing again. Her sandy brown locks, unbraided by her lover the night before, tumbled across her bare shoulders. ‘Why, I knew it! They said that brazen hussy was dying to take you between her legs since she first arrived at court four years ago!’

  ‘My princess!’ exclaimed Torgun, genuinely shocked. ‘This is no way to talk! Please be kind enough to moderate your language about – ’

  ‘A damsel who schemed to have you, and took you into her bed after the least amount of courtly resistance – all of this despite being married to a loyal vassal of the King at the time? And I wonder what he had to say about the matter? Hah – I don’t see him demanding satisfaction in the lists any time soon!’

  The hurt look in his eyes pained Hjala as much as it brought her pleasure. Why did she play these stupid games? No good ever came of them, nor ever would. Softening her voice she said: ‘Very well, I will moderate my language as you desire – after all there is no need for improper behaviour, is there?’