The General's Legacy - Part One: Inheritance

by Adrian G Hilder

  Greta smiled sweetly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need some time alone with my boy.’

  Greta gave her a kindly ‘I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing’ look.

  Cory had just finished washing his hair when the door opened and Julia slipped through it, then sat on a stool by the bath. Wordlessly, she dried his hair with the small towel she had used to dry her own hair and then stood up. ‘Come on, get up,’ she smiled at him.

  ‘Have you got a towel?’ Cory asked uncertainly.

  There was no change of expression or break in eye contact with him as she unwrapped the towel from around herself and held it out for him. Cory was struck by how different life could feel from one heartbeat to another. He got out of the bath, dried himself off and dropped the towel onto the stool. Julia put her arms around his neck and he drew her to him with his arms around her waist. A warm and impossibly soft sensation overcame him. She was about to say something, but her mouth became busy. It could wait. Her feet left the floor behind as she was carried to the bed and into a timeless world where nothing else mattered.

  In the dark, when a sense of time returned, Julia spoke. ‘You’ll have to ask me to marry you properly, you know. Ask my father first.’

  ‘Course I will — but, oh, what if he says no?’ Cory grinned.

  ‘I would change his mind for him. When it is something I really want, I don’t give up. Would you believe he forbade me from taking up music and joining the orchestra at one time? “It’s not an appropriate activity for a princess,” he used to say. “Princesses watch performances, they don’t give them.”’

  ‘I’ve no idea how I’m going to kiss you and not think of this now.’

  ‘Is that a good idea when we are out with other people?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘So you understand why I stopped kissing you? You’re not the only one who desires… everything.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Clever boy.’

  ‘I just wish you’d told me so I understood. And don’t I qualify as a man yet?!’ He chuckled.

  He sensed rather than saw the mischievous smile in the dark.

  ‘I’m not sure; you’d better show me again.’

  ***

  The real world crashed in like a battering ram on a castle gate with a heavy repeated thumping on the door. Julia sat up with a start, tearing herself from Cory’s sleepy embrace.

  No!

  The forgotten fact that she was leaving was cruelly remembered. Cory dressed, opened the door and squinted into the piercing bright morning.

  ‘Time to leave,’ said a voice as stern as the thumping on the door and carrying the air of military authority. The man stood a little taller than Cory with the sun reflecting off his tanned, hairless head. It was difficult to judge the age of the man, but the salt-and-pepper moustache and triangular patch of beard on his chin set him somewhere in his middle years. He wore chainmail over leather, a long sword at his belt and a crossbow over his back the way most men wear a casual jacket. He looked Cory up and down and gave a sly smile decorated with a glint from gold canine teeth. ‘I was expecting Miss Ferand to be prettier than you.’

  ‘She’s just coming.’ A chuckle escaped Cory despite his growing sense of despair. ‘Who are you people?’

  ‘Bandit Country Operators. Jaygee in command. Thought I’d take this trip myself in view of the money on offer.’

  ‘I know the name. My grandfather used to talk about the special operators.’

  ‘And which prince are you?’

  ‘Cory.’

  ‘Haven’t seen you since you were this high.’ Jaygee waved his hand somewhere around waist height.

  Greta and Pico arrived and loaded bags onto an ugly carriage that had wide wheels with metal plates fixed over the spokes. Julia’s brown mare was already roped to it. Jaygee tightened straps and looked on as Julia emerged in her Nearhon travelling clothes. She hugged Greta before entering Cory’s embrace.

  ‘I’ll fix this, whatever it takes,’ he said when the last kiss finally ended.

  ‘I know you will,’ she replied, giving him a smile filled with all the adoration she could muster. Better that than try to speak more and leave him with her tears as a parting memory. She hid under her floppy hat until she got into the carriage.

  Walking up to Jaygee, Cory offered a warrior’s hand shake and started to speak. ‘Look —’

  ‘Spare me the “she’s precious” speech, lad. Already had it from her father, and he’s paying. Mount up, men, we’re moving out.’

  The carriage jostled down the road flanked by four horsemen and disappeared around the corner. Tranmure suddenly felt quiet and empty.

  Cory put an arm around Greta and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Thank you for yesterday, Greta,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right, I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.’

  ***

  ‘I think I’ve upset the boys,’ King Ceoric told the darkness.

  ‘Is that what you were brooding about last night?’ Leanna asked, rolling onto her side to look at her husband. Why did these conversations always have to start when she was trying to sleep?

  ‘Pragius is the broody one; I can hardly get a word out of him these days, outside of work. I think he’s working too hard in his office at all hours. Either that or he’s had trouble with a girl again. Sebastian is stressed about dealing with the Emirian ambassador and complains about my lack of support. Neither of them has any idea how hard it is to pick up the role of ruling monarch when their grandmother held everything so close to her chest and wouldn’t let me in. Over twenty years of experience as the kingdom grew and she insisted on keeping it all to herself like she was going to be queen forever.’

  ‘Why don’t you talk to them about it? Get them on your side? You’ll have to sooner or later.’

  ‘I’m trying to protect their memory of their grandmother and protect them from the mess, I suppose. Cory’s not happy with me either; he didn’t like my suggestion that Princess Ferand might be using her time here to spy on us.’

  ‘Well, my scout in the kitchen told me many weeks ago that was not likely.’

  ‘How would Mrs Samshaw know?’

  ‘Just the little things people do when they think no one’s watching.’ She tapped him on the nose with her index finger to make the point.

  ‘She’s been called home,’ Ceoric said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m assured people travelling with her will be trying to find out.’

  ‘So when are you going to talk to the boys?’

  ‘It will have to be after the annual commander’s dinner when I’m back from my tour of the kingdom.’

  ‘Well don’t leave it too long. Can we go to sleep now?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Ceoric closed his eyes. Eventually, his mind stopped chewing over all the things he had to do and sleep came.

  Chapter 7

  The Storm

  The Battle of Ostmere, 1848.

  Kingdom Army of Valendo led by King-Consort General Garon Allus Artifex-Dendra.

  Deaths: approximately 2800.

  Kingdom Army of Nearhon led by General Magnar.

  Deaths: approximately 3600.

  — Excerpt from the War Histories of Valendo

  Dark clouds over the depths of the valley rolled in from the south. Cory watched them come while he slouched against the tree on the hill where he had once sat with Julia’s head lying on his lap. He remembered seeing her face partly covered by her messy hair, her delightful blue eyes peeking out and staring right into his heart. He had seen her almost every day for months, but she had now been gone for two weeks. It felt like something inside him had left to go with her. A craving ripped at his mind, heart and somewhere further down.

  He looked north, towards Nearhon. She would be somewhere over the mountains. He fooled himself that if he concentrated he could somehow tell exactly which direction s
he was in. This was silly. He should just ride to Plain Lake City and fix whatever the problem was, just as he had told her he would. It couldn’t be that hard. He promised himself he would leave in the morning. His grandfather had left him money; he could hire whatever security he needed.

  Distant thunder pulled him from his thoughts. Flickering lightning in the sky broke free, striking an intense white crack down the mountainside on the opposite side of the valley. Moments later, the storm cracked the mountainside again. Looking up at the branches overhead, he imagined a lightning strike and then the tree in flames. He stood and ran back to Sunny tethered at the foot of the hill, nineteen hands of warmth, strength and salvation from the storm. Rain fell in a black veil hanging below the clouds still miles off, but the wind howled at him right out of that boiling abyss. It snapped at Sunny’s hindquarters as he galloped back to Tranmure. There was a concert on tonight. The orchestra house would be the ideal refuge from the rain and the music an antidote to thunder. Cory decided to leave Sunny at the stables next to the orchestra house. He would get caught in the rain for sure if he tried to take him back to the palace stables.

  ***

  Pragius had striven all day to penetrate the mystery of why the use of magic caused such exhaustion and stress. It had been hanging there like an elusive winking star in the night sky, almost from the start. Fighting through the treacle fog of his own fatigue, in the grip of frustration, he pored over the pages of the book like never before. The answers had to be here, but grabbing onto them was like trying to grasp a fistful of mist. The contents of the pages changed depending on what order he read them in and even how quickly he read them. It didn’t help matters that the sky was starting to turn grey and the room dimmed, the faithful light of day forced to retreat.

  But, of course, he had learned to solve that problem before. He looked up from the book for a moment, passing his hands in front of his eyes while making some quiet sounds. The room and the book appeared to him as brilliantly lit as a bright summer day. He read on. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Pragius, half an hour until the meeting,’ King Ceoric announced. His footsteps then disappeared into silence.

  I only have half an hour to finish this, or I’ll be starting again. Hours wasted, Pragius thought. Angry now, he gritted his teeth, reading, heart racing, tension pulling across his chest and pain stabbing his head.

  ***

  ‘I promise you… dear friend… this is the last time I will ask this of you.’

  Magnar caressed Rancave’s shoulders from behind as the young mage sat at a table. They were in a dark place isolated in a globe of warm light created by a single candle. A leather-bound book lay open before Rancave.

  ‘I hate this. It’s a long way from here to Tranmure, and it pains me.’ Rancave winced in anticipation of what he thought was to come. Reaching for the magic in his mind, he started to read. Every sentence stepped up the pain until he began to growl the incomprehensible words.

  Magnar waited like a venomous snake observing an approaching rodent, marking time under his breath and allowing Rancave’s words to drift beneath his consciousness.

  The counting of moments blended into the words of his own magic harmonising with Rancave’s incantation. Magnar struck, locked his hand over Rancave’s heart, yelled euphoric and screeching words wedded to a magical electric fizz escaping from his fingers. Rancave sat bolt upright in shock, then fell to the desk like a healthy tree harvested before its time.

  ***

  Pragius almost leapt out of his seat in excitement. He was finally getting it! He settled down and read on, eager as a child with his first storybook.

  Suddenly, he felt a crushing weight on his chest. Hot knives played a merry dance in and out of his head. His trembling hands raked at his ribs. The agony he felt escaped in a groan and all his limbs went into spasm.

  Then there was nothing. It all passed. A blissful release, like the sudden parting of storm clouds revealing a calm night sky scattered with beautiful starlight. Pragius’ mind was clear. There was no pain, no aches or fatigue. No anger. Not even relief that it had all ended. There was nothing at all.

  I may as well carry on with the day then, Pragius thought. He picked up the notebook he used to record details about the representative’s meetings. Then he put it down again. He didn’t need it; he remembered all at once everything that had ever been said at the meetings he had attended. That being the case, he would easily remember everything said in just one meeting today.

  As he entered the meeting room the grandfather clock informed Pragius he was five minutes early. The first to arrive. He watched the pendulum swing, then muttered a few words of magic. The battle mages called it battle sense. Whatever it was, it allowed him to perceive the weight’s gradual downward progress and calculated someone would have to pull it up in about thirty-six hours’ time to keep the pendulum swinging.

  His father arrived and smiled at him. Pragius watched him sit in his usual seat. He stared in fascination at each of the representatives as they entered and took their seats.

  Smiling, Pragius sat back and laced his hands behind his head as Duce launched into his monologue. Pragius had it all worked out now. He could see it. The pompous behaviour was a front put on by a man out of his depth and struggling to swim up to the surface. He was being dragged down by the weight of expectations his people had burdened him with.

  Shall I interrupt him? Pragius wondered. No, I have all the time in the world, I’ll wait.

  Pragius could read him like an open book. Or more like a candle flame in air currents. He watched which way it flickered and danced and worked out from that where the ‘air currents’ ran and where they would run. Yes, it looked a bit like a candle flame, except it was white and more translucent. Not like a flame in that Duce was not actually on fire; it was entirely contained in the outline of his body. All the men in the room had them. Majoran’s vibrated and flickered, betraying his fear. Duce might be nervous, but Majoran was positively terrified by something. Carn was an enigma; he had nothing but a steady ‘flame’ burning brighter than the younger men’s and riding casually with the current of the conversations. His fathers ‘flame’ was the most curious of all. It seemed to twist and curl, like it was trying to change what was around it and send the imaginary air currents on their way.

  They were beautiful things. Beautiful things he began to covet. He knew what they were. He wanted to reach out and touch their flame-like souls.

  ‘You need a small clock that keeps accurate time while it’s moving about on the ship.’

  Pragius grinned inwardly at his outburst, which had set all the ‘flames’ in the room quivering.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow you,’ replied Duce, recovering from the interruption.

  ‘No…you don’t, do you?’ Pragius looked down his nose at Duce. ‘If you know, accurately, what time of day or night it is you can relate that to the position of the stars or the sun and calculate your position.’

  Duce’s only reply was a blank expression.

  ‘One of your greatest problems, dear fellow,’ Pragius continued, ‘is that your people load problems they can’t solve onto you as if you were in any way qualified to deal with them. Among the problems thrown at you is how to sail to distant markets using direct sea routes out of sight of land and not get lost. This is how you can do it.’

  Pragius’ consciousness wandered through the part of eternity where he currently resided and conceived of other solutions to this problem — none of which the men in the room could possibly comprehend, so this would have to do.

  Pragius suddenly turned his head to the door. Then there was a rapid knock and in walked the most beautiful soul Pragius had ever seen. Even more beautiful than the eager-to-please Magdeline, who seemed to like the flour store in that mill on the river as their meeting place. Sadly, she was even more eager to please the miller’s son — until death they do both part.

  Pragius followed
the soul in the room with his gaze, but once it left and was behind the door his battle sense revealed nothing but that strutting grey peacock Mrs Samshaw. His mouth might have watered at the memory, but now it was as dry as an old leather belt. He looked at the objects the other men were collecting and saw decaying congealed milk fat, crushed wheat grain and a baked clay jug.

  Calmly, Pragius observed them eat. He mostly watched Carn eat, since he would be the last to finish, which would be the point in time to continue.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry, Son?’ asked Coeric.

  ‘No, Father, I had a big breakfast.’ An effortless lie.

  Pragius absorbed Majoran’s statistics and listened to Carn’s new ruse for getting the road to Ostenza built. The answer to that problem was obvious too. It would be almost funny to suggest it and see how they reacted. So he did. ‘You should just buy some slaves from Ephire to do it.’

  He intended to pause for a couple of heartbeats, or maybe a breath or two, to let that sink in. But Pragius was fascinated to realise he couldn’t measure time that way. He had no heartbeats and no breaths to count. The only thing in the room he could use to mark time was the tick-tock-tick of the old grandfather clock. He felt no fear. He thought he knew everything the book had to teach him, but this was new. He had to know how this was possible.

  ‘I’m not feeling right. I’m going to rest a while,’ he muttered to his father, then hurried out of the room.

  Back in his office, he had the book open again and started down a new twisted path through the text.

  ***

  The orchestra house was normally a bright place with daylight streaming through glass sections of roof. With the storm overhead, the whole audience had front-row seats to a remarkable display of nature’s finest light and sound show. The chatter of excitement at the spectacle subsided as the conductor tapped the lectern with his baton. Cory and Sebastian were in their usual places when the first piece of music found itself drowned like an unfortunate sailor in a tempestuous sea by the thunder. Carn slid into his seat, unusually late, nodding to the new face sat next to Sebastian. Xolt nodded back.