“Is my mother home?”
“Lady Fenella is raising donations to help repair the damage dealt to the Rag Run.”
“And my father?”
Gyles didn’t answer. He’d returned to narrowing his eyes at the soldiers.
“Gyles?”
“My apologies, sir. Lord Jasper is in the solar.”
For Gyles to come close to losing his demeanour was telling. Raymond thought it best to throw the old man a bone.
“I would hate to scuff mother’s new floor. Removing my steel would make me a good deal more comfortable.”
Gyles’ mouth curled into what counted as joy. “Very good, sir.”
Stripping off his armour and weapons gave him the feeling of being naked. He’d barely been out of his steel in months, always prepared. But it was more comfortable, and he was home now, after all. Gyles kindly fetched him a more fashionable leather jerkin to cover the mundane padding that he wore, as well as soft slippers for traversing his mother’s prized flooring. As his feet met the cushioned soles, a tension unwound from him. He’d forgotten what is was not to be on high alert at every moment.
“Shall I escort you, sir?” Gyles asked.
“I know my way,” Raymond said. He placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder. “Thank you, Gyles. It’s good to see you doing well.”
Gyles gave a throaty hum of agreement then bustled into the manor proper, muttering darkly as he passed the soldiers. When Raymond reached the troops, they parted wordlessly for him. He navigated the corridors of the manor on muscle memory, his feet taking him to the solar while his mind tried to focus on what he might say.
‘Hello father, I know the city has just been ravaged by a dragon mob, but I’m here to speak to the Assembly about offering safe passage for the refugees back east. What’s that? Oh no, our troops are to remain defending the dragon homeland while we turn the other cheek….’ Even in his head he could not imagine this going well. What a terrible mess.
He gasped in pain, his toe throbbing from having just been stubbed against a heavy door. He had arrived at the solar without realising it.
“Come in.”
Raymond took a deep breath, then entered. Unlike much of the house, the solar had survived the renovations. The only new addition was the family sigil of a black quill dripping a blob of ink, chiselled into the brickwork above the mantle of the fireplace. A fire crackled in the hearth, radiating heat and the smell of scorched wood.
Jasper Tarquill was sitting in the largest armchair by the fire, sipping at a glass of brandy. Though well over six feet tall, his domination of a room was due largely to his girth. Brevian nobles who were lacking in originality often said he must stash his piles of gold in the lining of his vest and braies. His cream quilted doublet stretched tight around his waist. A moustache thick enough to scrub boots capped his upper lip, even bushier than the last time Raymond had seen it. Presently, Jasper finished sipping at a glass of brandy, placing it down beside the crystal decanter alongside a half-eaten wheel of cheese and a stack of oatcakes.
“What is it, Gyles?” Jasper said without looking to see who was approaching him.
“It’s me, father.”
Jasper dropped his brandy glass. When he saw it really was Raymond, his beefy face broke into a wide grin.
“Raymond, my boy. Where? How? Why?” He clambered to his feet, supporting his bulk with a strong walking cane – a black rod of hard wood topped with a white gold handle. Jasper’s excitement turned his usual limp to a near bounce, embracing Raymond in a bear hug.
“It’s good to be home,” Raymond wheezed.
Jasper held onto Raymond’s shoulders as though fearful he would run away. “We were so worried about you. Oh come, come, and sit down by the fire with me.”
Raymond did so, sinking into the adjacent armchair with a distinct weariness. Goodness but it was nice to be in a truly comfortable chair again, not some stone-carved slab. The warmth from the fire cradled him, making him sleepy.
Jasper struggled to retrieve his fallen glass, and unable to bend sufficiently over, he resorted to lifting it up with the end of his cane, bristling at the waste of good drink. He poured himself another and cut a new wedge of cheese.
“You must be exhausted,” Jasper said.
Raymond rubbed at his eyes, aware again of the tension in his back and neck. “You can’t imagine it.”
“Brandy?” Jasper offered.
Raymond nodded. It felt like an age since he’d had a drink. The alcohol lit a warm fire inside his body and he very nearly drifted to sleep then and there. Maybe he would remain in Brevia, whether he failed or succeeded in this task. What life was there back in Aurisha; a cold one, a hard one, certainly not suitable for long-term health.
Jasper placed a cheese-loaded biscuit into this mouth, looking rather satisfied. His face darkened upon looking at Raymond and he frowned.
“Something troubling you?”
Raymond rubbed at his eyes. “I worry whether I will be able to complete my task.”
“Task? Hmm? What’s this then?”
“To take the dragons back to their homeland.”
Jasper nearly choked. Pieces of half-chewed oats and cheese were jettisoned from his mouth as he fought for control, punching a fist against his meaty chest.
“Father?” Raymond said, getting to his feet to help.
Jasper flapped an arm for him to sit down. With a cough, a gasp, then a wheeze, he recovered, face purple from the effort.
“Seems you have about the same hope as I do,” Raymond said.
“What in blazes has possessed you to do this?”
“I’m on a mission from Darnuir.”
“Well you can forget it,” Jasper said. “You’re home now. You’re safe. Your mother and I were speechless when we heard you’d run off with the dragons. What would a Dragon King want with a human in his service?”
Raymond slumped further into the cushions.
“How can one help guard a person who needs no protection,” Jasper rambled on. “Completely preposterous.”
“He wanted to make a Guard of all the races…” But he trailed off. Saying it aloud felt flimsy, and even his father had cut to the heart of the matter. What did Raymond really contribute?
“And ruddy dangerous to boot,” Jasper continued. “I’d say you should return to the Chevaliers but that won’t do either, now they’re at the front lines themselves. No. You’ve done your bit. Besides, it’s high time you learned the family trade.”
Raymond closed his eyes. The same time old argument.
“I do not want—”
“Want has nothing to do with it. The family needs you here, not as some ornament for the Dragon King.”
“I was reduced to little better by the Chevaliers in the end. I was stripped of any real role or respect, and worst of all my steel. Darnuir felt it was unjust.”
“Sounds to me like he felt sorry for you.”
A heat rose in Raymond’s cheeks. Another invitation to a fighting elite not earned from merit, though this time through pity, not gold. Maybe his father was right. Maybe it would be best if he didn’t return.
Jasper smiled warmly, his many chins aquiver in anticipation of Raymond’s resigned answer. Raymond made up his mind. He opened his mouth, drew breath, and then stopped himself. The image of Lira walking away burned itself across his mind’s eye and he felt truly cowardly for the first time in his life. He had to return. He had to know. But there was no way he was telling Jasper that.
“Honour demands I return,” he said. “I swore an oath. I cannot abandon Darnuir and the others. I have a duty.”
Jasper took a while to respond. When he finally did, he leaned forwards and spoke too calmly. “You swore an oath to Arkus and to the White Seven. You broke it happily enough.”
“You’re a man of busines
s father, what happens when someone breaks their contract with you? You’re no longer obligated to them. Honour and oaths work much the same to my mind. The White Seven and Arkus broke their bonds to me. I had no duty left to them.”
“You had a duty to this family,” Jasper said. “You’re now my only son and heir. Your place is here. And by Dranus, it was the dragons who put you in that position by killing your brother.”
“Sanders was a traitor. I… I did try to explain it to you.”
“What does it matter? He’s dead either way. They killed him.”
“It matters a great deal, father. One way makes it seem like murder, the other justified.”
Jasper rose to his feet, moustache bristling dangerously now. “They killed him.”
“Yes, they killed him.”
“Ah ha, so you admit to i—”
“I tried to kill him too, my own brother,” Raymond said. He was shaking now. What ill thoughts had Jasper concocted in his grief? What false stories had he invented to make it all better and shift the blame from his own son? “He’d gone twisted and evil, father. An agent of Castallan.”
Jasper let out a cry and thumped his cane off the floor. “Damned if I’m not sick of hearing about Castallan as well.” He blustered, then straightened and attempted to collect himself, smoothing down the rumples on his doublet as though to iron out his rage. “The main thing is you’re home now. You’re safe. I won’t let you blindly throw that away.”
“The only thing I throw away is any shred of dignity I’ve got left,” Raymond said. “Darnuir gave me the choice, but I don’t think there ever was one. Even if I can only do a little, I cannot run from the fight. I have to return.”
“If honour is what you seek, then return to the Chevaliers, if you must. I’m sure I can persuade the King—”
“Arkus hardly needs more guards. And I found little honour there before.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Jasper said, exasperated. “I didn’t get the pair of you into the Order for honour. I did it for the family, for money, for power, for influence; the same reasons any decision is made in this damned city.”
“For money? But you bought our places—”
“I paid by offering Arkus deep discounts,” Jasper said. “And who has he turned to ever since for all those flyers, pamphlets, and posters nailed around the capital. Overnight, I stole the trade. For honour,” he added with a bark of a laugh.
“Great,” Raymond said. “So, Sanders and I were simply assets in a negotiation.”
Jasper gasped, breathless from his outburst. His jowls sagged, and he slumped down into the armchair again.
“It was an excellent move for you both. Training, prestige, connections. I hoped you might manoeuvre into strong marriages, be seen differently in the eyes of this two-faced city. I wanted a better life for the both of you.” His voice broke. “But somewhere along the line, some old knight must have put foolish notions of honour into both of your heads. And Sanders ran off to join a romantic rebellion and died for it. I blame myself.”
“Father, no.”
“Perhaps if he had more to do, more of a stake in the family, he wouldn’t have been swayed away so easily.”
Raymond moved to his father’s side, taking his trembling hand. “You are not to blame. Do you hear me? You are not to blame for any of it.”
“Don’t… don’t you follow him. Don’t fight in a hopeless cause, for a master you admit will let you leave. Honour be damned. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t need you. Stay home.”
Raymond’s heart nearly broke right there. He was torn in two between Brevia and Aurisha, between family and friends. Between the right thing and the easy thing.
“You’re right,” Raymond began, and found his own voice quavering. “You’re right about everything except the last. Darnuir does want me there. He might not need me, but he’d rather I returned, as does, I hope, well… that isn’t so important.” He screwed up his courage. “I am going back, father, and just because the nobles of this city aren’t worthy of praise does not mean we shouldn’t try. We should be better than them. You can do better than them. Be the better man.”
Jasper gave a final great heave. He reached shakily towards the crystal decanter and Raymond hastened to pour a brandy for him. Jasper muttered his thanks, swigged the drink, then seemed to settle.
“It seems I cannot convince you otherwise,” he said. “Yet, will you permit me one last try? I do not think it wise to attempt your mission. Wouldn’t failure ruin your standing?”
Raymond considered this, pacing slowly before the fire. If he returned empty-handed then he’d truly have done nothing to help the cause nor earn his place in the Guard. What would Lira think of him then? No, best not think about that. Returning to Aurisha with nothing to show for the trip would be no good. He might as well stay.
“I do not wish to return with nothing to show for it. I believe you’re right that approaching the Assembly or Arkus myself would not bode well. But if someone more influential was to do so…” He paused, gauging his father’s reaction. Jasper suddenly became very absorbed with the cheeseboard again. Raymond braced himself for another row. “I wouldn’t ask this if I had any other choice.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” Jasper said. “You, mind, not this Darnuir. But I admit, I am more fearful of our own king than theirs.”
“But you said it yourself. You have a relationship with Arkus.”
“Don’t exaggerate my connections. They are mainly business.” He dropped his voice to an undertone. “Look, things have gotten tense in recent months. Annandale’s execution was particularly disturbing. To actually kill a Great Lord.” He sucked in breath through gritted teeth. “And I imagine you saw our erm… guests, on your way in?”
“I did.”
“They weren’t exactly invited,” Jasper said.
“I see,” Raymond said, fearing he did not wish to hear more. “These new weapons—”
“Will change everything,” said Jasper.
“You’re sure?”
Jasper’s mouth twitched again. “You won’t ask me that once you see for yourself.”
Raymond was sceptical. He’d seen Darnuir in full fury at Aurisha, and doubted anything could be more powerful than that. Yet, if the refugees were now beyond his reach, perhaps he could bring something else in their stead. The city needed supplies, and not just food; bandages, kindling, whetstones, fresh forged weapons and, perhaps, new ones.
“So, speaking to the Assembly is out of the question. Very well. What of these weapons then? If they are so powerful, then they would be better served out east than in Brevia.”
“I’m not sure I like this line of thought.”
Raymond huffed in frustration. “What would you like? For us to lose the war? It won’t be Arkus you’ll have to worry about if Darnuir fails.”
“You think he can win?” Jasper said. “I’m not one to make an investment without a guarantee.”
“He’ll win or we’ll all lose. Help me to help him. Forget Arkus, forget Brevia. Think of me, father, as I stand on the battlefield—”
“Alright! Enough. I relent. There’s just one thing.”
Raymond clenched his jaw. He should have been expecting this. “What?”
“If I do this, then you must do something for me in return. You must come back, after this is all over,” he hastened to add. “Just – just promise to come home?”
Raymond hesitated. Lira wouldn’t leave her position. He couldn’t ask her to do that either, could he? He clenched a fist – why was he even letting her influence him? What if it was all in his head? He was a mere human. Good to talk to, it seemed, but she wouldn’t want him. Yet, there was always a chance.
“I won’t make a promise I may not keep,” Raymond said.
Jasper sighed, then raised an eyebrow. “What
’s her name?”
“What?”
Jasper smirked. “What’s her name?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come now, boy,” Jasper said. “Other than precious honour, there’s only one thing that makes young men act like fools.”
Raymond’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. “It could be nothing.” He tried to read his father’s face. “Are you mad?”
“That she is a dragon is… ill-timed,” Jasper said. “But no, I’m not mad. On the contrary, I’m rather pleased. Better to think your defiance isn’t in the name of insufferable honour. I’m glad to hear there’s some blood in your veins. You should still stay home though.”
“So, you’ll help me then?”
“I’ll see you are sent with as many muskets and ammunition as I can afford, and every soldier I can bribe with an advancement in arrears. An artillery crew might be possible, but the cannons themselves are the hard part. Several were sent to the Master Station and, so far as I know, the hunters haven’t even unboxed them yet. However, I’m afraid my contacts there aren’t what they used to be.”
Raymond smiled. “Well, it just so happens that I know someone who might help us.”
Chapter 26
THE FIFTH FLIGHT
“Brevian by decree, an islander by birth. Kept alive by the whims of the sea.”
— Proverb from the Splintering Isles
Grigayne – South of Brevia
THE GREY FURY beached just within sight of Brevia’s black walls. Grigayne gripped the edge of his father’s flagship, wondering for a moment whether he ought to turn back. As more of the fleet reached land, and islanders sprang onto the shore, he knew it was too late for that. The time for second thoughts had passed.
Grigayne jumped ashore himself, sinking a little into the wet sand. His islanders were already gathering, the faint dawn light glinting off the bosses of their shields like so many candles. With luck, most of Brevia would still be asleep, and they could make their getaway quickly. Should all go well.
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