“My Lord Rick remains Warlord of Drantos?” Apelles asked formally. “Then all is well, and we may consider leaving wounded soldiers under the orders of a Great Officer of Drantos to be a fulfillment of the treaty requirement that all Ta-Meltemos troops return to their own soil. My Lord Rick, I will leave suitable medical officers to attend the wounded and explain to them their new status. I think you will not need a large escort to guard them. All that I know of are converts to the True Faith, and their word will be good.”
He says that with a straight face, Rick thought. I suppose he believes it.
“And with your Highness’ leave I will see to my preparations,” Apelles said. He bowed and left. They could hear him speaking urgently to his assistants the moment he had left the tent.
“A young man who will go far,” Rick said.
“He already has,” Tylara said. “And did you know he accompanied me into captivity? Of his own free will, he surrendered in order to care for me.”
“I’d heard. We owe him,” Rick said. “I will think on suitable rewards.”
“I would guess that you are too late,” Tylara said. “I doubt he would set much value on any reward you or I could give him now. He looks elsewhere for his rewards.”
Rick nodded understanding.
“So. Highness, you honor me with your trust, but I think I need to consult with Wanax Ganton on this request.”
“And I think I cannot allow that,” Strymon said. “I don’t know if Ganton would try to stop me from leaving, but I do not intend to find out. With luck, the first he will know of our plans is when he finds my camp empty at dawn.”
“And us?” Tylara asked.
“You must pardon me,” Strymon said. “I regret that you must remain my guests until I have begun to march. Otherwise, honor would require you to warn Ganton, and that I cannot have.”
“You do yourself little honor to make prisoners of your guests,” Tylara said.
“My Lady, I would hope you would not put it that way. Say rather that you remain my guests.”
“Until Ganton has our heads,” Rick said. “Better to be your prisoners.”
“That had not escaped me,” Strymon said. “It is fortunate that proper care of your weapons will require my armorer pages to work through the night until morning. I would not have them returned to you in less than perfect condition, nor can I hospitably allow you to depart without them. You will have all you brought here when you join me for breakfast.”
“Oh.” Rick looked to Tylara and saw she was grinning faintly. So she’d understood all this long before. “I trust your pages will not harm themselves,” Rick said. “Handling star weapons can be tricky.”
“As well we know,” Strymon said. “They will have a care.”
“Until morning,” Rick said.
Strymon nodded. “We began preparations an hour after the battle ended. My main body will be on the road before first light.” He smiled. “Wanax Ganton’s army may be efficient, but I doubt he can march soon enough to catch us.”
“He has also the services of Sergeant Bisso and his star weapons team.”
“Who are unlikely to do much without direct orders from you,” Strymon replied, and Rick dipped his head in agreement.
“I suppose that’s true enough,” he said.
“And, My Lord,” Strymon said, “fortunately we are in border country that I know better than Ganton. Or you, if it comes to that. If I cannot take my army home I am a poor captain indeed.”
And he’s anything but that, Rick thought. So now what? He looked to Tylara, but got no answer.
CHAPTER THREE
PARLIAMENT
Rick and Tylara watched as the last of Strymon’s rear guard vanished over the hill. The True Sun brightened the east but was not yet visible above the wooded hills that shadowed them. There was enough light to see by from the evil red Demon Star. Rick felt no real warmth from the Demon, but that would change. Even now it had increased the illumination falling on the planet by at least a full percent, perhaps more. He didn’t need to feel it, the warmth was real enough. The seas were rising. Climates changed. Rain fell on the lowlands and coastal plains but not on the high pampas above the Greatscarp. A great Volkswanderung was beginning, tribes migrating from the deserts, while civilizations drowned in the south, growing seasons longer but fields flooded. The southerners fled northward. Confusion everywhere, and it had just begun.
His reverie was disturbed by two pages, boys no more than eleven years old, who rode back from Strymon’s rear guard. Behind them walked an older man Rick recognized as one of Strymon’s personal attendants, a grizzled old veteran with a distinct limp. The boys dismounted to kneel in front of Rick. One spread open a cloth to reveal Rick’s pistols and sword. The other opened a bag containing Tylara’s pistol and dagger. The older of the boys clapped his hands, and the older man stepped forward.
“Your armor,” the boy said. “Handral will assist you.”
“I should arm now?” Rick squinted at the brightening east. “We’ve hardly had any sleep—”
“My husband, I think sleep the least of our needs at this moment,” Tylara said. “My guess is that even now Ganton’s ushers seek us. It will do no harm to be armed before they find us.”
* * *
The messenger carried a black wand. His voice was just short of disrespectful as he shouted.
“My Lord Eqeta and Eqetassa, I have been commanded by Wanax Ganton to conduct you to him, instantly upon my finding you.”
“Black Rod Usher,” Tylara muttered. “He has sent a Black Rod Usher to summon a Warlord and Justiciar. An insult.”
“Not if we refuse to take it as such,” Rick said.
“You are too forgiving,” Tylara said. “But I think we have no choice.”
“No more do I,” Rick said. “Good morning, gentleman usher. We were detained by Prince Strymon through a misunderstanding which now has ended.” Rick turned to Handral and the two pages. “My compliments to Prince Strymon. Tell him I say you have served him well.”
“One more strap,” Handral muttered. He pulled hard and fastened the buckle on Rick’s shoulder holster. “That’s done it.” He handed Rick his Government Model Colt.
“Thank you.” Rick checked the loads and holstered the weapon, then took a silver coin from his pouch and gave it to Handral. “Give the boys what you think they merit.”
“Thank you, My Lord.”
The boys rode north, followed by the older warrior. Tylara waved, and one of the boys waved back.
“His Majesty was impatient before I left,” the usher said. “My Lord, My Lady, I urge haste.”
“Coming, gentleman usher. As you see, we are armed. Have we not time even to dress properly?”
“I urge haste,” the usher repeated.
Rick held Tylara’s stirrup while she mounted. There was no one to hold his, and swinging into the saddle with full armor was difficult. Rick painfully lifted himself into the saddle and felt sharp pains as he always did. Did the old heroes have piles?
And now what? Rick thought. Mostly he wanted a bed and a long sleep. They followed the usher towards Ganton’s camp three kilometers away, but where the road forked the usher led them to the east, towards the Ottarn battlefield, rather than west to where the main encampment would be. Rick and Tylara exchanged glances. There was nothing to do but follow.
* * *
Ganton, Wanax of Drantos, had built a stage on the hill overlooking the Ottarn River battlefield. He sat on a high dais. His Council was grouped around him one step below, and on the steps below that his Lords and chief knights sat in full array. All were in full armor. Ganton was wearing the battle crown of Drantos, but his golden helmet was carried by a page who stood on the left side of the throne. The Sword of State was held by an esquire on the right. Below and around the king were the officers of the army, and to one side an assembly of the priesthood.
“A full Parliament,” Tylara said. “Lords spiritual and temporal, and common
s.”
Rick nodded agreement. A Parliament summoned to meet overlooking the field of a victorious battle. In tradition and fact such Parliaments enjoyed special powers, including both the high and the low justice. Rick was glad of his armor. He looked behind him, to see the assembled clan chiefs of Tamaerthan, and with them Sergeant Bisso and the Earth mercenaries. A dozen men. Three mortars, and there was Passavopolous with the light machine gun. Not enough, not nearly enough . . .
The sky remained overcast, but there was no more rain. Chill winds whipped across the hills. They smelled of the swamps below, but there were odors of the battlefield as well. Beyond the assembly of the officer corps, troops worked to count the dead, recover weapons, and clean up the litter of battle. All but the Wanax’s personal guard. Every one of them attended the king.
As Warlord and Justiciar respectively, Rick and Tylara should have been seated with the great officers of state at the king’s feet just below the throne and a level above the Council. Instead the usher halted to place them at ground level in front of the entire array, looking upward to the Wanax and Parliament, their backs to the officers and clansmen and Rick’s own troops. Rick looked for friendly faces in the assembly. There were few enough. And Rick and Tylara stood outside the Parliament, though they should have held a great place within it.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Rick muttered. Tylara made a short chopping gesture with her left hand to quiet him. Rick noted that her right hand was in her sleeve.
“The Lord Rick and Lady Tylara,” the gentleman usher announced. “My Lord Speaker, I found them at the empty encampment of Prince Strymon.”
“Empty,” the Speaker said. “The reports are true, then. Strymon has marched north without any word to us of his departure.”
“It is true enough, My Lord Speaker. Regarding the Lord Rick and Lady Tylara, they came immediately upon summons.”
“That’s in their favor,” someone muttered from among the lords.
“We greet you,” the Lord Speaker announced formally. “Majesty, the Lord Rick and Lady Tylara. My Lord Rick, a question. You did not think it meet to inform the Wanax that Prince Strymon departed like a thief in the night?”
“Very meet, right, and our bounden duty,” Rick said. “Were it possible. But Prince Strymon made it clear enough that we would not be permitted to do so.”
“You were armed,” Lord Enipses shouted from his place just below and to the left of the Wanax. The place that should have belonged to Tylara.
“In fact we were not,” Tylara responded. There was ice in her voice as she spoke to the man who sat in her place. “The fiction was made that our weapons and armor were being cleaned, but they were certainly not available. We were said to be guests, and we acted like guests. We did not think it seemly to begin hostilities which could only end badly no matter who the victor. Think, My Lord Enipses, if you can: Would you have open war between Drantos and Ta-Meltemos? Hostility between Wanax Ganton and Prince Strymon? At the moment the treaty holds. Did we resist, it would be broken.”
“By Strymon,” a councilor said. “No bad thing.”
Tylara looked to Rick and nodded.
No bad thing, Rick thought. He said that, and no one corrected him. It’s come to this already?
“And what do you know of this treaty?” another lord demanded.
“More than you daft lot!” someone roared from the assembled clansmen nobles who stood behind Rick and Tylara.
Tylara’s father, Rick thought. As Mac Clallan Muir, leader of the Garioch Clans of Tamaerthan, he had been a witness to the treaty, and one of its negotiators.
“Cheeky bastard.” There were other mutters from the star men mercenaries who stood with the clansmen.
“Quiet in the ranks.” Corporal MacAllister spoke in English. “At ease.”
“Prince Strymon told us of the terms of the agreement,” Rick said.
“And of course he told the truth!” one of the lords shouted. There was more clamor from the Tamaerthan ranks now, and a scattering of obscenities in English. Rick looked sternly at his mercenary troopers. Strymon had made himself popular with the troops during his period of close alliance with Ganton.
Sergeant Bisso broke the silence.
“Ten-hut! Corporal, next man that speaks, take his name.”
“You note that the Wanax says nothing,” Tylara said under her breath. “He can yet disclaim any of this.”
“But he does nothing to stop it,” Rick said.
“There will be worse,” Tylara muttered. She struck a pose and declaimed, “The terms were recited by My Lord Father Apelles, a sworn witness to the treaty. Unless, Lord Epimines, you question his word, as well as that of Prince Strymon. Do you so? Perhaps we should have a trial by battle? I am certain Prince Strymon would choose to act as his own champion.” Everyone there had heard how Strymon in single combat had bested and captured Morrone, Champion and Companion to Wanax Ganton.
“I meant no dishonor to His Highness,” Epimines protested.
“I had not heard the terms before, and I listened carefully,” Rick said. “And we heard no terms of the treaty that forbade Prince Strymon from returning in haste to his own lands. Indeed, all we heard urged him to do so.” Rick purse his lips and paused for a moment. “The treaty required him to depart, and he was departing. I saw no need to interfere.”
Ganton nodded solemnly and spoke for the first time.
“Indeed, that was the chief requirement of the treaty. Of course that treaty was made before we knew of the death of Prince Akkilas. Still, it must needs be honored. My Lord Rick, did His Highness tell you aught of his plans?”
Rick didn’t need Tylara’s nudge to warn him to be careful. Ganton wasn’t asking for information. If he wanted information he’d ask for it privately. This was clearly a show staged for the great lords of the realm. But why? What did Ganton want? One thing was certain, Ganton would not easily ignore the advice of his lords. His father had done that and had lost his throne, and that was a mistake Ganton would never make.
“Majesty, he said he would return to his capital to prepare for the Time,” Rick said. That at least had the merit of being true . . .
“And you believed him?”
Rick spread his hands widely.
“I had no reason not to. Certainly all his questions were directed to the Time. He asked lessons in astronomy, that he might understand what is coming.”
“Which you gave freely to a rival!” The shout came from the councilors.
Rival. Of course. They saw Strymon as a rival claimant to Ganton’s rights as heir to the High Rexja of the Five Kingdoms.
“Yes, My Lord Enipses, freely I received that knowledge, and freely did I give it. As I have always done,” Rick said. “To all who have asked.”
There were mutters of approval from the ranks of the priesthood.
“The Time comes!” a thin priestly voice shouted. “Be wary, great Wanax! God humbles the proud and the unbelievers!”
And that would be treason from anyone not in holy orders, Rick thought. Close enough even for the priests.
“We met in Council during the night,” Enipses shouted. “Warlord and Justiciar were summoned but did not attend. The Council met anyway.”
So that’s where this is headed, Rick thought.
“The War Council of Drantos has advised His Majesty to claim the throne of the Five Kingdoms,” Enipses continued. “We meet now in Parliament to confirm that decision. Lord Rick Galloway, Warlord of Drantos, have you advice to offer this Parliament in this matter?”
“My Lady Tylara is High Justiciar,” Rick said. “She speaks before me. As well you know.”
“And I say that Toris High Rexja lives a widower, and while he is elderly, he may yet take a queen and produce an heir,” Tylara said. “In the hills we know better than to count any man heirless until he is dead. Not even then. And are we certain that was the head of Akkilas?”
More shouts among the councilors.
&nbs
p; “Strymon said so.”
“I heard he has doubts,” another shouted.
“Aye,” Tylara said. “The prince expressed his doubts about that head. It may have been that of the tanist. So Prince Strymon said to us.”
“My Lady, your pardon,” Lord Arandos said. “But is it not true that Tamaerthan has good reason to wish Drantos and the Five Kingdoms wary of each other?”
“I am Eqetassa of Chelm and a loyal peer of Drantos! And High Justiciar to the realm,” Tylara shouted. “I give the best advice I know, without fear or favor.”
Enipses stood, turned to Ganton, bowed, and received a slight nod. He turned to face Rick and Tylara.
“I am commanded to say that His Majesty no longer requires service as Justiciar from Tylara do Tamaerthan said to be Eqetassa of Chelm.”
It took a moment for Rick to understand that Enipses had actually said that. He can’t be acting on his own, he thought then. This is staged, and for a reason. Ganton is allowing this. But why?
“Said to be!” Drumold, Mac Clallan Muir, High Chief of the Garioch Clans, but first of all Tylara’s father, shoved his way forward from among the clansman chivalry drawn up behind Rick and Tylara. “Said to be! Who dares say she is not?”
“At ease!” Bisso shouted to the mercs. “But it sure don’t hurt to have your powder dry,” he added in English.
“Gently, Mac Clallan Muir,” Enipses called to Drumold. “You are allies, not members of this Parliament. Therefore—”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Drumold’s roar.
“You would deny my daughter her titles! You would reject her advice? Wanax Ganton, is this your will? Barach gui haigh!” The clansmen stirred. Two young dunie wassails left ranks to run towards the Tamaerthan camp.
Jesus, he’s warning the clansmen to be ready for battle! Rick thought. I don’t suppose any of these Drantos ironheads know what he said, but they have to be able to guess. And once the gullfeathers start flying . . .
“Father, Father, it is enough,” Tylara shouted. “Let be, let be. Balquhain, be kind enough to go look after those young hotheads. See our people do nothing rash.”
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