“Sir Celdemer!” A voice came out of a nearby doorway. A fat and red-faced man in chainmail with a Red Tiger tabard stepped out from a wine store, cradling a bottle in both hands. One of his arms was bandaged, for the Red Tigers had left several men in Maslit to recuperate from injuries sustained in various small conflicts with the Cthochi. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, why it’s Fyrdman Dagom!” Celdemer exclaimed with a genuinely bright tone. “It’s a pleasure to see you, but I’m not a knight anymore. I’m just an ordinary person now. The man owes the lady an apology, and I was ensuring that he gives her one.”
“You sneaking little bastard!” Tromso cried from the ground. “You didn’t say you were a knight!”
“You never asked. Now apologize to kindly Denja, or I will put this little sword in your eye.” He held up the wooden cup, striking a guard position, and suddenly it looked very menacing.
“I’m sorry!” The big man shouted, then he turned to the barmaid. “Denja, I’m sorry!” She just stood there nodding, wringing her hands, shocked at the violence.
“You see?” Celdemer said with gentle patience. “You see how simple a matter it is to admit your wrong and gain forgiveness?” Then he stopped and looked at Tromso again, and there was nothing gentle or lighthearted in his face. “I am leaving you now, but I will return one day soon. On that day I will make inquiries, and if I find that you have again molested or insulted anyone in this tavern, I will not be so merciful.”
Tromso only looked at him from the cobbled street. It would be a long time before he would be able to swing a hammer again without pain.
Celdemer turned to the fyrdman and smiled, as if the fight had not happened. “Fyrdman Dagom, my good man. Come and let’s open that bottle you are carrying. How are things in Maslit?”
His resolve to be no longer a godsknight was firm, and like all things that he did, Celdemer gave it every effort. He sold his armor in Maslit for a small fortune, and also sold his war sword. He used part of the proceeds to purchase a nobleman’s longsword, however. He determined that he would not again be put in a position to defend himself with a wooden cup. He also kept his great white warhorse Windbrother, for he could not bear to be parted from him.
So it was that he found himself in Walcox two days later, having spent the night in a tent in one of Aelfric’s sleeping forts. The fortified positions had attracted settlement, and already freemen entrepreneurs were setting up small taverns and shops within them, providing services to the people who traveled on the king’s road. Although they were but lightly garrisoned, the Cthochi did not raid them. The fortifications of the Privy Lord had gained a reputation for toughness.
He rode into Walcox to find a town transformed. The old wooden walls had been rebuilt, although taller than before, and in many places were in the process of being faced with stone. The keep that Aelfric had begun was now complete and moated, and although not a huge fortification, it would serve the people as a ready refuge should the Auligs return. Many of the original buildings inside the walls had been torn down completely, and stones from their foundations were being used to construct new ones. The Dashing Snake was gone, but a large tent rose in its place, and the cots within were available for rent. A newly constructed building that looked like a large barn stood across from the inn, and the heartnurse’s symbol had been painted on the front door, an infirmary.
Celdemer considered himself on errantry, however, so he did not stop in the town, but rode straightaway to the Brookhouse farm, hoping to see Lanae, although probably she was busy with her king’s eye duties. He was surprised to see several armed men standing about the farmhouse, dressed in black plate mail bearing the star-eyed skull that was the sigil of Dunwater’s ruling house. He saw eight of them. Curious, he dismounted and approached them.
“Good afternoon.” He said, for he had spent most of the day riding from the nearest sleeping fort to the town, and then to this house. “Is the lady of the house in?”
One of the knights stuck two of his dirty fingers in his mouth, much to Celdemer’s disgust, and whistled. “Hey Urgin!” He shouted toward the house. “There’s someone here wants to talk to the peach lady. He’s got a warhorse.”
Sir Urgin Charth stepped from the house, a ripe peach still bleeding between his fingers. Streaks of the juice were dribbling down his chin. He looked at Celdemer and did not recognize him without his cornflower cloak, for they had only ever seen each other in passing before. “She’s arrested.” Charth said curtly. “No talking to nobody.”
“Arrested?” Celdemer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why, whatever for?”
“Harbring a fugitive.” Charth explained. “These folks was hiding their daughter, and she’s wanted on order of the king. Kidnapping and murder and suchlike. Didn’t nobody else figure to look for them here, but we know they’ll be back.”
“I should like to speak to her, if I may.” Celdemer said, but the knight shook his head.
“Nope, no talking to nobody. There’s rebels about, and we ain’t taking no chances.”
“Rebels?” Celdemer was puzzled. “There’s rebellion against the king?”
“Aye.” Charth’s tone was amused. “Surprised you ain’t heard. Folks are challenging the succession. Gives us plenty work to do.”
“I guess I haven’t heard anything.” Celdemer went on. “What succession?”
“Why, the new king. Maldiver D’Cadmouth is the new king, on account of Falante getting killed. This here king’s eye that lived here, she was part of the plot to kill Falante, I guess, and she done fer the prince, too. Murdered a baby.”
“You cannot be serious.” Celdemer replied. “Why, she was no more than a girl.”
“A girl with an eagle. She done kidnapped the queen, and flown off with her. Now they run off a while back, but I reckon they’ll come along soon enough. That’s why we’re keeping mama and daddy ‘til she do.”
Celdemer stood dumbfounded in the yard and thought about what the man had said. Meanwhile several of the armor clad men had moved close to Windbrother and were admiring the horse. Celdemer saw them and quickly walked back to the animal. Charth followed him closely. “That’s a fine animal.”
“Yes. He’s a faithful friend.”
Charth squinted and walked around the warhorse, looking it up and down. “That there is a warhorse, friend. I know what they looks like.” His men were now standing around the warhorse closely, interposing their bodies between Celdemer and the saddle. “I don’t figure you’re no knight. I’m betting you stole that horse. I think I’m going to have to forfeit him, unless you want a hanging.”
Celdemer closed his eyes, mentally making a map of the terrain and the positions of the knight’s men. Four were by the house, and so out of the picture. One was in front of the horse, but he was not holding the animal’s reins. One stood to the left and two stood to the right of the horse, and Charth was between him and the house.
“Did you hear me, friend?” Charth said calmly, but he had drawn his longsword. “I said I’m taking your horse.”
Celdemer’s longsword seemed to leap into his hands as he began to dance. His body seemed to fly backward, clearing the space around him while he got the proper footing. You kill with your feet, Eskeriel had said once, long ago. Proper footing is more important than stance and speed.
He ducked Charth’s first horizontal slash, the lazy swordsman’s attempt to end the fight quickly. He had neither armor nor shield, and Charth had both, but Celdemer was used to the war sword, and compared to it the longsword in his hand felt like a willow switch. He parried Charth’s second stroke, a quick vertical cut aimed at his neck, then slashed wide to his right, putting the side of his blade into the face of one of Charth’s men, right across the nose. The sides of the man’s helmet prevented his blade from taking the eyes, but the man’s head snapped back and blood streamed from the cut in a sudden crimson beard. He stumbled backward screaming and was out of the fight.
He did not w
ait to see the results of his actions, but instead slipped into the forms for fighting multiple opponents, continuing to move backward, but stepping in such a way as to circle his horse. For his part, Windbrother was blowing and snorting, and eyeing the men around him dangerously. Celdemer parried a poorly aimed stroke from one of Charth’s men, still backing up, and the man crossed Windbrother’s withers. The horse let fly with both hooves, each one the size of a dinner plate, breaking the man’s leg at the hip regardless of armor. So that was two.
“It’s the gibbet for you!” Charth exclaimed, following Celdemer closely, mindful of the horse, which he intended to keep. The men from the house were quickly coming to join those in the farmyard.
“If I’m to hang, I guess I should kill all of you, then.” Celdemer said calmly, and his guard was impenetrable. Three swordsmen were attempting to get around him, including Charth, but they were merely competent, not masters of the blade. He sidestepped quickly a full pace and half into the gap left by an overswung sword and put the pommel of his sword into the right hand man’s teeth. When the man dropped his sword and put his hands to his broken mouth Celdemer leaped again, positioning himself so that the broken-mouthed man was between him and Charth. He whistled sharply and Windbrother leaped forward, knocking the third man to the ground. He grabbed the pommel of the saddle and swung himself onto Windbrother’s back while it was accelerating, and he rode out of the Brookhouse farmyard at a full gallop, sending men sprawling.
“You broke arrest and struck a knight, fool!” Charth yelled at his back. “You’ll hang for that!”
The thought of Lanae’s sweet mother Jannae in the custody of that ill-spoken horse-thief burned at Celdemer’s heart, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. He should have stopped in Walcox and gathered information before approaching the farm, he realized, and now he’d possibly put her in jeopardy with his actions. His regret moved him deeply, and he was wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeves when a man appeared in the Walcox road, holding up a hand to speak.
“Hold up!” The man said. “Who are you?” He was dressed in a simple freeman’s brown wool tunic, but he had a sword at his hip. It was one of the new swords they called longblades or fencing blades.
Celdemer reined in, and he pointed his longsword at the man, for he had not sheathed it, wondering if he was some sort of highwayman or in league with Charth. If so, he was not good at his business, for Celdemer could have easily ridden around him if had he felt like it. He was still upset from the fight in the farmyard, however, and he didn’t feel like it. “Stand aside, sir. I have no business with you.”
“No?” The man was young, with a dark beard and a handsome face, but stern. It was the kind of round face that would look youthful for many years, but once the man spoke up close, Celdemer reassessed his age. He was at least twenty-five, and there was a hardness in his tone that spoke of experience and toughness. “I just saw you strike down three of those fucking bastards with Urgin Charth. I think we have a lot to discuss. I am Effander O’Manavolle, and I think we strike with common purpose. Do you not ride to the aid of the queen and the prince?”
“The queen? What has she to do with this?” Celdemer asked, confused and curious. Then he thought of what Charth had said about a succession. “Which queen do you mean? Falante’s wife or Maldiver’s?”
“Queen Eleinel and her son, prince Kaelen.” Effander replied warily.
“That man said Kaelen was murdered.”
“Aye, that’s what they’re saying in the King’s Town, but I know for fact that he wasn’t. The queen and the prince left the King’s Town on an eagle, helped by the king’s eye who lived here. I watched them do it. Maldiver murdered Falante, and they seek to kill the prince and the queen, too.”
“And what is your part in this, Sir Effander?”
“I’m no sir. I’ve only ever been knighted by the queen. I’m a Queen’s Guard, though, and I’ve sworn my life to protect her, if I can ever bloody find her. I was supposed to meet them here, but I’ve been waiting three weeks. Folks say they were here, but they’ve gone and not returned.”
Celdemer looked at the man and thought for a moment. “But you believe they will come back, and you are watching the house. So is Urgin Charth.”
“Yes.” Effander replied. “They took the house four days ago, and they haven’t let anyone come near. I hear rumors that there are some in Walcox who would move against them, but I don’t know whom to trust. Everyone in the town is sworn to the Privy Lord, but he’s gone to the war up by Northcraven, and they don’t want to act without knowing which side he is on.”
Celdemer smiled, for he had spent enough time with Aelfric to know of his history with Maldiver D’Cadmouth. “Not on the new king’s side, I can assure you.” He told Effander, then he decided to trust the man. “I will tell you the truth, Effander. I am neither on the queen’s side nor the prince’s.” While the man stiffened and put his hand on the hilt of his sword, Celdemer sheathed his. “I am on Lanae Brookhouse’s side, and if she’s for the queen and the prince I will support her. For I love her, although she knows it not, and I will not suffer rude men to lay hands on her family. Are you any good with that blade?”
It was Effander’s turn to smile. “I had it in mind to take on all of them.” He said simply. “I reckoned my chances about even, but with your help?”
“With my help it will be a bad day for Urgin Charth.” Celdemer replied. “But let us prepare properly.”
Jannae Brookhouse quartered and pitted peaches in the kitchen, her hands holding the little knife surely as she removed the skins and sliced them for potting. Her orchard had never produced so many as this year, nor for as long, and she had seen the little furry buds in hidden places that told her there would be many more, all winter long. She wondered at this, for it was a cold autumn already, with a dusting of snow just two days gone and black clouds gathering to the north and west, and she did not know how the delicate little things would survive, but she knew they would. Likely the black-armored soldiers of Dunwater would have them all, too, and that made her angry.
Karl was downhearted these days, and he blamed himself for the pass they found themselves in. It was over a month gone since Lanae came back with the prince and the queen, and the fool man had taken the first chance he had to go and tell his friend the woodwright all about their royal visit, swearing the man to secrecy, which was like telling the wind not to blow. Mulbert kept the secret for all of an hour, maybe, then he went and told his wife Fesella, swearing her to secrecy. She told Marebel Luth, and Merebel told damn near everbody she knew, and not three days after they come there’s half the town coming to visit the farm, all of them eager to meet the new girl Jannae had hired and see her little boy. Everyone pretended it was perfectly normal that there were two enormous eagles nesting in the barn, and that it was perfectly normal to bow and scrape to a peach girl and her get.
Jannae’d nearly took the hide off of the fool man that night.
So Lanae and the queen and the prince had flown off just six days later, off to find the Kingdom of the Green Hills, or maybe some other place they might be safe, and life on the farm had returned to something like normal, except that there were so many peaches in the orchard they might have hired five hands to gather them all in. They took a couple of the Appleman girls and put them to work, giving them a bushel of peaches and a silver penny each day, and now Jannae’s cupboard was full of potted peaches, peach bread, peach pies and dried peach leather. Then harvest had come, and Karl had took on a couple hands for the reaping, and it was a good year for wheat, too.
They looked to be getting damned near rich until Urgin Charth showed up last week with his men and took the place over. Every bit of silver they could find the men ‘confiscated’ or ‘forfeited’ in the name of the new king, which meant they stole it and robbed it and spent it on themselves. Not even the Applemans could do anything about fifteen soldiers in armor, and when Karl complained they put irons on him and locked him in t
he cellar.
“Your daughter’s coming back.” Urgin Charth had said. “And when she does she’ll give up the queen and that fake prince she’s got. You do as we say and she won’t be in no trouble.”
The man was a terrible liar, and Jannae knew he intended to murder them all. He strutted about like he owned the place, and he treated them like they should be bowing to him and doing every little thing he asked, and whenever she stood up to him or talked back he would get a black and scary look on his face. Twice he’d put hands on her, pushing her around the first time and slapping her the second, and if Karl found out the fool man would get himself killed over it.
Today Jannae’d looked out the kitchen window and seen them run off that Sir Celdemer, but he’d knocked them about a bit first, and she’d smiled.
Jannae knew the man would be back. He was a strange man, that knight, and Jannae remembered the day back at the end of Tallis when he’d come to visit. She hadn’t known what to make of him, because he sure sounded like a pretty man, but if he hadn’t been that way she’d have sworn he was trying to figure a way to get upside of Lanae’s breeches. He’d come on all flattery-like, telling her how pretty the farm was and how sweet they all were and like that. Karl had been amused and puzzled, and so had she, but he’d had silver and he ate a lot of peaches and sat over the dinner table and gossiped just like a farmwife. She’d imagined then that he’d earned his knighthood at the manor yard, as they say, been tapped on account of who his family was, but today she’d learned different. He hadn’t wasted around when it came time for blades, and she reckoned now that he was a proper knight after all. Urgin Charth had better watch his step.
“Who in seven hells was that bastard?” The man was saying, even as he stuck his dirty fingers into one of her pies. She pursed her lips and wished, not for the first time, that she knew how to cook poison. But that had been her gamma’s secret, and she and Jannae’s mama hadn’t seen fit to pass it down. His soldiers were moping about, for Bolder had lost a few teeth and they’d had to send Jerl with Marrin into Walcox to see a physic about his cut up face. They were going to bring back the physic for Ardim’s busted leg.
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 107