The Winds of Strife (The War of the Veil Book 1)

by John Donlan

  “Tell them that the threat of war looms over us, captain. Tell them that it is time to fulfil their oaths to the crown. Tell them that their queen orders it. I do not care what you tell them, just that they come.”

  Jaran rose from his seat. He felt good. He felt that his queen was at last showing herself as the ruler she truly could be. “I will see it done, my queen.”

  “There is one other thing, Jaran. One other small task I require of you. Go to the Loremaster. Have him find any tomes and books that he has on the subject of magic. On the old magic. Let him know that I will come and read them when I can, but tell nobody what you are doing, or what we spoke of here today.”

  Jaran frowned, a tremor of doubt creeping in once more. He had done his best to turn her mind towards other matters, but he could see that she would not let this go. And perhaps it was a good thing that she was sending him on this task. When she had satisfied her curiosity, perhaps then she could start to set aside her fears.

  He nodded. “Yes, my queen. I will do as you ask.”

  “Good. Very good. You may leave me now, captain. Have it known that I will hold court again in two days time. That should appease the petitioners.”

  Jaran bowed low and exited the room, leaving his queen to her thoughts. While she was a long way from to returning to her old self, he felt a certain sense of accomplishment over what he had achieved in a short space of time. He would indulge her on the matter of magic and superstition, but he would also do what he could to guide her towards dealing with the true threat. The threat of war. In time, she would come to see things clearly again. He was sure of it.

  Six

  The huge gates of iron and wood that stood at the entrance to Marsh End were open as Darius approached on his horse. They were almost always open, except in times of war, of course. The effort required to heave them wide was too much to do it every time someone needed to enter, but more than that, they were left open as a sign of welcome, to show visitors that the city was ready to accept them. When they were closed, however, they were all but impenetrable, reinforced as they were with huge girders of iron.

  Darius wondered briefly as he passed beneath the massive arch just how long the gates would remain open once Tho'reen discovered what had happened to its delegation.

  The streets of the city were laid out in rough, concentric circles that got smaller as they drew close to the centre - the huge rock at the heart of the city where Castle Crow stood. The largest circle ran along the inside of the wall, and it was where most of the city's commoners lived and worked. It housed homes, forges, tanners, fletchers, stonemasons, inns, tanneries and stables. The second circle was where the wealthier merchants had their homes and stores. It was also where the great temple stood, and the library. The houses and structures on this inner part of the city were grander and finer than those on the outside; those with wealth liked to flaunt it wherever they could. The third and final circle was the smallest of all, and it was reserved as the exclusive domain of the duke and his family.

  The streets were crowded as they always were. Though far from the biggest city in the kingdom, Marsh End was still a busy place. This was mostly due to its important strategic position, but also due to the fact that the meadowlands that bordered the marsh were hugely fertile, and capable of producing bountiful harvests. This rich land drew people to work the farms and grow the crops, and this in turn brought those who could provide services for and gain profit from the increased population. It meant that Southmarsh was a very prosperous and influential duchy within the Kingdom of Losarn.

  The crowds parted as the duke and his retinue rode into the city. Gadmar was known by sight, and he was a well respected man. He had his soldiers to disperse the crowds if needed, but they rarely were. He rode at the head of the group, ignoring the people for once, even when they cheered and clapped at his presence among them.

  Darius followed behind. He, too, was lost in thought. He was worried about his father, and about the people of the dukedom. They had no idea what had transpired in the swamp. They did not know how close they were to war now. The most depressing thought of all was that the people would in all likelihood relish the fact that a conflict was swiftly approaching. The last war against the Tho'reen had been over twenty years ago. It had been bloody, brutal, destructive, and the lives lost had been uncountable. Darius had been a small child at the time; just two or three years old when it ended. He did not remember the war, but he had spoken to people who did and listened to their tales of horror and misery and loss. Most of those who had survived still bore the scars of the conflict, and not all of them were physical.

  His own father was one of those. He had fought in the war, led the forces of the Southmarsh against the invaders, and had been instrumental in pushing them back across the border. But the victory had taken its toll. Darius' mother, before her death, had often told him how Gadmar had been quick to laugh and smile before the war, something he rarely did these days. He was still a compassionate and caring man, but the fighting had hardened him in ways that Darius could hardly comprehend or understand. He only knew his father as the man he was now. But he also knew how much his mother had missed the man she had first married.

  That was the real cost of a war, and trying to avoid a conflict was a goal he shared in common with his father. He did not want to see other men turn into what his father had become.

  They passed up the hill and along the broad avenue that led through the centre of the city. Castle Crow lay ahead, at the crest of the road. It had been built here a long time ago, atop a huge black rock for defensive purposes, years before the city had existed. There had always been a Crow here, and there always would be. At least so Darius' father liked to proclaim.

  His brother was waiting for him just inside the outer gates. Luscard Crow was just seventeen years old, but he was already bigger and bulkier than Darius, who was tall and lithe. Luscard dreamed of serving in the duke's garrison, was all but assured a place of leadership by dent of his birth. He was certainly strong enough and skilled enough with the blade to warrant the position. When he sparred with Darius, the victor was usually in doubt until the very end.

  Darius wondered what would become of his brother if Luscard joined the soldier's ranks. Would he die on some distant, bloody battlefield?

  He shuddered at the thought and climbed down from his mount. Up ahead, Gadmar had already dismounted and was talking to the house steward about something. There was time.

  Luscard's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the group. He leaned in conspiratorially to whisper his thoughts to Darius. “What of the delegation? They did not come?”

  Darius placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and guided him away from the mounted guardsmen and towards the wall. Archery targets had been set up here, in an enclosed section away from the gate. Darius was skilled with the bow, and he had spent many hours here, honing his aim and his speed.

  “They came,” he said bitterly. “And they died here. We found their remains, out in the swamp. Cut apart, butchered like animals, along with the escort sent from High Keep. There was no trace of the ones who committed the atrocity.”

  Luscard's face struggled between excitement over the news and shock at hearing what had been done to the visitors. Like many in Southmarsh, and the kingdom in general, Luscard longed for battle. He was too young to have seen many of the atrocities committed by the Tho'reen, but he had grown up on stories of the war and dined on hatred for the enemy. It was in his blood now.

  “I cannot say that it grieves me to hear of their deaths, but... here, in the Southmarsh? What will father do now?”

  “Contact the king,” Darius said. “There is little else he can do. Tomar will be furious.”

  “The king is weak,” Luscard growled. “We should not be pandering to those Tho'reen bastards! We should be...”

  Darius held up his hand and glowered at his brother. “Enough. I know your thoughts well on this matter, and you know that father and I do not agree. War is not
some glorious search for honour as you believe. It is dirty and ugly and filled with pain and death and suffering. The strong might win glory and prestige on the field of battle, but they are just as likely to be butchered like those poor men in the swamp; and it is the common folk that will always pay the steepest price. The king is not weak, he is wise. He knows what a conflict with the Tho'reen Empire will mean. Could we win? Yes, anything is possible. But it is also likely that we could lose. And then what? Do you think the empress will allow the lords of the kingdom to live?”

  Luscard spat into the dust. “The Tho'reen are savages, without honour. We could march across the border and end this now if the king had the backbone to do so.”

  Darius shook his head in despair. Luscard was too young and hotheaded to see the truth. It was an argument they'd had many times before, and it always ended the same way.

  “It does not matter. You may yet get your wish. Come, father is beckoning.”

  Darius crossed the courtyard to where his father was waiting with the steward.

  “I wish to speak with you both,” Gadmar said. “Inside. And find your sister. She needs to be present to hear this as well.” He waved a hand at Luscard who nodded and hurried away to find Torelle.

  Darius watched him go, then turned to follow his father into the castle.

  The interior of the castle was stark and severe. It was a building made for defence, and though it was also a home to the duke and his family, it still retained its military foundation. Only in the familial quarters had any attempt at homeliness been made. The rest of the rooms and halls were austere, decorated with shields, weapons, and banners. A few tapestries were hung on some of the walls, but they were almost all formal in nature, bearing the crest of the Crows.

  Gadmar led the way into the council chambers. This also doubled as a war room, when needed. It was filled with a huge wooden table that was surrounded by high backed chairs for the duke, his commanders, and his aides. It was rarely used these days.

  Gadmar took a seat at the head of the table while Darius sat to his father's right. They were silent as they waited for Luscard and Torelle – the duke's third child and sister to Luscard and Darius – to arrive.

  Darius took the opportunity to study his father once more. He looked old, and tired, the grey around his temples more prominent that Darius remembered. His beard was as thick as ever, but it, too, was showing signs of greying. The lifetime of serving his king and ruling the dukedom was starting to take its toll, and this new worry did not help matters. Darius wished he could do more to help, but his father was a stubborn and independent man, and he loathed asking for aid, or even being told that he needed it, even from his own children. As a result, Darius was forced to do what he could quietly, without notice. It limited his options, though, and it never seemed to be enough.

  Gadmar turned to him with a sigh, as though realising he was being studied.

  “Your brother is happy at the news we bring back, is he not?”

  “You know his feelings, father. He spends all his time around Sergeant Garham, listening to his war stories. He ignores the parts about the blood and the butchery, focuses on the heroism and glory, however sparse those parts may be. He wants to taste that himself, and so the rest of it is pushed away.”

  “It is the same for many,” Gadmar said. “They hate the Tho'reen and they believe the empire an easy enemy to crush. They are fools. Most of them have never seen a Tho'reen, let alone witnessed them in battle. They are not the savages so many think them to be. Their mounted regiments cut through lines like a knife through cheese, and their footsoldiers are trained in our strategies and tactics. They did not conquer half the continent by being foolish and weak. If war comes, it will not be pleasant.”

  “You do not need to convince me, father,” Darius replied. “I stand with you.”

  He had seen some of the atrocities committed in war himself. When he had been eight, a small contingent of soldiers from Tho'reen had swept across the border. They had been discontented with the truce reached after the last war, and determined to show the empress that victory could still be achieved. Before anyone had known what was happening, they had slaughtered the defenders of the border keep and then moved on to massacre the owners of several outlying farms. It had been a quick and merciless bloodbath.

  Darius, riding on a hunt with several of the duke's huntsmen had come across the still smoking farm. He had seen what the Tho'reen had done. It had made his blood run cold.

  But it had not been vengeance that had run through Darius' mind. Instead, he had swore that he would do all he could to stop the same thing from happening again. Revenge would accomplish nothing but increase the suffering and slaughter. Peace was a harder road, but it was the only one worth taking.

  “I know,” Gadmar told him. “You have never had to be forced to see things as they truly are. War is often inevitable, but by the same token, it can usually be avoided, when minds are set to the task. You must try to make your brother understand this, if you can. He will come to discover the reality of things eventually, but I fear it will be on the field of battle and not during a life of peace.”

  As if on cue, the door opened and Luscard entered. Torelle was close behind, her long, pale blue gown sweeping the floor.

  Torelle was a blossoming young woman of sixteen. As with the rest of the family, her hair was a deep black, like the feathers of their namesake. By contrast, her soft skin was as pale as moonlight, which often made it seem as though she was glowing with radiant silver light. She was tall, taller even than Darius, but much thinner. She had the body of a waif, and no amount of feeding ever seemed to make a difference. Darius had overheard the maids speaking in quiet whispers of their jealously towards Torelle's seemingly unchanging slenderness. Her eyes were a vibrant green, and seemed to shine with a light of their own. She was always quick to smile, and Darius knew her to have a kind and generous heart. He thought of her as the best of them, and deep down, he had always sworn to do what he could to make sure her innocence would remain intact for as long as possible..

  The door closed and the two siblings took their seat.

  “Is it true father?” Torelle asked at once. “The visitors from across the mountains are dead?”

  “It is true, child,” Gadmar said with a resigned sigh. “And this changes much. I know you have no interest in the politics of the kingdom, but I did not bring you here to discuss the intricacies of what this turn of events will mean for our nation as a whole. I called you all together because I will need to leave.”

  Darius frowned. A part of him had expected this, but he had hoped for a different decision. His father was shrewd enough to know that there could be no other choice, however. He would have to go and inform the king himself.

  “Leave?” Torelle looked confused. She had not understood the significance. “But why? Where are you going?”

  “North,” Gadmar answered. “To the capital. I cannot trust this information to a courier, nor would it be sensible to inform his majesty through a third party. I must tell him myself. It may negate some of his anger over this course of events. And perhaps I might even have the opportunity to offer some advice and counsel. The Gods know it will be sorely needed, and in that nest of vipers that is the royal court, the king will need the words of someone he trusts. Even someone who has failed him.”

  “You did not fail him, father,” Darius said. “This tragedy was not of your doing. And I do not believe any of the people of Southmarsh would do this, no matter the height of their hatred for the empire. And besides, nobody outside of the castle even knew that the delegation was coming. We kept it secret because of this very reason.”

  “That is true, but the same cannot be said of the capital. Who knows how many in West Reach the king might have informed about his plans? I do not believe that all of them would have been pleased by the decision. It is doubtful, but entirely possible that someone in the court took matters into their own hands. Duke Harrow, for instance. News is
slow to reach us here, but we all know that he has gained in power and influence of late, and he covets the crown. He is just ruthless and ambitious enough to have done something like this.”

  Darius was deeply concerned over this revelation. The capital was a long way away, and the intrigues of the court were often unknown in the Southmarsh. Of course, news did travel, and he was aware of the often bitter disputes that arose from time to time, but he could not imagine anyone going so far as this.

  “I will have fresh horses and men prepared for the trip, father,” Darius said. “How long do you suspect we will be away for?”

  “You are not going, Darius.” The duke held his hand up to forestall any arguments. “I know you wish to be at my side, but I need you here. You are the eldest, and the duty to run the business of the Southmarsh falls on you. I know the court, and no matter the mood of the king, I will fare as well as I will, with or without you there. But if things do go badly, I want you here, where you are safe.”

  “But father...”

  Gadmar shook his head decisively. “I will brook no arguments on this matter. This is my decision, and it has already been made. There is another task I need of you, too, and I do not trust another to carry it out. I need you to look into the slaughter of the delegation. Find out who did this tragic thing. If you can discover the culprits, then perhaps the king's dissatisfaction can be tempered. It is a small hope, but one we must cling to nevertheless.”

  Darius fell back into his seat. He was unhappy with the decision, but he knew deep down that his father was right. Someone needed to rule in his stead, and someone needed to discover the truth about the massacre.

  “And I, father?” Luscard leaned forward eagerly. He had never been to the capital before, and it was obvious from the keen look in his eyes that he wanted this opportunity.

  “You will come with me,” Gadmar said. “It will do you good to witness how the kingdom works, at least in a small manner. And perhaps you can understand a little more about why the king chose to pursue peace over war.”