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

by John Donlan

  “To meet you of course. I just got word from the scouts that you had crossed into Arnsmoor.” Raylor's smile slipped. “I am afraid you will not like what I am about to tell you, my lord, but your arrival has been somewhat expected. News of the carnage in the Southmarsh reached us yesterday. We did not know of the delegation sent by the Tho’reen before today, but soon, the entire kingdom will know of it.”

  Gadmar swore bitterly. It was what he was afraid of. Someone with knowledge of his doings had slipped ahead to warn the king. He had suspected that there were spies in his household and in his holdings, but he had never been able to root them out. At least now he had one less turncoat to worry about.

  “I wish I could tell you I was surprised,” he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “But it was half expected. No matter. What is done is done, and dwelling on it will not change matters. But why sit out here in the cold? I would dine with you and yours for the night, if you and Hedick will have us.”

  “We would not have it any other way Duke Crow,” Raylor said, the smile returning. “You know the route as well as I do, but since I am going back to the fort anyway, you may as well follow me.”

  Gadmar was looking forward to a night in a real bed. He gave orders to Captain Stairn to bring the men after them, then followed his old friend's son.

  * * *

  The banquet hall of Fort Thorne was filled to capacity, and then some. Those who could not find a place to sit, stood around the walls. All of them had mugs of ale in hand and were relaxed and at ease. Long tables heaped with food and drink were arranged around the outside of the room, while the centre space was occupied by dancing girls who swayed to the beat of dulcimers and flutes, lutes and drums. Jugglers and acrobats in colourful costumes wove sinuous lines between the dancers, while the court fool scampered back and forth next to the main table.

  Gadmar watched the display with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was good to see his old friend again and to relax in friendly surroundings. On the other, he was worried about the days and weeks ahead, and found it hard to truly find much joy in the entertainment on hand.

  Hedick was seated on his left, clapping his huge hands in time to the music. He was a large, robust man. Age had shrunk his powerful physique somewhat over the years, but he was still a strong and intimidating figure. At least in appearance. In essence, however, he was as welcoming a friend as one could hope to have. To his enemies, he was a man to be feared. He had many of both.

  “I have not indulged in a feast like this for years,” Hedick said, leaning back in his seat and sloshing ale over his chin as he drank deeply from his tankard. “Ah, I have missed our wild youth, my old friend.”

  “As have I,” Gadmar returned. “But we are old, now, and just watching those young whelps makes me feel every day of those years.”

  Hedick laughed. “Nonsense. You have many years ahead of you, and as the saying goes, you are only as old as the wench you are bedding.” His comment earned him a poke in the ribs from the elbow of his wife who was sitting on his other side. She was shaking her head ruefully, but smiling, more than accustomed to her husband’s boisterous antics.

  Lady Cassomia Thorne was still a beautiful woman, even if age had added a few lines to her face and greyed her hair. In their youth, both Gadmar and Hedick had vied for her affections. Hedick had won in the end of course, but Gadmar had never bore his friend any ill will over the victory. Cassomia and Hedick had been in love, and were well suited to one another. And Gadmar would never have been blessed with long years of marriage to his own wife if he had won that early contest.

  Cassomia turned away from the two men as a maid arrived to refill her mug.

  Gadmar rolled his eyes and slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “If only that were true.”

  “You worry too much,” Hedick said, then frowned. “Though today, it may be merited.”

  “You know what happened,” Gadmar said with a sigh. “You know of the massacre, and what it may mean for the kingdom.”

  “I had hoped to speak of this later, alone, but since the topic has been raised… Yes, I know of it. And I wish I had good news for you, my friend, but it may be far worse than you think.”

  Gadmar took a deep pull of his ale. He had sensed something off about his old war comrade. He had known Baron Thorne for a long time, and he knew when the man was not telling him something. He had held his tongue, however, knowing it would come out sooner or later. Now his patience had run dry.

  “If you have words for me, Hedick, then spit it out. We have known one another long enough that we should be able to speak plainly when required.”

  Hedick looked at Gadmar out of the corner of his eye, and then nodded his head briskly. “We both have our contacts in the royal court, but it seems mine have been a little busier. The king does not have the support we had supposed he does. His edict on the peace negotiations were not met with enthusiasm. In fact, if my information is correct, he had to fight bitterly to pass it at all.””

  “I had expected something of the sort,” Gadmar responded dryly. “The king has rivals, as all rulers inevitably do, and Tomar has more than most. He is getting old, as we are, and many young lords will see that as a weakness. It is inevitable.”

  “Aye, I can’t disagree, Gadmar, but for Tomar, it was far worse. The eastern lord, in particular, actively blocked him. They are strong, and they control many of the kingdom's soldiers under their banners. The king was forced to put his command to a vote amongst the lords, and he won, but only barely. Since then, his position has deteriorated even further.”

  Gadmar was worried. It had been a long time since any of the kingdom's myriad lords, dukes, barons and counts had dared openly defy or oppose the king, and it was just as rare for a monarch to put one of his royal decrees to a vote.

  Before the ratification of the kingdom, the land had been a patchwork of small, competing dukedoms and baronys. They had fought one another for land, resources, status and wealth. When the first king had unified them, he had done so through hard fought battles and a succession of brutal wars. Some of the lords still remembered the old defeats heaped upon their ancestors, and harboured barely disguised bitterness against the throne, but they had never had the strength to back up their grievances.

  Times had truly changed, it seemed. The king was in a weak position. The lords were growing bolder.

  “He still won,” Gadmar pointed out. “That has to count for something.”

  “Not as much as you might think,” Hedick replied dryly. “Not when your news reaches the court. The king's position will be weaker still, and if he continues to deny the calls for war, he may lose what support he currently has. Duke Harrow and his friends have agitators moving amongst the people, stirring up old hatreds, bringing past atrocities to the forefront of many minds. He is not even being careful to hide the fact that he his behind it, either. He knows the king can do little to stop him.”

  “Your words do not inspire me to hope,” Gadmar admitted.

  “I am not done yet,” Hedick said. “The eastern lords have been murmuring about attacking Arrenissia. They push for us to conquer the kingdom and establish ourselves there before the Tho'reen can do so. They feel it is right to make the first move than to sit back and wait for the empress to claim the land.”

  “That is foolish! The Arrenissians would be far better suited as allies than as enemies. Conquer them, and they will grow to hate us as the Tho'reen do, and our forces would be weakened by the conflict. Befriend them, and when war comes, we may have a new ally to aid us.”

  “I am afraid that there are not many who think as you and I and the king do,” Hedick said. “There is not much profit or status to be gained from friendship, and much to be plucked from the blood of war. You know that truth as well as I do. The eastern lords have grown fat, like overfed pigs. But they are never satisfied. They want the throne. They want the rich lands of Arrenissia. And most of all, they want to see Tho'reen crushed beneath the he
els of the kingdom. They look with greedy eyes to the rich southern lands. All they can see is the wealth of the empire, and they covet it like a magpie covets sparkling gems.”

  “Do they know how strong the empire is?” Gadmar asked. He could hardly fathom how far removed from the realities of war those lords must have become to start thinking in such terms. Tho'reen and Losarn were evenly matched. If he had to guess, he might even consider Tho'reen to be the stronger. They had grown their forces over the years since the last war. They had tested the borders again and again. They were as keen for bloodshed as some in the kingdom apparently were.

  “They do not care to find out,” Hedick said. “They have never seen battle, as you and I have. They sit in their keeps and castles, reaping the wealth of the land, plotting against the throne, manoeuvring themselves into positions that might raise their status. It is nothing more than a game to them.”

  “A game that might see the end of the kingdom.” Gadmar sat back in his seat, musing over all that he had heard. He had known of the plotting in the royal court, of course. It had been going on since the founding of the kingdom. But he had not realised how bad it had become. Had not realised how far some might go to further their own agendas. He would need to tread carefully once he reached the capital. It suddenly seemed fraught with hidden perils.

  “Let us speak no more of it for tonight,” Hedick suggested. “You are my guest, and this feast is in your honour! Enjoy it, you old fool! Drink, eat. It may be your last chance to indulge amongst friends for some time to come.”

  Gadmar could hardly dispute that. He smiled at his friend and hoisted his tankard in the air. “I salute you, Baron Thorne! To old friends and to battles hard won.”

  “I can drink to that! To the kingdom!”

  Tankards clashed, and for the rest of the night, feasting and merriment ruled.

  Ten

  Darius climbed down from the saddle of his horse and peered out across the expanse of farmland that stretched away into the distance. Here, next to the swamp, the land was fertile, receiving, as it did, constant water run off from the bog. It allowed for a plentiful harvest year after year.

  The lands belonged to the duke, but the farmers were allowed to reside on the land in exchange for tending the fields and harvesting the crops. In addition, they were given a living stipend for their work, which was a situation that benefited both sides. The farmers had a place to live, and the duke received the crops, which were sold on to other parts of the kingdom, as well as being used to feed soldiers, guards, and other workers of the duchy.

  Darius only personally knew a few of the farmers. He rarely had reason to come out here, and when he did, it was to inspect the fields and check on the yields each season. Gadmar made it a point to have his sons inspect the Southmarsh holdings from time to time, so that they would be prepared when it came time for them to take over the duties. Most of the time, however, that chore fell to other people, allowing Darius the freedom to pursue his true interests: martial study.

  Torelle dropped to the ground beside him and curled up her lips in distaste as her pristine boots sunk a few inches into the spongy ground. Darius smiled. He was close enough to his sister to know that she hated every moment of this.

  “I told you that you should stay at the castle, sister,” he said. The expression on her face could have curdled milk.

  Torelle lifted her foot and shook mud from it. “I am tired of staying cooped up in the castle. You should understand that. With father gone, I wanted the chance to breathe a little fresh air. I am not about to let the mud and the insects stop me.”

  Darius chuckled. He had a strong suspicion that his sister would give up on her idea of accompanying him on his daily sojourns out into the Southmarsh soon enough. She had already ruined one dress, and by the time the day was over, her current outfit would fare much the same. But he also knew that his sister could be stubborn when she wanted to be, and this was probably going to be one such situation. She had determined that she would be of help to Darius while he was in charge of the dukedom, and this was her way of doing so. He could have told her that her presence was more of a hindrance than a help; he could move far faster on his own than with Torelle. But he didn't. He was enjoying her company. Though siblings, they spent far too little time together. Their interests were different, and that often kept them apart.

  “I am glad to hear it,” he replied, patting his horse along the neck. “I plan on putting in several more miles before we return to Marsh End, and I would hate to think that I was dragging you along unwillingly.”

  Torelle gave him her best dour gaze. “What are you looking for, anyway? It has been days since father left. Do you really suppose to find a trail now? Whoever was behind the massacre in the swamp must be leagues from here by now; if they have any sense at all.”

  “I told father that I would find out who slaughtered the delegation. You came with me to the marsh, you saw the same thing I did: Tracks, leaving the marsh and crossing the road. Someone survived. They must have seen what happened. If they are still alive now, I plan on finding them and learning what they know.”

  “I...” Torelle paused and shielded her eyes against the dull glare of the sun. She was staring ahead, to the far end of the fields where they bordered the marsh. “What is going on there? Can you see?”

  Darius had been paying more attention to the conversation than to the way ahead. No matter what he told his sister, he was having grave doubts that they would find anything significant. Someone did survive the slaughter, of that he was sure, but he was starting to suspect that they had either fled back across the border, or had died somewhere in the swamp. The Southmarsh could be treacherous to those who were unused to the mire and the pitfalls that it presented. Anyone unfamiliar with the region could get lost easily and end up stumbling through the muck and mud for days. Long enough to fall prey to thirst, fever, and hunger.

  He looked where Torelle indicated, then frowned. It looked to be a group of farm workers. But they were not tending the fields as he would have expected. They were fanning out along the edge of the marsh, calling out to one another. They were too far away for him to be able to make out what they were saying, but it seemed to him as though they were looking for something.

  “I do not know,” Darius replied. He pulled himself back up onto his mount and beckoned to Torelle to do the same. “But it is our duty to find out.”

  He waited until his sister was back in the saddle before urging his horse towards the line of men. There were half-a-dozen of them, ranging from young boys to grizzled old men. All of them would be from the nearby farm, he was sure. Those who were given leave to work the land were able to earn money enough to hire farm hands to help with the work. They should have been out in the fields now, reaping the last of the season’s crops, not here, at the edge of the marsh. Darius wondered what could have drawn them from the fields.

  He drew close, and the nearest of the men turned at the sound of his horse snorting. He was probably the oldest of them all, if Darius was any judge, which meant he was likely the farm owner. He looked startled, and he dropped a bow quickly upon realising who it was.

  “My lord, I... I did not expect you today. My apologies for not being...”

  Darius waved the apology away. He was more interested in finding out what was going on. “Tell me what you are doing here,” he said, nodding towards the small gathering. “You are going into the marsh?”

  The man rubbed his hands together nervously and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the other men were preparing to cut their way through the brambles and descend into the brackish waters below. He called out to them, and they stopped. Upon seeing Darius, they began to mutter amongst themselves and pulled back, away from the tree line.

  “We were, my lord, aye. We had... well, we had an intruder, back at the farm. During the night it was.”

  “An intruder?” Darius frowned and craned his head to peer into the trees.

  “What intruder?”
Torelle had pulled up alongside her brother, and despite the mud caking her boots and the hem of her dress, she looked every inch the noble daughter, with her head held high and her back straight. She waved her hands at a cloud of flies that had winged their way out of the swamp, attracted to the warm, dry flesh.

  The farmer bowed again, frantically, even lower this time. “My lady! I had no...”

  “Just answer her question,” Darius said softly. He could see the man was flustered by the presence of not one, but two of the duke's own family.

  “As you will my lord.” The man bobbed his head quickly, then swallowed. “We would have let her go; nothing was stolen, so far as we could see. But the foreign bitch bit my son's hand. Tore part of it off, she did. The wretch! And there's the matter of her being Tho'reen...”

  “Tho'reen?” Darius gasped and leaned forward in his seat. “Are you sure of this? If it was during the night, could you have been mistaken? It was dark...”

  “No mistake, my lord.” The man drew back nervously. “I didn't see her myself, but my son got a good look, right enough. She was Tho'reen. He tried to grab her, bring her over to the castle, but as I said, she savaged his hand. After that, he wasn't in any right state to go chasing after anyone. We gathered the workers, came out at first light. She went in there, my lord.” He nodded towards the marsh. “She couldn’t have gone too far in the dark. One wrong step and the mud would pull a person down before they even knew it. We planned to root her out.”

  Darius got down from his horse and dug a coin out of his pocket. He pressed it into the farmer's hand. “Send your people back to the farm,” he said. “But I want you to remain here and look after our horses. Can you do that for me?”

  The man nodded, swallowed, nodded again. “Aye, that I can, lord, but if I might ask... are you going in there? Alone?”