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

by John Donlan

He led the procession onto the road and then down towards the gates of the city. There was a near constant flow of foot traffic on the road, coming to and from the city. People from surrounding villages and farms coming to trade their wares or to buy supplies; soldiers heading out on patrol or just returning from the same; nobles on extravagantly dressed steeds and surrounded by liveried servants, all pomp and ceremony and thriving on the attention they received. Most of them were little more than wealthy merchants who had bought their power with bribes and threats and intimidation, and they clung to it the same way a drowning man might cling to a piece of flotsam. They would do anything to keep it.

  At the gates, it was even worse, and Gadmar fully expected that they would be forced to wait before entering.

  But that was not the case. Their arrival was expected along with the news they carried, and there was an armed contingent of the king's own guards waiting for them. Gadmar recognised the captain; a man named Corin Harrow. He was the son of Duke Harrow, one of the eastern lords and the main rival of the king. How the duke had managed to manipulate his eldest son into the position of captain was beyond Gadmar's understanding, but it almost certainly meant that the man's influence was growing, and had already surpassed what Gadmar believed it to be. The fears he had been harbouring since leaving home rose another notch.

  “Duke Crow,” Corin said as he strode forward to meet them at the side of the gate. “The king extends his greeting to you and your son. He bids you come with me to the palace for an audience.”

  Gadmar leaned forward over his saddle and nodded. “That is why I have come, but I will need lodgings for my men...”

  “It has all been arranged,” Corin interjected smoothly. “My guards will make sure they are well attended. Please, this way.” He waved to his men and they hurried forward to lead Gadmar's company in through a small door to the side of the main gates. Gadmar frowned. He had hoped to arrange rooms for his men himself, somewhere close to the palace should the need for them arise. But he could not easily deny an order of the king, as this seemed to be. He watched with narrowed eyes as the troop disappeared into the city.

  When they were gone, Corin, and a handful of his men that remained, turned to the door themselves, then paused when they saw that Captain Stairn had remained behind. “My lord, your Captain should go with his men...” Corin began.

  This time it was Gadmar who interrupted. “You do not think I would seek to enter the king's presence without my most trusted man at my side, do you? He remains with me. It is tradition, and the king's law. You must know that, captain.”

  Corin knew the law, of course. No duke or lord, no matter his standing, would ever be denied the accompaniment of at least one loyal man when being hosted by another. It was not only tradition, but a sign of respect for the guest’s standing and status. Even the king would not think to issue a command denying Gadmar this right.

  Corin nodded after a moment's hesitation. “Of course. The king would have it no other way.”

  Gadmar heeled his mount forward and was forced to duck his head to pass through the narrow doorway and the tunnel beyond. Once in the city, he was able to straighten and peer along the broad street ahead.

  If the road outside the walls had been busy, the city streets were on a different level entirely. They were filled to capacity with a heaving, chaotic mass of humanity. Horse drawn carts lumbered through streets that were muddy and pitted, their drivers struggling to find a path through the sea of bodies. On every street corner stood hawkers trying to shout louder than their neighbours in an effort to sell everything from knives and daggers to crudely carved wooden figurines of the Gods. Many of the people moved listlessly, as though they had no real destination in mind other than to wander the packed streets aimlessly. To Gadmar, it looked like a river of damned souls on their way to an eternity of pain and suffering. He could see that the number of beggars and homeless waifs had increased since he had last been in the city, too. They hunched in the mouths of alleys or sat in darkened doorways, dressed in rags and covered in the grime of the streets. Gadmar felt both pity and anger when he looked at them.

  “This way,” Corin said, leading Gadmar, Luscard and Stairn through the streets towards the castle.

  Gadmar found that remarkably, people moved out of the way when his horse approached. At first he thought it was because they recognised a lord, but he soon knew differently. People looked at Corin with fearful expressions on their faces. They were scared of the captain, or perhaps just his livery. It seemed things had changed a lot since Gadmar was last in the capital. The king's own were meant to protect the people, watch over them, create a place of safety. Now it seemed as though they led through intimidation.

  West Reach was split into a variety of districts. The main gate led into the district known as the Common Quarter. It was the largest, dirtiest and least influential region of the city. This was where most of the inhabitants of the city lived, squashed into crumbling old buildings like rats in a nest. The streets were a confusing warren of alleyways and roads and twisting, narrow passageways between the tall houses and tenements. Disease was rife, squalor was everywhere, and poverty ruled with a merciless fist.

  Gadmar was glad when they left the place behind and passed through an arch in the inner wall that led into the Royal District. The stench had been incredible; enough to make his eyes water. But it had been the pitiable condition of the people that had made the trip difficult. How had the king let things progress to this state? Tomar was a hard man, but he had always been just and fair. He cared for his people, and that devotion had led the citizens of the kingdom to adore him in turn. He would not have allowed the people to suffer this way if he had any choice. The grasp of the eastern lords must have grown so tight that it was all the king could do to retain control of the throne.

  Gadmar frowned as he guided his horse up the slightly sloping, cobbled road. He was beginning to fear what lay ahead.

  Here there were fewer people. The Royal District was home to the lords of the city as well as the royal palace, and as such, it was guarded night and day to keep the rabble out. The streets here were clean and well tended, and the houses much larger and grander. Guards patrolled everywhere, a stark contrast to the Common Quarter where they were few and far between. In place of muddy streets there were cobbles, in place of the grimy alleyways were gardens and small parks through which the noble men and women of the city could stroll, unconcerned about the hardships being endured elsewhere. It felt to Gadmar as though he had crossed an invisible barrier into another world.

  The duke felt his anger growing as they drew nearer to the palace. It had always been the case that the nobles lived in luxury while the common folk of the kingdom worked and toiled to live, but things had never been this bad before.

  Captain Stairn, walking beside Gadmar's horse leaned up. “It seems as though the king has more problems to contend with than just peace with the Tho'reen.”

  “This is the doing of Harrow and his friends,” Gadmar whispered back, careful not to let Corin hear. “The king's position wanes while the duke’s only grows stronger. I should have come here sooner.”

  “I do not know if it would have made a difference, my lord. You are just one man, while the allies of Duke Harrow seem to be legion, if all we have heard is true. If you had come here, you may have simply fallen into the same trap as the king seems to have done.”

  Gadmar wasn't sure that he would have been much use either, but he still believed that he should have at least tried. Southmarsh was an important region, the first line of defence against the threat of the empire. That gave the lord of Southmarsh some sway. Enough to convince a number of the other dukes to rally to the side of the king, perhaps. Now, though, it might be too late, especially considering Gadmar's recent failing. That was a stain against his title, and a black mark that would reduce his own standing in court.

  “I want you to do something for me,” he said suddenly. “As soon as the opportunity presents itself, I want y
ou to find where they have taken our men. I would prefer to know where they are in the event that they will be needed.”

  Stairn frowned, but nodded slowly. “I can do that, if your Lordship wishes it, but I should be by your side...”

  “You will be. Return to me as soon as you have found the men. I have a bad feeling in my bones. And I do not believe it was the king’s orders that led our men out of sight.”

  He fell silent as the small procession drew close to the palace.

  The Royal Palace of West Reach had not always been a palace. Before the unification it had been a keep, a bastion of the Lord Losarn, ruler of the region. Losarn had been the founder of the kingdom, and the man who had united the various other lords under his banner. King Tomar was a descendent of his. After the kingdom was established, the fortress – then known as the Rock of Losarn – had been transformed into the seat of kings.

  It still retained many of the features of the fortress it had once been. Battlements ringed the top of the structure, and the walls were as thick and impressive as they had always been. A body of water surrounded the palace, but even though it might have once served as a defensive measure, now it had been relegated to the domain of the royal swans. Whole families of the birds basked in the late summer sun, drifting lazily around the circle of water.

  Corin came to a stop beside the bridge that linked the Royal Quarter with the palace. Once, it had been a drawbridge, able to be pulled up in times of danger. As a defensive measure, it had been deemed to be of no more use and had since been torn down and replaced with the ornate stone structure which now spanned the water. Four guards stood to attention, two on either end of the bridge.

  Corin spoke briefly to one of the guards then turned to Gadmar. “Here I will leave you. The guard will see you inside. The king wishes to speak with you at once.”

  Gadmar dismounted and handed the reins of his horse over to one of the servants who appeared nearby, as if he had been magically summoned. As his horse was led away, Gadmar took a deep breath and looked to his escort.

  “I am ready,” he said.

  * * *

  Tomar Losarn was a large, powerful, and imposing man, but seated on the huge bronze throne at the far end of the royal court made him look somehow smaller. He was sitting there now, dressed in his royal robes, his crown perched on his head, staring down from the raised dais with a grim look on his face.

  At fifty-seven years old – thirty-five of which had been spent ruling the kingdom – Tomar bore the weight of his years with dignity. To Gadmar, he still seemed much the same man as he had known during the war with the Tho'reen. His hair was grey now, and his beard much thicker, and perhaps some of his muscle had degenerated into flab, but he still bore that same indefinable air of authority and leadership. His eyes still held the same steely determination. And his powerful stature still made him look like a man to be reckoned with. Even dressed as he was in the formal robes of the king, he seemed ready to draw a sword to strike down his enemies. During the war, he had fought with his soldiers on the front line, as was the custom in the kingdom. The king was the first knight and leader of the armies, and it was his duty to fight with them. He had been magnificent, inspiring his men to victory after victory.

  But there was something else in his eyes now, other than fire. Gadmar saw it the moment he entered the room. It was fear; not fear for himself – Tomar was not capable of that – but fear for the kingdom. He knew that his grip was faltering and that he was beset by enemies on all sides. It was making him wary and causing him to look for danger everywhere.

  Surrounding the king to the right and the left of the hall were lords of the kingdom. Dukes, barons and earls. Some were loyal men that Gadmar had known from the war, and others he had come to know since and had learned to trust. But most of them were eastern lords; allies of Duke Harrow. All of them watched Gadmar as he approached the throne with calculating expressions. Even the men that Gadmar counted as friends seemed to watch him with some amount of apprehension and concern. That did not bode well.

  He came to a stop several paces from the lowest step of the dais and dropped to one knee, head bowed. “My king,” he said, simply. “I have come bearing news from the south.”

  “Rise up, Duke Crow,” Tomar said. His voice was booming and filled with power. It echoed around the large chamber with ease.

  Gadmar stood up and lifted his head. Tomar was watching him closely. His face was stern, but Gadmar could tell that he was glad to see his old comrade-in-arms. The king was low on friends these days, it seemed, and was in need of a friendly face, even in circumstances such as these.

  “I know the news that you bear,” the king said. “Ill tidings are carried on the wind, as the saying goes, and the news you carry is black indeed.”

  “It is, your majesty. Death came to the Southmarsh. Unknown assailants slaughtered those who came to broker peace, and it was on my watch. I bear the full responsibility for that failure, though it was not by my hand.”

  Gadmar was aware of Luscard stiffening beside him. For a moment he worried that his son would speak out of turn and risk the ire of the king, but thankfully he remained silent. He was sure that some in the room would have noticed, but Tomar at least did not seem to be aware of the anger in Luscard. He had eyes only for Gadmar.

  “It is good that you accept your failings in this matter, Duke Crow,” Tomar said after a moment. “Those who rule must be willing to stand up and take account of their actions. This failure has potentially catastrophic consequences for the kingdom. When the empress learns of what has transpired, war may very well be the result.”

  Gadmar took a deep breath and glanced from side-to-side briefly. He spotted Duke Harrow standing to his left, surrounded by several of his most trusted allies. He was smiling slightly. He at least, was pleased by this turn of events. He wanted a war, and he wanted to see the king's position compromised. Gadmar wondered once more if the other duke was behind the horrific attack in the swamp.

  Duke Harrow was a tall, wiry man. In many ways he was the opposite of the king. What muscle he did have was ropey and compact. He was slender of shoulder and his face was smooth and free of both beard and moustache. His eyes were a cold grey colour and his hair was thick and black, and slicked back on his head. He was known to be a strict and harsh lord, dealing out what he deemed justice in his lands with swift and merciless precision. That alone would have made him a dangerous man, but the fact that he had risen so high in the court and in the kingdom made him doubly so.

  Like Gadmar, he ruled over a region of great importance to the kingdom; the lake lands of the Ringard, on the eastern border with Arrenissia. He controlled the keeps and castles that guarded the eastern flank. Not that the kingdom ever feared at attack from that direction. The Arrenissians were peaceful, and even if they were not, they had neither the men nor the resources to mount an invasion of Losarn. They were no threat, and never would be. The only reason the border was so well guarded was because of the possibility of the Tho’reen conquering Arrenissia and using the small nation to mount a further attack on Losarn.

  “There may yet be a chance for peace,” Gadmar said. “Perhaps...”

  Tomar held up his hand and Gadmar fell silent. “There will be peace,” he said. “I have already arranged for delegates of the kingdom to travel to Tho'reen as a sign of our willingness to reach a compromise. We will continue to strive for peace until there are no more options left to us.”

  There were sudden, hurried whispers from around the room. Gadmar was surprised. It seemed that the king had acted without informing the lords, and that was a risky gamble.

  Duke Harrow stepped forward, his lips thin and his eyes narrowed. “My king, that is unwise. The empress will see it as a weakness; a desperate attempt to appease her. She will use it to her advantage, push for greater Tho’reen gains, perhaps even use it as justification for an attack.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. The empress knows that a war with us will be costly. She will s
eek to avoid it as much as is possible.”

  “Do you think she will risk the ire of her people when news of the slaughter spreads? They will demand vengeance, and she will be forced to act! We should not wait for that to happen. We should...”

  “Enough!” Tomar's bellowing roar was enough to silence even Duke Harrow. Gadmar was pleased to see the sour expression on the eastern lord's face. “It is already done, and what happens next will happen. I have arranged for coin to be paid in reparation to the empire, as proof of our intention and for the loss of the delegation. If the empress still wishes war, we will give her war, but I will not strike first and risk bringing the kingdom to ruin. Every effort must be made to ensure that our people remain safe.”

  Harrow did not respond. He stepped back and began a whispered conference with his allies. That was unprecedented. In the presence of the king, when court was being held, a respectful silence was the tradition; until now, it had been an unwavering tradition.

  Tomar ignored the whispering, which alone was concerning. If he had been in a stronger position, he would have had the duke seized for his flagrant disrespect. A move like that now, however, could be disastrous. Those who supported Duke Harrow might see it as a provocation and seek to act.

  “Duke Crow. We will speak more of your failure soon, but for now, you must be tired from your long journey. Rest, sleep, refresh yourself, have some food. Tomorrow we will discuss the penalty that you must pay for what has happened.”

  Gadmar bowed low. He had expected as much. The king could not let his failure go unpunished. It would weaken him even further. Gadmar was willing to accept whatever punishment was to come his way if it meant the king did not slide further towards a fall.

  “Of course, your grace. I will await your judgement.”

  Gadmar turned and strode from the chamber. He ignored the looks from the gathered lords and stared straight ahead. Let them gossip and plot and scheme, he thought bitterly. He would go where the wind took him, and he would stay loyal to the king.