Her manner put him at ease at once and Elias concluded that Bryn’s vibrant sense of humor must be a familial trait. He found the queen to be a striking woman. Penetrating hazel eyes peered at him from beneath a thin platinum circlet, which sat amidst a tumble of chestnut tresses gathered atop her head. When she tilted her head to give him a quizzical look the sun caught her hair and revealed auburn highlights that gleamed like spun copper.
The queen was attended by Bryn and a white-haired man, each of whom stood on a small dais a step down from the throne. Elias approached the trio and stopped at what he reasoned was a respectful distance. The queen stood. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and waited for her to address him. The queen’s smiled widened, flashing white, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Bryn shook her head with a bemused snort of laughter, while the man opposite her beamed.
At a loss, Elias cast a quick glance to Danica only to discover that she along with his other party members had dropped to a knee. His ears burned as he made to follow suit.
“That is quite alright, Master Duana,” the queen said around a laugh. “You needn’t kneel, and please, Miss Danica, Master Fletcher, Doctor Phinneas, rise.”
“You remind me of your father, young man,” the white-haired man said, his bright eyes almost disappearing beneath the fold of his wrinkled eyebrows. “He wouldn’t bend knee to any man, or woman for that matter.”
“You knew my father?” Elias asked, unable to conceal his interest.
“Yes. He was a good man. No, he was the best of us.”
Elias tilted his head. “You were a Marshal, sir?”
“Not quite,” he returned with an apologetic smile, “but we were both…let’s just say that we shared similar interests.”
The queen sat after sharing a look with her elder. “This is Ogden Vandrael. He is the Steward of my household, and chief advisor.”
“Well met, sir,” said Elias, but his curiosity had been piqued at the mention of his father and he pressed his inquiry. “I must confess, that I do not quite understand. How did you know my father? Were you colleagues or friends?”
Ogden exhaled slowly. “I see you share his dogged persistence.”
“Indeed,” said the queen dryly, and Elias thought again how similar the queen and her cousin were. “However, I must confess, Ogden, that I too am curious.”
“I apologize for my vagaries, friends, it’s just that the sight of these two young people, so like their father, has caused old memories to surface. I had occasion to meet your father during the war. I will tell you all about it—and sooner than later, I suspect—but I suppose now is not the time.”
Much to Elias’s surprise, the queen did not appear rankled by Odgen’s dismissal, gentle as it may have been, but perplexed.
She turned her attention back to Elias. “In a better world none of us would ever have met, but under the circumstances I am glad to have the support of citizens such as yourselves. First allow me to offer my condolences for the tragic circumstances that befell you and your kin. Your house has sacrificed more than enough in the service of Galacia; it is a cruel fate that has taken yet more from you.
“I owe you—all of you—my sincere and heartfelt gratitude. The seeming plot you have uncovered is a grave threat, and more dire than any of us had expected.”
The queen paused and the party from Knoll Creek looked up at her, solemn and stone-still to a man. “It is my understanding, Elias Duana, that my cousin,” she looked down at Bryn and offered her a wry smile before continuing, “vested you with crown authority to take down the conspirator Viscount Roderick Macallister in the capacity of a crown appointed Marshal. Since their inception the Marshal order has been responsible for enforcing crown law in all of Galacia, accepting commissions from the crown as it sees fit. However, you are unaware that the Marshals have been disbanded, albeit not by official mandate.
“Having been conscripted into service in the war effort, what remained of the order after its end grew old in obscurity, as I have continued my father’s policy of pouring the virtual entirety of the military budget into repopulating and outfitting the standing army. There hasn’t been a new Marshal appointment since the war. As a matter of fact, your father may have been one of the last.”
“He took the oath at nineteen,” Elias said, “and received his first commission at twenty. He went to war three years later. He was younger than I am now.”
Eithne found herself transfixed by Duana’s intense, black-eyed gaze. “Ah,” she said, before continuing. “Still, it is my wish to reward you and your companions. Master Duana, I am prepared to offer you lands confiscated from House Macallister as reparation, and the Constabulary of the district of Knoll Creek. For your companions, a purse of gold stags. Does this please you?”
Elias answered almost immediately, without thinking. “My family has land, Your Highness. And I don’t want Oring’s job.”
“We didn’t come all this way for your coin,” said Danica.
The queen arched an eyebrow and exchanged glances with Bryn, who said, “I told you.”
“Why have you come all this way, Elias?” the queen asked
Elias felt the eyes of all present fall upon him. He raised his head and looked his queen dead in the eye. “I have held the woman I loved as she died, with an arrow as thick as a child’s wrist in her heart. My father was cut down by a necromancer for reasons that I cannot seem to comprehend. All that remains of him is a patch of blasted earth as hard as black glass. The most powerful man in my duchy conspired against my house with a story-book assassin’s brotherhood that has never left a single witness alive.
“The question, your majesty, is not why have I come to Peidra, but how could I possibly have remained in Knoll Creek after what I’ve seen? That life has been taken from me, by a ghost of an enemy that would see both our houses destroyed. And so, here I am.”
Elias was met with silence as his queen continued to hold his gaze, her expression unreadable. Ogden bent and whispered in her ear, although she offered no indication that she heard him.
“Like the knights of old,” the queen said at last, “the appointment of a Marshal was always the sole province of the crown. It will not be easy being the first Marshal appointed in two score years. Is it your wish to serve me in this capacity, Elias of Duana?”
Elias stood tall and could hardly believe it when he heard himself say, “It is.”
“So be it,” the queen said. One of her eyebrows arched as she nodded in approval. “Marshal Duana I would like you and your companions to join your queen and her court tomorrow for a banquet. You have had the fortune to arrive on a very special day.”
Eithne briefed them on the circumstances leading up to the crown having agreed to host a delegation from Ittamar, and their recent arrival not a day ago.
“Avail yourself of any hospitality my household has to offer, and I will see you all at the banquet.”
With that said, the queen rose and disappeared through a small door behind the throne, which had escaped Elias’s notice, Ogden close on her heels.
Once the quasi secret door closed, Bryn bounded down from the throne platform, wearing a broad smile. “Welcome to Peidra, Marshal.”
Chapter 17
Snake in the Grass
“Is that him?” asked Lord Vachel Ogressa.
“Yes,” replied Oberon. “What have you learned?”
Ogressa shrugged. “Not much. Rumor and conjecture mostly. The man I had tailing Bryn had to be careful. She kept an eye out for being followed and covered her trail well. Word has preceded him only by a couple of days, which is rather astounding considering how great a distance Knoll Creek is from here.”
“What of your sources in the guard?”
“Only what they have seen, which is not much. His father was one Padraic Duana, who served as a Marshal before and during the war. His father and his betrothed were killed by some marauders, whereabouts he fell in with Bryn. A whiskey distiller by trade, word of him taking up th
e sword to bring his family’s murderers and the rancher who hired them to heel have spread like wildfire. He’s already become something of a folk hero. Hell,” Ogressa added with a chuckle, “courtiers are already gossiping about how he crossed wits with you and broke your ill tempered stallion in five minutes with some bit of old time Marshal magic.”
“I’m just tickled you find it so amusing, Vachel,” Oberon growled.
“Perhaps we should go over and say hello. What do you think?”
“Be my guest.” Oberon turned his back on Vachel stiffly and went to seek more rewarding conversation.
Sarad Mirengi fixed his eyes on the Marshal as soon as he set foot into the Grand Hall. Duana wore his full Marshal regalia, save his hat, and a strange, exotic sword hung at his waist. The blade with its curved, crimson scabbard and unique ovular guard looked reminiscent of swords from the far-east. He had no doubt that this was the man he had seen in his scrying mirror. His dark and glittering eyes swept the room intently, and he walked with casual, feline grace. Whatever else could be said of the man, he had presence.
Sarad remembered he was conversing with the queen, but he had missed her last comment, so absorbed had he been in watching the Marshal’s entrance. He turned his eyes back to her with a sheepish smile.
“I see you have taken notice of Marshal Duana,” the queen said.
“Duana?”
“Yes, Prelate. Elias Duana. His father, Padraic, served the crown as a Marshal during the war.”
“Ah. I figured he’d be taller.”
The queen arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Maybe you would like a closer look.” She beckoned to Duana.
Sarad cursed himself for making such an ignominious statement, and not better concealing his interest. “Indeed. I have heard so much talk of this man since he arrived at court yesterday.”
Padraic Duana, thought Sarad, rolling the name around in his mind. He had heard that name before. After a moment’s consideration he recalled that Padraic Duana was something of a legend, reputed to have been a master swordsman. The arrogant Slade likely couldn’t resist testing his mettle against one of the best swords in Galacia, and thus had unwittingly stirred a worthy adversary.
Duana approached with Lady Bryn Denar in tow and a trio of companions. It appeared the nascent Marshal had already secured an entourage, albeit a motley one. The queen introduced Duana and his traveling companions.
Sarad took Duana’s hand. “It as a pleasure to meet you, Marshal,” he said, affecting his most winning smile. “Despite having only been in Peidra for scarce a day, your reputation precedes you. I daresay, if you bring a criminal to justice or even tame another horse the bards will have a song for you before the week’s out.”
When he took Duana’s hand in his own, the Marshal’s face changed. He didn’t so much frown as the corners of his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and his head tilted a fraction as if listening to something no one else could hear.
Sarad’s blood went cold. As a student of body language he read the almost imperceptible clues with ease: Duana had received him with distaste at the least, suspicion at the worst.
“The pleasure is all my own, your holiness,” Duana said in an even tone. His accent and bearing marked him as an educated man.
“Your words are kind, but I assure you unwarranted,” the Marshal continued. “I am merely the latest bit of gossip. I can only hope to live up to my title in the days to come.”
“Modest as well,” Sarad said. “I insist you come visit me at the Abbey so that we can get to know each other better.”
Duana offered a gracious smile. “I would enjoy that very much, your holiness.”
With that the two men went separate ways, each feeling uneasy.
Sarad noticed Duana idly trace a finger along his badge as he walked away. The Prelate’s thoughts darkened. He had to put an end to the brazen upstart, and soon. Now he could but hope that Duana wouldn’t ruin his painstakingly laid plans for the evening. Success tonight was paramount in the eventual triumph of his plot against the crown.
Other than the unknown entity of Duana, his plan could only have been more certain if he bent the emissaries themselves to his will, but it proved impossible to get at them as they had been well-guarded ever since first setting foot on Galacian soil. Dominating the will of a man required time—time that he did not have thanks to the Marshal, for his intelligence indicated that the queen suspected a plot against her.
Fortunately, Talinus had acquired him a couple of suitable substitutes, and given the work he had done to soften the loyalty of certain members of the queen’s council, his artifice should prove sufficient a catalyst to rekindle the smoldering animosity between Ittamar and Galacia.
Sarad remembered himself and snuffed out the nagging spark of doubt that had nettled him since the visitation of Slade’s ghost. A wizard of no mean power, he would not permit some whelp pretending at the arcane and intrigue to put an end to the culmination of a coup that had taken him nigh a decade to orchestrate. He would deal with the meddlesome Elias Duana directly.
Agnar Vundi and his companions sat at the queen’s left in a place of honor. He sipped on a glass of wine and offered the regal Eithne of Denar a smile. The preliminary negotiations had gone better than he could have imagined. The queen proved judicious and did not hold Agnar as personally responsible for the war his former king had waged, like so many other Galacians he had encountered. “It was our fathers’ war,” she had said, and without further preamble asked him to present Baruch’s proposal.
Barring any unforeseen complications, his people would have grain, and Galacia would have gold and ore to firm their position in the southlands. This would be the first enduring alliance in Ittamarian history south of the Sheer and would improve the strategic position of both countries.
After all had been seated and served wine the queen rose. The court quieted and awaited her words. “Today marks a momentous occasion: The beginning of an abiding peace between Galacia and Ittamar and a mutually beneficial trade pact. Gone are the days of extended and useless bloodshed between our peoples—campaigns born of ancient blood feuds and border disputes. The tenuous truce of the last two decades has become concrete and lasting.”
Eithne looked to Agnar, who stood. “On behalf of my people and my King, Baruch of clan Rachman, allow me to offer my sincere gratitude for your hospitality, sons and daughters of Galacia. It is the vow of my monarch to honor the pact begun here today. It is my hope that we can put aside the enmity of the past and together forge a brighter future for ourselves, and for our children. I thank you.”
Not everyone present appeared pleased by this turn of events, Elias observed. While they all clapped and affected glad expressions, many of the courtier’s smiles did not touch their eyes. This troubled him, but not as much as his encounter with the Prelate.
When he shook hands with the high cleric, the white robed man had expressed pleasure at meeting him. He lied. As soon as the Prelate mouthed the words Elias felt the electric tingle radiating from his shield that indicated a lie. Why the man would possibly harbor him ill will was beyond him. Perhaps it was nothing more than the Prelate simply didn’t care to meet a man at arms.
Elias tried to allay his doubt, but a nagging suspicion tugged at him nevertheless, and in his gut he felt that something was off about the cleric. He found that he couldn’t articulate why, but he distrusted the dapper, impeccably groomed man. He decided to discuss it with Bryn at the earliest opportunity.
Sarad waited until dinner was served and the courtiers had become complacent in the stupor induced by vintage wine and rich foods before sending his mind out to summon his thralls. They waited beyond the servant door, tucked into an alcove behind a tapestry, rendered invisible by a spell that caused them to blend into their surroundings. If they moved around the subterfuge wouldn’t last, but via his domination spell his thralls waited stock-still in a state of hypnosis.
Now. He kept his face expressionless as he sent the mental comman
d. He hazarded a glance at Duana from the corner of his eye. He cursed to himself as he saw the Marshal straighten in his chair, alarm written clearly across his features.
Elias listened attentively as Bryn explained the politics of the capital and the agendas of the five houses. The distiller, for his part, required no prodding from her to foster a dislike for Lord Geoffrey Oberon, who seemed to relish in nettling the queen. Vachel Ogressa was guilty by his association with Oberon, according to Bryn. Elias’s impression of Ogressa darkened further when Bryn explained that he was a recent confidant of the Prelate. Rabidine, as Bryn saw it, found greater interest in a flagon of wine and a pleasant turn of ankle than matters of state unless House Rabidine’s coin was involved, or they stood to make some. Conversely, Dekel Mycrum, with his long, oiled mustache, was all business. According to the ancient histories, the House of Mycrum sprung from a line of knights that served the clan kings of antiquity so admirably that they earned a place among the five great houses in time beyond reckoning.
“The House of Antares, led by Lord Josua, is the queen’s only firm ally on the council,” Bryn said. “One would expect as much considering he’s her uncle on her mother’s side, but he is widely respected as an equitable and wise man.”
Elias began to make a comment but the words died on his lips, for, without preamble, the runes on the underside of his forearm burned as hotly as they had when he had first been branded with them. The tingling sensation that announced the presence of the arcane wound its way up his spine in a shuddering rush. In the pit of his stomach Elias knew that something was amiss, but if he drew steel here unprovoked, his would prove the shortest military career in the history of Galacia. Yet, if his hunch was correct and he stayed put, it could mean that he had sat idly by while his queen was assassinated in a crowded chamber in full eye of the court.
Throwing decorum aside, he grasped Bryn by her bare shoulder and pulled her close. “There’s a fell wizard nearby,” he hissed.
Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 20