Kharlacht grunted. “No one’s trying to kill us yet. That’s an improvement.”
“Providing an adequate explanation,” said Caius, “is hardly too many words. A headman of Rhaluusk can issue his commands with curt force. A bishop of the church must be more eloquent, to explain the gospel of the Dominus Christus to the unbeliever.”
Belasco laughed. “Ha! You, sir, are the most eloquent dwarf I’ve ever met. We’ve had dwarven traders stop in Castarium from time to time, and it would be easier to squeeze blood from a stone than to get more than ten words from some of them.”
“Come,” said Ridmark, glancing at where Joachim stood next to his pony. “We can trade tales inside, out of the sun. I suspect we all have much news to discuss.”
Ridmark started to turn towards the castra’s gate, and he froze. Some instinct, some sense that someone was watching him, compelled him to turn. He looked towards the Salty Fish Inn, and his eyes drifted to the inn’s stables.
A woman stood in the shadow of the doorway, watching him. He could not see her clearly in the gloom within the stables, but he thought she was young, no more than twenty at the most. The woman wore a plain brown dress and had thick blond hair that hung down her shoulders. Ridmark could not make out her features, but he had the impression that her eyes were blue.
An odd feeling went through him. Was it lust? God knew that knights and lords of a certain age tended to make fools of themselves with younger women. Nor was that a failing unique to the men of Andomhaim – one only had to look at the account of King David and Bathsheba in the scriptures. But Ridmark had no intention of betraying Calliande, and it wasn’t lust he felt. No, it was an uneasy sort of recognition. He was sure that he had seen the woman somewhere before, that she seemed somehow familiar, but he could not place her.
The woman turned and vanished into the stables.
Ridmark shook off the peculiar feeling of recognition, annoyed at himself. Likely he had just seen one of the inn’s maids watching the arrival of the Comes of Castarium. He had survived so many fights and so many battles that he was starting to see foes in every shadow and doorway. King David had succumbed to lust in his middle age. Perhaps Ridmark would fall to paranoia instead.
Besides, there were real problems before him, not imaginary foes. He looked at the spires of the monastery’s church, just visible over the rooftops of Castarium, and knew that he would have to visit the monastery tomorrow.
And there was a chance that visit would affect the future of Andomhaim.
“Ridmark?”
Calliande’s voice shook him out of the reverie.
“I’m getting old,” he told her. “My mind keeps wandering.”
“You’re not that old,” she said, with just the faintest hint that she intended to prove it to him once they were alone together.
He joined the others and walked into the courtyard of his castra, but Ridmark could not stop himself from shooting one last glance over his shoulder.
No one was watching him.
###
The woman who was named Aeliana but thought of herself as Aeliana Carhaine, daughter and heir of the rightful and betrayed High King of Andomhaim, watched the party of Ridmark Arban disappear into the castra’s courtyard.
She had seen her enemy before, of course. Aeliana had followed him at a distance several times in Tarlion. Ridmark had never seen her, of course. Aeliana had thought of ways to kill him, but none of them were practical. She hated Ridmark and wanted to kill him, both in vengeance for the death of Tarrabus Carhaine and in repayment for all the pain she had suffered after her father’s murder.
But while Aeliana wished to avenge her father, she had no wish to die in the process. Too many of Tarrabus’s teachings about strength and weakness had penetrated her heart, and while she had loved her father, had been in awe of him, his death was nevertheless proof of his weakness. And Ridmark was unquestionably strong. Trying to kill a Swordbearer was a dangerous task, and that didn’t even consider the awesome powers of the Keeper of Andomhaim. From a distance, Calliande Arban looked like an attractive minor noblewoman doting on her young daughter, but Aeliana knew the furious power the Keeper could bring to bear.
No, if Aeliana was to take her revenge, if she was to claim the power that was hers by right, then she needed a powerful ally.
She had once thought the Matriarch of the Red Family would provide that alliance. The Matriarch was a powerful dark elven sorceress, and the Red Family was feared throughout Andomhaim. But the Matriarch, Aeliana had come to realize, was a coward. She feared powers greater than herself, and so she lurked within the city of Cintarra, hiding among the throngs of humans, inflicting her dark elven lust for cruelty upon her servants.
Aeliana knew that well. Too well.
She shuddered at some of the recollections that flickered through her head and forced them aside.
To distract herself, she rolled up her right sleeve and looked at the symbol on her right forearm.
The sigil that the Warden had put there.
Her lips stretched into a tight rictus of a smile.
Oh, Aeliana had found her ally. The Matriarch, the Red Family, the Mhorites, the urdmordar, even the Swordbearers and the Magistri, they all had one thing in common. They all feared the Warden of Urd Morlemoch. Before Ridmark had murdered Aeliana’s father, he had dared to venture into Urd Morlemoch, and somehow, he had escaped with the Keeper.
Aeliana had suspected the Warden would not forget that.
And she had been right. The Warden had given Aeliana the power she would need to take her vengeance on Ridmark.
Tomorrow night, she knew, it would begin. The thirteen moons would be in the proper configuration, and she could start her vengeance. Until then, she would play her part, pretending to be one of the inn’s witless serving maids. The Matriarch might have been a coward, but the Red Family had trained her well, and Aeliana knew how to disguise herself.
She permitted herself one final smile at the thought of the evils that were about to befall the Shield Knight, and then schooled her expression into vacuous timidity as she went back into the inn to attend to her work.
Tomorrow night, her vengeance would begin.
***
Chapter 2: Old Friends
That night, Ridmark had dinner with his guests and the chief men of Castarium in the great hall of the castra.
The great hall was not large, but it was big enough to serve its purpose. High, narrow windows admitted light, and the hall had a pair of hearths sufficient to light and warm the space. A storm had swept up off the sea in the late afternoon and showed no sign of abating, so the seneschal had ordered the hearths lit. The knight who had built this castra had possessed an eye for scenery, and the windows behind the dais looked over the sea. It would have been a splendid view, if not for the darkness of the storm, though from time to time a flash of lightning illuminated the heaving sea, followed soon after by a rumble of thunder.
The dais wasn’t quite large enough for the traditional high table, so Ridmark and Calliande sat at the head of a long table. The chief men of Castarium and Antenora sat at his left, and his guests at his right. At the end of the long table, Lucilla and Rotrude and the other nurses looked after Joachim, Rhoanna, and Carlon.
“Tell me,” said Ridmark, looking at his brother and his friends. The servants came out and began to pour the wine. “What brings you to Castarium?”
Kharlacht shrugged and took a drink of his wine. “Luck, most likely.” Several of his warriors sat further down the table, stern-faced young Rhaluuskan orcs with white tusks and black topknots. “King Crowlacht wanted to send his greetings to High King Kothlaric of Owyllain, so we went through the gate and came to Aenesium. Our King is thinking of having some of our warriors serve as mercenaries in Owyllain. Not everyone can afford Queen Mara’s Anathgrimm.” He snorted. “And Rhaluuskan orcs are a curiosity in Owyllain.”
“Did it go well?” said Calliande. She had changed for dinner, and now wore a
green gown with golden scrollwork on the sleeves and bodice. On her blond hair rested the bronze diadem of the Keeper, an ancient relic of Old Earth. She only tended to wear it on formal occasions.
“Well enough,” said Kharlacht. “Kothlaric Pendragon seems like a courteous king, and he has sore need of fighting men. Civil wars are hard on a country. A few more messages will go back and forth, and some terms will be haggled, but I think Kothlaric will give our lads a license to serve as mercenaries in his land.” He took another drink of wine and glanced at his warriors. “Keep the young hotheads out of trouble at home.”
The orcish warriors let out rumbling laughs.
“Did you go to Owyllain as well, Bishop?” said Calliande to Caius.
“As it happens, yes,” said Caius. “King Axazamar is interested in trade with Owyllain. As you have said, the men of Owyllain have sore need of iron and steel, and we have those in abundance. They have spices and silk and various other items we do not. Naturally, there is a basis for trade. King Axazamar is interested in establishing an enclave in Aenesium, just as we have one in Coldinium. High King Kothlaric seemed receptive to the idea. I expect he will send an emissary to Khald Tormen to work out the details.”
“Kings need trade as well,” said Ridmark, “to pay for Kharlacht’s young firebrands.” Again, the orcish warriors let out their rumbling laughs. “What about you, brother? What brings you to Castarium?”
Valmark shifted in his seat, wincing a little. Even with the power of a soulblade, the injuries taken over a lifetime of battle tended to add up. “Troubles at home, I am afraid. Our brother the archbishop of Cintarra wanted me to take a message to High King Arandar myself.”
Calliande frowned. “What did Caelmark want you to tell the High King? If you do not mind the question.”
Valmark smiled at her. “Not at all, my lady.” Ridmark got on well with his brothers, though he wasn’t particularly close to any of them. But all four of his brothers were fond of Calliande and agreed that marrying her was the best decision Ridmark had made in the last fifteen years. Perhaps they thought she could have done better. “Caelmark wanted to share his fears about the state of Cintarra, and he thought the message would have greater weight if one of his own brothers delivered it.”
“Aye, I think the High King needs to take a hand in Cintarra, begging your pardon, Sir Valmark,” said Flavius. “The men of Ebor are camped outside our walls because they’ve nowhere else to go. We’ve found work for them so far, but once the harvest is in, that’s not going to last.”
“It is our duty as sons of the church to provide for our brothers and sisters in need,” said Bishop Belasco.
“At the cost of taking bread from our own children?” said Vegetius. “And if there wasn’t trouble in Cintarra…”
“The commoners must support their lords,” said Sir Longinus.
“But when their lords drive them from their homes and make them into vagrants?” said Flavius.
Ridmark held up a hand, and the incipient argument quieted. “Valmark, you’ve just come from Cintarra. What is happening there?”
Valmark thought it over. He had never been one to speak hastily. “I would say the trouble started five years ago. Cintarra’s the biggest city in the realm, and it needs a firm hand to govern it. Prince Cadwall had that hand, and he had raised his son to be a good lord as well. But when they both died of illness, his youngest son Tywall became the new prince. The boy was only five, so the lords and merchants of Cintarra selected a Regency Council until Tywall came of age.” He grunted. “That was a mistake. The High King ought to have appointed a sole regent. The Regency Council is a pack of thieves and grifters. They’ve gotten the bright idea in their heads that the lands of Cintarra are wasted as cropland, and all the land ought to be given over to pasturage for sheep. Then the Regency Council can sell wool cloth to the rest of Andomhaim and to Owyllain. Don’t have so many sheep in Owyllain, as I understand it. The lords have been raising enclosures around their croplands and grazing sheep there. And if the commoners get pushed off their lands, bad luck to them.”
“It is a grave sin to deprive a man of his livelihood,” said Belasco. “Then the Adversary will tempt him to sloth and brigandage.”
“And enough of these displaced commoners have turned to brigandage,” said Longinus. “The roads to Cintarra are barely safe.”
“The lot from Ebor camped outside the gate aren’t so bad,” said Flavius. “They’re at least trying to earn some honest wages.”
“Except for that boy who stole some of the monks’ sheep and a pig,” said Longinus.
Belasco couldn’t quite stop the smirk that went over his face.
“We’ll deal with that tomorrow,” said Ridmark.
“But matters are ill in Cintarra,” said Valmark. “Too many men who have lost their lands and are out of work. If you ask me, the biggest rogue on the Regency Council is the Master of the Scepter Bank…”
“Bank?” said Kharlacht. “Like a riverbank?”
Caius shook his head. “An organization that both guards and lends money.”
Kharlacht grunted. “I thought the scriptures forbade usury.”
“They do,” said Calliande, “but the merchants of Cintarra have found clever ways around that. Calling the interest a ‘fee’ and so forth.”
“The Master of the Scepter Bank, I think, is the one pushing the Regency Council in their greed,” said Valmark. He shook his head. “I hate to speak evil at another man’s table, brother. But mark my words. If the High King doesn’t step in, and soon, in another year Cintarra is going to rise in revolt against the Regency Council. Then the entire matter will have to be settled with blood.”
“Then let us hope that the High King acts soon,” said Ridmark. “I will speak to him myself, once we return to Tarlion.”
“If the Shield Knight and the Keeper cannot persuade the High King to act, then no one can,” said Valmark.
Dinner arrived from the kitchens. Since many of Castarium’s men made their living from the southern sea, the dinner centered around fish. First, there was a fish soup made with vegetables and cheese, followed by bread cooked in fish oil, and then grilled fish served with butter and spices. Ridmark did not particularly like or dislike fish, but it was well-cooked. Flavius had found a good cook to work in the castra’s kitchens, though the woman was getting old and wanted to retire soon. But Calliande was the daughter of a fisherman, which Ridmark thought would have soured her on fish, but fish were her favorite food. She also had detailed opinions about the proper way to catch, prepare, cook, and season fish, and the castra’s cook met with her approval on all counts.
“What trouble have you had with the villagers from Ebor?” said Ridmark to Flavius.
The praefectus shifted in his chair. “Less…than I might have expected, Lord Ridmark. As the noble Sir Valmark has said, banditry has been a problem of late. Raiders who were once the common farmers of Cintarra have begun stealing cattle from the western villages of Taliand. At first, the knights and Comites of Taliand feared the men of Castarium were raiding them, but we mind our own business these days, my lord. No, it’s the dispossessed men of Cintarra who are causing the trouble. When the villagers of Ebor arrived, I thought they intended to attack the outlying farms. But they said they were only looking for work and they had nowhere else to go.” Flavius let out a sigh. “We’ve been able to find them work, so far, but once the harvest is over in the fall, God and the saints only know what we’ll do next.”
“There might be other ways,” said Ridmark. “Dux Constantine in the Northerland is offering freeholds to anyone willing to settle there.” Much of the Northerland had been destroyed in the war with the Frostborn. “And if they’re willing to travel farther, Queen Zenobia of Trojas in Owyllain is offering lands to anyone willing to settle in her domain and swear fealty to her.”
“Or the High King can put matters right in Cintarra, and they can go home,” said Valmark. “Though things may have gone too far for tha
t now.”
“Pardon, praefectus?” said Caius.
“Yes, my lord bishop?” said Flavius before Caius could get his question out. The presence of foreign dignitaries made him tense.
“You mentioned that the Monastery of St. Bartholomew was having trouble with the villagers from Ebor?” said Caius.
Belasco let out an unhappy sound. “Far be it from me to speak ill of an abbot. He has a heavy duty to shepherd the souls of the brothers in his care as they go about the work of God. But Abbot Caldorman…” He made himself stop talking and drowned his complaint with a drink of wine.
“What the lord bishop is trying to say,” said Flavius, “is that there hasn’t been much trouble with the villagers of Ebor, as I’ve said. They’ve been well-behaved. Oh, some brawling, some drunkenness, some fathers taking clubs to lads with saucy tongues who spoke to their daughters, that sort of thing. We have the same kind of boisterousness at the Feasts of the Nativity and the Resurrection.” He took a deep breath. “But about a week ago one of the young men of Ebor stole a pair of sheep and a pig from lands held by the monastery.”
“What did he do with them?” said Calliande.
“He killed and butchered them,” said Flavius.
“That is a lot of mutton and pork for one man,” said Ridmark.
“Not all by himself,” said Flavius. “I don’t think he ate any of it, actually. He gave it to his aunt, said she was sick and starving, and shared the rest with the people of Ebor. Some of the monks saw him, and they went to Abbot Caldorman. He and Prior Simon came out themselves. God and the saints, but they were furious. Said the men of Ebor had no right to despoil the property of the monastery.” Flavius grimaced at his wine. “If this was just an affair of the men of Castarium, I’d make the thief work until he paid off the value of the animals, or brand him on the cheek and forbid him from the town.” He shot a hasty look at the faded brand of a broken sword on Ridmark’s face and looked away. “But the abbot was in a rage. He demanded that I hang the thief and that I hang everyone who ate the mutton and the pork from the animals. I told him I wasn’t about to do that, and he threatened to write to the archbishop in Tarlion. So, I kept the thief in the cells here and decided to wait until you came to judge the legal petitions, my lord.”
Dragontiarna: Knights Page 3