by S E Meliers
‘I will accept that,’ Charity bowed his head. ‘Thank you, my friend. Now, back to the matter at hand: you are recruiting peasants to make up the lack of trained soldiers? Many of these you have here are barely more than babes in arms; how can you win a war with children? It is simply not ethical.’
‘Maybe not,’ Diligence grimaced, ‘but it is the King’s word. Any male of ten summers or more is to be recruited, any man fit to wield a sword.’
‘I imagine that is being well received by the peasants,’ Cedar prompted.
Diligence cast a cold eye on him. ‘There have been several uprisings against the order.’
‘Do you pay these soldiers?’ Charity enquired. ‘The poor are often mollified by a little coin.’
‘An interesting idea, my Lord,’ Diligence ceded. ‘The King has not made provision for payment at this time, however. Maybe you could raise that with him?’
‘I will,’ Charity nodded sagely.
‘Sure,’ Cedar snorted. ‘So what would your price be, Charity, to send your young son to battle? Do you really think anyone, no matter their birth rank, would be happy to send their child into danger for a few coins? I do not blame the peasants for protesting. These boys marching behind us are children. You would not treat a noble child so poorly. But,’ he sneered at Diligence, ‘I have a suspicious accent, so why listen to me.’
Diligence glowered back. ‘The price of victory is always the blood of the innocent,’ he said.
‘Not blood so young,’ Cedar shook his head horrified. ‘It is wrong; cruel.’
‘War is cruelty,’ Diligence replied with a face like granite. ‘That is just the way it is. The crueller, the quicker, it is said.’
‘Yes,’ Cedar agreed, ‘for those young boys it will be over swiftly and painfully. You are throwing their lives away fruitlessly.’
‘What do you propose then?’ Diligence demanded. ‘We are vastly outnumbered. Reinforcements will not be sent. We are charged with holding Guarn. By the King’s orders, we recruit these men. It is for them, for their families, that this war is fought, they should be happy to make this sacrifice.’
‘A peasant does not care who rules them, as long as that rule is not cruelly enforced,’ Cedar retorted, ‘so do not sell me that shit about war being for their benefit. War is for the wealthy – for nobility. It is their rule that is threatened, their holdings.’
‘Cedar speaks true,’ Charity startled them by speaking. ‘But, as Diligence said, Cedar, it is by the King’s orders that these boys are recruited. It is not for us to dispute the word of the King. Anarchy would result.’
Cedar frowned, considering. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘If you cannot go against the word of the King, and you need the numbers, then maybe you should reconsider how these boys are utilised in the army. Obviously placing boys against fully grown, trained and experienced soldiers would be a waste of young lives.’
‘What do you propose?’ Charity was intrigued.
‘I spent considerable time in the EAerys. Their terrain makes for an interesting battle ground. They are peaceful now, but in the past they warred amongst themselves. Maybe we could teach your boys a little of their style of warfare…’ he suggested. ‘It would certainly give them the element of surprise.’
Charity exchanged a glance with Diligence who shrugged. ‘Very well,’ Charity decided heavily. ‘You may take twenty boys into your charge and train them. If you prove them useful in this EAeryian style of battle, than we will see.’
Cedar grimaced realising he’d just volunteered for the Rhyndelian army. ‘Well, she did say to walk his road,’ he grumbled to himself. ‘Fine,’ he decided. ‘I will start with the lads you picked up from the village.’
Cinder
The Lord Obedience and his Lady Piety knelt on the ornate rug, framed by Cinder’s personal guard, Granite and Obsidian. The Lord and Lady of Truen were a young couple, flush with youth and promise. Obedience had none of the recklessness of the young, however. His siege, and his surrender, had been considered and responsible. He had not let his poor suffer slow starvation, but had held out for a long as he could thereby discharging his duty as their Lord to his utmost without the sacrifice of their lives. There was nobility to the Noble couples’ demeanour that appealed to Cinder; they did not plead, or beg, cower, or rage. They had announced their surrender, asked for his mercy, and had admitted his forces with an oddly organised if resigned courtesy.
Piety’s hands trembled now, betraying the nerves beneath her calm exterior. Cinder did not like to see her distress, and hoped that she would prove less devoted then her name suggested. ‘I must admit I am baffled by the Rhyndelian religious system,’ he said conversationally, taking a seat in one of the two heavy carven chairs that occupied a raised dais. He did not like being so raised above his subjects. It seemed lacking in humility to him. He decided that he would have the dais dismantled before the day’s end. ‘You are probably as baffled by the Way of the Monad. I will enlighten you.’ He stood, and instead sat on the bottom step of the dais. This placed him on level with the kneeling Lord and Lady.
Piety seemed to fear meeting his eyes; her gaze was fixed on a design on the carpet. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks, meeting at the point of her chin before dripping onto her skirts. The wet spots were ugly on the grey silk. Her belly was round with pregnancy and the babe was active, kicking in ferocious defiance of its mother’s peril. She had to be uncomfortable, he realised, kneeling in such a way, and he decided not to keep her overlong.
‘The Way is the belief that the world is an inferior simulacrum of a higher level of consciousness. The physical body is considered to be evil and constrictive, a deliberate prison for our souls,’ he said gently, before turning to one of his guard. ‘Perhaps we should get the Lady a cushion and a drink of water, Granite,’ he directed.
Obedience met his gaze with the calm assurance of a man who had done his best and now accepted that the worst had come upon him and that he should meet the end bravely. ‘Thank you for your consideration of my wife,’ he said solemnly. He assisted Piety to resettle herself more comfortably with the provided cushion and, with his hands over hers, helped her to drink from the goblet.
‘I am not a monster,’ Cinder acknowledged. ‘To continue: It is the Monadastic belief that we came into existence when a divine element fell into the material realm, lodging itself into flesh and blood. This divine element may be returned to the divine realm through a process of awakening, or salvation. The aim of the Way of the Monad is to seek awakening and salvation through self-discovery through prayer, freeing ourselves of the sins of the flesh in order to return to a divine state, following the mandates of the Custodian Council, and in spreading the word of the Monad and converting heretics.’
A scream arose from outside, causing all in the room to instinctively look towards the windows. Cinder rose and strode to the nearest unshuttered opening. He could see a soldier in the courtyard below with a wench by one arm. He leaned out over the sill and roared: ‘No rape!’ down at him, causing the soldier to release the girl in surprise. ‘Granite - ’ he turned to his guard.
Granite was already at the door to the chamber, giving orders to the soldiers outside. ‘It will be seen to, my Lord,’ Granite replied sternly, stepping back into the room and closing the door to the hallway.
‘Thank you,’ Cinder frowned.
‘That is very enlightened of you,’ Piety said, meeting his eyes at last.
Cinder smiled dryly. ‘My reasons are not as noble as you would attribute them, my Lady, I am afraid,’ he replied. ‘Rape, in war, is inevitable and enjoyable. However, if one allows it to take place in daylight in a public courtyard after surrender… well, anarchy will soon rule over reason. Where was I?’
‘Conversion,’ Granite supplied in undertone.
‘Thank you,’ Cinder inclined his head. ‘There are some who hold that forced conversion will not achieve awakening, and that it is simply a way for the Priesthood to increase their coffe
rs through increasing their constituency. That the only true conversion is that willingly made, and that only through education and exposure can people make that decision for themselves. There is also some… dispute… over the methods that are used in order to force conversion to the Monad. However, it is not openly discussed as if a Priest declares a person’s conversion false a person may find themselves subject to those methods.’
‘You are their Prince, surely you can - ?’ Piety placed her hand over her belly and the child within.
‘I am a devoted servant to the Monad and the Priesthood,’ he said carefully. ‘I am merely providing you a full understanding, and not expressing my personal opinion.’
‘I understand,’ Obedience nodded wisely.
‘I do not,’ Piety muttered, her hand rubbing circles over her belly.
‘My rise in Shoethal has been on the shoulders of the Priests,’ Cinder clarified quietly. ‘They are called Kingmakers in Shoethal for a reason; it is through the Priesthood that I will be made King. My people needed a reason to unify against the models of traditional hierarchy; the Priesthood, the Monad, provided that reason.’
She glanced up at him, expression woeful.
‘Have you heard how the Priests force conversion? They torture the flesh to save the soul,’ Cinder held her gaze. ‘It is not pleasant, and they do not stay their hand for children, women, or…’ he gestured to her. She recoiled. ‘So many Amorians have refused to see the Way of the Monad, even when watching their children bleed. One of the chief understandings of the Way is that we come from the Monad and thus are divine. Although we seek to return to the divine realm and in doing so will shed this flesh, we respect it as the housing of that divinity.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘This does not seem a commonality between our peoples if Rhyndelian parents are willing to sacrifice the flesh of their children in order to save their souls.’
‘If our roles were reversed,’ Piety asked with a flash of an inner steel he had not suspected existed, ‘would you turn from the Monad?’
‘If my womb held the next generation?’ he leaned down close to her, ‘I would consider the sacrifice worthwhile in order to give that child the opportunity to be divine.’
She looked away, to her husband. After a moment, Obedience nodded. ‘It would be best,’ he said to her.
‘And you?’ she whispered, her gaze clinging. ‘Do not leave me to raise our child alone.’
‘The people will follow where I lead,’ he replied unhappily.
‘Would you lead them into the dungeons to be tortured?’ Cinder asked. The Lord lowered his head and gazed at his knees. Cinder stood. ‘I will let you think about it. The Priests will arrive as soon as I send word that the city is taken. You have, at most, a day. Granite, please see that the Lord and Lady are returned to their chambers under guard and that their needs are met.’ He returned to the window as Obedience helped the awkwardly burdened Piety to her feet and Granite handed them out to the waiting soldiers beyond the door, stepping out to do so. ‘I think they will make the right choice,’ he said to his guard.
‘She will make his choice for him,’ Obsidian commented. ‘For the child.’
‘Yes,’ Cinder nodded.
Granite re-entered the room. ‘Ironwood awaits you in the hall,’ he announced. ‘Should I admit him?’
‘Ah, good,’ Cinder was pleased. ‘I have been wondering how it goes at Lyendar. Let him in, let him in, and send for wine and something to eat.’
Granite stepped out into the hall, admitting the imposing form of Ironwood. Cinder pulled a face. ‘By the Monad, I can smell you from here,’ he said to the man in jest. ‘Is water so scarce at Lyendar you have been unable to bath for a week?’
Ironwood grinned appreciative of the crude attempt at humour, his smile wide and brilliant. ‘I think my Prince has forgotten what it is like on the front line of battle. Maybe you need a refresher?’
Cinder clapped him on the shoulder. ‘If the Monad would only grant me that, I would be a happier man. These courtly doings and power plays weary me beyond bearing. It is good to see you my friend, if not so good to smell you,’ he laughed. ‘Let us sit by the window so I can at least breathe easy.’
‘I would have bathed before visiting you, my Prince, were my tidings not of import.’
‘All does not go well at Lyendar?’ Cinder raised his eyebrows. ‘I knew the Rhyndelians would rally at some point, but I had hoped to take Lyendar first and cement our hold on the eastern edge. That is disappointing.’
‘All was going to plan,’ Ironwood said leaning against the window ledge. ‘We successfully surrounded Lyendar, forcing them into siege. Unfortunately, it appears they have a sorcerer in residence – a necromancer of some sort.’
‘A necromancer,’ Cinder was astounded. ‘Unusual.’
‘Yes,’ Ironwood agreed with a grimace. ‘And effective. We were on the verge of taking the city, when the dead rose from the ground and began attacking us. The initial surprise cost us some men, but we quickly rallied and dispatched them. They were long dead, and brittle with it – easily destroyed beyond rising again.’
‘And then?’ There was an “and then” implied in Ironwood’s tone.
‘And then our dead rose and took arms against us,’ Ironwood looked perturbed. ‘It was a very uncomfortable experience to butcher comrades we had not even had time to mourn. With the necromancer on their side, whenever we attack, the men we lose rise against us, as well as their own dead. The fresh dead are also as masterful and vigorous as the living. Our men are unnerved by it. There have been rumours that it is a sign that the Monad is not with us. I have ceased sending men to the wall and am holding the siege instead just with mangonel and crossbow fire for the time being, awaiting your word on how to proceed. It will not hold them long.’
‘The enemy must look elsewhere for victory if your walls he cannot breach,’ Cinder murmured to himself.
‘What is that?’ Ironwood asked.
‘Something my brother once said to me. Nothing, really.’ Cinder looked out the window. The courtyard was busy with priests. He massaged his temples as if trying to physically drag the thoughts out of his head. ‘We are well supplied?’
‘Yes, my Prince. We can hold them to siege until they perish, if that is your wish.’
Cinder chewed his lip. ‘If we do not capture Lyendar quickly, it gives the Rhyndel king time to rally his armies and meet us on the field. I would rather be inside the fortifications than pinned against them…’ Decision made, he nodded. ‘I will travel with you to Lyendar. I need to be there in order to determine the best course of action.’
Praise
Praise considered the torque in the sunlight. She liked the smooth collar of shimmering silver and the strange red fire that flickered deep within the centrally mounted large, smooth oval stone. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘It is called opal, my Lady,’ the stall owner replied. She did not correct him. Everyone called the dragon-riders “my Lady”, even though most were of common birth. ‘There is only one mine in Rhyndelian. It is said that the stone is made from ancient water magicked into crystal. It takes a masterful jeweller to polish the stone and make the fire shine, and set it into a piece of jewellery, as the stone is incredibly brittle.’
‘It will break?’ Praise was disappointed.
‘No, no,’ the stall owner assured her. ‘Not unless you smash the stones against something hard. Look, my Lady,’ he took the necklace from her hand and draped it round her neck so she could see herself in the polished bronze mirror. ‘It looks lovely on you, with your hair and skin,’ he said.
‘It does,’ Praise admired herself. ‘My dragon would like it.’ But she hesitated.
‘You should get earrings, too.’ Calico drifted out of the crowd to stand at her elbow and peruse the stall.
Praise started, scowled, and then bit her lip in thought. ‘They are for ears pierced in the manner of these Rhyndelians,’ she said absently. The earrings would look lovely with the torq
ue. She really wanted the torque.
‘It is easy enough to pierce ears,’ the stall owner assured her.
‘And nearly painless,’ Calico added mischievously, ‘if one considers having a needle stuck through one’s earlobe a painless procedure.’
Praise grimaced, but stroked the torque longingly. ‘Very well, I will take it, and the silver earrings. Fire in stone,’ she mused as she handed over the gold purchase price. She tucked necklace and earrings away into her purse and secured the pick-pocket flap. ‘What do you want?’ she asked gracelessly of Calico.
The white haired woman was dressed like most of the women in the courtyard market – not in the luscious low scooped and jewel trimmed silks of the nobility, but in good quality fabric in muted green, modestly but attractively cut. Her hair was hidden beneath a green and gold ribboned snood draped back from a simple band of matching fabric that rested on the hairline – this style was becoming popular at court, modelled off of the Lady Patience, who seemed to favour braids and snoods post Charity. For Calico, it served to disguise a distinguishing feature of her appearance.
‘Merely to walk with my dragon-rider friend,’ Calico smiled pleasantly, taking Praise’s elbow in a companionable way that also prevented her from being separated in the crowds that pushed in around them. ‘Are you finished shopping?’
‘No,’ Praise replied petulantly, ‘I have barely started.’
Calico smiled sweetly. ‘I think you are tired, my dear friend,’ she said meaningfully. ‘Perhaps we should walk towards the beach?’
‘I wanted - ’ Praise sighed. ‘Oh, very well.’ She let the other woman draw her across the courtyard into the shadows cast by a canvass shade pulled out from a storefront. ‘What-?’ she asked as Calico pulled her into the shop door.
‘Look,’ Calico nodded out into the courtyard. Praise followed her gaze and recoiled. There, towering a good couple of heads above most of the Rhyndelian’s, walked the two EAerymen. They were searching the crowd intently. ‘They look for women with ginger hair,’ she flipped the end of Praise’s own braid at her.