He looked up and met her sorrowful gaze. “But the whole world, not just Magnus, burns with the flames of war, mother. The whole of the world is in ruin, and I know not how to save it.”
He lifted his hand and swept it around, indicating the valley outside the windows. “Here, we have a bit of peace, and a measure of freedom – and there is nothing to tempt the darkings, for we are not numerous enough or important enough to attract their notice.”
He smiled gently. “Glora is safe, and Riana is safe, and – most of all – you are safe. This valley is a haven from all the trouble out there.”
She frowned at this. “And yet you, and they, take your lives in your hands every time you go forth to acquire gold to sustain this haven.”
He nodded. “True, but it will not always be so. One day, we will have enough – I hope – that we can remain here, away from the world, and live out our lives in peace.”
Marta gazed at her son for a moment longer and then closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. “I know, Jonny,” she said. “I am sorry – I just wish for more for you.” Tears appeared and streamed down her face. “I wish that you could claim your birthright – for you were born to be a prince, my son, and were the world free from those foul creatures you could do so.”
“I have enough,” he answered. “I am content.”
So, Brenyn thought, Johan Murlet was indeed born a prince. He turned away from this tender scene and looked out across the valley as he sipped his tea and waited for the visit to conclude.
But Marta was not ready for the visit to be over. “You slew a darking,” she stated abruptly, and her voice was no longer gentle and quiet, but had grown sharp in its tone. “How? No one has ever slain a darking.”
Brenyn turned to find that her gaze, sharp like her son’s and glistening with moisture, was fixed on him.
“Mother,” Murlet remonstrated. “Brenyn is our guest. Must you interrogate him?”
She kept her gaze fixed upon Brenyn. “I want to know,” she replied. “I want to know how a man who chases darkings catches one and slays it.”
Brenyn met her gaze and shook his head. “I do not know how it was done,” he answered, “Only that it was done.”
Her eyes narrowed with skepticism. “You slew a darking but know not how you did it?”
“My mother practiced magic,” Brenyn explained. “My Gran stated that she could heal plants and things, even animals, with her touch. Clef Echols thinks perhaps that she was a Sylvan. I do not know the truth of it, for she died giving me life, so I never knew her. But she crafted weaponry for my father that apparently contains magic – and sometimes, it awakens to my aid in times of duress, as with the darking.”
Marta’s gaze softened. “Your mother died in childbirth? – I am sorry, young man.”
Brenyn nodded his thanks. “As am I,” he said, “for had I known her, then I might have a better understanding of how her magic works, and how it might be controlled.” He glanced over at Murlet and then looked back. “Could I slay every darking in the world, I would do so, madam, and then your son might gain back that which was taken from him.”
Murlet laughed softly. “Could you slay every one of those foul creatures, Brenyn, and make the world free of their evil – I would gladly see you installed as king over all the principalities of the earth. For then the world might truly know peace.”
Brenyn, surprised by this declaration, smiled and shook his head. “Not I, captain. But I would gladly serve you.”
Murlet continued to watch Brenyn for a moment without expression as his good humor faded and then he turned to Marta. “Beran tells me that you have been ill, mother. What troubles you?”
Marta shook her head. “Age, my son, and naught else.” She sighed. “And I find that I miss the company of your father. Nothing has value without him. No sunset is as lovely, no flower as delicate, no sky is as blue, as when he looked upon those things while seated beside me. Loneliness ails me, and age, naught else.”
Murlet’s face darkened. “I am sorry, mother – I will come and visit more often.”
She smiled at him. “Nay, do not trouble yourself, my son. I do not miss you, Jonny, for you are here often enough – but you are not your father, though you favor him so. It is not a child that I miss, but a mate.” She wiped at her eyes and smiled. “Another cup of tea, then?”
But Murlet stood. “Sorry, mother, another time. Brenyn and I have things to discuss and I am anxious for Beran’s return, and he may have come while we’ve been visiting.” He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. “If there is aught I can do for you, you need but ask.”
“You do enough for me, my son.” She stood and looked over as Brenyn got to his feet. “And I am happy to know you better, Brenyn.”
Brenyn inclined his head silently.
Later, as they made their way back across the valley and came to the riverbank, Murlet reined in his horse and looked over at him. “You must have questions.”
Brenyn shook his head. “No, captain, I do not.”
Murlet frowned. “But all that you heard this morning…”
“Your business is yours, captain, not mine,” Brenyn replied. “Besides, I think I always knew that you were high born – many of the other men suspect it as well, I think, if they do not know.”
Murlet laughed outright. “Know? Indeed, they do. Many of them, Sergeant Kristo, for one, knew me when I was but a boy, and heir to the throne of Magnus, whereon sat my father, Prince Jasiel. None of this is secret, though I speak little of it, for it matters little now.” He sighed deeply once more and looked away, toward the eastern mountains. “It seems so long ago…”
30.
Murlet folded his hands upon the pommel of his saddle and sighed once more. “My father,” he said, “unlike most of these tin-crown princes now, was a true blood prince, and ascended to the throne of my homeland, Magnus, upon the death of his father, Jalan. My father, like his father before him, resisted the influence of the darkings, though, of course, the darkings simply induced others of our neighbors, especially the princes of Sira and Mashad, to make war upon us. So, we did not escape the wickedness of the darkings though we resisted them, for war came upon us, anyway.”
He looked up as the cry of a hawk sounded in the blue far above, and then continued. “I was but eighteen years of age, and a captain in the army of Magnus, due to my birthright, and we had success against both Sira and Mashad, for even between them, they were lesser in numbers, and our soldiers were better equipped and disciplined.” He shook his head. “It was not upon the field of battle that our cause was lost, but in the very halls of the palace itself.”
His voice took on an undertone of long-nurtured anger. “My father’s chief councilor, Arak Shammed, who was the son of a long line of councilors to the princes of Magnus, had, unknown to either my father or me, been seduced by the promises of the darkings. A lust for power had grown in him – a desire to sit the throne of our land – and the darkings are very adept at seeking out those whose principles are… flexible.”
The undertone of anger in his voice grew yet more savage and found expression in the lines of his face. “There are always those that can be seduced by promises of power and a part of the spoil in that which is taken from others. Shammed had lured some of our own soldiers of the city garrison to the side of rebellion and subservience to the will of the darkings.
“Shammed then relayed information of the movements of our army to Mashad and Sira that resulted in us being caught between them as we marched, leading to a severe defeat of our forces in battle. I was there on that day, and it was near thing that we managed to avoid annihilation. Even so, as we were engaged, far away from the capitol of Veir, where dwelled my father, mother, and Glora, a contingent of Siran soldiers was let into the palace by Shammed and his conspirators.”
Murlet went quiet for a moment. “Our palace guard, led by Sergeant Kristo, resisted mightily, but were badly outnumbered and consequently overpo
wered. My father ordered Kristo to take a company of men and get my mother and Glora away, while he led the rest of the guard in a desperate attempt to hold the palace.” His hand lifted toward his face, where moisture had appeared in his eyes to overflow and run down his cheeks, but then dropped again. He paused once more to blink and stare at the waters of the river where the sun danced upon the ripples of the current.
He sighed. “My father was slain and the capitol city of Veir was taken and the people enslaved. Caught in a pincer between the armies of Sira and Mashad, our army broke apart and fled the field. I raced back to Veir but did not dare enter, for the city was then in the control of Shammed and his rebels. Thinking my family dead, I then turned to go and try to rally what remained of our armies. In that moment, Sergeant Kristo intercepted me and told me that my mother and sister yet lived. He convinced me to escape with him and flee Magnus, taking what remained of my family far away from Shammed and his designs.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and then looked over at Brenyn and attempted a smile. “After much traveling, and avoiding darkings, we found this valley, mother, Glora, Kristo, fifty-five men that remained of the loyal garrison, and me.”
Murlet’s smile went away and he shrugged. “We became mercenaries so that we might feed and house and arm ourselves. Years passed, and here we remain. Forty-six of the old guard are with us still, but any dream of returning to Magnus is just that – a dream, nothing more.” He hesitated for another moment and then glanced over. “You may as well know all,” he said. “I was engaged to marry ere Veir fell to Shammed and the darkings. Her name was Vienne. She and her family did not survive the rebellion.”
He glanced toward the town, where a few of the roofs could be spied between the trees. “In our first year in this valley, Beran Hile came and sought refuge. He had been councilor to the prince of Nevda, to the southwest, by the sea, who had suffered a similar fate to that of my father. Because he was well versed in the ways of courts, after he was certain that he was no longer sought by his former enemies, Beran went to work as our legate.
“In the second year, we were hired to rescue the inhabitants of a mining town in the mountains in the north of Fralun, to the east of Morilund, from marauders. After we had rousted them out and defeated them, we searched through the houses of the town for any that might have eluded our steel. I found Riana and her brother hiding in a cellar. Her parents had died a year before from a fever that came through that province and Riana and her brother, named Paydon, had labored in the mines to try and maintain their family’s holdings. They had hidden for many days from the invaders.”
He smiled slightly. “I was taken with Riana, I admit, and I convinced her and Paydon to come and join with us. Riana and I have been together ever since. She is a strong woman, and despite my every wish and importuning, she will ever come with us when we take an assignment. Paydon was killed in action four years ago and I think she feels that she is taking his place.”
The captain drew in a deep breath, glanced slowly about the sunlit valley, and then looked back. “Forgive me for bending your ear, Brenyn, but now you know my tale.”
He met Brenyn’s gaze. “There is a reason that I wanted you to know me better,” he said.
Brenyn frowned. “Indeed?”
Murlet nodded. “I want you to join the council of this band – become a part of those of us who decide what we will present to the band for a vote, and that take care of the other necessities such as food, arms, and the like. This means that – should you agree – you will join Beran, Kristo, Van Dessen, Harus Clough, Trem Byre, and me in making those decisions. Marta – my mother – is included in the council as well, when the matter is especially urgent. What do you say?”
Brenyn’s frown strengthened. “I have ridden with this band less time than any other man except for Aron, Karsen, and Foler. What will the others think of such a thing?” He wondered.
Murlet smiled. “That you would ask such a question verifies my judgment,” he replied. He shook his head. “All the men know that you are different, Brenyn, special. You slew a darking in the sight of them all, and then, in the battle with Thalia – well, none know what you did there, but whatever it was, it saved many a life, and they all know it. None will disapprove of you joining the council. You may believe this.”
Brenyn considered for a moment and then nodded. “I will do anything that will be helpful,” he replied.
“Good,” Murlet said. “Beran should return any day with our bounty from Gruene and then I think we will spend a peaceful fall and winter – what do you think?”
“A bit of peace would be pleasant,” Brenyn answered.
Murlet urged his horse into the shallow waters of the river. “Let us go home,” he said.
Beran Hile did not return that day or the next or even the next, and Murlet’s features began to show lines of concern as he watched the dirt track that came across the valley from the western hills. By the next day, he suggested to the council that they consider sending a troop to the south to look for the absent legate.
But then, late in that morning, a company of riders was seen turning off the distant road and heading eastward across the valley. Murlet, accompanied by Kristo, Brenyn, and several of the men, met them at the entrance to the town. Beran motioned for his companions to go and put their mounts away while he leaned down and spoke to Murlet.
“We must talk, Johan,” he said quietly.
Murlet nodded and looked at Kristo. “Gather the council.”
A half-hour later, members of the council, including Brenyn, gathered in an upper room of the public house that looked out over the street. When they were all seated, Murlet looked at Beran Hile, who produced a leather bag and placed it on the table.
“Two hundred gold,” he said. “Not five hundred.”
An angry murmur went around the table at this.
“Why?” Murlet demanded. “Where is the remainder?”
Beran drew in a deep, slow breath and exhaled. “After the battle,” he said, “I went to Fergus to receive our promised bounty with two other legates from Traven’s and Horis’ band, along with Captain Kured.”
Though Beran Hile’s thin features and piercing eyes usually bore an expression of serious solemnity, on this day, those features were colored by the presence of a deep anger. “First,” he went on, “we were all made to wait for eight days ere Helvard would see us. Then we were summoned at once, all four of us, to his hall, where we found the entirety of his palace guard armed and in attendance, as if Helvard expected trouble.”
He looked around and then directed his remarks to Murlet. “He then informed us that – as was our agreement – we would each receive two hundred gold now, and the balance of three hundred within six months’ time.”
Murlet started. “Was this your agreement with him, Beran?” He asked.
Beran shook his head. “No – nor was it the agreement that he had reached with the others. Each of us had agreed to a payment of five hundred gold upon completion of our commitment to the battle with Thalia. Ere I could protest,” he continued, “Traven’s legate, Bran Jasher, fairly erupted with indignation, and despite the presence of so many armed men, accused Helvard of deception and fraud.” He shook his head. “Whereupon Helvard threatened him with incarceration in his dungeons if he persisted with such talk.”
Murlet stared at him in shock. “He threatened a legate with imprisonment?”
“He did indeed,” Beran answered soberly. “I could scarcely believe that he would behave so abominably. If General Orlav had not been present to calm the prince, he might indeed have sent Jasher to his dungeons.” He drew in another deep breath. “Kured, as well, protested bitterly, though perhaps with a quieter tone than Jasher, and the prince threatened him as well.”
“And you?” Murlet asked.
“I saw how it was, Johan,” Beran responded, “and decided that if I could but get away with the two hundred, it would be better than nothing, so I held my tongue.”
Murlet nodded. “You were ever wise, Beran.”
The captain gazed down at the table for a time and then looked up. “Helvard has no intention of paying the three hundred, does he?”
“I think not,” Beran agreed.
“Not in six months or ever,” Murlet added darkly.
“We will never see that money,” Beran stated plainly.
Murlet’s eyes hardened. “Helvard is fortunate then, that our losses were not greater than they were, else I would go to Gruene and put him to the sword myself.”
“Kured lost thirteen,” Beran said then. “His fury burned hot, and such anger will not be easily assuaged.”
Murlet shook his head in disbelief. “How will Helvard ever persuade another mercenary captain to aid him after this?”
“While I was in Fergus,” Beran said, “I spoke with a few of those who would know how things are with the prince, and they all seemed to think that Helvard’s treasury is nigh unto empty. He sits upon a rickety throne in great danger of collapse.”
“He is finished then,” Murlet stated, “when another moves against him – as will surely come to pass. Perhaps even Thalia, for though they lost the battle, they were not badly diminished.”
Beran nodded and grimaced. “I am sorry about this, Johan. The men will be disappointed.”
Murlet shook his head. “It is no fault of yours. This life that we have all chosen comes with many risks. Being cheated by some tin-crowned prince is the least of them.” He sighed and looked around the table. “I might as well inform the men,” he said. “There will be but two gold and some silver each rather than six. Still, that leaves some for supplies and even a bit for the box.”
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 28