At the frontier, they were met by Prince Larus himself, along with a troop of his personal guard. Solicitous of the woman who would become his consort, Larus leapt from his carriage and aided Cailen in disembarking from her conveyance. She was transferred into his carriage and then two large, beefy soldiers of Ranlonwald brought a wooden box that was quite obviously heavy and placed this onto the seat of the carriage that had brought her to him.
Larus and Cailen rode away into the interior of Ranlonwald and into their new life, while Nivin and his soldiers and Murlet and his men turned to escort the contents of the wooden box back into Gruene.
The sun had passed into the afternoon part of the sky when the company once more approached the bridge over the gorge. Nivin, who was leading, slid his mount to a halt with a curse. Murlet rode forward to see what had caused the delay.
Ahead, in a wide semi-circle blocking the whole of the road and extending deep into the trees on either side, was a company of perhaps fifty mounted men.
Kristo and the remainder of Murlet’s band.
“Who are these ruffians?” Nivin wondered. “Highway men? – robbers?”
Murlet shook his head. “These men are neither,” he replied, “they are my men.”
Nivin jerked his head about and stared at Murlet. “What is the meaning of this?” He demanded, though his voice trembled, as if from rising fear. “Do you – do you mean to steal the prince’s… treaty papers?”
Murlet smiled a cold smile. “Fear not, Nivin,” he said. “We are not thieves – but neither will we be cheated by your prince a second time.” He raised a hand, indicating the carriage. “Now, you will open the box and pay us seven hundred in gold, four hundred for this charge that we have just completed, and three hundred that is yet owed us from the battle.” His voice hardened. “You will pay us now.”
Nivin went white. “But – I do not have the authority to remit more than the agreed four hundred gold.”
Murlet’s smile went colder. “Would you prefer that we take it all?”
Nivin found a shred of courage. “We-we will prevent you.”
Murlet leaned toward him and spoke quietly. “Attempt it, and you will all die.”
Nivin, breathing quick and shallow, met Murlet’s cold gaze for another moment; then; “Sergeant Turnel,” he ordered, “bring seven hundred gold from the box and give it to this man.”
Turnel, a tall, brawny man with flinty brown eyes, tendered a look of contempt upon Nivin as he dismounted and went to the carriage. Several minutes later, he returned with a heavy leather sack and handed it up to Murlet. Murlet moved next to Brenyn, opened the sack up, and put it into Brenyn’s hands. He then peered down into the sack and stirred the coins slowly with his fingers.
Then he looked over at Nivin. “It looks near enough to seven hundred gold, captain,” he stated agreeably. “So, we will leave you now. Come, lads.”
With that, the band rode west toward the crossroads in the center of the forest and turned north, toward home. It was later learned – the tale was told them by Beran, who had it from another legate – that once the mercenary band had gone from sight, Turnel and the men of Nivin’s troop had slain the captain, tossing his body into the gorge, and had then ridden off with the rest of the contents of the box, reputed to be more than four thousand gold pieces.
Beran shook his head when he had finished telling the tale. “Helvard has no money to hire mercenaries – not that many would work for him, anyway – and many of his own troops have deserted him. The army of Thalia, I hear, stands even now before the walls of Fergus. Helvard attempted to send a plea for help to Larus in Ranlonwald, but the couriers were captured by Thalian soldiers. Prince Helvard, it now appears, will not long sit the throne of Gruene – or, for that matter, draw breath.”
Murlet looked around at the members of the council when Beran finished. “It has already been a profitable year, lads – thanks to Brenyn’s pragmatic mind – and it is yet barely summer. Shall we send Beran forth yet again, or shall we take our ease?”
There was silence for a moment, and then Byre, a wiry, lean man with dark, clever eyes answered. “I say we let Beran go where he will. Should he find something worth our time, then we will go and do it, otherwise, we can enjoy a calm, peaceful year. They are rare enough, you know, in this business.”
This was agreed to by all, and the band gave its unanimous consent. Beran went away, and the days of that summer, Brenyn’s third year in the valley, passed by in leisurely manner, and became weeks. Beran did not return. The single men continued to drill a few days each week while those with families enjoyed the company of their wives and children and tended their gardens.
Brenyn spent many days among the hills behind the town, alone, trying to summon the magic from his weaponry and from himself, always without success. At the last, he realized that he would likely learn nothing more until, once again, he stood face to face with a darking with his life on the line.
36.
Late one afternoon, Murlet, who had been across the valley, visiting with his mother, sought out Brenyn. “Mother is ill again,” he told Brenyn. “And this time, I think it is rather more serious than before. She will not rise from her bed. I left Kristo with her while I came to find you.” He looked closely at Brenyn. “She believes that she is dying, and she wants to see you.”
Brenyn frowned. “Me? Why?”
“I know not,” Murlet responded, “only that she does.”
Brenyn nodded and turned toward the barn. “I will saddle Noris and come with you at once.”
They found Marta, with Kristo, Glora, and Aron seated near her, sitting up in bed, her fingers wrapped about a cup of tea that Kristo had brewed for her. Those hands, Brenyn noticed, trembled slightly while she sipped at the contents of the cup. She looked up as Brenyn came in.
“There’s the darking slayer,” she said, “I have been waiting for you.” She handed the cup to Kristo and held out a hand toward Brenyn. “Come, sit here, Brenyn,” she said, “for I must speak with you, ere I die.” Her voice sounded thin, weak. Kristo moved aside and Brenyn sat in the chair next to her bed.
“Don’t say that you will die, mother,” Glora admonished her, softly. “You will get well.”
Marta looked over at her and shook her head slowly. “Nay, girl; I am going to join your father soon enough.”
She looked back at Brenyn and drew in a shuddering breath. “My son,” she said then, “is a blood prince and no mere mercenary. He is a good and noble man.”
Brenyn nodded. “I know this, madam.”
“He should sit the throne of his homeland, Magnus,” Marta went on,” as did his father, my husband, before him.”
Brenyn nodded again. “Yes, he should,” he agreed.
Marta reached out with a trembling hand and touched him on the arm as she gazed into his eyes. “You can see it done,” she said. “There is power in you, power sufficient to see it done.”
Brenyn frowned his puzzlement but did not answer.
“Mother,” Murlet admonished quietly, from the other side, but she ignored her son.
“I remember,” she continued, still watching Brenyn, “when first I saw you, a young man, an unusual man… as you came riding down the road to my market.”
She paused to draw another breath. “You said that day that you were chasing darkings. While all the world tries to avoid those vile, wicked creatures, you were chasing them.” After drawing yet another shallow breath, she continued. “There is something in you, Brenyn – I knew this even before they told me that you had slain a darking. That something, magic power, whatever it is, can change the world.”
She paused once more and closed her eyes, as she struggled to draw another breath. Brenyn sat silent, watching her, waiting.
Then Marta’s eyes opened once more. “I know nothing of you, Brenyn,” she admitted. “I knew not your mother or father, or any of your people.” In that moment, her tired eyes, clouded with sickness, sharpened. “But I see you,�
�� she said, “and I know that you were born now, in this evil time, for a reason. I lie here, upon the threshold of death, and I know that I am looking at the man who can change the world… who can drive the darkings from it.”
She rolled her head to the right and looked at her son for a moment before turning back. “Deliver the world from the darking scourge, I beg you, that my son may reclaim his birthright.”
Brenyn met her gaze and then nodded solemnly. “Such is my intention, madam.”
She smiled gladly but then a frown pushed that smile aside. “And that thing which the darkings took from you, Brenyn – can it be reclaimed as well?”
Brenyn’s gaze grew hard. “I mean to inquire that of each of them ere they die,” he answered.
“Give me your hand,” she said then.
“Madam?”
“Please, give me your hand.”
Brenyn reached out, placing his hand in hers. She squeezed it weakly, wincing, apparently from the “tingle”. “Promise me, I beg you,” she said. “Restore my son to that which is his.”
Brenyn glanced over at Murlet, who shook his head slightly. Then he looked back and met Marta’s gaze. “I will,” he told her.
“Your solemn promise?” She persisted.
“Upon my life, I swear it,” Brenyn replied.
She watched him for a moment, then; “Thank you, Brenyn,” she said. “I can go now; I can leave this world content.”
Brenyn frowned. “Leave? Must you? Cannot you get well?”
She smiled. “I would have gone ages ago, for I miss my man, my Jasiel. But I knew that I must watch over my son and daughter. But you are here now, Brenyn, and you will set things right.”
With that, she released his hand and turned the other way, toward her son. “Watch over Savang and Groll for me when I have gone, will you, Jonny?”
Murlet, his gaze clouded by sorrow, nodded his head. “I will, mother.”
“They are good dogs.”
“I know.”
Her body convulsed beneath the coverlet, a slight tremor. She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh,” she said. “It is the pain of death. I am going now. Goodbye, Jonny, my son. Goodbye, Glora, my girl.”
Murlet and Glora, tears streaming down both their faces, answered as one. “Goodbye, mother.”
She continued to watch her children for a time, breathing slow and shallow, and then her body convulsed yet again, another slight tremor, her eyes lost focus, and she breathed no more.
Brenyn, Kristo, and Aron quietly left the room. In the hallway beyond, Savang and Groll, Marta’s enormous dogs, sat by the door of the bedroom. They whined softly as the three men went past them, and then arose and padded into the bedroom where their mistress lay.
As they left Marta’s private quarters and entered the small market, Kristo spied a bottle of whisky set upon a high shelf and retrieved it. “I need a drink,” he said, wiping his eyes.
Marta was buried the following day, upon a knoll that rose just south of town at the edge of the woodland. Murlet asked Kristo to speak as they laid her shrouded body into the earth.
The big sergeant wiped at his eyes, looked around at those assembled, and then focused his gaze out over the valley.
“When I was a young man,” he began, “Prince Jasiel and his princess, Marta, ruled at Veir, in Magnus, the land of my birth. They governed with kindness and justice, and I thought – and hoped – that it would always be so. But then evil came upon the land, and the place of goodness was usurped by the forces of wickedness.”
Kristo cleared his throat and glanced over at Murlet before settling his gaze upon the hills across the valley and continuing.
“Princess Marta was a strong woman. When we were forced to flee Magnus and come to this place, she did not complain of the loss of her former life, but willingly took up the role of mistress to a mercenary band led by her son. She was a mother to us all.” He looked down, into the grave. “Farewell, Your Highness,” he said.
He stood there for a moment, silently, while the tears that streamed down his face dropped upon the soil below, and then he wiped his eyes, stepped back, and spoke no more.
Johan and Glora moved forward then, together, and took up handfuls of earth, and let the soil slip through their fingers and into their mother’s grave, saying their goodbyes in quiet tones.
When they had finished, Kristo laid his hand on Murlet’s shoulder. “Go on, Johan,” he suggested. “You and Glora should go. Me and the lads will finish up here and do what needs to be done.”
Murlet considered for a moment and then nodded. “Thank you, my friend.” He looked at Brenyn as he turned away. “Walk with me, if you will,” he said.
Brenyn nodded and fell in beside him. Together, they went up to the “thinking place” on the rock outcropping that looked out over the valley. After sitting silently for a time, Murlet looked over.
“I don’t want that you should feel compelled by anything my mother said to you,” he stated quietly. “You may forget it.”
Brenyn let this statement fall for a long moment and then shook his head. “Nay, captain, I needed to hear her words, and I willingly confess to compulsion.” He met Murlet’s gaze. “I caused the death of that darking upon the road,” he said. “How it was done, I know not, but it was done, and it was done by my presence there on that day. Marta is right. I was born for a purpose. Whether it be the destiny of which Prince Taumus spoke, I cannot say, nor do I care.”
His gaze and his voice hardened. “I mean to confront every darking that crosses my path – indeed, the day will come when I will seek them out.” He shook his head again. “And should I never discover how they are slain, so long as they are slain, it will suffice.”
Murlet’s eyes narrowed with concern. “It is a dangerous path upon which to set your feet,” he cautioned. “No one knows how many of those creatures trouble the earth – indeed, I have seen but six in the course of my life. But the world is large, Brenyn, very large; and there may be many thousands of those wicked creatures abroad in it.”
Brenyn nodded. “If it be so, I intend to reduce that number at every opportunity.”
Murlet watched him for a moment longer and then looked away, out across the valley. “If the opportunity arose to regain the throne of my homeland,” he said, “I would take it.” He sighed. “But this is a pleasant place, this valley, and we are relatively untroubled here. Should it be my lot to remain here until I pass from the earth, I will be content.” He looked back. “I want that you should know that, Brenyn.”
Brenyn nodded. “I understand, captain.”
Murlet smiled. “There is another thing – when we are alone, you may dispense with the title, Brenyn. My name is Johan, and you may address me thus.”
Brenyn frowned. “You are a prince as well, remember?”
Murlet’s smile grew pensive. “I am but a man,” he stated. “I try to be a good man, an honest man, but I am only a man.”
His smile went away, and he looked over. “And I am your friend, Brenyn. Whatever comes, whatever the future holds; I am your friend.”
“Thank you… Johan,” Brenyn replied.
37.
Beran returned late in that summer, riding with some haste across the valley and sought out Captain Murlet at once, who then summoned the men of the council to the tavern. When they were all seated, Murlet simply looked at Beran and nodded.
Beran turned his gaze upon Brenyn as he began to speak. “Prince Taumus of Merkland,” he began, “has offered us a rather remarkable sum of one thousand gold if we will go to battle with him, serving as cavalry upon the wings of his army. The combined of forces of Illnius and Morilund – yes, Pelterez has succumbed to the influence of the darkings – along with those of the principality of Worgunia, to the east of Illnius, have formed an alliance against Merkland and even now march to war.”
“Mungus of Hanfurd,” he continued, “has apparently found the courage to defy the wishes of the darkings and has allied with Taumus – or,
it may be that Mungus fears Taumus even more than the darkings. In any case, Hanfurd, being small and poor, brings little to the aid of Merkland.”
The entire time that Beran spoke, his gaze remained fixed upon Brenyn. “The one condition that Prince Taumus has set upon our earning the thousand gold coins,” he said then, “is that Brenyn be present with the band.”
Brenyn frowned at this. “Of course I will be present – why would I not? But why does Taumus set this as a condition?”
Beran shook his head. “I know not. Taumus, however, was most emphatic upon this point.”
With that, Beran went silent and deferred to Murlet.
The captain studied Brenyn for a long, quiet moment and then asked the table for opinions. “Do we accept this charge or no, lads? What say you all?”
Kristo frowned and glanced across at Beran. “Why Brenyn, in particular? Is there danger to him that we know not? What does Taumus intend? Does he expect a sorcerer to be among the enemy troops – or a darking, perhaps?”
Beran shrugged. “The prince stated only that he wanted our band to serve as cavalry upon the flanks of his army when he goes forth to battle – and that Brenyn must be a part of the band. He did not explain further.”
Kristo nodded slowly and then looked to his left. “I want to hear what Brenyn says before I vote.”
Brenyn nodded. “I am willing to go,” he said simply.
“You certain, lad?” Kristo persisted.
“I am.”
“Then I say we accept,” Kristo told Murlet.
The rest agreed and the council went downstairs to the pub where the entire band was assembled to put the matter to a vote. At Brenyn’s request, Murlet did not mention the stipulation that his presence was specifically required.
Once again, the vote was unanimous, for one thousand gold was a sizeable amount, even when weighed against the knowledge that this was to be outright battle, which inevitably meant that, for some, this would be their last ride.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 33