The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  That was an impactful statement. The Dark Lord had indeed razed a castle and destroyed an army as only he was capable of. It was eerie and terrifying. The Marshal looked at Christopher, who lifted his eyebrows as if to emphasize the scope of the horror that had undoubtedly occurred.

  “Good,” The Marshal said simply. “And Canmore? Was he captured?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Where is he?”

  “That is what we must discuss, my lord.”

  The Marshal didn’t ask anymore questions. He had what he wanted, mostly, but he was intensely curious about the rest. He could see by the expressions on Cole and Alastor’s faces that a good deal more must have happened.

  Perhaps the abduction of Alpin Canmore had only been the beginning.

  Without another word, he followed Alastor into the vast bailey of Castle Keld.

  “He burned to death?” Christopher repeated, shocked. “Christ. The man fell into the hearth and burned to death?”

  Alastor nodded. “Of his own accord, I might add,” he said. “In fact, that hearth right there. You can still smell the burned flesh. The stench is in everything.”

  He was pointing to the enormous hearth against the wall, the one blazing with a friendly fire that hadn’t been so friendly when Alpin had fallen into it. Everyone turned to look at it, as if there were something different about it than other hearths, but the truth was that it looked normal enough.

  Normal enough and deadly enough under the right circumstances.

  Alastor’s solar was crowded with the men who had accompanied The Marshal north, as well as his own sons and Cole de Velt. All of them now looking at the hearth after hearing a rather horrifying story about Alpin Canmore’s death.

  In fact, The Marshal took a good look at the black-stoned fireback before turning away with a grimace.

  “Astonishing,” he muttered, returning his attention to Alastor. “And he spoke of Berwick before he fell into the hearth? That is not something I have heard before.”

  “Nor I,” Alastor replied. “It was Cole who translated what he said, for he spoke it in the Scot’s tongue. Mayhap to tease us, since I do not speak the Gaelic. Mayhap he knew that.”

  The Marshal looked at Cole. “What did he say, exactly?”

  Cole didn’t hesitate. “Tha an fhìrinn ann am Bearaig.”

  The Marshal lifted his eyebrows, curious. “I see,” he said. “So the man said that the truth lies in Berwick. And that was all?”

  “That was all, my lord,” Cole replied.

  The door to the solar opened at that moment and a beautiful woman with blond hair and a green velvet gown entered. Cole almost didn’t recognize Corisande because she was dressed in finery and jewels, her hair elaborately styled, which was something he’d never seen on her before. She was exquisite.

  She looked like a queen.

  His heart did a little leap at the sight of her as she carried a tray with cups and a pitcher. She smiled politely at the men in the room and they parted ways, allowing her to reach her father’s table. Corisande set the tray down and behind her, Gaia entered carrying two more pitchers of drink, but whereas Corisande had been demure and polite, Gaia smiled boldly at every man who met her eyes.

  Cole had to fight off a grin at the cheeky little wench.

  “Excuse me, my lords,” Alastor said. “These are my daughters, Corisande and Gaia.”

  Most of the men were polite in greeting except for Peter de Lohr. He seemed to go out of his way to greet Corisande, which immediately set Cole’s blood to boiling. He adored Peter, but that adoration didn’t extend to tolerating the man’s attention on Corisande. She didn’t seem to notice, or really care, as she curtsied politely to the room.

  “My apologies for the interruption, my lords,” she said. “Welcome to Castle Keld. A meal to celebrate your arrival will be served in the great hall when you are ready.”

  She curtsied again and swiftly departed, but not before she caught sight of Cole and smiled faintly. His gaze was warm upon her, his expression rather soft, but Gaia was slower to move. As Peter was staring at her sister, Gaia was staring at Peter and dragging her feet until Ares grabbed her by the arm and all but shoved her out of the chamber. She gasped in outrage as he slammed the door on her, smiling wanly to those who had noticed as if to apologize for his sister’s nosey behavior.

  But The Marshal wasn’t paying attention. He was still focused on Alastor.

  “I want to start this conversation from the beginning so there is no misunderstanding,” he said as Anteaus began to pour the wine into cups. “Jax de Velt razed Fountainhall as only de Velt can and left Canmore to interrogate.”

  Alastor nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “And after he was finished with Canmore, after discovering that The Rough’s time for invasion into Northumberland was summer, he sent Canmore to you for further interrogation.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Canmore told you that the truth lies in Berwick, which leads us to believe that the longships will enter through the River Tweed to reinforce the Scot’s invasion into the north.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “And the Justiciar of Scotia, Alexander MacDuff, came all the way to The Keld to demand an answer to the missives Canmore sent you, an invitation to join their rebellion.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “He tried to destroy the village when you refused to join.”

  “That is what happened, my lord.”

  William took a cup of wine offered by Anteaus, drinking deeply as he pondered what he’d been told so far. Alastor was looking at Cole, silently suggesting he tell the man about Addax and Essien.

  Cole took the hint.

  “There is more beyond that, my lord,” Cole said. “After learning of Berwick, and after the attack on the village, I returned to Pelinom with Addax and Essien al-Kort. They have been with me since the beginning of this situation and they are invaluable.”

  Across the chamber, Christopher smiled wearily. “The Princes of Kitara,” he said, accepting a cup of wine that was offered to him. “I have not seen them in many years. When The Marshal told me that they were involved, I wasn’t surprised. I knew them as young lads, you know. I was the first English knight they had contact with in The Levant. Were it not for me and Marcus Burton, my old and close friend, those two might have wandered into trouble and gotten themselves killed. Mayhap you already know this, Cole, but when I found them, they had just escaped from a merchant caravan.”

  Cole looked at him curiously. “I did not know,” he said. “What were they doing with a merchant caravan?”

  Christopher made his way over to a big, cushioned chair in front of the hearth, pushing Achilles away when he tried to steal it away from him. He lowered his bulk down carefully.

  “When they had escaped the revolution in their father’s kingdom, a merchant caravan took them in,” he said. “Addax, Essien, and the servants who smuggled them out of Kitara were given shelter and protection with this caravan, but by the time they reached Acre, they’d starved and beaten Addax and Essien nearly to death. When they escaped, I found them.”

  Cole nodded in understanding. “They had not told me their circumstances,” he said. “I knew that they were acquainted with you in The Levant, but not how they came to know you. You saved them, my lord.”

  “They were good lads,” Christopher said. “They were smart, eager to learn. When the crusade was over, I headed home but they went to Thuringia with a group of Thuringian knights. They were good men; I knew them. I had my own problems with Richard and John, and I simply did not have time to worry over two young men who needed more attention than I could give them.”

  “They speak of you most fondly, my lord,” Cole said. “They will be happy to see you.”

  “Where are they?”

  The warmth in Cole’s eyes faded and he looked to The Marshal. “That is what I was about to tell you,” he said. “When we returned to Pelinom and told my father what we kne
w, he sent Addax and Essien to Berwick to discover what they could and report back to him. The Scots hold the castle, as you know.”

  The Marshal nodded. “I know,” he said. “That has long been my regret that Richard sold Berwick to raise money for his foolish campaign to The Levant. The last I heard, the Earl of Ross was in command.”

  Cole nodded. “Angus MacHeth has control of it, but it is his son who is the garrison commander,” he said. “It makes perfect sense that Berwick would be the point of entry for the Northmen, my lord. With MacHeth in command of the garrison, there will be no one to stop them unless…”

  The Marshal was listening closely. “Unless what?”

  “Unless we lay siege and wrest control from the Scots. I believe my father thinks we should.”

  “That is exactly what I think.”

  The voice came from the chamber door. Startled by the voice that was deep and raspy, everyone turned to see Jax standing in the opening flanked by Addax and Essien.

  A smile spread across Cole’s face.

  “Greetings, Papa,” he said. “I did not know you were coming. Why did you not send word?”

  Jax stepped into the chamber and the first person to physically greet him was Christopher. From one old friend to another, Christopher embraced the man, happy to see him. He and Jax smiled at each other for a moment before Jax turned to his son, to the men in the chamber.

  “I did not send word of my arrival because it was faster to simply come here myself rather than send a messenger,” he said, his gaze moving from Cole to The Marshal. “It is a two-day ride from Pelinom, but I thought it important to come personally to see Lord Bernicia. What I did not expect was to see the Scarlet Lion standards flying over an encampment to the west. My lord, it is agreeable to see you again.”

  He was addressing The Marshal at that point, and William was thrilled to see his most fearsome warlord. Even more than The Marshal himself, Ajax de Velt was legendary. The modest solar of Alastor de Bourne, at the moment, was filled with legends. Moreover, there weren’t many men The Marshal was so terribly excited to see, but Jax was one of them. He approached the man, reaching out a hand to him.

  Jax took it.

  “De Velt,” The Marshal said with satisfaction. “I am pleased. I was told of your success with Fountainhall. Excellent work, as always.”

  Jax held The Marshal’s hand for a moment before releasing it. “Laying siege and sowing destruction is much like riding a horse,” he said. “One never forgets, even if one has not ridden in twenty-five years or more. I am pleased with the outcome as well. It was… fruitful.”

  “Fruitful, indeed,” The Marshal said. “We were just discussing the fall of Fountainhall and the death of Canmore.”

  Jax nodded his head before The Marshal even finished speaking. “Aye, that was most unexpected,” he said. “But I believe we received the information we needed from him, and after Addax and Essien spent the past month in Berwick, we have even more. Thank God you are here, William, because you need to hear this.”

  The mood took a serious turn as everyone looked over at Addax and Essien. Since Essien was the one who had actually gotten the information first-hand, Addax gave his brother a gentle shove, encouraging him to speak. Everyone was looking at him expectantly.

  Essien took the hint.

  “My brother and I spent the past several weeks in Berwick, pretending to be sailors looking for a job aboard one of the many cogs that come into the city,” he said. Essien was an excellent orator, comfortable in a group of men. “We also pretended to be drunk every day so jobs were not forthcoming because no one wants to hire a drunken sailor, but pretending to be in that state afforded us the ability to glean information any way we could.”

  “What did you hear?” The Marshal wanted to know.

  Essien fixed on him. “We left Berwick four days ago,” he said. “On the last day we were there, I spent time with a woman who was known to keep company with men from the garrison at Berwick Castle. I will not tell you how I received the information from her, but suffice it to say that I did and I believe it reliable. The woman had told me things before that had come to pass, so her information has been proven. She told me that according to her lover, who is one of the commanders at Berwick, the Scots are already moving south. They are already heading for Berwick.”

  That was the information they had all been looking for and every man was listening intently. The Marshal, hearing what he had hoped not to hear, at least not yet, sighed heavily.

  “When?”

  “Now, my lord,” Essien said. “She told me that they were coming to Berwick to join their Northman allies and that the entire city was to celebrate the arrival of the Northmen soon.”

  The Marshal’s eyebrows rose. “The Northmen are already moving for Berwick?” he asked, trying not to appear too surprised. “When are the they coming?”

  “Any day, my lord,” Essien said quietly. “Everything is happening now. I do not know when her lover received this information, but I know she was with him the afternoon that she told me all of this. It is possible he told her then, which means William the Rough’s army has been heading south from Edinburgh for days.”

  “Christ,” Cole muttered. “They could be there right now for all we know. That means the Northmen’s arrival must be imminent. If they take those longships into the River Tweed, we may never get them out.”

  For a moment, everyone froze, looking at each other in surprise. They had expected to have weeks, even months, before the Scots and the Northmen converged, but according to Essien’s source, that event was imminent.

  The unholy alliance was coming together imminently.

  With that realization, The Marshal took his empty cup and poured himself another measure of Alastor’s fine French wine. He downed nearly half the cup before turning to the group.

  “The time for action, good knights, is now,” he said calmly. “We cannot wait for the rest of the armies to join us. We must move and we must do it tomorrow. Essien, did the woman tell you how many men the Scots are bringing?”

  Essien didn’t look happy. In fact, he glanced at the men around him, at his brother, before answering.

  “According to her lover, there will be two Scotsmen for every Englishman,” he said. “He boasted this to her, evidently. As far as numbers, I do not know what that means, but I can only imagine there will be a great many of them.”

  “Thousands, at least,” Cole said, a quiet rumble. “Lest you forget, I’ve spent the past two years with The Rough and the past year or so listening to men speak of this invasion. I know he had Highlanders coming to Edinburgh by the thousands, plus men under the rule of the Earls of Orkney. Longships carry anywhere from fifty to eighty men, depending on the size of the ship, and if we even have ten of those arrive at Berwick, we are talking about almost a thousand men or more. If there are twenty ships, double that. Add that to the thousands of Scots and there more than likely really will be two Scotsmen for every Englishman. Or more.”

  So there it was, out for all to hear. The reality of the situation, bigger than they had expected. Sooner than they had expected. It was up to The Marshal and his armies to stop them.

  They were out of time.

  Therefore, The Marshal didn’t waste any.

  “Then all roads lead to Berwick,” The Marshal said calmly. “Who knew that seaside village would determine the fate of northern England.”

  It was a rhetorical statement, but not an untrue one. “It looks that way, my lord,” Cole replied.

  William wasn’t one to panic in any case. Panicking never solved anything; he’d learned that long ago. He was an old warhorse with hundreds of battles in his vast experience and he would have to draw on that knowledge.

  He gestured to the group.

  “All of you will go and eat now,” he said. “Bernicia’s daughter said there is a meal being served in the hall, so partake of it and rest for a few hours. Make sure your men rest and eat. I must speak with de Bourne and de
Lohr and de Velt and we must come up with a plan of attack for Berwick. Maxton, you and Sherry will remain. I will send for the rest of you when we are ready to discuss our battle plans.”

  The men understood that there was nothing more to do, at least for a few hours, so they turned for the door and began funneling out, but not before Addax and Essien went to Christopher and David and embraced them warmly.

  It was the first time they’d all seen each other in a long time, a most pleasant reunion. Christopher smiled wearily at the pair, as proud of them as if they were his own sons. But there was no time for conversation, or for reminiscing, so Addax and Essien followed the others out of the hall. There would be time enough for pleasantries later.

  When everyone had gone and the door shut quietly, The Marshal sat down in a chair next to a large table that held maps and the like.

  He looked at those left in the room.

  Christopher and David de Lohr, Ajax and Cole de Velt, Maxton of Loxbeare and Alexander de Sherrington. Of all of the men at his disposal, these were some of the best. He puffed out his cheeks, trying to determine where to begin.

  He looked at Alastor.

  “Do you have a map of Northumberland that we can examine?” he asked.

  Alastor nodded wearily, a man resigned to the fact that they really were going to war. Perhaps some part of him hoped it would never come to that, but the threat had come to fruition. As the men crowded around his table, he spread out a well-used map that covered the area from the River Tyne to the River Tweed. It was smudged and torn in places, but it gave a good overview.

  The Marshal bent over it.

  “Now,” he said. “If what Essien’s friend says is true, and The Rough is moving an army out of Edinburgh for Berwick, they should arrive in the next day or two. That is before we can get there. That means we cannot use the element of surprise and their armies will see us coming. Jax, you have fought the Scots longer than I have. Give me your thoughts.”

  Jax folded his big arms across his chest, looking at the map before him. He could see just how close Pelinom was to Berwick and that did not give him any comfort in the least.