So Joel plunged back into his work, remaining beside the campfire long after the last cinders had turned into lifeless obsidian shards. He pushed himself past weariness and exhaustion, refusing to stop. By the time he reached the bottom of the satchel, delirium fogged his mind, but the hazy nothingness it provided was blissful. Tomorrow, there’d be hell to pay for his expenditure of energy, but right now, he couldn’t have cared less.
Joel pawed clumsily through the bag one last time, making certain he’d left no uncharged stones behind. In his search, his fingertips brushed against cold metal. He blinked in surprise.
What in the two worlds?
Taking the unknown object into his grasp, Joel pulled his hand from the satchel.
Moonlight illuminated the fine outer edges of a pendant, decorated by tiny colored beads and shaped like a soaring bird. Two turquoise eyes made from gems gazed at him, and a chain rope spilled from the trinket like silver tail feathers.
At first, Joel didn’t know what he was staring at, but then, at once, a bolt of clarity shot through the mist and he remembered. Kirk’s falcon pendant! The one he’d tried to gift Joel as he’d been preparing to leave—but Joel had refused to take it. So how had the trinket wound up in the bottom of the runestone satchel?
Joel took the silver chain between his thumb and forefinger. The pendant dangled in the night air, free from its prison at long last. As it swayed, the smooth metal glistened, and for a moment, the falcon truly appeared to be alive, fluttering on the breeze.
Kirk’s words, spoken so long ago, echoed in Joel’s ears. “It’s fate you have it. Here, take it. You’ll need both protection and luck in Shiraz. We will see each other again. I know it.”
A deep calm settled over him. How the pendant had found its way to him suddenly didn’t matter. It was here now. And right now, in his hopelessness, he desperately needed something to hold onto.
Joel slipped the chain around his neck, adjusting the pendant so it rested against his collarbone. The weight of the falcon was a reminder of the protection the trinket provided—and Kirk’s promise that everything would be all right.
Chapter Six
“Is that it?”
“Yes. The village of Perth.”
Gib peered down the gentle slope at the settlement below. Dust rose from the unpaved streets, lingering in the static air. From his vantage point atop Astora, he could see shoddy houses, packed tightly together and topped with sparse thatching that glowed yellow in the harsh sunlight. A barrier of jagged, wood beams surrounded the village.
“Reminds me of Willowdale during a drought,” Gib said with a reminiscent sigh.
Koal sat tall in his saddle, his palfrey so close its wide flank brushed against Astora’s shoulder. The seneschal’s expression remained grim as he followed Gib’s gaze. “The people of the south are a tough lot. I imagine they’d have to be to survive such an unforgiving climate.”
Gib shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how anyone could live out here. How do they grow any crops with the heat ready to scorch everything it touches?”
“You’re asking me? You’re the one who grew up on a farm.”
“Good point.” Gib laughed.
Joel, whose silver filly pawed the ground restlessly on the opposite side of Koal, raked a hand across his damp brow. “Are we just going to sit here staring at the village all day, or will we actually go inside at some point?”
Joel’s long locks lay flat against his neck, and the sleeves of his white robe clung to his arms instead of flowing freely around him as they should. He looked more like a drowned cat than a man—a lovely drowned cat, of course.
“Patience,” Koal replied, flashing a sour glimpse in his son’s direction. “We’re awaiting Deegan and the general.”
“I’m here!”
Gib turned in time to see Deegan hoist himself into his saddle. With a nudge to the belly, the Crown Prince prodded his horse forward, leaving his sentries—Tular, Hasain, and Blessed Mage Natori—scrambling to catch up. A mischievous grin stole across Deegan’s face as he pulled to a halt beside his cousin.
Joel openly scowled at the prince. “Dare I ask why you are in such high spirits?”
“Aren’t you?” Deegan countered. “Finally, a moment’s reprieve from riding! Ye gods, I don’t want to even look at another saddle for at least a full sennight.”
“It could have been worse.” Joel chided the young prince in the same fashion his own mother might have, were she there. “What if you had to walk the entire way with the ground troops?”
Gib held back a chuckle, but he couldn’t fault Deegan’s enthusiasm. Traveling from dawn until dusk for two straight moonturns had become a grueling nightmare, taxing on both mind and body. Reaching Perth, which sat along Arden’s southeastern border, meant there would finally be a chance to rest and recoup. And then—who knew what the army’s next move would be.
Gib cleared his throat, catching Koal’s attention once again. “How long do you reckon we’ll stay here?”
“No way of knowing for sure. We’ll need to meet with the village officials, assess the situation across the border, and send a report to the High Council—things that might very well take a bit of time.” The age lines surrounding Koal’s mouth pulled his entire face downward. “Though I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.”
Again, Gib’s eyes flicked toward the village. “I suspect comfort will be hard to come by here.”
“Do you think we’ll be treated to a great feast tonight?” Deegan asked. “I’d love a proper bath and a warm bed to sleep in.”
Gib bit his inner cheek. He sometimes forgot Deegan had lived a very sheltered life and really had no idea how difficult life outside the palace could be.
Koal coughed politely. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Tular was considerably less gracious. Spearing the prince with incredulous eyes, he leaned over the side of his saddle and knocked his elbow against Deegan’s. “Have you taken a minute to look at the place? You’ll be lucky if they can even offer you moldy bread! This isn’t the royal palace in Silver.”
Hasain snorted. “This isn’t even a hovel along Silver’s outskirts.”
The tops of Deegan’s ears flushed red. “I know it’s not the same as the palace. I—just thought that–that—” Dark eyes shifted toward Koal, silently pleading for support. When none was offered, Deegan groaned and hung his head. “Fine. Stale bread for dinner it is then. For the sixtieth bloody day in a row.”
For several moments, the party observed the village without speaking. The voices of conversing soldiers and the sounds of tent stakes being pounded into the earth rose behind them. Gib’s skin felt as though it were being seared beneath the midday sun, but he refused to voice his complaints aloud. Things could have been worse. He could be assembling tents or digging latrine pits.
Tular raised a hand, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. “Looks like there’s a gathering in the town square. They’re expecting us. What are we waiting for?”
Gib squinted. How in the two worlds could Tular see so far away? When Gib attempted to make out anything beyond the thatched rooftops, the buildings and dirt streets all blurred together in a mass of drab.
“We’re waiting on Morathi,” Koal explained for a second time. “Then we go.”
Hasain folded his arms across his chest. “Well, where is he? It’s bad form, keeping both the Crown Prince and seneschal waiting.”
“Enough whining! Here he comes now.”
Gib grimaced and turned in his saddle to see for himself.
General Morathi rode through the war camp in a flurry of plate armor and pompous arrogance, a half-dozen underlings running on foot beside his hulking stallion. The tail of the general’s cape cascaded behind him like the coils of a crimson viper—not an unjustified analogy. The man was a snake. Gib found his nose curling in disgust as he maneuvered Astora farther down the line so Morathi could ride beside Koal.
As the general c
ame within earshot, Gib could hear callous orders being given. “No excuses. I expect this camp to be fully up and operational by the time I return. Have I made myself clear, soldier?”
“But, sir!” one of the pages gasped as he dashed to keep up. Beads of sweat poured down his reddened face. “Half the army is ill with heat exhaustion!”
Morathi waved off the man’s concerns. “Well, good. It’s about damn time the Healers actually had something to do. Send the afflicted men to the pavilion for a remedy and then get them back to work.”
The page sputtered. “Perhaps camp should be assembled in the evening, sir. The Healers have advised the men to rest—”
“And there will be plenty of time to rest, after the camp is erected.” Morathi gave his horse a sharp jab in the flank. The beast lurched forward, nearly trampling one of the underlings who hovered a bit too close. “I’ll discuss it no more. See to it that my demands are met, or I’ll make sure you’re held personally responsible.”
The page locked his jaw. “Yes, sir.”
Morathi dismissed the remaining underlings with a flick of his wrist and, as Gib predicted, took post beside Koal. The general’s icy gaze passed over each of the gathered party members, but—also predictably—he chose to acknowledge only Koal and Deegan.
“Highness. Seneschal.” The cool words dripped from his lips, leaving Gib to wonder if Morathi even knew how to be kind. Was he capable of empathy? Or joy? Gib couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen the man smile or heard anything other than hatred being spewed from his mouth.
Koal, always a diplomat, overlooked the general’s foul mood. Gib imagined his mentor had become jaded after so many years sitting next to the man on the High Council. Unraveling one gloved hand from his horse’s reins, Koal motioned ahead. “Shall we?”
Morathi merely grunted in response and with another kick to his warsteed’s haunches, began the descent toward the gates of Perth. A plume of dust sprayed into the air behind the horse’s gait, stinging Gib’s face and leaving his throat raw. Deegan huffed, and Gib glimpsed the young prince rolling his eyes as the rest of the party pushed forward.
They descended the slope in single file. Arid flatlands stretched for leagues in every direction, a vast, sprawling carpet of dirt and gravel. With the exception of the Nishika’s azure water snaking its way into the horizon, Gib couldn’t spot a single patch of verdant color. Any grass that had managed to sprout quickly withered into stringy, brown tufts beneath the oppressive sun. Gib wondered how long it’d been since the countryside had last seen rain.
As they closed in on the village, the horrendous condition of Perth’s outer wall couldn’t be ignored. Gib examined the ramshackle structure with growing apprehension. Not only were many of the wood beams rotted or broken, but entire gaps between staves left the settlement exposed and vulnerable to attack. One section of the wall even showed signs of having been set afire, the wood planks charred to a black crisp. Gib thought to point it out to Koal but realized the seneschal was already scrutinizing the damage with a wary eye.
Fifty counts later, they had passed through the open gate leading into the village. A handful of protectors—men in scant leather armor and bearing only spears for weapons—let them through without question. Inside, crudely constructed wattle and daub houses were so tightly packed together that once again, the party was forced into single file as they navigated through the narrow streets. Gib found himself bringing up the rear. He took the opportunity to get a good look around.
Though considerably larger than Willowdale, Perth was only a fraction the size of Davenport, and the entire village would probably have fit onto the Academy grounds of Silver City with room to spare. Stout, coarse-haired boar and a colorful variety of chickens patrolled the dirt streets, free ranging and unguarded. Gib supposed there was really no need to pen them. After all, even if the beasts wandered beyond the wall, there really wasn’t anywhere for them to go.
The stench of human sweat and animal droppings filled Gib’s nostrils, offensive and putrid, but it was a reminder of his own humble beginnings. Living among the highborns of Silver, it was all too easy to forget the world from which he’d come. Shaking his head, Gib swore never to dismiss his past. He was proud of his heritage. The enduring strength of the simple folk had helped shape the man he was today.
The farther inside the party trekked, the more people they encountered. Gib’s heart ached at the sight of the villagers, dressed in ragged clothing with dirt matted into their hair. The inescapable dust plastered their faces, masks of grime upon their sun-worn skin. Some continued to go about their daily routines while others stopped what they were doing to gape at the newcomers. Gib felt for them. He knew, at least on some level, the struggles they faced. He wished he could do something for them. Ahead, Gib caught Deegan glancing around from atop his palfrey, eyes large and brows sitting high on his forehead. Did he see now? Did he finally understand?
As Tular foretold, a sizable group of villagers was gathered in the town square. Gib pulled Astora to a stop behind Koal just as a balding man with a large nose and friendly disposition separated himself from the crowd. He wore a black doublet over frayed trousers, sturdy, high-quality fabric but faded to a dull grey and worn from years of sun exposure.
“Greetings, milords!” the man said with a sweeping bow. “My name is Cormag Barclay, mayor and overlord of Perth.”
Koal inclined his head and proceeded with introductions. “Greetings, mayor. I am Lord Koal Adelwijn, Seneschal of Arden. These are Crown Prince Deegan Radek, heir to the throne; Lord General Morathi Adeben; Lordlings Hasain Radek, Tular Galloway, and Joel Adelwijn; my apprentice, Gibben Nemesio of Willowdale; and Lady Mage Natori.”
The mayor’s deep-set eyes broadened, the creases lining his face stretching wide. He couldn’t have been any older than Koal, but living under such unforgiving conditions had done him no favors. Again, he stooped forward. “It’s an honor to be in the presence of such renowned men. And to have Arden’s future king in my village—well, I never thought I’d see that day! Whatever you may need, Highness, ask it of me. I am most humbly at your service.”
Deegan motioned for Cormag to rise before he could babble further. “Thank you for welcoming us so graciously to Perth, Lord Barclay. It’s good to be here.”
Cormag soaked up the prince’s praise like a sponge. “Please, allow us to tend and stable your beasts, and I will show you to your quarters.” He waved a hand, and almost immediately, villagers rushed forward to take the horses.
Gib dismounted and handed Astora’s reins to a young girl with curly black hair and rosebud lips. She flashed him a sultry smile, and Gib blushed as he stammered out a thanks.
They left the town square behind, traveling on foot toward the far side of the settlement. Cormag led the way, conversing with Koal and Morathi as he waddled along. Deegan stuck close to Koal’s side, listening attentively.
“It’s been a rough start to the summer,” Cormag said, wiping away the perspiration that sat atop his bare head. “We don’t get much for rain, as you can probably imagine. But in all my years, I’ve never seen a dry stretch last so long. Bless The Two that the Nishika is still flowing healthily. Don’t know what we’d do if the river dried up.”
“Has there been any trouble from across the border?” Koal inquired.
“Not a stirring from the Shirites in three moonturns now, milord.”
“Three moonturns?” Koal raised a brow. “Your rampart appears to have been recently attacked. The fire damage—”
“Aye. Happened a few cycles ago. A Shiraz brigade shot the wall with blazing arrows. I suspect they were trying to raid our livestock. Perth’s defenses held, but we lost four men that night. That makes a dozen defenders slain since the turn of the wheel. Good lads, all of them. May their souls make safe across The Veil.”
Morathi’s thin lips pulled into a scowl. “Perth was attacked three moon cycles ago, and you haven’t yet repaired the village fortifications? Mayor, I must quest
ion your ability to lead. Mending that wall should have been your highest priority. Should Perth fall into the hands of heathens, the blame will rest solely on you. The High Council would be most displeased to hear news of Arden losing ground to enemy scum.”
“Apologies, milord.” Cormag’s face had gone an ugly, blotchy red. “We did the best we could with what resources we had. Timber is in limited supply, and with my able-bodied defenders now numbering around twenty, I couldn’t risk sending a foraging expedition north.” He licked his lips, eyes shifting nervously to Koal. “We—did send word to Silver City, asking the High Council for assistance, but a response was never received.”
Gib exchanged knowing glances with Joel. If Arden’s welfare was left solely in Neetra’s hands, anyone who wasn’t highborn would starve to death before Deegan could claim his crown. Neetra just didn’t care.
Morathi clearly had no plans of responding, so—per usual—the task of making amends fell unto Koal. His tone was sincere as he addressed the mayor. “Now it is I who must apologize. The influenza outbreak last winter and the persistent drought in the south have created a backlog of petitions in the council chamber. I’ve repeatedly encouraged the councilors to address these appeals, but I’m afraid the war on Shiraz has taken priority.”
“It wasn’t my intent to place blame, Lord Seneschal,” replied Cormag. “These are trying times for all, with the country being without a king.” He paused then, and sorrow lingered in his gaze as he turned toward Deegan. “Here in Perth, news of the late King’s passing was met with great remorse. Condolences to your family, Highness.”
“Thank you,” Deegan replied frailly.
Ahead, what had to be the mayor’s manor came into view. An unkempt courtyard of shriveled grass gave way to high, stone walls that stood out against the surrounding cottages. Gib would have been impressed had he not spent the past four years living inside the Adelwijn estate. In comparison, Cormag’s manor was crude, even homely. Gib nearly laughed at his own musings.
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 12
