“Agreed,” said Everard. “Lord Nakhrakh, we are grateful for your valor, and the honoring of the ancient alliance between the Empire and Culachar.” Nakhrakh inclined his head in a gnollish approximation of a bow. “My lords, I suggest you return to your camps. Duke Chilmar will speak to you about providing horsemen for our screening forces. Let us petition God to be with us and prepare to face our foes with valor and steel tomorrow.”
With that, the council of war was over, and the lords and knights began dispersing to their tents. There had been no real need for the council, Tyrcamber supposed. Everard and Chilmar had made their decision, and that had been that. Yet Tyrcamber had seen enough of leadership to understand what had happened. The constant raids had sapped the morale of both the common soldiers and the nobles, and the men needed reassurance that their leaders had a plan to deal with the threat.
Tyrcamber wondered how much of leadership was a sleight of hand, a showman’s trick, for lack of a better word. The facts hadn’t changed, but the men felt better about it.
For a moment, he was at a loss. He didn’t have anything he needed to do just now. The squires Chilmar had assigned him would have finished raising his tent, but the thought of their earnest, half-terrified obedience to his every command just made him tired.
Perhaps he ought to visit the hospital wagons instead.
That thought almost made him turn around and walk to his tent.
No. He had a duty. For one, it was good to visit the wounded. Like it or not, Tyrcamber was one of the most prominent men in the army, so it would raise morale for him to visit the wounded.
And Ruari would be there.
Tyrcamber found the thought of speaking with wounded men more palatable than seeing his wife again.
Annoyed with himself, he shook his head and set off through the teeming camp for the hospital tents. Men saw his golden armor and white cloak and got out of his way, or bowed as he passed, which Tyrcamber acknowledged with a nod, though his mind was elsewhere. Truth be told, he had no idea what Ruari really thought of him. She was terrified of him, that much was obvious. The memory of the expression she had worn in their wedding bed was still fresh, and her face was always blank and calm when she saw him. He wondered what thoughts and emotions hid behind that serene expression. Yet she was his wife, which meant he had a duty to look after her and to protect her.
And bringing her had been the right decision.
Ruari was superb with the Heal spell, and a gifted physician. She had taken charge of the hospital wagons and tents, and Prince Everard himself had been pleased with her efforts. Even Duke Chilmar had been impressed, and nothing ever impressed or daunted Chilmar Rigamond. It was Tyrcamber’s duty to defend his wife and look after her…and, it seemed, to thank her for her help.
“Aye, Tyrcamber?”
Tyrcamber blinked and turned. Few people addressed him in such a familiar tone of voice now, but he smiled when he saw Angaric Medraut and Olivier de Falconberg walking towards him. Angaric had a skin of wine in his left hand, and Olivier looked caught between amusement and exasperation.
“It seems our ever-inquisitive Sir Angaric has located a merchant selling wine among the camp followers,” said Olivier. “Care to join us?”
Tyrcamber laughed. “Don’t you have to scout all day tomorrow?”
“Aye,” said Olivier, “so I’m going to have a drink of wine now.”
“And then when we’re done,” said Angaric, “we are going to find some ladies of negotiable affection.”
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” said Olivier, “for tomorrow, I might fall out of Thunder Cloud’s saddle two hundred feet above the ground.”
“The creed of the Knight of the Griffin,” said Tyrcamber, and both Angaric and Olivier laughed.
“You can join us for a drink,” said Angaric, “and if you’ve wearied of the company of your wife, then…”
“No,” said Tyrcamber, voice sharper than he intended. He had told no one of what had happened on his wedding night, and the general impression around the army was that he took Ruari to his tent and had his way with her every night, even though they slept on either side of the camp. Tyrcamber supposed that was preferable to rumors spreading that he hadn’t consummated the marriage, or that he was impotent or that Ruari was too repulsive to arouse him.
Which most certainly wasn’t true…
“No,” said Tyrcamber, trying to calm himself. “I need to visit Ruari, make sure that all is well with her. Then I’ll join you for a drink. Where’s this merchant?”
“Why don’t we come with you?” said Angaric, who was sometimes shrewder than he let on. “Pay our respects to the Lady Rigamond, thank her for all the work she’s done, that sort of thing.”
“And you can flirt with her?” said Olivier.
Angaric looked affronted. “Me? Flirt with the wife of a Dragontiarna Knight? I’ve too much a sense of self-preservation for that. Which way?”
Tyrcamber led his friends to the hospital wagons. Those men too badly injured to walk were placed in the wagons, and if they were hurt badly enough, they were sent back to Sinderost. Otherwise, they rode in the wagons until they were well enough to walk. Walking wounded accompanied the wagons, and Tyrcamber knew that Ruari and Adalberga put them to work helping with those more severely hurt.
They moved among the wagons and the hospital tents, speaking with the wounded men. Tyrcamber felt uneasy at how they viewed him in awe, the Dragontiarna Knight who had slain the Valedictor and broken the siege of Sinderost. They all made it sound so much more impressive than it really had been. They didn’t know about the millennia of torment in the Chamber of Sight, how he had lost himself and become something else entirely.
Perhaps it was just as well they didn’t know.
After they left the third tent, Tyrcamber spotted Adalberga, walking briskly with a bundle of bandages in her arms.
“Good evening, Lady Adalberga,” said Tyrcamber, and she smiled at him.
“Why, my lord Tyrcamber,” said Adalberga. Her scarred face lit up with a smile. “Good to see you as always, my lord. The men have spoken how you repulsed that bloodwolf raid this morning.”
“Aye,” said Tyrcamber, feeling a pulse of guilt. Not as many men had returned from that fight as he would have liked. “I can at least rest easy, knowing that the wounded are in capable hands.”
“Though perhaps a man might pray for a minor wound,” said Angaric with a bow, “if he could spend time in your charming company, my lady.”
Adalberga laughed. “Why, you saucy rogue. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not as much as I intend,” said Angaric, and Adalberga laughed again.
“Do you know where Lady Ruari is?” said Tyrcamber. “I should greet her.”
“She’s over by the parked wagons,” said Adalberga, gesturing. She hesitated. “Lady Brunhilda and Sir Charles wanted to speak with her. I don’t think Lady Brunhilda was in a good temper.”
“I don’t think she’s ever been in a good temper in her life,” said Olivier, and Adalberga laughed.
“Aye, thank you,” said Tyrcamber. “I’ll just greet you and leave you in peace.”
Adalberga grinned. “Perhaps she’ll like a longer greeting from you, my lord.”
Tyrcamber understood her meaning. He very much doubted Ruari wanted that, though.
He strode through the parked wagons, their horses tied to stakes nearby. A woman’s voice came to Tyrcamber’s ears, shrill and strident. He frowned, walked faster, and heard the familiar tones of Brunhilda’s harsh voice.
“You stupid, useless girl,” snapped Lady Brunhilda. “Can you do nothing right?”
Olivier frowned and started forward, but Tyrcamber raised a hand, frowning, and Olivier and Angaric remained where they were.
“I don’t think you understand your mother’s position,” said Sir Charles.
“My son’s future depends on keeping Duke Chilmar’s support,” said Brunhilda. “The future of Carnost depends on
that alliance. And that future depends on you pleasing your husband! Instead, you hide here, wasting your time with useless commoners who would die of their wounds anyway. You are a daughter of the House of Tetrax, and yet you clean the wounds of wounded churls like some common serving wench! Look at me when I am talking to you, girl!”
There was a silence. Tyrcamber felt his sword hand curl into a fist.
“What useless waste of flesh you are,” snapped Brunhilda. “I wish I had been young enough to have another daughter, one who could produce heirs. God knows you’re useless and stupid. It’s just as well that oaf Tyrcamber is a Dragontiarna and sterile as a mule, or else we’d have never have found a husband for you. All you have to do is satisfy him, and you can’t even do that.”
“You ought to listen to your mother,” said Sir Charles, and Tyrcamber heard the gloating pleasure in his voice. Apparently, he was the sort of man who enjoyed bullying a woman who could not fight back.
“You are going to please him,” said Brunhilda, “or else I shall have you removed from your work among the wounded. I have enough influence to arrange that yet. Or I shall start rumors that you are spreading your legs for every one of the pox-ridden soldiers in the hospital wagons. How long do you think it will take Tyrcamber to divorce you once he hears that? Or perhaps he’ll become a dragon and burn you to ashes on the spot?” Her voice rose in sudden anger. “I told you to look at me when I’m talking to you, you useless, selfish brat!”
There was the crack of a slap striking flesh.
Suddenly Tyrcamber was striding forward, Angaric and Olivier hurrying to keep up with him. He walked around a wagon and came to a scene that set his blood to further boiling. Ruari stood with her back pressed against a wagon, her hand pressed to her cheek, blood trickling from her lip. Sir Charles stood a few inches from her, blocking her escape, a smug smile on his face. Lady Brunhilda glowered at Ruari, and she put Tyrcamber in mind of an angry bullfrog in a dress.
She drew back her hand for another slap.
“What is the meaning of this?” said Tyrcamber in his battlefield voice.
He could not have gotten more of an effect if he had flung boiling oil upon them.
Ruari’s head snapped around, her eerie blue eyes enormous in her face. Sir Charles flinched, took a step backward, stumbled over his own feet, and landed on his backside with a grunt. Brunhilda turned, her watery eyes wide.
“Sir Tyrcamber,” said Brunhilda, unable to hide the fear that went over her face.
“Explain yourself,” said Tyrcamber. “Now.”
“I…I was just having a discussion with my daughter,” said Brunhilda, some of her poise returning.
“I heard every word,” said Tyrcamber.
Brunhilda drew herself up, the haughtiness returning. “I was instructing my daughter in her duties as a wife. I don’t expect a man to understand, Sir Tyrcamber, or…”
“I heard every word,” said Tyrcamber. “Do not presume that I am deaf, Lady Brunhilda. Ruari is my wife, and you insulted her egregiously in the presence of myself and these two witnesses. You will therefore retract your statements and apologize immediately.”
A faint sneer went over her face. “It is not an insult if it is true, Sir Tyrcamber. I expect even someone like you to be capable of grasping that.”
Sir Charles got to his face, his eyes wide with fear. Perhaps he was able to grasp the true import of the look on Tyrcamber’s face, even if his lady could not. “My lady, perhaps we should…”
“Apologize,” said Tyrcamber. “Now.”
Ruari stared at him, her eyes wide.
“No,” said Brunhilda. She smirked. “Do not presume to command me, impudent boy. Some freak of fate might have made you a Dragontiarna, but…”
Tyrcamber drew off his right gauntlet and flung it at her feet.
Brunhilda flinched back, her eyes going wide, as if she thought Tyrcamber had intended to throw it in her face.
“Then I demand satisfaction,” said Tyrcamber. “Brunhilda Tetrax, you have offered egregious insult to both me and my wife. I therefore demand that you withdraw that insult and offer an apology. Should you choose to stand behind your insults, then I demand a duel of honor.”
Brunhilda blinked. “You…you can’t expect that I fight you boy, can you?”
Ruari just stared at him. She seemed frozen, shocked.
“Of course not,” said Tyrcamber. “Select a suitable champion from your household.” He looked at Sir Charles. “What of you, Sir Charles? Perhaps you would serve?” The knight went the color of a dead fish. “Well, Lady Brunhilda? You have offered insult, and I demand satisfaction. Either apologize or select a champion to back up your words.”
“I…I…” said Brunhilda, looking around for an escape. “It’s your word against mine, my daughter can’t speak in her defense, I…”
“Dear lady,” said Olivier with a pleasant smile. “You forget that Sir Tyrcamber has witnesses.”
“Aye,” said Angaric. He grinned at her and took a swig of his wine. Brunhilda glared at him as if he was a horse dropping. “Two witnesses. More than enough to prove his case before Prince Everard. I really suggest you apologize. But I admit it would be more entertaining watching Sir Charles fight Tyrcamber for your honor. However briefly.”
“My lady,” said Charles urgently. Brunhilda ignored him.
“Apologize,” said Tyrcamber. “Or you will have made an enemy of me.”
He stared at Brunhilda. She glared right back. Tyrcamber wondered what his expression looked liked because he saw her resolve start to crumble like a sandcastle against the tide.
Ruari hesitated and touched her mother’s arm.
“Don’t touch me!” snarled Brunhilda, stepping back. “You stupid…”
“I would very much advise you,” said Olivier as Tyrcamber felt his anger flare, “to choose your next words with care, Lady Brunhilda.”
Brunhilda hesitated. “Yes. Yes, of course. I…I am willing to apologize, Sir Tyrcamber. I…”
“Not good enough,” grated Tyrcamber. “Come with me.” He pointed at Olivier. “Go summon all the nurses and everyone working in the hospital tents. Assemble them by the last tent we left.” Olivier nodded and jogged off.
“What is this?” said Brunhilda.
“Come, all of you,” said Tyrcamber. He stooped, picked up his gauntlet, and returned it to his right hand. “Now!”
Ruari, Charles, and Brunhilda followed him as he stalked towards the tent. Angaric brought up the back, still grinning. By the time Tyrcamber had reached the tent, a crowd of nurses, physicians, and a few curious men-at-arms had gathered. Adalberga stood at their head, alarm on her face.
“Sir Tyrcamber?” said Adalberga. “Is something amiss?”
“Lady Brunhilda has something to say before witnesses,” said Tyrcamber.
He glared at the old woman.
“My lady,” said Charles, his panic plain.
“I…I offered insult to Sir Tyrcamber and Lady Ruari,” said Brunhilda, a quaver in her voice. “Under the strain of the march and fear for our soldiers’ lives, I spoke hasty words that I should not have done. I offer formal apology and crave pardon.”
Tyrcamber nodded. “I accept.” He looked at Ruari. “Wife?”
Her expression had changed. The blank mask had become cold, cold, cold as she stared at her mother, and the blue eyes were like ice now. Tyrcamber felt a surge of power as Ruari drew on her magic, and he suddenly wondered if she was going to strike her mother.
Then the cold glare vanished, and the blank mask returned. Ruari offered a single sharp nod, turned, and then hurried away, just short of running.
“Thank you, Lady Brunhilda,” said Tyrcamber. “There is one other thing to be said. Lady Ruari is in command of all arrangements for the care and transportation of wounded soldiers, and no one else. Not Lady Brunhilda, not any of her retainers or vassals, but Ruari Rigamond alone. I trust that I am understood?”
“Aye, my lord!” said Adalberga,
and the other nurses and physicians chorused their agreement.
“Good,” said Tyrcamber. “Thank you for your time. You may go about your work.”
The crowd dispersed back into the tents.
“You’ll regret this one day, boy,” said Brunhilda, her voice quiet. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, woman,” said Olivier with exasperation.
“Regret?” said Tyrcamber. “Do you want to know about regret, my lady?” He ought to stop talking, he knew, but he was too tired and too angry to care. “I saw thousands of men die during the Valedictor’s invasion, and I could not save them. I saw the eastern Empire overrun. I saw the Emperor die in front of me, and I could not save him. I have seen the dead rotting as far as the eye can see. When you see all that, you can speak to me of regret.”
Brunhilda snorted. “Do you think to scare me with your threats, boy?”
“No,” said Tyrcamber. “When I want to frighten you, you’ll know it, Brunhilda Tetrax. So hear me well. If you ever insult Ruari again, if you ever speak to her like that again, I’ll see you stripped of your lands, your wealth, and your title. I will encourage Duke Cataul to send you to a nunnery. I imagine he would like that.”
“My son will listen to his mother,” said Brunhilda.
“Will he?” said Tyrcamber. “Will he listen to the mother who has spoken to him all his life the way you just spoke to Ruari…or will he listen to the Empire’s only Dragontiarna Knight?” He smiled. “Shall we find out right now?”
He saw Brunhilda break. Tyrcamber had fought enough foes, had been in enough battles, to know when his enemy was beaten, and he saw it in her face. A violent shudder went through her thick frame, and she took an involuntary step back from him.
“Are you frightened now?” asked Tyrcamber.
“I think we understand each other, Tyrcamber Rigamond,” she said as if making a gracious concession. “I will leave your wife in peace…if you promise to do the same to me.”
Dragontiarna: Thieves Page 22
