“By the God, he makes my face ache.” Gylaren shook his head. “A nice enough fellow I suppose, but he does go on so.”
Lord Atherton laughed. “When things are going well, he can be the best of companions. When things go wrong for him though…” he shrugged.
“May I speak with you, your majesty?” Analise said. “Privately?”
Gylaren inclined his head. “If you will excuse us, my lords?”
The lords bowed to the king and then Analise. “Of course,” they murmured and quickly retreated. Gydrid bowed and turned to follow the others, but Analise’s hand on his arm prevented him.
“Lady?” Gydrid questioned noting his father watching intently.
“Please stay. You already know what I would say.”
“Very well.”
Analise took a deep breath and composed herself. Gylaren glanced from Gydrid back to Analise in puzzlement. Gydrid waited for her to begin, but it seemed that she did not know where to start. He took charge.
“Father, I believe that Lady Analise wishes to discuss her new status as your ward.”
“Ah,” Gylaren said gently. “There is nothing to fear in that, Analise. It is a simple tradition. As I see it, you are my ward until you be wed. You are hardly a child, but if you had been, I would have insisted that you live here in the palace with me. As it is, you may live here or with your mother at Chaidren Ridge.”
“Thank you your majesty,” Analise said. “But I have no concerns about that. It is Chaidren I would speak of.”
Gylaren frowned. “What of it?”
“I wish to rule there in my father’s name,” Analise said firmly.
Gylaren shook his head. “Out of the question. Tradition dictates—”
“I care that,” Analise snapped her fingers, “for tradition, Majesty.”
“Indeed? What of your father’s wishes?”
Analise faltered. “My… my father?”
“I have been informed of your betrothal to Lord Llewyd, my lady,” Gylaren said gently. “He told me about it himself.”
Gydrid felt his face freeze. “You are betrothed? You said nothing.”
Gylaren frowned. “What’s amiss? It was my thought that you would return to Chaidren Ridge and await your future consort. I shall appoint one of my best men to oversee your father’s lands until then.”
“You did not ask,” Analise said to Gydrid in a small voice. “I do not want to marry Llewyd.”
“That does change things,” Gylaren said unaware of the sudden tension in his son. “You are my ward, Analise. As such, I must be as your father in these matters. With the war in the north, I have little time to deal with this, but I promise you that upon my return I shall seek a suitable consort for you.”
“I do not wish to marry.”
“Well…” Gylaren blinked rapidly finding himself suddenly flustered. “No one will force you, of course. I will select a new lord for Chaidren Ridge upon my return. You and your mother are both welcome to live here in the palace.”
“You would turn us out of our home?” Analise said, almost rigid with rage. “Chaidren Ridge has ever been faithful to the throne. I have brought fifteen hundred of my best men to your aid!”
“And your King is grateful,” Gylaren said. “There are estates belonging to the crown that I’ve never seen. If Devarr does not suit you, perhaps one of these might be found for you and your mother.”
Analise stared as if she could not believe what she heard. Gydrid stepped to her side and tentatively touched her arm. It was unseemly, but he was concerned. He did not expect the reaction he received.
Analise shrugged off his touch as if burned by it and snarled, “Don’t touch me!”
Gydrid clenched a fist. It was hard for him not to snarl in return. Instead, he fell back on simple platitudes. “My apologies; I meant no offence.”
Analise ignored him. “Chaidren Ridge has always belonged to my family. I will never—never give it up!”
Gylaren’s face was shuttered. “Then you must wait upon my return, and marry whom I select for you.”
“Never!” Analise said and stormed out.
Gydrid watched her leave. She was an amazing woman—strong in her convictions and willing to express them even to the King, yet flawed as all those who loved deeply were. She had allowed her heart to rule her head when cool reason would have gained her much more.
“Foolish, foolish woman,” Gylaren said shaking his head. “Should I arrange rooms for her here do you think?”
Gydrid shook his head still staring at the open door. “Not so much foolish as passionate about her home and rights. She will not live here, father. I’ve come to know her quite well on our journey, and I know that much. She might well withdraw her forces back to Chaidren Ridge.”
“Normally I would not allow that, but if that is her decision, I will not contest her. Fifteen hundred men will not make too great an impact on our forces.”
Gydrid hardly agreed. One man in the right place could win a war. One woman certainly had, Julia was proof of that, but it did not seem wise to point that out. Analise would probably be far happier at home. It seemed likely that she would not be in camp when he returned there.
“Have you any instructions for me, father? I assume we will ride north as soon as the ships are loaded.”
“Let us find somewhere more comfortable to talk.”
Gylaren led him through the palace.
Gydrid exchanged a few words of greeting with those he knew on their way through the palace. Most of the new palace guards had left Meilan’s service to follow his father to Devarr. Here they gained much honour in serving the King. Some of them had been his friends his entire life and he was glad to see them again.
“You have not yet chosen a chancellor.”
Gylaren made a face. “How did you guess?” He sighed. “No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Gydrid smiled crookedly. “You need someone to look after details for you. You’re not sleeping well.”
“Don’t start. I’m still your father.”
They lapsed into silence for a little way. Then, “Where is Dylan? I had thought to visit with him while I’m here.”
“He’s performing a service for me. Dulcina and Dominick will be delighted to see you though.”
“And I them,” Gydrid said, wondering at his father’s evasiveness. Where was Dylan that their father would not speak of it? “Niklaus was very upset when you summoned me. He’s Lord Protector of the South, not me. Why did you order him to stay at the fortress?”
Gylaren stopped near a guarded door. The guards, also friends of Gydrid’s as most here were, snapped to attention. They kept their eyes firmly fixed upon the opposite wall and tried to become invisible. Gydrid spoilt it with a murmured greeting followed by a chuckle as they whispered one in return. They had replied without moving their lips!
Gylaren entered his study. “Close the door, son.”
Gydrid entered and did that. He had never been in the King’s study before. On one wall hung Julia’s mirror, which explained why an empty room had been guarded. The guards would hear the chimes and summon the King should the mirror awake.
Parchment covered a large desk, seemingly thrown down in any order, which was like his father. Gylaren was an impatient reader. He would often throw one parchment down only to snatch up another in his haste to read them. Watching Gylaren read was like watching a starving man at dinner. Gydrid eyed the parchments from a distance, itching to snatch them up into tidy well-ordered stacks, but he doubted his father would appreciate the assistance.
Scattered around the room were a few pieces of fine furniture, and atop many of them were small things of beauty. Gylaren was not one for glasswork, yet there were many fine examples of the Japuran glassmaker’s art displayed here. Gydrid lifted a fine horse and watched the light coming through the window shatter into shards as it struck the faceted glass.
“Beautiful work,” Gydrid said. “You’re learning about the fine
r things I see. I would never have imagined it possible.”
Gylaren grunted sourly. “It was already here, boy. As were all of those glass pretties you like so much.”
“I should have known you wouldn’t have changed that much.” Gydrid carefully replaced the horse upon the bureau. “Now this is you,” he said raising a bared sword from another table. It was a very fine weapon and wickedly sharp. He had never seen Jihan’s sword but he had heard about it. If he was not mistaken, this blade was similar. “Pergann again?”
“No,” Gylaren grudgingly admitted. “A merchant from Japura gifted the King with it after he struck a deal for enough arms and armour to equip Jihan’s new army.”
“You are the King.”
Gylaren waved him to a seat. “Don’t remind me.”
Gydrid replaced the blade and sat. “Why am I here and not Niklaus?”
“Have you heard what has happened in Japura?”
“Some. Niklaus has spoken of the war with Tanjung. Everyone is fighting this year it seems.”
“The Matriarch has lost both her armies and her most important cities all within the space of a few seasons. She is desperate.”
“She has asked for our aid?”
Gylaren shook his head. “Not that. It’s much worse than that. Talitha has called upon her alliance with Tamorin. Empress Marzina dispatched a force almost immediately—a small one I was told. More than ten thousand men are now camped within Orrisa’s walls. I have news of a second larger force arriving at Pura—two hundred ships. Ships of a size capable of carrying five hundred guardsmen plus crew.”
Gydrid stared. “Over a hundred thousand men just like that?”
“I doubt Marzina will even miss such a small force.”
“Niklaus kept back his best men as you ordered, father, but those two thousand will never hold against such numbers.”
“I’m aware of that, but what else can I do? You tell me. What?”
Gydrid thought back over his lessons. He seemed to recall that Deva had fought Japura before. “When was the last time Japura came through the pass?”
Gylaren leaned back. “That would be... in the time of Ebert, second of the name and twelfth Lord Protector of the South.”
Gydrid nodded. “Ah yes, great-great-grandfather. Some called him Ebert the Maniac.”
“He was mad all right. No question of that in my mind, but he did stop the Japuran raiders. I should do so well.”
Ebert had succeeded almost too well. He had brought an end to Japura’s raiding through the pass and severed all ties with that country. That of course had not sat well with his King. The raiding had stopped, well and good, but Deva’s only trade route south had been cut when he blocked the pass. Ebert’s legacy of peace had lasted for over two decades.
“Is there any way to bring Julia south?”
“None,” Gylaren said flatly. He raised a hand to silence Gydrid when he made to protest. “I know what you’re thinking, son. Blast the mountain and seal the pass forever, but that won’t happen. Julia will not come to save us, and if she did, General Navarien would have us for breakfast. No, the pass will remain open.”
“If they come through, Meilan won’t stop them. Even had I stayed along with my men, Niklaus would be out numbered almost two to one.”
“I know,” Gylaren said flatly. “No matter the danger from Japura, you had to be here, son. Tradition does have its place no matter what Lady Analise may think. The fortresses and the lords who hold them have a duty to protect the realm. They must always be ready to lead the lords to war. The reason I chose you and not Niklaus is that he is the stronger soldier. Meilan needs that with the odds facing us from Japura.”
Niklaus was the stronger in warfare, but two thousand men were simply not enough. Five thousand wouldn’t be enough either, but at least then Niklaus would have some options. Two thousand were not even enough to man Meilan’s walls effectively.
“Do you truly expect an attack?”
Gylaren waved a hand in negation. “I pray not, but what other reason do they have for stationing such a force at Orrisa?”
Gydrid tried to think of one. Orrisa was Japura’s largest city after the now destroyed Talayan. As such, and mainly due to its placement, it was a threat to Deva. Orrisa had been a danger throughout history, and was the chief reason for fortress Meilan’s presence at the pass. Meilan guarded the Devan side of the pass, while Orrisa guarded the Japuran side.
Talitha had lost Orrisa’s army to Vexin’s war leader last season, which had left the city vulnerable. Maybe the Matriarch simply wanted to protect the city from attack. Could it be that simple? Her strike leader dead, and with him his entire army—it was enough to make anyone fear attack. Then there was Orrisa itself to consider. With the city’s guardsmen now dead, there was room and supplies to house Marzina’s army; a not inconsiderable boon when faced with provisioning such a large force.
Gydrid offered his thoughts to his father, “Marzina’s men need barracks and supplies. It could be as simple as Orrisa having what they need.”
“I had considered the possibility.”
“But?”
“I dismissed it. Orrisa is badly placed in a war against Tanjung. It is perfectly placed for a war against us.”
Gydrid could accept that because it was true, but in his opinion, it still did not make an attack likely. “You’re right father, but Talitha has Vexin to worry over. I doubt she would consider opening a second front while he remains a threat.”
“I certainly would not if I were her, but who knows what is in that woman’s mind with all she’s been through? I’m worried—”
“You have a right to be.”
“—I need Japura whole, not destroyed or fighting a never ending war. The Protectorate will not just blow away because I wish it. I need Japuran trade, but more importantly, Deva does not need another enemy.”
“It’s more than that though, is it not?”
Gylaren grimaced. “Pergann—may the God comfort him—destroyed more than the lords’ trust in the throne, son. He crippled it. He crippled me.”
“Chulym,” Gydrid said glumly.
“Chulym,” Gylaren agreed. “Without weapons to fight with, we have little chance against the sorcerer’s legions. I had hoped to hold out against the Protectorate while I restored trade. With the money from increased tax revenues, I had planned to buy thousands of swords from Talitha, and thousands of the finest horses the clans had to offer.”
“And now you fear you have lost Talitha’s trade?”
Gylaren reached back toward his desk and snagged a parchment seemingly at random. “This came a few days ago. It rejects my latest offer for more swords.”
“The price has risen?”
“Worse. There is no price.” He waved the parchment. “This makes it plain that there will be no more trade of weapons between us.”
“And the Matriarch’s reasoning?”
“The war with Tanjung.”
Gydrid frowned. “I could almost believe such a reason if it were not for one thing. The Matriarch’s armies are destroyed and she has no way to train more men quickly enough to matter.”
“My thought exactly.”
“What will you do?”
“Resurrect something lost… I hope. Dylan is delivering my offer personally.”
Gydrid looked askance at his father wondering what he had done. Dylan was not in Devarr. He was performing a service, his father had said. Delivering an offer—was that the service? An offer to whom… and where?
* * *
13 ~ The Book
Brian’s sleep was uneasy that night. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that he had nightmares, not after what had befallen him this season. He was sleeping alone beside the remains of his fire, a stolen horse his only companion. Foolhardy to sleep knowing what he did, and doubly so without a guard set, but unavoidable all the same.
He had ridden day and night on his journey home. His first horse had quit from exhaustion. It was a terr
ible waste of such a fine beast, but knowing what he did, how could he hesitate for pity? He had left the animal in his wake and stolen another mount from a travelling peddler he came across the next night. The old man had put up only a token struggle, and for this Brian had not killed him. He would like to believe he wouldn’t have killed the man either way, but he knew that for a lie. In payment for his sway-backed horse, he had cut the badge of Athione from his armour and gave it to the peddler. He swore that should the peddler surrender it at the fortress, a fine pair of horses would be given him in compensation. The old man had been disbelieving, but what choice had he? He took the badge and kept silence.
Brian neared his destination two days later, but exhaustion forced him to make camp and sleep. He dreamed of Renard; terrible dreams of war and death, of the Lady dying, of the fortress fallen, of creatures he had no name for flying overhead. Terrible dreams, but worse still was Renard berating him for failing the Lady in her time of need.
Brian groaned and mumbled, “I be sorry...”
“Wake up, wake up!” Renard said urgently. “Wake up or all is lost!”
“Wha...?” Brian mumbled and squinted as the light lanced his eyes. The nightmare sloughed off and he was awake.
“...or all is lost!” Renard’s voice echoed and faded away.
Brian rolled to his feet cursing. He had slept the entire night! What a fool he was. He had to be inside the fortress tonight, or he would fail his mission! He quickly saddled his horse and kicked the smouldering fire apart. The position of the sun told him it was well after dawn. He leapt into the saddle and charged out from under the trees. Trying to make up the time he had lost, he alternated from the gallop to a trot to a walk and back to the gallop again. He could still reach it in time. He prayed that he could still do what needed to be done.
Brian knew where he was. If he followed this road he would pass through Manis Crossing and then Pettistree, both towns were beholden to Lord Keverin. Either one could be relied upon to help him, but time was short. Long before he reached the fortress it would be over... if he followed the road. Cross-country was faster, but not from here. He needed to reach the crossroads before turning off and continuing the journey via forester’s trails.
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