A Sellsword's Hope

by Jacob Peppers

  “War is not history, Councilman,” Adina said. “It is not words on a page or pages in a book, one that a person might find sitting on a shelf next to a treatise on the different types of flowers, or a study of the stars in the heavens. And if it is a book, then it is written in blood, in a language unspoken and unread by any save those who were there to experience it. A scholar of war, Councilman?” She shook her head. “No. No living man might claim as much, for among the truths the past months have shown me is that the only true scholars of war are the dead, and what wisdom they gain they keep to themselves.”

  “Quite,” the councilman said, and this time he did roll his eyes. “In any event, the thing was nobly done. As for your brother being dead, how can this be true? For, among the latest news we of the council have received has been that he is, even now, marshaling his armies in Baresh, intent on attacking Perennia once more. Though,” he said, frowning at General Yalleck who pointedly avoided his gaze, “it must be said that, of late, our communications seem to have been disrupted. Truly, to such an extent that we have yet to receive our regular reports, ones that were agreed upon before Commander Yalleck ever took the army from the city and came to Perennia’s aid. It is the reason, after all, why I was forced to come to Perennia in the first place, to ascertain the validity of some of the more…dubious claims.”

  Instead of responding to the man’s obvious reproach, Yalleck met Adina’s eyes, and in that stare she saw the truth, and an understanding passed between them. Whatever communication the councilman and his counterparts from Avarest had sent, the commander had clearly decided that it was better if their message had never reached him and decided to act as if such was the case. “My brother is dead, Councilman,” she said, turning back to the man. “In his place resides an ancient mage who is thousands of years old; indeed, it is the same Boyce Kevlane who, in the histories, stood at Aaron Caltriss’s side, who formed the spell that would ultimately lead to Caltriss’s death.”

  The man laughed at that. “Surely, you jest, Majesty. The Aaron Caltriss and Boyce Kevlane of whom you speak are no more than stories—fables told to small children, many of whom, I suspect, are too discerning, even at such a young age, to credit them. Oh, of course, we in Avarest have heard the stories of this fictitious mage supplanting your brother as ruler of Baresh, but they are no more than stories. Why, even the few investigators we have sent to Baresh have discovered nothing more than the king himself, a bit more reclusive than usual, perhaps, but then, that is to be expected after suffering so grievous a defeat as he has. How, I wonder, can your brother be dead, yet those we have sent claim to have seen him, alive and well?”

  Adina gritted her teeth. “Boyce Kevlane wears my brother’s face, and uses the power this gives him to create for himself an army of monsters. I’m sure—since you are so well informed—that you have heard of the tournament being held in Baresh. Even as we speak, the mage is set about the task of taking these warriors and mutilating them, working his dark art on them and turning them into creatures that are stronger, faster, than any man.”

  The councilman shook his head in wonder. “An ancient mage wearing your brother’s face, making use of magic that does not exist now—if it ever did—to turn men into monsters? Forgive me, Majesty, but if only you could hear yourself…I am sure that it is due, in no small part, to the trials you have faced. Why, it is conceivable that any man or woman, put under such strain, might find themselves taken by such…fancies. With the hardship you have endured, surely such imaginings are expected.”

  “Majesty?”

  Adina turned at the chamberlain’s voice, saw him raise his eyebrow in question. She considered for a moment then gave him a nod. With that, Gryle walked to the table at which the councilman and those others with him sat, and the finely-dressed man visibly flinched, as if expecting a blow. The chamberlain paid him no attention, however. Instead, he simply took hold of one end of the table—a table built from solid oak and at least fifteen feet long—and raised it with no more effort than a man might use lifting a glass of wine.

  Adina felt a flash of vengeful satisfaction as the councilman, his servants, and the scribe jerked away from the table, shouting in surprise and backing up as if the table—and the chamberlain holding it—were wild beasts that had bared their fangs, preparing to strike.

  “Is Gryle truly holding up that table, do you suppose, Councilman?” Adina asked. “Or is it just your fancy? An imagining brought upon, perhaps, by your journey here, by hard days spent on the road?”

  “B-b-but this is impossible,” the councilman stammered, all his arrogance and self-assurance vanishing in an instant.

  “That’s a funny word, ‘impossible,’” Adina said. “Before a few months ago, I would have told you that all manner of things were impossible—that one man couldn’t possess the strength of a hundred, that a woman old enough to be a grandmother couldn’t possibly move faster than any galloping horse. And, yes, Councilman Arkrest, that an ancient mage out of legend could have in no way appeared in the world and set about trying to destroy it. Yet all these things—and more, more than you can imagine—have been shown to me during my, what was it you called them? Trials? Yes, Councilman. I have seen the impossible. I have seen evil that belongs in the darkest stories, evil to haunt our dreams and I—and those with me—have fought it. Claims that the knife doesn’t exist won’t stop it from cutting your throat. I think you would do well to remember that.”

  “E-even if this is true,” the man stammered, regaining some small bit of his equilibrium, “even if this isn’t just some trick or…or—”

  “Oh, it is no trick, sir,” Adina said. “If it would help convince you, I could ask Gryle to lift you, maybe toss you in the air a few times. Would that suffice as proof?”

  “N-no,” the man said, licking his lips nervously. “I don’t believe that…will be necessary. Now,” he continued, clearing his throat. “If you would be so kind as to ask your servant to put the table down…”

  “Gryle is not my servant—he’s my friend,” Adina said. “If you would like him to put it down, you can ask him yourself.”

  The councilman’s mouth worked silently for several seconds, and now it was his turn to glance at Queen Isabelle as if in search of some aid, but he was destined to be as disappointed as the captain had been, for Isabelle had the same vacant expression and seemed altogether unaware of the proceedings. Realizing he was on his own, Arkrest turned to Gryle, his features twisting as if he had just eaten something sour. “If you would be so kind, sir, would you please put the table down?”

  The chamberlain gave him an affable smile and set the table down before walking back to stand beside Adina. The councilman hesitated, then took his seat once more, and the scribe and servants reluctantly followed, casting dubious glances at Gryle and the table itself as if expecting it to float into the air at any moment.

  “Now then,” Councilman Arkrest went on, regaining his composure and, with it, his arrogance, “that is a nice…trick, I’ll grant you, but in the end it changes nothing.”

  “I imagine,” Adina said dryly, “that if Gryle had decided to, for example, swing the table in your direction, it would have changed things a great deal, Councilman.”

  “Quite,” he said in a tone that tried for bored, but was betrayed by a squeak in his voice. “And I must commend your servant—forgive me, friend—on his prodigious strength. Yet, it does nothing to prove the veracity of this ‘Boyce Kevlane’ and these creatures you’ve mentioned, nothing to show they are anything more than stories produced by frightened commoners.”

  “They were real enough to try to kill me and my friends,” Adina said, unable to keep her anger at the man’s willful ignorance out of her tone. “Enough to kill some of them. Stories, Councilman, do not sneak upon you in the night and drag a blade across your throat.”

  “Perhaps not,” the man said, nodding, “but in such times as these, Queen Adina, each man and woman must look to themselves. Avarest is a city of gr
eat power, but for all her might, even she cannot defend herself without an army. If so much as half of what you are saying is true, then that is all the more reason why I must return to the city with its loyal men to protect it, should the worst come to pass.”

  “The worst has already come to pass,” Adina snapped. “As for looking to ourselves, if we fight alone, Councilman, we will have no hope against what’s coming, and we will die alone. The only chance we have—the only chance Telrear has—is if we face what’s coming together.”

  The man shook his head slowly, his hands held up as if he was helpless. “Forgive me, Majesty. I wish I could help you—truly. But the decision has been made.”

  Adina was at a loss for words, unable to believe that the man would be so foolish as to not see that his actions would doom them all.

  “Councilman,” General Yalleck said, clearing his throat and speaking for the first time since she had arrived, “I understand your concerns, and I do not mean to question the Council, but for what it’s worth, I think that the queen is right. I have seen the creatures she speaks of myself, and I believe that the only way—”

  “Never mind what you believe,” the councilman hissed. He took a slow, deep breath. “You, Commander, have not been commissioned to make decisions for the council or to think, but to lead our armies in providing the assistance that Perennia required. A task which, it must be said, you have performed admirably.”

  “But, Councilman,” Yalleck tried again, “I really think that if you just—”

  “Enough,” Faden yelled, then paused for a moment to gather himself. “We will begin the return journey to the city the day after tomorrow, Commander. See that the army is ready to march. And once we return to Avarest, I believe I will meet with my fellow councilmembers on some particular changes that may be overdue. You have a child, do you not?”

  The general frowned, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected question. “Two, sir. A boy and a girl.”

  The councilman nodded. “It must be hard to be away from them for so long, your wife too, I suppose, but I wouldn’t worry about that, Commander. After my meeting with the rest of the Council, you may have much more time to spend with them in the future.”

  The man’s threat was clear enough, and General Yalleck’s jaw tensed, but he gave a terse nod, saying nothing. The councilman rose from the table, his servants and accompanying scribe following his lead. “Very well,” Faden said. “I thank you all for your kind hospitality and for hosting me. It has been…interesting.” He bowed to Isabelle and Adina in turn. “Majesty. Majesty. I wish you both the glory of the day, and I hope that, when next our paths cross, they will do so in happier times.” And with that, he turned and walked out, his entourage following in his wake.

  Adina watched the man go, staring at the door as it closed shut behind him. She was still staring at it, her thoughts in turmoil, when Yalleck approached. “Forgive me, Queen Adina,” he said. “I know the importance of what we do—I did what I could to delay the Council, but I’m honor-bound to abide by their decision. You understand?” he asked, meeting her eyes with undisguised need.

  “Honor,” Adina said, as if it was a word she’d never heard before. “I wonder, General, of how much use is honor to the dead? It will not return murdered husbands to their wives, nor extinguish the flames when they begin to burn. Honor has its place, can serve as a shield against chaos, but without reason to guide it…well, even a shield might be used as a weapon. ”

  “No,” the man grated, turning away from her gaze. “You’re right, of course. I…I can only say that I am sorry, Majesty. I was afraid the Council would send a representative, but I…I wish they had not. Better for us all, if he had never come.”

  Adina nodded slowly, and when she turned to the general her eyes were cold, hard. “And if he hadn’t come, General?” she asked. “If this meeting never happened?”

  The man shifted uncomfortably, obviously reluctant to speak. “Then…then I would, of course, do what I could to help you and the others, Majesty. But…” he trailed off with a helpless shrug.

  “Never mind the rest,” Adina said. “Thank you, General. For your time.”

  The man studied her for a moment, clearly wanting to say more but unsure of what he should say, then finally he gave a bow and trudged from the audience chamber. Adina watched him go, thinking thoughts of honor, of what it meant. Was there any honor in the deaths of thousands? Could there ever be honor in such a thing?

  “Majesty.”

  Brandon Gant stood beside her, his own anger and worry clear on his guileless features.

  “Captain. I apologize for my tardiness, and I thank you for doing what you could before I arrived.”

  Brandon grunted. “Not that it did any good.” He shook his head, anger and disbelief warring on his face. “What are we going to do, Queen Adina? Gods, but if only he’d waited a few more days, we would have been on the march, and it would have been too late. It’s the damnedest luck, him showing up now.”

  “Yes,” Adina said, frowning. “Terrible luck for us…and great luck for Kevlane.”

  For all his gruff exterior, Brandon Gant was no fool, and his eyes widened at that. “Majesty,” he said in a low voice, “do you mean to say you suspect the councilman is working for Kevlane?”

  Adina shook her head uncertainly. “I don’t know, Captain. What I do know is that he couldn’t have picked a worse time to arrive in the city. Had he waited only a few days, the army would have already marched, and it would have been too late for him to stop it. I find it curious that he should come when he did, on the eve of battle, and even more curious that he was able to arrive at all since, last we knew, Kevlane’s creatures were scouring the forest in search of the Akalian barracks.”

  The captain nodded slowly at that. “He came with a retinue,” he said, snorting. “Six armed men, just as pretty as porcelain vases and, if I had my guess, just as fragile. You’d have thought the man were some great king come to visit the city, the way he walked into the castle with them surrounding him, his servants trailing after.”

  “Six men,” Adina mused. “And do you think, Captain, that six men—however skilled—would stand long against Kevlane and his creatures?”

  Brandon grunted. “From what I’ve seen, I don’t think six hundred would, Majesty. But, maybe they just got lucky and Kevlane’s creatures had already left the forest or…”

  “Maybe,” Adina agreed. “But in my experience, Brandon, there are few coincidences.”

  The captain rubbed a hand along his salt and pepper beard. “Forgive me, Majesty, but either way, I don’t see how it changes things. It seems pretty clear that Yalleck will do whatever the Council demands.” He scowled at the door as if looking past it to where the councilman was no doubt making his way through the castle hallways. “I wonder if that bastard knows what he’s done. Because of him, thousands—possibly hundreds of thousands—will die.”

  Adina frowned, thinking. What did it mean to be a leader? Did it mean being willing to save your people, to do what you could to protect them? She had always believed it had, still believed it, in fact. But was there another side to that coin? Did being a leader also mean being prepared to take drastic measures, to kill, if need be? “Yes,” she said to the captain. “Thousands will die. Or, perhaps, only one.”

  “Majesty?” Brandon said, turning to her. “What do you—”

  “Ask me nothing more, Captain,” Adina said. “I beg you.”

  The older man studied her for several moments then a look of understanding seemed to cross his gaze, and he gave a short nod. “As you say, Majesty.” He considered for a moment, as if he would say something more. Finally, he decided, and when he spoke next his tone was filled with memories of the past. “Years ago, when I was a young man with no trace of gray in my hair and had only just received the honor of being in your father’s service, an assassin tried to sneak into the castle and murder the king while he was abed.”

  He paused for several sec
onds, and Adina was about to ask him if there was more to the story when he finally went on. “It was a long time ago,” he said, “and I was a young fool. A fool all puffed up with pride and honor at being given a position as guard in your father’s castle, confident as only the young can be. I fancied myself a warrior, well-versed in weapons and combat.” He snorted sourly. “Anyway, I was stationed outside your father’s bedroom with a man who’d been in the king’s service for ten years—it’s a thing they used to do back then, pairing a new recruit with one of the older, more experienced guards. I still don’t know how the assassin made it so far into the castle—there was an investigation, after the fact, but nothing ever came from it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. What does is that the assassin made it to your father’s quarters. As I said, I was new to the post—a few weeks in, no more than that. I’d been on the training grounds a thousand times, practiced with dull steel and sharpened steel alike, and I fancied myself quite a swordsman, quite a warrior. But when that man walked at us down the hallway, a sword in his hand, the blade slick with blood, I’m ashamed to say that I froze.”

  Adina frowned, “I…I remember the assassin. I was just a child, but I remember. Still…that isn’t how I heard it happened.”

  “No, I don’t imagine it is.” He shook his head, his eyes far away. “It’s a funny thing—I remember everything about that night. The smell of it, the feel of the sweat-slick handle of my own sword, all of it, but for the life of me I can’t remember the man’s face. He could have been anyone. Anyone at all.”

  The captain grew silent then, and Adina waited for several seconds as he relived the memory. “So what happened?” she finally prompted.