Farindian Summer (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 4)

by Loren K. Jones

  Princess Marina smiled and bowed, which drew a few gasps of outrage from the more elderly of the ladies, but she ignored them. “Captain Markal Zel’Tahran, I pledge to you my troth, that I will see no other but you, that I will consider no other but you, for a year from this day. You will, by my will and that of my father, attend me in all seemly ways during that year so that we may come to know one another as thoroughly as is proper for an unmarried couple to know one another. I pledge that I come to you a virgin, untouched by any man.” Her smile was serene as she gazed upon her betrothed and ignore the snips who still pestered her about Stavin.

  King Kalin took up the ceremony and said, “I decree you betrothed. Captain Zel’Tahran, you will take the seat at Princess Marina’s right hand. May the Gods Above watch over your betrothal, that you may become truly wed in a year’s time.”

  *

  Saying goodbye was always the hardest part for Stavin. It was harder this time because of the twins, and he cuddled both of them for a long time before he left. “I hate leaving you,” he said aloud, directing it as much at Shari and Karlin as the twins.

  “We know, Stavi, but at least you’re going to be protected this time. You’re not going out on an expedition, or facing the entire Andarian Army by yourself.”

  Karlin climbed up on the sofa and hugged his father’s neck, burying his face in Stavin’s hair. “Daddy be careful. Daddy come back.”

  “I will, Karli. I will. And Uncle Barvil, Uncle Karvik, and the rest of the Royal Guards will make sure I do.”

  Sora was on the other side of the room with Aric, Noral, and Delian. “Are you still determined to just take the Warmaster and Kar with you?”

  Stavin nodded. “Yes, I am. The rest of the warriors need to integrate into the Royal Guards better. Larvin will be in command, under Lord General Zel’Kordil, of course, and we want all of the warriors to start sifting into the watch sections. Aric, you and ten others are going to be staying here, so you especially have to fit in.”

  “What are you planning, Stavi?” Sora asked in a suspicious tone. She knew her little brother far too well not to recognize when he was trying to be sneaky.

  Stavin sighed. “Shari and I have been discussing it since they took us out of the Archive. We’re not going back to Kavinston either.”

  “You’re not—” Aric started, but his voice faded away. “That’s why you were so pleased to hear we were planning to stay.”

  “Yes,” Shari said. “Especially about having Sora around.”

  “So this is your last expedition, isn’t it, Stavin?” Aric asked. “Not just your fifth, but the last time you’ll be going out at all.”

  Stavin nodded. “I can’t see Kalin allowing me to go out again unless it’s for something trivial like dedicating a bridge or something. I’ll never be allowed to lead in battle, or even fight, Senior Warmaster or not. I’m Prince Stavin Zel’Andral now. My place is here, at King Kalin’s side.” And he’s stuck here as much as I am.

  “Just be sure you come back,” Shari said as she stared at his shadow.

  *

  The preparations had taken six days, but Stavin finally led six thousand Evandian Army troops away from Twin Bridges. Barvil and Karvik were with him, along with twenty-one Royal Guardsmen, but Karvil and Varik had intentionally been left behind. Stavin had been firm when he told them.

  “You two are staying here with our families,” he said in a no-nonsense tone as he faced the two young men.

  “But Stave!” Varik all but cried.

  “No buts, Var!” Stavin snapped. “You and Karvil are staying with Shari and Salli and the kids. They are your personal responsibility.” Both young men ground their teeth in frustration, but that was all they could do.

  Dahvin had been a last-minute addition to Stavin’s Guardsmen, replacing Captain Zel’Tarlin as their commander. That had been the king’s decision. “Dahvin,” he said as he faced his young nephew, “you need more experience in the field. And I need someone to watch Stavin and try to keep him from doing anything rash. Warmaster Kel’Carin still has some influence with him, but you have more.”

  “How so, Uncle Kal?” Dahvin asked.

  “You’re his friend and confidante. Young Karvik will probably be your best ally. He and Stavin are as close as Dahral and I were. And the commander of the troops might need someone to back him as well.”

  “Oh?”

  The king grinned. “Seems a newly promoted colonel named, what was it? Oh, yes, Gavlin Zel’Fordal will be leading the troops.” He paused to chuckle at Dahvin’s startled expression. “He might need someone to side with him against Stavin.”

  “You had Gav promoted for this?” Dahvin asked.

  “Nope. He was already up for promotion. It was his first time before the board, but I didn’t do it. I think Zelkav is currying favor. Or trying to at least. There is the added advantage that Stavin respected Dahral immensely, and he seems to respect Gav because of it.”

  Dahvin was nodding his agreement. “Gav is only thirty-three. It’s a lot of responsibility for his first command.”

  “He, and you, will handle it just fine.”

  Chapter 18

  THE COLUMN WAS TWENTY-FIVE DRAGONS long as the soldiers marched away from Twin Bridges. Army supply wagons brought up the tail, while Stavin, Gavlin, Dahvin, and the Royal Guards led on horseback. Between them, in a column of fours, marched the soldiers of the Farindian Pacification Force.

  Stavin stood in his stirrups and looked back. He muttered, “Gods Above and Below, I’m glad I’m not back there.” The cloud of dust they were kicking up was visible dozens of dragon-lengths up in the air.

  Karvik followed his gaze and said, “Seniority has its perks, Prince Stavin.”

  “Indeed it does,” Colonel Zel’Fordal said from beside them. He fixed his gaze on Karvik’s twin stars and said, “As I understand the Old Code, your rank would be roughly equivalent to a major.” He shifted his gaze to Barvil, “And you, sir, would be a Major General.”

  “Essentially correct, Colonel,” Barvil agreed. “But as you are aware, Karvik is too young and inexperienced for that kind of authority. And I have never led this many men, though we do study large formation tactics. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to try to take over your command.”

  Gavlin rocked in his saddle and turned to glare at his baby brother. “Told you so,” Dahvin said with a smug smile.

  “I just wanted it out in the open, Dahv. Command in the field has to be clear.”

  “And it is,” Stavin said as he joined the discussion. “You command the Army troops. Dahvin commands the Royal Guardsmen.” He grinned. “And Barvil and Karvik are here to ride herd on me.” That statement earned him snorts of amusement, but no disagreement, from Barvil and Karvik.

  The column was restricted to the marching pace of the soldiers, and required frequent stops. Stavin silently fumed as they plodded along, and grimaced when he realized that they had covered less than six hundred dragons in a day. Most caravans covered twice that much.

  “It’ll be winter before we reach Farindia,” Stavin muttered to Karvik as they watched the troops set up camp the first night. They turned around to where the Royal Guardsmen were setting up camp and Stavin was puzzled when he saw the tent they were erecting. “What’s that for?” he asked, and Dahvin answered.

  “You.”

  Stavin gave him a stunned look, then shook his head. “You could put ten men in there.”

  Dahvin raised one shoulder. “It’s a typical royal tent, Prince Stavin.”

  Stavin shook his head slowly as he continued to stare at the tent. “Do what you want with that thing, but I’m not sleeping in it.” He turned and pulled a roll from behind his saddle. “I have my tent right here.”

  “Prince Stavin,” Gavlin began, but Stavin silenced him with a raised hand.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Colonel, so don’t bother.”

  “Prince Stavin,” Gavlin began again, “it is not appropriate fo
r you to sleep in a small tent like a common soldier.”

  Stavin shook his head. “Save your arguments, gentlemen. You’re not going to convince me.”

  “Oddly enough,” Barvil said as he walked up to Stavin’s side, “I agree with Prince Stavin on this. That thing,” he nodded toward the big tent, “is no tent for a campaign. It’s too obviously for someone special. I will insist that Stavin’s tent be between mine and Karvik’s, though.”

  “Why?” Karvik asked.

  “You snore.”

  Stavin snorted in amusement. “Yeah, you do.” He smiled at Gavlin and Dahvin. “I’ll keep my tent.”

  Gavlin took a breath to argue further, but Dahvin touched his arm and shook his head. “I know that tone, Gav. We’re not going to convince him.” Gavlin clenched his teeth and glared for a moment. He finally nodded and turned away without another word.

  Stavin and Karvik set up their tents, and Barvil’s as well, working together in almost seamless accord. It was like old times for the young friends, and they shared smiles and occasional laughs as they worked.

  The sun had been down for six or seven spans before Dahvin announced, “The evening meal is ready, Your Highness.”

  Stavin and Karvik joined him beside the big tent. The meal was laid out on a long table, and Stavin shook his head when he saw it. “Think they fixed enough?” he asked under his breath.

  “They’re cooking for a prince, Stave,” Karvik muttered back.

  Stavin shook his head and sat down. Barvil and Karvik took the seats on either side of him. Dahvin, Gavlin, two majors, three captains, and ten lieutenants soon joined them. Army stewards began serving as soon as Gavlin nodded his permission.

  “Prince Stavin,” Gavlin ask, “is the food to your satisfaction?”

  Stavin bowed slightly in his seat. “Yes, Colonel, it is.” He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s a lot better than the first Army chow I had.”

  “When was that, Your Highness?” one of the lieutenants asked.

  “Last year, when we faced the Andarians at the Zel’Horgan.”

  “I was there!” the young man said excitedly.

  “We were all there, Nathal,” another of the lieutenants said.

  “I remember that morning,” one of the majors said in a soft voice. “I couldn’t believe you crossed the river to face them alone. I was sure it was suicide.”

  Stavin sighed. “You weren’t the only one.”

  “Prince Stavin,” Gavlin said to forestall any more comments from his subordinates, “what were you thinking that day?”

  “I was hoping to face Shovar Zel’Hallan and end the war without further bloodshed. There was a sort of debt between us, and I hoped he’d honor that debt and let us both live. And he did, right up until his own general murdered him.”

  “I didn’t see that,” the major to Gavlin’s left said. “I was with General Zel’Rantal’s staff, and I couldn’t see what happened. The remains of the bridge were in the way.”

  Stavin told the story as it happened, leaving nothing out. Not even his own fear. “I didn’t know what would happen if two dragon gifts were used against one another. Even when Shovar handed me the sword, I wasn’t sure what would happen. We’ve never tried touching two dragon gifts together. Just bringing them into proximity makes them glow. I was afraid I’d burn up or something.”

  “We thought you had,” Karvik muttered. “When you grabbed the sword, you lit up like the rising sun. I was sure you’d just turned yourself into a torch.”

  “What was it like?” another lieutenant asked eagerly.

  Stavin shook his head slowly. “I can’t really describe it. There was no pain, no fatigue, not even sore feet. I felt as powerful as a dragon. I felt like I could fly if I wanted to. I couldn’t see the glow, by the way. I saw everything in normal light, but it was crystal clear, like a cold winter morning.”

  “I’d love to feel that kind of power,” another of the lieutenants commented, and Stavin fixed his attention on the man.

  “No, you wouldn’t. You don’t really feel anything until you let go. Then it all comes crashing back in on you. The longer you hold on, the worse the rebound is. When I finally let go of the sword, I nearly collapsed.”

  “But you could do anything,” the young man insisted. “You could have destroyed the entire Andarian army.”

  Stavin nodded. “I could have slaughtered thousands. I nearly did.” He leaned forward so he could see the lieutenant’s face clearly. He looked to be no more than sixteen. “When I attacked the Andarians, I killed forty men. I stopped when I went after a young man very much like you. It was seeing the terror in his eyes as he faced what I’d become that made me stop. There was nothing else anyone could have done.”

  “I wouldn’t let a thing like that stop me,” the lieutenant said smugly.

  “Then you’d be nothing but a monster,” Karvik said as he looked down the table at the man.

  “Who are you to speak to me like that?” the lieutenant snarled as he stood. “I am Sallah Zel’Janvis, heir of Zel’Janvis.”

  Karvik stared at the young man. “Lieutenant, I am Warleader Fourth Karvik Kel’Carin of the Royal Guard.”

  “Warleader,” the lieutenant sneered.

  “Lieutenant Zel’Janvis,” Colonel Zel’Fordal said in a dangerously soft tone, “his rank is on the high side of major, and he is also a Royal Guard. I suggest you keep that in mind.”

  “Lieutenant Zel’Janvis,” Karvik began in a soft voice, but the lieutenant cut him off.

  “How could you make rank that fast? Did Prince Stavin promote you to keep you at his side?”

  “He earned his rank by killing fifty-three men in combat over the course of three years,” Dahvin said as he glared at the lieutenant. He was pleased to see the young fool’s complexion pale a little. “Warleader Kel’Carin is one of the youngest men to ever earn that rank. Prince Stavin is the other. Would you care to pit your sword skill against either of them?” The lieutenant shook his head as he stared at Dahvin and sat down. Dahvin grinned at his expression. That shut him up.

  Chapter 19

  MORNING WAS ANNOUNCED BY A BUGLE call; Stavin and Karvik scrambled out of their tents at the same time. They were both fully armored by the time Barvil crawled out, and worked together to get Barvil’s plate buckled. All three of them struck their camp, then walked to the long table.

  No one was there.

  Stavin looked around and shook his head. “Early risers, they’re not.”

  Five Guardsmen walked over and came to attention. “You’re up early, Your Highness,” the leader said as he faced Stavin.

  “Is it usually the habit of the Royal Guard to sleep through morning call?” Stavin asked.

  The man looked confused. “That was just first call, Your Highness.”

  Stavin shook his head slowly. “We’ll see.” He looked around, but it looked like the cooks weren’t up yet either. Turning to Barvil, he let a small smile curve his lips. “Warmaster, I believe it’s time for our good friends to wake up.”

  Barvil’s smile was nasty as he bowed and said, “Yes, Prince Stavin.” Before the guardsmen knew what was happening, Barvil had grabbed a platter from the table and started clashing the flat of his sword against it as he shouted, “Get up! All of you, out of bed! Move, move, move! On your feet!”

  Men were scrambling out of their beds and tents, looking dazed and confused as they tried to figure out what was going on. Gavlin and Dahvin in particular seemed unable to comprehend what was happening.

  “Warmaster, what in the name of all the Gods are you doing?” Gavlin asked in a sleep-dazed tone.

  “Colonel Zel’Fordal,” Stavin said as he stepped forward, “why is it that morning call receives such a mild response from you and your men?”

  “What?” the colonel asked stupidly. “Prince Stavin, what do you mean?”

  “The bugle call was nearly a span ago, yet there was no sign of movement from your officers. The only men we saw up a
nd about were last night’s watch section.”

  “It’s first call?” Dahvin asked in a bewildered tone. He looked east and shook his head at the sight of Arandar barely peeking over the horizon.

  “The first call is probably going to be the only call you’ll receive in enemy territory,” Barvil answered.

  “We need to work on this, gentlemen,” Stavin said as he looked at the officers. “This isn’t a simple patrol in force. The Chosen of Farindia are going to send every armed man they can muster against us, and the Traders’ Guild is probably going to join them.”

  “Rabble,” Lieutenant Zel’Janvis sneered.

  Karvik looked at him and said, “Lieutenant, a farmer with a mattock can kill you as surely as a sword master. Especially if you’re lying in bed, with your head presenting a perfect target.”

  “I don’t have to take that from you, Kel’Carin!” He advanced on Karvik, then froze when Karvik’s sword whipped out to lie against his neck.

  “Lieutenant Zel’Janvis,” Karvik murmured, “you are very close to losing your head.”

  “Sheath your sword,” Colonel Zel’Fordal snapped. When Karvik had complied, Gavlin turned toward Stavin. “Prince Stavin, an army on the move is not like a small scouting party. It takes time to—”

  “Colonel Zel’Fordal,” Stavin interrupted, “time may be a luxury you don’t have. You won’t be fighting large-scale battles, Army against Army. You’ll be fighting skirmishers, and they’re more likely to sneak up on you in the dark than face you in a toe-to-toe slugging contest. From this point forward there will only be one call, and you and your men will respond to it.”

  Colonel Zel’Fordal stared at Stavin for a moment, then bowed and turned away. He took three steps before he started yelling at his officers to get their men up. Bugle calls echoed though the camp and men started emerging from their tents.

  “You are overstepping by quite a bit, Stavin,” Dahvin said mildly.

  Stavin tilted his head in thought for a moment, then shrugged as well as his armor would allow. “Maybe so, Dahvin. Maybe so. But Gavlin, and his officers and men, must realize that they are not staying in Evandia, marching through friendly territory. Farindia can be every bit as dangerous as Kavadia, and we’re invading them. I expect them to resist as well as they can, even if it’s just hunters with longbows and farmers with scythes. These men need to get used to rising ready to fight at the first call, because the buglers are going to be too busy for a second call.”