by AC Cobble
“It will be some time before things get exciting,” said Worgon, his attention on the activity around them. “With the army in our train, the journey should be four, five days before we reach Spinesend. We may take another day to prepare our attack.”
“I’m worried, m’lord,” warned Captain Graewald, emerging from the crowd of soldiers around them and overhearing the last of the baron’s comments. “Duke Eeron’s spies have had time to report our activity. We should have left sooner, no matter what that fop Fredrick said. Duke Eeron is going to be ready for us now. We should be prepared to engage the moment we come within sight of his walls. I can have my men—”
Baron Worgon waved a hand at Captain Graewald to silence him. “We had to give Duke Eeron time, Captain. I didn’t wait just because my idiot son asked me to. You know that.”
“A day, two at the most, would have been plenty of time,” muttered Graewald.
Rew frowned. “Time?”
The baron winked at him.
The ranger stepped closer to Baron Worgon. Captain Graewald shuffled in between them. Rew asked again, “Time?”
“Time to flush out any mousers the duke had in our ranks,” explained Baron Worgon. “I’m sure his spies have been thick in my court for months now, but I didn’t know if any were prepared to pounce. It seems they were not.”
“None were ready with the authority to act or the skill to portal, that is,” remarked Captain Graewald, shaking his head. “We’d be foolish to think spies were not on horseback the moment the Fedgley children appeared in the throne room.”
“A trap!” exclaimed Rew. “You kept us in that room as bait for Duke Eeron’s spies? That is why you haven’t marched yet?”
“You were not bait, Ranger, but the children, yes,” admitted Baron Worgon, brushing at the lace spilling over his doublet. “I’d hoped if anything, you’d be able to supplement the security we put around the room. I’ve heard stories about you, Ranger.”
“Wait, what?” cried Raif. “We were bait?”
“Don’t worry, lad,” said Worgon, waving a hand to shush him. “If Duke Eeron had moved against you, we were prepared to stop him. It would have been easier that way, in fact. I could have snared him or his agents here in Yarrow instead of having to march, but such are the things we must do, eh? It’s not always comfortable being a leader, and the spoils of war always come at a steep price.”
“You kept us here for three days thinking some spellcaster spy would report to Duke Eeron and he’d come after us?” asked Cinda, her eyes wide, realization dawning on her face. “But… but what if something had gone wrong?”
Baron Worgon shrugged and then gestured to his waiting carriage. “I can see you’re upset. Let’s discuss it inside of the carriage. I think that’s better than out here in the courtyard in front of everyone. I’ll have my servants pour us a couple of glasses of port. That will settle your nerves.”
Dragging their feet as if they were on their way into a jail cell, the younglings mounted the steps to the carriage and sat inside. Anne followed them, Zaine slipping silently in after, and then the baron, with the assistance of a footman shoving the round man through the narrow door. Captain Graewald gestured for Rew to enter as well, but the ranger shook his head.
“I’ll walk,” said Rew.
“The carriage is horse-drawn, Ranger, and the escort will be mounted,” warned Graewald. “We’ll be moving quickly. You certain you want to walk?”
Rew nodded, catching a glance of the nobles piled into the compartment of the carriage. “I’m certain.”
Rew trotted beside the carriage as it rumbled through the brick streets of Yarrow and then out into the country beyond. Around him, the baron’s mounted guards kept the way clear, shouting ahead that the baron was coming and for the citizens to get out of the road. The people were quick to do so. Whether it was due to the guards’ shouting or because the team of horses pulling the carriage did not slow when they came upon someone, Rew didn’t know.
Either way, the people cleared the road, and the carriage trundled along at a brisk pace. When they passed through the city gates and into the country, the buildings and citizens were replaced by units of Baron Worgon’s army. The men were arrayed in ranks, their camps finally packed, their supplies organized by the quartermasters into long trains that were already on the move. Those wagons were pulled by huge, lumbering oxen, and they moved at half the speed of the men and a quarter that of the carriage. Each morning, the wagons would start before dawn, and each evening, they’d arrive after the sun set. Feeding a large army on the move required careful planning and dedicated teams handling the logistics. It seemed Baron Worgon was well-prepared. Better prepared than he should be with only three days’ notice. Despite Worgon’s assurances that he’d planned to hide behind his walls, it seemed he’d already been readying the army to march.
Rew observed all of this as he jogged beside the carriage, studying the faces of the soldiers as well as the state of their supplies. The older men looked nervous, the younger men eager. The elders might have seen combat before, and they knew the horror they faced. The younger contingent had not yet been blooded, and their heads were likely still filled with the recruiters’ promises of loot and women. Rew wondered how many of them, the nervous and the eager, would survive the next weeks and months. It could be most, or it could be few. There were assumptions one might make when it came to conventional battle, but there was no predicting what would happen once high magic was released upon the field.
When they passed the ranks of men and began down the open road, Captain Graewald’s mount fell in beside Rew. For a long time, the captain said nothing. Eventually, he asked, “You can keep this pace all day, Ranger?”
“I can,” said Rew, his breathing even, his strides long as he jogged next to the carriage, letting it set the pace but keeping near the front so the clods of dirt and dust kicked up by the horses did not foul his way.
“How’d you get involved with these nobles?” inquired the captain. “I’d heard your kind had never taken sides in an Investiture.”
“We don’t take sides. The children came through the Eastern Territory when they fled here, and I ended up feeling responsible for them. I’m just making sure they find a safe place from all of this, though I’ll admit, it’s gotten rather more complicated than I originally thought,” replied Rew, figuring there was no harm in sharing that bit of information. Before Graewald could probe further, Rew asked, “How did you get involved with Baron Worgon?”
The soldier laughed. “Same as I told you several days ago. I left Spinesend with nowhere to go. When I unexpectedly found an opportunity to join the baron’s service, I did.”
“Surely it’s not so simple,” challenged Rew.
“I’m no spy,” said Graewald, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say that, but you haven’t told me the whole truth yet, Captain.”
“I enjoy a fight, Ranger,” said Graewald, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his broadsword as he rode, “perhaps more than I should. I didn’t so much leave Spinesend to find adventure as I was chased out of Spinesend after killing a man. I’d been drinking, and it seemed I’d begun a conversation with the man’s girl. As things do, it escalated from there. I told you, I’m a distant cousin of Duke Eeron. I’m not close enough to get away with what many witnesses described as a murder, but I’m close enough that I had time to slink away before I saw the magistrate or the inside of a cell. That’s the whole truth of my departure, Ranger. In Baron Worgon’s service, I found an outlet for my baser needs, and he found a man willing to do his dirty work. I’m not ashamed of what I am, and I’ve no need to lie about it.”
“I believe you,” said Rew, and he meant it. There was no deception in the captain’s tone or his face, though Rew didn’t like what he saw there.
“I’ve seen you sparring with the younglings,” said Graewald. “Perhaps you and I could cross blades one day? Only for practice, of course.”
<
br /> “Of course.”
The captain laughed. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Ranger?”
“All of this makes me uncomfortable, Captain,” replied Rew.
“You know what’s coming, then,” said Graewald. He lifted a hand from the hilt of his broadsword and waved behind them. “None of them do. The baron knows, and he’s told me. I understand your fear, but I live for this, Ranger. Ever since that first drunken night when I tasted another man’s hot blood on my lips, I’ve found nothing so thrilling as pitting myself against an opponent, knowing only one of us will walk away. We’ve lived to see great times, Ranger, but only some of us will live to see the end of them.”
Rew did not respond, and the captain rode beside him without speaking. After a quarter hour, Graewald said, “I need to ride back and check on the men. If you tire, but you can’t stand the thought of riding with the nobles, we can spare you a mount.”
Running alongside the road, Rew shook his head. “I don’t ride.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Ranger,” said Graewald. Then, he slowed and turned his horse around, going back to check on the long train of soldiers who were strung along the highway behind them.
12
Baron Worgon’s carriage stopped with two hours of light left in the day. The vehicle moved several times faster than the marching men, but there was no point in outpacing them and arriving at Spinesend before the army got there. The quartermasters had gone ahead and identified a campsite, and the baron’s forward guard had already set up a command tent and the baron’s personal tent. It occupied a low hill that oversaw the road for a league ahead and behind them, and there was a sumptuous buffet of cold meats, cheeses, and fruits laid out. Decanters of wine were held in the hands of liveried servants waiting to hear the baron’s preference, and there were promises of a more extravagant feast later as night fell.
As the only other landed nobles of significant lineage tagging along with the army, Raif and Cinda were invited to join Baron Worgon. Rew, Anne, and Zaine were not invited but joined anyway. The baron could not refuse an agent of the king, so he was polite to Rew, but he chose to ignore the additional women, studiously incurious as to who they were.
“Your son, Fredrick, is in charge of Yarrow in your absence?” asked Rew. “What about his younger sister? Did she stay as well?”
“In charge,” snorted Baron Worgon. “I suppose that nominally he is, but my administration knows which of his commands to take and which to ignore. The boy’s sister, though not quite as hopeless as my son, does not have the temperament for a military campaign. It’s a relief, really, letting my son prattle on to someone else for a change. You wouldn’t believe the madness he’s been advocating for recently, Ranger.”
Rew nodded but did not respond. Several of the baron’s soldiers and servants could overhear the man disparaging his heir, and not one of them looked comfortable doing so.
Raif and Cinda looked nervous as well, perched on the fronts of their camp chairs, their hands in their laps. Rew frowned at them, thinking that they’d spent years around Baron Worgon, and even if it made them uncomfortable, they would have heard the man’s opinion on his progeny before. Rew wondered what had transpired in the carriage with the baron during the ride. He probably should have accompanied them, but earlier that morning, he couldn’t stand the thought of being locked in a small, jostling box with so many nobles.
The baron waved to his servants, and they filled a crystal glass of wine. The corpulent noble sampled the cheeses and meats that had been set out for him and looked back over the road they’d marched down as the first ranks of his soldiers appeared. At his shoulder, Captain Graewald kept watch as well.
“A bit slow, aren’t they?” mumbled Worgon around a mouthful of pungent cheese.
“They’re out of shape, m’lord,” responded the captain. “Most of those boys have never been on campaign and have never seen combat. I’ll be honest, m’lord, I worry about that.”
Worgon waved his hand. “It’s no matter, Captain. We don’t need them to win the battle. We just need them to keep Duke Eeron’s men off me long enough that I can release my spell.”
“Spell?” asked Rew, but the baron ignored him.
“Captain,” suggested the baron, “why don’t you give us some entertainment? I’d like to see you spar with the ranger.”
Graewald turned to Rew, his face blank. “I hardly think that fair, m’lord. The ranger was running alongside your carriage all day today. He must be exhausted.”
Rew frowned. The captain’s face was like stone, but his eyes burned. He couldn’t read the look in the other man’s eyes, but it gave him a shiver.
“What about the lad, then?” asked Worgon, gesturing toward Raif.
“I’m not sure—“ started Graewald.
“Do it, Captain,” instructed Worgon, his tone suddenly cold.
Raif looked to Rew, and Rew shook his head to warn the boy, but instead of declining, Raif winked at the ranger and turned to the captain. He declared, “Unlike the ranger, I spent the day resting in the carriage. A little exercise will be good for me.”
“Fetch the lad’s armor from the carriage, and find him a helmet somewhere,” called Worgon to his waiting servants. He stood and began directing others to set up posts and string them with rope. He then whispered into the ear of his captain.
Rew leaned toward Raif. “I don’t know what he’s playing at, but you shouldn’t do this. Don’t let him get what he wants. It sets the tone of who is in command. Your father shares a rank with Worgon, and you’re of age now. This man is not your superior, and you ought not to be his entertainment. You have no reason to impress him and don’t need to do what he says.”
“What are you worried about?” scoffed Raif.
“I’m worried the captain is going to beat you into the ground as easily as those men are pounding in those posts,” said Rew, nodding toward the servants who were marking off a square for Graewald and Raif to spar within. “Worgon didn’t suggest this simply to give you a little exercise.”
Shrugging off the ranger’s concerns, Raif moved to where Captain Graewald was donning heavy, steel armor.
Rew, eyeing the captain’s broadsword, stayed next to Anne and the girls. The young nobleman was impetuous and arrogant. There was nothing Rew could do outside of making a terrible scene that would stop this.
“Are you worried the captain will hurt him?” asked Cinda.
“I’m not sure,” responded Rew. “Something isn’t right with Worgon. He’s not acting like his normal self. How did he seem in the carriage? Did he strike you as unusual?”
Cinda brushed a strand of hair behind her head and responded, “He did, but these are unusual times. He was eager for the coming conflict, and he shared with us his vision of what this territory could become. Worgon is normally reserved, and he’s never before shared such things with us, but we’ve never before been in the Investiture. There’s never been an opportunity to improve the standing of either of our houses, he said, not like there is now. What do you suspect?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Rew, watching Raif and Captain Graewald prepare to spar. “This plan makes less sense the more I think of it. Even with the element of surprise, Baron Worgon would be at a disadvantage to Duke Eeron. Without surprise on our side… it doesn’t make sense at all. And then why the sparring? Raif fostered in Worgon’s keep. Surely if the baron was interested in your brother’s talents, he had plenty of chances to see the lad on the field. I don’t think Worgon would be so reckless to seriously injure your brother while we’re watching, but… You should talk to him, see if you can convince Raif to stop this foolishness.”
Cinda casually walked to Raif and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear. Her brother shook his head, and Rew didn’t need to overhear to know what the elder sibling was saying. When he collected the helmet Worgon’s servants had provided and donned it, Cinda returned to the others on the low hill.
She told them, “If any
thing, I think trying to talk him out of it is only making him want to do it more. He’s not going to back down from sparring unless we tie him up and hide him in the tent. My brother can be rather stubborn, particularly when his pride is involved.”
“I’ve noticed that,” said Rew, watching as Raif adjusted the helm and then slid down the visor to protect his face.
The boy was clad in a steel breastplate and pauldrons. His arms were protected in steel as well, his hands covered in articulated gauntlets. The metal gleamed dully in the waning light of day. It was the armor he’d stolen in Umdrac, with a few extra pieces like the helmet provided by Worgon. There was no steel below his belt. There, Raif was only protected by thick padding and his boots. Evidently, he and Captain Graewald had agreed to avoid strikes below the waist.
“Why is he doing this?” asked Anne, staring at Baron Worgon.
The baron was sitting at the table, popping a small green fruit into his mouth and cradling a glass of wine in his hands. His attention was fixed on the upcoming combat, but Rew sensed the baron was well aware of what the others in their group were doing and perhaps what they were saying. Rew frowned and moved to stand beside the rope enclosure.
Raif and Graewald had final adjustments made to their armor by the servants and then squared off against each other, both raising their swords in salute. With no referee, the captain’s voice called out from within his helmet to ask if Raif was ready. The youth responded that he was, and they both advanced.
Captain Graewald swung a tentative blow, and Raif met it with his greatsword. Again, the captain struck, and again, Raif met the blow. Graewald stepped to the side, circling the younger man, and Raif launched a powerful stroke. Graewald caught it easily on the edge of his broadsword, and Raif’s greatsword slid away. The captain stepped forward and put his heavy shoulder into Raif’s chest, knocking the youth stumbling backward. Raif raised his blade again and swung with all of his might.
