"Listen, I need to..."
My accuser spurred his steed, so its flank slammed into that of my own. It was a bully's move, intended to humiliate. Had I been a better horseman, I'd have skipped neatly aside, and doubtless have had some clever riposte that would have turned the tables. As it was, I was a poor horseman, and little inclined to cleverness at the best of times.
Instead, I settled for trapping his sword in my reins and slammed an open palm into the front of his helmet. The cataphract flailed, reluctantly released his grip on his sword and, quite against his will, slid sideways out of the saddle.
It wasn't a wise move, but it was certainly satisfying. I untangled the sword from my reins, and threw it down into the mud. This did not have the placatory effect I might have hoped. The warchief scrambled to his feet, and scooped up his sword.
"I'll skin you for that!"
I'd no idea what to do next, so it was fortunate another knight broke ranks and spurred towards us. She swept off her helmet, revealing a shrewd bony face framed by short black hair.
"Edric? Is that you?" Green eyes gleamed. "Blessed Ashana! It is, isn't it?"
I grinned, the tension of recent moments forgotten. "It is."
She rounded on the cataphract, whose shame at being unhorsed was quickly redoubled. "You're a lucky man, Balor. We've few enough princes of the blood these days. I doubt the Emperor would have thanked you for cutting down his nephew."
Balor went deathly pale. He tried to mutter an apology, but the words wouldn't come, so he bowed low instead.
The woman laughed. "It seems he's finally remembered how to treat royalty, my prince. I'm glad I was here to see him finally learn some manners, even if you have forgotten me so soon. I'm hurt."
I smiled away the challenge. "I'd be hard-pressed to forget you, Calda. You've landed me into too much trouble for that."
"And gotten you straight back out of most of it," she corrected with a wicked smile. "Well some of it." She turned back to Balor, who was frozen mid-bow. "Warchief Balor, get your warriors into position. I'll try to persuade the prince to forget your foolishness."
"Yes, Warleader Cadvar." Balor's tone thickened with embarrassment. He remounted, careful not to make eye contact with me, and rode away southward
As the cataphracts moved off, Calda led me deeper into the army. "I thought you'd gone for good."
The enquiry was politely phrased and certainly deserved an answer, but there was no time to give one. "Calda, I truly wish we'd time to reminisce, but I need to stop this battle."
She laughed incredulously. "Stop it? Why? The idiots have broken the truce and we're going to flay them. It'll be glorious."
"Calda..." I bit back my frustration. Rare good fortune had brought me before one of the few people I could be sure still had confidence in me, but it would for nothing if she wouldn't listen. "You're a warleader, can't you at least delay things for a while?"
"And let the Tressians take advantage? No. Besides, the Emperor gave the orders. Only he can countermand them."
"The Emperor's here? Can you take me to him?"
She frowned. "What about the Tressians?"
"A friend of mine's seeing to that part. If we hold our forces back, there needn't be more bloodshed. I know it's a lot to ask, but there are bigger things at stake. You have to believe me."
"You're serious."
"As serious as the last time we spoke."
Calda ran a hand through her hair, and lowered her helm into place. "Then I suppose I'd better take you to the Emperor. Try to keep up."
With a cry, she touched her heels to her horse's flanks and sprang away. I urged my steed forward in her wake, and hoped I was in time.
Nine
No one questioned me or barred my passage now I was in the company of a warleader. Indeed, the crowds even parted before us – which is to say that they parted before Calda – and didn't close up again until after I'd followed her through the gap.
Finally I caught a glimpse of what I'd sought: the gold and crimson eagle banners of the royal guard and the great silk pavilion serving as the Emperor's throne room in these distant lands.
I watched the guardsmen carefully as we dismounted. It took years of experience to qualify for service in these ranks. Each man was of the same mould as Jamar: strong, skilled and utterly loyal to the man he protected. In all the years of Imperial rule, the guard had never lost an emperor to an assassin's blade – well, almost never. That fact alone made me uneasy to be in such close proximity. Jamar might have seen the necessity of my brother's death, but I doubted those sentiments were echoed by every one of his comrades.
Fortunately, Calda Cadvar was once again my passport. She and I were of an age, and had been close to the royal court since we were children. As a warchief's child, her rank was only a fraction lower than mine. Indeed, if the line of Saran ever failed, she'd have as good a chance as any of ending up on the Hadari throne. More importantly, her loyalty was above reproach.
Calda spoke briefly to one of the sentries and beckoned me inside the tent. I had to surrender my sword, but then so did Calda. Unswervingly loyal or not, no one went before the Emperor with a blade at hand.
At least Calda didn't have to suffer the indignity of being thoroughly searched. Not so I. In fact, once my cloak was stripped away and my borrowed Tressian raiment was in view I fancied the search became just a little bit rougher than necessary. Perhaps I should have followed Jamar's example, and changed back into my old clothes when we were at the Tower of Stars, but it was far too late to worry about that now.
If the number of tapestries and statues in this antechamber were anything to go by, this pavilion had been here a long time. I knew Eirac wanted to keep a large force ready in case Tressia broke the truce, but I hadn't realised just how settled that army had become. Then again, it remained to be seen if the encampment would stay in place once the winter came in.
I wondered at the skill by which the army had been kept supplied these past months. The less scrupulous captains would have kept their men fed by raiding local villages, but most would have relied upon the throne to provide their rations. That must have meant an enormous oxen-train stretching back into our heartlands, and probably as many men again as were mustered here to defend that supply route from brigands. The scale of the venture was breathtaking.
Finally the search ended. With one last sour look at my tormentor, I followed Calda through a narrow rug-lined corridor and into the main chamber.
Even at large in a foreign land, the Golden Court travelled with style and spectacle. The walls and even the high roof of the tent were invisible behind luxurious tapestries. Each work told a tale from history or legend. One triptych told of how Melanna Saran, an empress in ages past, had vanished in Fellhallow. One showed Astarra, goddess of light and sister to Ashana, holding court in her fabled sky-palace. Others concerned them with more earthy tales, of battles won and heroic deeds. All were woven through with precious metals and set with sparkling gemstones. Golden statues of gods and heroes were artfully arranged around the chamber's extents, always facing towards the throne so that their jewel-set eyes could witness the Emperor's wisdom.
The throne itself was at the far end of the room, a simple thing of wood and leather raised high upon a golden dais. I couldn't quite see it from where I stood, but I knew there was a great crack in the throne's back. It made the chair impossibly uncomfortable to sit on, but still it had never been repaired. Tradition was deemed more important than comfort, even for the Emperor.
This went some way to explain why Eirac Saran, my uncle and current emperor, was not currently seated on that throne, but sat on an altogether less ominous, but I daresay more comfortable chair, at the base of the dais. Two royal guards stood at his rear.
Before the Emperor stood three men: a warleader, resplendent in green silk and gold scale; a robed advisor whose waxy skin betrayed his great age; and a wiry wolf-pelted figure I took to be a soothsayer. He was speaking as Calda and I drew ne
ar, presumably informing his fellows of some augury.
I'd never put much stock in the ramblings of soothsayers. I'd always found them more eager to tell the listener what he wished to hear than impart mystic truth. The Emperor, on the other hand, listened with rapt attention. Eirac had always been fascinated by these glimpses into destiny, and it appeared his elevation to the imperial throne had not changed that.
It had been six months since I'd last seen my uncle. The traditional robes of black and gold silk suited his spare frame, and the emerald-set circlet rested upon his brow as if it had made for him, rather than for an ancestor several generations removed. His black hair was perhaps greyer at the temples, but otherwise he looked younger and more vigorous than he had in a great many years. It seemed he found the pressure of running an ailing empire preferable to watching my brother's enthusiasms destroy it.
Alfric. I'd not thought about him since leaving Tressia, but I knew I'd have to face him again before this was done. Face him, and probably kill him a second time. Another cheery thought in a day already overburdened with them.
Calda took position beside her fellow warleader. She bowed low to the Emperor, then offered a grudging polite nod to the affronted soothsayer. "My apologies, your majesty, but you have a visitor with an urgent message."
"Really, warleader?" said Eirac. "Can it not wait until the auguries are consulted?"
Calda opened her mouth to reply, but I decided that I'd been a silent party too long. Stepping past her, I went down on one knee before my uncle. "It cannot, majesty."
Now I was closer, I recognised the other two advisors from the frantic days following my brother's death. The thick-bearded warleader was Maglor Aidon, the first man to set eyes on me after that deed was done. The old counsellor was Darek Tyro, whose calming words and quick tongue had stopped Aidon from running me through. From their expressions, it seemed they recognised me also. I had eyes only for Eirac.
He smiled. My uncle actually smiled. "Edric? Do these eyes deceive me?" His expression shifted as he stopped being my uncle and the Emperor took over. "This is a poor time for a family reunion. Battle awaits us."
"I know, majesty." I spoke without looking up. "That's part of the reason why I'm here." I paused, but the request wouldn't seem any more reasonable for the delay, so I pressed on. "This battle must be ended before it runs out of control."
Aidon glared at me. "Majesty, your nephew shows his true allegiance at last. He left us to live amongst the Tressians, and now he seeks to preserve his new friends from our steel. Look at him! He even looks like one of them!"
That unhelpful remark provoked uproar. Calda and Tyro both spoke in my defence, but that only provoked Aidon into louder accusations. Not be outdone, Calda raised her own voice – she'd always had a fine set of lungs – forcing Tyro to stop arguing on my behalf and start mediating between the quarrelling warleaders.
Only Eirac and his soothsayer remained silent. The Emperor was thinking, and thinking hard. The soothsayer, on the other hand, backed away as far from the debate as he could without being judged to have done so.
"I will have silence." Eirac's words cut through the clamour. "Rise, Edric, rise. My nephew should not kneel before me like a servant."
I hesitated, then did as instructed. "Thank you, majesty."
"But what you ask is impossible," he went on. "The Tressians provoked this battle. Would you have me surrender?"
"Not surrender, majesty," I corrected. "All I ask is that you do not pursue battle."
Aidon stepped between us. "If we wait, we yield advantage. My emperor, you can't be considering this course."
"Warleader, I don't believe I had yet finished speaking with my nephew. I am quite certain I did not ask for your opinion."
Eirac's tone remained mild, but steel lay hidden beneath. Aidon's eyes darted, seeking support from Tyro. Finding none, he gruffly apologised and stepped back.
Eirac stretched the silence out a few moments more before speaking. "Aidon makes a good point, and one in line with the auguries. If we attack now, we shall win a great victory. If we delay, and are ourselves attacked..."
"You won't be attacked, majesty," I assured him. "Even now, one of my allies is convincing the Tressians to withdraw. If you don't give them cause, they will not fight."
My voice was convincing enough, or so I believed, but I was far from certain. If Arianwyn couldn't convince the Tressians to back down, a lot of my countrymen would die, and I'd be lucky if Eirac didn't have me executed on the spot. Family was one thing, but treachery quite another.
Eirac stroked his chin and said nothing.
"Majesty, if I may speak?" Tyro had clearly learnt from Aidon's misstep, or rather was too canny to commit similar discourtesy. "Though the prince's return is... unconventional... there may be some wisdom in his request. I have always advised you that the current... situation... may have arisen from misunderstanding. Is it not worth the risk if it means the truce endures?"
"There is sense in what you say," Eirac allowed. "Warleader Cadvar, do you have nothing to add?"
Calda shot me a sidelong glance. "Only that I trust Edric."
Eirac rubbed his chin. "Yes, I thought you might say something like that. Very well, nephew, I shall do as you ask. We shall withdraw our vanguard and make no aggressive move." The steel returned to his tone. "But if the situation is not as you have described, if the Tressians take advantage, then your life is forfeit." He looked at Calda again. "Warleader Cadvar. As you have brought me this problem, perhaps I can trouble you to enact my decision?"
"Of course, majesty." Calda gave me a mischievous wink, and departed.
Aidon was still unhappy. "Your majesty, I must protest..."
"Yes, warleader, I know," said Eirac. "You do such a lot of it. Content yourself with the knowledge that if my nephew has steered us false, the task of exacting recompense from him, and from the Tressians, shall fall to you. Advisor Tyro?"
"Yes majesty?"
"If Edric is correct – and I hope for his sake that he is – I suspect we'll shortly receive a delegation. Perhaps you'd see to their welcome, and give thought to how this matter is resolved?"
"Of course, majesty."
"Now please, leave us. I wish to have words with my nephew."
Thus dismissed, Aidon, Tyro and the soothsayer departed, leaving me alone with my uncle. Alone that was, apart from the two royal guards behind his chair and the half dozen others that watched me unblinkingly from their stations elsewhere in the chamber. Given recent history, I could no more blame the royal guard for not leaving than I could Eirac for not dismissing them.
To my surprise, Eirac not only stood up, but he also embraced me. "Well, nephew, it has certainly been a long time. You choose a peculiar way to come home, but I suppose I should be grateful you've not returned to claim the throne." He released me, smiled and fixed me with an appraising stare. "Unless that is why you're here, and this is all an elaborate ruse?"
I shook my head. "No uncle, my mind is unchanged."
He smiled again. "It wouldn't matter if it was, my boy. I told you before and I'll tell you again: I sit in that uncomfortable chair out of respect for your father and as a favour to you. It's yours for the asking if ever you want it." He paused. "Now that I think on it, perhaps it would be worth abdication just to see Aidon kill himself through apoplexy."
Humour aside, it was a generous offer, and one utterly in keeping with my uncle's nature. Fortunately for us both, I had no intention of taking him up on it. I suspect he knew as much, which had certainly made the offer easier to make.
"On the other hand, must you insist on making everything so dramatic? I'm starting to think that crises follow you." He stopped, clearly having caught something in my expression. "What?"
I told him everything, or at least everything I could remember. There was no point being selective – it wasn't as if the story wasn't already unbelievable enough. The only things I skimped on were those that I didn't see being at all relevant: w
ho Constans really was, the debacle of failing to recruit Svara – details that didn't really effect the situation in which we found ourselves.
All in all, Eirac took it better than I had expected, but then I'd not expected him to take it even remotely well. He listened intently, with none of the outbursts I'd anticipated, content to let me tell my ridiculous story in my own time. When I was done he sat back into his chair and waved me into another.
"It seems I spoke more correctly than I knew," he said. "Half our culture is rooted in the rivalry between Jack and Malgyne, or Jack and Ashana, but to hear of it being played out on such a scale... Well, it's a lot for an old man to take in."
"You don't believe me?"
"Let us say instead that I'd rather you'd gone suddenly and inexplicably mad." He sighed. "But no, Edric. I believe you. You've never lied to me..." I was glad he thought so. "...and if you were to start now I'd expect something more, well, believable." He shook his head. "In my experience lies are always convenient ways to an end, so the more difficult the truth, the more probable its veracity. Besides, remind me to tell you some of the things your father and I saw when he was your age. They're not so..."
He broke off as Calda strode into the chamber.
"Your orders have been issued, majesty. Our forces are falling back. Warleader Aidon is grudgingly supervising their withdrawal."
"I rather thought he would," Eirac said absently. "He's a good man, if perhaps prone to precipitate action when left idle."
Calda looked dubious at this assessment of her fellow warleader's character, but refrained from putting her doubts into words.
"What of the Tressians?" Eirac asked.
"Falling back quicker even than our forces," Calda affirmed. "There are only a handful left on the field. General Marlon is amongst them, as is what appears to be what I can only describe as a glowing woman." She frowned as she said that last part.
Eirac looked at me thoughtfully. "That would the Lady Trelan?"
I nodded. When recounting events, I'd thought it a good idea to reinforce Arianwyn's noble connections. Despite his frequent protestations otherwise, Eirac placed great value on societal rank, and would look far more kindly upon her as 'Lady Trelan' than he ever would as simply 'Arianwyn'.
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 42
