Crystal King (Riland Throne Book 1)

by John Olsen

  Gerald continued, “All we need from them is their extra food so we can cut our hunting time and get back to a fast advance. They’ll have a lean winter, but they’ll survive.”

  The king snorted. “You’re going soft, Gerald. There’s no room for the soft in this army. Are you up to the task? Will you still be useful to me, or do I cut you out like the runt of the litter?” The king glared at Gerald for a long moment as if evaluating him. “Gather all the people together. The rest of us will collect supplies while you keep them busy in the lodge in the center of the village.”

  * * *

  Phineas and the other locals were grateful to see Baron Stoutheart and eagerly followed his instructions to gather together inside the central lodge to hear him speak.

  “Our army needs supplies. You’ve been generous with your support in the past, and I will see to it that your support is rewarded.” The footmen from the army had been commanded not to speak lest their accents betray them, and many of the war animals were held back to preserve the illusion it was a small baronial defense force.

  “To make it fair, our forces will take a tax from each farm. We fight to defend you, and we need to move quickly. Thank you all for your help as we work to avoid a war.” He wasn’t specific as to which army they would help, or the size of the tax as King Ithan’s forces spread out to pack everything they could carry. He approached Phineas with small talk. “How’s the family these days? The children have grown since I saw them last.”

  A soldier peeked into the room, so Gerald broke off from the conversation and met the man at the door. “It’s time to leave, sir. Please come with me.”

  Gerald turned to say a few last words, but the footman interrupted with an urgent whisper. “No, sir. It’s time to leave now. The king insisted.”

  Unsure about the change of plans, Gerald followed, preparing a mental list of information gained from his subjects in the village. The messenger kicked a wedge under the door to secure it as they left. Gerald and the messenger reached the king who stood away from the central building with a small group of men. “What’s all this about? I thought you wanted me to keep them distracted.”

  Archers let loose with flaming arrows, which stuck in the log walls and the thatched roof of the hall where the people of the village waited for their baron.

  “No! There’s no need to kill them! They won’t even know you passed through.” He took two quick steps forward, but the king’s guard tackled him and held him down.

  A few moments passed with the rising sound of flames before voices called out in fear.

  The yells turned into screams. Two men inside managed to knock the stout door down after a few tries. Thick smoke poured out as the men collapsed to their hands and knees outside and coughed. Archers shot them and the building became an inferno with the improved airflow to feed the fire. The flames expanded and cut off any chance for those inside to flee. The sound of the roaring flames overcame the sound of screams, and Gerald felt the heat wash across his face.

  Gerald clenched his jaw. “I promised them I would help them. You’ve made a liar of me.”

  King Ithan snorted. “You made a liar of yourself long ago, so don’t blame me for that. I’m not taking chances with locals spreading the news about us, and we have no time or guards for prisoners. As I said, you’re weak. Still useful, but weak. I did those people a favor. They would have slowly starved to death and turned on each other this winter with no supplies. It was unwise of you to question me, so you’ve been given a hard lesson.”

  Gerald planned to show the king exactly how strong he was, but would wait for the right moment. His burning resolve to destroy Ithan was fanned to an inferno, just like the burning lodge, but it wasn’t time yet to act. His long-term plan to control the kingdom was more important than petty vengeance, but vengeance would come in due time.

  The rear half of the caravan had stopped. Gavin couldn’t see the cause, so he signaled for a short rest stop, and then marched back with Tover on his tail to investigate. The people waved, bowed, or curtsied as he made his way past. Their nervous looks to the rear matched his worries. Every small failure brought the enemy army a little closer, and Gavin was afraid he wouldn’t know how to save them if it came down to a confrontation.

  Shouts brought Gavin’s attention to a wagon, broken down and blocking the road. The shattered axle dug into the dirt where it had come to rest. The entire back end of the wagon had twisted and split under its heavy load. It wasn’t ever going to roll again. The rocky terrain here made it too difficult for wagons behind the broken one to go off the road and get around the mess.

  A woman stood at the corner of the wagon leaning against a tilted front wheel, her gaze to the ground. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

  A man in his late twenties yelled, “You said my things would be safe on your wagon! What can I do now? I’m holding you responsible for replacing the lot of it.”

  She glanced up. “It’s only the wagon that’s broken. You’re welcome to take your things and find another place for them.”

  The man backhanded her, leaving a red welt on her cheek.

  Gavin came up behind him, placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Hey, now that’s not necessary.”

  The man whirled around and hit Gavin with a wild swing, full on the left side of his jaw. The blow knocked him to the ground and stars filled his vision as his head bounced on the packed dirt road.

  When his sight cleared, he saw Tover step between Gavin and the man who had hit him. A human wave took his attacker to the ground, knives pointed at him from all sides. One of the men raised a long sword to strike. Gavin yelled, “Hold! Stand down.”

  The swordsman lowered his weapon to a rest position and stood, waiting. He moved with the practiced ease of a soldier. Gavin wondered who he had served under, and was grateful for the man’s training to respond to commands. Despite the prompt response, the swordsman glared at his would-be target. “We all saw him attack you, sir. The old baron’s killed men for far less. We’re yours to command.”

  Gavin struggled to his feet and gingerly touched his jaw, feeling for loose teeth with his tongue. The world wavered back and forth, and he blinked a few times to clear the tears from his eyes. He tasted blood as he opened his mouth and shifted his jaw side to side to make sure everything lined up as it should. Aside from biting the inside of his cheek, things seemed to be in about the right place.

  How had he gotten into this mess? The man’s life was in his hands. How was that right? If he let the people have their way, the man’s blood was on his hands just as if he’d killed him himself. If he dismissed the incident, it would lead to an erosion of authority. He needed some middle ground, and he needed it fast.

  He had to occupy the people while he thought the issue through, so he bought time by asking, “Are you hurt, Goodwife?”

  “No, good sir. I’ve had worse.” She placed her fingers to her red cheek.

  “What?” Gavin glared at the man on the ground. “From him?”

  “No, sir. It’s sometimes been difficult since my husband died.” She looked down and didn’t continue, letting Gavin fill in the blanks of those who might hurt a widow.

  Gavin took a closer look at her. From her smooth face and dark hair, he judged she was young to be a widow, no more than thirty years of age. He saw no children with her. She’d already had a difficult life, and now this. Was this level of disrespect a common thing among his people? It was time to change expectations.

  He softened the tone of his voice, hoping to ease her concern. “What was the problem he spoke about?”

  “Sir, he asked me if I would haul his personal things back in Greenvale. The combined load was too heavy for the old wagon, and it gave out. Truth be told, I feel it would have given out a’fore long even without the extra load.” She kicked at the dirt and brushed at her skirt. “Now I’ve lost it all. It’s all I’ve got, and I can’t carry it all on my back. Will I have to leave the caravan?”

  Gavin he
ard the tremor in her voice, and her fear of being cast out for not keeping up. The army would overrun anyone who couldn’t keep up. It was clear she expected to be yelled at and punished for her failure as she had been in the past. Being left behind was a death sentence, which would put her blood on his hands.

  How widespread was this fear and desperation among the people of the caravan? He had to come up with something, anything, to solve the problems and inspire the people to work together instead of turning on each other. He had so many different issues in front of him, he struggled to separate the problems from one another. The combined problems of the caravan turned his thoughts to mush. Could he break this down into a list of smaller challenges?

  Tover touched his arm and whispered, “Good sir, we must move soon. What would you like me to do?”

  Gavin twitched as all eyes centered on him. “Right. One problem at a time.” He would have to pare off challenges until the remainder was small enough to deal with. He wiped a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth and studied the people who waited on his word.

  “First, the wagon. Tover, I need a wainwright. I doubt we can repair this, but we need to salvage anything we can from it.”

  Tover tapped one of his ever-present messengers and sent a girl named Izzy on her way, her skirts flapping as she ran to fetch a wainwright. Gavin had seen her running the length of the caravan on errands as they travelled.

  “Second, the attack.” The people rumbled and aimed their blades at the man still prone on the ground. At least Gavin’s attacker had the common sense not to struggle.

  “Is there anyone who believes he sought to assault me as his baron?” Gavin looked around as people reluctantly shook their heads. “Of course not. Therefore, I will treat this as a simple assault, and exact a penalty to match. We’re in a war not of our making. I’m not going to waste the life of someone who can fight for our barony and for Riland, no matter what my father might have done. Release him.” He walked over to the man on the ground and helped him up with an extended hand. The crowd grumbled.

  “Do you have experience with the king’s army?” He wasn’t old enough to have served during the last war, but Gavin plied him with an easy question in a hope to find something to work with.

  The man hugged his arms close to his chest and nodded. “Yes, sir. Never with the animals, or fighting on the field, but I was a swordsman’s errand boy.”

  “Very well. You know a little about military discipline. You will forfeit your goods to the widow who willingly offered you space to carry them, assuming there is anything worth keeping. You will eat with the servants from the castle. You will train under Master Draken each morning and evening to fight as a footman.”

  The man blanched at the mention of Draken and objected. “But he’s ... I ...”

  “You think I’m being unfair?” Gavin raised his eyebrows. “Should I leave your fellow-travelers to choose your punishment?” He gestured to the glowering mob and paused to look at the swordsman.

  “No, sir. You are fair and just. More than fair. Tonight, with the guards.” The man swallowed hard and watched his boots, his arms still wrapped tightly around his chest. Apparently, the people had a lot more respect for the guards and for Draken than Gavin did. Perhaps a little fear, too, for those who were trained to wield death as a profession. Gavin’s heart pained him as he thought of the people who endured hardships he had never known in his protected and pampered life.

  He gave a final look at the man he had just assigned to the guard. He felt dirty for having threatened the man with death at the hands of a mob, but he saw no other way out. “I expect nothing less than your best efforts, and I will check with Master Draken on your progress. You are dismissed.”

  The man ran up the road.

  Gavin saw some of the people nod in satisfaction at his verdict. Maybe it would be good enough.

  Gavin worked his sore jaw a few more times as he looked at the wrecked wagon. His priorities had been served a painful and public reminder. His responsibility was to his people, singly and as a group. They might consider his safety, as they did when he was attacked, but they hadn’t leapt to the defense of the woman when she was struck.

  What were the people’s priorities? Were they heroes waiting for a chance to be heroic, or did they only want a safe place to call home? They weren’t heroes any more than he was.

  The silence was broken as the wainwright stepped up and cursed at the sight of the twisted wreck. One of the bystanders nudged him and pointed to Gavin, at which point his eyes widened and he mumbled, “Sir? I, ah, didn’t see you there. So sorry for the language. I’m Master Vanwagner.”

  With no target in sight, the people stowed their blades in belt sheaths and boots as if nothing had ever happened. Gavin pointed at the wagon. “Is it possible to fix this? We have to get back on the road as fast as possible.”

  The wheelwright tugged at his short beard as he thought, then said, “The only way to fix this is with a bonfire. It’s ruined. I suppose we could take the yoke, and maybe the wheels if they aren’t twisted. We’ve got a little room on a supply wagon for things like that.”

  Gavin was so used to finding a solution to problems that he stared for a moment with his mouth open before he found the right words. “Then we salvage what parts we can from the wagon, but what about the goods on it?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, I don’t know much about handling cargo. I just build wagons.”

  Gavin accepted the comment with a sigh. “What are your thoughts, Travel Master?” He hoped mentioning the title would jog an idea out of Tover.

  “If we have to remove the rubble and distribute the goods, it will slow us. We’ll lose hours of travel time. I dislike the idea of leaving half the caravan behind to wait, but I’ll stay with them if I must. They’ll need help to catch up.”

  Gavin muttered a curse unbecoming a baron at the lack of good options. “I’m not leaving people behind, even if it’s only for a few hours.”

  He needed to adapt if he was to have any hope of protecting these people, and they needed to adapt as well. He climbed to the wagon seat and drew a deep breath. “Listen, everyone. I need every able set of hands to clear this mess to the side of the road. Master Vanwagner will supervise. If you can find room for anything useful, we keep it. Otherwise, we leave it. Make a place somewhere for all the food.”

  Gavin turned to the woman. “Once we camp, we will work out how to keep track of your things somehow. I promised that man’s belongings to you, but I can’t see how we can save all of your own things, let alone his. I’m sorry. These people will help you, but they only have so much to give. They’re good people.”

  He felt like he was shattering her dreams as a few small belongings were bound together for the crying widow to carry on her back.

  The bystanders swarmed the broken cart like ants and tossed it aside piece by piece, along with most of the common items inside. They stored a few small household things on other nearby wagons.

  He hated himself for forcing her to leave her things. She deserved better, but he had no idea what else he could do.

  The work proceeded quickly with so many hands to focus on the problem. With the debris moved, the tail of the caravan lurched back to life. At least they hadn’t lost the rest of the day.

  Tover followed Gavin up the line, quieter than normal. Perhaps he also felt the load of the caravan’s failures, despite everything Tover had done to keep people moving. Ultimately, the responsibility was Gavin’s.

  They passed Lindy, and she curtsied to him. “Good day, sir. What was the delay?”

  “We lost a wagon. I’m afraid we’ll have more breakdowns as we travel, too. What resources do we have when things break down? I heard you recommended getting all the wagon replacement parts stored together, so we have a good start.”

  Lindy wiped at a spot on her sleeve, giving the matter some thought. “I’ve seen plans for this sort of thing, adapting to breakdowns and such. I’ll have an answer for you
this evening, if that works for you, sir.”

  “That would be wonderful. Tover, please meet with us tonight as well. As the Travel Master of this evacuation, we’ll need to coordinate resources with you.”

  “Of course, good sir. I met with Lindy on the way out of Greenvale, as you asked.” Tover gave her a bow, a bit more generous than the ones he offered even to Gavin, which broke through Gavin’s sour mood and made it hard to stifle a grin as the two traded ideas. Tover and Lindy were hitting it off well.

  High above, he saw an eagle riding on the mid-day thermals. What would it be like to be so carefree and confident? He cared about the people and was afraid he would disappoint them through his ignorance.

  All he had accomplished at the broken wagon was to get punched in the face and make a few obvious choices to get people back on the road. Was that what counted for leadership? With luck, things would change when they reached Richland, a day and a half away. The town was big enough they could erect defenses and repel the invasion, or at least divert the invading army with the addition of the people and animals following him. They would no longer have to worry about outrunning the army on their tail.

  With the threat of attack gone, he might even be able to spend more time with Saleena. He knew their friendship could never become romantic, no matter what they wanted. He was still the baron, even with the barony in ruins. He was responsible for everyone. There would be expectations and politics, and he would marry for some alliance or trade route once they turned away this blasted invasion. Nothing in his personal life was his to choose. His father would have said it was for the best.