by Jay Swanson
“But I agrees with the boy, I does. Should skewer that monkey, Gredge, and leave 'em out for the crows 'fore he comes around and causes trouble.” Clive folded his huge arms, causing the lines of his jacket to draw tight.
“All in good time.” Merodach took a long drink before massaging his leg under the desk. “There's plenty of housekeeping to be done, but more subtly than with pikes and crows.”
“First thing's first.” Lucius turned to Rast. “Tonight we're gonna make you famous, Colonel. Tonight you earn those pins you've wanted so bad.”
SEVENTEEN
THE CAMP WAS HUGE. Ardin never expected to see so many people with the ambush party. There were thousands. As the returning party came over a low ridge, he saw them stretched out into the low spaces between the hills. There weren't as many trees here, just tall grasses and thick bushes wherever they found a nook to grow.
It took them another twenty minutes to reach the outskirts. Cid stopped at the crest of the hill bordering the northeastern corner of the camp, beckoning by implication for Ardin to follow suit. They surveyed the crowds and landscape as the ambush party shepherded their charges down the slope.
“Who are all of these people?” Ardin asked.
“Most of them are prisoners we've freed.” Rain came up next to him smiling. “It's been costly. But liberating so many people is something to be proud of in any case.”
“But who are they? Why were they in prison?”
“They weren't in prison exactly,” she said. “They were captured and caged, much like cattle. The Relequim once used human captives for labor, but he uses them now for his experiments more than anything. Eventually he will turn to extermination.”
“Where are you taking them?” Cid stepped closer, looking over the scene. He seemed distant to Ardin.
“We were going to try and move them west, to where we could protect them.”
“But there are too many of them,” he finished her thought absentmindedly.
“Yes,” she said. “More importantly, there are too many who would never be able to make the march. So instead we move them farther south and hope the enemy doesn't find us.”
“Has he made any attempts?”
“None that we've seen directly.” She looked up at the old soldier. “We're hoping that means we're being successful in our movements.”
Cid appeared lost in his thoughts, so Ardin voiced his own. “Why do you keep talking about the west? What's over there?”
“My kingdom,” she said with a smile. “There were once many kingdoms and principalities that covered this continent. According to the Magi, when they were here, we had grown much more quickly in population than the humans on Veria.”
“Veria?”
“The Forbidden Continent. Your continent.”
“I'd never heard it called that...”
“That's the name we know it by. Anyways, over time the different kingdoms merged. Whether because of war or as a natural evolution of ancient alliances, the number and diversity of people groups shrank as they melded together.”
“So eventually there were just two?”
“That's right. That and the Southrons, but theirs is no true kingdom of which to speak. Trading princes. They live along the coast and on the islands that lie close to land. The Eastern Kingdom, known as the Truans, fell steadily under the Demon's sway. I think we all did to some degree. How could we not? He was meant to guide us after all. But as his true nature shone through, my fathers rejected him.”
“How did they know better?”
“I don't know,” she admitted. “The deception wasn't strong enough I suppose. But it was effective in the east, and as those kingdoms merged they became his tool. They slaughtered the Thranish tribes and any peoples that wouldn't submit. Eventually they turned on us.”
“So where are they now? Are they fighting farther north?”
“You see before you now what became of most of their people. The Demon enslaved them, first by law and then by force. I think once they saw the creatures he had been forming in darkness they realized what was truly going on. By then it was too late. We resisted his temptations, however. There were numerous attempts at incursion. Some overt, others not so much.”
“Rain!” A voice came up from the bottom of the hill as a young man came bounding up to meet them.
Rain's stance grew noticeably more rigid at his approach.
“Your Highness, it's good to have you back!” A handsome man in his early twenties came strolling up to them. He paid no heed to the last of the freed prisoners walking down the slope.
“Branston,” she forced a smile. “It's good to be back.”
He took her hand and kissed it as he bowed gracefully in front of her. “We were worried you might have run into trouble! God be praised that you're alright.”
Ardin noticed he held on for what seemed to be much too long. She took her hand back and nodded her thanks. “We've suffered some unfortunate losses. But I pray it's all worth it in the end.”
“Of course it will be, my lady. Of course.” He glanced uncertainly at the two strange men standing next to her. He tossed his blond hair from his eyes. The insecurity faded more quickly than it had shown itself.
“Your swords would have been most welcome in the fight, Branston.”
He brushed the rebuke aside with grace. “Someone must guard the baggage train, Highness. It's not the most glorious of positions, but one that must be filled.”
He smiled, but Rain remained unimpressed.
“May I offer you my arm?” He raised his elbow to her as he turned to face down the hill. “I would hate to see you stumble.”
Ardin saw an incredulous line draw itself along the corner of her mouth before diplomacy wiped it away. “I'll be fine, Branston. Thank you.”
“I insist! It would be terrible if you were to fall with no one there to save you.” He flashed his most winsome grin. The whole thing seemed preposterous to Ardin. If not for the knot in his stomach at the scene he might have laughed.
“Well,” she said with a wry smile. “If you insist...”
Branston's self-assured grin cemented itself to his face. But then he realized she wasn't reaching for his arm, she was reaching for the boy standing on her right.
To Ardin's great surprise, she put her arm in his. His heart began to race. She looked at him as she pulled him closer.
“I figure Ardin here owes me for saving his life.” Her smile dazzled him for a moment. Between that and the light touch of her hands he thought she might be the one needing to carry him.
Branston's face showed a brief flash of anger before his manners got the better of him. “Saved his life, Highness? I doubt that you should trust yourself into the hands of some boy whose life you had to sa–”
“Oh come, Branston. You're being preposterous. I'm in no danger of dying from a walk down a hill. If I managed the walk here, let alone the Dunmar that preceded it, I think I can finish with a stroll down a gentle slope.”
And with that she began walking, pulling Ardin gently along with her. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to feel the murderous ice shooting out of Branston's eyes.
“Who are your friends, Highness? I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting them.” Branston jumped to keep pace.
“I'm Cid.” The Fisherman shoved his huge hand in the young man's path. Branston seemed caught off guard, shaking the hand as if he were about to lose his balance. “Here to help you free your kindred.”
Branston scoffed at that. “These aren't my kindred. Filth,” he spat. “They're lucky we're expending any energy to free them after all they've done.”
“That's enough, Branston.” The stern rebuke from Rain stopped him short. “We're the lucky ones. We might have been forced to fight them instead of free them. And this, if you care to know, is Ardin, Cid's apprentice.”
As they neared the crowds of people, Ardin noticed how they treated Rain with deference. Many knelt, and nearly everyone touched their foreh
eads with two fingers. He was getting his fair share of awed looks too. Something told him it wasn't every day that Rain of the Renaults was seen on someone's arm. Especially not someone so obviously foreign.
Large tents meandered between the hills like a stream of dingy rags. They were made of the same material as the gray camouflage worn by the ambush party. A number of the tents seemed to be set up to receive and treat the new arrivals. The whole camp was astir over their new guests. Ahead stood a tent larger than any other he could see.
“Highness.” Shill appeared from the crowd in their path. Behind him stood a column of tall men with spears. “May I have the honor of announcing the arrival of our guest? It would do our morale good, let alone be a privilege to die for.” He grinned.
“Of course, Shill. The song seems appropriate, now if ever it was. You have my leave.”
With that a box was brought up from the rear and set next to Shill. Another man stepped forward and raised a horn. He let out three short blasts, followed by one long, before he stepped back. Shill then took his place on the box.
“People of the West!”
The crowds grew silent in every direction. Soon the rustle of the tents and the shifting of tired weight were all Ardin could hear.
“I bring you great news on this day.” Shill really had a story teller buried somewhere in that warrior's body. “A wonderful surprise greeted us on our expedition. We all know the tales of the Great War, the Liberation, lest we forget the battle of Albentine.”
Ardin could feel a stir begin to move among the people. Hushed whispers spread out from the Captain like cracks in thin ice. Then he yelled:
What grand hero saved our lord?
From cracking wings and biting sword?
What great man of whom we sing?
Who risked his life to save our king?
In unison the people cried out in response:
Armor bright
Sword gleaming true
Cleaver doth
the Demon rue!
Ardin found tears burning in his eyes at the sound. Whether from the awkward feeling of it all, or joy, or simply being there for that moment, he didn't know. The emotion of the crowd washed over him as the Master of the Royal Bodyguard continued.
Wait no longer dear Islenda
Fear no more the Demon's wrath
Sing for joy all Western splendor
Hero's aid is in our grasp!
The people of the camp erupted in cheers in every direction. Those standing around Cid backed away and knelt until he stood in a sea of bowing men and women.
Ardin knelt with the rest, not knowing what else to do, but he watched the Fisherman's face. He couldn't take his eyes from him. In that moment he seemed distinguished, kingly. His stern expression allowed little more than a gracious nod, but Ardin could see the corner of his mouth quiver. His eyes seemed misted behind restrained tears. Something told him that the Fisherman hadn't received any recognition like this in ages.
And to Ardin at least, it seemed obvious: the praise was long overdue.
“Rise!” Cid yelled. “Arise and face your Queen! Together may we find peace. May we free our brothers, crush our enemy, and bring the Lasting Peace!”
They cheered again as they rose, clapping and hugging each other. How the arrival of one man could mean so much to a people dumfounded Ardin. But then, he supposed, he had never known hopelessness like they had.
Rain gestured towards the large tent just beyond Shill's men. She smiled as Cid walked with her, Ardin tailing just behind.
“Perhaps I can find them some accommodations, Highness?” Branston pressed through the crowds of people trying to keep up. “There are a few extra tents on the southern side.”
“Nonsense, Branston. They're my guests. This is Cid the Cleaver, Captain of the Old Guard, the King's Savior, for goodness sake. He needs not be put out to the farther corners of our camp.” She made a motion with her hand as if shooing away an obsequious child. “They can stay with me for the time being.”
Branston steeled even more at the thought. He glanced at the two guards standing by the entrance of the tent. Their bearing was regal, like kings themselves. Rain led her guests inside, dismissing Branston before he could make his way in.
He stopped at the tent flap. Flustered, he almost made an attempt at following anyway. One look from the guard and a tilt of his long spear, however, put any idea of that far from his mind. With fists clenched and jaw set, he turned scowling from the tent and marched back into the camp.
The interior of Rain's tent was extravagant. It caught Ardin completely off guard. Until this point all he had seen of the Grandian people were rags and poverty. The lavish interior of the Renault quarters seemed completely out of place. Perhaps she really was royalty.
“Forgive Branston. He has a high view of himself and, unfortunately, his ambitions follow suit,” Rain said as a matter of fact.
She rang what looked like a bell made out of pure gold, and within seconds was attended by two serving girls. They too looked unbelievably beautiful to Ardin. What was with this place?
“Unfortunately he's very well connected to court as his father controls one of our stronger banners. So we must stomach him yet a while.”
The girls ushered her back behind a series of curtains in the far corner of the lavish tent. It was full of reds and purples, thick tapestries and cloths laced with gold like none Ardin had ever seen before. Chests lined the walls while couches and chairs were littered about as if an afterthought. The whole place felt uncomfortably comfortable.
“It's understandable, Highness,” Cid said as he stood patiently near the entrance to the tent. Ardin did the same, still uncertain of how to act. “There are always prices to pay for swords.”
“Yes,” she said. “Though some are higher or more irritating than others.”
Another serving girl entered and poured what looked like water for the guests. Ardin took a drink and choked for a moment. His throat burned. He decided that whatever it was, it certainly wasn't water. Cid downed his in one gulp and held his cup out for a second helping.
“We have much to discuss,” she said, straining slightly as she spoke. “There isn't much time.”
“That is most certainly true, Highness.” Cid looked at Ardin quizzically as he tried to finish the strange drink. The old man's voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “It's dragon's blood, lad. That's why it burns so. Enjoy it, few men can say they've drank it.”
Ardin stared at the cup for a moment trying to discern whether it was actually blood or not. He'd never heard of clear blood. Then again, he'd never thought dragons were real either.
“Nothing feels quite so good as getting out of your armor after a fight, isn't that so, Cid?” Rain's voice floated through the cloth that separated them.
“Aye, that's so, Highness.”
She appeared from behind the curtains, dressed in a simple green dress, low cut and laced with white. Her hair was wet, still being dried by a handmaiden who struggled to follow and dry at once. She truly did look regal to Ardin in any case. The dragon's blood couldn't be fully blamed for how much his head spun as she made her appearance.
“First things first.” She did her best to shoo her servant away. “You need to tell me right now. Are you actually Cid the Cleaver? It may mean little more than a morale boost to these people, you're but a name in song to them. To my brother and me the gravity of the implication is much greater.”
Cid stared at her for a while, as if weighing his response. It seemed like an awkwardly long pause to Ardin, especially considering how simple the answer had to be.
“Aye,” Cid said finally. “That I am.”
She looked at him a bit longer, judging the truth of the matter. Finally she sighed and sat down on a nearby couch. The plump red cushions gave way as she settled in.
“Then we have much to say and no time in which to say it.” She gestured to the couch across from her. “Please sit.”
“Who d
oes that little whelp think he is?” Branston fumed as he paced in his tent.
“Maybe she knows them fr–”
“She doesn't know them!” He interrupted as he threw his hands up. “She's never seen them before in her life!”
“How do you kn–”
“Have you seen them, Amalgus? They're not from any land near here! They may speak the common tongue but their language is uncouth at best. It matches their manners. They're fools from somewhere else. They wouldn't even pass for civil amongst the Southrons.”
“Shill said it was the Clea–”
“It's not Cid the Cleaver! That's impossible! Do you know how old he must be? He would be dead by now. He must be an imposter.”
“They could be the enemy's age–”
“They aren't the enemy's agents, you moron! She's not so foolish as to let the enemy just prance into our camp! The woman is brilliant, inspires loyalty in every man she meets. No, she would know.”
Amalgus sighed. He never got much more than a few words out when Branston was in one of his moods. He shifted his weight on the low stool and watched as his friend paced restlessly.
“Bran, you shouldn't be so ups–”
“Of course I should be upset! She was to be my betrothed! She's supposed to be mine! Mine, Amalgus! And now she's found some stray pup to take her fancy!”
“They're just her gue–”
“Nonsense! They're pigs! Filthy low-bred pigs! I can't believe she touched him. They're in the royal tent right now! Her tent! I've never once been invited into her tent for anything but official business, Amalgus. Never once!”
Amalgus waited for a while, letting the silence settle. Perhaps he had let the worst of it out now.
“Well I gu–”
