by Damien Black
Clovis glared suspiciously at Ivon. ‘Is that why you’ve brought me out here? Why does this come from you and not His Majesty?’
‘I speak for the King in such matters,’ said Ivon. ‘He personally requested that I solicit your opinion. One other thing I would ask of you… How speed your devotions?’
The young noble blinked. ‘My what?’
‘Your devotions,’ repeated Ivon. ‘Are you a devout man? Do you pray on Rest-days, as a good Palomedian should?’
Clovis looked as puzzled as Wolmar felt. ‘I do service as a noble should. What of it?’
Ivon raised his eyes to the heavens, as if scouring the horizon for more pheasants. ‘If I were to tell you that another crusade is possible, and that the southern barons were moved to take the Wheel, where would your heart’s desire lie?’
The youth did not hesitate. ‘My first loyalty is to king and country, always,’ he said sincerely.
Ivon raised his goblet in a half toast, looking at the lordling and beaming again. ‘Excellent! Lord Clovis, I think you and I are going to get along marvellously! Now pray, if you’ll indulge me, show us your skill at falconry just once before we finish our lunch and go back to the city…’
‘Of course the boy is a complete dolt and quite malleable,’ explained Ivon, running his fingers up and down Wolmar’s muscled torso. Only a couple of weeks ago the sensation would have thrilled the princeling; now it was all he could do to conceal his revulsion. He had to keep dissembling, play the game…
‘So why all the questions and fair speech?’ asked Wolmar.
‘I had to be sure which way his youthful choler would spur him,’ said the Margrave. ‘Some young gallants take it into their heads to go crusading. A fine trick of the Arch Deceiver’s the Pilgrim Wars have been, but we’ll need all the swords we can get if the invasion of Vorstlund is to be successful.’
Wolmar gawped, sitting bolt upright and nearly banging his head on the canopy. ‘Did you just say what I think you did?’ he exclaimed.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Ivon with a devilish grin. ‘Tis said among sorcerers’ circles that it was the work of the Seven Princes – one of them possessed the Vizier who advised the Sultan to banish pilgrims of the Creed from Ushalayim, while the other possessed the Supreme Perfect who sanctioned the First Pilgrim War in retaliation. Once it got started it was really quite easy – most rulers were only too glad to get truculent knights and barons out from under their noses, and a foreign war was the perfect way to do it. In fact that’s exactly the purpose the next Pilgrim War will serve. Here, let me show you…’
Hopping lightly out of bed, Ivon strode over to his desk and opened a drawer. Rummaging around he pulled out a parchment scroll tied with a ribbon and brought it back over to the bed. Unravelling this he thrust it under Wolmar’s nose.
‘A map of my fair kingdom,’ said Ivon. ‘Pangonia’s polity is complex, as you can see. You remember I told you how it used to be three provinces of the Thalamian Empire? Well that still holds to some extent – we may be a unified kingdom, but each region has its own identity. Now as we’ve already established, the next Pilgrim War will take care of the southern margraves of Lower Vallia. They have a tradition of crusading that goes back to the First Pilgrim War.’
‘Why not get the lords of Lower Vallia to go along with your plot? If they hate the King and his taxes so much.’
Ivon shook his head. ‘I’ve been observing them for some time. The Lower Vallians may despise the King – but not enough to depose him. They prefer to keep him weak, but they would stop short of an outright rebellion. And they’re hardly well disposed towards me either – I’m known as an ungodly man and they won’t countenance the idea of having me as king. No, best to have them out of the way in the Pilgrim Kingdoms… I have allies there who can deal with them in good time.’
He pointed further up the map. ‘Here we have Upper Vallia, that’s all the provinces surrounding the capital. They’re the loyalist hardliners, they’ll be the most difficult to persuade, except Valacia that is.’
‘Valacia? Isn’t that where Hugon is from?’
‘Well remembered my sweet – but it’s his older brother you need to be thinking of… You’ll have heard of Sir Azelin?’
Wolmar stifled a yawn. ‘Slew the last of the Wyrms, went off on crusade, said by some to be a reincarnated avatar of St Alred the Pious.’
‘My, you have been paying attention!’ exclaimed Ivon. ‘He joined the Knights Bethler to be precise, a religious order of warrior-monks charged with defending the Pilgrim Kingdoms. Said to be the fiercest fighters in the world. Also very, very rich. One of the Order’s rules states that any knight joining – be he landless and poor or titled and rich – must donate all his possessions to it. So… Valacia has been held in escrow by the Bethlers ever since Sir Azelin joined them.’
‘Which puts Valacia on board for another crusade.’
‘Exactly. It also gives me extra leverage over Sir Hugon – he’ll get Valacia for himself as long as he accepts me as king. Together with Isolte keeping his loins warm that should ensure his loyalty.’
‘What about the rest of Upper Vallia?’
‘Well Narbo is taken care of thanks to young Clovis – I don’t think I’ll tell him about our coup just yet though. I want time to observe him, see what kind of idiot he proves to be. As for Morvaine, he hates me but is ambitious and has no love for the King either. I’ve offered him my old lands in Vichy once the thing is done. It’s a convenient enough transaction after all – they neighbour his own.’
‘That’s why Morvaine is at court… you’ve been meeting him in private! The King thinks he’s still mulling over the invasion plan.’
‘Wolmar, I think you are finally beginning to understand Pangonian politics.’ Ivon beamed at him again, his lips crooking a sinister smile.
‘So what about the last two margravates in Upper Vallia? Gorlivere and Verrun?’
‘They are loyalists to the bone and won’t be turned. But we’ll take care of them once the invasion of Vorstlund is done. They can die defending their precious king.’
‘And that just leaves…’
‘The peninsula – Occitania. It was the last to hold out against the Thalamians of old and nothing much has changed. They are rebellious to a fault and thus the easiest to turn – they resent the King’s taxes more than anyone else. That’s where Aravin and Kaye have proved most useful – Varangia and Quillon are in the heart of the western provinces. Over time they’ve managed to persuade the rest of the Occitanian barons that I’ll reverse the King’s taxes and grant them autonomous status once I’m on the throne.’
‘Are they your thralls too?’ Wolmar could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
‘To some extent,’ said Ivon. ‘I caught them young when they arrived at court years ago. I have initiated them into some of the mysteries of the Left-Hand Path. Such power is very persuasive over men’s minds.’
‘So they prefer to be captives, like your precious falcons,’ said Wolmar.
Ivon grinned. ‘Indeed. Aravin and Kaye are my closest allies, my acolytes if you will. I have bound them body and soul to the King of Gehenna. Only they of all the margraves know our true plan, and the rewards it shall bring. The rest are just pawns.’
Wolmar scanned the map again. ‘And what about the border provinces, to the east?’
‘As I said before, Narvon, Rhunia and Orrin are too preoccupied with their skirmishes with barons across the border in Thalamy to get involved with the invasion, but they might come round once the Thalamians are invested in Vorstlund with our forces. Even if they don’t, they won’t be strong enough on their own to oppose us.’
Wolmar looked at the map once more, counting territories.
‘That’s thirteen barons, including you, behind the invasion of Vorstlund… In my country that’s an unlucky number.’
‘Oh really? Perhaps it will be unlucky for the Vorstlendings then. Or the King that leads them into battle.’
‘Why not simply enthral Carolus himself and have done with it? Be much more straightforward than all this skulduggery.’
‘Ah, would that it were so easy,’ mused Ivon, pouring himself some wine. ‘I may have succeeded in blindsiding him, but Carolus is no fool. He is a man of strong will, unlike some other rulers I could mention…’ He turned and caught the princeling in his dark eyes again. ‘But then you’d know all about resisting Enchantment wouldn’t you, my sweet Wolmar?’
The knight felt his heart leap into his mouth.
‘Oh I’ve got you under my thrall for now,’ the Margrave continued, sipping at his wine. ‘But I am wise enough to know the limits of power. Your vanity and pride are weaknesses, but it was your lust that clinched it. That was how I was able to enthral you, but I don’t need to read minds to sense how… your feelings for me have waned.’
The warlock actually looked sad when he said this. Wolmar felt himself relax – at least he didn’t suspect him of anything more specific than wanting to break his spell.
‘Resist my magick all you like,’ Ivon went on. ‘It will take you weeks to break free of my glamour, like a captive with a rusty file sawing through his chains. But by then it will be too late to make any difference. For I shall not seek to control you forever, Wolmar. Unlike some of my brethren, I don’t like relying over much on my powers of Enchantment. There are other ways to command mortalkind.’
Wolmar felt his hackles rise. ‘What do you mean, other ways?’
Ivon gestured with his goblet at the darkening skies outside. ‘You will be initiated at the next full moon. After that you shall serve me of your own free will – once you have had a taste of the True King’s power you will not think twice about doing so.’
The Margrave walked slowly over to him. ‘And once that is done…’ He leaned down to kiss him full on the lips. ‘We shall rule in Rima together.’
Ivon put down the goblet and cupped Wolmar’s chin gently. ‘I was being sincere when I said I’d taken a liking to you. I sense a powerful spirit in you, Wolmar of Strongholm.’
‘Your confidence in me is… flattering,’ Wolmar managed. His mind was spinning. Forcing himself to play along, he reclined on the bed and let the naked Margrave straddle him.
The next full moon was less than a tenday away: he needed to get to the smithy right soon, and put his plan into action.
CHAPTER IV
A Road Rejoined
They broke cover from the Glimmerholt at dawn. Only when the two monks were a few leagues south of it did the spectacle of war become visible to the north-east: Merkstaed was burning. Beyond it the turrets of Graukolos were just visible, defiantly intact against the skyline.
‘They’ll be investing it now,’ said Horskram as they paused to feed their horses and take mouthfuls of water. ‘Hopefully that should keep the Lanraks preoccupied.’
‘Do you think they’ll send men after us?’ asked Adelko. It felt strange to be on the road again, once more the hunted.
‘Us? Unlikely – they’ll be far too busy laying siege to Graukolos and eliminating Markward’s knights wherever they find them to care about a pair of Argolian friars.’
‘Of course, Master Horskram,’ stuttered Adelko. ‘A foolish question.’ He had been thinking more of his erstwhile companions when he asked it. He hoped his mentor wouldn’t catch on.
Trying to dissemble someone with the sixth sense was never a good idea.
‘You’re not thinking of us though are you?’ Horskram asked, turning beady eyes on his novice. ‘I thought I saw a familiar coat of arms down there on the tourneying field… speak! What do you know that I don’t?’
Sighing inwardly and preparing himself for yet another scolding, Adelko confessed all he knew.
‘Pah, I should have known those idiot swordslingers would try something stupid,’ spat the adept. ‘And how very like you to go along with their reckless tomfoolery! I shouldn’t be surprised by now – heavens Adelko, you are by far the most rebellious novice I’ve ever trained! If it weren’t for your obvious psychic and intellectual talents, I’d have long cast you into the wilderness!’
‘I trust I haven’t been without my uses so far,’ the novice managed to stammer back, though he could not meet his mentor’s eyes.
‘And quell that blasted pride this instant!’ yelled the old monk. ‘Most unbecoming a fledgling – which you still are by the way – of the Order! Hush now, let me think a minute.’
It seemed a long minute to Adelko. Presently his mentor spoke again.
‘Well, there’s little doubt the Herzog will send a party to recapture Adhelina and eliminate the others,’ he said. ‘I can only fathom that Hengist deemed a war preferable to marrying someone who had dishonoured him so… I doubt Albercelsus would have counselled this, he’s far too cautious.’
Adelko cared not a jot whose idea the surprise invasion had been. ‘What are we going to do to help our friends?’ he asked. ‘We can’t just leave them to be butchered by the Lanraks!’
Horskram turned his sapphire eyes on Adelko again, only now they had the hardness of diamonds. ‘Need I remind you, Adelko of Narvik, that our first loyalty is to our mission. We needs must get to Rima – we’ve delayed long enough as it is!’
‘But the way south is fraught with brigands – you said as much yourself! If we can catch Vaskrian and the others we’ll be safer travelling in numbers. Surely the Lanraks won’t pursue them beyond Dulsinor’s borders – not if they’ve a war to fight.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Horskram. ‘Presumably Hengist’s plan depends on there being no incumbent left in Dulsinor. He must mean to wipe out the entire Markward lineage and parlay with Brigmore, convince him to give up the castle without a fight.’
The monk paused again, deep in thought.
‘All right, we’ll try to find them if we can,’ he said. Adelko felt his heart surge. ‘But no heroics!’ he added, catching the look on his face. ‘Chances are they’ve decided to go cross-country, reduces the chance of meeting anyone on the south road who might recognise Adhelina and detain them.’
‘But what about vassals of the Eorl?’ queried Adelko. ‘They hold lands from Wilhelm and might just as easily recognise her.’
‘A fair point, but I should think they will be too busy mustering to notice. No, both routes are risky but I think our gallant friends would most likely ride across country. Very likely the Lanraks sent to despatch them will do likewise… The chance of plunder will sway them as much as their orders, and knights are a bloodthirsty lot in times of war.’ He nodded towards the horizon. ‘We keep riding cross country for now – we can make the Blattwood from the north-west, where it meets the foothills of the Hyrkrainians. From there we can skirt the woods until we reach the road.’
Adelko could see the last of the ranges as they tumbled down towards the plains of Dulsinor, just a faint sketch encroaching on the horizon.
‘Let’s not tarry,’ said Horskram. ‘Without a road it’s two days of hard riding to reach the forest.’
Without another word he spurred his horse into a gallop. Following suit, Adelko mouthed a quick prayer of thankfulness. Reus willing, he’d see his friends again. Hopefully alive and in one piece.
It was early the following morning when they came across a sight Adelko had hoped never to see again. The burned village and hewn corpses put him in mind of the ravages of Thule’s knights earlier that year. On a hill overlooking the lands around the village the shell of what had been a manor house still smouldered. Once again the killers had given no thought to age or sex. The novice felt his stomach churn as they dismounted to inspect the blood-spattered villagers.
Horskram made the sign as he finished intoning a prayer. ‘Looks like I was right about the Lanraks sending knights after our intrepid idiot friends at any rate – there are too many hoofmarks for just half a dozen.’
‘I shouldn�
�t think our friends would do a thing like this in any case, Master Horskram,’ replied Adelko, although he had seen enough of the world by now to wonder how true that was.
They were about to remount when they heard a groaning sound. It was coming from a barn. A trail of blood led from the village through its open door. The marauding knights had not bothered to burn it down. Investigating they found a villein coughing up blood, his chemise soaked scarlet where a spear had pierced his breast.
‘The spear tip is still lodged inside the wound,’ muttered Horskram after a cursory examination. ‘Probably what stopped him bleeding to death, though his end cannot be far away.’ Bending closer to the peasant he addressed him in Vorstlending. ‘When were you attacked? How many of them?’
Horskram watered the bondsman’s mouth with some water. He coughed and spluttered. ‘About a dozen knights… came on us out o’ nowhere yesterday afternoon… They wanted to ask us questions but the lord o’ the manor insisted on fightin’… Loyal to a fault… Said Lanraks had no business bein’ on his lands… We tried to ‘elp the master but we’re jus’ ordinary common folk… They butchered us all…’
‘For your loss I truly grieve,’ said Horskram, more gently now. ‘I can but pray for your soul to ease its passing through Azhoanarn – can you tell me what questions they asked?’
The peasant coughed up another torrent of blood. ‘… Said they were after two damsels… hkk… an’ a party o’ foreign freeswords… hkk… we saw just such an hour or so afore the knights came… but they didn’t stop…’ The bondsman’s voice trailed off as he coughed up more dredges of red. Horskram intoned another prayer, pressing his circifix against the man’s forehead as he hacked up the last of his life.
‘We’ve no time to bury them,’ said Horskram as they returned to their horses. ‘The folk of Dulsinor will have to look to their own.’
By now Adelko knew enough of war not to protest, though he still felt queasy. ‘Is that why they slaughtered the villagers?’ he asked as they retook the saddle.
