by Tinnean
“The commander from Narsyk informed Cisian that Caruvia is now under their protection and that Crosas itself is now a territory of Narsyk. Their plan is to place a steward there, a regent who will report directly to the new emperor. So now, as Crosas has become, in fact, a territory of Narsyk, a holding, we do share a border with the giant.”
“Is that where Cisian Vahl bides? Is he guarding the border with the sixth legion?”
Hektar nodded. “After being expelled, Cisian retreated only as far as Rieynan soil and is there now, in the mountains of Esher, building, preparing fortifications, bracing for an invasion should one occur.”
Daemon stared at Hektar. “And what of this fleet of theirs? This armada?”
“We know not. We have reports of it but have not yet spotted any ships.”
“You spoke of a delegation,” Daemon said, holding his goblet still as Gareth refilled it.
“A ship flying under the colors of truce was met by several of our own and is being escorted to an audience with the archlord. They are expected to make landfall within a cycle.”
“What does the warlord say?”
“Nictorus says to prepare for war. He says that the giant has come to slaughter us all.”
Daemon trembled hard.
“War cannot be averted if it comes to our shore,” Gareth said, looking for agreement from the Prefect.
“Aye, but why send a delegation to speak with the archlord if their thought was only of invasion?” Daemon asked.
“Yours are the same words, the same questions, that Mycah’s father, Janah Ilen, speaks. The overlord counsels for peace and not war, to hear what the delegation has to say before arming ourselves for a siege.”
Daemon sucked in his breath. “Tell me, Prahna, is the civil war in Narsyk truly over?”
“Aye. We have confirmation from Ram himself. When he set sail from Crosas, Cisidian Vahl was receiving a messenger from Narsyk informing him of the end of their civil war and the annihilation of the imperial forces… or the rebel ones.” He sighed. “We know not. Tell me who was on the throne when you were there.”
“Arterus.”
“Well then perhaps your Arterus has defeated the rebel horde, or the rebels have routed him, but again, we know not. Even the name of the family of the emperor we are not privy to. We know nothing of this man.”
Daemon was silent, thinking.
Gareth was about to ask another question when there was a knock. “Come,” he called out.
The door opened, and a servant stood in the doorway. “My lord, Mycah Ilen asks that you and Prefect Prahna attend him at once.”
Hektar grunted and began to rise. “Come, Gareth, we are summoned before the deliverer.”
The messenger gave a quick bow and was gone. Gareth stood slowly, torn, not wanting to leave but knowing he had no choice.
“Daemon.”
He turned to look up the long line of Gareth to his face.
“You must rest. Do not leave the wagon,” Gareth told him, leaning in, hand on Daemon’s cheek, caressing his skin. His voice lowered. “I need to know you are here waiting for me.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Daemon’s hair was tousled suddenly, and he realized the touch was harder, lacking tenderness. He smiled as he tipped his head to look up at Hektar Prahna.
“It was good to truly see you, rat-catcher, and now I would have you eat and drink more water and rest. These are my orders for you. Attend them.”
As Hektar stepped down out of the wagon, Gareth put his hand back through the thick, unruly curls. He massaged Daemon’s scalp, rubbing where Hektar had tugged.
“He didn’t hurt me,” he assured Gareth, liking the feel of the man’s fingers in his hair.
“But he wasn’t gentle. No one is gentle with you, and they should be.”
It made Daemon’s chest hurt to think that Gareth both noticed and concerned himself.
“Stay here,” Gareth said shakily, hand under Daemon’s chin, tipping his face up. “Please. You swore to not leave the wagon. Are you a man of your word?”
Daemon nodded, not trusting his voice, unsure if it might give out on him.
“I will return,” Gareth promised, tracing a wicked eyebrow with his thumb. “Stay.”
When the two men were gone, Daemon immediately pushed Gareth from his mind and turned his attention to Narsyk. How in the world was he going to best a giant?
Six
“GOOD RISE to you both,” came the greeting.
Amelina and Penn both looked up as they passed Gareth’s sleeping wagon and saw Daemon leaning over the side. He was swaddled in his cloak, so they could not see his face, but the voice, the warm, husky voice, put them both at ease.
“Good rise to you, Daemon Shar,” Penn called out the greeting in return. “How goes the world for you?”
“I cannot complain.” He chuckled; the slumberous quality of his words was not lost on either the daughter or the steward. “I ride into your great city of power on top of this wagon stretched out in warmth and leisure. I am content.”
“May I ride there with you?” Penn asked, forgetting about the entrance he would or would not be making, more interested in safety. He felt safe with Daemon, as though he would care for him, let no harm come to him. As they now traveled with prefects and the daughter of the archlord, it was easy to forget one’s manners. Penn preferred knowing that he could simply speak his mind and not be punished for it.
“May he?” Daemon asked the servant driving the wagon, Iures Jok. “Or may he not?”
It was kind of Daemon to ask, and the older man was delighted. As steward, Penn did as he liked, but the former consul had given Iures say in the matter, and he was pleased. “He may,” Iures smiled, his tone gentle. “One more does not weight the load overly much.”
Penn threw his horse’s reins to Iures while swinging his leg over the pommel of his saddle. As Gareth’s servant hitched Penn’s mount to the lead bar, Penn stepped deftly from the stirrup up onto the wagon. Standing beside the driver, he then pulled himself up to where Daemon was lying languidly in the sun, all stretched out.
“I would ride there as well?” Amelina asked timidly of Iures Jok. He shook his head, she was a gentlewoman, she should not be atop a wagon, but her sweet smile and big eyes swallowed him whole. In the end, the wagon had to be stopped for Amelina to be raised up beside Penn H’rah and Daemon Shar.
“Not one of us has ever been to the city,” Daemon said to Iures, leaning over the edge, directly above the driver’s head. “Will you guide us?”
“Aye,” the servant chuckled. “I will point out the sights for your new eyes to see.”
Penn stretched out beside Daemon, between him and Amelina, and watched the landscape even as he was aware that his side was brushing against Daemon’s as they jostled along.
“Why do you ride here on Gareth’s wagon and not with Ehron or his men?”
“As Prefect Prahna reminded me last night,” Daemon yawned, “I have no commission. I am no longer a soldier of Rieyn and must cease to carry myself that way. Ehron may employ me as his consul, but we have no formal contract drawn between us. I am a freeman, Penn H’rah, and so should comport myself in a manner befitting my new station.”
“And so you languish here in the sun and do nothing.”
“Aye, I bide at Gareth’s discretion.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I am not yet ready to leave, and as I have no wagon and want not to place myself in the way of secret meetings between Ehron and Llyan Ander, his wagon is no longer a place that I may not find myself a burden.”
“I am certain that Ehron does not see you as a burden.”
“He is a man in love,” Daemon corrected him. “Any impediment to his love is a bother. I would stand clear of him.”
“And the men?”
“The men are no longer bound to me. They will listen to Seone or another in my stead. My rank, my title, has been stripped from me.”
“
Ehron’s men, your men… it’s doubtful they see you diminished in any way.”
“That decision is not theirs to make.”
“Daemon—”
“Peace.” Daemon yawned, moving forward to lean over the edge so that he was close to Iures. “What is that statue there, Iures?”
“That is a rendering of Cerus Tapal,” Iures answered, turning to look at Daemon. “Have you not seen the archlord, lad?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
“Oh, look,” Amelina said suddenly. “There rides Gareth.”
They all turned to look and saw Gareth riding between Mycah Ilen and his brother, with Hektar Prahna on the other side of Ehron.
Daemon raised a hand, and all four men returned the wave.
“It would seem,” Mycah chuckled softly, taking in the sight of the three heads atop Gareth’s sleeping wagon, “that Daemon’s company is once again appealing.”
Ehron grunted. “I was not able to speak to him last night, as we all spoke well into the rise, but I would have him sign a contract to remain my consul.”
Gareth had not been able to return to his wagon and speak to Daemon either. The news from court had occupied his father as well as he and Ehron. When he finally returned, Daemon was sleeping soundly and all he could do was collapse down onto his bed beside the smaller man. As he had spooned around Daemon, even that small amount of contact gave him an overwhelming feeling of contentment. He was only disappointed when he woke hours later to find himself alone. And even though Daemon had only gone as far as the roof of his wagon, the day had begun and Gareth had to bathe and dress for his entrance into the city. There was no time left to seduce his brother’s consul.
“If we are to war,” Mycah said, recapturing Gareth’s wandering attention, “Daemon will be a great asset, as he is from Narsyk and knows the mind of the plainsmen, knows their tactics.”
Ehron looked over at Mycah. “There is more on your mind. Well I know this.”
Mycah grunted. “If we ride to battle, I will have him as my consul, Ehron, and as I am to be Ram’s equal, he will not deny me. As you know, during the feast, I will become overlord and Ram warlord. Should we to war, you will not have Daemon Shar with you. He will ride with me and the Iron Horse.”
“How does that make sense?” Hektar Prahna asked. “Ehron proved himself in battle, and Daemon was the most decorated consul in the army. They should remain united.”
Ehron reached out and clapped Prahna on the shoulder. From his friend, the argument made sense. From him it would have simply sounded like whining.
“I will be overlord in a matter of days,” Mycah told them, “and as I willingly choose to go to war instead of remaining at home as all my predecessors have, then I will have my choice of those I would have with me. I will have Sagaso on my right and Daemon on my left.”
“And what if Ram wants Daemon at his left?” Prahna asked him.
“I will make the claim the moment I see him.”
Gareth cleared his throat, and the Prefect of the Second Legion, the deliverer, the most decorated man in the realm, Mycah Ilen, turned to look at him. “Daemon Shar was given a battlefield commission, was he not? He saved Ehron’s life, and to reward him, Ehron made him his consul. Is that not so?”
“Aye.” Mycah scowled at him.
“Then, my lord Ilen, is it not Daemon’s decision as to what he will and will not do, as he is not a soldier and not a citizen of Rieyn?”
Mycah’s brows furrowed.
“Perhaps Daemon has seen enough blood and war and would remain here to be—”
“He will do at the overlord says,” Ehron cut him off. “And as the new shield bearer bids him,” he said, turning to look at Mycah. “Aye, Prefect?”
Mycah grunted in approval. “Indeed, we understand one another. I had heard that Ram will give you his seat. Is it done, then?”
“If you add your voice to sway him to my cause, I can see no hope for any other. You will have Daemon, and me, my seat.”
“Done,” Mycah said, spurring his horse forward.
“Ehron,” Gareth gasped. “How can you—”
“Silence,” Ehron hissed at his brother. “The moment I am shield bearer, I will make Daemon my second, and that is a peacetime post, not one of war. He will be bound to me, to the house of Terhazien, for all time.” He turned to look at Gareth. “You will have him with you on the land. I will make it so.”
Gareth caught his breath. He should never have doubted his brother. Ehron’s love for Daemon outweighed his own ambition. Gareth covered the hand that was placed on his shoulder with his own.
“I will deliver Daemon Shar safely from the trap he now finds himself in.”
Hektar was not so certain and watched Mycah close in on Gareth’s sleeping wagon.
“Daemon Shar,” Mycah greeted him.
“My Lord Ilen.” Daemon moved to his knees and was preparing to stand.
“No, no.” Mycah lifted his hand to still Daemon’s movement. “Just know that I would speak to you when we reach the castle.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Mycah smiled up at him. “I understand that Hektar and Gareth were gifted with seeing your face last set,” he said softly. “Might I too see?”
“What?” Amelina gasped, unable to stop herself.
“Oh.” Mycah chuckled. “Perhaps we shall wait so that we might all have the unveiling at once, my dear consul.”
Daemon gave a deep bow, and the prefect returned to the others.
“May I see now?” Amelina asked him.
“You heard Mycah,” Penn reminded her, though clearly not wanting to wait either. “Daemon will have to show everyone at once. For now, let us look at the great company we have joined!”
Iures pointed out the procession of a maxim that they had come up behind. He explained that he knew the men belonged to a maxim because of the crest on their doublets and the standard that waved from each of their wagons. When the narrow dirt track they were on joined the highway leading to Tristan, it widened, and their procession became lost in a larger one.
There was a sea of wagons, chariots, horses, and people. The country villas were pushed back from the now tree-lined highway, and Amelina was awed by the beauty of the estates set on the lush green land, some high on hills, some so close that they could have run across fields to visit them.
There were houses clustered closer and closer together, still with thick wood surrounding them, but some only a few feet away from one another. Suddenly, Penn felt a jolt and realized that they were riding on cobblestones. Looking up as the others gasped, he saw the towering arch of Kydahl.
This was the great arch erected by Cerus Tapal to stand in silent testament to the power of Rieyn and in memory of the end of the unification wars. It stood for all those fallen in battle and as a warning to all those who would seek to war against Rieyn. As one passed beneath it, not being able to see the top from that vantage point, one could spy Mount Granoc in the distance, silent guardian over the capital city of Rieyn. Tristan sat at the foot of Granoc and had been built beside the Bay of Creon. Large barges often sailed from the dock behind Castle Addah to the harbor at Skel. From there, one sailed northwest to Caruvia and Narsyk or north to Crosas.
It was an awesome sight, the arch and then Granoc. Daemon shivered with the beauty and spectacle of it. Looking at Penn and Amelina, he could see that they were both as affected.
The larger homes along the highway became smaller and more modest until they transformed into inns, taverns, and shops. The open-air market was alive with people who made room for the passing of the long procession of nobles. Daemon knew the cheering from ahead of them was for Mycah. Adulation for him was only just beginning. Mycah would have to take great care now with his stallion. Too many people would try to touch him and his mount, putting their hands on Ujhar. The warhorse would have to be physically restrained by continued contact from Mycah. A reassuring pat on the neck and gentle words from his god would keep him sane and calm
. He was trained to plow through bodies and trample them to pulp under his hooves. This would not serve Mycah well as he rode triumphantly through the city.
Amelina waved to people as she passed just below their second-story windows and balconies. The buildings were now packed tightly together, each with no space between them. The city was dense and teeming with people, and the procession came to a standstill. It would take hours to go even a few feet. The inns were higher than any Penn had ever seen, stacked six or seven stories high, topped with roof gardens and large porticos.
Everywhere there were warriors of every description with hundreds of unique crests and different standards. Banners of every shape and size imaginable decorated the streets, hanging above the road, crossing from one hotel balcony to another, layer upon layer of brilliant, glittering color. Flags fluttered in the breeze, announcing every noble house in Rieyn. Amelina spotted the Terhazien crest hanging beside that of the house of Ilen and wondered if Mycah had planned it that way. She and Penn were sitting up now, whereas Daemon was still content to lie with his chin on his hands and view the spectacle.
“It will take us until set to reach Castle Addah.” Penn yawned. “We will all starve by then.”
Daemon chuckled. “With all this, you still speak of yourself.”
“Look there,” Amelina breathed, and both men looked to where she was pointing.
Castle Addah.
Even at this distance, they could see only a part of it. The segment they saw was enormous. It was by far the largest structure Daemon had ever seen. Rising in level upon level, made entirely of whitestone mined from deep inside the earth, it seemed to glow in the sunlight, dazzling the eye and causing Penn to have to look away for a moment. They saw the looming walls and high turrets, and Amelina claimed that she could make out the soldiers walking the ramparts even at so great a distance.
“Soon we will enter the great plaza of Arizames,” Iures told them, “and the highway will open up and divide into hundreds of smaller roads. As only the nobility is allowed into the castle until the rise of the celebration honoring the heroes of the war, we will then move on toward Addah much faster.”
