She led Adalhaid through the door into a corridor and pointed to a small door on the right. ‘You can get a clean smock in there at the start of every clinic.’ To another on the left. ‘Dry supplies are kept in there—bandages, towels, sheets. Next door is medications. That one’s kept locked. I have a key, as does Doctor dal Strellis; just ask us if you need anything from it. You have to be a Junior Sophister or higher to get one.’
Adalhaid still had five terms of tuition to go before she was a Junior Sophister. They passed down the hall and through the door at the end which led into a large treatment room. Little effort had been made to smooth out the scars of the transformation.
‘You said “Doctor dal Strellis”,’ Adalhaid said. ‘I thought it was just “Strellis”?’
‘Ah, yes. Jakob has had some… family issues,’ Rosamund said. ‘His father’s a baron, and doesn’t approve of his career choice. Noblemen aren’t supposed to work for a living. He prefers to be thought of as a physician rather than an aristocrat. He’ll be in shortly and will go through what he’ll want you to do.’
Adalhaid raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath.
Rosamund laughed. ‘Don’t worry. For the first few sessions he’ll just have you sit in and observe. You’ll have plenty of time to find your feet.’
WULFRIC
The crowds were beginning to gather at court when they arrived in the great hall the following morning, the wealthy elite of Torona all vying for the attention of their duke. Colour abounded, with the clothes made of cloth so fine it was almost impossible to see the weave. Wulfric looked around as surreptitiously as he could and wondered which of the men standing there had sent an assassin against them the previous night. Might it have been a woman? He recalled that Ruripathia was ruled by a princess. If they could hold power, it stood to reason they would be as ruthless in taking it. The beautiful women of the Estranzan court suddenly took on a far more sinister appearance.
‘Nice and relaxed,’ Jagovere said. ‘We want to act like nothing at all happened last night. We know it happened, whoever arranged for it knows; by not reacting at all it will confuse the hells out of them.’
Wulfric nodded and followed Jagovere. He was aware of how scruffy his appearance was by contrast to the others there, and how much it made him stand out. However, Jagovere walked through the hall with the confidence of someone who belonged there, so Wulfric did his best to follow suit, taking comfort in the fact that Enderlain was equally scruffy. Some of the curious glances cast in his direction bordered on hostile as they moved to the front of the hall, but Wulfric ignored them.
They took a place to the left of the dais at the front of the hall. Jagovere acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but Wulfric could not let the fact that someone in that room had ordered their assassination leave his thoughts. He looked at the count of Valeriano, standing in pride of place to the right of the dais with his entourage. He was the duke’s greatest rival, yet had been given the honour of commanding the army, which didn’t make sense. He had a shrewd and hostile appearance, his finely pointed greying moustache and beard lending him a harsh look. He didn’t seem like a man capable of taking what he wanted by force of arms, though. He looked every inch the plotter. The predatory gleam in his eyes made Wulfric think of Rodulf’s father, Donato—hawkish, observing everything, and deciding which morsels he wanted to snap up for himself.
The first man with him was slightly built and bookish looking. He was bald, and initially reminded Wulfric of Aethelman the priest. However, his demeanour was as far from Aethelman’s benevolence as could be. Sharp and calculating were the words that came to Wulfric’s mind. He would be the advisor, Wulfric thought, while the remaining man was most certainly the fighter.
He caught Wulfric’s stare, and regarded him with an expression of curious amusement. He was younger than the others, with dark curly hair and a neat, pointed beard. He looked every inch a fighter. He was broad of shoulder and stood straight, yet was visibly lighter on his feet. He pushed his cloak back from the hilt of his sword, the message clear. Was this the man who had broken into Jagovere’s room the night before? Wulfric allowed his gaze to drift across the audience, as though he had not even noticed the swordsman.
A court official emerged from a door at the back of the hall and scanned the gathering. The count locked his gaze on the official, who ignored him completely. Wulfric could see a cloud of anger descend over the count’s face. On spotting Jagovere, the official made his way over.
‘The duke would like to speak with you in his private chambers.’
‘Lead on,’ Jagovere said. ‘This should be interesting,’ he whispered to Wulfric and Enderlain.
WULFRIC
The official led them to a small, austere stairwell that brought them up and into a private wing at the back of the palace. They popped out of the stairwell into a lushly carpeted hall lined with sculptures and paintings. The official shut the door behind him, which was almost invisible against the wall, erasing any hint of the dark, cobweb-filled servant’s passage behind. They continued to follow him down the hall until he brought them into a study lined with bookshelves, and the duke, sitting at a grand desk covered in dark green leather.
‘Thank you for coming,’ the duke said.
‘We are at your convenience, Your Grace,’ Jagovere said.
Wulfric bowed his head, not sure of what he should do. As Jagovere’s subordinate, silence seemed most appropriate. Enderlain did likewise.
‘I understand someone broke into your apartments last night,’ the duke said.
‘You are remarkably well informed, Your Grace,’ Jagovere said. ‘Happily I was not there at the time.’
‘I can assure you, and Graf dal Rhenning, that it had nothing to do with me.’
‘I didn’t think for a moment it did, Your Grace.’
‘You have suspicions in this regard?’
‘I do, Your Grace, but it would be impolitic of me to voice them at this point.’
The duke drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘In the absence of evidence, of which I am certain there is none, you are right. I need you to take these papers to Graf dal Rhenning. Once you’ve done that, return here. My brother, the marshall, wishes to discuss the march south with you.’
‘At once, Your Grace.’
‘Have a care around my brother,’ the duke said. ‘He can be… prickly.’
‘I will, Your Grace. By your leave?’
The duke pushed a stack of envelopes across his desk. Jagovere took them, saluted and left, with Wulfric and Enderlain following like faithful hunting dogs. They did not utter a word to one another until they were safely shrouded in the noise of the streets outside the palace.
‘Do you believe him?’ Wulfric said.
‘I think I do,’ Jagovere said. ‘In the grand scheme of things, and with my admittedly limited knowledge of how things work around here, I think the duke needs us more for his stated purpose than the benefit any subterfuge could afford him. Bringing us all the way here and then arranging an assassination to blame on his brother seems overly complex. No, I think the marshall is the most likely candidate at this point. Assuming the absence of any other interested parties…’
24
AETHELMAN
Aethelman cleared away the vegetation from around the shadow. At one point in its existence, it had been nothing more than a fissure in the rock face, but somewhere along the way it had become more than that. Men had arrived, and altered it to fit their needs. A stone archway carved into the rock now framed it, inscribed with a prayer to Audun, the god of wisdom and knowledge. It was rare to see Audun mentioned. There were few who followed his creed now—not since the days of true magic had that god held a large following.
Aethelman took a step back and looked around. From the outline of the ruins, it looked like there had once been a building around the fissure. The works of man faded into the mists of time, but those of the gods remained. He peered into the gloomy opening and remembere
d all too well the suffocating darkness of the cavern beneath the Hermitage. He was without his little orb of light now, an absence he was feeling keenly, but the gods had stood by him beneath the Hermitage. Perhaps they would again.
He stepped through the threshold and resisted the urge to reach for the pocket he had kept the magic light in for all those years. There were steps. He carefully followed them down into the darkness, wondering what awaited him down there. What had he and Ritschl overlooked all those years ago?
WULFRIC
When they got back to dal Rhenning’s tent—a canvas expanse with a number of flags flying from lances outside—the Graf had already covered his camp table with maps. He paid them little attention as he lounged in a canvas chair with his boots up on the table, contentedly puffing away on a twist of tobacco. It was a habit Wulfric had seen many southern men indulge, but he had yet to try it. It looked like a foul thing, yellowing the fingers and the teeth in many who partook, although dal Rhenning did not yet appear to suffer from either side effect.
‘Dispatches from the duke,’ Jagovere said, dropping the bundle of letters on the table.
‘Did they try anything?’ dal Rhenning said.
‘They did,’ Jagovere said, sitting on a chair and adopting the Graf’s pose, minus the twist of tobacco. The resemblance between the two at that moment was startling.
‘Glad to see you’re still breathing,’ dal Rhenning said.
‘I appreciate your concern. There wasn’t much to it,’ Jagovere said. ‘They thought we’d be surprised. We weren’t. They’ll make more of an effort next time.’
‘The duke’s brother?’
‘I think that’s the most likely,’ Jagovere said. ‘He didn’t look happy when we turned up at the hall this morning. Then again, perhaps he’s always a sour-faced bastard. Still, the split at court couldn’t be more obvious if the different sides were waving opposing flags. I don’t reckon the duke has the power base to do anything direct to get rid of dal Valeriano. Not yet, anyway. I suspect we fall neatly into the middle, and he hopes our presence’ll stir things up enough to give him the opportunity to move.’
Dal Rhenning stroked his moustache and nodded. ‘Not the first time I’ve seen something like that. We’ll have to play it canny. And you, Wulfric? How did you enjoy your night of luxury?’
‘Well enough,’ Wulfric said. ‘The bed was too soft.’
Dal Rhenning barked out a laugh, sat up straight and slapped his hand on the table. ‘Now there’s a man made for campaigning. None of your warm inns, music, and painted ladies.’
Enderlain let out a humph.
‘There’s a place in a man’s life for all those things,’ Jagovere said. ‘It would be a waste of a life not to sample them all.’
‘True,’ dal Rhenning said. ‘But back to business. Dal Valeriano. Is he going to cause us more problems?’
‘Most certainly,’ Jagovere said. ‘Shandahar’s the only place I’ve been as treacherous as this. Seems the king of Estranza’s all but forgotten this part of his realm and his nobles are happy to have at one another every chance they get. Torona’s as unstable politically as anywhere I’ve been, though.’
‘The king of Estranza’s forgotten everything but his seraglio,’ dal Rhenning said. ‘I’m amazed he’s lasted on his throne this long. The only thing that’s saved him is that his nobles hate each other more than they do him. That and the fact that the Mirabayans are too busy with the Szavarians in the east. Otherwise they could march south and take whatever they want. Once one of his dukes gathers up enough power for themselves, I suspect the king won’t be long for this world. Not our concern, happily. What of Prince Peruman of Kandamar?’
‘Not a mention so far. Everyone here is obsessed with what’s going on at court. If I didn’t already know they’re at war, I wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘The war will decide who holds the Duchy of Torona, as well as the Principality of Kandahar. Whoever holds Torona and Kandahar will be poised to make a move on the throne. The stakes here are high, and will likely determine the fate of the whole country. I’m told the entire west of the Duchy favours dal Valeriano. The duke’s mixed blood is something of an affront to them. Dal Valeriano’s mother was a good Estranzan girl—a milkmaid by all accounts—not a Darvarosian princess like the duke’s. The only thing keeping them in line is the threat posed by a strong and ruthless leader. They don’t know whether the new duke is or not. Yet. If he asserts his birthright in the south, it should secure his rule here. If not, dal Valeriano will feed him to the wolves and take the Duchy for himself. That’s why we’re here. To help make sure the duke wins. It’s a sad day when a ruler can only trust mercenaries.’
‘Why would the duke make his brother commander of his army, then?’ Wulfric said. It only occurred to him after it was out of his mouth that he should probably have remained silent.
Jagovere turned to him. ‘There’s the genius of it. The duke honours his brother with a prize office. It’s hard to grumble when such honours are laid at your feet, but it’s also a poisoned chalice. If dal Valeriano successfully prosecutes his brother’s claims in the south, the duke can claim the credit. If he fails, the duke can dump all the blame on him and get rid of his strongest rival.’
‘Clever,’ Enderlain said.
‘Indeed it is, and that’s why dal Valeriano has the army sitting on the border doing nothing,’ Jagovere said. ‘He’s delaying as long as he can, hoping that something will turn up in his favour. Then we arrive to inject some vigour into the campaign. Not surprising dal Valeriano ain’t pleased to see us. Now he has to do something, and if he’s smart, he’ll know that if he makes the wrong choice the game’ll be up.’
‘What do you think his next move will be?’ dal Rhenning said.
‘Who knows,’ Jagovere said, going through the letters he had brought, ‘but whatever it is, it’ll be interesting.’ He held one of the letters up. ‘He wants to discuss the campaign with you this afternoon.’
RODULF
‘Who have you told about it?’ Rodulf said.
‘No one,’ the peasant said.
Grenville gave the peasant a filthy glare.
‘I mean, no one, my lord. I came to you straight away. I recognised the ore from my time labouring at the mines.’
Rodulf looked at the pattern in the rock face, but his eye was far from expert.
‘What do you think, Grenville?’
‘Looks the same as at the mines. Except there’s a lot more of it. And that’s just on the surface.’
‘Indeed there is,’ Rodulf said. He looked back to the peasant. ‘No one, you say?’
‘Not a soul, my lord. Not even my good lady wife.’
‘Your good lady wife? An interesting way to put it, eh, Grenville?’
‘I’d say she’s as filthy a wretch as he is, my lord,’ Grenville said.
Rodulf laughed, and the peasant joined in after a moment, his laughter tense.
‘I expect you’ll be wanting a reward?’ Rodulf said.
The peasant didn’t react for a moment, but when he saw Rodulf was still smiling he nodded slowly.
‘Indeed, one good turn deserves another. Now, what shall I give you?’ Rodulf scratched his chin for a moment, then drew his rapier and pierced the peasant through the chest. He gasped when Rodulf twisted and then withdrew the blade, before collapsing to the ground.
Grenville leaned forward to inspect the body. ‘Dead. Remind me never to ask for a reward.’
‘Freeing him from his miserable life was a reward,’ Rodulf said. ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’
Grenville shrugged. ‘He’s not going to be telling anyone else now, leastways.’
‘No, that’s something, I suppose,’ Rodulf said. ‘Probably best deal with his lady wife too. Just in case.’
‘Would’ve been easier if you asked him where he lived before you killed him…’
‘Leondorf’s not that big,’ Rodulf said.
‘Consider it done, my
lord.’
‘Better. I don’t want word of this getting south. This all stays within the barony. In my coffers.’
‘It’ll take some organising,’ Grenville said. ‘We’ll have to bring extra smelters in from abroad, otherwise news of the discovery will find its way there sooner rather than later. That will take some time. There are plenty of prisoners from the last village still breathing, so we can put them to work here instead of using them as replacements for the old mine. We’ll need more, though. The scum we used on Grundorf won’t get the job done. Word has spread to the other villages. They’ll be ready for us, and near half of the men we had were killed at Grundorf.’
‘Most of them at your hands, as I recall,’ Rodulf said.
‘They were vermin, and they were burning my village to the ground.’
Rodulf laughed.
‘I’ll get the men we need on my next trip south. For now I want you to focus on getting this place up and running.’
‘My lord,’ Grenville said with a nod.
‘This could work out very nicely,’ Rodulf said, as his mind raced to estimate the wealth contained within the rock. ‘Very nicely indeed.’ What he’d thought might take a decade to achieve could be realised in a year or two. Perhaps less. Rodulf was not one given to smiling—he felt it made him look like an idiot—but he could not wipe the grin from his face in that moment.
ADALHAID
Adalhaid did her best not to grimace. The sight of the badly broken leg did not bother her at all—she had seen as much and worse before. It was the pain and anguish on the young girl’s face that distressed her. The girl had been struck on the street by a wagon, her young bones shattered by the impact. Her mother had brought her in, both of them wailing in panic, pain, and fear.
Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2 Page 17
