by Damien Black
The castle was quiet as a pair of soldiers escorted them to the wing of the castle given over to the King’s use. Most of the lords and knights guesting at Salmor would spend the day recovering before returning to the serious business of war’s aftermath, remaining there in anticipation of reward for their efforts.
‘The King will have plenty enough to occupy himself before the day is out,’ said Horskram. ‘For as the loremaster Arodotus says, administering the peace is as much hard work as winning the war.’
Adelko nodded perfunctorily. His head throbbed with every step; right now the last thing he needed was one of his mentor’s impromptu lessons.
As they approached the King’s chamber they saw Braxus being ushered out by a page. His looked vexed and angry.
‘Good day, Sir Braxus,’ said Horskram politely.
‘What’s so good about it I should like to know!’ snarled Braxus, before unceremoniously emptying the contents of his troubled mind. ‘I rode to war for your King, risking my life. My old squire was crippled on the journey here, and the rest of us are nursing injuries besides. And all for naught! Freidheim has refused my suit, fobbing me off with half-hearted assurances that he’ll reconsider my case once his own affairs are in order. And when will that day emerge, I wonder? Oh, but how am I to face my father with this sorry news?’
His face was more distraught than angry now, another of his turbulent mood swings. Vaskrian had mentioned his new master could be somewhat mercurial.
‘Be of some cheer,’ replied Horskram levelly. ‘You have won honour and renown on the field of battle, and I think gained a handy new squire in young Vaskrian. The Almighty oft bestows blessings where least looked for, as the prophet sayeth.’
‘Don’t bandy Scripture with me, Horskram,’ snapped the knight testily. ‘Blessings won’t help raise an army against an ensorcelled King who is ruining his realm! Abrexta will probably have him signing away the whole kingdom by the time I return – empty handed!’
That seemed to give Horskram pause for thought.
‘Will you wait without while I see the King before I leave?’ he asked suddenly.
Braxus fixed him with a quizzical look. ‘Certainly, if you wish it. But why?’
‘I am sure yon novice would fain bid his friend farewell before you both leave for Thraxia,’ replied Horskram easily. ‘And I may need to have words with you as well. It just reoccurred to me now that our causes may be linked.’
The Thraxian stared at him nonplussed before shrugging his shoulders. He looked like a man recovering from a late night himself – although from what Adelko had seen it wasn’t ale or wine he’d indulged in to excess.
‘Whatever you will,’ he sighed. ‘But mind you don’t take too long! Now my suit has been refused I’ve no wish to linger here!’
The two monks were ushered into the King’s chamber. Sir Torgun was present, along with Lord Visigard.
‘Ah, Horskram,’ said the King. ‘Come in and sit down. Adelko, a seat for you as well. I’ll have you treated as an honoured guest after your contribution to the war! You are henceforth welcome at my court at any time.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ replied Adelko, his young face flushing. He still felt uneasy about his part in the Battle of Salmor, but all the same it felt good to be praised by your King. Technically such thinking smacked of vanity and pride, but then again they were all stained with sin anyway… He would pray for redemption when he next got the chance, for now it was nice to be appreciated.
‘Is everything in order for your journey?’ asked the King, addressing Horskram.
The adept nodded. ‘Your page informed me this morning. The supplies from the kitchens are more than welcome, as is the ready coin you have furnished us with.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ replied Freidheim affably. ‘Anything to help you fulfil your vow. May it smooth your path, if it can be smoothed. But bread and coin are not the only things I will give you. Your way is dangerous, far too dangerous for a pair of monks to travel alone, methinks. I’m sending Sir Torgun here with you, along with Sir Aronn and the Chequered Twins. I can’t spare any more I’m afraid, but they’ll accompany you until you have rooted out Andragorix, or determined beyond doubt that he is not in my kingdom. None of the knights going with you but Torgun here know of the true nature of your mission. I hope this pleases you.’
Horskram nodded deferentially. ‘Very much so, Your Majesty. If beastmen are our next enemy, then I fear we shall need every trusty sword we can get. And I trust Sir Aronn is suitably recovered from last night to join us.’
Even serious Torgun, clad as ever in his mail and surcoat, had to smile at that. ‘It is nothing a white raven cannot survive,’ he replied. ‘Though his wounded pride may take a little time to recover.’
‘What happened?’ asked Adelko. He felt a momentary twinge of regret at having missed the feasting in the Great Hall.
The King laughed. ‘He drank far too much Pangonian red is what happened! Got so damn drunk his face looked like a bloody beetroot. He had to be excused after vomiting over the dessert – all that fine work, ruined! Kelmor’s poor cook will never recover, I’m sure. Fashions a huge multi-coloured jelly to look like Salmor Castle, and one of my best knights is sick in it!
‘At least he was only sick in one turret, sire, as Horskram’s nephew Sir Manfry pointed out at the time,’ said Visigard, cracking a smile. ‘The rest of it was quite edible.’
They all started laughing at that. Even Horskram could not resist a smile.
‘All right, that’s enough merriment,’ said the King, though he was still chuckling. ‘So, Horskram, your honour guard, in various stages of recovery, duly assigned.’
Torgun stepped forward and bowed stiffly.
‘It will be an honour to serve you in your quest,’ he said formally.
‘It’ll be an honour to have you,’ replied Horskram courteously. ‘I hear tell you are the best knight in the realm.’
‘I know nothing of that, master monk,’ replied Sir Torgun modestly.
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ roared the King. ‘Horskram speaks the truth – I wouldn’t be sending you otherwise. No, I had considered keeping you back, to help with the pacification of the south – but you were made for greater things, Torgun, than harrying outlaws and rebel remnants. Your destiny lies elsewhere, I trow.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said Torgun, clicking his spurs. Though the modest knight gave little away, Adelko could sense how pleased he was.
‘If it should be your will to protect yon monks further along the road, even after Andragorix is dealt with, you have my blessing,’ the King added. ‘Just make sure the rest of the men get back in one piece – if that’s feasible – when you’re done with him.’
‘I shall, Your Majesty,’ replied Torgun seriously.
‘Very good, that settles that then,’ said the King. ‘It only remains for me to wish you all good speed on your journey – oh, and I’ve despatched a messenger to take ship from Port Urring to Meerborg, with a message for the Grand Master of your Order in Rima.’
There was a silence. Torgun looked at the ground uneasily.
Horskram raised an eyebrow. ‘May I ask who, Your Majesty?’
‘I’ve sent Wolmar,’ replied the King. ‘He already knows the secret of your mission, and besides that I needed to get him out of the kingdom, before he wreaks some havoc of his own. The other ravens had to stop him riding off drunk to butcher some southland peasants halfway through the feast.’
‘He still grieves deeply for his father, poor man – can’t stomach the fact that it was common soldiers who dealt the death blow,’ explained Visigard.
‘Vengeful spirit that one – best channelled elsewhere,’ added the King. ‘Hopefully Grand Master Hannequin will bless some sense into him.’
Horskram was not amused by the King’s humour. ‘With all due respect, Your Majesty – ’ he began.
‘ – you would like to take it upon yourself to congratulate me on my cleverness
in this appointment. Thank you! But no need for it – there’s an end to the matter. He left this morning.’
‘I see,’ replied Horskram, giving it up as lost. ‘There is one other final thing I wanted to ask of you.’
The King looked at him suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘On our way in, we passed Sir Braxus – ’
The King snorted. ‘Oh yes, him. Don’t concern yourself with that foreigner. Fool Thraxian thinks that by warning me the Northland thanes have broken the Treaty of Ryøskil and lending me half a dozen swords he’d convince me to send an army back with him over the mountains! Doesn’t he realise I’ve a third of a kingdom to pacify?’
‘Yes, his expectations were foolish,’ agreed Horskram. ‘I said so all along. However, it does appear that his problems are linked to ours. A sorceress wheedles her way into a king’s bed and ensorcells him... her ambitions sound much akin to Andragorix’s.’
‘Yes, well I hadn’t given much thought to that,’ the King admitted bluntly. ‘Been too busy. Well what of it? I can’t send an army with him, you know that.’
‘No, but perhaps he could be persuaded to join our mission...’ ventured Horskram.
‘Why? Andragorix is our concern, not his.’
‘He may well be everyone’s concern if he has his way,’ replied Horskram gravely. ‘And most likely we’ll have to pass through Thraxia at some point, to warn the Islanders beyond that the fragment in their keeping is under threat.’
‘Hmm, that’s a roundabout way to get back home,’ mused the King, shaking his head. ‘I still don’t see why he’d do it. Why do you want him so badly anyway? Are some of the best knights in our land not enough for you?’
‘Far from it, Your Majesty,’ Horskram assured him. ‘But as I said, we’ll need every trusty sword we can get. Sir Braxus may have character flaws, but he’s proved his mettle in the field. And my experience of the Thraxians – with all due respect Sir Torgun – is that they are less afraid of the dark arts than we Northlendings on the whole. Sir Belinos of Runcymede was a Thraxian, and he served me well against Andragorix – even in his death throes he dealt him a crippling blow. My sixth sense tells me that Braxus may prove unusually useful, beyond mere skill at arms.’
The King frowned. ‘Well, if you say so. All right, so you’ve worked with Thraxians before, and you find them useful men to have along in witch hunts. Fair enough – but you’ll have to go and talk to him yourself, it’s naught to do with me.’
Horskram paused momentarily. Then he said: ‘Your Majesty knows full well that he isn’t likely to listen to me without leverage. You could… provide that leverage.’
‘How?’ Both Visigard and the King looked at the old monk askance.
‘You could call him back in here and promise him you’ll seriously reconsider his petition if he agrees to help us find Andragorix and slay him.’
‘Why of all the cheek...!’ gasped the King. ‘You dare! Fie! Argolians, give them a horse and they want the whole stable! No! Absolutely not!’
‘Think on it, Your Majesty,’ persisted Horskram. ‘If everything we’ve been piecing together is forming the picture we think it is, you may soon be riding to war in Thraxia, or elsewhere, before long anyway. And you mentioned yourself just now that the Northlanders appear to have returned to their old piratical ways after generations of relative peace. How long before another berserker army lands on the mainland? Something big is afoot, that much is clear. Andragorix, the Sea Wizard, this Abrexta the Prescient... they’re all linked somehow. Some devilish cunning work is being done – an alliance of warlocks that means ordinary men no good. You say you don’t want to ride to war against Thraxia – but it may be that Thraxia rides to war against you before long if Abrexta is part of Andragorix’s conspiracy.’
The King paused and thought long and hard on that. Torgun stood stock still and said nothing. Visigard held his silence, but shook his head and looked at the ground. Adelko’s spirits perked up – Vaskrian might be coming with them after all.
At last the King spoke. ‘If I call this Thraxian knight back in, it means telling him everything... we can hardly keep him in the dark and make an effective proposition.’
‘Everything,’ agreed Horskram.
Braxus was admitted back into the King’s chamber wearing a surprised look on his face. This increased to a look of wonder as the King told him the whole story. Then he made his proposition. At that Braxus frowned, rubbing his neatly trimmed beard.
‘That’s a lot of tale-telling to take in at once,’ he said laconically.
‘Well, you’re the amateur bard,’ replied the King testily. ‘So take it in and decide! I want your answer before you leave this room.’
Braxus took a deep breath and considered some more. ‘And what guarantees do I have that you will keep your word?’ he asked presently.
The King’s face darkened. ‘You have my word as King of this land,’ he growled. ‘I won’t stand by and watch the realms of men put under a wizard’s thrall one by one. If it means another bloody war to stop it happening, then so be it! But first you must help the Argolian friars. Andragorix must be stopped – after that we can make plans to deal with this Abrexta. Your realm will have to muddle on in the meantime, I’m afraid – I have been persuaded by Brother Horskram that it is in my interests to help you, but my own realm’s concerns are still a priority. And it looks as if Andragorix is a likely ringleader in this conspiracy.’
Braxus nodded again. ‘I’d have stopped short of calling Abrexta a Left-Handed witch,’ he mused. ‘A Right-Handed bitch would have been more my description. But in light of what you say… aye, she could very well be in league with other warlocks. Thraxia is no stranger to sorcerers but we haven’t had one as ambitious or dangerous as this in many a year…’
He paused again to consider. The King drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk before him.
‘All right, Your Majesty – done! I’ll go,’ said Braxus presently. ‘But I’ll need to send my countrymen back to give the news to my father, and he’ll need to know the full story behind why I’m not returning with them – else it’s my head when I do get back!’
‘Just tell him to be discreet with the knowledge,’ said Horskram, looking distinctly uneasy. ‘And your men too.’
‘Don’t worry!’ replied the knight with a charming smile. ‘I’ll write it down myself – no danger of my knights learning anything, none of them can read.’
‘What about Vaskrian?’ Adelko blurted out. ‘Will he be coming too?’
‘Well I hardly see how a knight can ride without a squire – begging your pardon, Sir Torgun, but not all of us cherish the life of a poor bachelor – so yes, of course he’ll be coming,’ replied the Thraxian, still smiling.
Adelko beamed like a village idiot until he caught Horskram glaring at him disapprovingly.
‘There is just one other matter I needs must settle before I join your party however,’ ventured Braxus.
The King frowned. ‘What?’
‘A duel of honour… during the war I had words with a knight in Lord Fenrig of Hroghar’s service, one Sir Rutgar. He offered churlish insults to my squire and refused to apologise for the slight this offered me. I would fain have satisfaction before I leave.’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘Sir Rutgar, you say? In the Jarl of Hroghar’s company?’ He glanced at Lord Visigard. ‘Haven’t I heard that name recently?’
Lord Visigard frowned. ‘Indeed, Your Majesty – he was on this morning’s tally of wounded.’ The whiskered old patrician looked distinctly disapproving.
‘Wounded, you say?’ pressed Braxus. ‘Too seriously injured to fight soon?’ Despite having complained of his injuries the Thraxian looked positively disappointed.
‘Yes, wounded,’ continued Visigard. ‘Though I daresay that is not why you will wish to forego your duel with him. Frankly, such a man is beneath your consideration, Sir Braxus.’
‘Oh, and how is that?’
‘His na
me was brought before me this morning, by Lord Fenrig himself – he has instructed that the knight in question be expressly removed from receiving his share of the spoils of war. The dues of cowardice, as stipulated by the Code of Chivalry.’
Braxus could hardly repress a grin as he said: ‘Oh really, pray tell… I am sure my young squire would fain hear of this as much as I would.’
Lord Visigard looked abashed as he shuffled his feet. ‘Please be sure that such behaviour is far from typical of we gallant Northlendings,’ he said seriously. ‘He fell from his horse and broke his arm and leg while fleeing the field in a cowardly panic. He is now convalescing in the camp, his name a disgrace and his reputation in tatters.’
Torgun shook his head, his cheeks colouring. ‘The man is a disgrace to his liege lord and a living stain on this country’s honour,’ he said.
‘Ah indeed,’ said Braxus, trying not to grin more broadly. ‘Tis a pity. I had so looked forward to chastising him in the lists but… as you say, quite beneath my concern now. In light of that I consider the matter closed – seeking redress from such a churl would hardly be fitting.’
Torgun and Visigard exchanged looks. Braxus tried not to laugh. Freidheim made a dismissive gesture.
‘Well, that settles everything,’ he said. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a broken kingdom to mend.’
The sun rose on the courtyard, slowly illuminating the grey stones of the castle keep. Adelko basked in its nascent warmth, a welcome antidote to the chilly dawn air. There were eight of them drawn up in the middle of the courtyard, mounted and ready to leave.
Vaskrian, his long untidy hair ruffling in the breeze, looked at him and grinned. Adelko could not help grinning back despite the fresh dangers that lay ahead. He’d had two days to recover from his debauch, and he felt fairly fresh himself.
It was like something out of the old tales he had read at the monastery: a motley band of adventurers about to ride off into the wilderness on a mad and dangerous quest.
Sir Braxus sat on a fine-looking roan charger, dressed in mail and fully armed. If half of what Vaskrian had told him was true, he suspected the laden sumpter that whickered between master and squire was burdened as much with court clothing and musical instruments as spare weapons and travelling kit.
