The Coravian Conflict (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 5)

by Loren K. Jones

  “But that is what they are here for!” he exclaimed, but he kept his voice soft.

  “No. They are here to kill for Evandia. If they die for Evandia, it is our fault. Our failure. No matter how highly born we are, they matter more than we do.”

  Kenelan glared at Dahral for a moment, then muttered, “What about the prince?”

  Dahral shook his head. “Lieutenant Zel’Andral is no more important than you or I. He’s not even the crown prince yet. He won’t be the Heir by Right until next spring when he has completed his two years. Ask around and you’ll find that the men who were assigned to Kalin before say they served with him, not under him. That is a very important distinction. Kalin Zel’Andral is more highly born than any of us, but he tends his own mount. He sets his own tent. When things go wrong, he fights for his men. When things go right, he gives his men the credit. He understands that these men, these troopers, are Evandia’s real defense.”

  Kenelan muttered, “But I thought--”

  “No. We are shepherds over a pack of wolves. We have to understand that those wolves can turn on us as well as the enemy. It may be as simple as causing a fuss in town. It may be as serious as killing a civilian. Either way, it reflects badly on us. Both of us.”

  Lieutenant Zel’Corval looked at his kava and stood up. He took one step, then turned around and retrieved his cup, then put it in the wash tub before walking out of the tent. Dahral just smiled.

  The town of Milton was larger than most, and the name was descriptive. Five grist mills and two lumber mills sat on the banks of the Zel’Jevid River with their water-wheels in the current to power their operation. All of the mills were on the south bank, for safety. Still, there was a lot of farmland on the north side of the river, and that concerned Dahral.

  Milton was large enough, with nearly five thousand souls calling it home, to rate a full Lord Mayor. It was on their second day that Lady Mayor Renalla Zel’Pestar and her council made her appearance.

  “You there!” she shouted at the first officer she saw. “Who is your commanding officer and where can he be found?”

  Dahral looked at her and bowed slightly. “I am Lieutenant Zel’Fordal. I command this force.”

  “You will use a properly respectful tone when you address me!”

  Dahral lifted an eyebrow. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am Lady Mayor Renalla Zel’Pestar! Bow when you speak to me!”

  Now Dahral stalked forward. “I am Lieutenant Dahral Zel’Fordal. I was warned about you. Dad said to say hello.”

  The lady went white for an instant, then red as rage twisted her features. “You’re Dahlvan’s boy?!”

  “One of them. The eldest.”

  “You are still just a lieutenant! A nothing. You are--”

  Dahral brought his hand up to tap the pip on his insignia. “I have completed my two years, and am well into my third,” Dahral interrupted. “I am Heir by Right of Zel’Fordal, and seventeenth in line to the throne. It is you, Lady Mayor Zel’Pestar, who will address me with respect, or I will lodge a formal complaint against you.”

  The lady sputtered in outrage, and one of the men stepped in. “You are here to protect us. What preparations have you made? What force do you command? You were to report to us on your arrival, yet here it is, two days later, and nothing!”

  “I am not required to report to you until the third day. I heard about the incident you manufactured against Captain Zel’Ival last year. Now hear me: we are here to protect Milton. That means all of Milton, and not just your estates. We will not be moving to protect just you.”

  “You will do as you are told!” one of the other councilmen shouted.

  “No.”

  “What?!” the lady mayor screamed. “You cannot defy us! We are the Milton City Council! You will obey us or I’ll send a complaint to--” she fumbled to a stop as she realized who she was really talking to. He was a Peer.

  Dahral grinned. “You may have grown up with my dad, but that doesn’t give you any influence with him. And if you’re thinking of complaining to the king, go ahead. Dad and King Ordan are close friends. His reaction should be amusing.”

  The lady mayor finally screamed in rage and stamped away, her council following her.

  Dahral sensed a presence behind him and turned to find his Cavalry sergeant behind him. “She’s the one who tried to get the captain busted, Sir?”

  “None of that, Fel’Bentar. Dad and King Ordan didn’t let it go anywhere. Kal and I both provided letters of support.”

  The sergeant was glaring at the council as they walked away. “What’s her problem with us? We’re here to protect her city.”

  “Well, there are two answers to that. One: this isn’t her city. She’s just lady mayor. Two, and the biggest: she thought she was going to be my mom.”

  “What?” the sergeant blurted. “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, but what do you mean?”

  “She grew up in the town of Fort Zel’Iftar. Dad was an Army brat, like us. She decided that she was going to marry dad and become a peer and be in line for the throne. Dad says she’s a tramp. He married mom in a simple ceremony that wasn’t announced.” He grinned at the sergeant. “When their marriage was finally announced, her father challenged dad.”

  “Bad choice,” the sergeant murmured then chuckled.

  “Very bad. Dad was too young, so Grandpa Andalin stepped in.”

  “Lord General Andalin Zel’Fordal?” the sergeant asked in a reverent tone.

  Dahral chuckled now. “Yep. I understand it ended quickly when grandpa cut her father’s sword-hand off. He lived, but the whole family was disgraced.”

  “So how did she get to be Lady Mayor here, Sir?”

  “Young woman, old man,” Dahral explained with a shrug. “She has a stepson who is older than her. Milton belongs to the Zel’Fordan family. Her husband was a cousin serving as Lord Mayor, so when he died she petitioned to be allowed to take over. Dad told Lord Zel’Fordan that it was a mistake but--” He held his hands up flat at shoulder level.

  “Understood, Sir. Fortunate that you were left here.”

  Dahral chuckled. “I think I am her punishment for trying to get Dennin Zel’Ival expelled from the Army. She can’t pull that stuff with me.”

  The sergeant grinned and slapped Dahral’s shoulder before walking away.

  After the first ten days, Dahral started sword training. His first, and most reluctant student, was Kenelan Zel’Corval. “Enter the circle, Lieutenant.”

  Kenelan entered the practice circle with a practice battle-ax in his hands. Dahral shook his head and murmured, “Swords, Lieutenant.”

  Kenelan’s natural cockiness made him sneer and say, “Real men use real weapons.”

  Dahral just sighed and bowed. Kenelan didn’t. One of the troopers counted, “Three, two, one, begin!”

  Dahral struck like a rattlesnake, smacking Kenelan’s arms repeatedly until the boy dropped his weapon and backed out of the circle.

  “Foul! You can’t intentionally strike the arms and hands!” Kenelan cried as he cradled his injured arms against his body.

  Dahral nodded. “In tournament sparring, under tournament rules, you are correct. This is combat training. In combat, there are no rules. There is what works, and what leaves you dead. Rack your ax. You have four days to recover before we continue your education.”

  Kenelan tried, but his hands wouldn’t work. One of the youngest infantrymen came forward and picked up the ax, murmuring, “Come with me, Sir,” as he led his young lieutenant away.

  “I think you really made him mad when you didn’t bow, Sir,” the private said as he led his lieutenant to his tent.

  “Zel’Corval bows to no one.”

  “Begging your pardon, Sir, but you’re in the Army now. Everyone bows to someone. In the circle, it doesn’t matter who your opponent is, you bow. Lieutenant Zel’Fordal even bows to me. It’s just how it is, Sir.” They entered the tent and the private had Kenelan sit on his cot. �
�Let me take a look at your arm, Sir.”

  Kenelan allowed the boy to unlace the sleeves of his tunic and roll them back. “Looks like you’re just bruised, Sir. Mom is a Healer. Not like the Healer Adepts. Just stuff like this.” He poured some water in the basin and wrapped cold cloths around the bruises. “The cold will help.”

  “What is your name?” Kenelan asked tentatively.

  “Casen Del’Newvan, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Casen.”

  “You are welcome, Sir.” With that he left Kenelan to consider what he’d said. What everyone had said. It was a lot to consider.

  After the first round of training, even Dahral needed some relief. “Oh, Gods Below, my arms ache,” he muttered as he sat with Kenelan at the wobbly little “Officers’ Table” in the mess tent.

  “We all hurt, Sir,” Kenelan muttered.

  “Do we have any of that heating salve in our supplies?” Dahral asked as he sipped his kava.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Gods Below,” Dahral muttered again. “Do you feel like joining me on a ride through town? I remember seeing the sign for an herbalist as we came in. He must have some. Or can make some.”

  Kenelan nodded. “I’ll have our horses saddled.”

  “We saddle our own horses. Remember?”

  Kenelan nodded, then muttered, “I don’t think I can lift my saddle.”

  Dahral nodded, then gulped down the last of his kava. “Let’s go,” was all he said as he stood. Kenelan was right beside him.

  They worked together to saddle Kenelan’s horse, then Dahral’s. Much to his chagrin, Dahral actually needed Kenelan’s help. They rode together across the bridge and into town.

  Milton was a nice, orderly town. Cobblestone streets ran through to the center of town. The houses were primarily wood over stone, with cedar shingle roofs. Thatch was only to be seen on outbuildings.

  At the cottage with the Herbalist’s sign, they both dismounted and tied their horses. They walked through the gate and through a garden of herbs and flowers to the door. Dahral didn’t get a chance to knock before it opened.

  “Has there been trouble?” a handsome woman in her middle years asked.

  Dahral smiled. “No, good madam. Are you the herbalist?”

  “I am.”

  Dahral bowed. “We are seeking heating salve. I’m afraid I got too ambitious with our training.”

  The woman nodded. “I have six jars. Is that enough?”

  “How large are the jars?” Kenelan asked.

  She turned away and returned with a medium-sized jar. “Will this do, young lord?”

  Dahral nodded and asked, “How much for all six?”

  “Six gold crowns.”

  “Six!” Kenelan sputtered. “That’s--”

  Dahral held up his hand, but winced when he did. “It’s all right, Lieutenant Zel’Corval. I’ll pay that. When will you be able to provide us more. There are a hundred of us.”

  “It will take several days, Lord. Amarissan might have more on hand.”

  “Who?”

  “She has a cottage on the far end of town. The shutters haven’t been repainted in a long time, but they have the remnants of herbs on them.” She pointed up the road and Dahral nodded.

  “Do you have something we can carry these in?” Kenelan asked.

  The herbalist looked at him, then turned away for a moment. When she turned back she had a woven straw basket in her hands. She handed it over without a word and Dahral placed all six jars in it.

  Dahral bowed to the herbalist, as did Kenelan a moment later, then they returned to their horses. Dahral hooked the handles of the basket on his saddle-horn, then mounted. A glance at the cabin showed no sign of the woman.

  “That was rude,” Kenelan complained.

  “Lady Renalla’s influence,” Dahral replied. “She doesn’t like us, so her people don’t like us.”

  “It isn’t right.”

  The ride turned out to be all the way across town and then some. Dahral finally pointed at a ramshackle little cottage and said, “That looks like it.”

  The little house was run-down and shabby. Weeds grew in the yard rather than the usual garden. Dahral led the way through a gate that almost came off in his hand and up to the house. He knocked on the door, and was about to knock a second time when it finally opened.

  “How may I be of service, lords?” a woman asked, though she kept back from the door and turned half away from the men.

  “We are seeking heating ointment,” Dahral replied. “The herbalist on the other side of town said you might have some.”

  The woman bobbed in what might be called a bow and turned away. When she returned, she had four jars in her hands that were identical to the ones they had already purchased. “I have but four, Lord.” She still kept her face down, not looking at them.

  “That will do. What price have you placed on them?”

  “Five silver crowns each, Lord.”

  Kenelan blurted, “That’s half what the herbalist asked!”

  “Melana is my cousin. She buys from me out of pity, then sells to others.”

  “Pity?” Kenelan asked, and the woman finally looked up. The left side of her face was beautiful, but there was a puckered burn scar running down the right side. “Lady, what happened?” he asked as he took a step back.

  “My husband was jealous because men smiled at me, so he drew a red-hot poker down my face.”

  “Where is he?” Kenelan asked in a low, angry tone.

  “Dead. When my brother saw what my husband had done, he ran the same poker through his chest. Then the magistrate had my brother beheaded as a murderer.”

  Dahral sighed and said, “We would like all four jars,” and laid two gold crowns on the rail. He picked up the jars and put them in the sack with the others. As he turned he saw Kenelan put two more crowns beside the others.

  “Lord?” the woman asked in a bewildered tone.

  “We paid your cousin a crown each. I’ll not cheat you of your just due.”

  The woman caught her breath in what sounded like a sob, then picked up the coins and went into her house.

  Dahral led the way back to their horses. “That was a noble thing to do, Ken.”

  They rode back to camp in silence.

  Two days later the salve had done its job, and all but one jar was empty. “Dahral, I want to take the jars back to her. Save her from having to buy more.”

  “Got to you, didn’t she?”

  Kenelan nodded and sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about her. What her husband did.”

  “It bothers you that much?”

  Again, Kenelan nodded. “How could he do that to his wife?”

  Now it was Dahral’s turn to sigh. “I saw this at my dad’s forts sometimes. Some men consider their wives to be property. She was actually pretty lucky. In a lot of instances like that the wife ends up dead.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  Dahral nodded and put down his quill and closed his ink. “Any excuse to get out of writing reports is a good excuse to get out of writing reports.” They both laughed, then went and got their horses.

  They had almost reached Amarissan’s cottage when they heard a man shout, “I’ll kill you, hag!” then there was a woman’s scream.

  Kenelan kicked his horse into a gallop, and Dahral was only a length behind him.

  They could both see a man in Amarissan’s yard standing over someone. They had just reached the gate when he kicked and there was another scream. Kenelan was out of his saddle and over the gate in a moment. He ran full speed into the man, knocking him away from Amarissan. The man started to get up, but Kenelan was on him in an instant.

  He never saw the knife, just felt it slam into his chest.

  Dahral had stopped to check Amarissan, but bounded to his feet when Kenelan fell. The man turned toward him with the bloody knife in his hand, and Dahral drove his sword through his mouth, severing his brain-stem. Then he fell to his knees beside K
enelan.

  “Is she all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Ken, I don’t--” He stopped speaking when Kenelan went limp and stopped breathing.

  “You there! Stand and surrender! You’re under arrest for murder!”

  Dahral rose to his feet and snapped, “That fool killed a Chosen Lord.”

  Two men came forward with swords in their hands. “The Magistrate don’t care about that soldier-boy. He’ll behead you--”

  Dahral’s sword blurred as he disarmed both of the men. “We arrived to find that man attacking the lady. When Lieutenant Zel’Corval interfered, he stabbed him. When he turned on me, I fed him my sword.” He turned and looked at Amarissan. “Are you all right?”

  “I am. He was my brother-in-law. He comes by sometimes and--takes what he wants. Now the Magistrate will make my life even more miserable.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s my other brother-in-law.”

  Dahral focused on the two men who had attacked him and snarled. “Pick that piece of shit up and take me to the magistrate.”

  It was a long walk to the center of the city. A crowd was building around them, and Dahral wasn’t surprised to see Lady Mayor Zel’Pestar on the porch of the city hall. One of the men with her shouted, “Maral!” and ran down to embrace the dead man.

  The magistrate looked at Dahral and shouted, “You are condemned! You murdered my brother!”

  “Lieutenant Zel’Fordal, you’ve gone too far!” the Lady mayor screamed. “Seize him!”

  Ten men started toward Dahral, but froze in their tracks when the entire Army detachment forced their way into the city square.

  Dahral raised his voice and said, “This man murdered Lieutenant Kenelan Randahl Derval Zel’Corval, Heir Presumptive of Zel’Corval. As is my right, under the Code of the Chosen, I condemned and executed him.”

  “You won’t get away with this!” the man beside the mayor shouted.