‘Credibility in front of the men.’ Sebastian sighed. ‘And peace with my brother.’
‘I can think of how to help you with the first one, but you’re on your own for the second.’
***
Cory stood in the general’s office looking out the window. He heard the rhythmic knocking of booted footsteps approaching in the corridor. They stopped in the doorway and Cory glanced round.
‘Cory?’
‘Come in, Greg.’
‘The men are uneasy about what approaches,’ said Greg.
Cory returned his gaze to the window. The small panes framed in lead beading were not entirely flat. They gave a distorted image of what truly lay outside like a reflection on still water. The skeletal army gathered like locusts on a crop field, ranks swelled by the recent addition of newly fire-blackened figures.
Cory had the sensation of being adrift once more. It was like he was standing on a beach as the last grains of sand under his feet are stolen way by the waters receding before an approaching tidal wave. Some would drown when the wave came. If someone tried to help, they would fight and drag down their rescuer. Cory couldn’t keep the image of Sebastian drowning out of his mind. The brave would work with you to be saved. Cory thought of a time on special operators training that the old general’s ‘boys’ went through. Cory was a strong swimmer and had reached out to a floundering Greg in the stormy seas north of Tri in Emiria. They worked together and he eventually pulled him ashore.
Out of the window, Pragius’ new army of the old formed into ranks and closed the distance on the castle. The sense came to him of the approaching tidal wave rushing into shore, crashing over his head and taking the feet from under him. A time for drowning or floundering. Or he could try to swim.
‘Greg.’
‘Yes, Cory?’
Several heartbeats pulsed painfully in Cory’s tender ears as he drew a breath. ‘Have Quain meet me in the training room at seven, and Zeivite with the other commanders in the briefing room at nine. Not forgetting Commander Jaygee.’
Greg stood by Cory’s shoulder and studied the unhurried approach of the undead army as he replied. ‘Yes, General.’
Chapter 15
The Toughest Decision
Steel rang out against steel; rumour had spread and men crowded into the castle training room, leaving a large oval space in the centre. Cory set his jaw firm, determined not to fall for Quain’s tricks. Bringing his sword around again, he fended off the Silver Warrior’s attacks. This time, he vowed he wouldn’t allow himself to become hypnotised by the routine of familiar patterns. The stalemate settled in like two battle mages in a day-long duel. Cory kept his breathing steady, his movements flowing, and time marched on to the beat of their blows. How many chances of a strike had he ignored believing them to be false hopes? He kept going, sweeping aside sword and shield blows, not having the time to counter-strike without creating a ‘fatal’ gap in his own defences. Quain began more flamboyant moves, mocking him, daring him to attack. Should he be enraged by his antics? It was getting almost comical in some moments and quiet chuckles came from the otherwise silent crowd. Quain, the showman, spread his arms wide when well out of Cory’s reach.
Jeering started. The crowd were becoming restless, and a grin started spreading on Cory’s face at the spectacle of it all. Men’s fists waved in the air like the puffball-headed reeds swaying in the wind on the shore of the lake. A flurry of movement and then Quain’s eyes shone blue through the slit in his visor as the floor traded places with the ceiling, and Cory found himself flat on his back once more. A cheer went up from the crowd and Cory cursed. Quickly clambering back to his feet, he stood and took two breaths before pushing his way through the crowd, sheathing his sword. As always, the water jug was there on the table by the door. Cory pushed open his visor and downed two mugs of cool water then stood and watched as Quain followed suit.
‘Right, time to conquer the five towers,’ Cory said tersely, breaths still heaving in his chest.
‘In armour?’ said Quain.
‘It would be too easy otherwise,’ replied Cory.
Quain drained his mug and gestured with a gauntleted hand for Cory to lead on.
Cory began a measured lope upstairs and across battlements littered with men to the base of the first tower. The clanking sounds of armour rattled off the walls. Then the challenge truly began on the steep spiral stairway up the middle of the tower. It was built just wide enough for an armoured man, but passing someone on the way down meant ducking into a doorway leading onto a tower floor. Cory paced himself on the first ascent; the steps did not fall away beneath his pumping legs as he was accustomed to. Instead they pushed back insistently under the added weight of armour, shield and sword. His thigh muscles warmed, then blazed under the strain. Breaths came hard and his tender ears throbbed in tune with a hammering pulse. He reached the top where the spiral stair opened directly into the open top floor. He paused for two breaths, trying to judge how close behind Quain was. If he started down now, would he have to back up? Or would he reach the first doorway, forcing Quain to step aside?
He waited.
Quain heaved himself into the room a moment later, breathing hard. Quain looked as if he might say something if he had the breath for it, but Cory was already on his way down. He picked the steps and speed with care, lest he land too heavily and jar a knee. Crossing through rooms to the second tower, Cory lost the presence of mind to keep track of Quain and attacked the new spiral stair. He found another place for his thoughts to dwell, set aside bodily discomfort and continued the gruelling climb.
Without waiting at the top of this tower, Cory started back down and counted two floors before meeting Quain on the way up. On the third and fourth towers, ever more floors passed by before he encountered Quain. His lungs and throat burned and a sour taste filled his mouth; he ignored them both and measured his pace to the final tower. It felt as if the Demon of the Abyss himself raked his claws down Cory’s thighs that poured with sweat like the rest of his body. Back down the spiral stair again, and somewhere near the bottom, Quain staggered into a doorway. The final length of battlements stretched before him as he hauled his legs through the air, feeling as if he were trying to run through a swamp. Cory stumbled into the training room. Gasping and grasping his knees, he had half an eye on the doorway, waiting for Quain to enter. Expectant men waiting in the training room stood in silence. Before long the Silver Warrior tumbled in, taking up a matching pose with the young general.
Cory forced himself into a standing position and took slow steps over to the stooping Quain. ‘I’m… not… done with you yet,’ he gasped. He slammed Quain’s visor down and drew his sword.
Behind the visor, Quain managed a grimace in reply, struggled upright and slowly drew his sword. Steel sang again and a short while later there was another cheer from the crowd. Cory held out his arm and Quain reached up from the floor to grasp it. Between heaving breaths, Cory asked, ‘Did I beat you? Or did I earn the right for you to… let me beat you?’
Quain pulled himself onto his feet. Opening his visor, he grimaced again at Cory and said, ‘You will never know.’
***
Sebastian tied the black fabric belt of the priest’s robe around his waist, pinching it like the hug of an affectionate child. A hasty flight to the castle meant there was nothing else he could wear. ‘If only I had a crown to wear. I might look a little more the part,’ he said to his image reflected in a metal mirror. He tried to think of things he could do instead of attending the meeting he knew he must go to alone. Meeting with Xolt for the first time suddenly seemed so easy in comparison. His mind was blank. There were no imaginary stepping stones to take him across the torrent of this or future days. No other role to hide in. He left the luxury of a private room, where many other men in the castle had no more than space on the battlements to call their own. I wonder where I’m going to find him, Sebastian thought, heading along the corridor and into the
first place he could think of to check.
It seemed that God was not going to keep Sebastian waiting for this meeting. At a table in the Great Hall with a window view over Beldon Valley, the familiar tangle of black hair on broad shoulders sat alone. Cory was eating a breakfast of bread, cheese and one of the last apples to be found in the castle. Sebastian walked to the window and looked beyond the castle walls onto a field of standing warriors that needed no rest or sleep. The wind didn’t move them the way it would a wheat crop. They just waited while a new mage fire burned on the castle approach road.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sebastian said to the air in the room.
‘For what?’ Cory replied through a mouthful of cheese.
‘For being critical of what you are trying to do. It’s not godly, not kingly and not… brotherly of me. I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Neither does anyone else. We’re making it up as we go along, doing the best we can.’
Sebastian sighed, considering his words for a few moments. With his gaze still out of the window, he relaxed his shoulders a little. ‘Do you grieve for the loss of our mother and father?’
Cory didn’t reply for several heartbeats. There was silence as if even his chewing had stopped. ‘Oddly, no. At least, not as I think I should. I haven’t had time to think about them. My last talk with Father didn’t go well. I can’t undo that now. If I’m honest, I felt the loss of Grandfather more. But then most of my memories are with him.’
‘Father was frustrated with me, just as you are. All I had to do was work with the Emirian ambassador. Now I have to be a king. I can’t do what Father or Grandmother did, Cory. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Find your own way of doing it. Work with what you do have.’
‘What do I have?’
Cory considered while chewing on the dry bread. ‘You’re very personable. A generous and knowledgeable host. You have a real sense of humour when you have the courage to use it, and people do respond to you.’
‘I’m not used to dealing with soldiers,’ said Sebastian.
‘Do you remember the letter Grandfather left me?’
‘The one that said, “If you faced a battle you don’t know how to win, do what great generals do and get help”?’
‘You remembered. The letter told me how to ask Zeivite and Quain to come, although it wasn’t clear at the time. That completed floor mosaic contained a stone beacon that allowed Zeivite to use his magic and transport himself here. I don’t believe we would still be alive now if they hadn’t come.’
Sebastian turned and faced Cory. ‘I’m sorry. I was afraid. So much happened so fast and I panicked. Aren’t you afraid?’
‘Of course. Just more afraid of not acting. Grandfather always said to conquer my fears and not allow them to control me.’ Cory stared Sebastian in the eye. ‘I don’t like not being in control of what I’m doing.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘You should probably find the right people to ask for help. If it helps you, then pray. And pay no attention to my words spoken in… frustration, as you put it.’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘What will you do?’
‘Nothing alone…’ Cory shifted his gaze back out of the window. ‘I can’t fix this staying trapped here in Dendra Castle.’
‘You’re going to leave?’ Sebastian felt panic return and grip him by the chest.
‘It seems I face one of those battles I don’t know how to win, so I will ask for help. The commanders and the others will be in the briefing room soon. I promised someone else I would fix this thing that has come between us, too. I had no idea what this was at the time.’
‘Julia?’
Cory nodded.
‘You must miss her.’
‘I did before all this started. Now it’s strange, like everything before happened to someone else. I don’t seem to think about her much. Too much else is going on. But she turns up in my dreams… and nightmares… so she must still be in here somewhere,’ he said, tapping a forefinger on his temple. Crumbs tumbled from the piece of bread in his hand and fell onto his shoulder.
***
Cory sat at the head of the briefing room table, washed with a layer of fresh sweat glistening on his forehead from the earlier exertions sparring with Quain. He piled up the coloured wooden blocks and stones on the table. A child playing with toys given to him by a crazy old man, or a wise general who knew what he was doing? He couldn’t convince himself which and wondered how reliable a witness Commander Junaid actually was. Especially considering he was now riding with his undead cavalry regiment. If there was anything left of him at all.
‘A copper bit for them.’ Quain was bright as ever, a little red in the face and eating an apple.
‘Where did you get that from? Thought I had the last one.’
‘Girls have a weakness for my winning smile and you left a girl in charge of the stores,’ he said, and winked.
‘I was thinking about what Junaid said the night he took it upon himself to lead the cavalry charge. He had no faith in us or in me. He spoke to his men of how grandfather was a crazy old man teaching boys with these toys.’ Cory prodded a finger into the pile of wooden blocks which collapsed in response. ‘I don’t know why he chose me, or even if he chose me.’
‘Can’t tell you why he chose you, Cory. Only that he did. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have his sword.’
Cory raised his eyebrows as he looked Quain in the eyes.
‘Think on this…’ Quain continued. ‘The people you have called to this room are all going to come. Maybe it’s partly out of respect for the old man, but it’s also because they know he chose you. Just like he chose them. I bet none of us would believe for a moment the old man ever made a bad call. Not about the people he chose. You are one of us. Never forget this is the man who ran the army of Valendo in the field for over thirty years and another fifteen years after that. And he led mercenaries before that. If you can’t have faith in anything else, have faith in this.’ Quain pushed on Cory’s shoulder with his fist.
Zeivite drifted into the room and settled in the seat on Cory’s right-hand side. Quain seemed to take some kind of unspoken cue and walked all the way round the table to sit at Cory’s left side. Cory started rearranging and standing up the wooden blocks on the table; his thoughts needing something in the physical world to support them.
‘This is just like old times,’ Jaygee declared as he marched into the room and dropped into the seat by Quain. He leant forward thumping his elbows on the table.
Cory regarded him briefly, noticing his head was freshly shaved. A few bloody spots where the razor had caught on his skin were showing. Then Jaygee looked up, a stern expression suddenly on his face, as if there were sins he remembered as four black-robed priests entered the room. Pete was the only one with his hood down and his face revealed. He moved to stand behind Quain’s chair and another took a seat next to Zeivite. This was the place reserved for the warrior priest. The remaining two priests stood like black ghosts facing out of a small window overlooking the courtyard. Close behind, Greg led Theo, Archie and Harvey to seats at the table that had been their place of education for years. The door closed softly and the scout commander in his blackened leather garb quietly paced his way to the far end of the table taking the final seat.
‘I’d lost track of you,’ said Cory.
‘I hadn’t lost track of me,’ replied the scout commander through a half-smile.
Cory paused for a few breaths, surveying the faces gathered around the table. His grandfather’s chosen men, carved out and mounted in place. All so different now, with their eyes turned to him. Drawing a deep breath, he spoke. ‘Archpriest Ranold once told me that hindsight is a source of perfect wisdom. Which leads me to wish my grandfather had seized the opportunity to “end” Klonag, as he would put it, fifteen years ago. I know the elected representatives of the day would not give their approval for the mission. What is a mystery to me is w
hy my grandmother, who by all accounts wasn’t one to let the representatives get the better of her, didn’t order it herself. And would she have done if she had known what was to come?’
Quain answered, ‘If Garon had his way he would have done… but Amari wouldn’t have it. They fought over it for some time. Then a year later the representatives cut the funding for the special operators. Nearhon had little in the way of an army left, so there was no threat. Garon paid out of his own money for a time to keep the operators going, but he couldn’t keep it up forever. The war was over as far as the politicians were concerned; let the sleeping Nearhon dogs lie.’
‘It doesn’t seem like my grandmother to back down,’ said Cory.
‘As Garon always said, somewhere underneath, she was softer than she looked. Garon wasn’t the young man he once was. A touch of arthritis here and there is not good for a warrior. She wouldn’t let him go.’
Cory stared intently at the wooden blocks he was rearranging in front of him. He lined up the precious blue triangle, the white block of the Silver Warrior, and numerous others representing everyone from the warrior priest to the operators before he spoke again. ‘Well… I am not asking for permission from the politicians… and I am not asking for a royal proclamation. I am asking for the king to look the other way while we do what my grandfather wanted to do fifteen years ago… go and “end” Klonag, his Archmage Magnar and that thing that was once my brother. But I can’t do it alone and I don’t have a great deal of money to pay mercenaries.’ Cory shifted his gaze from the wooden blocks and into Jaygee’s eyes.
A grin that could have split the face of a demon spread onto Jaygee’s face. ‘The operators have fought for money for years to survive… and because no one ever gave us anything better to fight for. Are you proposing to enter Nearhon and hunt down our enemy?’
Cory slowly nodded.
The General's Legacy - Part One: Inheritance Page 24
