A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  Hendrick watched as the rivers of fire spilled out into the grasslands and flowed down the gently sloping hills, setting the grass on fire. Naturally the beasts of the fields panicked and had began to stampede. And yet he thought as he watched them run, at least they were alive.

  So too he discovered, were some of the people from the city. A few thousand maybe. They were hurrying along the roads, heading towards them, and the sight brought him a little cheer. The only cheer he guessed he would find this day. They had outrun the lava. Maybe that that would end up being the only way they would survive this nightmare? By running. After all, one behemoth and a single volcano couldn't destroy an entire world could it? If they ran far enough and fast enough, maybe they would survive.

  “We aren't running from this.” Hendrick's mother spoke up suddenly, startling him. “We aren't frightened little rats fleeing a sinking ship.”

  Hendrick guessed he must have spoken his thoughts out loud. He was surprised by that since he didn't normally do that. Still, her words surprised him. Mainly because they weren't true. They were already running. He told her as much.

  “No. We're retreating. Withdrawing from the battle until we can gather our forces and regroup. Once we have the ability to fight back we will return. We will wage war against this beast. And we will defeat it. We will skin it alive!”

  “How do you fight lava?” Hendrick wanted to believe her. He wanted to have his heart stirred by her fine words. But he kept coming back to the one indisputable fact right in front of him. He was staring at a volcano.

  “I don't know.” Without warning she grabbed his chin and turned his head so he was staring right at her. “But you do.”

  “Me?” Hendrick was surprised. He shook his head as best he could. “I have no idea what to do. I don't think this can be fought.”

  “Not you alone. The afflicted.”

  “Ahh …” Hendrick struggled to think of something to say. And he was uncomfortably aware that the people around him were staring at them. Listening. “But we don't have anything –.”

  “Actually you do. You just don't know what it is yet. But you have something that threatens this beast. Some spell I would guess.” She stared at him, her face completely serious.

  “What?”

  “I don't know. Not yet. Neither do you – yet. But the beast knows.”

  Hendrick shook his head again. He didn't understand. Nothing could fight volcanoes. He tried to explain that.

  “Stop being so slow! You've already told everyone the answer!”

  “I have?” He was sure he would have remembered if he had told anyone any such thing.

  “Yes. I was speaking with Marnie Holdwright before. Smart young woman that. Angry but quick. You could do worse. And she told me what you said. What brought her people to the bargaining table.”

  “That they were making things worse for us all?”

  “That they were turning a skirmish into a war. A war between the afflicted and the rest. But she missed what mattered. That it was a war. And they didn't start the war. The great beast did. Why?”

  “Because it's a beast?” He shrugged helplessly, not understanding what she was suggesting.

  “No. Because it's smart. It's playing strategy. And what's the oldest strategy in the world?”

  Hendrick shrugged again.

  “Divide and conquer. Did your teachers teach you nothing of military matters? Or were you dreaming of beer that day?” There was a titter of amusement when she said that. And then a rush of heads hurriedly turning away to hide their laughter.

  “Al … right?” Hendrick was still confused. And of course the priests hadn't taught him anything about military strategy. The priests of Tarius the Benevolent One weren't warriors.

  “Oh, by the gods child! Think about it. Why would the beast do that? Start a war between the afflicted and everyone else? If it has nothing to fear, why would it worry about what the puny little humans can do? Unless it does have something to fear.”

  She was right! Because even if he could think of no spell that could extinguish a volcano or threaten a beast like the one that had come to their city, that didn't mean there wasn't one. And if the beast was bothering itself with starting wars and trying to destroy the mortals, it obviously thought they posed some sort of danger to it.

  “We already know that it isn't going to fear bullets and spears,” his mother carried on. “Cannon won't bother it. Armies don't mean anything to something like that. Which can only mean that the one thing you have which threatens it is magic. By Tarius, Sana even tried to have you executed! Why do you think she did that? It was because you represent a threat. Not through your own magic, but because of who you are. As a person of royal blood but also one of the afflicted you could have united the afflicted where others couldn't. You could have stopped the war and forged an army that would have threatened the creature.”

  “Honestly son, this is so simple! A five-year-old would understand it! You say you brew ale. Just how much of it have you been drinking?!”

  Her question was greeted with more laughter, and not just from Val. All around others were laughing too as they listened in on the conversation – though they tried to hide their merriment behind their hands. And yet even as Hendrick reddened he knew she was right. Why else would the behemoth have tried to start a war between the afflicted and the rest unless it feared something? What that reason was though, was another matter.

  “Sage,” his mother turned to Val, “it may be like trying to drive a nail into a rock, but do you think you could try to hammer some sense into my son's head!”

  “I'll try Lady Peri. But he is very resistant!” Naturally Val's words drew another round of laughter, and this time the people didn't even try to hide it.

  “Good. Then while you do that I'll go and deal with the caravan. We need for the people to have something to eat and then for this march to get underway.” With that Hendrick's mother stood up, brushed herself off, and walked over the hill toward the front of the caravan. She looked as though she meant business.

  She might be the King's fifth wife, and because of his polygamous ways, only entitled to the title of Lady. But just then Hendrick thought she looked like a warrior queen heading into battle. Maybe even more a warrior than his father in his armour.

  Which left him sitting there, wondering what to do, even as a lot of eyes started turning to him as if he had an answer. But he had nothing. More than that it was not his place to tell them what to do. Still, he knew what he had to say.

  “My mother's right. We need to eat and march. And we have only a little time. Not enough to sit and stare at this. Go. Join the others. I'll talk to my people.”

  Strangely his words seemed to have an effect as the people all around started to head off, and he found himself wondering why. He was no Royal. Not really. Not when he was afflicted. And they surely knew that. Maybe they just needed to hear that someone had a plan? Some idea of what to do. Anyone and any plan. Which coincidentally was what he needed.

  “Val,” Hendrick turned to his mentor when the others were far enough away not to hear, “I could use some wisdom too. So could the generals and the King. Can I ask you to do some research on behemoths so we have some idea of what to expect and how to deal with it? And also, why it decided to come here?”

  “I will indeed.” The sage managed what might have been a smile, though on his face it looked somewhat disturbing. “It will finally be a question worth answering.”

  “Thank you. Question answered.” Hendrick let the spell go, so Val could begin his research.

  That left him alone on the hill staring at the ruin that had once been Styrion Might, and wondering if there truly was anything that could be done against such power. Even if the beast seemed to think there was. It could be wrong after all. His mother might have brought them a brief moment of hope in an otherwise bleak world, but he still had no idea what they could do.

  Except that was, to run.

  Chapter Thirteenr />
  Hendrick walked through the camp feeling ill at ease, though unsure why. He had no reason to feel that way. The battle was over – they'd already lost. The enemy had taken the city and there was nothing that could be done about it. And there was no way any of the blame for that disaster could be laid at his feet. He'd also saved the King's life. But against that he was still one of the afflicted and there were always reasons for his kind to be worried. Even princes.

  The camp was quiet. People had long since bedded down for the night. They had spent a long day marching, most of it with little idea of where they were going, and now they needed to rest and think. But he doubted their thoughts were pleasant. They didn't have a destination; only a place they were leaving. Most of them had lost everything. Many had lost family. He saw the grief in the faces of many as he walked by. Fear too when they saw his markings and unfortunately the sparkling grey of his Mithril caught the firelight.

  The thing he noticed most clearly as he wove his way between camp fires was that they were all the same. They were all people. Uncertain and scared. Shocked and disbelieving in what had happened. Broken in spirit. Whether they were wainwrights or merchants, guttersnipes or lords, their reaction was the same. They had lost their homes.

  Two groups however, had lost less than the others. The nobles who had estates elsewhere that they could travel to. And the churls who had never had a home anyway. The doxies, the bards, the urchins and the two styne labourers could find work anywhere. Even the thieves could ply their craft elsewhere. They were lucky he supposed.

  Hendrick wasn't so lucky. He didn't have a destination. He wanted to go home, but he had a terrible feeling that when he got back, news of the war at least would have reached them. He would not be welcome for a time. He might even be attacked. For the moment at least, he was probably better off among the refugees from Styrion. At least until the full story had made it around the realm.

  That would take time. The fifty cities of the realm all had pigeons flying messages back and forth between them. A good pigeon could carry a message from the eastern most point on the coast to the western most, in a matter of days. Six hundred leagues. It was an incredible feat for such a small creature. But from the cities, words travelled more slowly. The larger towns nearer the cities would likely have daily contact through riders, bards and traders and the like. But many of the smaller towns and villages might not hear news from the cities for weeks.

  And when they did, what would that news be? Of the afflicted attacking Styrion Might? Of it all being due to a great monster that the afflicted had fought? Or of the afflicted destroying the city by using a monster? The bards would of course spin whatever tale they thought would earn them the most stynes. Things were likely to be very confused for many weeks and months to come. Even here in the camp he was looked upon with suspicion. And these people – some of them at least – knew the truth.

  Hendrick soon found the Royal tent where the wives awaited him. It was one of only about a dozen in the camp, and it sat in the middle of all the others. It was also the largest with a pointed canvas roof standing at least twenty feet at its peak and at the very top a red flag with a golden dragon flew proudly. Even in the darkness it stood out as the gold of the dragon caught the firelight.

  But he did find himself wondering how in all the confusion people had managed to carry out the tent from the dying city. And why? It seemed somewhat pointless. But more than that, given that they had just lost a battle and a city, it seemed too proud. They were retreating at best. Fleeing in sooth. It wasn't an occasion for grandeur.

  Still, it wasn't his place to comment. He might be a prince in name but he was really just a commoner. A churl. So he kept his thoughts to himself as he walked up to the nearest soldiers standing watch around the small field of tents, and formerly introduced himself.

  After that he was escorted by a small group of four soldiers to the royal tent. He wondered though whether the escort was because he was a prince, or because he was afflicted. Again, it was probably best not to ask. And at least these men weren't mercenaries intent on killing him. Two of the soldiers even held the canvas flaps open for him to step through.

  Inside he was confronted by a gaggle of wives and their advisers. He also saw one of the generals lurking in the far side of the tent. The First Wife, Lady Marda, was of course there. She would always be there. Standing proudly in the middle of the tent, looking regal and keeping a bitter tongue in her mouth and a colder heart in her chest. His mother was there too, a match for Lady Marda. And of all people, Lady Simone stood among them, completing the leading trio.

  That surprised him, but not as much as when his mother stepped forward and embraced him. That almost left him reeling like a sot on his last legs. He didn't think she'd ever done that before. But then she went on to praise him for his bravery and he understood her actions better. It had nothing to do with motherly love. It was all about appearance. He had protected the king and captured Sana. That was a credit to him, and more importantly to her and her other son. Lady Marda didn't look pleased.

  The other thing that surprised him was that the King wasn't there. Apparently he was still resting, which suggested to Hendrick that he hadn’t fully recovered from what Sana had done to him. It wasn't surprising. He was an old man and even in armour, being hoisted off the ground by his neck and then tossed some fifty feet had to be hard on a body. The chances were that he would be “resting” for some days to come. But even if he was seriously hurt he knew these women and the rest of the Court would never admit it. The King would be in perfect health until the day he actually died.

  The Court was always a house of lies.

  It had always puzzled him that the emblem for the realm was the golden dragon on the red velvet. After all, if there was one thing dragons were known for it was treachery. That didn't seem like a noble trait to aspire to. He had therefore assumed that it was because they were magnificent creatures. But as he stared at the wives he wondered if it was actually the treachery and deceit that was valued after all. The King’s wives were dangerous women; you entered into a bargain with them at your peril.

  “Mother. Lady Marda, Lady Simone.” Hendrick nodded politely to the Royal Household and then waited patiently to find out why they’d sent for him.

  “So you've become a rebel. I should have expected it.”

  Marda was quick to trot out the accusation. She was a fearsome woman, her expression always one of anger and bitterness, the lines on her face etched by decades of suspicion. But she wasn't actually attacking him Hendrick knew. She was attacking his mother. Still, he knew he had to defend himself.

  “I am no rebel, Lady Marda. I was not with the other afflicted. I only arrived in the city a few days ago. And I only came because I had been attacked by a group of mercenaries posing as an official escort to bring me to the wedding of my Father and Lady Sana. They had a forged warrant for my execution. When I arrived I was shocked to see that the city was in ruins and that a war had been fought.”

  “Mercenaries!” Lady Simone suddenly interrupted, earning herself a scowl from Marda. “How exciting! Were they big and dangerous men? And did you drive them off with sword and pistol?”

  Hendrick stared at her for a moment, lost in disbelief. They had been attacked by some sort of giant beast, untold thousands were dead and the city was lost, and she seemed to think it was all some sort of grand adventure? Like a little girl instead of a woman of nearly seventy years? She was a good soul, but sometimes he thought, she didn't have the surest grip on reality. But then he guessed, his father hadn't wed her for her wit. She was simply a beautiful woman.

  “No Lady Simone. I hid and let one of my beasts deal with them. It was very frightening.”

  “Oh!” Her face fell, before something else occurred to her. “What were they wearing? Masks and black capes like brigands?”

  It took Hendrick another moment to collect his wits when he heard that. To realise that she had actually just said what he thought she ha
d. He'd forgotten over the years just how obsessed with clothes and shoes his stepmother was. And apparently with the tales spun by the bards about dashing villains riding along the King's roads. “Ahh … sturdy clothes and leather Lady Simone. Like foresters.”

  “That will be enough of that Simone!” Marda raised her voice a little as she told the second wife off before she turned back to Hendrick. “So you claim you're not with the other rebels?”

  “No Lady Marda. There was an attack on my life and I came to find out why it had happened. And as we all know from Lady Sana's admission, it was she who wrote the order for my execution. I could not be fighting on the side of the afflicted if I was being attacked in Burbage at the same time.” He thought it a valid point. And judging from the look of annoyance that crossed Marda's face maybe she did too. She would have loved nothing more than to take away from his mother's moment of glory.