Aelfric interrupted. “… And there on the shore she invoked the gods of Justice, Law and Wrath against the Vantarmini. She cursed the whole of that city, that their city should fail and all of the duke’s people be washed as a stain from the land. Then she drew forth a dagger she had concealed to defend her honor against the duke and stabbed herself mortally, making it a blood curse.”
“Yes.” Faithborn said. “That’s how the story goes. So all of the nobles of Vantarmin, and there was a bucket full of them, they got ships together and sailed away from Tolrissa, where everybody wanted to hang them. They all wound up landing right here, in Mortentia, land of the hundred kingdoms.”
“And the Black Duke’s get?” Haim asked. “Who are they?”
“The Family Arouth.” Faithborn replied. “The D’roots, the Root’s, the Arouths, O’roots and D’rouths. Like Aelfric D’root here. They are all supposedly descended from Ulmerith, the slayer of dragons, but the mad Black Duke as well. They’re supposed to still carry Teriella’s curse, but they’re also known to be bad people to mess with.”
“As the Auligs have learned.” Concluded the Bishop, breaking his silence as the spell cast by Faithborn’s story faded. “Forty thousand of them have learned permanently.”
It was the surviving Auligs from the battle of Walcox that finally got them moving. For two days the godsknights and the Mortentian lancers had crawled along toward Walcox at a pace suited for a picnic, despite Tuchek’s constant urging that they hurry. He was as frustrated with the pace as he had ever been with anything.
On the morning of the third day he cut the trail of a small group of Karltan Island Auligs, and he rode back to Celdemer and told him. Twenty Mortentian lancers had accompanied him to the spot where he found the trail, seven Auligs moving fast in the direction of the Redwater, less than a league to the west. A rapid pursuit had followed, and they found the Auligs still on the eastern shore, looking for a way to cross.
“At them men!” The Mortentian captain had yelled, a ridiculous little man who was more rooster than cavalry officer with a feather in his helmet and a flowing red cape. Tuchek had idly watched while the horsemen ran down the fleeing Auligs, catching them one at a time in the reeds and bogs along the shore and lancing them when they tried to flee. Like about half of his men, the captain missed his man on the first pass, and was forced to turn about for a second. By the third pass the cavalrymen had ridden down and killed the seven, showing a lack of skill with the lance that amazed. He came up to them while they were still boasting of their victory.
“We came and slew!” The captain was saying to his troops. One of them, a noble’s son from the Suzerainty, was off his horse, standing over his shoes and puking. These men were as green as lancers could be, and Tuchek doubted that even their captain had ever been in a battle. “None of these Auligs will return to plague the people of Northcraven ever again!”
“Looks like they’ve been plaguing more than that.” Tuchek observed. Three of the Auligs were wearing Mortentian soldier’s swords in scabbards about their waists, and one of them had a shield emblazoned with a black lion rampant, the mark of Ajin’s Band. “These are coming back from Walcox.”
“You mean to insist that these savages attacked our soldiers there successfully?” The rooster’s tone was scornful. “Did you not just see how they ran? They didn’t even stand to fight.”
“You figure they snuck into camp and stole those swords?” Tuchek replied, getting down from his horse. “What about the shield and scabbards?” He paused to open one of the Aulig’s trophy bags. It was full of severed ears, probably a dozen. He poured them out in the grass just as the recruit looked up from puking. He moaned and went back to it.
“How do you figure they came by these?”
Thirty minutes later the force was divided, with the horsemen and Tuchek riding full-tilt toward Walcox and those who had lost their mounts setting up a defensive perimeter and promising to follow in the morning. They reached the town at nightfall, coming through the shocking ruin of the northern camp to stare at the town’s burned out remains.
“I am sorry, Eskeriel.” Celdemer said from beside him, his voice choking with tears. “We did not listen to you, and now we have come too late.” After a few minutes of staring at the ruin of Walcox the two men and the godsknights with them were surprised to see a figure approaching, a large bearded man in the worn and bloodstained livery of the Red Tigers. He was carrying a torch, but it was not yet needed, for there was ample light to see by in the fading of dusk to dark, and the moon was risen early, bright and nearly full.
“You the cavalry?” The man asked Tuchek. “I’m Smiley Ahtain, Blackhill Gang, Red Tiger Swords. About time you got here. What’s he crying for?”
Chapter 50: Lanae, Nevermind and points west, Walcox
“I am a king’s eye, and on the king’s business.” Lanae said to herself, sitting beside the fire in the little but well-appointed cottage next to the wall-enclosed hill that was the eagle’s landing in Nevermind. The hill was the tallest point in the pretty little seaside town, set even above the Lord Mayor’s keep, which she could see from a window deep carved in the thick and ancient wall. The town spread out below her like a painting, a beautiful little village of white cottages and inns, clean streets and tidy shops. The lamplighters were out, and dark was coming on.
Ten days earlier she had returned from the Whitewood shaken, but not broken. Her experience there had hardened her rather, and when the happy people of Nevermind met her in the street before this landing, they had cheered and given thanks, for she had been lost, and was now recovered. Masterfarmer Felder had received much praise for his finding of her, although really he had done little other than prepare this reception. And feed her, she added to herself. And clothe her and give her sound advice and make her feel at home.
When asked about the blood on her dress, she merely told them that Sentinel had killed a buck, and that he was a messy eater. This was true enough, and if it didn’t explain the blood on her dagger, neither did she. She was discovering the power of silence.
After seeing Sentinel housed and sleeping here, she had spent the time as follows: First, she requisitioned new flying leathers from the master of the landing, a bluff-faced man in his forties with an easy smile and comforting way about him. His name was Caris, and he was from the king, and subject only to the king’s law, an independent man whose only thought was to care for and see to the comfort of the king’s eyes and their great eagles. He had expressed great happiness at her safe return. Then she had cleaned herself and spent her time recovering. She exchanged the dress she’d received from Felder for the livery of a king’s eye and recuperated in the city of Nevermind.
It was a lovely town, and she walked through the little shops, greeting any who approached her with a reserved smile, telling them that she was, indeed, fine, and that she was indeed found, and that she would be returning to the King’s City soon. In the shops she found that her lack of coin was of no moment, for the shopkeepers showered her with gifts she could not refuse, and her lunches and dinners were at no cost. Today she had been enjoying a meal of goose and fish when a young man in the livery of House D’Tarman had approached her table and bowed deeply. “Madam kang’s aye? Air you the kang’s aye?”
“Yes.” She had replied. “I’m Lanae.”
“You air summonsed to the Laird Mayor’s, Madam. At dusk, if you plaise.” His accent was thick and his tone was formal and brusque.
That had been an hour ago, and dusk was soon. She dressed in her riding leathers and put her king’s eye livery over all. If this was to be her trial, she wanted there to be no doubt as to who she was. She reviewed Felder’s advice in her mind, but it wasn’t like her to lie, and she did not think she would be very good at it. She called the master of the landing, and he agreed to accompany her.
“Like as not it’s just an inquiry.” Caris informed her as he put on his jacket. “Nothing to it, really.”
“I’m not worri
ed.” Lanae said, and she found it to be true.
They walked through the neat and cobbled streets, and she appreciated the town. Nevermind was pretty and neat, and the shops sold many nice things from storefronts that were tidily kept and clean. There were no harsh smells like you would find in Zoric, no grinding poverty like you saw in some of the streets in the King’s Town, and no sense of fear like that which stalked the poor people of Dunwater. It was more like Kancro, but without the rowdy sailors in the streets. Goodwives stood at gates and chatted with their neighbors, for it was a fine summer’s evening, and children played in the dying light, trying to get in one last game of hopstones or ring-pitch before it was too dark to see and they were summoned to bed.
The walkway to the entrance of the Lord Mayor’s keep was tree-lined and brightly lit with lamps, and they were met at the large and elaborately carved door by a helmeted footman in D’Tarman green. He stood beside a halberd that was at least ten feet tall. He bowed and ushered them in before the Lord Mayor, and Lanae found that she was not the only guest.
Indeed, half of the town seemed to be in attendance, and these were obviously those who would probably call themselves the better half. She saw a mixture of perfumed ladies in finely cut dresses festooned with lace, merchants with their little caps and expensive woolens, ship’s captains and military officers. At the very forefront of them all stood Aginom D’Tarman, the very fat and very rich Lord Mayor of Nevermind. He was dressed in a jacket of fine silk trimmed with gold, and his fingers glittered with rings and jewels. From his beaming smile she knew. This was not an inquiry. It was a party, and she was the guest of honor.
She laughed in delight and relief when the dulcimer and drum began to play.
After half an hour she realized that Caris had been right after all, and that although the event at the great keep of Aginom D’Tarman was a party, at least in name, it was also an inquiry, cleverly disguised. After she had been introduced to the many nobles there, with many an expression of gladness in her safe return from the ranks of the missing, she was peppered with subtle questions. “We are so glad to have you safely back.” Declared Aginom’s wife Elucia, a stocky and silver-haired Kundrell from Arker. “You look healthy. Did the Auligs feed you well?” When Lanae replied that she had indeed been able to eat, without saying it was Auligs who fed her, Elucia had asked from what band they had been. Lanae replied that she did not know, careful to avoid lying, but revealing as little as possible.
The Lord Mayor’s prior, an expensively dressed priest of local origin, inquired as to whether her spiritual needs had been provided for, “for those Auligs are no respecters of the True Faith. What spirit did they worship? Could you tell?” Lanae had truthfully replied that she could not.
A young and handsome lordling who introduced himself simply as Sinnit, who had the same heavy body frame as the Lord Mayor and the same eyes, and whom Lanae took to be his son, asked her to dance and then asked if she had been able to get any exercise while she had been gone. “Some.” Lanae replied briefly. She was saved from further questions by Caris, who interrupted.
“I am afraid that Lanae must speak to the king before she can discuss the details of her captivity.” The Master of the Landing said to Sinnit. “She is under his jurisdiction.”
Unfortunately this did not end the matter, for as she passed from room to room on the very expensive looking thick carpet and amid the brightly glowing candelabra, each person in turn asked her some trifling detail of her time away. She gave the briefest of answers, trying very hard to be truthful and polite at the same time. The only person who did not ask her any questions was the Lord Mayor himself, from which she concluded that he was the one to whom they would report her answers.
“I am a king’s eye and on the king’s business.” She repeated to herself, and more and more she began to answer the questions in that manner. “I am sorry.” She told one overly interested merchant. “I must first report to the king before I can discuss the details of my captivity. Let us dance, though.”
And dance they did, and outside darkness fell completely, and wine flowed and little honeyed cakes were passed around, and Lanae found that she was hungry. The moon shone bright and full, and it was the day before the Solstice.
Just before midnight, when the party was to end, the revelry was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats from a horse ridden hard. A messenger from the west came riding to the keep, his black horse damp with sweat. After he presented his credentials to the footman at the door, he was seen to the private chambers of the Lord Mayor. After a few moments the Lord Mayor, his face grim and set in hard lines, called for the music to stop and asked his guests to gather in the main hall.
“My friends and Prior Norin, I have received terrible news. The City of Walcox has fallen.” Lanae felt the breath leave her body.
“Walcox?” She asked, and she was the first person to speak. “Walcox in Northcraven?” There was only one Walcox, she well knew, for she had been born and raised within a league of it, and her parents and all of her family lived there. Her voice was desperate.
“Yes.” The Lord Mayor replied sadly. “The town has been attacked and burned to the ground by the Aulig. They are ravaging the country. Prior Norin, I ask that you ask a special benison for the good people of Walcox, and for the poor lads from the Nevermind muster. I am given to understand that they were there.”
A woman in a green dress shrieked. “My son!” She cried. “What of my son?”
“What word of the Mortentian lancers?” A man in the colors of a master merchant demanded. “My son is an officer.”
Most of the people at the party had family members, sons or nephews or cousins, who had been called up in the Nevermind muster. “I know no details.” The Lord Mayor answered. “Only what I have told you. The messenger said that he had the message second hand, and that no formal messages have come from Walcox, only the word of a few survivors who fled. I cannot say who has been lost or even who fought. They have ridden night and day to bring us this word.”
“I can find out.” Lanae volunteered, and tearful and desperate eyes turned her way. “I can be in Walcox by nightfall tomorrow, and can return the following day with news.”
“But you must report to the king.” The Lord Mayor said. “That is your first duty.”
“Please Aginom!” The woman in the green dress cried. “Let her go! We must know!”
“I can do this.” Lanae replied. “For the king will learn of my return soon enough, and Sentinel wants to fly fast and far. The king will want to know what has happened in Walcox as surely as you do. I can do this duty first and not neglect the other.” She did not add her own reasons for wanting to go to Walcox. Her family had to be safe. They had to be.
“I am not certain that I can allow it.” The Lord Mayor began, but the master of the landing cut him off.
“You do not have a say, Lord Mayor. She is a king’s eye, and this is the king’s business. Not yours.” His tone was gentle, but firm. Lanae looked at him gratefully.
“We must prepare to fly.” She said to Caris, and they left together, carrying the hopes and terrors of the people of Nevermind with them. Her own fear for her family hastened her feet, but she could not leave before morning. She could not fly in darkness, and the delay was frustrating. As tired as she was, she could not sleep.
In the predawn darkness she dressed in her flying leathers, put on her jacket and then donned her helmet, cloak and boots. She strapped a long knife in a black leather scabbard around her waist, then requisitioned a dozen silver marks and a bundle of food. Caris had already harnessed Sentinel, so she leapt onto his back without checking the condition of his plumage. The great eagle’s muscle bunched beneath her, and she began her flight to Walcox.
Walcox did not have an eagle’s landing. The town was not significant enough in size to warrant the manpower that maintaining such a facility required. The nearest eagle’s landing to Walcox was at least ten leagues from it, so Lanae decided that she woul
d chance finding a suitable place to land once she got there.
The sun rose at her back and the wind tore at her cheeks, for a firm and fitful west wind was blowing, and she was flying against it. She took Sentinel up above the gusty breezes that flowed and stuttered along the top of the trees of the Whitewood, riding thermals that allowed him to rest his wings without beating them. In this way she could fly a great distance without tiring him overmuch. She flew until the sun stood directly above her, then began looking over the endless sea of treetops below for a place to land. The sky was clear and brilliant blue as far as she could see, and the air was warm. It was good flying weather.
She saw several likely places, bare hills that rose like islands above the forest below or wide clearings of tall grass. She settled on a stony hilltop that might once have sported a tower, back in the days of the hundred kingdoms. Whatever the place might once have been, it was lonesome and empty now. She saw the remains of a stone wall, the mortar between the stones long since decayed to bits of sand and gravel, and several large blocks of moss covered stone. The moss was reddish and speckled with tiny red flowers. She stretched her legs and arms, for they were sore and aching. It had been long since she had flown so far, and the constant strain of holding the eagle’s harness and clinging to his back was telling in her thighs and shoulders.
She ate her noon meal while Sentinel hunted for his. After half an hour he returned to the hilltop, a fat goat clutched in his talons. She fretted impatiently while he ate in his usual messy fashion, tearing gobbets of stringy meat from the goat and drinking its blood. She allowed him to rest for less than an hour before resuming her flight, looking for the line between forest and plain that marked the northern edge of the vast Whitewood forest.
Sentinel for his part seemed content. After such a long time in the cage, Lanae thought that he was as glad as she was to feel the fine wind of a sustained flight. His strange and defiant behavior of earlier seemed to have passed, and he flew as she directed, winging downward and to the north as she sought the landmarks, memorized from a map of Caris’, that would help her find Walcox and her family’s farm.
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 56
