“Pain Daye,” Mali repeated, reaching forward, but then she hesitated. She did not want to press her fingers against that bone.
Finley took her news with a great deal of surprise and suspicion. But living a whole life pretending to be someone else had taught Mali to become a decent liar, so her words came true and extremely reasonable, and the colonel found it hard to argue.
“You can send any number of your ordinary troops.” He tried to resist.
“And then what? What if they meet with the Caytorean forces? What if they encounter some of the enemy? Who makes the right decision? I can’t leave that responsibility to any of my girls or your men. If there’s a mission I wouldn’t volunteer for myself, then I have no right asking my own troops to risk their lives and do the same.”
Finley looked around him. He didn’t like the empty, haunted homes either. Their lodge was an inn, and she thought she had read “Brotherly Unity” on a faded billboard swaying above the entrance. “We cannot afford to lose you, Commander.”
Mali smiled. “You won’t lose me, Finley. I will return. Until today, we haven’t seen a living soul in a year. We don’t know anything that’s happening in the world. The enemy force has gone south, so that leaves us time and space to maneuver, to prepare. I will not squander this opportunity to try and mobilize as much help and support as we can gather for the resistance against the white foe. Maybe Eracia and Caytor still bear a grudge, but I don’t care. I will not let even the slimmest chance for survival slip because of stupid pride and ancient slights.”
The colonel was still not fully convinced. “Mali, we are not politicians. From what this Holger fellow reports, the Parusites may have helped us win Somar back. So it means an alliance with their king. We cannot side with the Athesian rebels or the High Council.”
Does that make my son a rebel, too? One fighting for a lost cause? But she said nothing on that matter. As far as the ugly world was concerned, Emperor James was Adam’s son, not hers.
“I don’t care about politics.” Maybe a little. “This isn’t about politics. This is about survival. You have seen the enemy, Finley. I will not rest until I’m certain everyone knows about the threat.”
“We have sent messages,” the colonel whispered.
“Can we afford to wait until they respond? I will not.”
He hesitated for a long while. Then he doffed his gloves and extended a pale hand. “Good luck, Commander. I am sure you will need it.”
That’s sorted out, she thought.
“I am taking Bjaras with me,” she said.
Gordon said nothing. He stared at her, eyes big and full of hurt.
“I know what I did was a mistake.” She marched on, ignoring the emotional ambush. “And I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. But you must remember we never promised each other anything beyond simple physical pleasure.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” he mumbled.
“I will return,” she repeated, hoping it was not a lie. “And when I do, I think I will have courage for us to try again. Together. Committed. I just hope you will be willing to forgive me and to give me another chance.”
The captain of the skirmishers tried to keep his face passive, but his cheeks twitched, and the corners of his lips curled. “You are going to Pain Daye?”
Mali sighed. “That’s my plan. I will need Bjaras in case we encounter any of the northerners. Nothing more. But I must meet with the High Council, I must find Emperor James, and I must convince them all to join the war against the enemy.”
“They might have already,” he supplied in a thin, sad voice.
“We do not know that. But do you think this white foe will just vanish one day? They will march back north. I am certain. And we must find a way to stop them. This is my burden. But I must ask you to help Meagan keep the battalion intact. Avoid heavy battles. Keep safe. We will meet, if anything, in a few months.” She leaned over, trying to kiss him, but also to silence anything else he might try to say. She feared she knew what he might utter, and she didn’t want her chest hurting any more than it already was. Maybe she was a coward, but she was trying.
Gordon softened. He kissed her gently, chapped lips to chapped lips. He smelled like onions, and she didn’t dare think what she smelled like. “So long, Captain. We’ll meet again.”
He touched a hand to her shoulder, then retrieved it. Was he crying? Men! But then her vision started to mist, so she blinked hard, spun around, and walked away with a purposeful stride. Gordon was a decent person. For an old, bitter female officer with more scars than common sense, he was actually quite a catch. She should keep that in mind.
Later that day, they did a quick exchange of command. With only a few hours of daylight left, she was heading east, with Alexa, Bjaras, a burly female guard named Suzy, four horses, and fives mules swaying silly with packed food, blankets, and weapons. Hopefully, that would be enough until she found civilization again. If she found it, she reminded herself.
“Son, I miss you,” she whispered into the wind, marching away from Ecol.
CHAPTER 44
Usually, Stephan liked the way Eybalen looked in the winter. He liked the sight of the city seen from inland. The land dipped slightly, the creases of hilly terrain sweeping away, and the cove opened, revealing terraces, the farming villages, the hive of the city, the sprawl of the harbor, the choppy shimmer of the sea.
Not this time.
The hills were dappled in ice, glistening like a mirror, blinding, sharp. Winds from the harbor had polished the crust to a sheen like silver, and his head hurt from squinting, trying to keep the glare out of his eyes. But he wouldn’t pull the curtains closed. He hated sitting and jolting in darkness. He could not hear the city yet, but the smoke from the chimneys and workshops, and the stillness in the port, told of a besieged place, waiting for winter to ease its grip.
What bothered him was not the smudge of chaos, the absence of white sails coming and going to Eybalen, or the howl of the wind bending the trees and shrubbery northward. It was the sight of two new large army camps on the slopes outside the town, expelling their own smoke and stench.
They looked like cow turds picked through by grubby fingers, as if someone had hoped to find nuggets of gold deep in the brown piles. There was no order, just concentric rings of greater or lesser shit sprawling any which way the land went, and not even the cover of snow could hide the ugliness.
In all his life as a councillor, he had never seen an army outside Eybalen. Not during the Feoran revolution, not in the war against the Eracians, not once during Adam’s reign. Now, it seemed thousands of armed men hogged the road into the capital, one on each side. That could not be good. Not at all.
He was not bringing any good news either. Behind him, in the hundred-odd carriages, rode the displaced councillors, mayors, and investors from northern cities, now entirely without homes and at his mercy. Behind them farther still, endless convoys of refugees followed. He was bringing half the realm to its heart, and it could not be good either. But it was an opportunity.
The mythical army from the north turned out to be a real one, it seemed. Less than a week after arriving at Pain Daye, they had evacuated the mansion and gone back south, taking gold and food. A small, suicidal part of him wanted to see the enemy regiments, to see the myth stomp through Caytor, but he believed the words of so many scouts coming back slack faced with fear.
For several days, the enemy shadowed them, and there was a real fear they would be forced to engage in battle with a small cadre of inexperienced solders and thousands of refugees slowing them down. Then the foe veered west, going toward Athesia. A blessing, a curse, Stephan just did not know. When drunk, he suspected the enemy might be in league with Amalia, but sobriety brought back more logical thoughts to his mind. This northern army, whatever it was, brought doom to the realms. The rules of the game had changed. The game itself had changed.
Rheanna and he had done their best to consolidate their power among the destitute council
lors. He had bedded his way through a number of less likely agreements with some of the female candidates, while James’s widow had more subtly hinted at potential rewards in return for cooperation. They had indebted dozens of men and women in return for funds and hope, and Stephan could not wait to get back to the city. He would have powerful backing in any meeting with the rest of the High Council, and he could slowly work toward grabbing more power, more influence, and sidelining his opponents.
If only this northern threat would go away.
He was genuinely surprised by the presence of army camps outside Eybalen.
The carriage jolted to a halt, and the woman in his lap stirred but didn’t wake. Hailey was a small honey merchant from Marlheim. Not that important in the greater scheme, but her vote still carried some small weight, and he’d liked her company during the long, boring days of travel.
Stephan pushed her off him, but she remained sound asleep. He craned his neck, stretching sore muscles, opened the door, and hopped out. Cold air slapped him.
Bader was sitting on a horse, looking alert, his always-filthy hair fluttering. His henchmen were spread all about, and hundreds followed around their caravan and in the fields. Some were private soldiers, others newly hired mercenaries, a handful of veterans from James’s time, disillusioned of their earlier ideals.
The road ahead was blocked. Several carts, loaded with stones, were parked perpendicularly to the hard-packed gravel, forcing any wagon or carriage coming south to weave slowly past their lumbering bulk—or sidetrack into the deep snow. Going around the barrier was trickier, because large, sharp stakes broke through the white crust at least fifty paces on each side of the road.
Three soldiers with old-looking yet very sharp halberds stood in front of the barricade, seemingly bored. A fourth sat on top of one of the wagons, his legs covered in a checkered blanket, a crossbow resting in his lap. Behind him, the city flag fluttered on a pole.
That square of canvas was probably the chief reason why their convoy had not tried to break through past the obstacle. This affair was sponsored by the High Council.
Two men were coming up the road, approaching the barricade. They were on foot and did not look armed. Eyes watering from the sun’s glare, it took Stephan a few moments to realize who the left figure was.
“Adrian?” he called, but the wind just washed his words back north.
His bodyguard turned, then looked back at the road.
Stephan waited, buttoning up his coat.
His friend was still somewhat fat, but he walked with a sure gait. It wasn’t like him not to be drunk at midday. “Stephan, you swordfish. You’re back.”
“Adrian,” Stephan offered more cautiously. What was his friend doing outside the cozy brothels and wine cellars?
The other councillor looked past him, at the convoy of animals and wheels and soldiers stretching north. “The patrols reported a large body of people coming our way, but I didn’t expect this huge tail behind you.”
Stephan embraced his friend and found his clean scent alarming. “And what are you doing here?”
Adrian shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, you must have heard the rumors. Our nation is under attack. There’s an army coming from the north, and we must prote—”
“Come on, friend.” Stephan cut him off, maybe a little impatiently.
“The council has mobilized troops. They say it’s a national emergency. Men, boys, everyone’s been conscripted. We have to be ready to defend Eybalen. And that means no civilians, I’m afraid. Your refugees will have to go to Shurbalen or Monard. We’ll take any lad of fighting age, though.”
“Who decided this?” Stephan fumed.
“No one really decided anything. We all agreed.”
Stephan looked left. Small groups of four to five men were leaving their prints in the snow, walking around his convoy, spears pointed at the cerulean sky. Not just picket sentries. Too many of them. Still more of them on the right side, too. He frowned. The High Council had rarely agreed on anything, especially when he wasn’t around. Now this. Too organized, too logical.
“Why aren’t you in the city, Adrian?”
His friend looked surprised. “Oh, well, I’ve been appointed to supervise the military preparations. I’m the new lord of tax and provisions.” The other man at his side, a thin, nondescript fellow, preened, which probably made him a top clerk, and one who counted every silver coin twice.
“Interesting development,” Stephan admitted, trying to keep rancor from his voice. That would be childish.
The delay was making everyone fidgety. The soldiers were becoming impatient, but no one was going to be a hero when staring at two huge camps full of armed men. Boots crunched behind him, and soon, Sebastian stepped to his side, looking concerned.
“Councillor Adrian,” he whispered cautiously.
“Master Sebastian,” Stephan’s nondrunk friend commented, tone and eyes warm. “I haven’t seen you in a while now. But I guess the northern threat has forced everyone home, even the more reluctant among us.”
The guild master pressed his lips thin, but said nothing.
Stephan wondered how the council would take the man’s allegiance with Emperor James. Some had definitely endorsed it, others had openly sponsored it, but now that the Athesian man was dead, and the Parusites had spoiled everything, they might want to blame it all on someone, and no one was a better candidate than Sebastian.
“Stephan, did you accomplish what you wanted?”
He had not expected that question. Not like that, not right now. But Rheanna was not a threat anymore. It should be safe to mention her name. “In a manner.”
Should be safe.
Almost as if summoned, Lady Rheanna stepped out of her own coach. Unlike the two of them, she had a pair of armed men in tow. Her head was covered in a silk veil, which made her look innocent and fragile, but also, more sensibly, protected her ears from the icy wind. Stephan wished he had some sort of headgear.
“Councillor, why are we delayed?” she asked, coming closer, her body still dangerously voluptuous even when hidden by layers of scarves and fur.
Nudd was there, too, eying the other clerk with animosity. Stephan rubbed his temples. The wind, the sun, the cold, too much chatter, things were really slipping out of control now. He was not prepared for this. “Should we not continue on our way? Adrian, can you instruct those men to let us pass?”
“Most certainly. But first, my colleague will detail your convoy. I’m afraid we will have to appropriate ten percent, or equivalent, in war taxes, and all your men will have to report to the recruiter’s office within a week, save for the personal guards.” Adrian’s eyes briefly touched James’s widow, but if he had anything else to say, he kept it private.
“Do it,” Stephan snapped.
It took them a while to get going. Some of the carriages were too long and wide, and they could not slip past the barricade, so they had to harness a pair of horses and pull them apart. By the time they cleared the barrier and were rolling toward Eybalen, the sun was beating against their backs. A thousand lights came to life in the camps, and they lost some of their ugly, chaotic feel. Stephan only gazed at the sprawl of tents, low barracks and sheds, improvised stables, and field workshops, trying to assess the numbers, the strength, and more importantly, the loyalty of all those men.
He was pleasantly surprised to learn that things were not as sinister as he expected. There was no great conspiracy, and the High Council was just as divided as ever. The next morning, he left his villa and headed to a meeting to find a bunch of rich people frozen in time, trying to outsmart one another. The war was just another layer to their intrigue.
After probing the hearts and minds of his colleagues, he decided to bring Lady Rheanna back into Caytorean society. The lack of any great sentiment toward her almost shocked him. It seemed that everyone had done their share of thinking of the future, and with the beautiful banker and widow cast down from her power, and irrelevant i
n the greater scheme of things, they all chose to be benevolent and forgiving.
Her enemies merely demanded more money, that was all.
Stephan almost laughed at how absurd it was.
Rheanna did her best to be charming and vulnerable, and she immediately won all the men over. With the ladies, she tried a different approach, trying to portray a picture of grief and suffering. Even Stephan wasn’t quite sure what game she played, but it suited him well as long as she helped Sebastian and him gain more influence with the city’s traders, merchants, and guild members.
The flood of refugees actually helped. Prices soared. Desperate shop owners and homeless nobles and councillors turned to the banks and greedy investors for help. Almost exclusively, they found themselves approaching Lord Malcolm or his daughter, beautiful, desirable, and very much a widow. Stephan did his best to vouch for his friends, and Master Sebastian gently coerced the guilds to help everyone make the right decision.
Within less than two weeks, Stephan was the shadow owner of many new businesses, even the ones he had once avoided in the past. He also claimed a whole stretch of land in the north, pastures, vineyards, orchards, farmsteads. They were just sketches and scribbles on paper, but if they somehow won against this northern foe, he would have won a quarter of the realm through smiles and handshakes.
He knew this was exactly what Rheanna had been doing while married to James. Sebastian had told him of the young emperor’s plans and how he had managed to sway and fool so many councillors, until it was too late. Ironically, no one seemed to make the connection.
The third week, he had a rather unpleasant visit from one Lady Laura and her daughter Daria. It took him a while to figure out that James had gotten rid of her husband and taken over his steel industry. Otis’s widow demanded reparations for the wrongs done to her.
In the end, he arranged for a very public reconciliation between the two widows. Lady Rheanna relinquished parts of the industry back to Laura in return for a small percentage of profits. Stephan promised to find Daria a husband even more promising than Lord Bram. He felt immensely pleased by his achievements. He was the architect of the new Caytor. Without any violence, without tension or strife, he was molding the future of his realm.
The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Page 46
