by Matt Heppe
The queen in a good mood? Now that is a change. Maybe it bodes well. Let this be short.
Nidon wandered the room, examining the two tapestries hanging on the wall. He hadn’t been in Mor-Oras in years. Not since a naval raid on an Arossan pirate camp the year before he had become Champion.
One tapestry depicted an idyllic hunting scene filled with picnicking women and men hunting from horseback. The other showed Handrin the Great in battle against demon veden in the War for the Orb. The tapestries were not of as high quality as those that used to hang in the Great Keep of Sal-Oras before it was burned down in the Returnist Revolt, but they were still well made.
The wait dragged on. Occasionally Nidon heard the queen’s laughter through the heavy portal. But no summons came. The two escorting men-at-arms shuffled impatiently at the door. Nidon felt no urge to speak with either.
So Her Majesty plays a game with me. A trial of patience. What did Hadde once say? Patience rewards the hunter?
Nidon smiled to himself and inspected the hunting tapestry closer. Landomere wouldn’t be so park-like. And the ladies wouldn’t be wearing such voluminous dresses. They would be half-naked by Saladoran standards. I suppose I’ll get used to it.
His mind wandered off to thoughts of his journey. Landomere was not so far from Mor-Oras. He could be there in a week. And then to find her village. He had no idea how long that would take. Landomere was legendary for its size and wildness.
“It’s not right what they’re doing to you, Champion Nidon,” one of the men-at-arms guarding the door said. The other guard shot him a hard look.
“Do I know you?” Nidon asked.
“Esric, Champion. We never met, but I was at King’s Crossing. You’ve fought harder in more battles than anyone alive, even men twice your age. You shouldn’t be treated—”
“Esric!” the other guard said.
The door opened behind him. Fenre stepped into the antechamber. “I hope the wait was not too long,” he said.
“I hardly noticed,” Nidon said. A grin crossed his face. The weight of responsibility was off his shoulders. He had done his service—had done it for all his life. Time to move on.
“Follow me, Sir Nidon,” Fenre said.
Nidon straightened his arming coat and, with a nod to Esric, followed the steward into the hall. Esric and the other man-at-arms followed behind. There were maybe thirty nobles in the room, two thirds of them men. The queen sat on her throne on a high dais. There was only one throne, Nidon noticed. So she does not expect the king’s return. Does she even want it?
And then he saw them—the varcolac. Four of them stood guard around the queen on her dais. Their silver eyes gleamed in the dim light of the hall. All wore full harness and the queen’s blue and gold colors. All but one held short-hafted poleaxes, the other stood very close to the queen—so close his armored leg touched the throne.
He was a huge man, and although well-groomed he still had the heavy beard and long hair of the varcolac. And the silver eyes. Silver eyes that went black in death.
Nidon had been told a long time ago that the queen had taken on varcolac as her bodyguards, but he had dismissed it as foolish rumor. How could the queen allow creatures of Akinos, men warped by the Orb of Creation, to be so close to her? It had seemed so ridiculous he had even forgotten about it—until now.
For a moment Nidon’s step faltered, and then he marched closer, trying his hardest not to limp. A dozen strides from the queen Nidon took a knee. “Your Majesty,” he said.
Queen Ilana was beautiful, but thinner than when he had last seen her, with dark circles under her eyes. She wore a dress of deep blue with hundreds of small crowns embroidered in gold thread upon it. The Godshield, Forsvar, rested on its rim in front of her. For a short time, after King Boradin had fallen injured at King’s Crossing, Nidon had carried the shield and felt its power.
Until the queen had demanded it from him. He never should have given it to her, but there had never been any doubt that he would.
“Rise, Sir Nidon, and report,” she said. “Why have you failed me?”
Nidon bore his entire weight on his left leg as he rose. It was not graceful, but at least he did not stumble. The image of Hadde tripping on her gown and falling flat the first time she had appeared in court flashed through his mind.
“The Dragon’s Gate could not be taken with the forces I had at my disposal, Your Majesty.” Nidon said. “We killed Rigarians by the hundreds.” He paused, glancing at the bodyguards. “And varcolac by the dozens, but the pass was too narrow and too difficult.”
The varcolac beside the queen uttered a guttural growl. The queen patted the varcolac’s hip. “Be at ease, Sir Ragos.”
“Sir Ragos? You knight them?” Nidon asked.
Ilana’s eyes flashed with anger. “Do you know how loyal the varcolac are, Sir Nidon? A varcolac will never break his oath. He is utterly devoted. These men would cast themselves upon their swords if I asked them to. Would you, Nidon? Would you do that?”
“That is neither brave nor loyal,” Nidon said. “It is stupid. A dead man cannot serve his liege.”
The varcolac growled again and a worried murmur went through the assembled nobles.
“Be careful, Sir Nidon.” Ilana smiled down at him. A thin smile that held little happiness. “The varcolac are fierce and loyal, but they are also prone to anger.”
“And that is what makes them bad soldiers.”
“I did not bring you here to banter over my faithful bodyguards. I brought you here to discuss your own failings. Not only did you fail to take the pass, you failed to conquer Rigaria, and most importantly, you failed to recapture the Orb of Creation.”
Because you took Forsvar from me. Your paranoid fear doomed me to failure. Nidon swallowed the harsh reply and said, “The latter two could not be accomplished without the first. And the first was impossible,” Nidon said. “I needed more men. I needed the Godshield.”
Ilana’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at the gathered nobles. “You hear his words? He want’s Forsvar for his own. Is that why you are here now, Sir Nidon? To take the Godshield from me?”
“No, Your Majesty. I don’t want it. I have come to resign as commander of the army in the east.” He drew a breath. “At the same time I resign—”
“Why have you brought an army to my doorstep?”
“My men have—”
“Your men?” Ilana leaned forward on the throne, clutching the edge of Forsvar. “Your men?” She glanced around the room. “He thinks the men are his.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. The men with me are loyal soldiers of His Majesty the King of Salador. I am fond of them and referred to them in a familiar manner.”
“They are loyal to you?”
Nidon saw the trap he had fallen into. “They are loyal to the crown.”
“They follow your commands?”
“They will follow the commands of any lord-general His Majesty appoints over them.”
“And if I speak for the king?”
“Then they will follow the commander you appoint over them.”
Ilana sat back on her throne, glaring at him.
“These men came back with me because they have fulfilled their obligations to the throne, and more,” Nidon said. “They wish to be paid for the service they have rendered and to be dismissed so that they can return to their manors and their families.”
“They should be fighting at the Dragon’s Gate. And they will be paid in due time.”
“There is no more fighting at the Dragon’s Gate,” Nidon said. “We built a wall. The Rigarians threw themselves upon it and perished. Earl Welan holds the gate now.”
Ilana leaned forward again. “The army should not have left the Dragon’s Gate.”
“By law they could have left a long time ago. They have fulfilled their feudal obligations. I humbly ask you to pay them and then release them from service.”
“Nothing about you is humble, Sir Nidon. You love glory and pow
er. You love attention.”
If ever I did, I don’t any more.
Nidon decided to change tactics. “I wish to see the King,” he said, his gaze straying to the bare spot where Boradin’s throne once stood.
Ilana sat upright, as if he had slapped her. Her glance shifted to the gathered nobles. “The king is not well enough to see anyone.”
“It is most important that I see him.”
She turned to the nobles. “You see how Sir Nidon would risk the health of our beloved king for his own selfish purposes?”
“What they should see is how you flout the law and deny the rights of the King’s Champion.”
Ilana’s face flushed. She leaned forward, clutching the rim of Forsvar. “Very well, Sir Nidon. I accept your resignation as commander of the army, and I dismiss you from your service as Champion of Salador.”
A gasp went through the onlookers.
Nidon froze. In just a few words she had done exactly what he had come to do. She had released him from his last obligation. He was free.
But instead of joy he felt only humiliation. This is not how it was meant to be.
“And that is an end to our audience, Sir Nidon.” She paused and smiled. “Enjoy your manor. I wonder if it still has a roof.”
A few of the gathered nobles laughed now, knowing Nidon had been defanged. Most were grim faced, but none raised their voice in Nidon’s support.
She revels in this.
“You cannot dismiss me, your majesty. Another Saladoran law you seem to have forgotten.” The words came out without him even thinking them. He had what he wanted and rushed ahead to throw it away. “I am Champion of Salador and can only be removed at the king’s command or by tournament.”
“My word is the king’s.” Ilana said, dismissing him with a wave.
“You do not get to declare yourself Regent.”
“How dare you speak to your queen that way,” a noble shouted, Nidon could not tell which one. “Traitor,” someone else shouted.
“Hail Nidon! Hail King Boradin!” someone called from the back of the assembly. A scuffle broke out.
“Silence!” Ilana shouted. She stood and slid Forsvar onto her arm. The varcolac Ragos moved protectively in front of her.
“Order! Order!” Sir Fenre shouted. “There will be order!”
The nobles quieted.
“There shall be a tournament,” Ilana declared. “In four days, on the Day of Rest.” She pointed a finger at Nidon. “You will fight Sir Ragos and he will be the next Champion of Salador. The Queen’s Champion.”
Nidon drew himself up. I risk it all for pride.
“I accept,” he said.
Chapter Eight
The last Saladoran had hardly departed Long Meadow when Hadde ran in. The village looked like a hornets’ nest torn asunder by thrown rocks. Everywhere villagers scrambled to their cottages looking to see what damage had been done. And looking for weapons as well.
Enna, Arno, and uncle Segreg ran up to her as she sprinted into the village. “Why did they take them? Where are they going?” Hadde demanded. She grimaced at the pain in her side.
“Salador,” Arno said.
“They are Idorians, though,” Hadde said.
“Mercenaries. Their leader is a Saladoran baron. Grax.”
“You are hurt,” Enna said, concern plain on her face. She lifted Hadde’s tunic to check the bandage and murmured at the blood.
“I’ll be fine,” Hadde said. “I have to keep track of them. Was Enna hurt? What about Maret and Orlos?”
“They are afraid,” Enna said, “but uninjured.”
“Bera and Fend followed them,” Arno said. “I didn’t want the Idorians circling back. That Baron Grax hates you.”
“The one wearing Earl Waltas’s symbol?”
“It’s Waltas’s uncle,” Arno said.
Hadde took a deep breath. Earl Waltas had hated her. He had attempted to rape her. And then he had nearly killed Maret—an act Hadde had killed him for. “It is me Grax wants? Is this for revenge?”
“Maybe in part. Your name was mentioned. But he showed more interest in Orlos. He says Orlos is heir to the South Teren.”
“We have to get them back,” Hadde said, her eyes going to the forest. “Can you send someone for Calen? He’s just down stream of Little Creek. Near Old Gaw’s stone. He has our horses and gear.”
“I’ll go for him. Nothing here for me to do,” Segreg said, glancing at the ruins of the smithy. “I’m glad you’re back, Hadde,” he said as he ran off into the forest.
“We have to stop them in Landomere,” Hadde said. “We can’t let them get into the South Teren.”
“We know, Hadde,” Enna said as she put her hand on Hadde’s arm. “We will stop them. Now come inside. We’ll talk about it while I tend to you.”
“They’ve stolen or destroyed all of our weapons,” Arno said, walking with Hadde and his wife. “And taken our horses. There’s not much we can do for the moment.”
“They can’t have found everything,” Hadde said.
“They found most. And there were some fifty of them,” Arno said. “All wearing mail and armed with their strange bows. Even at our best, Long Meadow couldn’t take on such a force.”
“What are you saying, Father? We should do nothing?” Hadde voice rose with her anger.
“Look, Hadde, I’m as mad as you are. But we have to think.”
“Come inside and lie down,” Enna commanded at the doorway. “And Arno isn’t suggesting that we do nothing.”
“We need to be wise in how we do this,” Arno said. “We can’t rush in. We’ll just get cut down. And Maret and the children….” He trailed off, everyone in the room aware what the silence meant.
Hadde stripped off her tunic and lay down on a sleeping mat her mother unrolled. She clenched her teeth as her mother pulled her bandage away from the wound. “I’ll have to sew this,” Enna said. “Get my kit, Arno.”
“They have us in a hard spot,” Arno said as he went to the cupboard. “I’m not sure how we get Maret and the children out from under them.”
Enna rose awkwardly on her bad leg and fetched her mortar and pestle and herb pouches. “Bring some water and a washcloth as well, Arno.”
Enna returned to Hadde’s side. “Let’s take care of this. Thank you,” she said to Arno as he placed her sewing kit, washcloth, and a bowl of water beside her.
There was a sound of hoof beats and Arno glanced out the door. “Calen is back. I have to speak with him. And someone must run to Fallingbrook and let them know what has happened. They might not even be there. I’ll return soon.” He closed the door behind him as he departed.
“What will we do?” Hadde couldn’t stop the tears that came to her eyes. It had been hard enough holding them back in front of Father.
“They won’t be killed,” Enna said. Hadde held her arm across her face, hiding her pain and tears as her mother cleaned the wound. “If the Saladorans came here to kill, we’d all be dead,” Enna continued. They came to capture Maret and Orlos. And they did it at great risk.” She paused. “Well, maybe they would have killed you.”
“Thanks, Mother.”
“Hold still. I’m going to stitch the wound closed.”
Hadde felt a tug at her side, but not much pain.
“Grax was overjoyed to find out that little Enna was Morin’s daughter,” Enna said. “He said she means nothing to him, but he was lying. He even said that he would trade little Enna for you, but don’t believe it for a second. It’s a ruse.”
“I know,” Hadde said. “No offer made by a relative of Waltas’s, or, Dromost take them, any Saladoran can be trusted.”
“Don’t utter that word.”
“Sorry, Mother.”
“You’ve grown up in a hard world. The Wasting, Kiremi raiders, and the awful things you saw in Salador. We’ve all had terrible losses in our lives. Don’t throw your life away. I don’t want you to die.”
“I don’t want to live w
ithout Enna. I will kill them all if I have to.”
“Of course you would say that.”
“Ow!” Hadde cried out. “Not so rough. And what do you mean by that?”
“All you are thinking of is killing and violence. That is not the Way of the Forest. Maybe there is another way. Maybe you can steal them away.”
Hadde laughed. “Steal two babies from a camp of fifty warriors?”
Enna was quiet for a moment. “You know the king, don’t you? You killed Akinos and ended the Wasting. They made you a noblewoman. Tell him what this Grax has done.”
“Let them go? Are you serious?” Hadde gave a curt laugh. “All in the hope the king will come to my aid? No. Sometimes you have to kill. But what would you know of that? You’ve been saved by those who kill, haven’t you?”
Enna pressed a bandage against the freshly sewn wound. “To be a killer of men is not something to aspire to. It is not something to be proud of. It is something to cry over.”
Hadde sat up, wincing at the pain. “I don’t like it! I don’t want to kill! You are lucky you’ve never had to do it.”
Her mother met her eyes. “I would. I would kill if I had to. But it would be the very last thing I would ever try.”
“Blood’s been shed, Mother. Calen and I killed three of them already. Grax—those Idorians—they won’t give Maret and the children up.”
“Blood brings blood,” Enna said.
***
“Come for me as soon as you can,” Hadde said to her father. She stood by Quickstep, her bedroll at her feet. A gust swept through the village stirring up dust demons. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Her ribs throbbed, but her mother had packed the bandages with a poultice that dulled the pain. Hadde lifted her bedroll and grunted in pain as she threw it over Quickstep’s saddle.
“I know better than to try and stop you,” Arno said.
“Then you know better than mother.”
“I heard the two of you. Well, everyone did.”
Calen rode up and dismounted. “Do you want me to ride for Fallingbrook?” he asked.
