by David
Chapter Fourteen
Under a Banner of Truce
The host moved camp to the east bank of Moon River for the night. The Men of Durbansdan and Egolstadt had won the fords, but they still faced the daunting challenge of besieging Stone Keep. Garrett had pursued Turtioc and his rearguard, to avert the necessity of assailing the stronghold, but his hunt yielded no quarry.
Just after Loric settled into his tent for the night, he heard a call from without. “Loric,” said the familiar voice of Lord Aldric, “I would like to have a word with you.”
Loric feared that the time of punishment for wearing his Logantian emblems had come at last. He braced himself for the worst tongue-lashing he had ever received, including the one his mother had given him for climbing the cottage and jumping from the roof at age six, and said,
“Enter, my lord.”
Aldric drew back the canvas flap and ducked inside. He wore a bandage on his head, and he leaned upon a makeshift cane, but he looked more himself now that he was up than when he was down, despite his slow, careful movements. The Lord of Egolstadt grinned at Loric.
“You fought well,” he said approvingly.
“Thank you,” Loric replied easily. “You as well, my lord.”
“It was a difficult day that came perilously close to going amiss,” Aldric commented. “But for you, it very well may have done so.”
“I did my duty,” Loric said with a shrug. “That is what I thought you would have wanted....”
his voice died in his throat as the memory of Aldric’s fall returned to him. He murmured through his mental replay, “Something had to be done....”
“You did something, all right,” Aldric praised him. “You carried the day. I am sure you did not realize what you were doing at the time, but oftentimes the most heroic deeds are done in such fashion.”
Loric relived the whir of battle. To him, the day had been lost when that barbarian warrior had stricken down Aldric and the Host of Egolstadt began fleeing. He had never believed he could rally those frightened men around him. It had been a panner’s hope, a desperate attempt to find gleam of gold in the muck of battle gone awry. Loric felt his source of inspiration shifting about his wrist. He suspected there was more to Avalana’s bracelet than mortal eye could see.
“As you may have heard,” Aldric continued gloomily, “I lost some of my captains today.”
He listed the names, “Hauldren, Nerstlin and Daedrim fell today at the hands of our enemies, much to our grief. They will be forever honored in our hearts.”
Loric nodded, his eyes going misty. “Nerstlin I knew well,” he answered. “I scarcely had the chance to know the others. It is a sad day, lord.” His father Palen-- Sir Palendar--had said something similar concerning warfare, but only now did he fully understand his Da’s warning.
“I know this may seem an inappropriate time,” Aldric began, “but war goes on, leaving the fallen behind it. We must do the same.”
Aldric searched Loric’s eyes. Loric never faltered as he returned the man’s stare. Aldric released his gaze with a nod, apparently satisfied by what he saw there. “You are a born leader, Loric, and I am in need of captains. I want you to serve me in this role.”
Captain! Loric thought excitedly. Then he wondered aloud, “Do I know enough for such an important role?”
“Beyond all doubt, you are ready for this,” Aldric said confidently. “I will teach you all that you needs know of tactics and strategy,” the Lord of Egolstadt assured him, “but you already have most of what you need.” He tapped Loric’s heart with two strong fingers, saying, “Trust this.” He sat beside his loyal squire and said, “You have a special destiny--one that no man can foresee, and neither can any man dispute it.” Aldric paused thoughtfully, before he placed his hand on Loric’s shoulder and continued, “When my surviving captains spoke of your deeds today, they could not find adequate words to describe them. Many of those men were already running for their lives when they heard your voice ring out over the din and clangor of battle.
They responded to your call when they no longer heard mine, when all possible hope was beyond their grasps. I must tell you, Loric of Taeglin: you were born for this.”
Loric proposed his remaining doubt, questioning, “You are sure your other lieutenants will not take it hard that I was promoted above them, lord?”
Aldric chuckled. “Far from it, Loric. They respect you as a leader of men. My other officers have come to me as individuals and in groups to endorse you,” he explained. “Furthermore, you are to be knighted, Sir Loric of Shimmermir.”
Knighted! Loric thought excitedly. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Do not thank me yet,” Aldric told him. “I do not have the authority to restore you to your right title and lands at this time, but I do hold sway over Shimmermir. As a knight, no man besides me can question you as captain.”
Loric chuckled. He stifled under the judgment of Aldric’s frown. Then he explained, “I thought you were come concerning my wearing Logantian colors, lord.”
“That matter needs attention as well,” Aldric replied firmly.
Loric shifted uncomfortably.
Aldric began in a deliberate manner, saying, “I was angry with you when I first saw that you had taken those items from my tent unbidden-”
“My lord-” Loric attempted to counter the charge.
“Hear me out!” Aldric snapped.
Loric swallowed his protest and sucked the pride from between his teeth in sullen silence.
“It was foolish, what you did,” Aldric admonished him. “It was a tremendous risk, which I had hoped to prevent you taking--wearing the Guardian Knight with Lord Garrick close enough to recognize it.... that was utter senselessness, through and through!” Aldric composed himself by way of steadying breaths, before he went on to add, “However, some good has come from your actions. It was unforeseen, but it is welcome, nevertheless.”
“Good, my lord?” Loric ventured meekly.
“Yes,” Aldric said, with his smile broadening across his face and his eyes flickering in giddy glee. “A rumor grows amongst the common men.” He stepped toward Loric with a hand cupped to his mouth as he shared, “They whisper it one to another, saying things like, Aldric communes with the Ghost of Palendar! ”
“Ghost of Palendar?” Loric questioned. “But my father.... he is not dead. Why would the men say these things?”
Aldric went on above Loric’s queries, hissing, “They whisper, The spirit of Sir Palendar rides with the Lord of Egolstadt, or, Sir Palendar is back from the grave to finish his work, and set this kingdom to rights! ”
“I do not understand,” Loric said, trying to shake his confusion from his mind. “How is this good--any of this?”
Aldric seemed not to notice Loric as he clapped his hands and briskly rubbed them together, saying, “Imagine it, Loric. The men think you are your father, come to unite Beledon for good and all.”
Loric tried to imagine it, as his liege told him to do, but he kept stumbling over moral issues.
Foremost among them was the fact that his sire was very much alive. Close behind that came the sense of the lie that came with posing as his father, whom he was not. “Why is it good for the men to think the ghost of my father has returned, and that he has come to unite Beledon?”
“Well, Loric,” Aldric breathed excitedly, “it is a tremendous boost to their morale. Your father was something of a legend in his time, and.... Well.... since his unexpected departure, his legend has only grown. For him to return and aid us in our fight against our enemies.... let us just say, the men hope for a better future than what they presently see before them.” Aldric winked.
The wink had so many possible meanings in the context that Loric’s attempt to interpret it nearly overwhelmed him. “They think my father is a ghost!” he growled impatiently. “Why?” he demanded.
Aldric waved Loric down with a finger pressed to his lips for quiet. “I-I do not quite know how to say this, Loric,
but your father was reported slain to Lord Falric.” He hastened on to say,
“Evidence was presented--a campfire that had burned itself out, a badly clawed cloak and the blood to show that he had fallen victim to a great brown bear. It was believed to be true, too, until the name Palen reached my scout’s ears.”
“Warnyck! Or Nyck the Storyteller,” Loric guessed.
Aldric nodded. “Yes. Warnyck gathers information for me. I daresay none has been more valuable to me than his tale of a farmer named Palen, who had a son of the right age and a horse bred to bear knights into battle.” The Lord of Egolstadt smiled. “I could not believe my good fortune to learn this news. However, I was also troubled to hear that he had never told you who he was. That meant his interest in affairs of Beledon had waned to such an extent that I could likely never prevail upon him to return to his High Seat of Belgandost and pursue the glories he once prized so highly.” Aldric sighed. “Beledon weeps for the loss of Sir Palendar,” he said sadly. A smile formed on his lips as he said, “But joy swells with the return of the lamented knight--or, in this instance, his son.”
“I will not pose as the ghost of my sire,” Loric assured his liege.
“That is good,” Aldric said calmly. “I only ask that you wear his Logantian items in combat.
Feel free to be yourself, only, wear the surcoat, bear the shield, wield the sword.”
Loric felt fire in his skin. He disliked the games Aldric played at. “What happens if I refuse to do these things for you?” he questioned.
Aldric chuckled. “You will do these things for yourself, Loric. I am here to help you-”
“And to help yourself,” Loric reasoned aloud.
“Of course,” Aldric agreed heartily. “Why wouldn’t I help myself? Who else would help me?” When those sober truths quieted Loric, the lord went on to say, “Part of the help I offer you is sound advice. Wear the items of your forebears. What difference does it make whether the Men of Beledon fall in love with you or your father’s ghost? You are the same.”
“It is dishonest!” Loric challenged vehemently. “It is against good principles to deceive people in this way.”
Aldric stabbed at Loric’s chest with a firm index finger and curtly informed him, “Good principles lead great men to foolish ends.” The Lord of Egolstadt opened his mouth, looking as though he wished to say more, but he snapped shut his mouth with a twitch of his head.
“What is it, lord?” Loric asked.
“I want to help you, Loric,” Aldric confided in a low tone, “but you must help yourself.”
Without allowing Loric a chance to respond, he added, “I will be meeting with my captains at the bottom of the hour. Come to my tent at that time. My head pains me. I must rest. Farewell.”
“I will be there, lord.”
“I am pleased to have you in my service, Loric,” Aldric told him, as he exited the tent. “If you would but heed my instructions, perhaps it will be different someday....”
What will be different someday? Loric held onto his question. He could not account for what Aldric may have meant, for what his liege had left unsaid. Loric recalled Aldric’s head injury, and determined that his lord was not himself. He decided to watch him closely in days ahead, with intent to measure every command to issue from his mouth before flying to action. That would be difficult for Loric, who trusted the Lord of Egolstadt more than he thought he should.
In closed discussions, they often disagreed with one another, but at the height of action, those two men thought as one and moved accordingly.
Loric spent his time in-between Aldric’s visit and the meeting of captains weighing the discussion in which he had just participated. He chose to accept his promotion and his knighthood, and to fight as only he could fight to repay Aldric for his kindness. Nevertheless, he arrived at Aldric’s tent fully bedecked in his Logantian trappings.
Loric felt somewhat out of place amongst army leaders of Egolstadt, for he was a young man surrounded by stern, chiseled faces on every side. Not a man in the lot was within five years of his age. Warm smiles and congratulatory pats on the back helped the hero of Darbin’s Field feel akin in spirit with those other captains, until he noticed the way they eyed him with a twinkle that fell just short of reverence. Loric disliked the pedestal upon which his fellow officers had set him. It was narrow and fragile, like his training and experience. He wobbled atop it, uncertain how to stabilize his footing.
Loric did not feel at ease until Captain Cratalic, a man newly raised from lieutenant, put the Guardian Knight on display with a fluid gesture and remarked, “Alas, merely a man, not a ghost.”
The other captains laughed.
Cratalic went on to say, “Mimicking the Logantian Order was a clever play, although I must say, it was only successful due your swift, bold action. Else, who would believe the Lord of Belgandost had returned to aid us?”
Loric was uneasy once more. He opened his mouth to disagree with the errant parts of what Cratalic had said, but Aldric snapped, “Let us get down to knighting our hero and planning a siege, shall we?”
Once captains gathered about Aldric and grew quiet, he asked Loric to disrobe to his waist, kneel and hand over his sword. “Bartrinic,” he addressed his new senior captain. Handing the Sword of Logant to the lanky graybeard, he said, “You know what to do with this.”
“Yes, my lord,” Bartrinic replied with a tight-lipped smile that pushed his left eye into a squint. He stepped outside with the beautiful blade. When he returned, its tip was glowing red.
Aldric lifted the sword and said, “We are assembled here to knight our brother for his bravery and his blood. We purify him by fire,” he went on, lowering the blade toward Loric’s right shoulder. “As kin to Sir Bornan....” Aldric said with a touch. “As a protector of the people....” he continued, searing Loric’s left shoulder. “As a Knight of Egolstadt....” The stink of burning hair distracted Loric from pain, as Aldric finished, “I, Lord Aldric of Egolstadt, do name thee, Sir Loric, Knight of Shimmermir!”
That proclamation was the hardest burn to bear, as fire purified Loric. He was more firmly attached to Aldric and Egolstadt than he was to the king and Beledon. Nevertheless, he was a knight. Even as Loric considered those differences of rank, Aldric commanded him, “Rise and defend the Spires!”
“Defend the Spires!” his captains roared. Then there were laughs and handshakes all around.
Aldric officially promoted Loric to the rank of captain, whereupon he granted him a new lance with green tassels and tied an emerald-colored band about his arm. Afterward, the Lord of Egolstadt discussed the role each of his subordinates was to play in the coming siege of Stone Keep. He made sure everyone understood his plans, and then he dismissed them.
Aldric caught Loric by his arm as he made to leave. “What is to be your primary task in the siege to come?” he quizzed him.
Aldric caught Loric off his guard, but he recovered quickly to say, “I am to harry the enemy wall archers and oversee the felling of a great tree to be shaped into a ram.” Aldric’s intent study demanded more, so he drew upon the overall strategy to tell him, “I am to rely on adjacent companies to build catapults and towers. When all is ready, I am to implement the ram in conjunction with my neighbors moving their towers forward. All of this, of course, will follow a steady barrage of hurled stone.”
“Excellent!” Aldric exclaimed. “You know your part well.”
“Thank you, lord,” Loric replied with a bow.
Aldric nodded and wished him good night.
Loric returned to his tent, where he lay restless in his bedroll. His ties to Egolstadt were growing stronger with each promotion he accepted and he was not sure that was for the best. He questioned Aldric’s motives and methods alike. He stared helplessly at his new badge of rank, wondering at what cost he had gained his new honors, before weariness overtook him and he drifted off through darkness and fog....
****
Loric emerged from mist in the re
alm of dreams, where he thundered across Darbin’s Field once more. He whirled amidst his foes afoot. Suddenly, he was in his saddle, urging Sunset into the fray. He heard the plod and pound of horses rumbling across the plain....
****
Loric awoke, still hearing sounds of hooves echoing in his head. Those turf battering sounds continued. Riders were approaching at a gallop. Loric sprang to his feet and raced from his tent to see three men on horseback race up to Aldric’s headquarters and dismount. Loric heaved a sigh. They were Men of Egolstadt. Their leader was Warnyck, who was out of breath as usual.
Aldric stepped out to greet his scouts and exchange salutes with them.
“Lord,” Warnyck panted, “a score of Turtioc’s rabble hastens this way. They come under a banner of truce.” He spat in show of his distrust.
“Warnyck, ride out to the skirmish line,” Aldric commanded him. “Tell our archers to halt those uncivilized illiterates, but to hold fire. Hear their message and report to me what they have to say.”
Warnyck answered, “Yes, milord. It shall be done as you say.” He made off eastward amidst tickety-clops of haste from his mare.
Aldric ordered another man to carry tidings to Lord Garrick, mounted Snowstorm and
followed the path Warnyck had taken upon departing. A short glass of long sands passed before the lord and his scout returned. Their beaming faces lit the night, as they walked their horses through camp.
What is the source of their joy? Loric wondered.
Aldric shared, “It seems that our friend, King Turtioc of Nindronburg, wishes to meet with Lord Garrick.” Aldric paused to allow suspense to build in faces of his listeners, before he delivered, “The barbarian king wishes to discuss terms of surrender!”
A chorus of triumphant shouts filled the air. Only the meanest sorts decried the news, which meant there would be no need for a siege, thereby depriving them of their chances to do mischief within an enemy castle. As a collective, men were jubilant. Aldric embraced Loric and his other captains in turns, while lyre, whistle and tambourines sprang to life with merry tunes all around them. To the strains of Donigan’s Reign, there were hugs, handshakes and congratulations for all. Men began dancing about, arm-in-arm, while the first tune elapsed into Mistress Fair and The Jester’s Hat, and from those songs to Holiday Ale and Victory Feast. It was the most festive the camp had been since the moment Turtioc had quit the field.
