The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Bethany watched as the women pursed their lips and fought down a response. Not waiting for a reply, Bethany turned to her nieces and nephews with a smile. They sat in their seats, watching the conflict unfold.

  “Hello. I know we didn’t get to spend much time when you were last here. Do you remember me?”

  “You’re Bethany. The lost princess.”

  Bethany smiled. “Not lost anymore. I’m so glad you’ve all come. After you’ve eaten, we’ll go up and show you your rooms. I’ve made them just for you.”

  The tired, frightened children slowly began to smile.

  “Who do you think that is?” whispered one twin to the other, not realizing their voices carried.

  “Probably her betrothed,” replied the other sister as they stared at Erin.

  Bethany turned to them, giving them a look she had learned from Erin. “This is my bodyguard. He has saved my life many times. You will show him the respect that is his due,” she said, hiding a cringe as she realized her mistake; according to the story they told, Erin had only saved her life once.

  With that, Bethany turned away, looping her arm through Erin’s and allowing him to escort her up to the high table. She glanced at her mother, seeing the confused expression on her face. Had she overheard the interchange between her and the twins?

  Bethany’s eyes ran to Miach, sitting next to Gilead, his eyes trained on Bethany’s hand draping over Erin’s arm. She refused to move her hand now that it was there, though a feeling of regret turned her stomach inside out. She shouldn’t have taken Erin’s arm in the first place, considering Miach’s threat, but she refused to undo it now.

  Erin graciously helped her to her seat with a deep bow before taking his own seat next to her. The scarred knight sat with the royal family so that he might remain beside Bethany at all times. The meal was slow and boring. Bethany couldn’t engage Erin in conversation as she once did, what with Miach sitting on her other side, and her betrothed was more interested in his food than her.

  In general the room was quiet, except for the occasional coughing. Bethany looked down at the children, worried one of them might be sick with whatever had killed their parents, but none of them showed any signs of sickness. She scanned the room, finally finding a servant coughing over her shoulder as she carried a large pitcher of steaming soup.

  Bethany felt another wave of panic. Was the servant sick with the illness or just a simple cold? Maybe it was just a tickle in her throat. Much to her disgust, she would need to talk to the twins and see if she could discern what had killed her sister.

  The princess sighed. This wasn’t her job. In fact, her mother would rather she leave the healing to the healers, despite all the effort she had put into training Bethany.

  Bethany shook her head, trying in vain to content herself with her life.

  Lyolf adjusted his wide leather belt one last time as he stood in the bailey, awaiting the long procession of horses and wagons meandering through the city toward his keep. Any minute now King Wolfric and his entourage would take over his home. His hands moved up the neckline of his tunic and began to fiddle and pull on the tunic strings. The tunic was new, made by Brid in her precious spare moments.

  The thought of her labor of love stilled his fingers. He smoothed the fabric and corrected the mess he had made of the strings.

  Of course, stilling his hands only increased the parade of butterflies assaulting his stomach.

  “Nervous, my lord?” asked Cred, using the title as a subtle joke.

  Lyolf gave his friend and captain of his guards a low growl.

  “I’d suggest you get used to it, sir. Those from Tolad will not be accustomed to your new life. To them you are still a prince of Tolad.”

  “Are you saying I shouldn’t correct them?”

  “I’m saying, considering what they are coming here for, there may be bigger issues to deal with.”

  Lyolf nodded. There was wisdom in Cred’s words, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The next few days were going to be stressful enough without people worrying about titles.

  The ex-prince opened his mouth to respond just as the guard from atop the gatehouse waved down to them. The caravan was in sight. Lyolf waved back and slowly the portcullis rose.

  It wasn’t long before the first horse passed under the gatehouse. Lyolf spotted Wolfric astride his mighty gray warhorse, closely followed by Féderic and Rulfric. From where Lyolf stood, his older brother looked gray compared to the bright red of his tunic.

  Wolfric’s note had made no mention of his brother’s attendance. Though Lyolf was happy to see Féderic, it was a surprise to see him astride a horse so soon after the attack.

  A wave of guilt washed over Lyolf as he remembered the thoughts he had been harboring. A piece of him—whether big or small he could not say—regretted not joining Cal and the princess, even though it had been Cal’s blade that had nearly taken his brother’s life.

  Lyolf took a deep breath, stilling the voices in his head that insisted he had made the wrong choice, and smiled up at his brothers.

  Wolfric dismounted and crossed the short distance to where Lyolf and the others waited.

  “Lyolf,” he said by way of greeting.

  Lyolf bowed to his king, keeping his expression bland. As much as he wanted to run to his brothers and embrace them, he knew how it would be viewed by Wolfric. The time for exuberance was later.

  “My lord,” Lyolf said. “Welcome to Nava.”

  Wolfric’s eyes scanned upwards, observing the on-going repairs being done. The king remained silent as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the entirety of the keep.

  “Improvements?” he asked, nodding to the scaffolding built around the south tower.

  “The tower was crumbling when I arrived.”

  Wolfric frowned before shifting his gaze to the new buildings. “And these?”

  “The herbalist’s hut was leaking. Most of his wares were rotting as a result. And I have had the stable re-roofed. It too was leaking.”

  Wolfric grunted in response. “Where is… oh, what’s-his-name… the steward I had left in charge?”

  “He has been dismissed.”

  The king nodded once before turning to check on his sons. Belatedly, Lyolf realized Wolfric’s probing had been to give Féderic time to dismount. The prince was forced to dismount with the aid of a step stool. Lyolf could only imagine how embarrassed his brother was at having to use a stool. Rulfric provided Fed a steading hand as he climbed off his jittery steed.

  The two princes, followed by the knights of the castle, approached Lyolf with a smile on each of their faces. Lyolf returned their greetings with a firm handshake and a wide grin.

  “It is good to see you, brother,” said Fed.

  Lyolf glimpsed a deepening frown on the king’s face; no doubt the king did not like any reminder that his wife had been unfaithful.

  “And you, my lord,” Lyolf said, keeping it formal as best he could.

  “What is this nonsense?” demanded Fed as Lyolf exchanged a handshake with Rulfric.

  “I am not a prince anymore.”

  “In that case, you have my permission to call me Fed,” said the prince with a wide grin. “And Rulfric, too.”

  Rulfric nodded encouragingly.

  “You are too kind,” replied Lyolf, his own grin growing despite the king’s glower.

  “If you boys are finished?” grumbled Wolfric.

  “Let me show you to your rooms,” Lyolf offered, ushering them up the steps of the keep.

  He took them to the three family rooms of the small keep. Lyolf’s workers were already escorting the men’s slaves up to the rooms and helping them unpack. Wolfric eyed the three rooms before turning to Lyolf.

  “And where will you be sleeping?” demanded the king.

  “Like your knights, I will bunk in the barracks.”

  Wolfric grunted before turning back to his room and shutting the door in their faces. The three brother’s grinned at each other
before moving into Fed’s room by mutual consent. Lyolf noticed Flora, the dark slave known by the whole family as the most trustworthy.

  “You brought a woman?” he asked, nodding at Flora as she worked to unpack Fed’s trunk.

  “Who else would I bring when no one can know about…” The prince trialed off, not finishing his thought.

  Like any good slave, she kept her eyes on her work while they discussed her.

  “What’s the official story?” asked Lyolf.

  “Illness. But I’m recovering.”

  “I’m surprised Wolfric allowed you to come.”

  Fed shrugged. “I’m healed for the most part. Just not as strong as I used to be.”

  “Besides,” offered Rulfric. “When has Father ever allowed us to show a weakness? It would look bad if Fed stayed behind during such an important offensive.”

  “What is fa…the king planning?” asked Lyolf.

  Both princes shrugged.

  “He hasn’t informed us of his exact plan, but I’d guess he intends to push all the way to Dothan. He was pretty mad when Gilead rejected his offer of peace.”

  Lyolf frowned. “Offer of peace?”

  Rulfric nodded. “Yeah, wrote to Gilead and tried to arrange a marriage between him and Mirabelle.”

  Lyolf cringed at the thought. No man in their right mind would marry his little sister.

  “But Gilead refused,” continued Rulfric. “And Mirabelle married some other prick from Dothan.”

  “What?” asked Lyolf with a frown. Clearly there was a piece of the story missing.”

  Fed sighed. “Sir Pelor, the bounty hunter we sent after Cal and… and the princess. He failed. Turns out he used to serve King Middin. He stayed on, feeding us information about Dothan and the Whitecap Mountains. Mirabelle took a shining to him and, much to everyone’s surprise, he married her right before we left.”

  “Of course he did,” said Lyolf as he quickly thought through the man’s options. “As a son-in-law of Wolfric’s he has power and a position. Not that Wolfric wouldn’t do away with him without seriously thinking it through. He bought himself safety.”

  “At that cost of his manhood,” laughed Rulfric.

  Fed and Lyolf joined in.

  Lyolf felt a twinge of doubt. This Pelor may claim to be fighting for their side, but could they trust him? After all, he had failed to capture Bethany and Cal. Then again, Lyolf wasn’t exactly loyal himself, at least not in his mind.

  Not long after their arrival, Lyolf’s visitors moved to the great hall to eat and discuss the plan. Lyolf had already arranged for this eventuality, and had Brid set up a meal for the castle inhabitants in the barracks. Wolfric took the seat at the head of the table, and much to Lyolf’s surprise, motioned for Lyolf to take the seat to his right, while General Drystan took the seat to the left of the king.

  The group had just settled in their seats when a man Lyolf did not recognize entered the great hall. He was dressed in commoner’s clothing, though without knowing why, Lyolf would have bet his last coin that the man was from a wealthy family. He wore weathered trousers of thick leather and a grubby tunic. A pouch was slung over his shoulder with a bedroll strapped to the pack.

  Lyolf rose, ready to confront the intruder, when Wolfric waved him aside.

  “Do you have everything you need?” Wolfric asked the strange man.

  The man nodded.

  “Good. You know what to do.”

  The stranger gave one last nod before turning and leaving.

  Lyolf turned his questioning gaze on the king, but Wolfric refused to meet his eye.

  “Now,” sighed Wolfric. “We must discuss how we plan our attack. How are the conscripts coming?”

  “Well, my lord,” said Drystan. “Our numbers are swelling, though I wish we had more time to train them.”

  Wolfric nodded. “Good. They will have plenty of training while en route.”

  Drystan nodded his old head, his wispy hair waving with the movement. “But how will we get the army across the Whitecaps? We’ve never managed it before.”

  “True,” agreed the king. “Because we’ve always sent the army across as an army.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “We’re going to send them over in small groups. The early groups can settle into Dothan itself.”

  “Settle in?” asked Drystan, his bushy eyebrows coming together in a frown.

  “Yes. We will attack on an agreed-upon date. Those settled within the city will attack from within, while the later groups will attack from outside the castle.”

  “You mean to tell me our enemy will have no idea who to trust or who is attacking them?”

  “Correct.” Wolfric grinned as though he were once again a little boy building a tree fort.

  Lyolf felt his stomach twist in disgust. How could the Dothan’s possibly repel such tactics? They would never expect their enemies to attack from within. It would be chaos as they struggled to determine who their enemy was.

  Drystan worked his lips together, almost as though he was working something mushy through his gums.

  “It is with great regret, my lord, that I must tender my resignation. Effective immediately.”

  Lyolf felt the group of men take a collective gasp. Each one of them had assumed Drystan would die on the battlefield. Considering the old man was still engaging the enemy on a regular basis, it had been a safe assumption. Now, though…

  “What do you mean, resign?” demanded the king as he pushed himself to his feet, effectively knocking over the large wooden chair.

  Drystan remained seated, allowing Wolfric to tower over him. He looked up and spoke, “I will not be joining you on this attack, my lord. I cannot condone these tactics. It is despicable to me to leave the enemy wondering who you are. I have spent my life fighting the Dothans. They are a noble people. I will only fight them in an equally noble fashion.”

  Drystan took a deep breath before continuing his speech. “I cannot stop you from using such depraved tactics, but I do not have to participate.”

  With this final statement, Drystan climbed to his feet and walked out of the great hall. Lyolf cringed inwardly, knowing within a few days they would be hearing of Drystan’s “accidental” death. No doubt, the general expected the same outcome too, and yet he proceeded to do the right thing.

  Lyolf had never much like the general, and yet, as he watched the old man walk to the sound of his own dirge, he could not help but respect him. If only Lyolf could be equally brave.

  Wolfric sat down with a huff, a deep frown creasing his face. The room remained silent as each person processed the magnitude of their loss. General Drystan knew more about warfare than the other men combined. He had been fighting around the Whitecap Mountains for decades.

  “Oh well,” said Wolfric with feigned indifference. “It is of little consequence.”

  Wolfric motioned for Drystan’s next-in-command to take the general’s vacant seat.

  “Now, I want the first two groups ready to leave with the first light. Sir Gregory. Sir Ward. Your groups will be the first to leave. You already know what I want you to do before getting to Dothan.”

  The two knights nodded.

  “You there,” Wolfric said to Drystan’s replacement. “I need you to break up your army into groups. No more that forty men per group.”

  “The whole army?” asked the frightened man.

  “No. We’ll take no more than three hundred over. The rest will be broken up to attack the border cities. Savra has already been burned to the ground. But those left behind will attack Garrul on the same day we attack the city of Dothan. With us at their walls, they won’t be able to send Garrul any reinforcements. By the end of the day, we’ll have Gilead’s two largest cities under our control. From there, it will only be a matter of time.”

  Lyolf nodded along with the other men at the table, though his insides turned and broiled with disgust. Why couldn’t Wolfric be content with what he had? The kingdom w
as already struggling under the weight of its size. Taxes were high, conscripts into the army even higher. Whether Wolfric knew or not, his kingdom was on the verge of revolting. Even in cities such as Tolad, Wolfric’s native subjects were grumbling.

  “Excellent,” stated Wolfric, sounding extremely pleased with himself. “I think we have a plan in place. Now, a little rest before tomorrow’s work.”

  Wolfric rose from his seat, eyeing the women who entered the clear the table of their meager meal. Lyolf thanked the fates Wolfic hadn’t noticed how simple the meal had been. He couldn’t afford to feed the king as he was accustomed to being fed, at least not while paying the king’s taxes.

  The king ignored the others and sauntered out of the great hall, his eyes trailing one of the castle’s few women as she carried an empty platter back to the kitchen.

  Lyolf watched him exit, knowing from his own past what the king was thinking. He would need to watch him, and the women, while the king was a guest in his home. Lyolf cringed as he considered the confrontation coming his way. He would not back down, as he might have done in the past. Lyolf would do whatever was necessary to protect the women living within his castle.

  The others slowly wandered to their own beds. Fed gave his shoulder a squeeze before climbing up the steps to the family level, Rulfric hot on his heels. Lyolf waited for the others to leave the keep before he wandered up the main staircase. As he expected, he heard Wolfric’s deep voice, occasionally intersected with a woman’s voice. Though he couldn’t make out their words, Wolfric’s tone deepened with frustration as the woman’s rose in pitch.

  Lyolf picked up his pace, coming upon the duo standing in the landing. Wolfric was pressing the woman against his own door, one hand groping her generous breast, while the other squeezed her arm. The woman had her face turned away from the king, tears spilling over her eyes. She spotted Lyolf, and to his shock, the look of fear did not leave her face; she thought he would be of no help in her hour of need.

  “My lord,” Lyolf growled. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

  Wolfric turned to glare at him, having not heard his approach. “Get lost, boy.”