by S E Meliers
‘Ironwood will have the castle stripped swiftly. What would you have us do with the other prisoners? There are many nobles amongst them. Some are begging for clemency.’
‘Bah,’ Cinder snorted with disgust. ‘They tried to kill us and failed, and now ask us not to kill them; what manner of men are these Rhyndelians? I will offer clemency,’ he growled, ‘to those who ask for it. Take their hands and feet, but leave them alive. They have their chance, then, to survive, though I doubt they will make a success of it. Let it not be said that I do not show mercy.’
‘And the rest?’ Granite was amused.
‘As before – children to my Lady; youths and virgins to Shoethal; the women to the men, and the rest to the pikes,’ Cinder shrugged. ‘I have no use for these Lyendarians, cowards and liars that they are. We will stay here tonight, but leave on the morrow, and in our departure, set fire to any structure that will burn. I want Lyendar to be a warning and a lesson to Rhyndel: I will not tolerate deceit.’
‘The women to the men; even the noble born?’ Granite clarified.
‘They are all the same when naked,’ Cinder laughed scornfully. ‘Even the noble born. I care not for Rhyndelian titles. The men have earned their gentile lays – make a spectacle of it, so the men appreciate the noble Rhyndelian whores that I give them.’
‘Very well, my Prince,’ Granite bowed his way out.
Cinder rubbed his forehead. The wine sat ill in his belly and a headache was forming behind his eyes. He thought of Patience with a groan; he would be glad of the comfort of her lush body after this time away, he thought, and all those homely touches which such a woman brought to a man’s life. When he moved on Guarn, he would have her travel to Truen so she would not be so far away from him. She could leave Charm with her sister if she did not wish him to leave Amori, surely that would be acceptable to her, and he would arrange a luxurious carriage if she were concerned about travelling with Joy.
He looked at the map spread out on the table with a sense of pride. Now he had taken Lyendar, he had control of the eastern edge of Rhyndel; a significant achievement and one that would make taking the rest of Rhyndel considerably easier. His name would be legend, and his heirs... He would wed Patience, he decided abruptly. It was the perfect solution. Patience was of a good Rhyndelian bloodline; a child by her would be accepted as ruler by the Rhyndelians, he was sure. There was a Princess, he knew, but she was much too young to be of use to him. No, Patience would make a suitable Queen for him, and she had already proven fertile thrice to Charity, so why not to him? He had a vision of his bloodline spanning generations as rulers of the continent. It was a vision of glory that left him hard.
‘My Prince,’ Granite stepped into the chamber.
‘Yes?’ Cinder frowned at the interruption to his fantasy. ‘What is it?’
‘Two things, my Prince,’ Granite grimaced. ‘Ironwood is here with Honesty, and the Priest Gallant is here with a wanderer.’
Cinder blinked: ‘What is Gallant doing here?’ he asked, baffled.
Granite raised both eyebrows.
‘Very well. Send them in.’
‘All of them?’ Granite enquired. ‘At once?’
‘All of them,’ Cinder confirmed. ‘At once.’
Gallant entered first, bowing at the waist. ‘My Prince,’ he said, and would have said more except that Ironwood pushed in behind him. Honesty, hands bound at his lower back, walked between two armed guards. The Lord was considerably rumpled, with a spray of blood, not his own, across the chest of his tunic, and carried with him the smell of smoke, but held himself with pride and rebellion against his circumstances. The guards forced Honesty to his knees before Cinder, and the Lord glared balefully up through surprisingly long eyelashes.
‘Please, Gallant,’ Cinder held up a hand as the Priest made to speak again. ‘You have travelled a long way. Please, take a seat; pour yourself a drink of wine. I am most interested to hear what brings you here, but I must first have a discussion with the Lord Honesty.’
‘My Prince,’ the Priest was looking most unlike himself with his skin ingrained with dirt, his hair greasy, his clothes stained and ripped at the knees, filthy boots and ragged nails, however he took the seat with his usual condescending attitude, and Cinder supressed a snarl as he turned to Honesty.
‘What do I do with you?’ he demanded of the Lord.
‘Set me free?’ Honesty suggested with a disdainful brow.
Cinder snorted. ‘Unlikely.’
‘One must try one’s luck,’ Honesty shrugged. ‘I do not suppose a quick and painless death would be considered an appropriate response, either.’
‘No,’ Cinder walked around the Lord thoughtfully.
‘An honourable duel?’
Cinder laughed without humour.
‘Well, I am out of ideas,’ Honesty shifted on his knees uncomfortably.
‘I have given it a lot of thought,’ Cinder said, after letting the silence lengthen considerably between them giving the Lord plenty of opportunity for thought himself. ‘Foot roasting as a painful way to die; rats are always available and effective; there are all the various crushing devices for the limbs or head or whole body… Granite suggested the Street Sweeper’s Daughter as his particular favourite,’ he nodded to his guard. ‘And Obsidian was for the trusty old flaying death. I was leaning towards the Pear of Anguish, but this particular torture tool does not seem to be in use in Rhyndel, and we did not think to bring one with us – no, not even a Priest has one stashed away,’ he said this last to Gallant who had opened his mouth as if to talk.
‘I would really prefer a good old hanging,’ Honesty grimaced. ‘Simple and effective and easy to do.’
‘Yes,’ Cinder agreed. ‘But that would not be suitable, I am afraid. You see, by refusing my offer, My Lord, you not only inconvenienced me, you cost your people a peaceful settlement. As a result, your people are dead or enslaved when they could have been profitably about their normal business. Furthermore, your actions have forced me to destroy what would have been a prized holding, and I am quite irate about that alone as I had been planning great things for Lyendar.’
‘You do not need to destroy Lyendar,’ Honesty protested.
‘There are too many holes in the walls to patch up quick enough to mount an effective defence against the force in Guarn,’ Cinder shook his head. ‘It is destroy Lyendar, or let this fortification fall into enemy hands. If you had surrendered… but, what has been done has been done… I want you to appreciate the full folly of your actions, experience the full consequences.’
‘So I am beginning to appreciate,’ Honesty said wryly.
‘You should not be so cocky, sir!’ Cinder snapped. ‘Each man, woman and child that died in Lyendar, every torment suffered and to be suffered by those who will be slaves - is due to your arrogance and deceit. For this,’ he drew a deep breath and visibly calmed his anger. ‘For this, I think it is only fitting that you suffer for a long time.’
Honesty blanched, but did not respond.
Cinder nodded to Granite who stepped out of the room. ‘As a result, Lord Honesty, I say that you shall be sent to Shoethal, to work the mines there as a slave. To prevent any attempt by you to escape, and to inflict upon you a measure of the suffering endured by your people, prior to being sent to Shoethal, you will be branded as a slave, and your fingers de-nailed.’
Honesty opened his mouth, but Cinder forestalled him. ‘You can take this bravely like a Lord,’ Cinder put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and Honesty stiffened. ‘Or you can beg for mercy like a worm. Many of your Lyendarian nobles have begged me for clemency today. If you ask it, I will grant you my form of clemency; but you may be better to accept what I have decreed with grace,’ Cinder’s tone was dark.
Honesty’s eyes were fierce. ‘I am a Lord,’ he spat. ‘I do not beg.’
Cinder nodded.
Granite returned with two soldiers carrying between them a heavy chair with strong arms. This they set behind Honesty’s fe
et. Honesty looked over his shoulder with a grimace. ‘You intend to carry out this punishment now?’ he asked with resignation.
‘Granite is a skilled torturer,’ Cinder replied indifferently. ‘He will ensure the punishment is fully appreciated, but also that you do not incur any infection that might shorten your term, or any permanent injury that would affect your future employment.’ As the Lord was re-tied to the chair with his hands firmly trapped to the wood and Granite took his place, Cinder returned to the table where Gallant sat and poured himself a wine.
‘Where is your - ’ Cinder’s sentence was interrupted by Lord Honesty’s scream. ‘Where is your wanderer?’ Cinder repeated.
‘My wanderer, my Prince?’ Gallant repeated puzzled.
‘Yes, Granite said you had a wanderer with you,’ Cinder sat. Honesty yelled through the second nail. ‘I was intrigued.’
‘Ah,’ Gallant wet his lips. ‘She was on loan, only, and has now gone back to her people.’
‘Ah, well,’ Cinder raised an eyebrow prompting the Priest.
‘Yes,’ Gallant frowned. ‘I bear most important news, my Prince. There is a party of Hallows who have risen against the Monad and are killing Priests in Amori.’
‘Yes,’ Cinder nodded, pleasantly. ‘On my orders.’
‘Your orders, my Prince?’ Gallant was astounded and deflated.
‘Yes, my orders,’ Cinder scowled. ‘I have become aware of too many Priests who abuse their positions and place their own agendas over that of the Monad. Our people are only as strong as the Priests who lead their prayers, and our prayers to the Monad only as worthy as the people who make them. Thus, the ranks of Priests and Hallows have been purged.’
‘Why did you not bring this to my attention, my Prince?’ Gallant demanded. ‘I should have led this purge for you.’
Cinder gave him a long look.
‘Surely you do not accuse me of placing my agenda over that of the Monad? I am loyal, my Prince, loyal to the Monad and loyal to you, above all else, surely I have proven this again and again?’ Gallant exclaimed vehemently.
Honesty moaned.
Gallant’s eye sparked. ‘In the Shadow Vale, did I not walk at your side? At the siege of TocHael? At the battle of Mjdseln? I have been fighting for you, my Prince, since the very beginning, and yet you doubt my agenda?’ Gallant was the epitome of outrage.
‘You are here, and alive,’ Cinder replied steadily, unmoved.
‘Not for lack of trying! They tried to kill me, my Prince.’
Cinder sighed. ‘Did you deserve it, Gallant?’ he asked, seriously. ‘Has your agenda gone beyond the Monad, beyond me? If you are not loyal, then you are a liability.’
‘I am loyal,’ Gallant met his gaze emphatically. ‘I am most loyal, my Prince.’
‘Then,’ Cinder held his gaze. ‘Declare me King.’
‘My Prince,’ Gallant rocked back.
Granite lifted the branding iron from the small brazier fire within the fireplace, checked the end; replaced it in the flames. Honesty moaned, barely conscious.
‘You have the power,’ Cinder continued to hold his gaze, to challenge him. ‘Besides myself, in all of Shoethal, you are the most powerful man, and in this, you have more power then I. Declare me King, Gallant, prove your loyalty to me.’
Obsidian stepped forward to hold Honesty’s lolling head still as Granite lifted the brand.
‘My Prince,’ Gallant stalled. ‘It is not a simple matter- ’
Honesty shrieked as the brand was applied. Granite, a master in the art, applied the brand for just so long, before whisking it away. The Lord vomited, wretchedly, lolling forward on the seat.
‘You were saying?’ Cinder turned his gaze to Gallant.
Gallant smiled thinly. ‘I will make arrangements for your coronation.’
‘Wonderful.’
Cedar
There seemed no corner of Guarn that was not in a frenzy of activity. The snaking line of soldiers marching from Guarn’s gates and the more rambling wagons of supplies and camp followers disappeared into the horizon, like ants evacuating an anthill. The city and the castle had been overcrowded, but with the infantry and archers already making their way East, the supply wagons lumbering in their wake, and the cavalry about to follow, Guarn had achieved a level of spaciousness that bordered on the luxurious. The new emptiness also highlighted the lack of cleanliness left in the departing army’s wake.
Cedar threw his small bundle into Lovel’s wagon and rolled his shoulders uneasily beneath his newly acquired armour, making the leather groan and the chain grind. Lovel tsked as she stowed his bundle away to her satisfaction. ‘Where’s Charity?’ she asked.
Cedar nodded to the castle gates where the nobles were attended by harried looking squires. The nobles postured and posed in their expensive armour, expressions intent as if their discourse decided the fates of all, when most likely their subject for discussion was their own egos.
‘Hmph,’ she wrinkled her nose at the nobles’ posturing. ‘Those lot act as if the war hinges on their swords, yet most will not see blood or battle.’
‘The advantage of being noble,’ Cedar grinned, ‘you obtain the reputation of bravery and prowess through the actions of other men.’
‘Well,’ she fisted her hips and surveyed the courtyard. ‘So many are leaving, I wonder if any will remain to defend Guarn?’
‘The Guarnites are using the war as cover for abandoning Guarn for more appealing abodes,’ he joked.
She grinned, then sobered. ‘The Shoethalians would celebrate their easy win of Guarn,’ she said. ‘So let us hope some Guarnites stay to fight for these walls.’
‘In truth,’ Cedar nodded, ‘the Guarnites are proud of their marshy castle, so, whilst it looks like we’ll leave Guarn unpopulated, there is a sizable militia which will remain. Cinder will have his work cut out for him if he tries to take Guarn.’
‘But you are hoping to distract him by attacking Truen?’ she said, frowning. ‘I do not see how you hope to succeed.’
‘By knavery,’ he winked. ‘You will be surprised at what can be achieved by a dishonest man.’
Cedar had divided his squad of boys into three groups. Two had been sent ahead to infiltrate Amori and Truen, and the third was assigned to run messages between these two groups and Cedar. He had felt strangely paternalistic about their departure, and tried to disabuse himself of the notion. The likelihood was that a large number of the lads would not survive the war - whether through being caught at their tasks, or being caught up in battles or sieges, or just caught up in the hazards of being street brats. If he committed too much of his soul to those small beings, he would suffer too greatly at their losses. It was better to maintain distance.
‘Ha,’ she snorted in response, amused. ‘Here comes his Lordship,’ she nodded.
The boys’ departure did not overly affect his day as new tasks entered to fill what would have been empty hours. Keeping Charity sober was a job for eight men, and one he achieved for only a few hours of each day. The siren call of alcohol weaved its way into the Lord’s brain, despite all efforts of Cedar, so that the moment an opportunity presented itself, the Lord was helpless but to obey. As Charity was Cedar’s entry to all the war meetings, Cedar found himself covering for the drunken Lord with irritating regularity; this included issuing orders to the platoon of soldiers assigned to Charity in the guise of delivering the messages from the Lord.
‘He looks sober,’ she added with approval.
‘Looks, being the key word,’ Cedar mumbled. He had to admit that the lord did look good; his armour gleaming, the bright blue of his surcoat with the red eyed golden griffin flying over his heart, his mail hood folded back so his overlong golden locks were free and his eyes bright. He looked the part of hero, but Cedar wondered if he had the ability to be one.
He grinned as he approached, buoyant on the adrenaline of riding off to war. ‘Cedar, my man, how does it?’ he clasped Cedar’s hand, pulling him into his chest before re
leasing him. ‘Lovel,’ he nodded politely but with more reserve, his indignity over her knocking him unconscious in Ample still remembered.
‘We are good, my Lord, ready to go,’ Cedar confirmed.
‘I see you got the armour I sent you,’ Charity looked him up and down approvingly.
‘Thank you,’ Cedar acknowledged. ‘It is a good fit.’
‘Hmm,’ Charity smiled. ‘You are riding with Lovel?’
‘I will hitch my horses to her wagon, and ride with her, yes,’ Cedar confirmed.
‘You would be better riding with my company,’ Charity suggested.
‘No,’ Cedar shook his head. ‘I will be fine with Lovel. She can drive. I can sit and try to think like Cinder.’
Charity nodded briefly. ‘Yes, that is a good plan. Well, I shall see you on the road.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Cedar watched the Lord stride back to the gates and mount his horse.
‘He is right, you should ride with them,’ Lovel said.
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘I could not abide the egotistical platitudes. I would probably do Cinder’s job for him, and kill the lot of them.’
‘Mmmm,’ she shrugged, and took up the wagon reins. ‘You ready then?’
‘Yes,’ he swung himself up beside her. She clucked at the horses and the wagon lurched forwards. The uneven cobblestones of the courtyard were brutal beneath the wooden wheels of the wagon, and Cedar clenched his teeth to prevent them rattling against each other. He was relieved when they reached the dirt road beyond the castle walls.
‘It is good to be out of that place,’ Lovel said, after the companionable silence had stretched long between them. The wagon travelled far enough back from those of the army that they were not breathing their dust, but not so far that they were alone on the road. ‘Do you ever wonder what man did before inventing roads?’ she asked, smiling.
‘Travelled very slowly?’ he suggested.
She laughed. ‘Or travelled very fast. In the Elven land, Vareia, the Hrryuon live by the horse. Their settlements are few, and sparse, and constructed only of the grasses that grow on their plains. There are so many grasses, some are most beautiful. Hrryuon horses are bigger than the horses you have here, and fleeter of foot. They can run for the longest times. It is truly a sight to see, a Hrryuon hunting party on horseback, flying fleet through the long grasses.’
