Burden of Stones

by James Dale

  “I have been ready to ride since the day you returned with Bright Flame,” the stallion replied, pawing the ground impatiently, “Will we now go and make war on Red Slayer, Horse-brother? To make him pay for Gilasha?”

  “We will,” Jack replied, grimly. “Ride with me my queen?” he asked, turning to Anna. “I hear Morgan has something to show us.”

  “I think you will be most pleased, my husband,” Anna replied.

  The ride through Dorshev drew as large a crowd as had come to witness the return of the High King a week ago. Though they were much more subdued this morning. Today he was taking their queen and riding off to war. Waving citizens of the capital of Doridan lined the streets. Many threw flowers on to the cobblestone streets as they passed. Eaudreuil, his head held high, pranced like a show horse all the way through the city. Jack was so consumed with the enormity of the moment he didn’t even think to tease the Val’anna for being so vainglorious.

  Duke Morgan and Dorad met them just as they rode through the great gates. Morgan was riding on his own Val’anna, Praeish. In old Doridanian, spoken only now by scholars of ancient history, the name meant Guardian. Dorad’s mount was newly bought by his uncle, a gift for the returned prince. It was gray stallion with a dark mane and had one eye that was a piercing blue. He had named the stallion Haul’a. It meant storm in high Ailfara. Jack could sense a temperament in the heart of the animal almost equal to Eaudreuil’s. Dorad had named his Val’anna well. Stretched out behind them in neat, ordered rows of platoons, companies and battalions, were the gathered forces of Doridan, Caladin and Amorhad. Almost thirty-five thousand men stood at attention or sat astride their war horses in rank upon rank. It was an impressive, humbling sight.

  “My queen,” Morgan bowed. “High King. The army is assembled and ready for review.”

  “Before we begin your grace,” Jack replied. “Do you not have something for the queen?”

  “I suppose now is as good a time as any,” Morgan grinned.

  “My surprise?” Anna asked. Though her husband had said nothing about what had hastened him from their bed days ago, she had not forgotten.

  “I hope you like it,” Jack smiled. “It’s a bit old. I’m not quite sure if it still works, but we’ll see.”

  Morgan motioned to Master Smith Jaerom who had been standing to the side, unnoticed. The smith stepped forward and handed the Duke of Dorshev a long, slender bundled wrapped in white silk. Morgan rode forward and passed the bundle to Jack, who nodded his thanks and began to unwrap the silk bindings. When the hilt of Siegebreaker was revealed, Anna looked at him curiously.

  “Jack, I’ll need more than a broken sword if I am to…” she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening in shock. The ancient sword of her house, broken in battle before the walls of Dorshev eight hundred years ago, was broken no more. In his hands, resting safely on its bed of white silk was the restored Highsword Siegebreaker.

  “You are Annawyn, Queen of Doridan, daughter of Ellgenn, descended in a line unbroken from King Elldoride Ellgereth,” Jack said, presenting her the blade. “By blood and by right, the sword is yours.”

  “Jack?” she whispered. “I…”

  “It will know you, my love,” he promised. Though it was the same blade wielded by Elldoride during the siege of Dorshev all those years ago, it was more slender now and lighter in weight. Yhswyndyr had…changed it during its reforging, transforming the Highsword from the great broadsword it had been in the hands of her larger, hardier ancestor into a more suitable weapon for the young queen. Though smaller in size now, Sunheart had assured him during its remaking it would retain the same power it had been endowed with when Yh’Adan had spoken it into existence.

  “Take it, my queen,” Morgan nodded. “Show your people they do not only ride behind a restored High King, but behind the restored glory of Doridan as well.”

  The young queen removed her riding gloves and reached forward hesitantly.

  “You will want to try and master it, Anna,” Jack cautioned her. “Don’t. Just relax and let its power flow into you.”

  Summoning her resolve, she grasped the sword hilt and to Jack, filled with the power of Sunheart…just in case something went wrong, the sword seemed to flash briefly, as if surprised from being awakened from its centuries long slumber. Anna’s bright green eyes widened in shock, then she smiled with growing wonder.

  “I feel…I feel as if I could split boulders,” she whispered. “As if could bring down mountains with a single stroke. Is that how you feel when you draw Yhswyndyr?”

  “More or less,” Jack smiled in reply. “Lift it high, my love. Show everyone who they follow today. Iraesh,” he instructed her Val’anna, “present your queen to her people.”

  The Val’anna, shook her mane and began to canter forward. The cheers started with the fierce men of Amorhad, who began to beat their ax blades against their shields, with shouts of “Ah, ooo! Ah, ooo!” every time steel struck wood. It was soon picked up by the Caladani and joined in by the Doridanians as she rode by. The resounding shouts echoed off the white walls of Dorshev, until they became almost deafening. Jack drew Yhswyndyr and rode to the center of the assembled troops. When Anna had ridden to the very end of the formation, she drew back on Iraesh reigns and the Val’anna reared, then galloped back to slide to a stop beside Jack and Eaudreuil.

  Jack allowed the cheers to continue for a moment, then stood in his stirrups and lifted Yhswyndyr high. “Soldiers of Doridan!” He shouted. Filled with the power of Sunheart, the force of his voice silenced the cheers and carried easily to the farthest lancer private, though he stood almost a mile away. “Of Amorad and Caladin! Queen Annawyn rides to war against the Bloodstone! King Rhor’dal and King Haerold ride with her! I ride beside them! Who among you will join us?”

  Thirty-five thousand troops roared in reply. Jack imagined in his heart their cry carried all the way to the Margalags, and prayed it could be heard even in the depths of Agash Thugar. He summoned Sunheart and shot a bolt of white fire hurtling towards the heavens. A bit showy perhaps, but they deserved some display of power to steel their nerves and strengthen their will. They had a long journey ahead of them and at the end of it waited fire and blood. It strengthened his will as well. He knew many of these cheering warriors would not live beyond journey’s end to see their homes again.

  “Yhaires Sinalda! Enne’Eyloyas! Daeon Cythora!” Jack shouted, sending another bolt of flame skyward. “I am coming for you Graith,” he said, pushing his thoughts east.

  Faintly, on the edge of his mind, the thought he heard a reply.

  “Come then Son of Bra’ Adan.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The High Kings Stew

  When the order was given to halt the column and set up camp by day’s end, the leading ranks of the Doridanian army had barely traveled five leagues. Standing in his stirrups and looking west behind the line of troops stretching into the distance, Jack could still faintly make out the gleaming white walls of Dorshev.

  “The column will travel faster once it begins to establish a rhythm, my Lord,” Captain d’Kenna assured him, seeing the troubled look on his face. “It is a large army. It will time to get it moving.”

  “If you say,” Jack replied doubtfully. It was his first experience moving with such a force, certainly on foot and a horse. In Delta he had to learn more than just weapons and how to be an efficient killer, he had to learn the limits of human endurance and will. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia and Grant’s Army of the Potomac could march eighteen or twenty miles a day for no more than a week. More than that and they began to break down, physically and mentally. He needed his army to travel almost five hundred miles in three weeks. Nearly twenty-five miles a day! That pace would kill half the infantry before they reached Tanaevar, and the rest before they made it to Agash Thugar. Why had Theros or Cilidon, or High Lord Perigaen never argued what he wanted the Whesguard to do was impossible? Was their faith in him as the Heir of Ljmarn so complete they believed he
could do almost anything? If he only had twenty thousand more Val’anna for them to ride...or a hundred Spellweavers of Ara’fael’s strength, they could be there in a week. He might as well have wished he had a fleet of C-17 transports to drop them on Graith’s door-step.

  Judas Bloody Hell.

  “I could run to the Deadplace in seven settings of the sun,” Eaudrueil snorted, sharing his frustration. “You promised we could ride together. You may as well walk beside me if we mean to travel this slowly, Horse-brother.”

  “You will get your chance to run soon enough,” Jack promised. “I hope.”

  “A bit of supper will brighten your mood, my Lord,” Dornal added brightly. The young man had ridden the entire day with a look of wonder on his face. It was still just the beginning of a grand adventure to him. Riding beside a High King, surrounded by an army marching off to war was something out of a bard’s tale. He was still foolishly naïve of the madness that awaited them at the end of their journey. Or even what he would ask this army to do just to get to the battle. “Let me get you out of your armor and you can rest while I make you a nice stew. It will put an end to a long day and give you strength for tomorrow.”

  A thought suddenly blossomed in his mind. Could it be so simple? “It is not simple, but it can be done,” a small, still voice informed him. Yhswyndyr, or his own idea Jack couldn’t say. It was becoming difficult to tell where his thoughts ended and the influence of the Highsword began.

  “Find Duke Morgan,” Jack instructed Captain d’Kenna, swinging from the saddle without waiting for his squire’s help. “Help me with my armor Dornal,” he said, lifting his arms. “I have work to do.”

  “It’s not work you need my Lord, but rest,” Dornal argued. A raised eyebrow was all it took to get him moving. “As you wish.” His squire nodded.

  “What work, Jack?” Anna asked him, sliding from her saddle. She had spent the entire day riding at his side. She’d heard what he said to d’Kenna and Dornal.

  “We’re going to have a bit of supper with the troops, my love,” he smiled, as Dornal began to remove his armor.

  He was down to his mail when Morgan arrived, and anxious to get on with his task while he still believed it would…could possibly work. “You sent for me, King Jack?” the Duke of Dorshev asked as he rode up and dismounted.

  “What is the army having for supper, Morgan?” Jack inquired.

  “Whatever their company cooks have planned I suppose. Why?” he asked curiously.

  “I think a nice stew is in order,” Jack replied. “How long to get the supply trains up and get things ready? Just for the infantry.” The White Horse knights and the cavalry were riding Val’anna. They wouldn’t need the added sustenance he was planning. Eaudreuil and all his kind had endurance flowing through their veins like blood.

  “An hour, maybe?” Morgan replied, wondering at the question.

  “Their biggest cook pots…how many men will they feed?” asked Jack.

  “I imagine a platoon or more,” Morgan informed him. “Thirty or forty men at least. Why?”

  “Why, Jack?” Anna asked, now as curious as her uncle. “What are you up to?”

  “All I need to do is kindle a few fires and add a little…something, to the cook pots.” Jack smiled reassuringly, kissing her cheek. Thirty or forty men in a platoon. Almost thirty thousand infantrymen. God! That was almost a thousand camp fires! “Dornal, just some bread and cheese for now, maybe a mug of wine. I’ll eat after everyone else.” A thousand cook fires? What was he thinking? If he only spent a single minute at each that would take him all night! It was going to be some time before he had his own stew. “Cassy!”

  “I’m right here, my Lord,” Borg replied. “You don’t have to shout.”

  “Take the Lions and ride up and down the column. Tell the cooks to get their biggest pots ready to prepare a stew.”

  “Lions! To me!” Cassy ordered. He didn’t even bother to ask why. Another man with unwavering faith in him.

  “An hour you said?” asked Jack, turning to Morgan.

  “Sooner for the companies closest to the trains of course,” the duke replied.

  “Then I’ll start nearest the trains,” Jack nodded.

  “Start what?” Morgan asked, exasperated.

  “Come along and you’ll see,” Jack promised. “My love, care to ride with me and visit the troops?”

  “All of them?” Anna asked. “That’s…”

  “A lot,” Jack nodded. “So we better get a move on.”

  “Help me with my armor, then,” she sighed.

  “Captain d’Kenna,” he said, unbuckling the first strap of her plate.

  “I’ll have a squad ready to escort you before you finish with the queen’s plate,” d’Kenna replied.

  “What to go for a ride, Eaudreuil?”

  “Finally,” the stallion beamed.

  When he, Anna, Morgan and their Hammer escort arrived at the trail infantry company almost thirty minutes later, the men of 1st Platoon, 3rd Company, 8th Highland Infantry Regiment were lined up for their evening meal, although no fire had been kindled and the ingredients for the stew lay cold in the pot. They all bowed hastily when the saw their queen and the High King ride to a stop and dismount.

  “Who’s the cook?” asked Jack with a smile, addressing the nearest man. He could not have been older than twenty, and was only a private judging by the lack of any rank on his collar.

  “That…that would be Sergeant Taelor,” the young man stammered with a hasty bow. “My Lord.”

  “Sergeant Taelor!” Jack called.

  “Here my King,” answered a grizzled veteran. Sergeant Taelor was close to fifty if he was a day, but the infantry was all he’d ever known. Several years past, he’d traded in his sword for a ladle just to stay in the company he loved. “What can I do for you, my Lord?”

  “What’s in the pot Sar’ent?” Braedan asked, lay a comradely arm across his shoulder.

  “Beef, carrots and taters, my Lord,” the cook replied. “With me own special blend of spices. Beef is dried of course, but it cooks up right tender in a couple of hours with lots of water and attention.”

  “It won’t take quite so long,” Jack assured him, drawing Yhswyndyr. “Or much attention.” He summoned Sunheart, just enough power for flames to lick along the blade. Sergeant Taelor took an involuntary step back in fear as Braedan touched it to the wood prepared for the fire. It was kept dry for the cook fires and ignited with a “whoosh” of white and blue flames. The contents of the pot began to bubble instantly and an aromatic smell filled the air. He touched the tip of the blade to the stew and for the space of a heartbeat, a blue sheen covered the bubbling broth. Releasing Sunheart, Jack sheathed the Highsword and took the ladle from the startled cook.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” he asked the young private at the front of the line, scooping out a generous portion of the stew.

  “Gaeran,” the young man whispered, holding out his bowl to be served supper by the High King of Aralon.

  “Let it cool first, Gaeran,” Jack smiled. “You don’t want to burn your tongue. Who’s next?”

  “If you mean to do this, Jack, you can’t stop and make small talk with every soldier in the army,” Anna said, taking the ladle from him and handing it back to the astonished cook. “It will take a week for you to serve them all. Enjoy your meal, gentleman,” she said, turning to smile at the soldiers of 1st Platoon, 3rd Company.

  He was at the fifth cook fire when Lady Ara’fael rode up with Malik Gamrin at her side.

  “And just what are you doing, Jack Braedan?” she asked, dismounting with her usual surliness. “I thought you promised me you were only going to use that to slice bread until I got you to Agash Thugar?”

  “Slicing bread, stirring a pot of stew, same thing.” Jack shrugged, sheathing Yhswyndyr.

  “He means to do this to every cook pot, Lady,” Anna said, the worry in her voice plane to hear.

  “Every pot…” the Spellweaver
started, then sighed with resignation. ”I suppose I should help then, if he’s set on this,” A mist began to form around them even before he’d remounted Eaudrueil.

  Jack soon lost count of the cook fires he kindled and the extra…something he added to each pot with Yhswyndyr. Traveling in the Stream of Time, Braedan and his party were invisible to the soldiers of Doridan. One moment thousands of weary men were gathered for dinner after the day’s march, grumbling because their company cook simply stood before the kettle, their meal prepared but laying cold inside, then it appeared as if the cook fires sprang into life as if by magik.

  Jack only summoned a small amount of power from Sunheart, but those small amounts quickly began to multiply with each use. By the time he reached the last cook fire, he was trembling with exhaustion. Anna held him by his free arm, trying to will strength into him as he struggled to light the last fire. When the task was finished, they lifted him onto Eaudreuil and Lady Ara’fael brought them back to their own camp and released the Steam of Time. Jack fell from his saddle, collapsing into his wife’s arms. Anna wept as she lowered him to the ground with Captain d’Kenna’s help.

  “Oh, Jack,” she sighed, tenderly brushing aside gray hair as she cradled his head in her lap. Anna had heard only whispered rumors of the stressful effects using Yhswyndyr caused him. Though she had no reason to doubt the stories, this was the first time she’d witnessed the toll it took on her husband. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “It’s okay,” he replied softly, reaching up to touch her cheek with a shaking, age spotted hand. He regretted her seeing him this way, weak and feeble. If his hand looked like that he could only imagine the horror his face must be. He tried to summon the power to heal himself, but he was spent. If he did not learn how to command Sunheart without draining his own strength, and quickly, he knew the amount the power he would need to draw from the stone to kill Graith would also be the end of him as well. “Farra,” he said weakly.