17878265 (33 page)
Authors: David
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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.
Another messenger carried word to the Lord of Durbansdan, who sent a courier back to
Aldric, reporting that he would indeed meet with Turtioc at sunrise the next day. There would be peace after one hard-fought battle.
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Every soldier arose with the sun the following morn. It was a bright and glorious day that saw two armies meet again; only their goal was not to slay one another, but to forge peace.
Garrick and Turtioc discussed resolution of their differences and arranged harmony between their peoples, thereby ending their dispute for all time.
Turtioc disavowed his claim to the Throne of Beledon, gave up his title of kingship and promised to end all ritual human sacrifice in Nindronburg. In exchange, Lord Garrick granted Turtioc a title of lordship and left him to govern Nindronburg and its folk. The barbarian leader agreed to pay an annual tithe to Durbansdan. Then Lord Turtioc gave his oath of fealty before the entire assembly, under a banner of truce.
There was merrymaking in camp that afternoon. Lord Garrick ordered a hunt, which was to precede a feast that evening. Lord Garrick sat at the head of the table as they dined under torches, moon and stars. Garrett sat to his right and Avalar to his left. Aldric was to Garrett’s right, and Turtioc sat opposite the Lord of Egolstadt. Loric sat beside Aldric, uncomfortably close to the boisterous savage who ruled Nindronburg.
Loric could not help but stare at the man, whose every feature defied civilized culture. His brown eyes were wild and fierce, like his long, dark hair. Golden rings hung from his ears and his nipples. The leading set in his ears was one of many, but the pair on his chest completed the face of the dragon tattooed across his muscular pectorals, giving the beast’s eyes a lively shimmer that made Loric shudder. Turtioc was tall, thick and chiseled, as from oak, although his unkempt appearance made him look as rough as shrubs on a mountainside. The man spoke a different language, as if he was no part of Beledon.
Turtioc had a woman translator with him, who was clad in only a thong and her brown hair.
Ne’te, he called her, but the meaning of her name was lost on the men assembled around the table. She was pretty, but harshly abused, with a crooked nose, a chipped tooth and purple bruises around her hollow, sunken eyes. Ne’te trembled when Turtioc spoke or moved.
Loric also shook, but he shook with rage at the injustice of this treaty. Turtioc deserved to be lord of a shallow grave, not a territory of Beledon. Even Lord Turtioc’s broad smile and rich laugh were useless in diffusing Loric’s anger. He took his meal in sullen silence, brooding over the sad state of the kingdom and pondering why it had fallen so hard and so fast after Great Donigan united it. Through it all, Loric watched Lord Garrick and his beastly vassal drink dozens of toasts together.
King Avalar made to air his voice. Loric waited for the monarch to bring him good cheer, or at least an anecdote from his home country of Regalsturn, but the new knight was mistaken. The King of Regalsturn started by congratulating Lord Garrick on a great victory and a happy treaty, but that was only the preamble to a matter much nearer his heart.
“Garrick,” said the King of Regalsturn, “you will soon be King of Beledon.”
“Let us hope, good Avalar,” he replied.
“Count on it,” Garrett assured everyone present.
“Be still,” Garrick said quietly, as though his low tone could soften his son’s arrogance or prevent him speaking his boasts again.
“Once you are crowned,” suggested Avalar, talking as politely as if Garrett had not spoken out of turn, “you shall have to look after the best interests of your subjects. They will be pleased if your son already has a bride at his side.”
Loric nearly choked on his drink. He felt his dinner rising in his esophagus. He was familiar with the heading of this conversation and he did not like its destination. Avalana had warned him, prepared him for the words her father intended to share. Loric felt his heart plummeting toward his shoes, with nothing to keep it from splattering. This was another night at
Taggert’s
Pub
, moved outdoors and eastward from tiny Taeglin.
“The people like heirs as well,” Garrick added in jest, grinning. He smiled, “King Avalar, you seem to hint at something. Perhaps you have a bride in mind for Garrett.”
“Indeed, I do,” Avalar responded with a clever smile. “I can think of no better mate for such a brave young warrior than my daughter, Avalana. She is the greatest healer in all of Regalsturn.
Her mother had....” his voice trailed away as he sought the proper translation from his natural Regalspeech to Beledonian, whereupon he spoke his thought in full. “Yavenla had
hands of the
healing balm,
as my people call it, but Avalana has it even more so.” Avalar smiled broadly as he continued, “Every warrior-king should have a consort who is skilled in the healing arts. Do you not agree? It would give such a ruler a tremendous advantage over his rivals, to have this gift.”
Garrick smiled in return. “I agree wholeheartedly, good king. What you propose pleases me.”
“Good,” Avalar said with a nod. “Perhaps when we arrive at Moonriver Castle, all due
arrangements can be made.”
“Yes, of course,” answered Garrick. “I will send a messenger ahead to inform my lady wife, so she can begin making preparations for the event to come.”
“Splendid,” Avalar replied. “Oh, this is very exciting.”
Lord Aldric raised his cup. “To Garrett and Avalana!” he proclaimed.
The lords and their men all lifted tankards in salute to the betrothed pair, but it seemed to Loric that his mug was filled with gall. From the expression on Garrett’s face, perhaps his was too. Loric disliked Garrett, who held promise to a precious gift in Avalana’s hand, only to despise it. He tried to wash the bad taste from his mouth and the pain from his heart. However, the wine might as well have come from the Sacred Brotherhood of the Dragon Talon, who liked to serve enough venom with their fermented grapes to make the sweetest drink tart and give it strength to kill oxen-kind.
The next morning Turtioc took his leave of his new overlord and journeyed homeward.
Garrick and his men broke camp and started back to Moonriver. Every man moved with eager feet, for there was to be a wedding festival upon the army’s triumphal homecoming.
All of them were ready to reach Moonriver Castle, except for Loric, who wished the journey would never end. He was concerned for Avalana. There was no telling how she would react to her father’s intended union between her and Garrett, and there was no way to foresee how the ill-tempered Heir of Durbansdan might mistreat the Princess of Regalsturn. Loric pictured Ne’te, battered and trembling. That mental image saddened Loric. Under a banner of truce, the traveler from Taeglin had born witness to a formal surrender, a treaty and a betrothal, which were all reasons for happiness. Yet, the trio of events worked together to set him in a dour mood.
The victorious army was settled into camp for the night when a rider appeared on the
horizon. The drumming of his horse’s hooves grew steadily louder as the man drew near. Loric noted that he wore the aqua and wine-red attire of the Moonwatchers.
The rider stopped at the head of the host and bowed low before Lord Garrick. There was a hasty exchange of words between them, before the Lord of Durbansdan shouted the order to strike tents and mount up. Camp buzzed with activity, like a beehive struck by a stone, with Garrett directing a small detachment of riders off eastward to reinforce the garrison at the Nindronburg border. This sudden change of plans bewildered Loric, but he climbed astride Sunset as commanded by Aldric, who straddled Snowstorm and ordered his men heels-to-stirrups. Loric urged his company of Shimmermen to compliance through his two lieutenants, Gradlin and Baldron.
As they formed columns and started underway once more, Loric asked, “Lord, why are we moving again? What is amiss?”
“It seems that King Hadregeon of Landolstadt has defeated our lessened border guards in the west,” Aldric answered gravely. “His army moves toward Moonriver Castle as we speak.”
Loric fell silent. His heart immediately went out to Avalana.
How large of a garrison has
Lord Garrick left at the castle? More importantly, how long can those few defenders hold out
against an entire army?
Regardless of the wedding to come upon reaching Moonriver, Loric suddenly wished for more speed. Avalana’s safety mattered above all else, and that included her promised marriage to Garrett.
The army rode through the night. Men were on the verge of falling from their saddles with sleep by the time the host finally stopped. Even then, Loric could not find rest. His concern for the princess would not allow him a wink. As things were, Garrick and his fellow noblemen had only granted the break to their men to meet with their captains; otherwise, they would have pushed on. Theirs was a reckless chase to outpace an opponent they could not see, except by sparse reports from the west.
Two couriers came during the break. A scouting party reported back as well. One message was clear through the babbling stream of gathered information: Hadregeon’s army was likely to beat Garrick’s men to the castle. There was speculative argument as to whether the Lord of Landolstadt could overcome the castle garrison before Garrick’s host could relieve it. The race was so close that every messenger urged haste, declaring that speed would be the greatest factor in determining the fate of those defending the walls above Moon River. Even bolstered as the garrison was by the western troops that had withdrawn to meet the agreement between
Hadregeon and Garrick prior to the border assault, delay was unquestionably in favor of the enemy.
Scouts confirmed rumors that Landolstadters were approaching from two directions. The greater portion of Hadregeon’s host was marching down the Old King’s Way from the north, while the lesser body of troops advanced from the west. Those coming from the north were moving more swiftly than their brethren were, and were therefore likely to reach Moonriver Castle well ahead of Lord Garrick and his men.
About midmorning, a final report came in. Once again, Warnyck proved that he was the best scout on the island. He was filthy and tired, but he was unharmed. As always, his confidence was bigger than he was, as his cocksure grin displayed for all to see.
“Milord,” said he, “Hadregeon’s army has arrived at the home of our great overlord.”
Warnyck wiped sweat from his brow and continued his relay, saying, “The greater portion of his host has settled northwest of the castle. It is moving to encircle its base as we speak, but thus far, they have only committed three companies near to us in the east. They are felling trees for construction of siege engines. If-”
“Good!” Aldric exclaimed. He rubbed his hands together. “The oath breakers will not live to put them to use, for we are scarcely three miles from the east wall now.”
“So we are, milord,” Warnyck agreed.
Aldric looked to Loric, saying, “Gather the captains around me. Be hasty. We will lay our final plans as we ride.”
As Loric turned to go, he heard Aldric say, “Warnyck, catch your breath and find a fresh mount.”
“Yes, milord,” Warnyck replied. “Thank you.”
The scout joined Loric, who moved toward the rear of the host, collecting captains for his liege’s pleasure. Loric sent those men forward as he found them, so he could speak openly with Warnyck for the first time since they had sat across from one another at
Taggert’s Pub
, as farmer’s son and storyteller. Occasionally, Loric interrupted his exchanges with Warnyck to relay his lord’s wishes to another officer, but their conversation continued through those breaks.
