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The magic echoed in his ears as they marched.<\/p>\nThe magic echoed in his ears as they marched.<\/p>\n
The northern lords had taken their time to assemble, and Terminallia had not stirred at all, but everything had changed when the news went out. That the people of Monos hated his family, he did not doubt. Harmude the Third had been an inscrutable and frightening man who rose to power by rebelling against the previous king. Jon the Cursed had foreign blood in him, and few were sad to see him go, yet Harmude shared the foreign love of magic. He was obsessed with discovering the ancient spells that had allowed the old powers to rule half the world. Spellers became powerful, and witches walked openly in the streets. To all eyes, Harmude had never managed to discover the secrets he sought, yet the whispers of old powers lent his reign the terror they needed to command the masses.<\/p>\n
All that terror and magic, and the strength that came with it, was ended by something as common as the point of a sword.<\/p>\n
The king\u2019s council chamber at Geumsil had been transformed into some perverse ritual chamber, with strange shapes and inhuman glyphs smeared upon its walls. They were written in blood, many had said. Ardromor had only caught glimpses of them, and was unsure. One of the speller-warriors outside the chamber had assured him they were only letters, but the prince had not been eased.<\/p>\n
He was only seven at the time, and his father and grandfather had not seen fit to include him in their dark counsels. Cenedras had been twelve, almost a man, and even he was kept out. They had been in their own rooms, trying to sleep. It was well after midnight, and the dark chamber was two floors below, but Ardromor was still certain he had heard screaming. He dragged his brother from his slumber down to the chamber and pounded on the door, but it would not open, nor would the armed spellers let them in. Cenedras whispered that the spellers would likely kill them if they did not go back to bed.<\/p>\n
Yet in the end, all it took was a sword. Swords, and the men to wield them.<\/p>\n
Uncle Dalabar strode into the antechamber like a black fury. A fleshy man with muscled arms, his midnight beard jutted like a spearpoint from his jaw, and his eyes looked blacker still. He would not be stopped. It was only a moment before one of his men struck the door open with a great hammer, and they marched inside. Whatever scream Ardromor had heard in his sleep was dwarfed into nothing by the screams born of Dalabar\u2019s sword.<\/p>\n
King Dalabar the Second was hailed as a hero. The lords, the commons, even the Holy Isle of Acciano had celebrated his courageous act, despite their strange and unclear connection to the Old Faith and its magic-lust. He was absolved of his murder by all, and everyone cheered when he crossed the Sea of Trials to be crowned at the Holy Isle.<\/p>\n
King Harmude\u2019s sinister plans had hung over the nation like a shadow, but Dalabar\u2019s own would fall like an ax. He allowed the Prince of Hosts to crown him on Acciano in a ceremony that lasted no more than ten minutes, then left the isle at once to begin the Terror.<\/p>\n
For over a year, no one said ought. Witches, armed spellers, all those who had profited most from Harmude\u2019s perverted religion were the first to fall, hanged like the lowborn fiends they were. It was only when the lord of Terminallia was beheaded that the applause of the nobility began to falter. When he began to hang the spellers of high lords, and burn those that had no patron to serve, the cheers became less sincere. It was nearly two years in when the new king and his inquisitors began to come for anyone, peasant or lord, who professed the Old Faith.<\/p>\n
Even now, Ardromor did not understand the distinctions between the Hosts and the Old Faith. Other than a faint tolerance for female power and a fascination with magic, the Old Faith seemed little different from their conventional beliefs, yet those differences proved sufficient to justify the deaths of thousands. A dozen times at least, he thought to speak with his uncle and ask what he was trying to do. \u201cKill yourself if you must,\u201d Cenedras always said. \u201cKings are like lions. Prod them at your peril.\u201d<\/p>\n
Prince Cenedras had always smirked and shrugged at both Harmude and Dalabar. It was five years into the terror before Ardromor\u2019s big brother finally felt the need to pick a side. Rather than object to their uncle\u2019s madness, however, he nodded approval and celebrated the killings, his voice neither louder nor softer than the others. \u201cThey\u2019re all terrified,\u201d he had insisted, \u201cnone of them want this. But they know if they stop cheering, they\u2019ll be next. That\u2019s the way it always is.\u201d<\/p>\n
When he was a child, no more than four or five, Ardromor had dreams of his big brother protecting him from harm. Those dreams died when they stood and watched their uncle break down that door. Two years into the Terror, when King Dalabar the Second imprisoned their mother on suspicion of spelling, Cenedras said nothing. But then, neither did Ardromor. Nine years old seemed too young to die.<\/p>\n
Theirs was a dynasty of murderers and cowards, and Ardromor did not doubt that all and sundry hated their family. Yet all the same, when news of Cenedras\u2019 death spread, the armies marched. It seemed the only thing they hated more than their fellow Monosi were foreigners. Cenedras had been a coward, venal and selfish, yet he had been right, always. The people flocked to his cause. Perhaps their love of country had been stirred by his courageous campaign into Zalja. Perhaps they were just happy to see royal violence inflected on someone other than themselves. Regardless, all Monos grieved the king, and the armies marched.<\/p>\n
Ardromor did not know how he felt. Despite what his mother had told him in his youth, emotion was not something celebrated in men, particularly not in royalty. He had learned to hide his feelings well, like Dalabar before him. When he was told of his mother\u2019s execution for witchcraft when he was ten, he did not shed a tear. He still had not, nine years later. Why should he, he had not seen it. He had not seen her since her imprisonment. By now, he had long forgotten what she looked like.<\/p>\n
Ardromor adjusted his crown for the fourth time that hour. He had never expected to wear one. Cenedras\u2019 son was only two, but he was still the heir apparent, and the queen had another child on the way. Yet the Prince of Hosts, Lord Hestec of Terminallia, even the northern Lord Sarian, they had all insisted he don the crown. He sailed to Acciano, went through the same ceremony his brother had, and put the thing on. He could always set it aside when little Innifor came of age, he told himself. For now, Innifor was safely stowed on the Holy Isle, guarded by Sir Guiddis, the man he trusted most. Queen Aurela was hidden somewhere in Westheart; even Ardromor did not know where. For better or worse, his cursed dynasty should be safe.<\/p>\n
Lord Hestec rode up next to him on his giant blond destrier. \u201cHave we entered Zalja now, Highness?\u201d he asked, the title spilling easily from his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he answered. \u201cThis is all Monos now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cToo true, Highness, too true,\u201d he laughed. Lord Hestec had a good deal of Vainan blood, but it was all on his mother\u2019s side, so largely ignored. He was proudly illiterate and did not even employ spellers, which was his excuse for why he had failed to answer Cenedras\u2019 summons. He was a wise choice to rule Terminallia after the Terror, but even Ardromor could see that at least a little spelling was needed to run a kingdom. He would have to speak with the lords on how to safely reintroduce spelling outside of Acciano. Young Lord Massam of the Hilldren had spellers, he recalled. Perhaps the new generation would not be so averse to it.<\/p>\n
Hestec was a tall but slump-shouldered man near fifty, who looked ridiculous in his black and red armor. He even had red-dyed chainmail beneath it, and black leathers. The colors of the House of Pelendor were light yellow and dark green, but Hestec felt those insufficiently intimidating. His naked lip and scraggly brown fringe of a beard, pocked with grey, were similarly unimpressive, but Ardromor chose not to mention that.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is our new land, then?\u201d he asked, dripping with poorly concealed avarice. \u201cMountains, I see. Those may yield good ore. It would do well to have our own great mines. Importing quality iron from Vaina is a dangerous business.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly since my grandfather took the throne,\u201d Ardromor countered. \u201cThe Vainans were perfectly happily to deal with King John and his forebears.\u201d They had been his own forebears as well, but best not to broach that point. Royalty was a confusing business, and half the charts of nobility had been burned during the Terror.<\/p>\n
\u201cBah! The Denarandos were half-Vainan themselves,\u201d Hestec insisted with no apparent irony. \u201cWe\u2019re well rid of them. As well deliver the whole country over to Vaina while we\u2019re at it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMany insist that is precisely what happened when the Denarandos sat the throne.\u201d Again, he chose not to point out that his own line were cousins to the Denarandos, nor that both Hestec and his wife were practically half-Vainan themselves.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust so!\u201d he insisted with assumed heartiness. \u201cAll the more reason to be rid of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before the Denarandos, Monos had been ruled by the Morenalle dynasty, the descendants of a Mornal warlord that had actually conquered them. Monos had a strange quality, however, that compelled foreign rulers to put off their old cloaks and call themselves Monosi. Ardromor briefly wondered if Zalja might someday do the same.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhom do you mean to grant these lands to, Highness?\u201d Hestec asked, finally getting to the obvious point.<\/p>\n
\u201cLord Urriment holds them at present.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hestec looked aghast. \u201cA Gemosian? Oh Highness, no, no, no. Gemosia is grown too great if you ask me, too proud. It\u2019s past time to prune them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe same has been said of Terminallia, Lord Hestec.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRightly so!\u201d he boomed, failing to take the hint. \u201cHow many rebellions have there been in the last century? And every one started by the Terminals. A wonder they\u2019re not entirely wiped out. I ought to rename the whole province, deracinate their family root and stem.\u201d<\/p>\n
The House of Terminallia was currently installed at a minor holding far to the east. They were humbled, but Ardromor had little doubt they would rise again in another generation or so. Besides, though more rebellions were born in Terminallia than anywhere else, not all of them were started or led by the Terminal House.<\/p>\n
\u201cI respect your moderation, Highness,\u201d Hestec pressed, \u201cbut in this I must question you. Humbly,\u201d he added.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was not my decision,\u201d Ardromor answered. \u201cMy brother installed him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, of course,\u201d the lord demurred. \u201cHigh Highness was a bold and powerful man, and though I would never speak ill of the dead\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is a wise policy,\u201d Ardromor interrupted, once again on stopped ears.<\/p>\n
\u201cYet I will suggest your royal brother trusted too easily.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe did not trust at all. He gave these mountains to Lord Urriment because he did not care who held them. I\u2019ll give them to someone else once everything is settled.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA wise decision, Highness.\u201d He could practically hear I know just the man<\/em> emanating from Hestec\u2019s thankfully closed lips. He looked ready to speak the words when Pietta rode up on her donkey.<\/p>\n \u201cHighness,\u201d she said, \u201cI have found word of the Ividar family.\u201d<\/p>\n A speller named Alena had arrived with news of Cenedras\u2019 death, accompanied by a Gemosian knight named Sir Ullion. Rather than return to the front, however, both begged leave to return home, and it seemed fitting to grant it. The Holy Isle had given their new king Pietta to replace Alena, along with two spellers no older than twenty years, named Villa and Assandra. Pietta was past thirty, which meant she was well-spelt and cunning enough to have survived the Terror. Ardromor had ordered her to gather all the information on Zalja she could muster before they set out, with special attention on the family of Ividar. Sir Ullion had mentioned the name, and Grace agreed the man had been an impressive commander. Ardromor wished to know his foes.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is this Ividar?\u201d Lord Hestec asked. Ardormor ignored him.<\/p>\n \u201cTell me of him.\u201d<\/p>\n Pietta offered a nervous glance at the lord, but obeyed. \u201cThese records are quite old, Highness\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNaturally,\u201d he interrupted. \u201cStill. Tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLord Gahandin Ro Ividar is the beylan of Dalsaman, which I take to mean mayor or governor. He is also the prefect of the Dejitsa region, where Dalsaman lies.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA high lord, then,\u201d he nodded. \u201cThat makes sense.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe king did not ride forth?\u201d Hestec asked. He tsked at that. \u201cA king who will not defend his people shan\u2019t remain king for long.<\/p>\n Ardromor ignored him. \u201cSir Ullion called him a divine commander, or something like that.\u201d<\/p>\n Pietta hummed at that. \u201cI have records of dealings with a Divine Commander Hanriel Ro Saldandan, but he is from a different province. It may be Ividar was only recently made a divine commander.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor hummed agreement. \u201cSo, a young force, eager to prove himself.\u201d Just like Cenedras<\/em>. Just like<\/em> me<\/em>. \u201cNo victories to his name, then?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI fear I only have records of his work as beylan, Highness. His family has provided many paladins, though, a sort of Zaljan knight, and four or five divine commanders. It is an old family. Paladins give up their inheritances, so many volunteers are second sons and daughters.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDaughters!?\u201d Hestec scoffed openly. \u201cSo the rumors are true. Imagine swinging a sword with a skirt on.\u201d He laughed loudly. \u201cDon\u2019t get any ideas, girl,\u201d he told Pietta, waggling his finger at her. She ignored him. Ardromor smiled thinly despite himself.<\/p>\n He glanced over at her face. \u201cYou\u2019re not telling me something, Pietta.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at him, wide-eyed, as though no one had ever spoken her name before. \u201cHighness\u2026 As I said, these records are quite old\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course. Tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have another record, something one of your grandfather\u2019s spies delivered back when he sat the throne. Fifteen years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGo on.\u201d He was growing impatient, but tried to keep his voice even.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s only a sentence or two, random thoughts in a long missive about military positions and exports throughout the nation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt says Dalsaman might pass out of the Ividar family when Lord Gahandin dies, because of his daughter having joined the paladins sometime before. The women inherit just as men do, in Zalja. The passage says Dalsaman must pass to his cousins, and that they are vulnerable, not as influential.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat may prove useful,\u201d he allowed, though it hardly seemed relevant to an immediate assault.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, Highness, it\u2019s difficult to glean from only two sentences, but\u2026 the way it\u2019s spelt, suggests to me that Lord Gahandin was expected to die soon. It says \u2018of his ague, the crabs in his stomach.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCrabs?\u201d Stomach crabs was a horrible, painful way to go. It was also considered an illness for old men and cravens. Some thought his Uncle Dalabar might die of it, and few were sad to hear of it, but in the end he died of burst bowels. Even his wife did not mourn him; she had been killed in the Terror.<\/p>\n \u201cIf it was stomach crabs, Highness\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe would not be alive now,\u201d he finished, \u201cfifteen years later.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMight be,\u201d Lord Hestec suggested uselessly. \u201cThese Zaljans have their own strange magics, don\u2019t they? They could do with a good Terror, if you ask me.\u201d No one had, but Ardromor let that rest.<\/p>\n \u201cYou say Zalja has female knights? Paladins?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, Highness.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor hummed at that. It was irksome to prize it out of her, but he appreciated her subtlety. If they had indeed faced a mere woman, and Cenedras had fallen to her in battle, it could well be the ruin of their line. Cenedras himself had said it: fear ruled Monos. The masses had feared the Old Faith of Harmude just as they had feared they Host-Keeping of Dalabar, yet they had not stood up to either. Dalabar slew Harmude, and Dalabar\u2019s bowels slew Dalabar. If Cenedras could be slain by a woman, then perhaps Ardromor no one to fear either. They may kneel to King Cenedras or King Ardromor for a time, but in the end fear was the true King of Kings in Monos.<\/p>\n By day\u2019s end, they had arrived at Makh. Cenedras had intended to rename it, but could not think of anything before leaving. He was too excited to march. Ardromor had passed through Makh on his ride back to Geumsil and found it a red waste. Most of the grass had still been torn up by the Monosi cavalry, and indeed some of the blood had still not been cleaned from the buildings, leaving them a brown, flaky mess. Now, at last, the grass was starting to grow again, and many of the buildings had been knocked down and rebuilt in the Monosi style. The Zaljan peasants labored unsmilingly, but they labored, and their home was starting to take shape again. Lord Urriment\u2019s soldiers were everywhere, and there was nowhere to stand without a knight in shouting distance.<\/p>\n All work stopped as Ardromor\u2019s vanguard rode up, however, and it was only a minute or two before a boy ran up to take his horse. Ardromor dismounted, and by the time his gloves were off Lord Urriment was approaching with an armed retinue. \u201cYour Grace,\u201d he offered as greeting. \u201cIt is an honor to see you again. Am I to take it by this great host that you will be honoring us with your company a little longer than last time?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOnly a day,\u201d he answered. \u201cWe must continue on to Dalsaman.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVargano, it is now called,\u201d Lord Urriment said, smiling fiercely. He was a grey old man, but still stout and broad-shouldered, his well-trimmed beard failing to hide a strong jaw. His bulbous nose made him look something of a fool, but a glance in his hard blue eyes would disabuse anyone of such assumptions. Urriment had voiced some quiet concerns during the reigns of both Harmude and Dalabar, but had wisely kept those concerns amongst those he trusted. The man came well recommended from his overlord Borromeo, yet even the wild and warlike Lord Eugeno praised his valor and prowess at arms. Ardromor would never have wasted him as a mere jailor for a beaten town.<\/p>\n The new king found himself blinking for a moment. \u201cVargano. Indeed. Our sister\u2019s name was Vargana.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell do I remember, your Grace,\u201d Urriment said in his deep, round voice. \u201cMy daughter Tyrana was a lady companion to her, toward the end.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cForgive me, my Lord, I had forgotten.\u201d His sister\u2019s face, too, had long deserted him.<\/p>\n \u201cNo offence was given, Grace. What is your knowledge of Vargano\u2019s condition, if I may ask?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou would seem better informed than I,\u201d he answered, a faint smile breaking into his face. Urriment did not know of Cenedras\u2019 death, and he thought it yet unwise to bruit about his brother\u2019s fate until he knew more. He liked Lord Urriment, but Cenedras had taught him the dangers of trust.<\/p>\n \u201cLast we heard, there was fear of the enemy finally coming out of the west,\u201d he said with a shrug. \u201cSome great war chief, meant to chasten our men. I sent a rider south to learn more, but he never returned. I\u2019m not fool enough to send another.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll not gainsay that.\u201d<\/p>\n A smirk grew upon Urriment\u2019s face. \u201cYou\u2019re not telling me something, your Grace.\u201d<\/p>\n Several things. \u201cTrue, my Lord.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery well, Grace. Let it not be said that Urriment respects not the chain of authority.\u201d He turned and pointed west. \u201cThe palace, such as it is, is a poor hovel of only two stories, but it is yours this evening.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll make camp outside the town,\u201d Ardromor said. \u201cI\u2019ll not tax this place any further.\u201d He glanced north toward the burnt and fallow fields. \u201cIt has suffered enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWould that were so,\u201d Urriment sighed. \u201cThe villagers are tame now, but there is a roiling hatred in their faces, and their courtesies are tinged with the sullen resentment of a second son. I fear we\u2019ll face a revolt soon.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFear?\u201d Ardromor asked, faint amusement coloring the word. \u201cCan so mighty a lord fear this rabble?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI fear for them,\u201d he answered humorlessly. \u201cAs you say, Grace, they\u2019ve suffered greatly. If they raise their broken hoes and pitchforks against us, the town\u2019ll be wiped out before I can give the order to hold.\u201d He put his hands on his hips as he glanced about. \u201cJust as well, I suppose. Myself, I\u2019d rather die than be humbled like this.\u201d<\/p>\n A sword in your hand was a comfort in death, or so Ardromor had heard all his life. \u201cWould you, my Lord?\u201d<\/p>\n Urriment looked back, the boyish smirk returning to his weathered face. \u201cI would, your Grace,\u00a0 yes. But then, I am a lord, and my armor is well-forged. Perhaps if I had to face my end with a broken pitchfork I\u2019d feel differently.\u201d He sighed. \u201cYes, I imagine I would.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor\u2019s squires had erected his tent west of the town, for which he was duly grateful. Cittuvio was near to the east, and it would not do to be caught between two hostile towns. The west and north lay some lonely hills, and beyond them the Shadowgate Mountains. Legends of devils and demons in those mountains had flown freely for centuries beyond recall, and it seemed peasants of any nation put store in the tales.<\/p>\n He received news of a deserter from Vargano being captured south of Makh, but directed them to hold the man until after his dinner. Ardromor was famished and weary, but more importantly he had plans to enact.<\/p>\n He invited Lord Urriment to dine with him, along with the speller Pietta. Urriment was obviously dismayed to be sitting at a camp table with a woman, especially a literate one, but he kept his objections to himself. Less could be said for Lord Hestec, who had half-invited himself.<\/p>\n \u201cYou must be near wetting yourself, girl,\u201d he said, not for the first time. \u201cHave you ever dined in such high company, Miss?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have often been in the room as the Prince of Hosts dined,\u201d she answered diffidently, \u201cand once or twice shared a meal with the senior hostermen of the Holy Isle, but no my Lord, I have never dined with a\u2026 prince.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEvery girl\u2019s fantasy,\u201d Hestec japed to wild silence.<\/p>\n \u201cShe is not a girl,\u201d Ardromor objected.<\/p>\n \u201cOh come now, Highness, shall I call her an old woman, then?\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor had often been accused of looking daggers at people, though sadly he found his looks did not have the violent effect such a phrase portended. Urriment glanced about with obvious curiosity each time Hestec said \u2018highness,\u2019 but his famous discretion mastered him all the same. Pietta was wearing a dress of pink and red silk, lined in gilt cloth, lent by one of the northern lords. Ardromor suspected it was the finest garb she had ever worn. Her light hair had been washed and braided back. She looked quite fetching for one so lowborn, though she was tongue-tied in such company. It was irksome, though understandable. Her every second glance was at Lord Urriment, who seemed to enjoy the attention. Ardromor smiled at that, internally.<\/p>\n \u201cLord Urriment,\u201d he said suddenly, interrupting whatever Hestec had been saying, \u201care you confident in your men here?\u201d<\/p>\n Hestec, as ever, assumed the question was directed at him. \u201cGood men and true, good men and true,\u201d he insisted, slapping Urriment on the back. They were near in years, yet Urriment could have snapped Hestec like a twig. But Hestec was lord of all Terminallia, absurdly, whilst Urriment ruled over a small rural fiefdom. Urriment knew his place.<\/p>\n \u201cThey are disciplined and reliable,\u201d he answered. \u201cA bit overzealous, as I suggested earlier, but that is hardly a sin, in an occupied town.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA virtue!\u201d cried Lord Hestec. \u201cGemosian men. I have long said, Highness, anytime you require good men and true, seek out Gemosia first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood and true,\u201d Ardromor echoed, \u201cand proud.\u201d If Hestec recognized the allusion to his earlier warnings, he showed no sign. \u201cTell me, Lord Urriment, would you consider joining me on my campaign south? I could use another military mind on my counsel.\u201d Or any military mind at all<\/em>, he thought. The northern lords were no strangers to battle, living so near to Vaina and the dreaded Orckid Empire, but they were a wild bunch that understood little beyond raiding and hiding behind walls. When it came to breaching the walls, or even mere dispositions, they were woefully innocent.<\/p>\n Urriment\u2019s surprise seemed genuine. \u201cI should be honored, your Grace,\u201d he said, laying a light but noticeable accent on the honorific, \u201cthough I fear someone of sufficient stature would be needed to command my men in my absence.\u201d<\/p>\n Lord Hestec nearly choked at that, but Ardromor talked over any potential interruption. \u201cAre there no officers among your power that you trust?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTrust? Absolutely, Grace. I could name you five knights immediately, but none are lords. Should there be any disagreement on policy, command may collapse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d Ardromor pondered with deliberate slowness. \u201cA lord is needed, then.\u201d Urriment nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cIf I may, Highness,\u201d Hestec burst in, unable to restrain himself, \u201cI would be honored to take up this burden.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor looked him over as if considering this for the first time. \u201cCertainly, a great lord like yourself would hold sway over these men. But what of your own soldiers, my Lord? They are needed to break the siege, and I think it unwise to switch the companies out during these dangerous times.\u201d<\/p>\n Hestec waved his hands in a vain attempt at a casual air. \u201cNo fear at all, Highness. I\u2019ll keep a small company of my own men about me here, but my third son Junis has marched with me. He may command the principal of my power.\u201d<\/p>\n Junis would do no such thing, of course. The following morning, an hour outside of Makh, Lord Urriment would seize control of Hestec\u2019s forces, whilst the sputtering old beanpole was left to serve as figurehead for Urriment\u2019s disciplined, reliable soldiers. With any luck, the devils of the Shadowgates would fly down and carry him off.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is excellent news,\u201d Ardromor said in a voice so silky he felt like Lord Borromeo. \u201cWe shall make the announcement before departure tomorrow morning.\u201d So this is politics<\/em>, Ardromor thought. He was still young, but wise enough to realize it was mere child\u2019s play to manipulate a man as obtuse as Hestec. Still, it was a start. Perhaps he could be a king after all.<\/p>\n The dinner was charming enough, even with Hestec\u2019s boasting and interruptions. They enjoyed a good Vainan wine. Ardromor had no palate for wines, but he knew the Vainan ones were considered the best. At the end of the dinner, he asked Pietta to accompany Lord Urriment to his estate to record any orders he might have for his soldiers. Hestec insisted he would be able to translate any such wishes, and that he would after all be taking over command in the morning. Ardromor was five seconds from punching the man when a junior knight in green-and-white silks stepped in to remind him about the deserter they had taken.<\/p>\n \u201cHang him,\u201d Ardromor grunted, ready for sleep.<\/p>\n \u201cFor shame, Highness,\u201d Hestec erupted, louder than ever. \u201cSuch a man must surely look his king in his face before he dies.\u201d The fool had kinged Ardromor so much over the evening, Urriment had long since stopped noticing. \u201cCome now, Highness, bring the man here.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor sniffed. \u201cHang him,\u201d he repeated.<\/p>\n \u201cForgive me, Grace, Highness,\u201d the boy stuttered. \u201cForgive me. The man says he has vital news from the siege. He says it will buy his life.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBold,\u201d Hestec suggested. \u201cBring him in, Highness, let him gamble for his life. That\u2019s what I say.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know what you say, my Lord.\u201d He was sore tempted to hang the man anyway, just to spite Lord Hestec, but he mastered himself. Any man who is slave to his passions becomes the slave of all men<\/em>, were the famous words attributed to King Nicodemo the Bridegroom. Ardromor suspected he had stolen the words, as he had supposedly stolen his crown and everything else, but they were wise words regardless. He ordered the young knight to bring the man before him.<\/p>\n The man was tall and broad, clearly a cavalier at least. He wore a roughspun cloak that shadowed his face, but a filthy beard of dark gold peaked out of it. His garb was plain and torn, though it had once been of quality. He wore a leather belt and a black scabbard, which was of course empty. He was manacled with steel, but neither shivered nor even knelt.<\/p>\n \u201cMy new friend Sir Ridimmio tells me you were going to hang me,\u201d he offered as greeting, in a voice choked and hardened by hard travel.<\/p>\n \u201cIs the siege so bad,\u201d Ardromor asked, \u201cthat you would choose to die at home instead?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll not die today,\u201d he answered with smug amusement.<\/p>\n \u201cInsolent cur!\u201d Lord Hestec bellowed. \u201cKneel before your king!\u201d He kicked the man behind his knee, hard, yet the man remained standing. Hestec kicked him again. \u201cKneel!\u201d he shouted.<\/p>\n \u201cEnough!\u201d Ardromor burst. \u201cRemove his hood.\u201d<\/p>\n The knight, presumably Sir Ridimmio, pulled back the hood.<\/p>\n Ardromor\u2019s eyes started from his skull. Hestec gasped and clutched at his heart, then thankfully fled the tent. Lord Urriment gaped openly. Pietta alone remained unshocked, though she felt the tension. \u201cYour Grace?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIndeed,\u201d the deserter said. \u201cYour Grace, is it? I had heard you were using another style these days.\u201d<\/p>\n Ardromor breathed deeply, then slowly. \u201cYou are a dead man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo are all deserters, I hear.\u201d<\/p>\n He nodded at that. Slowly, he knelt.<\/p>\n CHAPTER TEN><\/a><\/p>\n <CHAPTER EIGHT<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The magic echoed in his ears as they marched. The northern lords had taken their time to assemble, and Terminallia had not stirred at all, but everything had changed when the news went out. That the people of Monos hated … Continue reading