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DargonZine | Volume 6, Number 3 |
aralan Tallirhan, by the Grace of God King of Baranur and Duke of
Magnus, watched the column of Hussars wind its way through the Royal
District as it made its way towards Northgate.
A slight breeze was blowing, bringing some relief from the stifling
heat. In the city below the first wall of Crown Castle, people were
going about their business almost as if the war was not merely 250
leagues from Magnus.
The thing which brought the war home to people was the striking
lack of shipping alongside the city's docks. With the main trade artery
of the Laraka now denied the capital, Haralan was forced to bring in by
land everything needed to keep a city of 50,000 souls functioning, a
very expensive and unsatisfactory method of sustanance.
To be sure, food was not a problem - the fields of the Royal Duchy
were rich enough to supply a population three or four times that which
was present. The state of the city's commerce, however, was a different
matter.
Ever since the closing of the Laraka, the Merchant Houses had been
clamouring for Haralan to do something, anything, to re-start the flow
of trade. Prices had increased for the fifth time since Melrin. The poor
were beginning to grow dissatisfied as well. Soon, the King of Baranur
could be facing riot inside the walls of his own capital.
Assuming, of course, that Untar hadn't claimed Haralan's throne by
then. Haralan's friend and advisor Sir Edward Sothos had for days been
sounding the alarm of Untar and his Fist of the Emperor's progress.
"You may succeed on the Laraka, Connall, only to find the heart of
the kingdom gutted and burned," the king said under his breath.
The distinct sound of hard boots on stone interrupted his thoughts.
Haralan turned his head in the direction of the footsteps to discover
Sir Edward and Sir Edward's aide, Commander Jan Courymwen, approaching.
"Edward!" Haralan said with a smile. "What news?"
Also watching the departure of the Hussars, but from a much
different vantage point, were three men and one woman. "I would have
much preferred the Knight Commander to have sent the Huscarls or Legion
of Death with the Hussars," spoke the shorter and younger of the three
men.
"Are you mad?" asked the eldest. "We shall need those troops to
hold off the Beinisons."
"Phorsan makes a valid observation, Lieran," the third and most
expensively dressed commented. "When the time comes for our Lord to
move, the Huscarls may prove...difficult."
"I don't know, Ethros," Lieran said. "If reports can be believed,
the Benison Emperor and his troops have smashed everything we've thrown
at them!"
"That...foreigner...doesn't know how to handle Baranurian troops,"
Phorsan said in disgust.
Lord Ethros of Northfield turned from regarding the column of
horsemen. "Don't be an idiot!" he snapped. "Sothos is a capable general.
*That* is why I have been labouring for so long to have him discredited.
His is the mind behind the strategy. I dare say that if he had not moved
so many Regiments of the Royal Army to the Southern Marches during the
winter we would be prisoners of Untar even now."
Phorsan took the rebuke angrily, his hand flexing around his sword
hilt. "You admire him!" he accused Ethros.
"I respect his abilities," Ethros countered calmly. "As should you.
With Sothos as shield, Haralan is untouchable. Once Sothos is gone..."
"This is dangerous, Ethros!" Lieran said.
"What say you, Lady?" Phorsan asked of the woman in the corner.
"The prowess of the line Sothos in combat hath long been known,"
came the oddly-accented voice from the shadows. "To face on the field
the Knight Commander is to court the Reaper."
"What do you suggest?"
A black form detached itself from the wall and moved into the
light, midnight black robes rustling against the stone, face hidden by
the robes' cowl. "Force the Sothos to face thee in a contest for which
thee art most suited."
"Politics?" Lieran asked.
"Politics," Phorsan said with satisfaction.
"Politics," spoke Ethros with decision.
"Politics," said Celeste in a voice smooth as silk.
Haralan listened to his Knight Commander's report on the state of
the Kingdom's army with supressed humour. The King was not a man given
to flippant mannerisms. Indeed, the matters on which Sir Edward was
reporting were of great import. The thing was, no matter how hard he
tried, Haralan simply could not fail to find the sight of his most
trusted advisor standing, literally, in the shadow of that advisor's
chief aide a cause for humour.
The two of them made an odd pair. The shorter, Edward, always in
the foreground of attention while the taller, Commander Courymwen,
invariably attempted to blend into the background. Much of that was due
to the station each occupied, of course.
The personalities of each seemed mis-matched as well. Edward very
rarely relaxed his posture in public. Even in private, among friends, he
was reserved. Haralan, Edward's closest friend, saw his friend let down
his guard only occasionally. Haralan wondered at what the adopted
Baranurian's homeland was really like if it regularly turned out
products such as Edward. Sir Edward displayed such an intenseness, such
a resoluteness of purpose, that almost all of Haralan's knights were in
awe of the man. As for the common soldiers, well, they reacted to Sir
Edward with a strange blend of fear, respect, and utter faith in their
supreme commander. Whenever he walked into a room, Edward dominated most
by sheer strength of persona. Talking to him, one felt as if Edward had
the height advantage instead of the speaker. All in all, a surprise for
those meeting the scarred Knight Commander for the first time.
That same feeling of surprise was also felt when meeting Sir
Edward's aide, Jan Courymwen. With her unusual height, six-foot four,
combined with her flaming-red hair and deep emerald-green eyes, one
would expect a temper and attitude of superiority to match. She
possessed neither. Even the fact that she was the second-youngest woman
who had gone through the Royal Military Academy to reach the rank of
Commander did not give her cause to be boastful.
She was a study in contrasts. Decisive in her duties as an officer
of the Royal Army, she was often shy and unsure of herself when not on
duty. Much of her deference came from the circumstances of her birth.
Her parents were from Port Sevlyn, poor folk making their living working
for Lord Quillien Thorne along Port Sevlyn's waterfront. She owed her
position at the academy to Lord Thorne. Together, she and Edward
administered the Royal Army better than it had ever been administered in
its long history.
It really was quite sad, Haralan thought, that such a close
friendship as she and Edward possessed must come to an end. The King
sighed.
Sir Edward ceased his narrative. "Something, Sire?"
"Oh, nothing, really," Haralan said with a dismissive wave. "I was
wondering, should we not send at least part of the garrison to
strengthen our forces facing the Fist of the Emperor in its advance?"
"I think not, my liege," Sir Edward responded. "Not yet. Until
conclusions on the Laraka have been reached, we dare not weaken the
capital."
"Sound advice, as always, my friend." Seeing the Royal Magist
approaching, Haralan eased himself from the battlements with a smile.
"What summons you to come calling on us, my Lord Marcellon?"
"Busy, Sire?" Marcellon called out.
"The Knight Commander has just finished reporting to me on the
state of the Kingdom as he sees it."
"An exceedingly thorough and intense view it must be," Marcellon
jokingly commented as he joined the group.
"War is not a time for frivolity, Old Man," Edward said, rising to
the bait.
"With you," the Royal Magist commented, "there is no time for
frivolity." He continued, not giving Edward a chance to speak. "Now," he
began, keeping up a running joke the two had been cultivating for weeks,
"why don't you carry on or over or whatever it is you warrior-types do
and let civilized men get down to some real work?"
Sir Edward turned to the King. "If His Royal Majesty will permit,
the Commander and I have work to do."
"Certainly, Sir Edward. You have our leave to go."
The two warriors saluted their King and strode off along the wall,
making for the nearest tower. Marcellon winked at Jan as she went and
received an answering smile in return.
Once they were out of ear-shot, Haralan turned to his chief advisor
on things political. "Any success, Lord Marcellon?"
"Regretfully, no. I can find no hard source for the rumours about
them," he said, indicating the retreating figures of the Knight
Commander and his aide. "I have suspicions, but can offer no proof."
"Can your magic not--?"
"Haralan, magic is not the cure-all for the world's woes. There is
a limit to what I can do."
"That is not sufficient! I am coming under increasing pressure --
from within even my own House! -- to remove Edward. You must give me a
weapon to use!"
"I shall try, Majesty. I shall try."
As they descended the narrow stairs of one of the great towers,
Edward asked over his shoulder, "What would you say to a go on the
practice field, Commander?"
"It would be a welcome break in the routine, sir. I accept."
The two exited the tower and proceeded through Crown Castle's many
defences, arriving some half an hour later at the King's Keep. They
separated, each going to their rooms to fetch their gear.
An hour later, the sun beginning to set, Edward stood in full
panoply awaiting his aide and his friend. Once done, he would still have
his aide. But the friend would be gone.
It is fitting I wear the black over my shield and armour, Edward
thought. For today, I shall truly feel deserving of this badge of
dishonour. A figure in blue and gold came out of a small portal and
walked steadily out onto the field. A crowd was starting to gather, some
out of boredom, others out of curiosity to see who the Knight Commander
was to fight, still others eager to pick up a trick or two from the man
who directed the Royal Army. Edward waited for Jan to reach him,
resigned to what he must do, shield on one arm, helm held in the other.
"Sorry I took so long, sir," Jan said as she strode up. "My hair
was not being cooperative."
"It has now succumbed, I gather?"
She smiled. "After a fashion, sir. I had such trouble with it, I
may consider getting it cut."
"It would not suit you short so, Coury."
"You like my hair?" she asked.
Edward thought he detected a hint of red in his friend's cheeks,
but dismissed it as an effect of the sun. "Yes. Very much. Shall we
begin?"
"Uh...yes, sir." Jan took a breath before speaking, her manner now
very formal. "I greet you this day, Your Excellency, upon the field of
combat. As challenged, I claim the right of selection. Do you affirm or
deny my right?"
Edward responded in the same manner, a manner which, as a Knight,
came to him more easily than it did his aide. "I greet thee this day,
valiant warrior, upon this field of combat. I here doth affirm thy claim
to the right of selection. The claim of right of selection thus
affirmed, I doth now take upon my judgement the resolution. Dost thou
recognize my right of resolution?"
"I do recognize your right of resolution, Your Excellency."
"I thank thee, worthy gentle. What shalt be thy pleasure?"
"I choose sword and shield. What shall be the resolution?"
"I choose as resolution that the combat be to the death with no
quarter given."
"I accept the resolution."
Both combatants donned their helms and settled into a fighting
stance. Edward decided on a quick, violent offensive and moved in on Jan
almost immediately.
Jan backed up, trying to use her longer reach and longer blade to
thwart the sudden attack. Edward came right on in after her, sweeping at
her legs, forcing her to use more of her shield and less of her sword.
Realizing that a defensive strategy was a course to destruction,
Jan leaned in on Edward's next stroke, using her shield as a battering
ram. It worked and the Knight Commander soon found himself parrying a
furious series of strokes that sent sparks and bits of wood flying in
the waning sunlight.
Edward was beginning to get the worse of the situation. His aide's
longer reach made it more difficult for Edward to get in a good strike.
Consequently, his shield was being quickly and methodically hacked to
bits.
After what seemed hours, but in reality was only several seconds,
the two separated, standing five or so yards apart while each regained
some strength and re-evaluated the other's skill.
Edward decided that he needed to be the one to go on the offensive
and he clearly needed some advantage to get inside Jan's reach. Once
inside her reach, he thought he could exploit a gap or two in her guard.
He eased the remains of his battered shield off of his left arm.
"Art thou ready to continue?" he asked Jan. In response, she saluted. At
once, Edward flung his shield at his opponent and followed it with a
charge.
Jan caught the thrown shield on her blade, sending the splintered
target harmlessly to the ground. When she brought her blade back into
position, she found herself facing her commander at very close range
coming at her from her left, her shield-arm. She was too slow in
bringing her shield around to cover and a hard thump on her ribs from
the flat of Edward's blade finished the combat.
A ragged cheer from the spectators evidenced their pleasure at the
spectacle. As the crowd broke up, Edward and Jan left the field together
heading for the entrance to nearer to Edward's offices. Both walked in
silence while they brought their breathing under control.
"I thought I had you," Jan said between breaths.
"You very nearly did," Edward responded. "It is your time fighting
in line. You tend to let your guard down somewhat on your left -- too
much reliance on your line-mate's sword to protect you."
Jan shook out her hair. "I'll work on it, sir, if you'll instruct
me."
"It's not as bad as all that, Coury. Just look at my shield."
"It was a good workout," she agreed. Just then, she noticed where
they were heading and sighed.
"Something wrong?"
"No, sir. Well, yes, sir. I'd hoped to turn in."
"Let Daniel handle things?"
"A bit selfish, sir, I know, but we could both use the rest."
"And rest we shall. I wanted to speak with you in private and my
office qualifies. Besides, it's nearer than either of our quarters."
Jan laughed. She and Edward entered the Keep and made their way to
Edward's office. The corridors were mostly deserted, the occaisonal
scribe or guard or member of the kitchen staff being encountered.
They entered Edward's outer office, greeting Captain Daniel Moore,
Edward's other staff officer, as they did. "How fare things?" Edward
asked.
"Nothing unusual, sir," Moore replied. "No new reports from the
Laraka and no change on the southern front."
"Good. Glad to hear it."
"So who won?" he asked, indicating what was left of Edward's
shield.
"Who do you think?" Jan said with a chuckle.
"It was a very near-run thing," Edward chimed in. "Coury made me
work for it."
Moore smiled. "Are you two staying?"
"You can wipe that beseeching look off your face, Daniel Moore,"
Jan said with relish. "Edward and I are going to have a little chat and
then leave you to minding the store."
Moore sighed a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of despair.
"One could always hope."
Edward crossed to the door to his office. "No one is to disturb us,
Daniel," he said as he and Jan entered.
Edward set his helm and what was left of his shield on the small
table in the corner opposite his large desk and poured himself a cup of
water from the pitcher there. Jan joined him, setting her helm and much
more intact shield on the table also. This left Edward holding both the
pitcher and his cup. He poured his friend a drink from the cup she had
rescued and went over to his desk.
Jan pulled two chairs over from the table and let herself collapse
into one of them. Edward set the pitcher down on the desk and then eased
himself into the other.
"I've been too long away from the practice field," he said as his
rapidly stiffening muscles protested their recent abuse.
Jan let her head sink back against the chair. "Me too. Oh, that
smarts."
The two close friends just sat for a few moments, letting their
muscles finish berating them before they continued. It was Jan who spoke
first. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Edward?" she asked, eyes
closed.
Edward carefully set his cup on the desk. "Coury," he began
hesitantly, "I think we should no longer be seen together in public.
Further, I think it would be best if we kept our relationship on a more
professional level than it has thus far been."
Jan's eyes snapped open and she sat up. "What?" she asked in
confusion. "By all the gods why?"
"You know why," he said, eyes downcast. "The rumours."
"The rumours?" she asked incredulously. "But -- you never -- they
haven't mattered before," she protested.
"They do now." Edward ran his fingers through his close-cropped
hair. "Coury, there is a danger that if the rumours continue, my ability
to function as Knight Commander may be threatened. I cannot allow that."
She sat there, unable -- unwilling -- to believe what she was
hearing. "You...can't...allow...that? Are you trying to tell me you care
for the power and prestige of the position of Knight Commander that
dearly that you would...cut off our friendship just like that?"
Now Edward looked directly at his aide. "What I am saying is that
my continued friendship with you is putting in jeopardy my ability to
fight this war. I cannot compromise that ability, not with the future of
the kingdom at stake."
The young woman sat back. "I thought I knew you. I thought that you
were a person who above all else would stand by his friends. I thought
you had more dignity and honour than this."
"Coury, let me explain," he pleaded.
"No, you've made yourself quite clear. You're too high and mighty
to have people think you could be friends with a commoner. Well, fine."
She stood, tears fighting with her anger. "I once had a friend named
Edward Sothos. I don't know who you are, but if Edward Sothos should
return, he'll know where to find me." Without giving him a chance to
respond, she turned and left, slamming the door on her way out.
No sooner had she stormed out than Daniel Moore opened the door and
leaned in. "Anything wrong, sir?" he asked his superior.
"Wrong?" Edward responded as he stared out the window at the
shadows full upon the castle grounds. "No, Captain."
"But -- Coury --?"
"Leave it, Captain."
The bafflement on Moore's face was plain. "What about her helm and
shield?" he asked, noticing the articles on the table for the first
time.
Edward twisted in his chair to face his officer. His gaze flicked
to the items on the table and back to Moore. "Have one of the guards
take them to Commander Courymwen's quarters," he instructed in a dead
voice.
"Yes, sir." Daniel was about to leave when Edward stayed him.
"Captain," the Knight Commander said, "I shall be at Gortholde's
Hall should I be needed." So saying, Sir Edward pushed past the
still-bewilidered Captain Moore.
As the door closed, Daniel shook his head. "Yes, sir."
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