In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 17

Starhaven, Kingdom of Sidor

Edmund stood beside the king’s ornate throne, his expression sour as he watched the doors to the audience chamber swing open. The throne room of the Grand Hall in Starhaven was filled to capacity, the crowds of ornately dressed nobles and courtiers packed shoulder to shoulder along the sides of the long gold and white carpeted central walkway.

All heads turned as the great doors at the end of the hall swung open. Colm Thranton walked in confidently, making his way down the center aisle, head held high. The crowds murmured amongst themselves at the appearance, for good reason. Colm’s scarred, devilish face was a far cry from the normal men and women who made their way into the king’s presence. Some nobles shrank back unconsciously, as if to give him space as he passed.

Reaching the end of the carpet, Colm, who must have been instructed on proper etiquette for such a setting, dropped to one knee, head bowed in supplication to the king.

Edmund scowled as he watched Colm kneel before the throne. A stark contrast to everyone around him, still in his leather armor and weathered cloak, which had at least been cleaned before he’d been allowed to step foot in the chambers. He’d always done his best to keep Thranton out of the public eye, knowing how ill-suited he was for more polite company. And yet, here he was, adding a level of potential trouble Edmund had wanted to avoid.

“Rise,” Sewyn said.

Colm stood, clasping his hands behind him in a manner much more casual than was considered correct. Edmund eyed Serwyn, ready for his nephew, so easily offended by the smallest slight, to say something, ending this charade.

Instead, Serwyn smiled and said, “Well done, Captain. Word has reached us of your swift justice against the peasant currently in Rebellion in Kingsheart. You have shown the entire kingdom what fate awaits those who dare defy their rightful king, and corrected an error my Uncle has allowed to fester uncontested.”

“I am but a humble servant to Your Grace,” replied Colm, inclining his head respectfully. “It was my duty to uphold the King’s justice and protect the realm from the spread of treason.”

Edmund’s scowl deepened. More and more lately, his nephew had added small, biting remarks in their conversations and in public, still holding him to blame for the actions of rabble. Now Colm, who Edmund had brought in to correct the situation, was getting the recognition for solving the problem instead. Worse, the mercenary was playing into the role, acting very differently than he normally did. This was a man who would readily sever his own nephew’s head from his shoulders for a few gold coins. Simpering and bowing before the throne was so utterly beyond Colm’s nature, that it instantly made Edmund suspicious.

“You have done far more than your duty,” Serwyn said. “By crushing this rebellion before it could grow, you have earned the favor and gratitude of the crown. The kingdom shall long remember your loyal service.”

Edmund’s scowl deepened as Colm glanced in his direction, giving a knowing look and a slight smile before saying, “Your Grace, I must confess, since I was a boy I have dreamed of being a knight. But due to the low nature of my birth, that honor has always been denied me.”

It was laughable on its face. Not only was the man the farthest thing from a knight that had ever existed, in all of their conversations, he’d never given any indication of interest in that direct, whatsoever.

Serwyn, however, seemed to miss the entire byplay.

“Since ascending the throne, I have learned that a man’s worth has little to do with the circumstances of his birth. There are many who call themselves my loyal subjects, barons who trace their lineage back centuries, yet are lax in their duty to uphold the law. Sidor needs more men like you, Captain.”

To Edmund’s shock and outrage, his nephew stood and reached over to the steward of the sword, who held the boy’s sword of state, taking it by the hilt and pulling the blade free from the scabbard before descending the steps.

“Kneel,” he commanded, stopping in front of the mercenary.

Colm dropped to one knee, head bowed, again following the correct protocol, although where the man would have learned this, Edmund had no clue.

“What is your full name?” Serwyn asked.

“Colm Thranton, Your Grace.”

“In the name of my forbearers and in the eyes of the ancients, I name you Sir Colm Thranton, Knight of Sidor, duty sworn to uphold the kingdom with your body, soul and being. Rise, Sir Colm.”

Colm stood, an uncharacteristically genuine smile on his face. “You honor me beyond words, Your Grace. I shall strive to be worthy of this honor, and serve you and the realm faithfully all my days.”

Edmund seethed as he watched his nephew remount the stairs and casually hand the ceremonial sword to him instead of back to the steward, as if he were some kind of a lackey. Serwyn settled himself on the throne once more, an amused grin on his face as he addressed the newly minted knight.

“Sir Colm, it is now your duty to see to it that the remainder of the rebels are rounded up and dealt with. I trust you will not fail me in this task.”

“It would be my utmost pleasure, Your Grace. I shall not rest until every last rebel has faced the king’s justice.”

The mercenary bowed low, his eyes flicking up to meet Edmund’s for a brief moment. The sly smile that played at the corners of his mouth was almost imperceptible, but Edmund caught it and felt his anger boil over. It took every ounce of Edmund’s self-control to refrain from charging down the dais and throttling the man.

He watched as Colm walked confidently out of the throne room, the heavy doors closing behind him with a resounding thud. The room was silent for a moment before the whispers and murmurs of the gathered nobles and courtiers began to build once more.

When he’d heard Colm’s initial report, Edmund had thought he’d finally regained at least some measure of control. He reported back to his nephew that the majority of the rebels had been slain or captured, with the prisoners marched back to the Starhaven for a very public execution. Of course, he knew that really wasn’t the majority, but he’d needed to do damage control with his nephew, who’d become increasingly uncontrollable the longer the peasants were in revolt.

He still did not know how Serwyn even learned of Colm’s involvement. It seemed unlikely the mercenary would have been able to weasel his way into the king’s good graces directly since, as far as he knew, he was the only connection between the two. The entire audience had been announced suddenly, and blindsided him completely, with Colm taking the accolades that he’d counted on to setting things with his nephew’s.

Now, things were notably worse. He needed a way to restore control of Serwyn and get the kingdom back in line. And he needed to do it soon.

***

Port Belmar, East of Lysmir Lake, Northern Lynese

William knelt on the floor of his tent, reading passages from his small copy of the Tomb of Remembrance, one of the revered books of the acolytes. Occasionally, he would stop at a section and close his eyes, repeating the passage to himself, focusing on the words and their deeper meanings, as his tutors had taught him to do.

The air in his tent was thick with burning sage, the soot of which he had rubbed under his eyes to help him symbolically see through the veil to the time of magic. William considered himself a true believer, faithful to the ancients and the acolytes, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander during ceremonies.

This time last year, he’d been at the Great Hall in Starhaven, surrounded by scores of Sidor’s highest nobles as the high priest led the solemn rituals to commemorate the Fall. The pillars holding up the hall’s massive ceiling were wreathed in burning sage, clouds of smoke filling the top of the room but not leaving a trace of soot along the wondrous ceiling. Another gift from the ancients.

They’d recited the rituals, led by the Elder of Starhaven, and listened to sermons about the ancients, what they had left behind as their world fell, the ideals they had maintained, and what all believers should be doing to uphold those ideals.

Now, camped on foreign soil far from the great halls, or really any of the halls of antiquity except those in Lynesian hands, William performed the rituals on his own. Cleansing his mind and body for the coming year, ridding himself of the evils he’d collected over that time, and recommitting himself in the sight of the ancients.

He refocused, whispering the names of the fallen, whom he’d pledge to remember each year, building his list. His list of ancestors was still small and growing, but he’d heard some of the older nobles had hundreds of names, taking the entire day of remembrance to recite them from memory. Each name someone they committed to remember and hold close, keeping their flame alive among the ancients.

William remembered his mother first, as he did every year. Her face was shadowy, hard to recall accurately as the years passed, shrouded in his memory of her when he’d been a young child. He lit the first candle, whispering her name, pledging her memory. He lit another for the father he never knew, for a nanny who’d cared for him when he was little, when his mother had first been courted by Edmund. She’d been taken by the flux. He remembered crying so hard for her, the first person he’d known personally who passed. This year he added a new candle for his Uncle Gavric. The greatest man he’d ever known.

Part of him had wanted to light a candle for the men who’d fallen under his command, but William hadn’t been close to any of them, not enough to add them to his list of the remembered. He was glad he didn’t have to add one for Sir Drummond who, while not ready to take to the field yet, was walking around, still keeping up with the army.

Putting the wick out in a small bowl of sand, William reached to pick his tomb back up, to recite the next passage, when a voice at the entrance to his tent nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“William?” his uncle Aldric said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I know you’re in the middle of your remembrance, but I need to talk to you for a moment, and I don’t have a lot of time to wait.

William set the book on the small altar below the flickering candles and pushed himself up, saying, “Come in, uncle.”

The tent flap parted and Aldric entered, ducking his head slightly under the low canvas. Instead of armor or the under gambeson he wore most of the time in camp, Aldric was dressed in more comfortable clothes with a heavy cloak fastened around his shoulders.

“You’re not performing the rituals?” William said, surprised to see Aldric there.

Nearly every man in both armies would spend the day in worship, meaning the front, as it was at the moment, would be quiet for the time being.

“Not yet. Now that we’ve taken Port Belmar and cleared out most of the Lynesian shipping, I’ll be sailing back to Sidor within the hour. I’ll do my remembrances on the ship. Which is why I’m here. I’m sorry to interrupt your worship, but I don’t have much time before I leave, and it’s important that we talk.”

“I understand,” William said, grabbing one of the camp stools near his cot and handing it over to his uncle while he sat on the other. “What’s happening? I didn’t know you were leaving.”

“I know. I hadn’t thought we’d take a major port this quickly, so I hadn’t prepared for this as well as I wanted to. The main reason I needed to talk to you is what’s going to happen while I’m gone,” Aldric said, and then paused for a moment. “While I’m away, I’m leaving you in command of the army.”

“What?” William blurted out in shock. “That can’t be right. Surely Baron Pembroke or Sir Alistair would be better choices to lead in your absence.”

“It’s true both men have more experience, both in battle and in positions of command, than you have, but they are not Whittons. As much as some may wish differently, our family and Sidor are one and our men expect a Whitton to lead them. It is vitally important for morale. Pembroke and Alistair are good men, and both will be keys to your success, but they can’t hold the army together indefinitely on their own, not out here in the field. That requires a Whitton. It’s why I agreed to come out here when Edmund asked me in the first place. Once Gavric was struck down, the army foundered, in want of a Whitton.”

Aldric reached out and put a hand on William’s shoulder. “I have faith in you, William. Over the past few months, you’ve shown bravery, clear thinking, and, most importantly, a care for the men in your command. These are all important traits for a leader to have. You are inexperienced, but not incapable. And you’re not going to be alone. Pembroke, Alistair, and Eskild will all be here to advise you and help guide you to the correct decisions. Okay?”

“Yeah,” William said, still overwhelmed by the pronouncement, but mollified somewhat by the faith his uncle had in him. And the fact that he wouldn’t be alone.

“Good. Now, listen to your advisors, take their suggestions to heart, but remember, you’re in command. They may guide you, but the final decision rests with you. You may be young, but you are a Whitton serving in the name of the king and your father, the Duke. These men are duty-sworn to follow your orders. Trust in that, and trust in yourself. Follow your heart and do what you believe is right. You’ve already proven you have the instincts and temperament for command. This is your chance to show the rest of the world what you’re capable of.”

“But why do you have to go at all? We finally got across the river and are making progress again?”

“I know, and I wish, more than anything, that I could stay, but our supply situation has not improved. If anything, it has worsened. We’ve stemmed the shortage a little by seizing the stockpiled provisions we’ve taken from the Lynesians, but they will only sustain us for a short while. Once winter sets in, keeping the men fed and equipped will become much more difficult. I need to talk to your father and the king about securing more support for the army. And I’ve received disturbing news about some of the soldiers’ families back in Sidor. It won’t be long until word reaches the men and begins to cause unrest. I’d like to have answers for them before that happens.”

“Ohh,” William said.

He was aware of the supply situation, as he’d continued to look into it and after the incident at the Lynesian village. And he received the same reports as his Uncle. He’d sent three Wyverns to his step-father and one to Serwyn himself, trying to explain the situation. He hadn’t heard a response yet, but he’d hoped if they knew the true extent of the problem, they might do something.

“It’s also mid-summer and we have most of the levied men from the Rivermark here with us. By the time I arrive back in Sidor, the harvesting season will have begun. I think it likely that I will need to raise additional men and head for Shadowhold to reinforce our ranks before the Maw opens, which means it’s unlikely I will return until after it closes again. I don’t expect to sail until after Blessings Day, which means you will remain in command until early spring.”

William nodded again. He hadn’t considered that either, but it made sense. Every winter, the Maw opened and spewed forth the Chaosborn, foul creatures born in whatever demon realm existed through the maw, sending them both into the straits of terror and onto the closest shores of all three major continents. It happened on an almost regular schedule, and every year the three closest kingdoms, Sidor, Lynese, and Thay, prepared for the onslaught. This year, things would be different. The largest contingent of forces in the army had come from the Rivermark, and it would be short on soldiers. While not as close as the Duchy of Shadowhold, it still bore a large part of the defense. He knew Aldric sent many of his retainers south into Shadowhold to assist in keeping the creatures from breaking out of the nearly uninhabited swamps that extended from the Wyvern’s spine and into the Duchy proper.

This year, there would be far fewer men to stop the creatures.

“That being said, I expect the campaigning over the winter and even late fall to be minimal. The Lynesians will face a similar problem and I expect them to have to shift a large number of men south to protect their heartland. Especially since they don’t have the geographic protection we do from the narrows or the dying lands. Use that downtime. Feel free to take any opportunities fate presents but otherwise keep the army buttoned up until I return. We will resume our offensive in the spring.”

“If you don’t return until the spring, how should we prepare for next year’s offensive?”

“Work with Baron Pembroke to prepare for our campaign. He knows the goals and would be the one to design it, regardless of my presence. With things as they are, I expect you’ll probably be over the Lysmir river and on the western side of the continent before the ground freezes, so I’m sure he’ll have some notion for a push straight to their capital. Do not wait on me; you have good counsel here. Use your best judgement.”

“I won’t let you down, Uncle.”

“I know you won’t,” Aldric said, patting him on the shoulder again. “Everyone knows we can rely on the ‘Warrior Cub.’”

William rolled his eyes as his uncle laughed at him. After the battle, some of the men had pegged him with his new nickname. He appreciated their confidence in him, or whatever this was, but as names go, he could have hoped for better.

Seeing him blush at the name, Aldric only laughed harder.