In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 14

Valemonde, Lynese

Isolde pushed through the bustling crowd that filled the streets of Valemonde’s Traders District. The people parted in surprise at the sight of the princess in her deep blue silk gown, adorned with intricate silver embroidery. She made her way through them, ignoring the hawkers shouting their wares and the smells of roasting meats and baking bread mixed with the musky odor of filth.

Normally, the trip was a heartbreaking experience as she exposed herself to this side of the city, feeling pangs of regret and shame that so many of her people lived like this. Not today.

Today, she barely noticed the cramped shopfronts and apartments stacked haphazardly atop one another, leaning precariously over the street. She paid no mind to the ragged children with dirty faces who laughed and played tag, darting between carts piled high with goods.

Instead, her rage boiled over as she stomped toward her destination, clouding everything around her. Behind her trailed a burly man with a thick beard and a stern expression unable to hide his clear anxiety. His eyes darted from person to person as he struggled to keep pace with the princess through the press of bodies. His uniform, emblazoned with the royal crest of House Montborne, marked him as a member of the Royal Guard, drawing even more attention.

“Princess,” he said as he caught up to her. “Your father has ordered that you remain at the palace. It is not safe for you to be out here.”

Isolde paused, her gaze fixed on the imposing structure looming before her. The Order of Healing hospital, a massive stone building with high arched windows and a soaring spire, the banner of the Order, two hands, palms up, a flame in between them, fluttered in the breeze above the entrance.

“I don’t care what my father ordered,” she said, whirling on her guard, finger stabbing at him like a sword. “If you want to take me back to the palace, you’re going to have to tackle me and carry me back over your shoulder. But I warn you now, I will kick and bite you the whole way.”

“Princess, please,” the man said, holding up his hands, looking uneasy, “You promised your father. We just care about your safety. This is a dangerous area of the city.”

“My safety?” Isolde scoffed. “What about the safety of the men who are lying in there, wounded and dying, because my father saw fit to use them as pawns in his political games? I know what he did with my supply shipment, and if he can lie to my face, then I can lie to his.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched towards the hospital, her skirts swishing around her ankles. The guard hesitated for a moment, then followed her, his face a mask of resignation.

The Disciples of Healing looked surprised to see her, but pleased as well. This wasn’t her first visit to the hospital, and she had a reputation for being kind and compassionate to the soldiers in their care. They were also some of the few who didn’t fear her father’s wrath, their order placing them outside any worldly cares. Which might be why she liked coming here so much, as opposed to visiting the army directly, where her father very well might have had her tied up and returned to him.

She took a moment to shake off her anger. She might be furious at her father, but these men didn’t deserve that. They had fought and were wounded in her family’s name, and they deserved every bit of her focus and compassion. Putting a smile on her face, she paused at a young man whose leg was swathed in blood-spotted bandages.

“How are you feeling, Tristan?” she asked, taking his hand in between hers, remembering his name from a previous visit.

“Better, my lady,” he said, smiling weakly as she said his name. “My leg doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.”

“Good. I’ve prayed to the ancients for you. I’m glad they heard my prayers.”

“They would have listened to you, my lady.”

She gave him a small smile. He was a good man, not much older than her. The idea that he’d been forced to see some of the things he had at his age, with his equally young wife and child back at home, made her heart ache.

“The Disciples tell me you’ll be able to walk again soon. Next time I come by, I expect to see you ready to stand, even if it is with a cane. I know your wife wants you home to help with the baby, not lying about in here, talking to girls and being lazy.”

He smiled and gave a weak laugh. In truth, the Disciples had also told her he would probably never walk without a limp again. They exchanged a few more words before she excused herself to continue her rounds.

At the next cot, she found a soldier staring vacantly at the ceiling, his face pale and eyes hollow.

“Alric? Can you hear me?” she asked.

He was a fairly recent arrival, one of the many to be brought back, injured from the fighting on the Chansole river. On her last visit, he had been very weak, but awake. She looked around, worried that his condition had deteriorated so badly.

A Disciple, seeing her look around, approached, his voice low. “I’m afraid the infection has spread, your Highness. We’ve done all we can, but I fear he may not last the night.”

Isolde nodded, excusing the Disciple, blinking back tears as she looked down at the man’s ashen face. Gently, she brushed the hair back from his forehead and leaned close.

“May the Ancients guide your soul on its journey and welcome you into their eternal embrace,” she whispered. “Your service and sacrifice shall not be forgotten.”

Straightening, Isolde had to steady herself for a moment as grief threatened to overwhelm her composure. With effort, she regained control and continued down the row of cots, knowing there were many more soldiers who needed her now. She could mourn later, in private.

Some cots she stopped at to say a few words, others she knew the person either didn’t like to speak to people or knew she made them feel uncomfortable. Those she would give a smile or a nod and pass them by, although she’d still talk to the Disciples about their condition.

Seeing a face she didn’t recognize, which wasn’t unusual with the newly wounded men being brought in every day, she stopped. He was older than her, but not so much older, maybe in his mid-twenties. His side wrapped up in bandages, a light pink coloring on them as it already began to bleed through. His leg was also wrapped up tightly, boards on either side of it, immobilizing it.

It wasn’t his injury that immediately caught her attention, however. He had an odd expression on his face, one of almost resignation. She’d seen enough dying in here over the last year to know that was as big of a danger to their recovery, and keeping their spirits up was as important as any medicine the Disciples might give them.

“How are you feeling?” she asked kindly.

The man looked up at her uncertainly. “Alright, I suppose, m’lady. This leg pains me something awful though.”

Isolde nodded sympathetically. “Have they given you something for the pain?”

“Yes, m’lady, but it hasn’t started helping yet.”

“It will. I know it’s hard, but you have to just be patient, let the Disciples work the ancients’ will upon you,” she said, and then paused, unsure how to ask what she wanted to ask. “When I first came over, you looked troubled though. Is something else weighing on your mind?”

“No, m’lady,” he said, hesitantly. “I’m … it’s fine.”

“It’s okay,” she said, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m here to listen to you, all of you. If there’s ever anything I can do to help, I want to do it. Please, it would make me feel awful if there was something I could do and you didn’t tell me.”

She gave him a pleading look. She usually preferred compassion or sympathy to get through to reticent patients, rather than guilt, which tended to add to their troubles instead of easing them, but she could recognize the signs in him that neither of those would work. He was afraid to complain to someone high above his station, unsure of what would happen. It wasn’t uncommon, especially among men who’d come from more rural areas, where they had less contact with those of a higher station.

In those cases, guilt was the only way to get them to speak up.

“I’m sorry. I … uhh … Begging your pardon, m’lady, but speaking true, I’m awful worried about my home. The Viceroy’s men came and took me from my land near a year ago now. My wife and boys did their best to get the planting in, but with this bum leg, I’ll be no use come harvest time, even if they don’t make me go back to the army instead of sending me home. We’ve scrimped and saved, but I fear my family will go hungry this winter without my help in the fields.”

Reaching into the embroidered purse at her waist, Isolde withdrew several gold coins and pressed them into the farmer’s hand.

“Please, take this and send it to your wife. It isn’t much, but hopefully it will help her hire day laborers to bring in your crops.”

The man’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he looked at the riches in his hand. That was probably more than his farm made in a whole year, and she’d just given it to him.

“My lady! I can’t …”

“What’s your name?” She asked, interrupting him.

He started to protest again, probably expecting her to say anything else other than what she did.

“M…Malteo, m’lady.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Malteo. I am Isolde. Now, this,” she said, taking his hand and folding his fingers over the coins again. “Is a gift freely given. To turn your back on the hospitality of another is an affront to the ancients. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you, Malteo?”

“N…No, m’lady.”

“You seem like such a good man, I didn’t think so. Which means you’re just going to have to send this home to your wife, so she can take care of your family. You see, this isn’t even for you, it’s for her, and I know she would be shocked if you turned down a gift in her name. I may not have worked as hard as your wife, tending a field and children at the same time, but I know a little of what it’s like to be a woman. Trust me, I believe she has done everything and more to deserve this.”

“Thank you, m’lady. Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated, relief washing over him as tears started to form in his eyes. “I will pray for you and your father, for helping us so.

“This is not from my father,” she said, much harsher than she intended. “Consider it a gift from me alone.”

Her guard made a small noise of protest behind her, but Isolde silenced him with a look before turning back to a confused-looking Malteo, “Nevermind that. You just promise me you’ll look after your wife. Okay?”

“Yes, m’lady,” he said, nodding earnestly.

“Good. I have to go see some of the other men, but I’m in here regularly and the Disciples have permission to contact me at any time. Please let them know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Yes, m’lady. Bless you again.”

She patted him on the hand and rose, moving on, stopping at various cots to offer words of comfort and more coins when needed from her dwindling purse. Though she tried to be discreet, word of her generosity spread swiftly through the hospital, eliciting murmurs of gratitude. By the time she reached the end of that row of cots, her purse was empty. She cursed herself for not planning ahead enough. She’d been in such a fit of rage, she hadn’t properly prepared for her visit.

She finished her rounds and started to make her way back to the front of the hospital for her return trip home. Seeing her go, several of the men still able to walk started to converge on her, wishing her well, thanking her for her words and her visit, or seemingly wanting to just receive a touch on the hand or shoulder, almost as if they simply wanted to be near her.

Her guard looked worried, but she could see it in these men’s eyes they meant her no harm, and waved him away. Isolde felt a mix of emotions wash over her. On one hand, she was touched by their genuine affection and admiration. On the other, she couldn’t help but feel the burden of their expectations.

“My Lady,” her guard pleaded with her again.

“Yes, alright,” she said with a sigh before turning her attention to the men gathered around her. “My brave soldiers, I’m sorry, but I must leave now, but I will come back. I want to thank you for your sacrifice and I will pray to the ancients every day that you all recover and return to your homes and families again. They should be proud to know how valiant you all are, and how well you honored your country. Please know I will forever be grateful for you.”

A cheer rose up among them, filling Isolde’s heart.

***

Sidorian Army Camp, Chansol River, Lynese

After a day and a night in the saddle, with the added burden of escorting prisoners, William was more than relieved to be back at the main army camp. He’d longed for, begged for the responsibility to lead men in his own right, but the actual work of doing that was a greater burden than he’d imagined. Or at least a different kind of burden, one that he hadn’t yet learned to deal with properly.

Pushing aside the heavy canvas flap, he discovered his uncle, as was so often the case, seated at his makeshift writing desk, a quill in hand, scribbling out a message on a small piece of rolled parchment just small enough to fit in a wyvern’s message case. That was one of the starker surprises William had found since joining his uncle’s military campaign. A leader’s job was more organization and logistics than leading men into battle. Worse, that difference seemed to widen the higher in leadership one got.

A very different picture than the stories his nurse told him as a child.

Aldric looked up as he entered, a gust of wind catching the tent flap, fluttering it loudly against the outside of the tent until a guard could capture it and tie it off again.

Seeing William, Aldric rolled up the message and tucked it away before turning to face him directly.

“How did it go?” he asked, smiling at William.

“Good. It’s not ideal, but I think it will still work. It will be difficult, to be sure. The river is wide there, and the current swift. We’ll need many trips back and forth by small rafts to get everyone across. Still, the location is secluded and unpopulated, and the water slow enough that a strong swimmer could make it across if they had to, which solves the problem of the lead line.”

“And the trip back?”

“Exactly as I said. I know it’s a long march back on foot, but it’s doable, especially since everyone knows what would happen if we failed, both to us and the assault. I still believe it’s our best bet to ensure the crossing happens and we finally get moving again.

Aldric nodded thoughtfully, not really looking at him. William was used to this by now, and even marveled at his uncle’s ability to hold the battlefield in his head, playing out scenarios as he considered possible movements, without the need for maps and markers.

Finally, Aldric smiled and said, “You’ve done well, William. You’ve really shown me something, both with the plan and how well you’ve prepared for it. When the time comes, I’m going to want you to lead it.”

“Are you sure,” William said, excitedly, the stress and worry from minutes before fading into the back of his mind.

This was exactly the kind of opportunity he’d been wanting, although now that it was here he could scarcely believe it.

“Yes. When the time comes, I’ll need to be with the main body of the army. Besides, this is your plan and you should see it through. Don’t worry, this time I’ll make sure to lend you Eskild again.”

“Thank you, uncle,” William said, trying not to sound too relieved.

He didn’t want his uncle to think he’d become dependent on the Thay warrior, even though having him on something like this would ease William’s nerves. Planning a military operation and leading it in the field were very different things. Having someone he could turn to for advice or even just encouragement would go a long way.

“Go and get some rest now,” Aldric continued, turning back to shuffle through some papers on his desk. “I’ll meet with Pembroke to finalize our plans for the crossing. If all goes well these next few days, we should have a better idea of the timetable soon.”

Instead of leaving as his uncle commanded, William hesitated, his hand hovering above the tent flap, glancing back.

“Is something wrong, William?” Aldric asked, setting his work down again.

“Yes. As we were scouting the crossing, we spotted a village burning not far away. Since that was ostensibly our mission and we’d heard about the bandits raiding villages in the area, we went to check on it. Instead of Lynesian bandits, we found some of Sir Alistair’s men sacking the village for food and supplies.”

Aldric’s face darkened. “Desertion is a serious offense. What did you do?”

“That’s just it, they weren’t deserters, not fully. They left to get food but then were going to return to continue the fight. I even recognized one of them from the healers tent when I was visiting Sir Drummond. He was injured but returned to his command to keep fighting. I confronted them and they surrendered without a fight. They said they were just starving and had to find something to eat. They seemed desperate.”

Sighing, Aldric passed a hand over his face. “This is becoming a bigger problem than I realized. I’ve asked for more support, but so far the ‘king’ has been unable to provide any assurances. I told Pembroke and the rest to do what they can to keep the men fed, but apparently that isn’t enough.”

William could hear the quotes his uncle put around king and knew he meant his step-father. Although he’d shied away from saying it directly, he knew Aldric believed Edmund was more or less controlling Serwyn at this point, directing the orders he gave. Or at least, that is where he put the blame for the decisions being made.

“This is why we need to get across the river now,” Aldric continued. “If we can take Lynesian stores, we can lessen the strain on our own resources. It won’t be enough to make up for our lack, but it will lessen the strain of it. We can’t afford to stay in one place any longer.”

“About the men I arrested; the ones raiding the village because they were starving. I made some promises, in order to get them to go quietly and keep it from escalating into violence. Well, and because it was the right thing to do, considering how we were treating the men we’re responsible for.”

“What kind of promises,” his uncle asked, his tone more businesslike and professional rather than accusatory.

“I told them that if they cooperated and caused no further trouble, I would speak to you about leniency. Those who only took food and supplies, and did not harm any villagers, I said I would argue for their release after paying restitution to the village. The ones who committed violence or arson, I promised I would ask that they only be put in chains rather than hanged.”

William hesitated. Now that he said it out loud, he realized how that sounded. Something his step-father had always pressed home was how important it was to never take on burdens of others and never give them to those of a higher station. That it was his job, as a noble, to avoid the pitfalls of obligation, ensuring he delegated difficulties in the correct direction. In this, he’d done the exact opposite, taking on the troubles of men with no station and making promises for his uncle, a duke of high station.

“I apologize for stepping out of my place. I know I spoke rashly, committing you without your knowledge. I only did so because I felt it was the only way to avoid further bloodshed and bring them in without a fight. And because I knew some of them men, knew them to be good men driven to desperation.”

“Actually, if it was nearing bloodshed and their situation was as you described, you might have made the right decision. It is still my responsibility to review each case to determine what justice is appropriate. However, if things are as you say, for those who stole out of true desperation, and harmed no one, and have a good report from their commanders, I will follow your lead, likely demand restitution but then release them back to their units. For those who are deemed by their commanders to be troublemakers and problem cases, I will probably use this as an opportunity to deal with them. I know you made promises and that might seem unfair, but there are opportunities that you have to take as a commander, for the army as a whole.”

“You’re saying sometimes duty comes before honor?”

“Yes. Honor is important. Having honor tells the world what kind of man you are and maintaining your honor will ensure you hold true to being that man. Duty is about what you owe to others, but especially those who have pledged themselves to you. Duty and honor often come together, but there will be times when you have to choose between your word and your duty to your people. Your people always come first. Always. As your uncle and now mentor, my honor is tied to yours, and my honor obligates me to uphold the word you gave these men. My duty is to the army as a whole, both in the service it renders to Sidor, and to protect the lives of as many of the sworn men under my service.”

“I understand,” William said, repeating the words in his head.

“Good. Very good. I want you to know you did the right thing. You’ve shown compassion and understanding towards your men, and that’s an important quality in a leader. That compassion will serve you well, if tempered by hard lessons like this. I’m very proud of you.”

“And about the supplies?” William prompted.

“That is a bigger issue, one I’m not sure I will be able to solve right away. Soon we’ll cross the river and hopefully take some of the enemy’s stores. In the meantime, I’ll send a wyvern to the capital, hopefully they’ll see our problems and make the right call. Now, you’ve had a long couple of days. Go see to the rest of your men and get some rest. In the morning, we’ll have one last council of war, to make sure everything is in place. You have a big job ahead of you.”

“Thank you, uncle. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Aldric said.