Saga Mac Brón: Chapter 10

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay (edited)

10 minutes

The Knight and the Steward

Wyverheld loomed over the land like a stone dragon. From the farmlands below, one could not even see the mighty keep within, but only the curtain walls that rose straight from the rock, as if grown from the granite itself, and also the long sea wall that plummeted down its western slope, stretching out a half-mile into the Ocean Sea. Now, standing before those walls, the knight of Ketch was doubly certain that Bolghim could only have entered it by treachery.

He did not bother with the main gate, that single entry-point, through and out of which knights and merchants passed every hour of the day. He went instead to the man-sized port-gate set perpendicular on the protruding gatehouse wall.

“Go away or get in line,” said the guard.

Uskollinen Miles pulled back his rags, flashing the red beneath. The guard bowed quickly.

“Sorry sir!”

There was a clatter of metal. Bars were raised. Gears turned. The side gate swung back, and Captain Miles stepped through.

He walked swiftly toward the keep, dodging the carts, and the children of merchants, craftsmen, and even nobles. The former dressed in bright clothing, celebrating their wealth, which was the product of industry and cunning. The latter wore the blue tones of the fighting class. Blue, like the sky, which ruled. Blue, like the fine Armellian steel that their fathers alone could purchase and bear. Yet they played together all the same. Being children, not one seemed to sense the cloud that now hung over Talahm-lár.

Captain Miles removed his tattered garb, and flung it to the ground. No doubt it would be scooped up by some merchant’s child when no one looked, then cleaned, clipped, and sold back to those who planted. He glanced over his shoulder at the bright-clad children, a glint of amusement in his eyes, for he knew they were waiting for him to depart. For just a moment, he saw a face in the shadows; eyes the color of burnished jade under a gray cowl. Uskollinen blinked, but the face was gone. He turned, and entered the keep of Wyverheld.

The steward was not in his quarters. The captain looked for him in the banquet hall, in the baths, and — just to be thorough — in the chapel. He wasn’t in any of these places, but Captain Miles knew he must be close at hand. A full cohort of Ketch lined the curtain walls, and more patrolled the keep itself. Finally, and with an unpleasant feeling he couldn’t identify, Uskollinen made his way toward the emperor’s throne room. The iron doors were shut fast, and guard of two was posted outside.

“I must see the steward,” said the captain.

“He won’t be disturbed,” said a knight in red regalia.

It was a new uniform, and similar to the ceremonial dress worn by the Royal Blue. Captain Miles made note of the change.

“He will want to see me,” said the captain. “Go and tell him Usk is here.”

The guard started a little at the name, then bowed, and passed through the doors. The remaining guard stared ahead, looking pointedly away from him.

“When did you begin dressing like the Royal Blue?” said Uskollinen.

The other man cleared his throat, then looked at the captain almost apologetically.

“Steward’s orders,” he grunted. “For the continuity of rule.”

Usk Miles pondered this, and then the doors opened. The steward sat not on the throne itself, but on one of the broad marble steps that ascended to its platform. He held an open scroll, and was dressed for the field, with a crimson jerkin and black hose, the jerkin covered in a light, flexible mail. His great silver beard and long hair were cleaned and newly trimmed, but aside from that he was the same man, a man of practical action, not of pomp and splendor. The steward was the emperor’s hand, and, for the time being, the acting ruler of all Talahm-lár. He glanced up from the scroll.

“So you’re alive. And why is that?”

Usk took a breath, giving himself time to be concise.

“My liege,” he began. “What do you know already?”

“Only that you were found near the northern end of the Empire Road, stumbling and with an ill-used look. And without your men. The rider told me nothing else.”

Usk nodded. “What I have to say is for you alone. The emperor and his mother have been found.”

The steward raised an eyebrow at this.

“The emperor?”

“The crown-prince, rather,” corrected Usk. “We came upon them trekking East, and overtook them at Uz. They planned, I assume, to cross the Stjörnur Lach. No doubt they were going North, into the Ice Lands, and from there to cross the strait to their allies in Bolghim.”

The steward made no response this analysis. Instead he pointed with the scroll at Uskollinen’s face.

“You overtook them…and then?”

The captain did not try to conceal his rage at the memory of it.

“They’d hired some mercenary, or at least I took him to be one. At Uz, he gave them over to us for a fair price. So I thought, and so I misjudged, my liege. For upon the barge, he came on us by surprise. I have failed you my steward. You, and my men. And I lost them, sir. Now I ask you to judge me harshly.”

He bowed. The steward watched him, remaining silent for a time. When he spoke, his tone was cool.

“This man, who killed three Red Knights, and overcame you as well,” began the steward, “who was he?”

Usk’s face burned hot with shame, but he raised his head, and spoke plainly. “A northerner. Not from the Ice Lands, I think. By his accent and bearing, I should say he was a barbarian of the northwest. Perhaps some second-son, or minor noble. He had an ill-used look.”

The steward laughed. “Aye! That would lesson your failure, would it? If he grew up in some rough-hewn hill fort, and was trained in the art of hacking at trees?”

The captain said nothing. For shame, it was hard to meet the steward’s eyes.

“But, perhaps he was noble, after a fashion,” mused the steward. “For I perceive he spared your life.”

Usk looked away, and glowered into the burnished white stone of the throne room floor.

“Only to shame me, my liege. And shamed I am. I have let them slip through my fingers. By now they’re already far north, perhaps crossing into the Knife Lands as we speak-”

“No,” interrupted the steward. “They would not have gone north.”

In spite of his humiliation, Uskollinen Miles looked up, perplexed.

“But Steward, it is known that there are alliances between the Northern Lords and Bolghim. That is the only way they could have-”

The steward shook his head. “You are a man of war, and so would not understand. True, she would not have risked the sea, for fear of being recognized. But neither would she — a traitor, but a secret one — trust herself to those cold-hearts. Not even to bring her to allies. And you are mistaken to think that a gentle creature like the empress would or even could deal directly with the Bolghim. In person, they would more than slay her. She would not go to them, nor would she so easily relinquish her machinations here. The empress would go to one of her own instead.”

For a moment, the captain’s shame ebbed; his curiosity and confusion overcame them.

“To…to the High Ones?”

The steward glowered at him. “Do not suggest ill of them, captain. Without the High Ones, Talahm-lár would be wild still, and its men no different than your half-noble mercenary. They certainly can have nothing to do with this. The empress would go to one of her sisters. Down in the Triarchy. Probably to Tarkaric.”

Usk nodded. It made sense now. Partly. But how did she intend to get there, if not by sea convoy, or by the Empire Road? The one way remaining strained credulity, and he felt too much a fool to speak it aloud. The steward nodded, seeming to follow his train of thought.

“Indeed, through the Black Lands. She’d try, perhaps, the Devil’s Beard first. In the old days, the guard would have whisked her through by safe paths. But now at least she knows that she is pursued. The empress is clever. She’ll go by paths none can follow.”

Uskollinen remained silent, but the question still burned in him: How can she expect to survive? The steward generously supplied the answer.

“She’s one of them, Usk. The High Ones have a power over dark things. Shades, and demons, and perhaps even the Worm — though I doubt it. She can pass through those lands, if only she can stay awake, and avoid their dark altars. The High Ones wove the Diamond Wall, in the Planting Days after the Catacylsm. There are secret ways through, and she and her sisters would know them.”

Usk nodded. This indeed made sense. But there were other horrors along that path, and he doubted the empress could make it so far.

“Probably she could not cross the black mountains alone,” said the steward, again following his thoughts, sparing Usk the embarrassment of speaking them, while subtly reminding him of his station. It was not for Uskollinen Miles to see the complicated strands of state. He was a fighting man. A loyal hand of his steward; that was all.

“Even so,” continued the steward, “we must act as if she will make it through. We must plan to intercept her, and the boy, and bring them here. That is the only way justice can be done, and be seen to be done. Talahm-lár is a kingdom of light and of law, and all must see the whole truth of what has taken place. She must stand trial here in Wyverheld, in the presence of all the great houses. Then, may it please the High Ones, we may either crown the boy emperor — if he is innocent — or else wait on the servants of light to send us a new daughter. One uncorrupted by power.”

Usk nodded again, but frowned to himself.

“What is it?” asked the steward. “You think differently?”

The captain shook his head firmly. “No, my liege. It’s just…sir, the boy is innocent. I am sure of it.”

The steward took a deep breath, and Usk prepared himself to suffer for his insolence. Instead, the steward smiled. He stood, and walked over to the captain, placing a heavy hand upon his shoulder.

“I truly hope you are right,” said steward. “But you are a man of honor, Uskollinen Miles. You do not connive, nor do you recognize conniving when you see it in plain sight. That is why this barbarian took you in. The empress and her son are not like you. Theirs is a world where power is currency, and virtue lies in its management. Such people can, in good conscience, without any sign of guilt, say and do whatever they must to achieve their ends.”

Usk considered, and nearly shuddered at the thought.

“That is why I trust you,” added the steward, “in spite of your failure. And that is why I am sending you to the Diamond Wall.”

Captain Miles grit his jaw, and hid the wave of relief that washed over him. He had not feared death for his failure; indeed, he had hungered for it. But to be given a second chance to do right for Talahm-lár. A chance, even, to avenge his men? This was more than he’d dared hope for. It would not undo their deaths. He would still go and face their wives and their children. He would tell them, without embellishment, how he’d lost their husbands and their fathers. But when he’d done his duty, he would fly to the southeastern end of Lantinen. There he would capture the empress. Charms or no, he would snare her in her own diamond web, and take her back for judgment. But more than this, he would find the northerner who’d slain his men. And he would kill him.

Usk bowed, and went to a knee before the steward. The other bade him rise, and go quickly to the healing halls.

“I know you will be anxious to leave. Indeed, you must do so within the week. But first go and mend for a day. There, while your mind and body heal, you may lay your plans. When you emerge, act as swiftly as you can — while being thorough.”

The captain thanked him, and left his presence. He passed through the throne room doors, turned the corner, and walked down the long, lonely hallway that led from the throne room. As he did so, he passed by one of several intersecting corridors, and stopped. In the blink of an eye, he saw and then lost two striking jade eyes that watched from under a gray cowl. The eyes went dark. The figure turned, and ran into the corridor.

Usk swore, and sprinted after. He could hear the tramp of quick, light feet. Twice he came around a bend, only to see a inch of gray cloak just before it disappeared. Finally the figure made an error, for he fled down a hall with no exits. He was trapped, whoever he was. Usk drew his dagger and called into the darkness. There was no answer.

He took a torch from the wall, bent cautiously to the ground, and lit it with his firebox. Soon the oil-soaked torch cast a red light upon the close-set walls. With dagger in one hand, and torch in the other, Usk inched forward. He stopped, and shook his head. The corridor came to a dead end. There were no windows. Even the old waste hole cut into the floor had long ago been sealed. He stomped on it to be sure. He tried the walls, pressing on every stone, lest it conceal some hidden lever. There was nothing at all. The gray-cloaked figure had vanished into thin air.

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