Broken Rule | Chapter 15
This post is chapter fifteen of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
The ride from Kubara had been long and tiring, and Marek was uncomfortable in the borrowed royal coach. He wasn't used to such luxury. Bishop Vasili didn't seem to mind, but whether that was because he approved of the luxurious appointments of the coach or whether he simply remained silent on the subject Marek couldn't be sure. Vasili had accepted the mission from the king quickly enough, but Marek had been able to tell immediately that the bishop lacked all confidence in success. When Marek volunteered to accompany him it had made Vasili quite happy for a time, until he realized that it meant leaving Corwin in charge of the cathedral. Still, trying to stop a war was more important to the people than whether the wrong prayers were offered on the wrong feast days, and Vasili accepted Marek's offer.
Marek peered out the window of the coach. From the rumors he had heard, he had expected to see armed men at Castle Thornwood, but the size of Gavril's army was shocking. Tents and campfires surrounded the castle, and the constant activity combined with the summer rains had turned the ground into an unpleasant muck. Even as the coach rolled past he could see the soldiers practicing their craft, archers shooting at targets and pikemen marching in formation drills. The coach finally rolled to a halt outside the castle's main gate, and a knight in colors that Marek didn't recognize approached. Marek shook the bishop, who had fallen asleep in his seat. “Excellency, we've arrived.”
Vasili stirred and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Did I doze off?”
Before Marek could answer, the knight poked his head in through the window and addressed the bishop. “Your Excellency, welcome to Castle Thornwood. We were not informed of your visit or we would have prepared better to receive you. I am Sir Ronnel Towne at your service.”
“Sir, I am a servant of the Most Holy, and I go where I am needed. I trust in the Most Holy to provide for me. I require no preparations when I visit. If I may, I would pray at your chapel to give thanks for a safe journey.”
“Of course, Excellency. And when you finish, it would be an honor if you would lead us all in prayer.”
“I would be glad to do so. I believe that tomorrow is the Feast of Saint Bryson, patron of soldiers. I imagine that it is a day of special significance to many of the men here.”
“Ah, as you say Excellency, but I regret that we have had no priest to prepare for it.”
“Then it is providence that my friend Learned Marek and I have arrived when we have, yes? The Most Holy gives us what we need, when we need it.”
“Of course, Excellency, we are indeed blessed by your visit.”
“If it would not take you away from your other duties, may I ask you to relay a message to Duke Gavril? I desire to meet with him. At his convenience, of course.”
“I shall inform him myself, Excellency, as soon as I escort you to the chapel.”
Marek had made some desultory prayers in the chapel and then excused himself. He felt an urge to stretch his legs after the long coach ride, so he climbed some stairs up to the walls of the castle and decided to take a stroll around the fortification. He was able to take in the view of the countryside as he walked, and in normal times it would likely seem picturesque and relaxing. With the army gathered, it was difficult to pay attention to any scenery. He watched Gavril's army with fascination. Over the ramparts he spied a group of men wielding not swords and spears but picks and shovels. He called one of the men patrolling the wall over to him. “Brother, those men there, who are they?”
“Those are Sir Boris Oka's men. They're engineers, although they're not building anything fancy right now, just digging a new latrine.”
“I see,” said Marek, and he began to wonder if coming to Thornwood was part of the Most Holy's plan for him after all. It took no effort at all to imagine a company of such men tearing down the Wolf's Teeth, unearthing the library at Loden, setting him on the next stage of his journey. But how to achieve that? His mind raced. Surely this must be a piece of it, but the path was still obscured. He forced his mind to quiet. He must be patient. This much was revealed to him, perhaps more would be revealed soon.
Duke Gavril, fuming over a letter he had received from Lord Conti indicating that their arrangement would be severed due to some ludicrous technicality, was informed by his servants that the priests had arrived. Gavril wished he could ignore them, but protocol wouldn't allow it. He arranged to meet with Bishop Vasili and Learned Marek over a light supper in his private dining room. He hadn't been eating much in the past few days, but dining with the visiting priests was the minimum that courtesy required. Gavril marched into the room like a thunderstorm rolling in. As host, it was his responsibility to carry the conversation. “So, Excellency," Gavril began, "what brings you so far from your cathedral?”
The old bishop answered, “Your Grace, I am sure it will not surprise you that rumors of civil war have spread through Tarkannan like a plague. His Majesty King Radoslav knows that the Most Holy mourns when any of his children die needlessly and asked me to come here to see if there was anything that I could do to stop a war.”
Gavril drained a goblet of wine. He had endured lectures from priests most of his life, and he had never enjoyed it. “I mean no disrespect, Excellency, but I don't jump for Radoslav's bootlickers, and I won't jump for you. The men I gather to my banner are my concern, not yours.”
“Your Grace,” offered Learned Marek in a conciliating tone, “I think you may have misunderstood. His Majesty has empowered His Excellency Bishop Vasili as his envoy. I know you mistrust the motives of some of the nobles of Tarkannan, but surely you know that His Excellency cares only for the welfare of the people, yourself included. We are all children of the Most Holy, after all.”
Gavril looked at his empty glass and realized that lately he had been indulging far too much. “Forgive me, Excellency. I had assumed that you were here to deliver more demands and ultimatums. My mood has been most foul since my son was taken from me.”
“I pray for your son, Your Grace. Truly it is a sad day when children are made victims,” offered the bishop. “Have the villains demanded a ransom yet?”
“No. It makes no sense. Why take the boy but ask for nothing in return?" Gavril hated not knowing what was happening. On the battlefield he always prided himself on understanding the terrain and the disposition of his foe. Despite his initial reaction to the bishop, Gavril could see that the old man was genuinely concerned about Rurik. Gavril decided to give voice to some of the fears that had been gripping him. "The wizard Jonas Terra is wrapped up in the scheme. I know some say that wizards are demon worshipers, but I had always assumed that was superstitious nonsense. I must confess that I now fear what he may be doing to the boy, what foul rites he may be performing on him.”
“Your Grace, a parent will always be concerned for his son's safety, but I don't think you have anything special to fear simply because he was taken by a wizard," said the bishop. "Stories of wizards trafficking with demons are used by peasants to frighten children, an educated man like you should pay them no mind. I don't believe that wizards are more prone to evil than other men. However, I shall redouble my prayers for your son's safe return.”
“Thank you, Excellency." Gavril was surprised at how much it settled his mind to hear that. "Although I am still in a foul mood and not particularly inclined to hear any missive you bring from Radoslav.”
“I hope you don't find it impertinent of me to say so, Your Grace, but I pray that you are not in so foul a mood that you start an unnecessary war. In a war, many fathers will lose their sons, and many sons will lose their fathers. At least in your situation, we may still hope that your son is returned to you.”
Gavril grumbled. “By reputation you are a kind man, Excellency, so I will not accuse you of trying to play for advantage on a father's love for his son, but what you say runs dangerously close.”
“I apologize, Your Grace, for offending you. I am not a politician. I only meant that the Most Holy loves us all and doesn't want any of us to die if it can be avoided. The king has given me authority to act in his stead. Can't we discuss what you desire and try to reach some accommodation, so your men never have to fight?”
Gavril stood up from his chair and started pacing. “I don't expect servants of the Most Holy to understand, but soldiers fight. That's the trouble with Radoslav and Benedek, they have no fight in them. Had I not seized the initiative in the War in the South, Benedek would have retreated clear to the other side of the kingdom in the face of the barbarians. Will it be any different if the Garnmen attack?”
“As you say, Your Grace, I am not a soldier, and military matters are beyond me. I am informed by many that you are an excellent leader of men. Some believe that you would be a fine Lord Marshal. But there are also some in the kingdom who doubt your loyalty and do not believe you should be trusted to lead an army. I believe there is a solution to both matters. If you could prove that you would lead an army for the good of the kingdom rather than in pursuit of political feuds, then the doubts about you would be proven false, and you could be named Lord Marshal.”
Gavril had pursued the title of Lord Marshal for a long time, and only lately come to the conclusion that armed conflict was the only solution. With a weak man like Radoslav still on the throne, being Lord Marshal would only be a half measure, but maybe it would be enough. “What do you have in mind?”
“As you may know, Benedek's expedition against the goblins in the Wolf's Teeth Mountains fares poorly. If you could take your men and succeed where he has failed, I believe it would go a long way to proving your good faith.”
Gavril stopped pacing and stared for a moment, pondering. Without Conti's supply of Torzani gold to buy support from the less scrupulous nobles, and without the wizard to help break defenses, going to war with Radoslav would be a longer and more damaging process than his initial plan had called for. His ultimate aim was to strengthen the kingdom against its enemies, and a protracted war would certainly run counter to that aim. It was difficult to step back from the path he had started down, but maybe it was the right thing to do. He looked the bishop in the eyes, and saw no deception there, no political gamesmanship. “That would be acceptable, but I would be named Lord Marshal before I march, not after.”
Bishop Vasili considered for a moment. He produced a signet ring from his pocket, the king's own. “I have been given the authority to do that, Your Grace. If you give me your oath that you shall lead your army against the goblins, then I shall agree to your terms.”
“I swear it by the Most Holy.”
“It is agreed then. I shall confer the title and take your oaths as part of the feast of Saint Bryson tomorrow. Naturally, we must send word to Duke Benedek. I'm sure you'll agree that it would be best for all concerned if he leaves the field before you and your men arrive. We wouldn't want overheated tempers to begin the war that we averted today. Marek, will you find parchment and ink and prepare the documents?”
“Of course, Excellency,” Marek replied.
Marek prepared the documents in his strong, fine hand. As he wrote the words, it seemed that the will of the Most Holy screamed in his mind. He had to force himself to stop writing when he got to the section that he needed to conceal from the bishop and the duke. That section he would add later, after the signatures and seals were affixed.
He took the documents back to the duke's private dining room, where Gavril and Vasili shared some wine. “Your Grace, I have the documents ready for you. Also, if you can spare a horse and escort for me, it would be my pleasure to deliver the news to His Grace Duke Benedek myself, so that he has no cause to doubt the provenance.”
“A few men you may have, Learned, but I fear you'll have to walk like a common man. Horses are too precious to spare.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I apologize for the presumption.”
Vasili and Gavril signed the documents. He may not have a horse, but as he held the letter that gave orders to Benedek for the disposition of his troops, he had what he truly needed.
Marek inspected the documents for a final time. The ink had finally dried on the parts that Marek had modified after the seals had been affixed. He placed them carefully into a wooden case and went out to the courtyard.
One of Sir Ronnel Towne's men helped him into a backpack, although Towne himself wore none. “All right men, we're off to the Wolf's Teeth. Learned Marek here is coming with us, so mind your manners.” A big man in the back laughed at this. Towne turned and began a steady march out of the castle. The rest of the men formed up behind him in a double file. Marek took up a place in the middle and began preparing himself for the next stage of his journey.
Your post so interesting @danmaruschak ｡◕‿◕｡