The Outcast, page 4
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
It was Darius’s turn to scowl.
“This is not what I came for. I have made my opinion of your stewardship clear already. I demand to know why there has been no mention of the princess. You cannot think to honor only her father.” Darius paused, his thoughts leading him to some kind of conclusion.
“There have been many announcements about tomorrow’s ceremony,” he continued, “but very little has been said about what will transpire. You are hiding something.”
“Your concern for the princess’s memory was quite fleeting. Do you accuse me of something, trainer?”
There was a heavy pause.
“I assure you that Princess Elizabeth will be given the attention that she deserves, though it will not be alongside her father.” Gannon forced his way past the trainer, unwilling to continue their exchange.
“What do you mean by that?” the trainer called after him. His cry went unanswered as Gannon shut the door behind him without so much as a backward glance.
“That man is quite troublesome.”
Gannon turned to face Lord Evans, who sat reclining in a deeply cushioned chair. As always, the lord wore numerous layers of silks bound at the waist by a sash. To combat the winter’s chill, he wore additional layers of cloth beneath the silks and had a fur coat that had been laid aside.
“He is a thorn in my side,” Gannon agreed tersely, looking about the room to ensure that they were alone. “One that I cannot yet attend to.”
“Too true,” Evans said, nodding sagely. “Even the simplest of men would find it suspicious if those who openly opposed you began dying without explanation. There would be nothing to implicate you, of course, but it might cause people to wonder. And that is the last thing that we want, for people to begin thinking.
“But the head trainer poses little threat for now. His opposition is limited and has nothing to do with your greater plans, only the power and authority that you have taken. If he only knew the depth of your intent.” Lord Evans grinned slyly at the thought. “I wonder how he will react tomorrow, when he learns that Princess Eliza is alive and well.”
“He will react poorly, which is why I plan to deal with him.”
“Oh! And what exactly will you do? You cannot kill him.”
Gannon shot the lord a glance that told him to bite his tongue. Evans’s grin soured, but he kept his silence. He knew well enough when it was unwise to press Gannon.
“I will deal with him,” Gannon said after a moment’s pause, signaling an end to the topic of discussion. There were other matters of greater importance to discuss.
“Tell me of the preparations,” he commanded. “What news do you have?”
The lord shifted in his seat, smoothing his robes and settling into a more comfortable position. When he spoke, his voice was calm and neutral.
“The onset of winter has caused numerous problems, though it has helped to keep Estoria isolated and under control. Restricting travel to control the spread of news has worked better than I would have thought. Word has slowly spread that the king and the princess were killed and that you have taken command.”
“How has the news been taken?”
“Many of the lords are upset, but most care only that they missed a valuable opportunity to better themselves. Some who were close to the king may take action, but they will not openly oppose you. At worst, they may call for a high council to be formed to vote upon an official steward or regent.”
“They are dogs! Let them bark. By the time they bring themselves to take action, it will be too late.”
“They will still be capable of causing some trouble, though. I will work to placate them as best as I can. Those who were close to the king may be calmed once they have news of the princess. The ones who only seek power—”
“The ones who seek power will bow unless they wish to invite my wrath,” Gannon interrupted. He would not tolerate opposition from any of the high lords. They may think themselves powerful with their influence and their riches, but they knew nothing of true power. They bought subservience with gold. Gannon forced subservience through fear and strength of will. He would not be tested.
“Erm…yes,” Lord Evans agreed hesitantly, surprised by the force of Gannon’s words. “They will be less inclined to act on their own. They would require support, or at least the appearance of it.”
He allowed for a brief pause before continuing his report.
“I have been working to assist in the movement of troops to the border. The graduation of most of those in training has been scheduled, with the majority of their assignments taking them to the city of Oscilliath, where we plan to host the majority of our army. It has been slow going, though. The recent snows have slowed movements and made it difficult to establish supply lines. Communication is slowed as well.”
“Are we on schedule?”
“We will be.”
Lord Evans’s answer was met with a glare. Gannon could feel the rage rising within himself, and he struggled to suppress it.
“I assure you, Lord Commander, that everything is in order. Our slowed movements are likely for the best. It will mask the reason behind our actions from the other lords, and from the other countries. Under the guise of reinforcing the border watch, we will mobilize an army.”
Gannon saw the formation of his army, the tool with which he would conquer. The gathering of a force larger than Atlea had ever known. A force to bring war.
The thought was pleasing.
“What of your Lauratrean contacts?”
“I have been in contact with them, though it has proven difficult. The distance is great, and secrecy must be kept. Bribes have been made and what I have heard is promising. A number of my contacts, merchants and lesser lords, are open to our plans. They have provided me with useful information. And I have received a message from the Buhli’dazzi.”
“You spoke with the Buhli’dazzi without my consent!” Gannon raged. The Buhli’dazzi were a secretive group of Lauratrean informants. They supposedly worked for the High King of Lauratrea, though in truth, their loyalty was spread among all of the great houses. The Sandstone Throne was not inherited as the Atlean throne was. When the Lauratrean king died, rule would pass to the eldest High Prince of the most powerful High House. Because of this, the Buhli’dazzi maintained the appearance of a careful neutrality, offering their support in secret. Allowing them to learn of their plans was dangerous and unacceptable.
“They approached me,” Lord Evans protested.
“Then you have been careless!” Gannon lashed out, shattering a vase. The weight of his blade called to him. “How could you allow them to learn of our plans? They cannot be trusted.”
“They cannot know what we plan. I have been exceedingly cautious in my messages. No single contact has been given the same details, and all have been led to believe that we are planning to move only against several of the lesser houses of Lauratrea.”
“Then how did the Buhli’dazzi become involved?”
“Their message implies that they contacted me at the wish of High House Ishtar. I believe that we may have found a high house interested in granting us support.”
Gannon weighed the importance of those words. If the Buhli’dazzi were only acting as messengers for one of the High Houses, the situation might not be so bad. The High Houses were used to using the spy network with caution, keeping them in the dark while utilizing their effective network. After all, it would not do for the house heads to allow the High King to know of their actions.
If High House Ishtar was truly involved, and if the Buhli’daazzi remained uninformed, then Lord Evans’s message could indicate the possibility of a powerful alliance. The Ishtars sought to make themselves stronger by bringing down rival houses, perhaps even the High King himself. Their cooperation would be very useful. Gannon would betray the Lauratreans, of course, but that would come later, when they were no longer useful.
“If High House Ishtar is involved, then it is possible that the Buhli’dazzi remain ignorant of our plans. Regardless, we must respond to House Ishtar. Do you have contacts among the household?”
“None who are of any importance. I will see what I can do about getting a message to them. Who will we be addressing?”
“The head of the great family. If I am to deal with the foreigners, then I will deal with someone of importance.”
Evans nodded.
“It will be exceedingly difficult to get word to the high lord himself.”
“I trust that you will get the job done. If you can’t, then I will be forced to find someone who can.”
“I will do as you ask.”
Gannon smiled inwardly as the lord bowed obediently. His plans were moving slowly, but there was a great opportunity before them. With the help of a Lauratrean ally, conquering the land of sands would be easy.
“You may attend to your business, Lord Evans. You have given me much to think on.”
Evans rose from his chair, but hesitated before turning to leave.
“You should also know that the boy, Baird’s apprentice, was sighted almost a week ago. He was seen traveling north along the kingsroad, in the area of Durrenhill. The captains in the area have organized a search, and the people are being told that he is a dangerous fugitive, with a bounty on his head. Checkpoints have been established and I am sure that he will soon be found.”
“He had better be,” Gannon said, a dark edge to his voice. Baird’s apprentice should have been caught by now. That he had been sighted but not caught infuriated him.
“It is possible,” Evans said, “that he will attempt to return when he hears word of the princess. It would make catching him much easier.”
Gannon frowned.
“No. His return would complicate things. Best that he is found and disposed of before he ever learns that Princess Eliza lives.”
“Yes, of course,” Evans agreed.
There was silence between them as the conversation came to an end. Lord Evans took his leave and Gannon allowed himself to sit.
The news that Lord Evans had brought was, overall, quite favorable. Baird’s apprentice still eluded capture, but the boy himself was little threat. Gannon controlled the princess, and with her, he had nothing to worry about as long as the boy was killed. That the Buhli’dazzi were, to a degree, knowledgeable of his plans was unfortunate. But the prospect of an alliance with a high house of Lauratrea was…pleasing.
Gannon twisted the thought about in his head, thinking on what it would mean. His lips curled upwards into a smile as he began to plan.
Chapter 2: Rowan
Rowan traveled a good distance from the road. It had snowed recently. A light snowfall, yet it left the ground frozen and cold, making it difficult to travel quickly. Travel would be made much quicker and easier if he made use of the roads, but he had learned that it was safer to avoid people whenever possible, so he forsook the roads for isolation. The winter snows were not yet a major hindrance, especially mounted. The sun would melt all but the worst of it by midday, leaving only broken patches of ice where there was shade, and mud where there was not. But as the days grew colder, they would become very troublesome indeed.
Where am I going? Rowan wondered, not for the first time. It had been weeks since Gannon’s betrayal and his flight from the capital. The king and his daughter Eliza had been assassinated. Rowan had watched as his master, Baird, had been killed. The events of that night had left him with an overwhelming burden. He blamed himself for failing to prevent the coup, and rightfully so. After all, had he shared with his master what he had overheard Gannon saying then the betrayal would never have succeeded.
Now he was left alone to live with his failure. He wandered, lost in his exile and hunted by Gannon's forces.
After being forced to flee the capital, Rowan had made the decision to leave Atlea behind him and head east. But that was not a destination. And even if it was, it was not where he belonged. There was nowhere that he belonged anymore.
Still, he traveled east because he had no better options. There was nothing to the west and he could not turn south. He was wanted as a fugitive now, and there was a bounty on his head. One large enough to mark him as dangerous and lucrative for whoever turned him in. Because of this, he had vowed not to return home to the Vale. He would not bring trouble upon his family.
Rowan wondered about his father and brother. Did they miss him? How were their lives without him? He smiled absently. By now, his brother Petar had probably promised himself to that town-girl he had been sweet on.
Thoughts of the princess came to him unbidden and his expression soured. He could not suppress a shudder as he recalled the sight of her body, laying in a pool of blood next to her father, identifiable only by her golden curls. It was how he had found her that night, and it was the only way that he could remember her.
He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the reins, his horse snorting in agitation. That he had allowed Princess Eliza to die was his greatest failure. It weighed heavily upon him, even more so than the death of his master. He absently fingered the blade at his side. The blade was not his own—he'd left Tenro behind—but had belonged to his master. He was glad to have it. It gave him strength. When things had been dark and his guilt had consumed him, only the shame of tarnishing Baird’s blade kept him from turning the weapon upon himself.
“Shush,” Rowan whispered to the horse. He looked to his right, making sure that he had not drifted towards the kingsroad. His line of sight was obscured by hills and trees, but he was fairly certain that he had kept a straight course.
“How much farther do you think we’ll go today?”
The horse’s ears twitched at the sound of Rowan’s voice, but it gave no answer. Rowan struggled for a moment as he shifted his travelsack forward, digging through its contents for the map that Jared had given him. He unrolled the parchment and studied it, shrugging his pack onto his back again.
He had stopped at an inn in a town with no name several days prior, marking its location on the map. As useful as it was, the map was not very detailed and marked nothing but the major cities and the roadways that linked them. The town had been far from the kingsroad, which was how Rowan had found it. He had stopped only long enough to purchase a few supplies, but that had been long enough to learn that word from Estoria traveled faster than him. It was unsettling, and very dangerous.
According to the map, Rowan was nearing the city of Oscilliath. By his best estimates, he was still a few days away.
“Damn!” he cursed.
With his stock of supplies dwindling, he couldn't pass the city by. Even if he hunted for food, his supplies would never last the trek into the Lauratrean desert. There were no other cities close enough that he could travel to, and his map gave no indication of any nearby towns or small villages. It would be a great risk for him to enter the military city. He would likely be caught.
It’s not too late to turn around. Seek vengeance! Return to Estoria and face your death as Baird did.
It was not the first time that Rowan’s thoughts had turned towards vengeance. It would not erase his failure, but it would be a worthy way to die. It was how Baird had ended. And Gannon’s death would do much good for the country, and it would give him great satisfaction besides.
In the days following his flight, Rowan had wanted to do nothing more than return and make his stand. To make right the wrongs that had been done. He had no illusions about what would happen were he to return. Alone, he would be killed before he would ever have a chance at Gannon. And there would be no help for him. He had been declared guilty as an accomplice to the deaths of the royal family, and he could not deny his guilt. He was responsible.
As Baird’s apprentice, it fell to him to bring justice. But going to Estion was the last order Baird had given him, and he had done it. And in doing so, he had lost his chance to fight.
At first, it had been the weight of what happened. The pain of loss. He found himself in a dark place, and the drive to fight was gone. Without his master, there was no one to lead him. Without Princess Eli— He checked himself before the thought was complete. Without the princess, there was no one to save.
He found himself lost, without purpose. His guilt left him unworthy to take his master’s place. He had no hope of vengeance, nor of justice.
There is nothing left for me. I am nothing.
Rowan rode throughout the day, leaving everything behind him. He kept watch as he traveled, careful to avoid the road and the guards patrolling it. After many hours of riding, he found a sheltered area among some trees and stopped to make camp for the night.
There would still be light for some time, but Rowan was unwilling to give up such a promising campsite. The trees had kept the previous night’s snow from turning the ground to mud, and would offer protection against the winds. It would not be enough to keep him warm, but Rowan was grateful for anything. It was trying to sleep out-of-doors during the cold months, particularly when one was ill-equipped for the harsh elements. But he knew how to keep himself alive and, if not comfortable, then warm.
A snort from his horse prompted Rowan to relieve it of its burdens and begin preparing his camp. He tied the horse to a tree and gave it what little feed he could spare, hoping the animal would be all right. He would give it water after he built a fire and boiled some of the nearby snow.
“I know it’s not enough, but I’ll make sure that you are well-fed soon,” Rowan said, knowing that he would likely have to sell the horse once he reached the city. He couldn't afford to keep feeding it, and doubted that it would fare very well in the desert.
It took Rowan nearly an hour to make his camp. Much of that time was spent trying to build a fire with so little kindling and wood available. He was glad that he had purchased the firestarter from the innkeeper. Without it, he would have been unable to build a flame.
