Serpent's Strike (The Chronicles of Adalmearc Book 2), page 7
“Should any not remember what happened, allow me to remind you,” Reynold continued. “When the forces of the Order and the Mearcian realms met the outlanders upon the moors of Hæthiod, the enemy was annihilated. They turned their black boots and fled in vain. Scarcely any of them were permitted to escape and return beyond the Langstan. Those that did could bring warning of our terrible wrath and the penalty paid for incurring it,” the lord marshal continued while letting his eyes sweep across the room, pausing his speech briefly to allow his words to make an impression.
“You have brought the soldiers of Hæthiod to this city. Soon, the remaining Order forces will join us, and we will march out. We will stop this incursion and crush those who dare to threaten us,” the lord marshal vowed, and he was rewarded by outbursts hailing his resolve.
“The gods are for us!” exclaimed the count Argolis, to which many uttered their agreement, in particular the court seer standing by the throne and the high priests and priestesses scattered in the crowd of courtiers.
“In Rihimil’s name,” said Brother Dominic, still standing by Irene’s side. She, in turn, gave Theodora’s shoulder another squeeze, and the young queen rose.
“We place the safety of our realm in your hands and all our subjects at your disposal, Sir Reynold,” she said to the lord marshal, who gave a slight bow. The queen and her entourage left the room, and moments later, the lord marshal strode out with a satisfied expression on his face. He was followed by William, whose own countenance was blank, and the marshal of Hæthiod, whose gruff face was difficult to scrutinise. Once they were gone, the rest of the crowd dissolved into small groups and began discussing the event among themselves.
“You need not seem so displeased at being here,” Diane muttered to her son. They had been standing as close to the throne as it was possible for them to be positioned while still being beyond Irene’s immediate vicinity.
“That is not the source of my displeasure,” Leander replied. “I was merely contemplating the lord marshal’s little speech. I hesitate at the thought that our defence rests with this man, who seems to rely on stories five hundred years old for his strategy.”
“He was merely giving the counts the reassurance they always crave,” Diane scoffed. “You would understand this better if you were riding out.”
“Alas, I have not been summoned for the defence of the realm,” Leander said with a sardonic smile. “I wonder how I will live with the dissatisfaction of not being impaled by an outlander’s spear.”
“Do not use that tone,” Diane said sternly. “Your father was brave beyond measure. It is an insult to the king’s memory that his son is not being sent to war. You should be leading this army if all were right.”
“Mother, we both know I am as deficient in holding a sword as I would be commanding soldiers,” Leander dismissed her. “Father may have been brave, but he also led his Blades to a fight where he was woefully outnumbered. He died for his bravery, which is an act I do not intend to replicate.”
Until now, Diane’s eyes had been looking everywhere, exchanging glances and smiles with the other members of court. However, upon hearing her son’s words, her head shot around to let her gaze impale him. “Never speak ill of your father,” she hissed between her teeth. “Especially not where others will hear. Leave,” she added, repeating herself when he stood bewildered a moment. “Go, leave. Retire to your chambers.” Leander bowed slightly, hesitantly, and walked out.
With not only the noblemen but also their conscripts having reached Tothmor, the city streets were close to choking with people. Most of the soldiers that had arrived from the counties were camped outside the gates, but they entered the city in search of drink, entertainment, women, or all three. With one hand on his staff and the other holding on to his broad-brimmed hat, Godfrey made his way through the fifth district. Being the lowest circle and containing numerous taverns and inns, it had attracted most of the newcomers. Godfrey had good need of his staff to move through the throng of people, many of whom were rowdy long before the first evening bell had rung. He was headed in the direction of Guy’s establishment when he passed near the old madman; the beggar made his home in a barrel and whom Godfrey had met upon his arrival to Tothmor.
The voice of his ranting reached Godfrey, which in itself was not unusual; anybody passing this way would be within earshot of the self-styled prophet. However, something was different on this day; numerous people stood still, listening intently to his words. With some difficulty, Godfrey pushed forward so that he might better hear what was spoken.
“The dragons are dead! Their gods could not protect them. Do you believe they will protect you?” he asked with a fiery voice. “All our lives, we were told the dragonborn were chosen, were destined to rule! Who chose them? Who gave them this destiny?”
“What is this?” Godfrey asked of the person standing next to him.
“We have been deceived!” the madman continued. “The gods care not, or they have abandoned the realms! Why do you pay homage to those who have turned their backs on you?”
“News from Middanhal,” said the person questioned by Godfrey. “They say the prince Sigmund is dead, killed in an ambush. They say there will be no more high kings.”
“Turn from them!” shouted the aged preacher. “Abandon those false gods and turn your gaze east! With the rising of the sun shall come your salvation! The god sleeping in the mountain stirs!” Godfrey narrowed his eyes with an expression of suspicion or displeasure before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
An alley in the third district lay wedged between the houses of two merchants. They were rivals and had spent a lot of gold on making their homes as lavish as they could afford, which included walls around their premises. This made the alley very dark and thus ideal for people to meet without being seen. A man stood waiting, glancing around. He wore a dark cloak above yellow robes with the black bull of Egnil upon his chest. A shape emerged from the shadows, wearing a simple black robe that made him nearly impossible to spot.
“You wished to meet?” asked the black-robed acolyte. It was Nikodemos, who had previously divulged information to the priests of Egnil when Godfrey had arrived in Tothmor.
“Hel’s deep!” exclaimed the yellow-robed priest, practically jumping where he stood. “You startled me,” he mumbled and pulled the cloak and hood closer around him, concealing the yellow colour beneath and making himself near invisible.
“It was you who desired we meet here rather than at your temple,” the blackrobe argued.
“Yes, yes,” the geolrobe dismissed him. “So, what can you tell us? Any news?”
“My master has done little,” said the acolyte. “He meets with the lady Irene, but he has given no commands. I think he is waiting to see what unfolds.”
“He can wait until Hel swallows him,” scoffed the priest of Egnil. He dug out a small purse and threw it to the black-robed acolyte. “Your payment.” Nikodemos caught it and gave a slight nod before he disappeared. The man in yellow robe watched him leave with a disdainful expression; pulling the hood of his cloak tighter around his face, he left as well.
While the priest of Egnil returned to his temple, the acolyte left the third district. He passed through the second and reached the first. The guards halted him at the gate, but he showed documents wearing the seal of the court seer, and so they let him pass. Entering the palace, he walked through corridors until he reached the court seer’s chambers. After knocking, he was granted admittance. “Brother Dominic,” Nikodemos greeted and bowed before the court seer, who was getting dressed.
“How was your meeting?” Dominic asked while putting on his own black robe; unlike the acolyte’s, it had the silver dragon of their order upon its chest.
“Same as ever, Reverend One,” came the answer. “They still believe you are in the dark.”
“Did you learn anything in turn?” asked the high priest, placing his necklace with its large pendant around his neck.
“They have moved our meetings from their temple to an alley nearby, so I was unable to linger and notice anything,” the acolyte said apologetically.
“Do they suspect your allegiance?” asked Dominic sharply, turning his eyes quickly to look at his servant.
“I don’t think so, Reverend One. The geolrobes are merely being cautious.”
“I suppose they have cause to be. But you must increase your efforts. I am all but convinced Count Lykia is in allegiance with them. You must find evidence of this,” the court seer urged.
“I shall do my best, but that may take days or weeks,” said Nikodemos.
“That is no matter. We have eyes on their pawn. I doubt they will dare to act while war is on the horizon and the Order army is so near. As long as you need,” Dominic said and gave a slight nod to dismiss him. “You may return to the temple.”
“Yes, Reverend One,” the acolyte said and bowed.
While the younger priest returned to the city, Dominic went to the grand hall in the palace. It was where the court took their meals; with the first evening bell ringing, food was being served. The courtiers of various ranks were already present, and the court seer hurried over to stand by his seat just in time. Moments after, the queen entered, flanked by her mother and her aunt Irene while Hugh walked a few steps behind. With the queen having arrived, everybody might sit down, and the meal could begin.
It had not lasted long before another figure burst through the entrance. It was Leander. Most turned their heads in his direction, but once they saw who it was, they lost interest. With a wry smile, Leander moved over to take a seat between Beatrice and Diane. “Mother, Aunt,” he greeted them, pulling his cup close to him.
“Not on time, but at least you are here,” Diane chastised him. Ignoring his mother, Leander filled his cup with wine.
“Make sure you eat something as well,” Beatrice interjected.
“I will,” Leander said, shooting his aunt a quick smile before he filled his plate with the meats and green in front of him. “Where is Uncle Stephen?” he asked of Beatrice, glancing around at the table.
“Your uncle is with the marshals, making plans,” Beatrice replied.
“He is exemplar in his duties,” Diane said, to which Beatrice smiled and inclined her head.
“I would have thought he would be by Theodora’s side,” Leander said casually as he sipped from his cup, “considering how long it has been since she has seen her father.”
“There will be time for that,” Beatrice said in a nearly neutral voice.
Glancing around the hall, Leander saw numerous faces that were new. The counts and their families that had arrived in Tothmor were mostly those too poor to have their own manor in the city; hence, they stayed at court and filled the places around the tables as well as the air with conversation. Primarily the talk centred on the outlanders; the women were fanning themselves in coquettish fear of what was to come, and the men were imposingly resting their hands on sword hilts in displays of courtly courage.
“They say there are three outlanders for every one of ours,” whispered one lady, managing to do it so loudly that everybody could hear.
“That is perfect,” yelled a lord, making no attempts at being subtle. “One heathman is worth four outlanders, so we still outnumber them!” he finished, brandishing the meat and bone of a roast like a weapon to accentuate his claim.
“But they are so barbaric,” said another woman. “I hear tales of how they come in the night to kill and plunder everything in sight, and nobody hears a sound! The only trace they leave is a black boot print,” she nodded sagely.
“There will be less of them left when we are done,” boasted somebody else. “We shall ride out as our ancestors did and trample them beneath our feet!” This was met by a chorus of approval and praise.
“Sounds like we do not even need the Order,” Leander commented casually before raising his cup for a servant to fill.
“Did you have something to remark upon, Leander?” said Irene, sitting on the opposite side of Theodora; her voice was treacherously innocent as she leaned forward to look upon the bastard son of her husband.
“I was merely giving quiet praise to the good knights of the Order who so speedily came to our aid. In fact, a toast to Sir William, native of this city and most renowned of knights!” Leander called out, raising his cup high in the air. The queen followed his toast by raising her own goblet, and then none others could refuse; even Irene had to follow suit, although she barely touched her cup with her lips. With a self-satisfied smile, Leander placed his chalice on the table and returned his attention to his meal. By his side, Diane seemed pleased at the exchange of words between her son and her old rival.
“Was Sir William not also trained by one of this city? The Count of Esmarch, if I recall,” said Theodora. Behind her, it was now Hugh’s turn to smile at the mention of his father while Irene’s facial expression grew further strained. The queen did not notice this, however, and instead looked at her courtiers, who were hesitant to answer.
“You are correct, Your Majesty,” Diane said finally with a smile towards the queen. “The Count of Esmarch was the finest swordsman in his day and trained many of our best, my son included.”
“And also Lord Hugh, I would imagine,” Theodora replied, turning to look at her protector behind her.
“Indeed, we are fortunate to be blessed with such skilled warriors,” Irene said, and her smile was close to appearing sincere. “Will Lord Hugh be riding out into battle along with the knights and counts of Hæthiod?” she asked in a pleasant voice.
“If duty called me so, I would,” Hugh began his reply. “However, my queen has commanded I remain here, and so I must oblige,” he finished smoothly, exchanging smiles with Theodora.
“And you, Leander? Will you show us what the fabled tutelage of Count Esmarch can yield on the battlefield?” Irene continued, changing targets.
Leander froze with his cup pressed against his lips, caught unprepared by suddenly being dragged back into the conversation. “I would,” he said slowly at first, “but my gift for avoiding disappointment has commanded that I remain here, and so I must oblige.” He smiled slyly and elicited a few laughs from the courtiers, not including his mother.
“What a sharp wit,” Irene mused. “Would that your sword were as sharp.”
“If tongues were swords, Lady Irene, you would have the outlander army in flight by your mere presence,” Leander answered, motioning for his cup to be filled again. This remark did not spark any mirth.
“If men will not defend this realm, perhaps the women must,” Irene countered, her voice sharper. “Not such a shocking thought, considering we are ruled by a queen. Or would you disagree with this reasoning?”
The court grew hushed and exchanged whispers, picking up on Irene’s pointed question. Diane placed a hand on Leander’s arm to restrain him, but he gave no indication of noticing it. There were many counts and noblemen present this evening who did not live at court. By their looks, it seemed as if they only now remembered that as the king’s son, Leander had been the male heir to Everard, and he had been displaced in favour of a female heir, Everard’s niece by his sister, making the kinship matrilineal and thus further weakening Theodora’s claim.
“I never thought of it in such a way,” Leander answered at length. “When I look upon the queen, I simply see my cousin. My kin, my blood.” With those words, he shot a smile at Irene, who was without husband, without children, without family.
For a moment, the court was silent. All eyes were on Irene or Leander; the only exception was a servant who entered the hall and quickly crossed it to whisper into the court seer’s ears. He, in turn, immediately passed the message on to Irene, and her attention towards Leander vanished. “How certain is this?” she asked Dominic quietly. The priest shrugged.
“What is it? Aunt Irene?” asked Theodora.
“Your Majesty,” Irene said, turning to look at the queen. “News in the city is that your cousin, the prince Sigmund, is slain. The House of Adal is gone.”
Clamour erupted upon hearing such news. Those most clear-sighted wondered what this meant for Adalrik and its ability to support Hæthiod against the outlanders; most people, however, simply expressed their dread that any would dare to kill their sovereign lord. With such sombre tidings, the meal was soon ended, and the court was made to disperse to continue their heated debates elsewhere. The evening had come and all but gone when Irene was walking down the hallways of the palace, and she saw a man approaching her from the other direction. “Lord Stephen,” she greeted the march warden of the South with an insincere smile.
“Lady Irene,” he said with a clenched jaw.
“Have you finished your discussion with the marshals?” she asked with an air of innocence.
“For now,” he said curtly. “We are still awaiting further news of the enemy. Once the Order forces from Adalrik arrive, we will ride out.”
“All our prayers shall go with you,” Irene said affably.
“I should like to see my daughter, though, so if you would excuse me,” Stephen continued and made to move past Irene towards the royal bedchambers.
“My dear Lord Stephen, the last bell has rung. The queen has gone to sleep already.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “I see. I will have other opportunities to speak with her.”
“Will you? As one of the realm’s premier commanders, I would have thought this invasion would keep you frightfully busy.”
“It is only temporarily,” Stephen said dismissively. “Once the army has been assembled, we will annihilate the outlanders, and I shall return to Tothmor.”
“You sound certain. You do not think the news from Adalrik will at all be a hindrance?” Irene suggested.
