The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (80 page)

“Yes, Sire. As soon as your missive reached me.” He seemed reticent to sit and eat in the company of his king, but hunger proved more insistent than propriety. He moved his sword aside with the familiarity of a man long used to its companionship and took a chair across from his standing monarch.

“How far is it to your camp, Jasper?” 

“Twenty miles or so, Sire, as the crow flies,” the captain replied as he shoveled food onto a plate, “but the mountains ne’er let a man keep a straight line.”

Gydryn noted the bright creases at Jasper’s eyes, the result of long days spent squinting into the sun, as well the blond streaks through his ashen hair. Reports fashioned Dannym’s foot-soldiers often draping their heads like the Nadoriin, but he’d been told that his officers never did. “Loran says you’ve been a strong leader in his name and a great support to the men.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“He said also that you’ve traveled to every stronghold east of Kandori and know the land well.”

“Aye, Sire, as well as any of us can. The Duke sent me often to relay his orders to our outposts, and I’ve traveled as well with Radov’s scouts to learn the lay of the land. The Prince’s army is spread thin, and his hold over Abu’dhan is ever threatened. The Duke, his Grace, has deployed our battalions in support of strategic positions, but they range along the entire front.”

“Indeed,” Gydryn murmured while quietly watching the
captain eat. “Loran outlined to me the deployment of our forces. They seem well scattered.”

“Aye, that’s Raine’s truth, Sire,” Jasper mumbled through a mouthful. “We’ve men all along the Qar’imali augmenting Radov’s main army, as well at Dar’ibu and Chamaal. We’ve a sizable force in Taj al’Jahanna, though they’re naught but baking their heads waiting for someone to put an arrow in those bloody dragons and break the impasse. Or, I suppose, if something comes of this parley…”

Gydryn arched a raven brow. “You are not hopeful, captain?”

Jasper grimaced. He sat back from the table. “Forgive me, Sire. I forget my place.”

“I would know your thoughts.”

Jasper lifted his gaze to his king, brown eyes beneath the shock of sun-streaked hair. He reminded Gydryn very much of his younger brother, the Lieutenant
Bastian val Renly
, another trusted soldier who risked his life to protect Gydryn’s last surviving son.

Epiphany willing you are safe in the Cairs, Ean.

“Tis a strange war, Sire, if you must require my mind upon the matter,” Jasper offered reluctantly. “We’ve all heard stories from our pas and grandpas of the wars of the past, wars fought in defense of king and kingdom…” He ran a finger absently along the linen scarf lining the top edge of his hauberk, the skin beneath it chafed and sunburned, yet it seemed the absent gesture of a man long inured to inconsequential pains. “Mayhap I’m far off the mark, but it seems ill policy of a ruling prince to let men pillage and plunder in his own kingdom.”

Gydryn exhaled a slow breath. “You speak of the Saldarian mercenary forces.” This was but one of many troubling details he’d learned upon arrival in Tal’Shira.

“Aye. My men and I…we’ve seen horrors to be sure, Sire—a soldier learns to bear witness and still take his evening meal when it comes—but there’s rightful pillage and then there’s delight in the killing, and Belloth take me if I’m wrong, but these Saldarians…” He shook his head. “They respect nothing.”

The king considered him quietly. “And the men…how is their morale?”

“They remain loyal to you, Sire, but not a one would choose to fight this war.”

Gydryn exhaled resignedly. “That might be said of any war, captain, even those professing the most righteous of motives.” He gave Jasper a sage look and offered quietly, “Once the novelty of retribution wears thin, war is just what it seems, a brutal and ugly stain upon the consciences of men.” 

“Yes, Sire,” Jasper said, dropping his gaze.

The king trailed one hand along the tabletop as he walked toward the windows. “Tell me, Jasper,” he said then, “what outpost might you know of…something far away and no longer in use, yet it would have a defensible position?” He glanced at the captain over his shoulder. “Is there such a place?”

Jasper furrowed brows and chewed absently through an almond-flour biscuit as he considered the king’s question. After a moment, he brightened. “There is a place I believe, Sire. Nahavand. It lies in the mountains northwest of Taj al’Jahanna. The Nadori forces abandoned it many moons ago.”

“Abandoned, yet it remains defensible?”

“Very much so, Sire. There just wasn’t any point in maintaining Nahavand because the Sundragons made it useless as an outpost—‘tis too easy for the damnable creatures to pick off soldiers and supply lines coming to and from.”

The king nodded. “In the northwest, you said. Is it close to Taj al’Jahanna?”

“No, Sire. The only way to reach it is straight north through the Pass of Ryohim and then head due west. It lies deadly close to the western lines.”

“Indeed?”

“Aye, that’s part of the problem, see. After the Emir’s forces gained Raku, they forged north, ousting errant Nadoriin; hence the Sundragons coming and going over Nahavand. The Nadori consider it lost behind the lines, but to my knowledge the Basi haven’t claimed the outpost.”

“Is it well known by the men? Would Loran know it?”

“I don’t think so, Sire. We’ve never had men stationed there.”

The king turned back to the captain. “Can you draw me a map to Nahavand, Jasper?”

“Certainly, Sire.” He pushed back from the table.

“No, no,” the king raised a hand to stay him. “Finish your meal.” He walked to the other room and retrieved paper, ink and quill. Returning and laying these before the captain, Gydryn nodded to the materials. “Now then, Jasper…as detailed as you can.”

Jasper drew the map as requested, taking care with important landmarks. His notations were meticulous and his directions thorough. Looking over the map when the captain was finished, the king found it quite suitable. “This is well drawn, captain,” he complimented, glancing up under raven brows. “You’ve a nice hand and a good eye for detail.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Jasper said, looking a bit uncomfortable with the praise.

The king folded the map and slipped it inside his vest. “Come,” he said gravely then. “I have new orders for you.” He returned to the other room and the missive lying upon the marble desk. This he held out to the soldier. 

Arching a curious brow, Jasper took the parchment and looked it over. Immediately his eyes grew wide and his tanned face slackened. When he’d finished reading all of it, he lifted uncertain brown eyes to his king. “Sire?”

“We shall seal it now,” Gydryn said, reaching to have the parchment back from Jasper. He folded the letter carefully and then used the little candle to melt another blot of dark blue wax over the joining, pressing his signet ring to seal it. This done, he extended the letter back to Jasper. “Your orders, Captain.” 

To his credit, Jasper pulled himself together smartly. “Sire!” He pushed his fist hard across his chest and bowed his head. Then he spun on his heel and rushed out.

“Godspeed, Captain,” the king murmured as another guard closed the door behind the departing soldier.

It was not long before Loran val Whitney arrived. Time enough for the king to pen orders for the Duke of Marion and prepare his thoughts for the storm ahead.

The guardsman Daniel escorted Gydryn’s General of the East into his chambers with the announcement, “The Duke of Marion, your Majesty.”

“Sire,” said the duke as Daniel was closing the door behind him. “Hell of a morning.” 

“Trouble, General?”

“The usual mischief from men too long idle,” Loran muttered. He spied the table in the other room and cast Gydryn an inquiring look.

“By all means.” The king held out a hand in offering of his table.

Loran stalked over eagerly. He shrugged out of his baldric and the kingdom blade it held and slung it on the back of his chair—the better to access it while seated.

As Loran was serving himself, the king reflected on the challenge inherent in sharing a room with him—the duke’s imposing frame claimed more than its share of space, and his personality took up the rest. “I’m relieved to hear the men are anxious for action,” the king said as Loran was attacking the plate full of food, “for I’ve a task for them, and you.”

“Milk of the Mother!” Loran shoved a pastry brown with cinnamon and sticky with honey into his mouth and washed it down with steaming tea. “Have they called the parley at last?”

Gydryn had known Loran since childhood, and there was no man he trusted more. Still, there were things even Loran couldn’t know. He settled into a chair at the table’s head and murmured, “Jasper val Renly came to see me earlier this morning.”

“Bloody hell, fer what possible purpose? The man knows to find me with any report!”

“No, I asked to see him,” the king explained, “to hear from a soldier on the state of our men.”

“Their state is bloody damned ready to leave this hot-as-Belloth’s-fiery-black-arse desert.”

“I gather that is evidently your state of mind, Loran.” 

“Ye’r damned right it is,” Loran declared, banging a fist upon the table. “Say the word, Sire, and we’re right behind you.”

The king eyed him soberly. “Jasper told me there have been recent skirmishes at Nahavand.”

“Nahavand…” Loran repeated, frowning. “Nahavand. Not sure I know it.”

“It’s an important stronghold against the Basi incursion in the northwest. Jasper told me the Akkadian forces have been pushing north from Raku. Radov can’t lose Nahavand, Loran. It would be disastrous—an opening right into Kandori.”

Loran wiped his bearded mouth and tossed his napkin onto the table. “All right. We can redeploy—”

“No, my old friend. The importance of this stronghold needs your hand upon its defense. I need you to go to Nahavand personally, take command of the forces there and fortify the outpost. You must make it defensible, Loran, and fortify it well. It will play a vital role in the coming conflict.” The king leaned elbows upon the table and clasped hands before him. Val Lorian grey eyes pinned the duke intently as Gydryn added with grave certainty, “I trust no one but you to this task.”

Loran sat back in his chair and frowned at his king. He seemed to be waiting for more, expecting more, for he had a suspicious glint in his sharp blue eyes.

He was right to expect so, for Gydryn then laid the final straw. “You will take forty of my knights—”

Loran exploded out of his chair. “Begging yer Majesty’s pardon, but are ye out of yer bloody mind!”

“Ten knights should prove sufficient protection for me,” the king returned evenly, his position firm against the onrush of Loran’s protest. “Or perhaps you think the Emir’s reach so vast as to strike me down even here, deep in the Palace of Tal’Shira?”

Loran flung out an arm toward the nebulous west, growling, “Tis nae the damned Basi I’m concerned with!”

Gydryn sat back in his chair. “Who then?”

Loran leaned both hands on the table to pin his king with a fiery look. “Sire, ye can’t trust Radov,” he hissed, his voice suddenly smoldering low, “and you
certainly
can’t trust hal’Jaitar. There’s Bethamins everywhere, Saldarians picking their teeth with the bones of Radov’s own people…” Abruptly he spun away and stalked about the room, spinning the king a heated glare as he snarled under his breath, “In the three moons I’ve been away, it’s grown worse than when I left!”

Gydryn settled hands in his lap and considered the duke. He would’ve liked to tell him how right he was, to validate the man’s keen perceptions with what little truth they possessed, and he longed to share with him what he planned. But he knew that should he do so, the man would never go through with the plan. Such was the lonesome province of kings, keeping secrets even from those whose loyalty would never be in question. “An honest man requires proof before he declares his allies enemies, Loran,” Gydryn remarked with furrowed brow.

“An yer honest man dies with a knife in his back the same as a dishonest one,” the duke returned brusquely.

“I will not forsake my honor, Loran, nor the honor of my kingdom.”

“Is it honor?” the pacing duke remarked, casting the king a caustic eye, “cause it stinks more like pride.”

Gydryn’s expression darkened. “Loran, you go too far.”

“Not nearly far enough, Sire!” The duke flung a hand toward the south and hissed, “Loyal men are fightin’ and dyin’ in this wretched place fer sake of yer honor—fer Raine’s truth, ‘tis nae other righteous purpose that keeps us here!”

“Be that as it may—”

“Tell me ye don’t see it!” Loran rushed back to slam hands on the table. “It’s nae just the palace. The whole bloomin’ city reeks of wrongness!”

“I claim no disagreement with you,” the king remarked, for he had to give him that much, and it was evident to anyone with a eye to the truth that a darkness had descended upon Tal’Shira.

The king’s agreement seemed to mollify Loran somewhat. He turned away again, and his pacing became calmer. “It’s like we’re livin’ in a bloody nest of vipers!” he growled after a moment, shooting the king a glare expressing his grave dissatisfaction.