Chapter 17 - Fated Meeting with a Fifth

  Aaron slammed his fist down on his desk. “And I suppose this is all some big coincidence, Commander?” he demanded. Cold air bled into the manor's sole study room. Vanilla curtains hanging from a silver bar fluttered, and an open tome on the desk flipped past several pages. Aaron ignored it.

  Rask lowered his head. “Yes,” he said.

  Aaron's knuckles paled. He ground his teeth behind closed lips. If the man were lying, he was doing it wearing the most honest, and earnest look possible. “If I am alive today, it is because I do not believe in coincidences. Next you'll tell me to prepare no troops at all in the face of this new threat.”

  “Lady Elizia is not a threat, my lord. I assure you. My sole presence is—”

  “So that is exactly what you're telling me? To let her and a thousand riders waltz up to the walls of Red Vine without any measure?”

  Rask shook his head. “No, my lord. I will assemble our defence forces at once. But please, I'd beg you not to engage in combat before we've had the chance to speak.”

  Aaron leaned back in his chair, content that he'd cowed the man into action. In truth, he'd received word from his patrols over a cycle ago but had kept it from Rask. He'd already asked for half the sentries of every village within about a twenty league radius to march to Red Vine. That alongside Red Vine's own defenders and the recalling of hunters and patrol groups, he had approximately five hundred fighting men. Not favorable, but working numbers if it came to defending behind the town walls. “That,” Aaron said, “is dependent on Elizia Serene's actions, not mine.” The miners with their picks and hammers could add another hundred and fifty if the need grew dire, plus the few dozen in the smithy…

  Serene. Traitors. Kill them all.

  Aaron closed his eyes and twisted his stiff neck. Oft he'd recall painful memories of ages old treachery, and always they'd come with thoughts of vengeance. Most often these memories would surface at the mention of High Houses —each and every one of them had played a part in the Zz'tai massacre at some point in history. The whispers for vengeance and justice were endless. The urge was easy to resist, but the hatred that had built up over centuries and been passed down, that was an emotion he could not rid himself of. Regardless of how high Rask's praises of Lady Serene might be, Aaron felt searing resentment toward her and he hadn't even met her.

  The wolf commander bowed and turned to leave.

  “What of these Field Burners, Rask?” Aaron called after him. Passing travellers claimed them children sent to war by the Empire. “What do you know of them?”

  “Children being sent to raze farmlands? This is a first. Tarmia has never used such vile tactics during my time as the duke's right hand.”

  Aaron nodded. He looked over a recent hunter's report again. A stroke of luck for these enemies to have come now than during harvest season where burning fields would be much easier. And she's chased these enemies right to my doorstep… There was no use in asking Rask why she might have done this. At least, not the kind of use Aaron would deem useful.

  'The surest way to deceive an enemy is to deceive one's own allies first', Aaron recalled. This particular memory found its birthplace over a millennia ago, and at the mind of Iridus Zz'tai, a once renowned general of whom no records now remained. 'Tis why the commander must be disaffected at all times on the field. Attachment to any single soldier or unit will lead to hesitance in their deployment, even if that particular soldier were the best for the needed task —or worse, if they would make for the greatest form of bait for an enemy. After all, no man in their right mind would send a friend to be bait.'

  A cold, utilitarian way of thinking, but worth applying to certain situations. If no one around you knew what you were thinking or planning, then they could not possibly betray your intent. That was where Lera Zz'tai had differed with many of her predecessors. Her emotions were ever displayed for all to see. It was as if she'd actively rejected the memories. Or perhaps she'd never seen the ones I have access to?

  “Assemble the men, Rask,” Aaron ordered again, “And see if we can throw together any haphazard spiked fences to place before Red Vine's gates.”

  The commander nodded and saw himself out.

  Aaron stood up, pushing down the memories he had of his mother. Those were the most useless, and the most hurtful. He walked to the window and closed the shutters, staring at his own vague reflection within its polished panes. “Grandfather taught you those same utilitarian principles, and you disobeyed,” Aaron said, speaking to no one at all. You disobeyed, and he abandoned you.

  Lera's memories returned, and with it came an intense rage —a desire to lash out at something, anything at all. Aaron's arms quaked. His nails dug into his palms.

  And then it was gone. It was, after all, the anger of a lowly hypocrite.

  Aaron saw Rask leave his manor's grounds and head down the dirt path toward Red Vine. Aaron could not tell the commander his true intents. The man was too honest, and he held obvious favorable bias toward High House Serene. A bias that could be assumed to be extreme, given he'd known the Lady Elizia from birth more or less.

  The First Princess' presence was in truth a fortune. An opportunity to set up a contract of iron exports directly without any untrustworthy middleman doing the dealings. And if she wanted that iron ore at a cheap price, her thousand lances would be just the expendable resource Aaron needed to press further into the Spinewood. The Virk barbarians would need to be rooted out if they'd crossed the mountain range with ill intent. Perhaps those northern tribesmen could be negotiated with. Perhaps they could be turned into the armies Aaron needed, but he'd be a fool to step into uncharted territory without proper preparation.

  Aaron threw on his worn black coat, its ends coming loose and threads starting to show. The coat functioned, and it kept him warm. So long as it satisfied those conditions, he would wear it still, adding patchwork repairs where needed. He and the few elderly maids of the household would need to leave soon on the off chance these riders did decide to commit an attack. Aaron wasn't expecting it, based on what Rask had said of Elizia, but it never hurt to be prepared.

  His thoughts briefly wandered to the people of Red Vine and how they might feel about the presence of a foreign army so close to home with a mere two cycles remaining before the Triluna festival. An unfortunate drawback for the sake of security.

  He strapped on his belt and weapon, grasping Butter Knife's hilt. Strength surged within his veins as the sword ate away at his hate and anger. Worst came to worst, the magical blade would help him protect the town in some capacity.

  ***

  The last cry was quieted as a gag was bound around the child's mouth. Elizia pressed down on the boy's back with her knee, keeping him pinned on the ground and tying his hands behind his back.

  That was all of them. The long hunt for the Field Burners was ended now.

  “Final count is thirty-three, Captain,” Faren announced, hand to his pommel and a failing sun at his back. Somewhere out in the wild, a Silver Tail wolf howled at the approaching night.

  Elizia nodded, rolling her squirming captive over. There were tears streaming down his face. About fifteen he seemed. No one captured was much older or younger than that age. “They look starved,” she said. All of them had gaunt faces and weak muscles. Their resources must have run low. But even without that, Field Burners tended to be thin children, as if mere street urchins had been picked up and sent to war.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Faren turned to the empty supply wagons where the children were being kept. Their shaggy ponies had been rounded up and were being watched by a squad of soldiers. “Captain, none of them have spoken yet,” he said, crossing his arms. He hid his gloved hands beneath his armpits for warmth. “All of them are incoherent. We've removed their gags and they don't say anything. It's as if they're, well, dumb, if you catch my meaning. Like they've been beaten over the head until nothing remains save for following the orders they were given.”

  Elizia frowned. She knelt before the boy she'd captured, removing the crude knife at his belt and handing it to her lieutenant to add with the rest —worthless weapons could still be smelted down and made anew. “What is your name?” she asked, slowly unbinding the boy's gag.

  “Ah… ahgew… agh.”

  The boy was gasping, tears continually pouring like a cyclical fountain. “What are your orders?” Elizia tried.

  “Ahh. Ahhga.”

  That was all she got out of him before he started wailing again. She did not bind his mouth back, picking him up instead and carrying him to the emptied supply carts. Every captive had been bound to prevent them from either running or ending their own lives as had happened once before. They were huddled beneath blankets, sharing one for every two. Nights this far north were cold. Elizia could see her breath come out in a puff. Her boot crunched down on frost lining yellowed blades of grass. It was as if these gentle rolling hills were bidding her a bitter welcome. She unbound her hair, letting the brown mass hang before her neck for a sliver of warmth. If these children can barely speak, did they even communicate with each other?

  Elizia nibbled on the edge of her dry lips. The soldiers needed rest, but that couldn't be had yet. Scouts had reported the Caranel manor a few miles northeast from Elizia's current position —a report she'd received early morning. Lord Caranel for certain was aware of her position in his lands. Her cavalry had been moving slow, following the Field Burners only several miles a day to drive them further north. Her scouts had since come across multiple patrols and wildlife hunting parties that were making their way toward Red Vine. It was a testament to Lord Caranel's capabilities.

  That or he has a capable aide doing all the hard work for him. Elizia still had a hard time believing the high lord anything but an incompetent man. But her situation was not ideal. She did not plan for any armed resistance. She hadn't counted on any resistance. This conquest was supposed to be easy. Conquest…

  ***

  An hour into the night Elizia found herself within the courtyard of the Caranel manor. Faren and several guards stood behind her. She sucked in a deep breath of the cold northern air, heart pounding, then thumped on the door. Elizia felt rigid. Her first intent in coming here had been murder. That thought still remained, and with it came a world's weight in guilt that showed itself in small tremors spread across her muscles.

  No one answered the door.

  She thumped again, arms shaky. Her anxiety was building. A whistling breeze accompanied the eerie silence. A crow from the manor's rooftop cawed out and Elizia jumped.

  “It's abandoned,” Faren said.

  The estate didn't look abandoned. The courtyard was well kept, the grasses trimmed and flowerbeds with hardy sprouts rising from them. The faded light of distant luminite stones could still be seen through the curtained windows. “They're afraid,” Elizia said, feeling even more guilt now. “Jasim sacked them once two years ago. They must be hiding in town.”

  All of this was a terrible idea, she began to feel. Her murderous intent aside, she felt for once that she was the one in the wrong here. She'd driven an army up here with the thought of conquest, for what she'd perceived as the greater good. But was it at all for the greater good?

  Are these questions righteous ones, or am I getting cold feet? Am I the villain or am I lacking in conviction?

  The crow continued to caw.

  “Your orders, Captain?” Faren asked.

  Her orders. Her responsibility. Any fighting, any killing conducted by her soldiers would be her burden to shoulder. She'd come all the way up here. She would at least have to meet with Lord Caranel, for courtesy's sake. Maybe, just maybe she could make an ally out of him. “Go back to camp, Lieutenant,” she said. “I'll take five men and march to Red Vine on foot.”

  “My lady, I cannot—”

  Elizia shot her man a glare. “The orders are final. See to the soldiers' needs. We look like aggressors here. They'd not have retreated behind the town's walls otherwise. I must speak with the lord to put those worries to rest.”

  “I insist you go with horses, my lady,” Faren said. “If things turn sour, you can at least escape. And take ten guards with you.”

  Elizia shook her head. “Five. But I'll take horses.”

  The lieutenant twisted his lips but agreed. “So much for putting the man in our debt,” he said.

  “That had been an option when assuming Lord Caranel weak and incompetent,” Elizia said. There was no way he was fool enough to admit himself to her debt now. Elizia drew up her hood to protect her ears from the cold and mounted Valor, driving him at a canter toward the town. Her five guards formed a semicircle around her. They were armed with bows and shortswords, and wore wool sweaters over a leather top. Elizia had forgone a sweater, forgetting to pack her own in her hasty departure from Arcaeus —a fact she was sorely regretting. She very well couldn't ask one of her own to suffer in her stead.

  Would mother still wear that scandalous outfit of hers this far north? The cold never did seem to bother her, last Elizia remembered. She'd been defiant in the face of every adversary. All of them save for the Decade's Curse. Mother…

  Lights arose a fair distance away. The town was alive and active if that much firelight pierced the darkness of night. Elizia followed the path leading from the estate to the town, cresting a hill and drawing Valor's reins to examine her destination. The town's gates were open, about a dozen men with spears standing watch behind a set of poorly put together spiked fences. One man stood out from the rest through sheer size of muscles, and his orders were met with obedience. Is that him? Is that Lord Caranel?

  He was more than Elizia anticipated. His height great, and his presence commanding. Bell towers rung out and a watcher on the wall pointed at her location. The spearmen out front jumped to position, peering up at Elizia and her guards with narrowed eyes —she could barely make out the detail with her keen sight.

  Elizia nudged Valor's side and the horse trotted down the path. This is it, she thought. She should not have been troubled to meet another high lord so, but her anxiety had peaked and breathing became difficult. The constant knowledge that she'd been committed to cold blooded murder gnawed at her mind. When did I fall so far? Flames, I even hired assassins to kill Kazir. Assassins that she'd never heard back from.

  As Valor trotted nearer to Red Vine's walls of wood, several more sentries came out from within the town. The newcomers carried swords, and among them there seemed an officer perhaps, wearing a worn almost military styled black coat with buttons open —the only distinguishing factor between him and the other sweater wearing young men at the gates.

  Elizia took better measure of Lord Caranel. One by one, her many mental ails were slowly overcome by mirthful surprise. Glee followed it afterward, and she couldn't stop from driving her heel into Valor's side to urge him faster. The horse galloped forward, and the spearmen cried out in shock from its sudden charge. They levelled their weapons, but Valor slowed at just the right moment to relieve any tension. Elizia dismounted, unable to keep the childish grin from her face.

  Everything made sense now. Lord Caranel was not Lord Caranel at all. Standing before the sentries, leading all of them was none other than the Wolf of Metsiphon, Jengard Rask. Elizia rushed forward and collided with the large man, throwing her arms around him. “Rask!” she managed with what little air she'd left for herself in her lungs.

  The old general awkwardly put his arms around her. “This is inappropriate, your highness,” he slowly said.

  Flames, but it was good hearing his gruff voice again. Elizia's pulled away, excitement pumping through her chest. Rask being the lord here made things different. A dozen different possibilities occurred to her, and she couldn't keep her words to herself any longer. “Flames, I was so worried coming here. I thought I'd made a mistake. I thought, with all the rumors of Lord Caranel, that things would be difficult.”

  “Lady Elizia,” Rask began, as he gently pushed her away, “might I intro—”

  “They said he was a lecherous tyrant like his father. Ashes. I came here expecting to meet a fat, ugly man deep in his cups and with a high pitched voice, but it was you all along. It all makes sense now —why the roads are clear of bandits, why the villages have sentries and why such thorough defenses —you know this wasn't necessary right? You could have just come out to meet me. What did you do with the real Aarondel Caranel? Is he in a dungeon somewhere? Or did you, you know?” she said, drawing a quick finger across her throat.

  Rask retreated a step, eyes widening. “No, your highness, none of that was my —no, first of all, let me—”

  “Any chance you can spare some food for my riders, Rask?” she asked, drawing her hood back. “There's a thousand of them camped by your estate. They've been getting by on old jerky and soggy grains.” She walked past the man, looking up at Red Vine's walls, nodding absentmindedly at their semi-decent construction. “Honestly, you could have sent us a letter or two. Knowing you've annexed the north opens up so much…” Elizia trailed off, only now noticing the hostile glares every sentry was giving her. Spears were still levelled her way. They all looked to their commander, as if asking for confirmation. Amid every angry man there was an ostensible gap where a piece of night should have been.

  The man in the worn black coat was missing.

  Why it was Elizia remarked him was such significance, she did not know. He —a poorly dressed man in the dark of night —should have been insignificant to her memory. Her mouth dried and tension returned to her limbs as it dawned on her that she might just have uttered several insults about Lord Caranel before his men, and very well given away the nature of her visit to these lands in a single moment of excitement.