Tranquility's Grief Page 16

  When Jovan finally reached her, he complained, “Apexia’s tits, Beth, you’re impatient today. It’s not like you’re going to find Arrago in there.”

  Bethany took a deep breath and curled her fingers tighter on the reins. “Jovan, shut up or I’ll cut your tongue out.”

  “I’ll help,” Kiner offered.

  Kiner and Jovan littered the air with their verbal insults the entire ride to the outskirts of the town. True, it had been decades since she had last been in a proper war, but she was certain it had been quieter. Kiner and Jovan made more noise than the entire army marching behind them. She shook her head several times, showing her disapproval of being the voice of reason. She made sure to hold her smile inside her. It had been a long time since she had so much fun.

  Thankfully, the comforting, yeasty smell of fermenting grains tickled the air the closer they rode to the oddly-shaped collection of buildings jutting out of the snow. If forced, Bethany would have called it splatter-shaped, for no other term existed for the rambling mess of houses. She wondered if they even had a proper roadway going through the middle, like all good elven towns no matter the size.

  They approached the town as the sun beat down on the snow, threatening to blind them all. It was only mid-afternoon but already the sun skimmed near the horizon. It had taken longer to bring the barrier down than she had hoped; she was still not able to gauge the passage of time once on the wind.

  Bethany squinted and noticed a black figure against the snow. Upon closer approach, it was a dark man dressed in dark skins. A few others stood behind him. They did not flinch, even as the militia slogged their way through the snow. They had found too few snow shoes for sale along the way. Jovan had more but his were buried in the baggage train. So, they waited.

  Jovan cleared his throat. “I should do most of the talking. It’ll go more smoothly.”

  Bethany stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He cocked his head at her. “It means that I’m tired. My ass is blistered and my feet are cold. I possess charm and good looks. You possess the social skills necessary to incite war amongst monks.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Instead, she glared at him for a few brief moments before bursting into laughter. “That’s not it at all. I’m bad Knight, Kiner’s good Knight, and you’re the pretty Knight. All are important in negotiations.”

  They made their way to the small group of men waiting for them. Jovan dismounted first, with Bethany and Kiner following. Thankfully, the snow was well-beaten down and she did not sink in the fluffy menace for once.

  “I am Lord Protector Jovan of Wyllow. Second in command of the Elven Service and commander of the rather large army surrounding you.”

  The man did not make any facial expressions. Bethany found him completely unreadable. She liked him for it. “I’m Jon Black Crow. I don’t have a fancy title but I know Trader Common well enough to have a chat with you.” He pointed at Kiner. “Who are you?”

  “Lord Kiner,” Jovan answered.

  He pointed at Bethany and sneered. “This your whore?”

  Bethany took a step closer to this Jon fellow.

  “This is Lady Champion Bethany, third in command and, as it happens, commander of the army that’s hiding further back.” Jovan leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “She has an anger problem. Some issues with having a whore for a mother. You might want to watch your language around her.”

  Bethany glared at Black Crow. The ruse was one they had used many times. Kiner should step ahead at any moment now and touch her arm. She’ll hit him, pulling her punch, of course. He’ll fall; Jovan will be the good Knight. And so on. It was a game that they developed ages ago that seemed to work for simple villagers. While she had vowed to burn Taftlin to the ground many times in her life, she didn’t feel up to it now that she was here.

  Perhaps that was Arrago’s influence on her. Idiotic, stupid man.

  “Lady Bethany, huh? I’ve heard of you. Now, I’ve got nothing against Apexia or her pups.” He stroked his tangled, greasy beard. “You’re putting me in a bit of a spot. I don’t know much about politics but I’m pretty sure you having an army here means you’re invading. And handing myself over, even to the daughter of Apexia, is just going to get us killed.”

  “Surrendering to us will keep you alive and your purses well lined with our gold.” Bethany met his gaze. “Not surrendering will get your entire village swinging from tree branches from here to Daniel’s front door.”

  “Thank you, Lady Bethany, for the candor,” Jovan said, a hint of sarcasm. “Your choice is rather simple. If you surrender, we won’t kill anyone. We won’t even rape your daughters. Or sons, even. We’ll defend your village against attacks and we’ll pay for whatever we take.”

  “And if I resist?”

  Jovan gave a nonchalant shrug.

  Black Crow shifted and averted his eyes. Bethany had seen the look of capitulation enough to know that they were moments away from surrender. Not that she relaxed her guard, however. Just because a leader stepped down does not mean the people follow. If she were in his place, she would fight to the death, but that was the soldier talking. She knew the difference and did not lose respect for him.

  A willowy confection for the eyes approached them. Dressed in furs, with pale yellow fabric peeking out from any available spot, the young woman with bouncy blond curls and pale complexion approached them. She curtsied, low and steady. She stood and said, “My name is Princess Celeste Clover, the first cousin to King Daniel, blood niece to the late King Richard.”

  Bethany sucked in a breath. What on earth was she doing here? She cleared her throat and inclined her head. “Your Grace.”

  “Shall I assume that we are at the ultimatum stage of the invasion?”

  Bethany quirked a smile. “Yes.”

  Celeste nodded her head thoughtfully. “Shall I also assume that your numbers are as large as the rumors today say?”

  Jovan nodded. “Perhaps larger, Your Grace.”

  “We would prefer a peaceable outcome,” Kiner said, “but we will not back down.”

  Celeste turned her periwinkle blue eyes to Jon Black Crow and arched an eyebrow. He shrugged. She turned back to Bethany and asked, “How will I know you won’t kill us either way?”

  “You have our word as elves,” Kiner said.

  Bethany was not surprised when Black Crow spat on Kiner’s boots. “Don’t much care for elves.”

  Celeste looked at Bethany and said, “I believe you need to do better than that, Lady.”

  “You have my word. As an elorian, a soldier, and...” Bethany took a deep breath. This part stung. “And as the daughter of Apexia. If you yield to us, I will protect you like my own people. We will pay for anything we use and we will not harm anyone.”

  He stroked his beard for a moment before holding out a hand of friendship to Jovan, who accepted. “I’ll accept her terms.” He looked at Bethany. “I apologize for the whore comment.”

  “Rare does a day pass where a man from Taftlin doesn’t call me that. I consider it a term of endearment.” She hoped her monotone voice would convey the message that he should avoid calling her that again.

  He gave an awkward chuckle. “Yes, well, I’ll pass the word ‘round to not call you that. Come, see your war prize.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A crown in the mud.

  -Vision of Bethany, Daughter of Apexia

  As Jon, which he insisted on being called, led them through the smallish village, Bethany found herself relieved that she did not have to kill. She never enjoyed killing, excepting a few select individuals, but this was different. They were farmers, merchants, brewers. They weren’t soldiers. When had she lost her taste for battle?

  When Arrago said he had no taste for it.

  If ever Bethany wanted to fall on her own sword, it was whenever that bloody internal voice spoke up. She discounted the Arrago theory and decided that age and maturity had finally
tempered her anger.

  The yellow confection joined them, acting as a diplomat or liaison between the Taftlin town and the Silver Knights. Her Grace was adept at the role, able to coordinate the needs of Bethany’s force with ensuring the compensation and welfare of her countrymen. Bethany liked this royal.

  “We were able to purchase a large amount of food stuffs while in Cul,” Bethany said, “but we are still short on proper winter clothing, footwear, and bedding.”

  Celeste gave Bethany an annoyed look. “In other words, Lady Bethany, you need everything.”

  They walked along the streets of the town. It was fairly large for Taftlin, about five hundred people. Taftlin was sparsely populated, and this was a border trading town. It was larger than most. Most of the inhabitants rushed inside and locked their shop doors once Bethany and the Knights walked through the snow-covered streets.

  “Magi killed nearly ten thousand people when they burned our city and crushed the temple last summer. Our supplies went to the grave along with our people.”

  “Why did you wait so long to invade?” Jon asked. His voice wasn’t accusing, merely curious.

  “Politics,” Bethany said with a smile.

  “Ah,” Celeste replied. “That is something I understand very well.”

  Bethany smiled at the young woman. She didn’t seem to be artful or deceiving. Still, Bethany had to wonder why a princess and the King’s cousin would be so close to the border during a war. Shouldn’t she be locked up in a castle with all of the other female pastries?

  “I’m surprised that Daniel’s army hasn’t stripped you bare. You have a well-stocked village here,” Bethany said, eyeing a building big enough to house a dozen horses that was filled with barrels and sacks.

  “Too far south,” Jon answered. “The conjurers—” he spat, “came through, but mostly we’ve been left alone. The king’s spending all his fool time invading the Rygents. Doubt he even knows you’re here yet.”

  Bethany grimaced, thinking of Sarissa. “He knows. Those sacks. Is that barley?”

  Jon grunted. “We’ll be expecting proper prices for it.”

  “Of course,” Bethany said. “I have no intentions of robbing your people.”

  “You just want to make sure no one drinks whiskey this year,” Jon said. Then, he stopped walking. He eyed Bethany and said, “That’s why you came here. You needed food that you fussy elves would eat.”

  Jovan nodded. “The world and Lady Bethany will have to do without malt whiskey next year.”

  “Elven barbarians.” Jon shook his head as he mumbled, “Arrago didn’t even ask for our barley.”

  “What!” Bethany, Jovan, and Kiner all exclaimed at once.

  “Arrago?” Bethany said, her stomach muscles clenching. No, it couldn’t be. Bethany had thought the pickled tongue she’d eaten for lunch tasted bad going down. It was a lot worse as it rose in her throat. “We can’t mean the same one.”

  “Everyone in Taftlin knows the name Arrago,” Celeste said. “Oh, of course! The border’s been up. You have no idea what’s been happening.” Mirth filled her voice. “A commoner named Arrago is leading a rebellion against King Daniel!”

  Jon nodded. “Fancies himself the next king of Taftlin.”

  Bethany was unable to close her slacked jaw. She tried to form word but they came out like baby babble. “Arrago? Arrago Cedar?”

  “That’s the one,” Jon said. “Folks been callin’ him the Elf King, ‘cause of that name of his.”

  “It can’t be the same Arrago,” Kiner said, more to Bethany to Jon. “Our Arrago is...Jovan, what’s the word?”

  “Simple?” Jovan offered.

  Kiner shook his head. “Lacking ambition?”

  Bethany shot them a warning glare. “This Arrago. My height. Brown hair. Tanned skin. Lean.”

  “Expansive chest. Muscular thighs,” Jovan added with a smile. “Wears brown a lot.”

  Bethany and Kiner stared at Jovan and then each other. Celeste snorted, and then covered it up with a delicate cough.

  “What? Just because I can kill a man and sleep well at night doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another man’s legs.”

  “I don’t know about his thighs but he did live with the elves for a spell at that big temple of theirs. I think someone said he was raised by elven monks, too.”

  “Lady Bethany, are you ill?” Celeste said, her voice full of concern. “You’re pale.”

  “Arrago?” Bethany knew her eyes were wide and that she was swaying but she couldn’t help it. Arrago. A king? What a stupid idea. She realized that she did believe the story. It was Arrago’s kind of stupidity.

  Elf King.

  Oh, Apexia’s mercy.

  Bethany pinched the bridge of her nose. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Jon shrugged. “He comes and goes.”

  “We traded with him whenever the king’s men weren’t in town,” Celeste added. “We never dealt in weapons, but food and medical aid.”

  Bethany eyed the princess. “Your Grace, Jon, you are both taking your surrender rather well.”

  Celeste smirked but looked away. “I am a mere woman. I cannot be punished for rendering non-military aid to any person who requests it.”

  Jon, for his part, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care who’s king of Taftlin. I just don’t like all this Magic foolishness. I’ve got no quarrel with the Rygents, either. My grandmother was one. She was an old hag who made me bathe too much but she sure wasn’t evil, like Daniel’s saying they are.”

  Jovan cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been helping the rebellion.”

  Celeste answered, her chin raised. “Help is a strong word.”

  Jon nodded. “Arrago’s a good kid. He comes in, does a little trade and leaves. There’s never trouble, unlike with you people.”

  For the first time in a long time, Bethany did not berate her mind for thinking about Arrago. Instead, she let the shocking news twist and churn in her thoughts. She considered the benefits that a civil war could have. She pondered merging his numbers into her own. She calculated the increased chances of success with more troops.

  “Do you know where his camp is?” She blurted out. She ignored Kiner’s shocked glare.

  “From what I’ve heard, they are all spread out so that the king’s men can’t find him.”

  Bethany looked at Kiner, who was already shaking his head. “Kiner, yes. Send a dozen or so men out and let’s find Arrago. If you have to, paint signs in the snow. I want him here.”

  ****

  Bethany crouched and sunk further into the snow. Several of the children – soldiers, she repeated, soldiers – that had surrendered unsurprisingly defected to the elven side. Most were from Celtman or the surrounding areas. They’d been paid to hold a sword and stand next to the boundary. What impoverish youth wouldn’t take up that offer?

  Bethany offered coin and, more than that, warm food for their bellies, and training. If Arrago really was leading a rebellion in Taftlin, she could gift his efforts some soldiers with crude, basic skills.

  So, she crouched in the snow, shivering from the wet and cold, and waited for them to find her.

  Several men from the village also joined in. Bethany could respect their desire to protect their homes and families and allowed them to tag along. To ensure they all knew each other, they tied bands of fabric around their arms. The fabric, all scraps from the quilting baskets, was an array of colors, from mourning black to happy pinks to innocent white. But at least they were all marked for her and each other.

  Bethany had no such marking. After all, if they couldn’t tell a female taller than them with short, red hair, they didn’t deserve to win the game.

  She heard cracking branches and a stream of curses. She readied her bow. They were padded blunt arrows; they wouldn’t go very far and, while they bloody hurt when slamming against a cold ass, they didn’t pierce the skin. Perfect for training.

  While she waited for the cursing, laughing group to
reach her and face pretend annihilation at the hands of a woman, Bethany calculated the supply needs for adding an extra hundred, thousand, and two thousand impoverished human men, who would have joined Arrago’s side in hopes of elevating their chances at a better life. After all, why else would they join Arrago? He was a nobody.

  Her supplies were already inadequate and most of Celtman’s supplies were tied up trying to accommodate both themselves and the elves. Trees were being felled, animals hunted, traders sent out to procure supplies from Cur and its northern city of Kershaw. They were on their own.

  More branch cracking, a thump, and laughter. Someone must have tripped. Her ire rose. They might be children, but they needed to pay attention. One highly trained soldier could slaughter the lot of them with the noise they were making.

  As the snow melted and froze around her toes, Bethany most of all wondered how Arrago ended up vying for the crown of Taftlin. Devote, pious, diffident Arrago. She had seen war change people before but she had never thought it would change Arrago.

  Another branch broke and Bethany turned her head to see at least a dozen men. She tightened her grip on her bow. None of them wore the fabric bands. They did, however, have swords. Not wooden practice ones, but real glinting steel in the afternoon sun.

  Her muscles clenched and her heart pounded in her ears. The chirping birds above her scattered into the air, squawking angrily. She dropped the bow to the ground and eased her Blessed Blades out of their scabbards, wiggling them to ensure they weren’t frozen in place.

  They were close.

  She crouched behind the fanned branches of some sort of evergreen and watched. Several branches and bushes shook. Steel caught her eye. Several glints of steel, actually.

  Well, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them to catch her. She ducked her head as low as she could. She sunk one of her swords back in her scabbard and pulled a small dagger from her thigh scabbard, one of the many that covered her body.