A Dance of Blades (4 page)

“Maybe I am afraid,” he whispered to the stars as he pulled his cloaks tighter about him to keep in his warmth. “Gods forgive me, but maybe I really am afraid.”

He continued along the path, part of him hoping he might be ambushed along the way. The adrenaline, bloodshed, and excitement would have felt a thousand times better than the dread the memories of his childhood brought.

1

M
ark Tullen rode toward the gates of Felwood Castle, as always in awe of the fortress made of dark stone covered with ivy. Among his other provisions stashed in his pack was Alyssa’s letter, requesting him to retrieve her son and bring him back to Veldaren. He’d been in Riverrun when the letter arrived, not far south of Felwood. He’d written his response in a hurry, for he could sense Alyssa’s unease. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to lose any favor in her eyes because he tarried.

“I seek audience with Lord Gandrem,” he called at the gate. “I am Mark Tullen, lord of Riverrun, and I come at Lady Gemcroft’s request!”

The gates opened, and guards escorted him in. After he cleaned his boots, he followed them along the emerald carpet to the throne, the seat of power for all the Northern Plains. John Gandrem stood as they entered, a smile on his wrinkled face. He wore robes of green and gold, and a thin crown of silver atop his gray hair.

“Welcome,” said John, clasping hands with Mark. “It’s been too long since you visited. The distance here to Riverrun is not so great that you should visit only once a year.”

“I was here in spring,” Mark said. “Do not tell me you forgot?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I did,” John said, sitting back down and trying to laugh off the error.

“Sadly, I cannot count this as much of a visit,” Mark continued. “I’ve come for Alyssa’s boy, Nathaniel. I’m to give him safe passage back to Veldaren.”

A shadow passed over John’s face, and he took a sip from a goblet beside him before responding.

“Nathaniel is not here,” he said, setting the goblet down. “Lord Hadfield came a few months back and brought him north to Tyneham. I assumed this was at Alyssa’s request, and he certainly implied as much.”

Mark felt his gut tighten.

“I’m sure Arthur’s done the boy no harm,” the old man continued. “Said he wanted to show him the ways of the business, if you know what I mean. If he’s to take over the Gemcroft fortune, a bit of experience with their mines would do him good.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, bowing.

“Will you not stay?” John asked.

“My apologies,” Mark said, glancing over his shoulder. “But Alyssa seemed eager to see her son, and this delay will add at least two weeks of travel. I dare not spend even a single night here when I might be riding instead.”

“Very well,” said John. “Safe travels.”

“And pleasant nights,” said Mark.

He left Felwood and immediately followed the road north. Thankfully he’d packed enough rations for both him and the boy, so he’d have enough to make it to Tyneham alone. While there he’d need to resupply, at least enough to get them back to Felwood Castle. He let his mind wander as he rode. It’d take a week to arrive, so he had more than enough time to think.

Mark knew he and Arthur were rivals for Alyssa’s affection. They were rarely together, but he knew Alyssa found him more interesting, more handsome. But Arthur had wealth and influence, something Alyssa could not ignore. Nearly every town along the mountainside belonged to Arthur one way or another, while Mark controlled just Riverrun, and that only recently due to the Kull’s execution, at Alyssa’s hand no less. By the whispers he heard, and the cold stares from Alyssa’s advisor, Bertram, he knew he was not the favorite in the rest of Veldaren’s eyes.

But he wouldn’t let that stop him. He’d been told the same about challenging Theo Kull, who had his fingers in everything. But Theo had died, and amusingly enough, because his son Yoren had tried for Alyssa’s hand. Alyssa had kept an eye on Mark’s takeover of Riverrun in the wake of the Kull’s demise, and that was how he had first met her.

“Ride on,” Mark whispered to his horse. “I know you’re tired, but give me just a few more miles.”

Nathaniel alone with Arthur…the lord was an older man, calm in all things, calculating every potential outcome of a choice. It was as if they played a game, moving pieces and exchanging tokens, all for the sake of Alyssa’s heart. So far, Mark was losing, and now Arthur held a potential game ender. If the boy favored Arthur, then his mother’s heart might easily follow.

He slept close to the path, keeping his sword beside him as he tucked into his bedroll. His hard rations were bland and salty, but they kept him going. The next morning he found a stream to fill both his waterskins as well as give his horse a well-deserved rest. He kept up his pace, though not quick enough that it might endanger his mount. The whole while, he pondered Arthur’s reaction. Clearly he wouldn’t know of Alyssa’s request to have her son returned. Would he refuse? Come with? Ask for proof? Mark had Alyssa’s letter, of course, but what if Arthur challenged its authenticity?

Mark pushed the thoughts aside. It wouldn’t matter. Trying to outthink Arthur would be pointless. He’d make the best decision available at the time, without fear or doubt. That was how he’d risen to his stature. That was how he planned on rising even higher.

On the sixth day out from Felwood, he arrived at the mining village of Tyneham. The lone inn was small, with only two rooms and a post out back to tie his horse. He had a bite to eat, drank a cup of their awful ale, and then asked for Arthur Hadfield’s location.

“He don’t come to town often,” said the innkeeper, a portly old woman. “But when he does, you can find him overlooking the mines. He keeps an eye on things, and he’s caught quite a few thieves who thought themselves bright.”

Mark smiled at her obvious hint.

“I come in the right,” he told her. “But if I were a thief, I’d share at least a token of my haul with you, if only for your beauty.”

She laughed and waved him off.

He received a few odd stares as he worked his way toward the mountains. He’d seen the Crestwall Mountains only once before, and he stopped beside a well to take in the view. They rose toward the sky like bony fingers, cracked and weather-beaten. He wondered at how vicious the storms might get so far north, something he hoped to not find out. Still, the mountains possessed a majestic beauty, towering above them, reaching into the clouds until their tips turned white with snow. Winter was halfway over, but he wondered if it ever ended here. The past several days he’d ridden through snow, and he thanked Ashhur there was an abundance of trees for firewood.

Realizing he was stalling, Mark forced himself onward. As he neared the bustle of activity at the mines, a foreman spotted his approach and yelled for him to halt.

“Not from around here,” said the foreman as he neared. He wore furs that were hopelessly dirty, and giant calluses covered his hands. “You dress too well and too lightly.”

“I’m warm enough,” said Mark. He offered a hand. “Mark Tullen, lord of Riverrun. I’m here to speak with your lord.”

The foreman grunted.

“You’re in luck. Arthur and the boy are further in. We might have hit a new vein, and he wants to take a look.”

Mark tried to hide his reaction at hearing about ‘the boy’ but felt like he did a miserable job. The foreman raised an eyebrow but refused to comment. Mark mentally cursed himself. If he couldn’t hide his emotions from a lowly foreman, what hope did he have with someone as observant as Arthur?

“Please,” he said, deciding to get it over with. “Can you take me to him? I come with urgent business from Alyssa Gemcroft.”

The foreman snapped to attention. If there was anyone more powerful than Arthur in the village, it was Alyssa. It was her mines that gave them work, wealth, and means to survive the harsh land. Without them, Tyneham would become a ghost town.

“Follow me,” said the foreman.

They walked along a path pounded flat by half a century of carts, feet, and wheelbarrows. A few of the men glanced up, but most ignored them, or did their best to look busy. Mark saw several women wandering about with food and water for the men. A few carried needles and cloth to wrap, stitch, and bandage the day’s toll of blisters and cuts. He saw at least four main entrances to the lower slopes of the mountain. The foreman took him to the largest, where a crowd had gathered.

The two stopped and listened, for a man had come from inside the mine. A young boy stood at his side, his red hair covered with dirt. Mark knew them both.

“I’ve looked it over,” said Arthur as he pulled off a pair of gloves and tossed them aside. “It’s a new vein, all right, the richest we’ve found in ten years. We’ll shift men from mines three and four to help drain the rest of the water, and I’ll send word for more oxen. Hard work is ahead, but tonight, we’ll share a glass to celebrate!”

They cheered and smiled, and even the foreman beside Mark clapped in excitement. Mark kept his arms crossed and watched Nathaniel. He stood beside Arthur, keeping his face passive and his eyes to the ground. Such good behavior from someone barely five…it struck Mark as worrisome. Even when the cheering began, Nathaniel only looked around once, and after a few seconds’ delay, clapped twice.

Mark waited as the rest of the men resumed their duties, cheerfully delving back into the mines or pushing their carts for the smelters and their mills. Arthur saw Mark through the crowd, nodded once, and then approached.

“Lord Tullen, I was not expecting such a pleasant surprise,” he said, but the tone in his voice never matched the honeyed words.

Mark withdrew the letter and handed it over.

“I’ve come for Nathaniel,” he said. “Alyssa wishes his safe return, for she misses him terribly. I must say, I was surprised to find him here instead of with lord Gandrem.”

A smile pulled at the sides of Arthur’s lips. He had a long, oval face, and gray hair trimmed extremely short. Mark had never seen a worse shit-eating grin.

“I often talked with Alyssa about bringing Nathaniel here to learn the duties involved in running the mines. At my last visit, I mentioned doing so should the weather break.”

“Her letter doesn’t say that.”

“Given how great her duties are, I am not surprised such a casual comment by myself went unremembered.”

Mark didn’t believe it for a second, but he tried to act like he did.

“Either way, she wishes him back,” he insisted. “So come, Nathaniel. Let us return to your mother.”

“You can’t take him,” said Arthur. When Mark’s eyes flared, the grin on Arthur’s face only grew. “Not by yourself. You would bring the son of the Trifect along the northern road unprotected? He is far too precious a target for ransom. Let me send you some of my men as escort.”

Mark looked away and muttered. Arthur was testing him, his reactions, and he’d given away his thoughts plain as day. As he looked about, he saw two wagons loading up not far to the south.

“Where are they headed?” he asked.

“They?” asked Arthur. He followed his gaze, and then answered far too quickly, “I’m not sure, but they are of no matter to you. Let me get my men.”

“Veldaren,” said Nathaniel before Arthur could leave. “Every week, they bring gold for Veldaren.”

Mark shot the boy a wink, not caring that Arthur saw.

“Then I will ride with them,” he said. “Surely we will be safe amid a well-guarded caravan.”

Arthur’s grin faded.

“Very well. They will slow you down, so make sure Alyssa knows the reason for your delay falls upon you, and not me. I’ll tell the men you’ll be joining them. Nathaniel, go to the castle and pack your things. Hurry now! Do not keep lord Tullen waiting.”

Nathaniel bowed to both and then ran off. Mark watched him go.

“Not a smart child, but at least he is obedient,” Arthur said, walking away.

*

N
athaniel rode in one of the two wagons while Mark trotted beside them on his horse. He’d purchased supplies from the tavern, not wishing to be a burden on the caravan. Though he’d stayed out of their way best he could, he made sure to sneak a glance at the cargo—crates of gold coins, all bearing the symbol of the Gemcroft family. Each wagon had a single crate.

“Why just one crate per wagon?” he asked the leader of the caravan, a fat man named Dave.

“Each wagon has its own driver, own guards, own cargo,” Dave answered. “Makes it harder for someone to get to plotting. That, and we’ll fill both wagons on the way back with supplies. You should see how many tools we run through. I swear, for every pound of gold we dig we break two pounds of iron.”