Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (36 page)

The glow came closer, and as it reached the road, Cole saw that it was held aloft by a man. He wore a tattered brown cloak to keep out the winter chill, beneath which he was dressed in commoner’s clothes. The man’s face was hidden beneath a deep hood. “Are you in need of help?” The voice seemed to radiate concern.

“Who’s there?” Raven called back.

Cole heard a soft chuckle. “Why, a friend of course. All men become friends in the Spiritwood.” He crossed the road, and when he stood before them he drew back his hood, to reveal a man in his middle years. He was balding; the few strands remaining to him were combed across the top of his head. He smiled at them kindly. “Dear oh dear,” he tutted, holding the lamp up to Harri’s face. “I would say your friend is in need of some assistance, even if you are not.”

“You are a healer, then?” Cole asked doubtfully.

“Me? Oh dear me no.” The stranger laughed again, seemingly amused by the notion. “No, my expertise lies in other areas I’m afraid. But there is a healer in our village, not far from here.”

“A village, in the Spiritwood?” Raven did not attempt to disguise her doubt.

“Yes, we’ve managed to carve out a place of our own, away from the cares of the world. Our own little paradise.” The man beamed at them. “I can take you there, if you wish? As I said, it is not far. As well as a healer, we have food and warm beds. If I’m not mistaken you are in need of those as well.”

Raven looked up and down the road again, as if searching for an alternative. None seemed to present itself. “Very well,” she said finally. “Take us to your village. We won’t impose on you for long... just enough for our friend to see your healer. Then we will be on our way.”

“Oh I am pleased.” The little man seemed to bounce with excitement at the news. “Keep close behind me, and we’ll be there in no time at all.” He practically skipped across the road, and gestured for them to follow.

“What a strange man,” Cole muttered.

“Keep your wits about you and your weapon close,” Raven advised.

After they had crossed the road and been swallowed by the trees on the other side. Harri lifted his head groggily, and whispered something in Cole’s ear.

“What did he say?” Raven asked.

“I didn’t catch all of it. Something about a fair, I think.”

“Oh, we’re very fair, I can assure you,” the little man burbled, overhearing them. “The master insists upon it, in fact. Oh my yes.”

“Perhaps he is delirious,” said Raven. She seemed lost in thought.

Which one?
Cole wondered, as they followed the strange man towards a village that existed in the middle of a forest where even Legion patrols feared to tread.

CHAPTER 16

T
he chapel was small, draughty and also, it appeared, forgotten. A thick layer of dust clung to every surface, while ragged cobwebs hung from every corner. The creatures that had spun these were nowhere to be seen; they had long disappeared, just as the cramped shrine had been abandoned by those who had once gathered to pray for divine favour.

From the undisturbed grime atop the marble altar it was clear that it had not seen use for some time, while the white linen that adorned it had become ivory with age. The leaf-green trim, which the priests had once taught symbolised the Divine’s love of nature, had faded to a drab olive shade. What it symbolised now was anyone’s guess.

The statue of that deity was still in place, as it once had been in dozens of churches across the Empire. Most had now been torn down by brown-robed Brothers, as eagerly as they had once raised them up, their shrines reclaimed and repurposed. Likely the only ones to have survived were in forsaken chapels like this one. The carved figure was instantly familiar; a robed man, bowed head half-hidden beneath a hood, hands held out beseechingly, palms upturned. A posture of generosity, power and humility.

Adelmar stood at the doorway to the chapel, frowning. It saddened him to see it thus. The small room in a far-flung wing of the palace had never been busy. Most of Ehrenburg’s worshippers gathered instead at the city’s grand cathedral. But, even so, in years past you could have walked in at any time on any given day and found one of the palace servants knelt before the altar, entreating the Divine for some boon. No longer.

Jaw clenched, he stepped inside and marched to the altar. Adelmar always marched, wherever he went. He’d been a soldier since he was large enough to lift a sword, and certain habits died hard. He had marched through a score of campaigns undefeated, and marched to every corner of the land to crush his father’s enemies. He’d even marched down the aisle of Ehrenburg Cathedral the day he wed. Lady Ellara was once heard to declare, at an official reception thrown by the Duke of Strathearn – where she had imbibed a little too freely – that when he had approached their wedding bed that night, it had been with a march in his step.

Adelmar was not amused and had later remonstrated with his wife, after marching her from the Duchess’ side before she could divulge anything further.

He dropped to one knee before the altar, and bent his head. “Divine, I ask for the strength to bear the iniquities of this place; the fawning lackwits and deceitful courtiers. I ask that you shield my family, my wife and daughters, from its corruption. I pray for my father’s soul. He is a good man led astray by bad counsel.” He stopped, then sighed. “And I pray for my brother, that he lives in a manner more befitting one of his station.”

He remained kneeling a few moments more, head reverently bowed. As ever, he waited for some sign that his words had been heeded. As ever, he was disappointed. He stood, and brushed the dust that now clung to his clothes; plain brown woollen hose and breeches, and vermillion doublet. A simple fur-trimmed silk mantle, as red as freshly spilled blood, was draped over his shoulders and fastened at his neck with a golden clasp in the shape of a bull’s head. Without a further word, he turned and left the chapel.

When he pushed open the door to his chambers a short time later, he was surprised to find one of the people that had figured in his recent thoughts. Jarrod was lounging on the sill of a window that looked out onto a courtyard below. Adelmar eyed his brother warily as he entered, taking in the dark-blonde, slicked back hair, the blue eyes twinkling with amusement at something he’d seen below. A cruel smirk, an expression never very far from his face, twisted his lips. As ever, Jarrod was dressed impeccably; a black velvet doublet slashed in the current fashion, revealing the gold of his shirt beneath. With an inward sigh, Adelmar’s eyes fell to the large green gem sat upon his chest, hanging from a thick gold chain. “Brother!” Jarrod cried as Adelmar closed the door firmly and marched into the room. “What an absolute delight it is to see your smiling face.”

“Jarrod,” he responded stiffly. The sight of his half-brother brought down upon him the black cloud that had hovered above him since his return to the city. Moodily, he crossed to his desk and retrieved Duty; the shining blade sat snugly within its oiled leather scabbard where he had left it that morning. It was Adelmar’s firmly held belief that a man should never go to his prayers while carrying arms. Feeling its comforting weight on his hip once more, a fraction of his dark mood lifted. “What can I do for you?”

“Such fraternal warmth.” Jarrod placed a heavily jewelled hand on his breast. “It fairly makes the heart sing.” A sly smile insinuated itself onto his face. “Missed you at church this morning.”

Adelmar snorted at the admonishment, the closest he ever came to laughter. “I could say the same of you.”

The younger prince looked baffled momentarily. Then, realisation dawned. “Oh, Addled, tell me you didn’t go there,” he chided. “Not to that filthy little pigeon coop?”

“Don’t call me that,” Adelmar barked. He felt the black cloud descend again. Less than a minute in his brother’s company and already he wanted to punch the wall.

“Don’t be like that, that’s what I’ve always called my big brother.” Jarrod laughed gaily. “Father still tells the story of when I was first brought to court, barely off the tit, and he introduced us for the first time. Do you remember?”

“I remember.” Adelmar’s voice was little more than a growl. If Jarrod noticed his tone then he didn’t show it.

“Only I couldn’t say your name properly,” Jarrod continued, oblivious, “and it came out as Addled. Father laughed so hard he almost shat out a kidney. Believe me, brother, I can’t look at you now without thinking of you as Addled.”

Adelmar closed his eyes and sighed. He knew from long experience that the only way to stop his half-brother’s prattling was to ignore it. Eventually he would grow bored and leave to find something else to grab his interest. “Very droll,” he said. “Is there a point to you being here, Jarrod? Where is my wife?”

“What, is the pleasure of my company not enough?” The younger prince affected a wounded expression. Then, as Adelmar had hoped, he suddenly tired of the jape and hopped from the windowsill. “Gone shopping,” he said, in a bored tone. “When I told her that Madame Châtelait recently took delivery of a new shipment of finest Xanshian silks, I was nearly killed in the stampede. She went to speak to the dressmaker personally, I believe. You would have thought that fine clothes were forbidden in your household.” He cast a critical eye over Adelmar’s plain attire. “Never mind.”

Adelmar ground his teeth. That sounded like his wife. Despite being married to him for twenty years, Lady Ellara had yet to adopt her husband’s austere tastes. Where he shunned what he thought of as ornamentation and frippery, Ellara sought it out like a magpie. In his opinion the clothes she wore were a little too fine, she laughed and drank a little too freely and loved life a little too much.

He adored her with every fibre of his being.

“State your business, and leave, Jarrod. I care not which order you choose. Or did you come here merely to show me my brother is a prancing jackanapes? If so then you wasted your time, for that I knew already.”

Jarrod pursed his lips. “Well, well, hark at you, big brother. Your verbal jousting has come on leaps and bounds living among those bluff northerners. You’re almost starting to sound as though you belong at court.” He laughed and clapped his hands. “Why, we’ll have you snorting Tenebrian moonspice from a fat dowager’s bosom in no time.”

Adelmar shuddered at the thought. “When that happens, you have my permission to throw me from the top of that damn fool tower the Order is building. Now, tell me what you’re doing here or leave. Either suits me.”

His brother sighed and flopped into a chair. “I’ve told you already, dear Addled. You were missed at church today. Not by me,” he said, raising a hand before Adelmar could protest. “By father. By the court, everyone. Father is in a rage about it. He saved you a seat by his side, and had to sit red-faced next to an empty chair for the entire ceremony. I merely came to warn you.”

“What does anyone care about where I choose to pray?” Adelmar slammed a clenched fist onto the tabletop. “What business is it of theirs?”

“Poor, naive Addled,” Jarrod said, reclining in his seat with one leg swung carelessly over the chair arm. The sight of it further irritated Adelmar. His brother was able to make even the everyday act of sitting appear louche. “In case it has escaped that blinkered mind of yours, you are father’s heir. What message does it send if you do not ascribe to the official faith of the Empire? People look to us for moral guidance, after all.” He grinned wolfishly.

Adelmar frowned. “It has been made official? I... had hoped the emperor would come around.”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Jarrod smiled and stroked the thin, wax-tipped moustache he was currently affecting, which was seemingly now the fashion for the young noblemen of the capital. “He’s quite devout, you know. When he first took to the Brotherhood’s teachings and let that Archon fellow attend his councils, I thought it was a political gambit of some kind. We all did. But you should see him during the service! The old buzzard actually has tears rolling down his face.”

Adelmar’s face darkened. “It is unwise to mock any man in his own house, even more so when he is emperor.”

“Father?” Jarrod blinked in surprise. “Oh, I don’t think I have much to worry about there, brother.”

But Adelmar did not relent. “It isn’t the first time you’ve disrespected our father in my presence. I do not want to hear any more such insults fall from your lips.”

“Are you talking about what I said during snowfall?” Jarrod laughed. “I wondered why you looked as if you’d just sucked on a lemon. All I did was correct an inaccuracy.”

“Which was?”

Jarrod grinned. “I just pointed out that far from whatever nonsense father claimed dear grandpapa’s last words were, they were far more likely to have been “get that damned pillow off my face”. Though admittedly his voice would have been so muffled it would have been difficult to make out.” He chuckled, and reached inside his doublet. “Here, I brought you something.”

Adelmar reached for the object being proffered. It was a gold chain and pendant, affixed to which was a green crystal the size of a pigeon’s egg. “Do you really expect me to wear this?” he demanded.

“Easy, Addled,” Jarrod replied soothingly. “It’s just for appearances. It’s the same as mine.” He raised the pendant around his own neck, and tapped upon it with a ring. “Glass. I had one made up for you as well.”

Adelmar turned the stone over in his hands, examining it more closely. If it was a facsimile, it was well done. “It looks genuine,” he said. As he spoke, he found that his eyes were reluctant to leave the glittering surface of the gemstone.

“Of course it does,” said Jarrod, as though he were speaking to a child. “What do you think father would do if he found out?” He looked up at Adelmar and winked. “It will be our little secret.”

The older prince grunted noncommittally. With a sudden effort of will, he pulled his gaze away from the stone and tossed the pendant onto his desk. It landed untidily amongst his papers. “I will think about it,” he said, in a tone that implied he would do nothing of the kind.

Jarrod threw up his hands and stood. “Well, I tried,” he said, walking to the chamber door. “I’m sure that you know best. Incidentally, you’re expected at court. If I were you, I’d actually turn up this time. Father’s headsman is so woefully underemployed these days, I daresay he’d jump at the chance to make the Bloody Prince’s name a reality.”

He slipped through the door, lithe as an eel, before Adelmar could respond. He always had to have the last word, that one. Still, he had told it true: it was time to present himself to the emperor. After arriving in the city a few days earlier, he had stood beside him briefly for the snowfall. But since then he had busied himself at the barracks where the company of soldiers he had travelled south with were housed. He had told himself he wasn’t been avoiding presenting himself at court, that the needs of his men came before official pleasantries. But the truth was that he had allowed himself to be distracted from such duties rather too easily. He sighed.

Adelmar’s mood was little improved when, a short time later, he marched through the Hall of Light, the majestic throne room of Ehrenburg’s imperial palace. Nowhere else in the capital city could match its scale or grandeur. A score of fifty-foot tall marble columns lined the hall from the great oak and steel doors to the dais at the far end. His footsteps echoed loudly as he came on, his plate-metal greaves clattering. He had rejected the flashy court clothes – silk hose, padded silk breeches, stylishly slashed doublet and the most ridiculously pointed shoes he had ever clapped eyes upon – rather hopefully laid out for him by Ellara. Instead, he had donned the crimson platemail he was most comfortable in. Let everyone see him for what he was, a soldier.

From each giant column fluttered a veritable forest of standards and pennants, each one belonging to a noble house that lived under the imperial aegis. As he marched, Adelmar recognised the plated warrior and claymore of the Maccallams of Strathearn, the ruined fort of the Hylands of Caer Lys, the bow and arrow of Hunter’s Watch and half a dozen fish of various types and hues for the numerous Fisher Houses of Westcove. There were many more, some not even he recognised. Many of them belonged to houses and cities he had personally subjugated, bringing them to heel by force if they refused to willingly become part of the Empire... and pay the taxes and tithes that entailed.