Medieval Master Warlords (50 page)

Christopher lifted his eyebrows. “Christ,” he muttered. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that would happen.”

Edward was forced to agree. “I have spent all of my time being terrified of de Velt,” he said. “To consider that the man is requesting a peaceful conference... I do not know what to think.”

Christopher pondered that a moment. “I am more afraid to think of what will happen if I deny him an audience,” he said. “I suppose having him come to Lioncross, unarmed and alone, is harmless enough.”

“I suppose so,” he agreed. “But it is Jax de Velt we are speaking of. Even if he is unarmed by our standards, he may not be unarmed by his. The man is likely to draw a dagger out of his arse and kill you with it.”

Christopher struggled not to grin. “”Let us hope not,” he said. “Mayhap I should do the man a courtesy and listen to what he has to say.”

“As you said, to deny him might anger him, and that is something we don’t want.”

“I don’t want him to take a dagger out of his arse and kill me with it, either.”

“Then you have a difficult choice to make.”

With a heavy sigh, Christopher turned to face the messenger. “Tell your lord he is welcome to come to Lioncross, alone and unarmed,” he said. “I will meet him at the gatehouse. Tell him to come this day.”

The messenger nodded. “May I dress, my lord?”

Christopher motioned Max away from the messenger. “Be quick about it,” he said. “I will wait for de Velt’s arrival.”

The messenger began to dress swiftly as Christopher, Edward, and Max headed back to the open front gates. The trickle of peasants had lessened and the guards at the gate were preparing to lower the portcullis. Christopher made it inside the gatehouse, remaining with his men as the portcullis began to lower. Peasants made a run for it, some making it under the fanged grate just in time while still others hadn’t been fast enough. The guards at the gate instructed those who didn’t make it to return to the village but remain in their homes, so there was a wild scattering as people rushed back for the village. It was a mad dash for safety in uncertain times.

Inside the gatehouse, Christopher stood near the lowered portcullis with his knights, waiting for the moment Jax de Velt would show himself. He’d never met the man but he’d heard he looked like a wild beast with crazed eyes. He’d been lucky in his life not to have had any contact with him, or any conflicts, but all of that was about to change. He hoped that all de Velt wanted to do was talk because the alternative had him edgy. He wished his brother was here, a knight among knights. He wished he had more knights on hand. In fact, he wished every fighting man in England was here at the moment, at his disposal.

If de Velt became angry, it might take every soldier in the country to fend him off.

... and Hell followed with him.

℘

Jax hadn’t been on a military campaign in two decades. True, he had traveled during that time, significantly, but this was different. He felt as if he was on a battle march, which was essentially the truth. Moreover, this march was different. He was heading into the realm of Christopher de Lohr who, in his opinion, was the most powerful man in England. The man had allies all over the place and he existed in a world that was somewhat foreign to Jax. If de Lohr needed assistance, all he need do was summon one of a dozen nearby allies. If Jax needed assistance, he had no one to really call upon, but that was his own damn fault. Even when he’d stopped his campaign of conquest, he’d never really made a huge effort to repair any of the damages he’d done.

His properties in Wales were a prime example. Twenty-five years ago, he’d plowed through a portion of the Marches with a ferocity that no one had ever seen before. He’d taken castles, killed people, burned villages, and generally destroyed everything he touched. He’d established his own commanders at the castles to oversee them and the wealth he received from those properties, to this very day, was significant. But when he’d stopped his conquest, mostly because his wife did not agree with what he did, he’d just left things as they were. He’d returned a couple of English castles to Yves de Vesci, his liege, but he’d kept the rest and never said another word about it. He never tried to mend any relationships or make any allies, as he’d told his wife. His properties were his own and he’d never cared much for alliances. Until now.

As he traveled towards Lioncross Abbey, de Lohr’s seat, he was fairly certain that de Lohr was alerted to his approach. Any man worth his weight in steel and sweat would have patrols across his lands, searching for threats, and he was positive de Lohr was no exception.

Therefore, he didn’t expect a particularly warm welcome, especially when de Lohr found Jax de Velt and an army of one thousand men at his doorstep. He would be lucky if de Lohr didn’t lash out first and ask questions later. Given that possibility, when he was about an hour away from Lioncross, he sent forth a messenger to de Lohr to let the man know his intentions were peaceful and requesting an audience. He didn’t think de Lohr would believe him, or even agree to see him, but he had to try. As Jax remained lost to his thoughts, a knight astride an excited destrier pulled up alongside him.

“My scouts tell me that Lioncross is over this next rise,” the young knight said, flipping up his visor. “The messenger has yet to return, however.”

Jax cocked an eyebrow at his second son, a young man who resembled him to a fault including the dual-colored eyes. Sir Julian de Velt possessed the brown eyes with a big splash of pale green in the right eye, just as his father did, only Julian’s condition was a little less pronounced than his father’s was. Still, the resemblance was eerie.

“I would not be surprised to find our messenger locked up and de Lohr preparing to unleash archers on us the moment we come in range,” Jax told his son. “Therefore, the army will stay well back while you and I approach. Where is Cole?”

He was asking about his eldest son, a very powerful knight in his own right who possessed his mother’s fair looks. Sir Coleby de Velt actually served the Earl of Northumberland, Yves de Vesci, but Jax had called the man home for this particular venture. Julian looked around, searching out his brother from among hundreds of men. He finally saw him.

“He is over to the east,” he said, pointing. “He is riding along the edge of the column. I wonder what he is doing?”

Jax looked over his shoulder, seeing his eldest son in the distance. “What we should all be doing,” he growled as he faced forward. “Watching to see if de Lohr is launching an offensive our way. Ride point, Julian. Be well on guard. Stop the column when we come to within a half-mile of Lioncross and tell them to hold station.”

Julian nodded, eyeing his father a moment. There was something warm glittering in the two-toned eyes.

“If I have not told you before, Father, allow me to tell you now,” he said. “I am proud to be riding with you. I have never ridden to battle with you, you know. This is a momentous occasion.”

Jax glanced at his enthusiastic son. At twenty years and two, he was still very young mentally, much younger than Jax had been at that age, but he was exceptionally skilled and intelligent. Still, he had a lot of growing up to do, something only time and experience would take care of. He gave the boy a half-grin.

“You have gone to battle with me before,” he said. “When you were younger, we had to fight off the Scots a couple of times.”

Julian shook his head. “I was only a child then,” he said as if those skirmishes had been nothing of consequence. “I had not even gone to foster yet.”

“You still rode with my men to defend White Crag against raiders.”

Julian made a face. “That was nothing,” he said. “This is
real
battle.”

Jax didn’t have the romanticized view of this campaign that Julian did. He shook his head faintly. “I hope not,” he said quietly. “We are riding to retrieve your sister. I hope it does not go badly for us or for her.”

Julian sobered as he was reminded of the reason for their campaign. “As do I,” he said, thinking of his sister who was only two and a half years younger than he was. “I hope Allie is… you do not think they have harmed her, do you? I mean, she is probably locked away in the vault but they would not actually hurt her, would they?”

Jax couldn’t even think on the possibilities. He didn’t want to visit that horror unless he had to. “She is more valuable to them alive than dead,” he said steadily. “One does not usually harm an asset, not when it can get you what you want in the end.”

Julian eyed his father. “What they want is you.”

“And I am coming to them,” he said, looking at his son. “I am coming with one thousand men and two big knights to secure my daughter. They shall not get the better of me, lad, have no doubt.”

Julian seemed comforted by that, as Jax had intended. Whether or not he believed his own propaganda was another matter altogether. Not wanting to discuss the situation further, he snapped his gloved fingers at Julian to prompt the young knight to head to the point of the column, as he had been ordered. Julian spurred his big bay Belgian rouncey forward, parting the soldiers along the way as he went. Jax watched the young man go, wondering if, indeed, they would see action before this campaign was through. Clearly, he knew one thing for certain – if Allaston was harmed in any way, there would be blood. The Dark Lord would see to it.

Another half-hour saw Lioncross Abbey Castle come into view towards the south, a massive bastion that sat atop a small rise like a great sentinel protecting the countryside. The walls were the color of sand, a beige-grayish stone that was local to the area. Jax focused on the legendary castle as they approached, relieved that there was no army waiting for him, or worse, riding out to fend him off. For once in his life, he wasn’t looking for a fight. He was looking for help. As the army drew within the half-mile perimeter that Jax had discussed with Julian, Cole came riding up beside his father.

“The messenger is returning, Father” he said. “I can see him coming up the road.”

Jax took a deep breath. He realized that he was actually nervous. Would de Lohr agree to see him? Or would he tell him to go away? “Very well,” he said. “Let us hope that de Lohr is in an agreeable mood today, for I would very much like to speak with him.”

“Will you ask for reinforcements from him?” Cole wanted to know.

Jax shrugged faintly. “I am sure it will be too much to ask,” he said. “Who in their right mind would ally themselves with Ajax de Velt? Certainly not a man with a reputation like de Lohr’s.”

“Then why did we come?”

“Because one can hold out hope that I am wrong and de Lohr will indeed join ranks with the likes of me.”

Cole’s lips twitched with a smile. “You are not so bad.”

“You were not around twenty-five years ago.”

Cole snorted softly. He knew what his father had done twenty-five years ago, more in-depth than anyone else did because Jax himself had told him. Since marrying Cole’s mother, however, his life had changed drastically. He no longer surrounded himself with killers and mercenaries. All the men that served him now did so out of fealty, not rewards. Those generals who had been so instrumental in his conquest those years ago had moved on to other things. Unless it was in direct relation to a property he owned, Jax had little or no contact with those men from the past. It was true that men could be reformed and Ajax de Velt was a living example of that. But his reputation, the one of fear and death, still lived on. It was something he would never be rid of.

“Not to worry, Father,” Cole said. “Someday, all will be forgiven or, at the very least, overlooked. In any case, I….”

A shout cut him off and both Jax and Cole looked to see a lone rider barreling up the dusty road that skirted the big village, heading in their direction. In the morning sun, light glinted off of the rider’s metal protection and created a flashing effect. Jax emitted a piercing whistle from between his teeth, signaling to Julian, who called a halt to the column. Men began to shout, making sure everyone had heard the command, as the army of a thousand men and six wagons began to grind to a stop.

So they waited, watching, as the rider drew close. Jax moved forward to intercept the messenger as the man pulled his frothing steed to a halt, kicking up dirt and rocks from the road.

“Well?” Jax demanded. “Did you speak with de Lohr?”

The messenger nodded. “I did, my lord,” he replied, struggling to calm his excited horse. “He says he will see you, alone and unarmed, at the gatehouse of Lioncross. He says that you must come now.”

It wasn’t the answer Jax had expected. He had fully expected denial and disappointment. His surprised showed.

“Truly?” he asked, incredulous. “He said he would grant me audience?”

Again, the messenger nodded. “Indeed, my lord.”

“What did he say, exactly?”

The messenger didn’t hesitate. “He asked me to state my business and I did,” he replied. “He wanted to know why you had brought so many men if you did not mean to engage him and I assured him that your intentions were peaceful.”

“Did he seem reluctant?”

“He did, my lord.”

“But even so, he agreed to see me?”

“He did, my lord.”

Jax turned to look at his sons, astonishment evident on his face. He had frankly been prepared to spend a few days at Lioncross at the very least, begging de Lohr to give him a few moments of his time, so this immediate agreement was something of a shock. He was so used to being alienated that a concurrence like this had him stumped, but not stumped enough so that he lost his ability to think. He could think very well and, after a moment’s pause, he dismounted his horse. As his sons watched, the armor started coming off, per de Lohr’s instructions.