The Grand Crusade (5 page)

“Those nations that helped Adrogans win Okrannel are buoyed by success and are sending troops east, but the roads are long.”

“Ships would bring them quickly to Saporicia.”

The Black Dragon shook his head. “It is as you imagine, daughter. The western nations have fought and won, and while they would love more victories, the liberation of Okrannel makes them feel safe. If Chytrine takes Saporicia before they get there, they can oppose her in Alcida. As King Augustus threatened to fight in Oriosa, so they can fight in his realm. If, on the other hand, there are concessions that will reward them for speed, they will move with speed.”

She closed her eyes. “It is as Crow said. They will play politics and let any chance they have at victory slip away.” Alyx opened her eyes again and looked up at Preyknosery. “What of the urZrethi and elves?”

“Of the elves we know nothing. We are not welcome in their realms, so we do not study them. The urZrethi, however, are friends to the Gyrkyme. There is fighting in Sarengul and armies are being raised. Varagul is supposed to be sending a regiment across Reimancia and Vegan to help in the liberation of Sarengul. Bokagul is likewise raising an army.”

Her violet eyes sharpened. “Did you hear anything of the Oriosan and Murosan troops fighting in Sarengul?”

The Gyrkyme shook his head. “All is in chaos there and a number of our scouts never returned. I believe they died over Muroso.”

“And Muroso is falling?”

“I am afraid that it is. Caledo was not gone when last seen, but I would assume it has fallen by now. There were many refugees fleeing into Bokagul and Saporicia. The Aurolani have killed many, and the winter has killed its share, too.”

The Gyrkyme frowned deeply. “Most disturbing of all is that Chytrine’s armies seem robust despite their losses. The Ghost March and Okrannel had good harvests, so her troops have food. The stores from Fortress Draconis are sustaining many as well. Sebcia and Muroso tried to destroy supplies, but the onslaught’s speed took so many by surprise that the Aurolani did manage to capture a lot of what they needed.”

Alyx glanced at the Black Dragon. “No word from Communicants from Sebcia or Muroso?”

“No, and that is most grim.”

She nodded. One Communicant had been Princess Dayley of Muroso. Alexia had last seen her in the Murosan capital, Caledo. While she supposed it was possible Dayley had not had time to come to the Communion, Alyx feared she was dead.And if she is dead, her blood kin likely share the same fate.

Alyx sighed. “No less grim is the situation outside Muroso. Will Norrington died on Vael. He sacrificed himself to save a dragon from death, but all we got from that is a ragged neutrality among the dragons. They will not come out for or against Chytrine as a group, but individuals can and have chosen sides. We have several powerful ones in our camp, but Chytrine has more.”

The Black Dragon hugged his arms around his belly. “The Nornngum ucau. His voice came in a hushed whisper that sent a chill up Alexia’s spine.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. “We don’t know if Will wastheNorrington, or if that mantle will transfer to another. A Murosan princess is carrying Will’s child, and one of his half brothers is fighting in Sarengul with the Oriosan Freemen. That’s why I asked after them.”

“I shall see what else I can learn, daughter.”

“Thank you, Father Ironwing.” Alyx shook her head. “We half expect everyone to trot out their own Norrington heir, and the worst part is that King Scrainwood already has one available. If these heirs cause factions to form and then are actually expected to lead troops into the field, Chytrine will eat the

Southlands up bit by bit.“

The Black shook his head. “That would be a complete disaster. Is there any

chance the Norrington isn’t dead?“

She shivered. “No. I saw him die with my own eyes. And with him died the

hope of the world.“

The Black laid a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not true. Chytrine cannot yet complete the DragonCrown, so she is still thwarted. Once she has all the pieces and can refashion the Crown, she will have no more need of armies. You must remember that. While her armies have to be stopped, as long as the Crown is safe from her, there is always hope.”

“I understand what you are saying. I just wish I felt it more in my heart.” Alyx’s eyes narrowed. “Politics will deny us the tools we need to stop her.”

“There are others who will deal with the politics, daughter.” The Black Dragon smiled at her. “You were trained by Preyknosery here to be able to lead armies. This you do very well. The hope of the world now rests upon your shoulders. As long as you are prepared to do what you were trained to do, as long as you make the most of whatever opportunity you are given, you will succeed beyond your wildest dreams.”

So, I see you are alive.“ It surprised Prince Erlestoke to hear his father’s voice, but that did not stop him from sliding the whetstone along his sword’s blade. He stroked the metal twice more, then raised the blade and let lamplight play over the edge. It wasn’t sharp enough, so he laid it on the leather protecting his thighs and bent to his task again.

“Damn you, Erlestoke. Look at me! I thought you were dead.”

This time the prince did turn his head and looked up. There his father stood. The day before, in the Council Chamber, was the first time Erlestoke had seen his father in over five years. The man looked older, with the streaks of white in his hair and beard. The green mask he wore hid wrinkles, but the decorations on it made his father look poxed. Age had shrunk him slightly, and his voice had an edge just this side of hysterical. Bony fingers clutched the doorjamb.

Calmly, Erlestoke replied, “You may have thought I was dead, but did you care?”

Hazel eyes blazed from within that mask. “I am your father. How can you even ask such a question?”

“Simple, Father.” Erlestoke leveled the blade at him, pointing at his face. “You cut no notches for having lost a son on your mask.”

Scrainwood’s jaw slackened for a moment, but his eyes narrowed quickly enough. “I must subordinate my personal feelings to the needs of the state. If I were to cut those notches, everyone would know I believed you dead and hope would be lost. I could not display my private grief.”

“No? Then how about your personal joy at seeing me alive again?” The prince rasped the whetstone over the edge. “Marsham looked as if I’d reached from the grave and clutched his throat. You looked stricken as well. You had no greeting,

no wave, nothing. All you cared for was seeing that your enemy, Crow, had entered the chamber and that I was apparently in league with him. Had you any concern for me, you would have been there, in that doorway, last night.“

The king’s head came up and nostrils flared. “I am your father. I expected you

to come to me.“

“I’m sure you did.” Erlestoke laid the broadsword down and stood slowly. Though not much taller than his father, he had the build of a warrior in his prime, which made Scrainwood appear to be a figure made of rags and broomsticks. He slid his chair in against the table, laid the leather over the sword, then opened his arms wide. “Did you wish an embrace, Father? Or did you just want me coming to you, telling you I had been wrong to support the Draconis Baron, and that your way of things is clearly the wisest course?”

The offer of an embrace tightened the king’s grip on the doorjamb, but the following question loosened it. The king straightened up and even let a bit of a smile twist over his lips. “No, I want no embrace. While I would have hoped your experience would have benefited you and blessed you with wisdom, when I saw you in Crow’s company, I knew it had not.”

The prince crossed the small palace room and poured red wine from an earthenware pitcher into a roughly thrown mug. He did not offer his father any, but pointed to the pitcher as he drank. The wine cut the scent of oil from the sharpening, but did little to cover the taste of disgust. “Just so you can have more justification to hate Crow, were it not for him, I would not be alive. I guess saving the life of the crown prince could hardly be considered treason.”

His father snorted and while he entered the room, he did not join his son in drinking. “The survival of Oriosa is of paramount importance. If that act had to be classed as treason, a way would have been found.”

“Marsham would have delighted in it, I am certain.”

Scrainwood shook his head as he walked past the small table with the wine and stood before the fireplace. He held his hands out and rubbed them together. “You are, without a doubt, a brilliant military leader. Dothan Cavarre taught you well—in a futile cause, you will agree, but he taught you well. Your trek from Fortress Draconis speaks to your ingenuity and courage. Alas, your martial skills are useless in the political arena, and keeping a nation together is a purely

political job.“

For a heartbeat Erlestoke wanted to hurl his mug at his father. He could see it hitting him, shattering. Blood and wine would splash against the wall and slowly drip down. Erlestoke saw it all with crystal clarity and the only thing that stayed his hand was his knowledge that the mug would shatter before his father’s skull did.

Instead, he swallowed, lowered the mug, and smiled. “It is well for you that courage is not needed to govern.”

Another snort from his father. “Oh, I know intimately your opinion of me, Erlestoke. Princess Alexia delivered your message from Fortress Draconis. You

urged me not to live my life as a coward. Anything you do not understand, whatever does not fit within your military paradigms, you label cowardice. The fact remains that while Sebcia and Muroso are gone, my nation lives.“

“But for how long?”

“Every heartbeat is a gift. It is an opportunity.”

Erlestoke blinked. “An opportunity for what, Father? What do you think will happen here? Chytrine is going to sue for peace and you will broker some treaty that will raise Oriosa to glory? Do you think you will ride back into Meredo, raise an army, and crush her?”

“Me? Don’t be foolish. I know my limitations.” Scrainwood shot him a sidelong glance. “You don’t know yours, when it comes to politics at least. And your brother, wherever he is, knows nothing of his—which are considerable.”

The prince allowed himself a smile. “I’ve seen him, you know.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Where?Where?”

In the face of his father’s near apoplexy, Erlestoke sipped more wine. “In Sarengul. He’d come from Meredo with the Norrington. He’s one of the Oriosa Freemen.”

Scrainwood poured himself a swallow of wine and tossed it off quickly. “He always was lucky, though his runs always ended badly. As will this one.”

Erlestoke shook his head and set his cup down on the table. “I don’t think so. He was more himself—hisoldself, before our mother died—than I have seen in a long time. He’d lost weight, gained scars, but, more importantly, he has gained respect.”

“Fah. Sycophants mewing over him because they thought his buttocks would be filling the throne.” The king wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Once they saw you were around, they doubtless abandoned him.”

“You are wrong.” Erlestoke almost added the wordFatherto his comment, but the man standing before him didn’t seem fatherly or even sympathetic. Concern for Linchmere, or pride or amazement Erlestoke could have understood, but dismissive contempt was not the sort of thing a father should have for a child who, however late in life, had found his place.

“You spoke to me, Highness, of not knowing my limitations. Politics you may understand well, but not the politics of a military company in the field. Men rise and fall on merit because all the titles and money back home mean nothing on the battlefield. Though Linchmere is traveling under an assumed name, the men know who he is. Because of you there was no love for him, and he’d not helped his cause while still in Oriosa by being a useless fop. And Linchmere may be naive enough to believe the men do not know who he is, but the simple fact is that they like him and respect him for things he has done. He’s not a great warrior, but he has heart and determination.”

“Determination?” Scrainwood broke the word into each of its syllables,

stretching it, layering increasing disbelief on each successive one. “That boy never stuck with anything in his entire life.”

Erlestoke’s head came up. “He stuck with you, didn’t he?” The king gaped at him for a moment, then turned back to the fire. “Well, then, fighting in Sarengul may be Linchmere’s opportunity. I suppose that halfwit of a Norrington was with him?”

“Will’s half brother? Yes, Linchmere pointed him out to me. They are fast

friends.“

“That’s good. It builds more loyalty to the throne. It is a complication, though, having a Norrington in Sarengul.” The king shrugged. “I foresaw it, though, and have summoned his little brother here from Meredo. It will be important to haveourNorrington here.”

“Will is dead. There is no other Norrington.”

“Now you are the one who is wrong, my son.” Scrainwood waved an offhand in the general direction of the Council Chamber. “Virtually every king, queen, and lordling with pretensions will have a Norrington or claim to be one. If only I could claim that your mother slept with Kenwick Norrington. I could, I suppose, and point to your survival on the journey south as evidence of your being the Norrington.”

Erlestoke stared at him speechless.

The king shook his head. “No, that would be too transparent a stratagem. Much better to go with the real Norrington.”

“I don’t understand you.” Erlestoke raked fingers back through long brown hair. “A horde of Aurolani troops are rolling over Muroso, on their way here, and you are contemplating games of power and influence? They will not stop her

army.“

“No, my son, they won’t, but they will give us the troops necessary to do it. You don’t seem to understand how stupid some of these people are. They were willing to commit troops and pledge support because the Norrington prophecy guaranteed them a victory. Now they don’t know. They are prepared to panic. They will be out of control, and you know precisely where they will fall. Oriosa, which they never would have thought of attacking for fear of angering the Norrington, now is the nation that lost the Norrington. You did not save him, and you are an Oriosan. Crow, gods rot him, is an Oriosan and he did not save him. I did nothing to protect him. They will pour into our nation unless distracted by some other bait. Fighting over who the true Norrington is will occupy them, and support for their candidates can be bought by regiments.”