The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1) (52 page)

Gully’s face tinged florid at the interruption and at his own ignorance of how any of this should work. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on the sword, on top of Roald’s.

“Sire...” insisted Marshal Pumblennor.

Gully looked pained and torn about making a fool of Roald with what he was attempting, of doing this entirely wrong. But he knew he needed to do this now. He knew he needed to do it, no one else. This moment, not later.

Gully held up a hand at the Marshal Adjunct, but did not take his eyes off of Roald. He said weakly, “I accept that I insult your traditions and expectations, Marshal, but... I will not wait on this, even if it means I must invent this as I go.”

Marshal Pumblennor dipped his head, the tiniest amount necessary to not be insolent, and backed up a step. If Gully had been listening more carefully, he would have been certain that he heard Pumblennor mumble, “You are correct about the insult.” What he did not mistake was the low growl of anger coming from Gellen’s throat after Pumblennor’s comment.

Gully chose to ignore it and placed his own hands on top of Roald’s so that they both held the sword between them.

“Bow your head, please, Roald.”

Roald obeyed.

“Roald, today is the 24th day of Waxing Summer, 386 IR,” said Gully, making sure everyone gathered around would hear, “This morning you have performed a service to every man, woman, and child of this realm, and we are all, myself included, indebted to you for it. You have proven yourself beyond anyone’s doubt with bravery, with cunning, and with leadership in the dark chaos of a crisis few others with very long memories would have the misfortune to recall. For your service and from this moment on, I hereby name you Lord Marshal Roald Delescer of the Kingdom Guard.”

Roald’s head jerked up and his mouth dropped open, his eyes begging answers to a thousand unspoken questions.

Gully’s eyes ran across the crowd gathered, searching for doubt or scorn among them. He said sharply, “After the events of this morning, is there anyone present that would be brave enough to question my judgment on this?”

No one said anything. No one barely even moved. Gully worried that this would earn the disfavor of the Marshal Adjuncts. He worried that this would put Roald in a sore position among them. He worried many things as he glanced around. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he noticed that the ocelot seemed to have a faint smile upon his face, which gave him assurance that he was acting correctly and had the support of at least one.

He turned back to Roald, and continued to hold his hands firmly to the handle of the sword. He locked his gaze once again with Roald’s, and for a moment there were no others beyond the two of them in the field. Both of them sensing the nine dead there with them, witnessing what their deaths had purchased. It was almost too much for Gully and he began to speak, felt the words die in his throat, and had to start again. He managed to whisper, “I know what is in your heart at this moment. You know that I feel it, too. I share the pain of this victory with you. Despite it being necessary, you and I will always carry it with us, even to our last days. Thank you for your sacrifice, Roald. Thank you for protecting us.”

Roald’s face turned down, his lips pulled tight, and a tear or two fell from his eyes to join with the dew on the grass at his knees. Gully kept his hands wrapped tight around his foster brother’s as they held the sword together, both glad for the strength and support they felt through the touch.

Gully allowed Roald a moment to gather in all that had happened and compose himself, then stood while Roald’s eyes stayed down, his hands still gripping his sword. He watched him for a moment more and felt along with his brother the pride mixed with the sense of melancholy.

For Roald’s sake, he would not let him dwell too long on the melancholy. Gully shouted for all to hear, “Rise up, Lord Marshal Delescer, and take your sword. You have the gratitude of a kingdom whose safety and liberty you have assured!”

All around them, the swordsmen of the Guard, Raybb and Encender and the other balmors, and Gallun and Gellen, shouted and clapped and cheered.

Several nights later, Gully was punished with the worst of his new life as a veLohrdan — he had to attend a feast celebrating his imminent coronation with all of the noble families of Iisen. Worse, Roald had steadfastly held to treating him as a royal instead of the person he had grown up with, leaving Gully feeling isolated and adrift.

Gully shuffled the food around on his plate with a lackluster appetite, while there was spirited conversation among the noble lords and ladies of Iisen all around the massive banquet table in the Dining Hall. The clinking of gilded goblets and chased flatware on plates did not even register with him, nor did the movement of servers keeping the platters of food full and the goblets filled.

“I, for one, look forward to the celebration after the coronation! If there’s one benefit to being rid of Krayell, it’s that the old tightwad isn’t around to clamp down his bony claws on the purse strings, as was his preference! I expect this one to be quite extravagant!” said a resonant voice from the far end of the table. Agreements and assent to the comment came from all around the room, particularly the nobles’ wives.

The remark reached Gully’s ears while he picked lightly at his barely-eaten smoked trout, fresh from the River Tib. The dinner had started out boring and only gotten worse as the evening progressed and had robbed him of all appetite. He went back to ignoring the conversation at the table and pushed the bits of fish around on the finely crafted glass plate in front of him. The plate reminded him faintly of one that Roald had in his apartment, one that his father had made as part of a set for a rich merchant and then kept when he realized he had made one too many.

He wondered if Roald was still furiously trying to install himself into his new commission as the Lord Marshal. Roald had returned to Lohrdanwuld a couple of days after him, but Gully had barely seen him since then. The few times that he had seen him, Roald had been fretful and preoccupied with fully taking on the office of the Lord Marshal, so Gully had left him alone. He was the prince regent, so he supposed he could have demanded Roald’s presence, but he had no intention of ever using his position over Roald in that way. He hoped that Roald had actually stopped long enough to have some dinner tonight.

Gully’s attention returned to the conversation long enough to hear Lord Rysean veMulle’s wife comment to one of the other wives, “Are you speaking of the dress shop in the south end of the King’s Market? I hear the shopkeeper has done marvelous things with beading on his dresses! Oh, please, we should have him bring a selection around tomorrow!”

Gully stopped listening once again and took a bite of the stewed venison instead, but found it had lost all flavor. He drank a quaff of the mead that had been poured into his goblet, and found he regretted even that. It was a very fine plum mead, and it only served to remind him of the night not so very long before where he and Roald had sat on the rooftop drinking the plum mead he had stolen. He wished he had that Roald back — the Roald that held nothing back from him — instead of the one that now treated him formally, like he barely knew him anymore.

Around the table were the ten remaining noble lords of the Iisendom and their wives, plus Gully and Thaybrill, and the Archbishop. The only ones missing were Chelders veBasstrolle, who was in the gaol, and his wife, who was no longer welcome because of her husband’s crimes. Gully had asked about having some of the Mercher clan attend, only to be told that this was strictly an Iisen dinner, leading up to the coronation two days hence. That disappointed Gully, but he did not press the issue.

He wondered if he had done right by making Roald the Lord Marshal. Not in the sense of doubting Roald’s abilities; Roald was all too capable of it and Gully knew that in his heart. What he wondered was weather Roald wanted it and would not work himself sick trying to be the best Lord Marshal possible. Maybe Roald didn’t even want it; he certainly hadn’t asked Roald about it before he gave him the title on the fields in the shadows of the Sheards. He thought maybe tomorrow he’d interrupt Roald long enough to ask him if he was happy with his new life. If no one would come and ask Gully his preference regarding taking the crown, at least he could ask Roald his preference about the title of Lord Marshal.

He glanced over at Thaybrill, who was politely engaged in the conversation, leaving Gully a little freer to not bother with it. The lords and ladies had been a little reserved regarding Gully directly because they weren’t quite sure of what to make of him, but they seemed at ease with Thaybrill. Given the topics of the evening — Gully’s life, his rescue of Thaybrill, the arrests of those in on the conspiracy, where Krayell might be hiding, and now on to the coronation and the fetes to follow — Gully was relieved to let Thaybrill do most of the talking.

The long, heavy table in the middle of the dining hall had been laden down with the elaborate dinner for the evening, and the servants moved silently around them as needed. He took some of the fresh pannyfruit and ate a few slices of it, hoping it would taste better to him than the rest of the meal.

As he chewed, he glanced up and realized everyone at the table was looking at him expectantly.

Gully glanced around at a few faces and said, “I beg your pardon. The pannyfruit stole my attention for a moment. Did I miss something?”

Lord Holm veDellersean, a long man with a long nose and a full head of graying hair, cleared his throat and asked, “Your Majesty, I was wondering how long these Mercher people will be guests in Iisen.”

Gully shrugged and said he had not thought of it very much.

“As the old saying goes, having guests is wonderful, but not quite as wonderful as when they go home!” said veDellersean with a sparkle in his eye. It drew hearty chuckles from the other lords at the table and delighted squeals from a few of the ladies.

Gully’s brow furrowed and he felt irritated. “They have no ‘home’ to speak of,” he said flatly. “For years, their home has been no more than a meager camp deep in the Ghellerweald.”

“Ah, well, all the more reason for them to take their leave and go find a home! An honest effort is an effort rewarded, I always say!” chortled veDellersean, “A new land of their own isn’t going to come banging at the Folly barbican asking for them, now is it?”

Gully gaped a moment at the narrow nose and drawn, raven-like features in veDellersean’s face, which was in the act of attempting a cheeky smile. He did not find the humor in the comment the way the others at the table did. “You are aware,” said Gully, “that these are the same people that fought by the sides of our own swordsmen to prevent an invasion and our enslavement? Are you not?”

The good humor of the rest of the table died off a little, but not entirely.

veDellersean continued undeterred, “Oh, they did? Why, it’s wonderful that they’ve earned their keep a little bit since they’ve been living off our land, then! And their support is very much appreciated! But let’s be honest about this, if the Maqarans had come, we would have worked something out. It’s not like they’d enslave the noble class, right? They’re not
barbarians
.”

Gully sincerely hoped that Lord veDellersean was not representative of the brain capacity of the remaining noble families. He said with taut lips, “Ignoring, for a moment, that you seem to find it acceptable that the population of Iisen could be enslaved so long as your own hide was spared... what, pray tell, do you think was going to happen to my brother at the end of his abduction if I had not come along? And I remind you that he was the crown prince at the time! Did you think something would have been ‘worked out’ when he arrived as a captive in Maqara?” Even Prince Thaybrill seemed a little shocked and hurt by the lord’s comment.

Only now did the light-hearted smile on Holm veDellersean’s face falter and then vanish entirely once he thought through what the prince regent had said. He coughed lightly and said feebly, “He... well... I doubt they would have actually made him a
slave
, as such. Certainly not! He’s of royal blood, as you are, Prince Thayliss!”

Gully fought the urge to roll his eyes and went back to cut another piece of the pannyfruit. He turned his attention away from the conversation yet again before it gave him worse indigestion than he already had.

One of the wives, one that Gully did not bother with identifying, said, “Well, getting back to these Merchers... I’ve played hostess to many visitors over the years, and I’ve always found it best to set a departure date right at the arrival. It saves so much in the way of uncomfortable conversations later!”

There were some titters across the table, and one of the other wives said, “Oh dear, as Vasahle is my witness, she speaks true! I’ve been to visit her and Lord veKinn! You can barely set foot on the manor grounds in Kindern without already knowing when you’re expected to leave again!”

There were guffaws at the table, and Gully pushed his plate of food away from him entirely.

“Well, if what I’ve heard is true about some of these Mercher men, I’m surprised they’ve been allowed to set foot on the Folly grounds at all!”

Gully looked around the table to find who had made the comment. His eyes stopped on Lord veWarrnest. In contrast to veDellersean, Lord Strafe veWarrnest was younger, strikingly handsome, with a strong brow that was topped by a magnificent head of wheat-colored hair. He had a charisma that people were instantly drawn to, which had immediately put Gully in a suspicious mood the moment he had met the man.

“What have you heard, Strafe? I want to know! Tell me!” said a noblelady several chairs down to Gully’s right.

Lord veDellersean interjected, “They wear skirts, for one!”

veKinn’s wife screeched in scandalized delight, holding her napkin up to her mouth as she did so. “Skirts?! In truth? They dress as women?”

“Worse!” said veWarrnest with a frown.

“Worse how? I do not understand,” insisted veKinn’s wife.