Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (70 page)

Kester Maccallam’s face reddened as he read his father’s words, while Fearghus smiled nervously. “The Order has not been embraced in our lands as quickly as in the south, it’s true, but I’m sure these were the actions of a minority of our people, who are being made to answer for their crimes even as we speak.”

“The emperor has been quite clear about the high regard he has for the Order,” Adelmar said, keeping his face carefully blank. “He takes any actions against the Empire’s official faith as a personal slight and has no mercy for the perpetrators. Or those that sanction their actions.” He laid his hand on the second letter, upon which the imperial seal was clearly visible. “The question is, what shall we do about it?”

Fearghus’s eyes fell to the floor, but Kester appeared horrified. He crumpled the duke’s letter in his fist. “How dare you suggest that-” he blustered.

Adelmar silenced him with a raised hand, before taking up the rolled parchment. He kept his face still, betraying no emotion. “Winter is a perilous season for the Empire’s messenger pigeons,” he said carefully. “The weather is harsh, and the hawks, lacking other sources of food, hunt them down in greater numbers.” He waited until both brothers had taken note of the letter he held, and then raised it to the flame of a candle that sat upon his desk. He held it there until the paper caught light and began to smoke. “It seems to me that in such conditions it is entirely possible for a bird to be sent and never reach its destination.”

Before the flame reached his fingers, Adelmar dropped what remained of the letter to the desktop. Within moments nothing remained but dark grey ash. “My lord,” Fearghus said at last. “I’m not sure if I take your meaning correctly.”

Adelmar held his gaze. “There is no meaning to take. We sail in two days’ time, I merely summoned you here to tell you to start preparing your troops for departure.” Fearghus, clearly the shrewder brother, nodded thoughtfully. Kester, however, appeared baffled, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. “Our campaign against the Tenebrians is like to be a long one,” Adelmar continued. “It may well be several years until we return. My father is an old man. Much as I wish he could live forever, it may well be that upon our return his heir will be required to take his place upon the Golden Throne. It is further possible that certain matters of policy will be like to change under his rule. Strathearn and its people have long been allies to the Crown. I see no reason why that must change.”

Understanding dawned at last in Kester’s face, and with expressions of gratitude the brothers Maccallam left the study to return across the water to the camp. Adelmar watched them go, wondering if he had chosen the right path. His father would not be pleased, but any repercussions could wait until Adelmar returned home victorious. Circumstances then may well have changed.

The study door clicked closed, and Adelmar looked up to see Bergen standing there. It was clear from his expression that he wished to speak. “Don’t stand there clucking like a disapproving hen, captain,” he said irritably. “Speak what is on your mind.”

“Not disapproving, my lord,” the younger man replied. “On the contrary, I merely wished to say that your wisdom would make the emperor proud.”

“Proud?” Adelmar snorted derisively. “Perhaps you do not know him as well as I do. His heir or no, were it not for the sea that will soon separate us, I think I’d find my head on a pike for what just took place.”

“He will be angry at first, perhaps,” Bergen agreed. “But in time I believe he will come to be grateful for it.”

Adelmar frowned. “You know what it was he asked me to do?”

“I didn’t read his letter, my lord, but I guessed at its contents. You were wise to choose a different path. As unpopular as the Maccallams are among the other lowland lords, they are still kin. Any move against Strathearn would inflame the entire north.”

“Rebellion,” Adelmar said ruefully. “Not just the rabble beyond the mountains, but every lowlands house as well. To risk such just as we are preparing to make war across the sea... it makes me wonder whether my father’s mind is slipping.” He grunted. “More like it is just that he believes the northerners to be simple-minded, fur-clad barbarians, and that he is simply bringing an unruly lord to heel. But we have lived among them, fought against them, have we not? We know differently. To do what he asked of me was to risk losing the war when it has barely begun.”

“And instead you’ve strengthened the alliance with Strathearn and its vassals, and earned the allegiance of two of its generals... not just to the Crown, but you personally, my lord.” The young soldier smiled. “Such loyalties may prove invaluable, in time.”

Adelmar regarded his adjutant silently. Not for the first time, he was struck by the young soldier’s perspicacity. “It would not be wise to speak of such matters outside of this room,” he cautioned.

“Yes my lord,” Bergen replied, chastened.

With a nod, Adelmar rose and strode to one wall of the study, where a large map had been pinned. It showed two landmasses, one to the north and another in the south, divided by a narrow sea. The northern continent was familiar to him; he had marched across it for more years than he cared to count. All the towns and cities of the Empire were marked on it, from Westcove in the north down to The Vigil, its most southern extremity.

But it was the landmass below theirs which drew his attention. He raised his hand to brush his fingertips along its coastline. A couple of ports had been marked there, but where the interior of the country should have been drawn was just a blank space. “We know so little of their lands,” he mused, as Bergen came to stand by his side.

“Not for want of trying, my lord.”

“Indeed.” Adelmar smiled grimly. They had sent spies to Tenebria, secreting them among trading vessels. But for all that, no reports had ever been received from them. Most like they had suffered the same fate as the unfortunate specimen Slake had gotten hold of. “Only one item we’ve received from the Five Courts, and it started this war.”

“A sorry fate for any man,” Bergen said sadly. “Even a diplomat.”

Adelmar chuckled. Would that he had been there that day at court, when his father received the package containing the head of the envoy he had dispatched to the mysterious southern continent with an offer of alliance. Alas, he had been stationed far away, at War’s End, at that time. He had, though, received a letter from Jarrod, wherein his brother revealed that the grisly trophy had bounced three times down the throne-room steps before landing at the bottom with a gruesome squelch, causing three ladies of the court to faint. He felt a brief pang of regret at the thought of his brother, but hardened his heart to it.

“They sent us a clear message,” he said aloud. “That their borders would remain closed to the Empire. They might have been our ally, but instead that day they became our enemy.” He touched the spot that marked one of the coastal settlements. “Have you ever seen one of their ports, Bergen?”

“No, my lord.”

Adelmar stared at the outline, searching for answers but finding none. “One in the east, one in the west,” he went on. “Small harbours, walled off. Any passage into the interior blocked and guarded. I’ve heard tell that when our traders land there, they find themselves labouring under the hostile gazes of olive-skinned soldiers, and make sure they conclude their business as quickly as possible. None have been taken or killed, to my knowledge, but none are willing to risk their necks and become the first.”

The young soldier leaned close to the map. Along the outline of the coast, further marks had been made to show the known locations of the Tenebrian lens-towers. Their rays had already proven deadly, decimating the Legion’s fleet in a disastrous first attempt to reach their shores. “I’ve spoken to some of those who survived the first crossing. They say the Tenebrian defences are impenetrable.” Adelmar uttered a bark of laughter, and the younger man looked up questioningly. “My lord? Have you been able to devise a strategy?”

Without answering, Adelmar stretched out a hand, and tapped at one section of the coast, a narrow peninsula. A mark denoting a lens-tower had been placed there. “I have,” he replied, smiling. The report he’d received from Slake had been as illuminating as he had hoped.

As the afternoon passed, Adelmar outlined his strategy to his adjutant. The young soldier raised a number of points that left him scowling, but as ever he valued his input and made a few adjustments to his plan accordingly. It was bold, he knew, but he had faith that it would work.

They were still poring over the map as the shadows began to lengthen. Looking up, Adelmar realised that evening was quickly setting in. “I should check on my family and see that they’ve settled in,” he said, signalling the end of their discussion.

He found Ellara and their two daughters in a flurry of activity in their chambers on the next floor. An avalanche of clothes had been pulled from trunks, considered and discarded. Dresses of every hue were strewn around each bed, divan and the floor, so that it felt as though he had stepped into a rainbow. Merely crossing the threshold left him reeling from the bewilderment that strikes every man upon entering a bastion of such unbridled femininity.

Ellara laughed when she saw the stunned expression on his face, before explaining that they were getting ready to join Sir Ghyle and his wife for supper in the smaller chambers they had temporarily relocated to. Adelmar sighed. The castellan’s invitation had slipped from his mind almost the instant it was proffered, but it seemed he would not escape it as easily as he’d hoped.

While Ellara, Amelie and Rosalynd continued to fuss around one another, Adelmar retired to a small dressing room and dutifully removed his riding leathers and breastplate in favour of a crimson tunic. In truth, he enjoyed the sight of his daughters squabbling and playing. It felt as though their family life had returned to normality following the tribulations of their journey. Perhaps Amelie had been sickening for something, as Ellara had thought. It was possible that the timing of her illness so soon after the incident with the pendant inside the wheelhouse was coincidental. Days had passed since the last time she had mentioned the necklace, and in an unspoken agreement with his wife and youngest daughter, none of them had brought it up either. As far as he was concerned, the matter was resolved.

So it was that when he went down with his family to dine with Sir Ghyle, it was in a much-improved mood. A potentially volatile situation involving two of his most valued generals had been resolved, at least for the time being, and they had been able to draw a veil over one of the unpleasant events that occurred on the road. To his surprise, the castellan and his wife were decent company, and their table was well-stocked without being too extravagant for his tastes.

To the chagrin of the ladies present, he and Sir Ghyle regaled the table with stories from the last campaign against the north, their laughter becoming more raucous as the wine flowed. A couple of times he caught Ellara’s eyes, but rather than being embarrassed by his conduct, as he had feared, she seemed to be pleased that he was enjoying himself. In truth, it seemed like a long time since he had laughed so. It felt liberating, as though cares that had weighed down his shoulders over the preceding weeks had been lifted at last.

Without delving too deeply into the details, they talked about the days to come, when a large part of the Legion forces would board the warships that lined the quays, and set sail for the country that lay to the south. “I wish that I could be there with you,” Sir Ghyle said, with a wistful sigh.

“You still could,” Adelmar said, smiling. “I’d be happy to accept your oath once more, if you think you could persuade your wife to part with you for a few years.”

The castellan chuckled. “Those days are far behind me I fear,” he replied, patting a belly that had swelled alarmingly in the years since he left the Legion. “I’m not sure The Vigil’s armourer, skilled as he is, is up to the task of adjusting my old plate to fit.”

The one blot on an otherwise fine evening came near the end. Sir Ghyle’s wife, a prim, steel-haired woman by the name of Lyria, leaned across the table to offer Ellara a platter of small cakes and spiced custard tarts. As she did so, the movement exposed her neck and the green crystal pendant she wore.

Amelie’s eyes flew wide when she saw it, and what he read in them chilled Adelmar. It lasted only a moment, as their hostess concealed the necklace within her bodice once again, but that had been enough for him to see the hunger, the
yearning
, etched in his eldest daughter’s face as she gazed upon the stone. Whatever good-feeling the evening had stirred within him evaporated in that instant. Ellara had noticed it as well; though neither of them commented on it then, he knew her well enough to sense her disquiet.

As the supper resumed, it was apparent that whatever spell that had enchanted the evening up to that point had been broken. Adelmar lapsed into a brooding silence, responding monosyllabically to any questions directed towards him. Amelie, too, appeared withdrawn, and her stolen glances towards the neck of their hostess only served to blacken Adelmar’s mood further. Ellara seemed determined to make up for their sullenness with forced levity, but it was to everyone’s great relief when the meal was finished and Adelmar and his family returned to their chambers.

“I had hoped we were past this,” said Adelmar to his wife, after the children had been whisked away by a lady-in-waiting to their own bedchamber. “Did you see how quiet Amelie was after that? We are right back to where we were on the road. Confound that woman!”