Knight and Champion Page 28

The older woman swept from the room, leaving Hadley alone again. On a whim, she locked the door before going to sleep.

  The day struggled to emerge. A heavy fog bank, unseasonal for Andra, squatted over Baler’s Hill. Hadley abandoned the idea of breaking her fast on the balcony. Though it was early, Sandor was nowhere to be found. Stifling a plume of dread in her stomach, Hadley dressed quickly and asked the house steward if she could make use of two soldiers for the day. Flanked by her stern-faced escort, Hadley descended Baler’s Hill and through the Sanctum wall. The air was cold and crisp. Normally the Nook would already be abuzz with early morning trade and goods transfer from the river barges. Today, movement was muted and a heavy pall of silence hung over the town.

  “Faster,” Hadley commanded, quickening her pace.

  Sandor was standing at the southern gate rampart with a large detachment of men. Hadley hitched her dress and climbed the steps to the outer wall. The Governor acknowledged her arrival with the barest hint of a nod. She stood beside her liege and watched as an army approached over the sodden fields beyond the wall.

  Baron Duskovy was a stickler for discipline and it showed. Though his garrison had suffered a humiliating, morale-sapping loss, their form was solid and their heads were still held high. This, despite a presumably tortuous march through the night. The Baron himself looked hollow-eyed and haunted as he reined in his magnificent white charger before the timber gates.

  “I request sanctuary, Governor,” he said, directing a defiant gaze Ballist’s way. “My men are tired and would benefit from the use of your barracks.”

  “Brother Baron, you will have what you require and more,” he said in a calm, authoritative voice. “My district, and all facilities contained within, is at your disposal. I look forward to your counsel once you have recovered yourself.”

  Sandor signaled for his sentries to open the gates. The great timber slabs, surely no match for a marauding orc force, creaked open to allow Duskovy’s men through. The Baron grunted, suspicious of the Governor’s tone but in no position to quibble. Hadley allowed herself the tiniest of smiles - Sandor had subtly stripped the Baron of his authority in front of some two hundred men from both garrisons. So much had already been achieved in just a few words. Ballist’s prowess as a leader, almost intimidating to contemplate, was at the very least a spur for Hadley to stay on top of her own game.

  As the Baron’s solemn force filed through the gate, a commotion rose in a nearby plaza. A woman had climbed onto a platform normally inhabited by town criers. Hadley swore under her breath - it was none other than Shalin Rufaa.

  “Hear me, soldiers of the south,” she called over the steady thump of boots in mud. “Andra is not the safe harbor you hoped for. Orcs, propelled by foul magic not seen for thousands of years, stalk you at every turn. You must flee, flee, never stopping until you reach Lakeshore. The good folk of Andra will remain by your side to fill your bellies and water your horses. Do not tarry in this doomed place - proceed directly to the north gate and beyond. We will not be easy meat for orcs.”

  The incoming soldiers were either too disciplined or too tired to pay the woman much heed, but dozens of citizens gathered round to hear more.

  “Our mighty Governor will sacrifice all to save his own skin,” Shalin went on. “You stay, you die. Don’t fall for the vile wartime propaganda dribbling from Ballist’s lips!”

  “She has talent,” Sandor murmured at Hadley’s shoulder. “Well-rehearsed, excellent voice control and savvy timing.”

  Furious, Hadley signaled for Bagley, Sandor’s operations steward, to approach.

  “Take that woman to Overlook,” she snapped, “but only when she’s finished. Do not cause a scene.”

  Bagley’s eyes darted to Sandor for confirmation before taking up position underneath the crier’s platform.

  “Your authority will come in time,” Sandor said. “My men are hand-picked and loyal to a fault.”

  “What do you have in the way of dungeons?” Hadley asked. “I need something special for Shalin Rufaa.”

  Sandor gave a thin smile. “Plunge tank with a weight mechanism. Drags the occupant under the water for twenty seconds every minute.”

  “Perfect,” Hadley said savagely. “You concentrate on the Baron, I’ll make sure the air is a little cleaner.”

  Sandor nodded, eyes gleaming. He was clearly curious as to what his fiery new muse would do next.

  “Join me in the Foundation Hall later,” he said. “I would have you by my side when the Baron comes to play.”

  Hadley nodded and left the Governor to talk to his military advisers. Andra’s outer wall was wafer thin and needed to be bolstered somehow. If what the Rufaa woman said was true, the orcs’ arrival was imminent. Sleep would be a rare commodity over the coming days.

  As she marched back up Baler’s Hill with her escort in tow, Hadley again marked the eerie silence on the streets. The Duskovy soldiers, now on their way to the barracks in the Overlook estate, were so solemn that the folk lining the streets could not help but be similarly affected. The prevailing mood in the Sanctum was only marginally better. Dismissing her escort, Hadley opted to ride one of the gigs that plied their trade up and down Baler’s Hill. She strode directly into the central foyer and up the inner stairwell.

  “Notify me when Shalin Rufaa has arrived in custody,” she barked at the head steward.

  Ruminating on how the afternoon might play out, she spent the next few minutes on the balcony. Duskovy had a reputation for stubbornness and she could already tell that he and Sandor were not on friendly terms. A knock on the door had her on her feet in an instant. Shalin was being held in a regular cell beneath the keep. Hadley wasted no time in visiting her “guest”. The troublesome rabble-rouser was standing defiantly at the bars of her cell, hands gripping the iron in supreme outrage.

  Hadley nonchalantly opened the cell door. The guards behind her glanced at each other but remained silent. It was critical that this woman’s searing self-righteousness be neutered as much as possible. If they spoke face-to-face, woman to woman, Hadley had more chance of controlling the flow. Shalin stepped free of her cell.

  “What right do you have to hold me like this?” she demanded.

  “You are subverting the Crown,” Hadley countered.

  “I act in the town’s best interests.”

  “You speak of matters you know nothing of. The Governor is far better equipped to handle the situation. If you wish to petition the King himself, you and your family are free to go. Lakeshore beckons.”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Shalin spat, looking Hadley up and down. “I’ve been asking around. You’re a blowfly from some rubbish heap in the south, nothing more. Plenty of whores drift in from that direction. Must be the stale winds off the desert.”

  Hadley paused. Far more spirit and venom than she’d expected. Shalin was also more educated than she let on. Possibly a graduate from the Academy who married down into a merchant family.

  “I’ll attribute your insolence to the trauma of incarceration,” Hadley said calmly. “I wouldn’t advise trying it again.”

  Shalin’s family appeared in the doorway.

  “What’s happening, wife?” Vincent cried, shielding his children from the guards. His gaze rested on Hadley. “Is this what my town has become?”

  Hadley was about to have Vincent and his wide-eyed children thrown out, but it occurred to her that Shalin might be more malleable in their presence.

  “You mentioned brothers in Duskovy’s garrison,” Hadley said, trying a different tack. “They’ll be manning our walls soon. They’re not going anywhere.”

  That triggered a look of pure hatred.

  “Don’t patronize me, whore,” Shalin said. “You lost your family and have no children of your own. People like you pour themselves into public service to fill the stinking, rancid maw in their souls. You know nothing about sacrifice and you know nothing about what’s truly at stake. You’re a middle-class yokel with delusio
ns of grandeur. The worst kind of person to be infecting the Governor.”

  Hadley blinked, unable to quell the rage suddenly coursing through her. She turned to Vincent, who clearly knew his wife had gone too far.

  “Take your children and leave. Your wife will be released in due course.”

  Bagley emerged from the shadows, ready to intervene if necessary.

  “We love you, Shalin,” Vincent said as he and the children were escorted from the dungeon. Little Chandell looked back at her mother with abject despair. A tear slid down Shalin’s cheek as she watched her family disappear.

  “Plunge tank,” Hadley instructed. “I’ll check on her in a few hours.”

  Bagley nodded curtly and set about his task. Hadley made of point of ignoring Shalin as she took her leave. The harsh truth was she’d been shaken by the encounter. Shalin was a common woman, an ordinary housewife on the face of it, looking deeply into Andra’s power structure and hating everything she saw. Hadley had naively assumed that the general populace had no idea who she was. She’d been happily learning as much as she could about the town, but it was foolish to think things didn’t run the other way.

  Emerging from the central stairwell, she was confronted with Karla standing amongst her luggage. A procession of burly stewards were removing all trace of her existence from Overlook. If anything, Ballist’s ex-wife looked at peace with herself and the world. In fact, she radiated something of the verve she was once known for. Hadley wasn’t in the mood for another confrontation, so she took to the stairwell before Karla could spot her. Skirting the foyer via a shadowy mezzanine, she couldn’t help but feel a profound satisfaction at ousting her most immediate rival. Karla’s departure went a long way to making up for the nasty exchange with Shalin.

  Glad to be home, Hadley had a steward run a steaming hot bath. She luxuriated in the scented, gently exfoliating water for over an hour while she mapped out the days and weeks ahead. For starters, this was likely to be the last bath she would enjoy for quite some time. When the orcs settled into siege formation, cutting Andra off from the mighty Ebbe, local resources would be strictly rationed. Ballist was thoroughly adept at handling practical matters, but it was evident that he needed her working behind the scenes to keep the populace together. The afternoon’s meeting with Duskovy was a critical first step to boosting local security. On cue, a steward knocked on the door.

  “The Governor sends for you, milady. The Formation Hall, if you please.”

  “Five minutes,” Hadley called, already toweling herself down. “Have the gig ready.”

  Hadley liked to travel by foot in Andra, but occasionally appearances went a long way. Even though her journey was less than five minutes, she rode in Sandor’s private gig. Designed in a severe Amoerian style, Andra’s Foundation Hall was as old as the town. A brutal stone facade greeted Hadley as she stepped from the carriage. Her arrival triggered a buzz in the crowd outside the front doors, but they seemed more concerned with what was transpiring inside the building. Hadley’s minders created a path through the throng and within seconds her eyes were adjusting to the gloomy, cavernous interior.

  The Foundation Hall was an elegant amphitheater. Row upon row of marble benches encircled a “pit” floor. Though the amphitheater was barely half full, the presence of burly, armored soldiers more than filled the space. Most men sported the Duskovy elk emblem, but Ballist had also ensured his troops were well represented. The intimidating turnout was more than mere bravado - most of these officers would soon be assuming critical defensive roles.

  Speaking from the floor, Sandor appeared to be midway through a rather gruff address. Away from the public eye, empty pleasantries could be dispensed with in this kind of forum. Sensing she might yet have a role to play, Hadley sat next to General Palmas, commander of the Andrian garrison, in the front row. The chamber was dimly lit but she could just make out the haunted eyes of Duskovy’s troops across the floor.

  “… harvests are now collected under my command, though in many cases we’ve been forced to scythe weeks early. The granaries are at three quarters - enough to withstand an oppressive siege for several months. Finally, I would like to underline my commitment to the health and well being of our brothers from the south. I will not dance around the point - the sudden loss of Duskovy Castle, so long a bulwark against the unknown, requires explanation. Not for the purposes of recrimination or forensic analysis, but to inform our defensive efforts here in Andra. Baron, you have the floor.”

  Sandor made a point of evicting the officer next to Hadley in order to sit next to her. Though she appreciated the gesture, feeling very much involved in the process of statecraft, the action drew Duskovy’s gaze. She’d made incredible advances over the past few weeks, but the Baron’s presence somehow made her feel like a girl again. Their relationship had never ventured beyond casual greetings at the annual Equinox Festival, but there could be no doubt that Duskovy recognized her. Worse, his lip curled into a sneer as he prepared to address the assembly.

  “On behalf of my men, I thank Governor Ballist for his warm hospitality,” the Baron began, churning through the formalities with obvious disdain. “We were indeed besieged by an orcish force, the magnitude of which I have never seen. The enemy appear to have spilled from the Mittels after taking Deep Frenshan Pass. Tibus himself leads the host, suggesting a genuine attempt at lasting occupation. Perhaps even genocide. The means by which the Kanoor achieved his victory are difficult to verify. Large boring creatures were deployed to disrupt the very bedrock supporting the castle foundations. Gentlemen, I do not resort to empty hyperbole when I report that the orcs have recourse to at least one source of foul magic. Just prior to the attack, our food stores and orchard were afflicted by heavily advanced rates of decay, suggesting a branch of magic unknown to us. I can only conclude that the orcs have fielded a variable, versatile combat roster with the strong potential to march on the capital itself. I will therefore proceed directly to Lakeshore where I will avail myself to King Rosten and the defensive effort.”

  With that, the recalcitrant Baron resumed his seat and looked down his nose at the Governor. Ballist took the floor and was handed a roll of parchment.

  “I have in my hand an official missive from the King,” Ballist, moderating his voice carefully. A younger, less experienced man might’ve succumbed to shrillness at this juncture, but the Governor was far too seasoned for that.

  “It states, and the Baron is welcome to peruse it at leisure, that our common objective as southerners is to hold the line. To that end, I permit Duskovy forces to form an extended picket around the existing barracks on my estate. Overlook will be converted to a base of operations. The invading force may have recourse to weapons and skills unfamiliar to us, but they will find we have a few tricks of our own.”

  Hadley watched in profound admiration as her lover calmly approached Duskovy and offered the missive. The Baron passed it to one of his officers for confirmation.

  “We shall work together, Baron,” Sandor went on. “I will handle resource deployment and logistical matters. My soldiers are at your disposal. The orcs will be expecting us to run. If we can hold them for a month, giving Rosten time to strengthen the capital, we will have seen to our sworn duty. You may now have the floor, sir.”

  Sandor ambled across the floor and took his seat. The man had packed so much into just a few words. He’d been authoritative, informative, confident and, most importantly, appropriately condescending without seeming impolitic.

  “I recognize the royal missive,” Duskovy began. The officer who’d received the parchment whispered something in his ear. Hadley felt a sudden chill in the air. “Unfortunately, we are unable to stand with Andra at this time. First and foremost, the document contains no mention, explicit or implicit, of me or my garrison. Once my men have eaten and rested, we will repair to Runesveld, from there to Lakeshore. The three thousand souls under my command will reaffirm their unfailing loyalty to King Rosten by taking their Oaths in the Twilig
ht Palace.”

  The Baron’s gaze rested on Sandor.

  “That is my wish and I intend to see it through. I do not doubt that the good people of Andra will fulfill their duties with the greatest aplomb. I can assure you that your plight will not go unreported. May you all journey with the Eleven.”

  The Baron gave a royal salute and turned on his heels. His men had already risen from their seats. Hadley realized that this was why Sandor had requested her presence. He’d known the Baron would be difficult and needed someone to probe him from a different angle. Who was better suited than his flame-haired muse?

  “You, sir, will stay,” she said in a clear voice, rising to her feet and marching across the floor. “If you do not, we will have our archers skewer your cowardly backs.”

  The chamber became deathly silent. A number of Duskovy’s soldiers froze and rested sword hands on pommels. Hadley made a point of eying them off in turn, seeing Sange Duskovy for the first time. He looked back at her in complete amazement. Several of Ballist’s men had risen too, bracing for action. Hadley had very nearly triggered the unthinkable, which of course was a massive risk. But the Baron and his men were about to walk away for good, and that was effectively a death knell for the town. Morale, already shaky, simply wouldn’t recover. No. Any soldiers passing through the northern gate must be painted as deserters. Grim-faced, the Baron turned to face his fresh adversary.

  “Your duty is here,” Hadley repeated. “Rosten will send you straight back. Reflect upon the dishonor. Here, and only here, do you get a second chance against an enemy who has already bested you once. They will taste your sweet blades or you will taste ours.”

  Silence reigned once more. Duskovy’s men looked set to murder the fork-tongued whore who’d slithered her way into the Governor’s good graces.

  “Never in my time,” the Baron said, quivering with rage, “Have I witnessed such wanton insolence from a commoner.”

  Duskovy approached slowly and deliberately until he was looking down at Hadley. It was all she could do to stand her ground. The move was a classic male ploy and she’d long perfected a mildly disdainful look that seemed to drive them further into apoplexy. She could feel Sandor’s presence at her shoulder, as she knew she would. That was why she felt as though she could love him. The Baron’s gaze lost its hardness all of a sudden and became shrewd. That was a bad sign. Hadley needed either anger or shame.