Duty (Book 2) (12 page)

“I couldn’t help but think it was something rather like you would say.  Whatever the case, I think she, like me, is anxious to hear more about where you came from.” Her smile turned mischievous. “And what you were like in your ‘younger’ days, since you aren’t very forthcoming. Surely Gen in his tenth year wasn’t so polished as he is now.”

“I think you will be disappointed. There simply isn’t much to tell! Life in a remote lumbering town is hardly inspiration for a ballad or a scandalous story.”

Inwardly, he began rifling through his memory and found that perhaps there was material for a story or two, though he certainly wouldn’t want anyone to hear them, especially not the First Mother and the Chalaine.

“Mmmhmm,” Fenna teased. “We shall see. Refresh my memory. What were their names again?”

“The best friend I had in Tell was Gant, a woodsman’s apprentice. With him will be Yeurile, his late master’s daughter. They were going to be betrothed this past spring and married in the fall. The other three will be the Morewolds. They were Regina’s parents. Store owners. Their youngest daughter, Murea, will be with them.”

“It will be my pleasure to know them. Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Gen replied. “A lot has happened since I last saw them. The Morewolds probably don’t even know what happened to Regina. I don’t know if I can bear telling them.”

“You’ll do fine,” Fenna encouraged.

The luncheon was in a large drawing room, and, as they approached, two servants pulled the doors open for them. They stepped aside as two apologetic young ladies bore pots and pans away. The room, decorated in white, blue, and gold, felt wintry despite the emergence of spring. Two high arched windows let in the sun through gauzy light blue drapes. A fire burned cheerily in the fireplace on the east side of the room, and the servants had set up a long table and laden it with breads, cheese, wine, dried fruits, and tender meats.

Around that table sat his friends, accompanied by the Chalaine and the First Mother, Cadaen and Jaron standing guard nearby. As Gen feared, Gant, Yeurile, and the Morewolds appeared profoundly uncomfortable. Gant fixed his gaze on the table, and Yeurile examined her hands folded in her lap. Jeorge and Rena glanced uncomfortably around the room, seeming lost in all the finery. Only Murea, ensconced sleepily on the Chalaine’s lap, was clearly at home. Mirelle stood by the fire. Gen cleared his throat and all eyes turned. For a moment they all stared at each other, unblinking and unsure of what to do.

Gant rose and crossed to where Gen stood, studying him. “It is you! I don’t know how, but it is!”

Jeorge and Rena stood as well, Rena covering her mouth on seeing the scars that ran across Gen’s face. After a few stuttered greetings, the awkwardness broke down and Gen embraced them all and expressed his pleasure at seeing them again. As they approached the table, Gen genuflected to the Chalaine and the First Mother and helped Fenna into her chair. Gen was about to take his own when Mirelle pulled him next to her by the fire and put her arm around his waist. Gant raised his eyebrows.

  “Gant, Yeurile, Jeorge, Rena and . . . Murea, yes,” Mirelle said, addressing them individually. “I wanted you to know that Lord Blackshire, whom you knew as the serf Gen, is very dear to us and that we owe him a great deal more than we could possibly repay. The Gen you’ve heard about in all the stories is your friend and the one who stands before you now. As you are his friends, you are ours. We know circumstances are difficult for you, and it is our intention to ensure you are well taken care of, for his sake. If you are in need, I shall be offended if you do not seek my help. Is that understood?”

None of them could meet her eye, settling for mumbling “Yes, First Mother.”

“Very good then,” Mirelle continued. “I will let Gen sit, and we can talk and eat as we like.” Gen pulled Mirelle’s chair out for her. “I, for one, would like to know more about Lord Blackshire from those who knew him. He says little about himself, you see. Was he always so reserved and quiet?”

Gant looked at Jeorge to see if he would answer. Finding Jeorge studying a piece of bread carefully, Gant ventured a quiet, “No.”

“Oh, really?” Mirelle prodded. “Quite a talker, then?”

“Couldn’t get him to shut up, most times,” Gant replied haltingly, the smiles blooming around the table finally dispelling the uncomfortable silence. Gant, encouraged by his success, continued. “You see, Gen here knew he was smarter than the rest of us. So he’d go flapping off words nobody in Tell ever heard just to make sport of us. Like that time you said to Jakes, ‘Hey, you’re an . . .’ What was it, Gen?”

“An intellectual,” Gen said, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“And he thought you meant something bad and chased you for two miles. You see, Jakes was a Showles, and the Showleses hated Gen. . .”

And from that point on there was no stopping him. Gen tried unsuccessfully to change the topic of conversation several times, but Mirelle, Fenna, or the Chalaine would always—and with apparent delight—steer Gant or Jeorge, who had joined in the festivities, back to Gen’s exploits. To Gen’s dismay, Gant and Jeorge remembered every one of his idiotic adventures, and with such engaging women egging them on, they would not stop until they shamed him completely.

“So you had difficulties with authority before your confrontation with Chertanne,” Mirelle quipped after Gant told them about the time Gen put a skunk in the Showles’s outhouse.

“Oh, they hated each other!” Jeorge laughed. “The Showleses got Gen good, too. There was that time Bernard stuck him in jail for ten days!”

“Wasn’t fair, of course, but then again. . .” Gant said.

“Gen was in jail?” Fenna gasped, feigning shock. “My goodness! I had no idea I was consorting with a common criminal! What was his crime? Do tell.”

“Well, we were playing White Sticks against Howen and Jakes. They were so bad that Gen and I took to playing one-handed and hopping on one leg just to keep it interesting. Howen and Jakes, though, they don’t take to losing real good, so I was in the Box and Jakes trips me. I fall and hurt my arm bad, but I get up and keep going, just managing to bat their bone away before turning to go find ours. Gen here sees that it’s plain that the Showles boys are going to find their bone and score before I could, being in so much pain and all. So Gen rears back an’ throws his bone at Jakes as hard as he can.”

“Which is perfectly legal in White Sticks,” Gen inserted defensively.

“Yep. So when Gen throws it, Jakes is facing away from him, bending down to get the bone. Just as he turns around, Gen’s bone hits him end-first right square in the mouth.” Fenna and Mirelle winced sympathetically.

“So Jakes’s teeth come flying out his head, falling on the ground like hail in autumn, and Jakes lands flat on his back. Of course, Gen and I knew when to run, and we ran all the way to the Church, Howen hollering at us the whole time and swearing to give us a beating. So we get to the Church, and Pureman Millershim sends Gen back to find Jakes’s teeth in the field, and when Gen gets back, Bernard accuses him of assaulting his son and sends him to jail, never mind that I’m standing there with a busted arm done on purpose by Jakes. Though as for that, Jakes certainly got the worst. He couldn’t eat meat after that.”

After more smiles and small talk, a silence fell about the table as everyone settled on food rather than stories. Gen felt uncomfortable. He found the Morewold’s eyes on him more than once, the question in their eyes plain. Perhaps they held out hope of Regina’s survival, but Gen hoped they knew better.

“What, what did Shadan Khairn do to . . . everyone . . . when the war started?” Jeorge finally asked.

“I escaped before it began,” Gen answered, “so I cannot be sure.” Gen steeled himself. “He killed people continually through the winter. Your daughter was one of them. I am sorry.”

Rena and Jeorge bowed their heads and Jeorge pulled his wife close. Murea, thankfully, had fallen asleep. Gen sorrowed with them, thankful, however, that they seemed to have expected his news. Fenna, however, when she saw Gen would offer no more of the story, opened her mouth. The Chalaine caught her before she could speak, and Gen could just hear the Chalaine say, “It is better this way.” Fenna nodded and kept to herself.

At length, Mirelle raised her glass. “To Regina. From what I know, a young lady I would have loved to have in my acquaintance.”

All joined glasses and drank, and for some time Jeorge and Rena shared memories of their daughter, Gen offering what remembrances were his and what comfort he could. Fenna took Gen’s hand under the table, and Gen was grateful for her tenderness.

“Well,” Mirelle said, as afternoon slipped toward evening, “it is time to have the Chalaine in her quarters, and I have several matters to attend to. It is my pleasure to save a little announcement for last. Jeorge and Rena, Yuerile and Gant, as you may know, I have awarded Gen a living in Blackshire when he comes into his majority—or when I decide I am done with him. I have arranged a living for each of you there so you can be near your friend when his duties with my daughter are at an end. You can be conveyed there when you like, but you can stay here for as long as it suits you. If Gant and Yuerile wish it, I can arrange for the Prelate to wed them before they leave.”

Gant smiled lopsidedly and turned to Yuerile, who smiled in return.

“I’ll take that as yes.” Mirelle grinned. “I will send you word soon. I thank you all for shedding a bit more light on Lord Blackshire, and I will be pleased to provide a wedding dinner you won’t forget. Now if you will all excuse my daughter and me.”

Everyone rose and bowed, the First Mother smiling at Gen as she left.

“I think the First Mother must like you,” Gant said after they had gone.

“She has been more kind to me than I deserve,” Gen answered. “Too kind, by far.”

Gen,

Salutations from your former master. I do not expect anything other than hatred and loathing at word from me, but I thought I should attempt to barter some truce with you, for you and I will be face-to-face soon. From the tales I’ve heard of you and from my own knowledge of your character, I think it likely that you will challenge me to a duel when I arrive. I am sure you seek to find justice for the wrongs I committed against you and against the woman you loved while I wintered in your town.

I will not apologize for what I have done, for you would certainly perceive it as disingenuous. I will not explain why I did what I did, for you would not understand it. I will not try to offer any recompense for what life, love, or prosperity you lost at my hand, for I am sure that nothing I could tender for restitution would satisfy. And thus I am left only with the power of argument to convince you that you must not challenge me when I arrive, but instead you must put aside your vengeance for what I hope you will see is best for not only you and me, but for those with whom we are intertwined.

Before such arguments, I will say that I was impressed by your victory over Cormith. Cormith, before you, was my masterwork, and while he was certainly a better built fighter than you, it seems you have a double portion of intelligence and quickness that leant you the victory. Truly, I would like nothing better than to fight you to see just how far you could push me, but I will set aside my desire to be tested if you will put aside your desire to destroy me.

You must understand that whatever I took from you, you have me to thank for everything you are. You are now of noble class. You are a Protector of the Chalaine. You are in the personal acquaintance of the First Mother of Rhugoth. You are a legend. You have honor and position and power that most men of your previous station cannot grasp even in the most greedy and ambitious of their dreams. If not for my instruction, however cruel, you would be a second rate bard in a scabby town watching Regina wither at Hubert’s side.

You may argue that I did not intend any of the good consequences and rewards that my training has since afforded you, and I cannot contradict the argument, but even one as evil as you must think me to be believes that fate pushes us together and pulls us apart in ways and for purposes we do not intend, and while what you once valued and loved was ripped away, what has replaced it is tenfold greater, greater not only for you, but for the Chalaine and for the purposes of prophecy.

My son and the Chalaine now face a dangerous journey, and, while I had not intended to travel with them, your emergence has taught me better. You and I are creatures fashioned for times as these, and it is time I put myself to the best service I can lend my skills to. If you will put aside your hate, those you now cherish will have my sword and my knowledge as well as yours. Out of respect for your previous losses and as a demonstration of my good will, I will protect whom you tell me to protect and kill any you call enemy.

Before us none can stand, Gen. Let us stand together. Just as I have broken your nation and welded it to mine to add strength where division subtracted, I broke you and would now add your strength to mine that we may most effectively accomplish the most important of purposes. You do not have to like my methods or me, but you do need to see reason. Remember what was taught in your training: even enemies must unite against the strength of a common foe, and so must we do.

I will arrive in Mikmir for the celebration of Chertanne’s and the Chalaine’s birthdays. I do not expect a reply, but I will be prepared for whatever you choose: vengeance and death or alliance and strength. The matter is yours to decide.

Torbrand Khairn, Shadan of Aughmere and King of Tolnor

P.S. I would like the return of the stones and the knowledge of how you escaped them, though I doubt you will feel inclined to surrender either.

P.P.S. I of course hold you blameless in crossing my son. If Kaimas tells the truth, he has been nothing but an embarrassment. I believe I shall force him to drop the name of Khairn and go by his prophetic title instead.

Gen folded the letter and threw it on the floor next to his bed. It was the third time he had read through Shadan Khairn’s pointed message in the hours after the night watch ended with the Chalaine. The letter had come a month before, and—despite his resolve to ignore Torbrand and remain in the Chalaine’s service—the words of his captor and trainer dragged back to the stage of his mind scenes he had fought hard to dismiss and silence. When he finally saw the Shadan today, he wanted to be poised and calm, but he knew full well that seeing the face that had tormented him day after day might break whatever resolutions he had formed in its absence.

He told no one of the letter, not even Fenna, who had left two weeks earlier to spend time with her family before leaving with the Chalaine on the journey to the Shroud Lake Shard and Elde Luri Mora. Gen wished she were with him. Her brightness and affection revived him from his somber moods, and her presence would remind him why he wanted to cling to life and not risk it on vengeance. 

Gant, Yuerile, and the Morewolds left a week after Gant and Yuerile’s wedding. Gen enjoyed their association, though he had seen them little on account of his duties. The wedding the First Mother had thrown for them stunned them both, and the gifts of clothes, furniture, and money would provide them a living more comfortable than anything they could have expected. The Morewolds were similarly cared for. Seeing the happiness and anticipation in their eyes as they rolled south gave Gen peace, but Shadan Khairn’s letter arrived a few days later, ruining his contentment.

Thinking of Fenna and his friends was all he had today to serve as support. Torbrand had arrived the night before and would attend the birthday party for his son and the Chalaine along with scores of Warlords from Aughmere, aristocrats from Rhugoth, and two Dukes from Tolnor. When the announcement of the party had come, Gen had hoped he would be blissfully excluded from the affair since Regent Ogbith insisted that it occur during the day, but the Chalaine had extended a personal invitation to him, and he could not decline.

Exhaling, he stood and donned his black dress uniform, buckling his sword and trying to forget who had taught him to use it. He grabbed the present he had fashioned for the Chalaine from on top of the stack of books at his bedside, and after stuffing it in his coat pocket went into the hall. Jaron stood outside the Chalaine’s door; she was late for her own birthday party.

“Is the Chalaine coming soon?” Gen inquired of his counterpart.

“Her stomach gave her trouble earlier,” Jaron explained, “but I believe she is over it now. I think it a matter of clothing at this point.”

Gend nodded. “I felt the illness in her earlier, as well. A case of nerves, I think. I’ll see you soon, then.”

Gen navigated the maze, finding the First Mother leaning against the wall on the other side. No matter how often he saw her, her beauty always prompted a feeling of surprise, and today she had obviously put effort into being beautiful. The red gown she wore was one intended for a relaxed celebration rather than formality or regality. Cadaen—who stood a short distance away—would need a sharp eye today. Gen had to use all his control to not gawk like a dumbstruck fool.

Gen bowed. “Your Grace.”

“Well if it isn’t the young Lord Blackshire,” she nodded, eyes playful. “It is good to see you. I see that you find me rather ravishing.”

“What makes you say that?” Gen asked, fearful he had betrayed something of what he thought.

“Because if you don’t, I think I might cry. What do you think?” she asked, executing a twirl. “Is the neck too low?”

“Being a decent sort of man, I didn’t notice.”

“Then it isn’t,” Mirelle frowned.

“I assure you, your Grace,” Gen consoled her, smiling, “that you are more than stunning, and I may need to stick close to Cadaen to help him beat away your slobbering admirers.”

“That is more like it,” she said. “I was beginning to think my efforts had failed entirely.”

“Is there a motive behind your ‘efforts,’ or are you just trying to make life difficult for Cadaen? I’m sure he must have a lot of worries already.”

“My motives are my own, though I hardly need one.”

“Of course, Milady,” Gen replied, inclining his head. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you are waiting for your daughter, she is still readying herself. She felt ill earlier, but I am made to understand that she is currently selecting suitable attire.”

“Thank you for the news; I did not know she was feeling unwell. However, I was loitering around waiting for you. The party is underway, and I found myself in need of an escort. Cadaen, if you could leave us. I need to speak with Gen alone. Meet me in the Great Hall, or you can get some sleep. I will have Gen watch over me in the interim.”

Cadaen frowned. “As you wish, Milady,” he said, bowing stiffly and walking back toward the Great Hall.

“Well?” the First Mother said expectantly. Gen swallowed hard and stepped forward, extending his arm. The First Mother took it and pulled him in close, talking in a whisper as they walked slowly by the sentries. She smelled intoxicatingly of some distracting scent he couldn’t quite place, and her softness and warmth were quite unnerving.

“My motive, you should know, is to get my way. I find aristocrats and noblemen much more pliable when I dress to woo rather than to rule. And I need you to frighten those I cannot make pliant by my feminine gifts. There are some important matters to settle at this little party.”

“A rather utilitarian use of your beauty and my ugliness.”

“You are intimidating, not ugly. And since I am not permitted to love until my daughter weds and is with child, my beauty serves little other purpose than manipulating squabbling regents and abstinent Churchmen. Fortunately, my restriction will be lifted before the year is out, if all goes well. Perhaps I should start flirting with some eligible men. If I play things right, I can wed and have a man for my bed the day after my daughter announces the blessed conception of her Holy Child.”

“I am sure you will have little difficulty finding a man who worships you, Mirelle.”

“Thank you. I fear I shall botch any attempts at romance since I have only played at it for political purposes. Instead of asking for a kiss, I’ll probably slip into old habits and ask for a boundary change or a tax increase.”

“I wouldn’t worry, Highness. Coming from you, most men would find talk of seed corn terribly enthralling. However,” Gen said, trying to change the subject, “I’m sure that you didn’t wish to speak with me about finding a potential consort. I take it you just want me to walk with you and act menacing.”

“More or less. While you accompany me today, be all smiles and address me by name, not title. When I address one of the nobles or aristocrats in a matter of business, stand close at my side and turn unhappy every time they disagree with me.”

“What if I disagree with you?”

“Then I shall have to turn my wooing arts on you, though it might take a concentrated, prolonged effort to affect one as stubborn as yourself.”

Gen didn’t know how to answer and settled on a noncommittal grunt.

“But what concerns me,” she continued, “is a particular decision and a particular person I must convince.”

“Who?”

“Torbrand Khairn. I’m sorry to cause you pain by speaking of him, but you will see him whenever he decides to grace the party with his presence. I know he hurt you, and you have every reason to seek his life. I need to know what your intentions are.”

“I will not raise a challenge,” Gen said. “We must ally ourselves to the same purpose for now. We need him on the journey.”

“I hoped you would say that. I am much relieved.”

“What is the decision that involves him?”

“When we were in Aughmere, Torbrand stated his intention not to accompany his son on the journey to Elde Luri Mora, much to the disappointment of Aughmerians. His absence, however, permitted Regent Ogbith to take leadership of the caravan. Khairn wrote me a month ago and informed me of his change of heart, going on and on about his new desire to serve the prophecy. I hope he didn’t expect me to believe any of his babbling. In that same letter he stated his intention to take command, as is his right as father of the Ha’Ulrich and Shadan of Aughmere. He was ‘gracious’ enough to permit Regent Ogbith to serve as his second. I want to change his mind today. If it will cause you difficulty to be near him, I will understand and go it alone.”