The Lord Son's Travels (54 page)

“Elenna,
we shall need a demonstration of our abilities,” he said loudly, interrupting
the clamor of the crowd.
 
She
nodded.
 
She had gotten into the
habit of wearing one of the prototypes under her cloak in the waistband of her
britches.
 
She pulled it out and
studied the room briefly.
 
She
decided a shot into the far corner would present the least danger to anyone and
fired.
 
Even the Allé-dônians who
were familiar with the weapons flinched; the others had leapt from their seats
in horror.

Adrien
continued smoothly as the shame-faced men returned to their seats.
 
“We shall outfit a battalion of the
best men, under the leadership of Commander Tomas.
 
They will train separately from the other men; I do not want
word of these weapons to become common knowledge.”
 
He leaned back, satisfied as their faces lightened as they
realized the military advantage they had just gained.
 
This was all that he had hoped to accomplish during this
first meeting.
 
Tomorrow he would
begin the slow process of a unified strategy between the various armies under
his command.
 
Erik noted the change
in mood and called for the end of the conference for the day.
 
All of the participants were invited
 
to share a late evening’s meal
together, but each refused.
 
The
factions split to return to their quarters for the evening to discuss their own
takes on the proceedings.
 
The
Allé-dônian faction reassembled in the hall after the formal
leave-takings.
 

“You
have done well, Lord Son,” Tarien praised with a smile.
 
“There is no doubt you will lead with
their full cooperation.”

“Today
ended well. Tomorrow there is still much to be done,” Adrien sighed.
 
“You must sit with me to discuss
preparations, Counselor.
 
Tomas
will report tonight what he has found about the stranger’s armies.
 
Bren, I need you to meet with the Elf
King and learn what news they have gathered.
 
If you ride out to the woods on the borders of the city, one
of them will find you and bring you to the King.
 
Elenna, you will meet with the metalsmiths and teach them
how to create the weapons.”
 
They
accepted his commands with tired yawns and nods.
 
He sighed.
 
Brendan clapped him on the back in commiseration.
 

“Let
us find ourselves a meal and a change of clothes,” he suggested.
 
“And rest.”
 
This was heartily agreed to by all.
 
A servant appeared to direct them to
their rooms; the men were billeted in neighboring rooms in the guest wing of
the castle. Elenna found her bags left alone in a single chamber several doors
down from the others.
 
She waved
off the servant girl and washed and dressed herself quickly to meet up again
with her friends.
 
Adrien was the
only one waiting in the lounge at the entrance of the guest hall.
  
A servant approached nervously
carrying a folded note he had been told to deliver only to the Lord Son’s hands.
 
Adrien scanned it quickly and
involuntarily frowned.
 
He dropped
the note back in the servant’s hand and faked a pleasant reply.
 
When Elenna arrived he repeated its
message.

“The
Lady Isabeau and her mother and father wish for my company at their evening
meal.”
 
He glanced at Elenna, whose
expression remained composed.
 
His
eyes darkened.
 
“I will use this
time to speak to them of the marriage contract.”
 

“Good
luck,” she said brightly.
 
He
kissed her hand before making his exit.
 
Elenna ran her fingers through her hair and huffed a tired sigh.
 
She jumped when she felt Brendan’s
hands rest on her shoulders, so lost in fatigue and unpleasant thoughts she
hadn't heard him come in.

“Let’s
get some food,” she said, shrugging him off.
 
He glanced back at Tarien, who raised his hands in a gesture
of helplessness.
 
A bevy of
servants soon delivered a heaping tray of meats and cheeses to the formal
dining room at the other end of the hall.
 
She kept up her share of the conversation, but her eyes flitted often to
the door in search of
 
their
commander.
 
Finally she gave up and
pleading tiredness offered her goodnights.
 
Brendan and Tarien retired soon after as well.

Later
in the night, she awoke to soft footsteps.
 
Sleepily she rubbed her eyes.
 
As she adjusted to the darkness she could see Adrien seated
on his side of the bed, pulling off his boots.
 
“How did it go?” she asked quietly.
 

“The
contract is ended.”
 
He undressed
and slid under the covers to embrace her tightly.
 
The meeting had been strained.
 
After warm greetings from the Queen to the arriving future
son-in-law, they cheerfully shared the evening meal pretending as if nothing ominous
loomed in their futures.
 
Adrien
patiently told stories of his journey to Roden, tailored to the delicacies of
the ladies present. The Queen wore her boredom plainly under a thin veneer of
respectable tolerance; she recently had heard too many traveling adventures
from her other guests for any tale to catch her interest.
 
Isabeau, on the other hand, interrupted
his story repeatedly to ask question after question about the people he had
encountered on the journey.
 
Everyone but Elenna; discussion of his traveling companion seemed to have
been agreed upon before his arrival at dinner as a forbidden topic.
 
Whenever he mentioned her, all three
would react with either frowns, slight shudders, or other faint signs of
disapproval.
 
Perhaps, he mused, he
had gotten too used to her strange ways and had forgotten how bewildering she
could be to new acquaintances.

As
the plates from the last course of dinner was cleared, Erik, after a
significant look from his daughter, encouraged Isabeau to lead their guest to
their favorite evening sitting room, promising that he and the Queen would
follow shortly.
  

“Adrien,
I am so pleased that you have finally come to see me.”
  
Adrien had hoped Isabeau's
flirting would end as soon as they were alone, but he was mistaken.
 
She had done the same during her past
visits to
Allè-dènè
, as if
pretending their engagement was based on affection would somehow make it
so.
 
He had accepted it in the past
as evidence that she took her role seriously enough to make the pretense, so he
had gamely made some small attempts on his own end to drum up affectionate
responses.
 
Now he had no interest
in or any ability to falsify his feelings.
 
Now, he realized privately with wonder, he knew what love
felt like, and it was nothing like this.
 
He allowed Isabeau to fill the small sitting chamber with her small
talk, offering short replies when expected.
 
The night was getting late; he hoped the coming conversation
could at least be finished quickly, if not completely amicably.
 
Adrien had assumed that Erik would
disagree with the change in contract, probably vehemently, but would see the
sense in agreeing to his counteroffer quickly and without unnecessary
debate.
 
He watched Isabeau parade
about the small room to offer him all the finest viewing angles of her
loveliness.
 
He doubted she would
feel any true personal wounds from his decision.

The
King and Queen arrived at the chamber with offers to send for one of their
favorite Bards.
 
Adrien refused the
offer, explaining instead that he had reasons to speak with them on a serious
matter.

"What
do you need of me, Lord Son?" the King asked calmly.

Adrien
paused before speaking.
 
"It
is a matter of some delicacy,
 
Erik.
 
I regret the timing,
but I wished to speak with you and your daughter directly and not through
emissaries."

Erik
made an assumption that made him smile broadly.
 
"You are ready to complete the marriage
arrangements?
 
I am quite pleased,
Adrien, notwithstanding our current distraction with other... concerns."

Adrien's
tone remained neutral.
 
"My
father and I have discussed the matter of the marriage contract you had
negotiated within the terms of our alliance.
 
We intend to honor the contract, but substituting another
man of high
Allè-dôn
ian
position in place of myself."

Erik
immediately replaced his smirk of satisfaction with a rapid flush of
anger.
 
"Lord Son, I am
astounded that a such a time as this you would renege on a long-standing
promise between our kingdoms."

Adrien
shook his head.
 
"The contract
will still be fulfilled as written, merely with another man as husband."

"You
think my daughter's affections interchangeable, Lord Son?
 
She has accepted you as her future
husband."
 
Erik rose slowly to
his feet, clutching the arm of his chair for support.
 
Isabeau and his wife urged him to sit back down, as they
shot looks of warning to their visitor.
 
The worrisome thought had crossed Adrien's mind that the old king might
feel the need to offer a challenge to protect the honor of his daughter.
 
He decided to spare the old man the
humiliation by offering a parcel of truth he hadn't intended to release so
early to his hosts.

"The
contract offers only the younger son of the Lord King," Adrien
explained.
 
"I
 
have other travels to make that will
affect my position in the line of succession.
 
If I am triumphant and able to return to
Allè-dôn
, it will be
as Bearer and future Lord King."

"You
will seek Evenral?" the King, like every resident of the Eastlands, knew
the
Allè-dôn
ian
legendary quest and its notoriously high death rate.
 
"That is a very foolish act, Lord Son."

"I
know that well enough," Adrien agreed.
 
"Do you not think it better to release your daughter
from marriage to the fool that rides towards near certain death, and instead
take instead my promise of a safe and prosperous, well-born husband?"'

Erik
turned to Isabeau.
 
"What say
you, daughter?"

She
shrugged her shoulders a bit.
 
"I believe my opinions will have no sway over the actions of the
Lord Son.
 
I wonder if any Lady
would have any influence over his decision."
 
Her expression remained carefully neutral as he flinched at
her meaning.
 

Adrien
gave his response in the same solemn tone.
 
"I'm sure we will find a much better match for your
future husband than I.
 
Lord
Bernard a Honding, for example, or Lord Brendan
ä
Wellect."
 
Isabeau colored slightly
and gave no further response.
 
Her
father took that as agreement.

"In
those terms I gladly accept the renegotiation of our contract," Erik
decided.
 
"We will continue
this discussion when this whole Southlands mess is finished and settled.
 
Until then we shall consider the
contract void.
 
But I warn you,
Lord Son, if I am given a fine offer for my daughter, she could become a great
loss for
Allè-dôn
."

"I
accept that risk, though perhaps that fine offer may come from another citizen
of my kingdom.
 
A great many of our
finest noblemen now ride towards Trees Men."
 
His insinuation was plain enough for Isabeau; she cheered up
slightly at the thought of all of the handsome young men she could now openly entertain,
even if none would offer her a royal title.
 
Her father had returned to his earlier fine spirits, and
Adrien was able to excuse himself for the evening as a free man.

Chapter 52

The
Allè-dôn
ians were able
to share a rushed breakfast before each was hustled away to the day's
tasks.
 
Elenna was summoned to meet
with the blacksmiths and begin the process of creating the new weapons.
 
Brendan and a few of the king’s men
accompanied her long enough for the burly workmen to become accustomed to
taking her instructions and they could depart to their own duties.
 
She had, with help of the smiths in Evendor,
drawn an amateur blueprint of the workings of the gun she had found.
 
She met with them as a group at first,
urging them to study the image as she described how the weapon functioned.
 
Afterwards the men split to their own
workspaces; either the original smithies of the castle or the temporary camps
set up for the project.
 
She
circuited through each smith’s shop, making suggestions and corrections to their
efforts.
 
Once in a while she would
pause and gaze at the practice field nearby, where the soldiers trained
vigorously for the battle they eagerly awaited.
 
She caught a few curious gazes from the men in return, which
she ignored to return to her duties.
 

Towards
the late afternoon, Adrien and the other royals were given a tour of the
soldier's camp site.
 
She paused to
observe them as she passed from shed to shed, rubbing her sweaty face with a
rag and silently bemoaning the incredible heat needed to make the metal pliable
enough to work.
 

Elenna
was interrupted a few minutes later by their group entering the workshop in
which she was examining a nearly finished pistol.
 
Adrien spoke her name softly.
 
She raised the weapon she was holding, offering it to him
handle first in a non-threatening position.
 
The other royals crowded about, eager to finally see this
new design they had been told so much about.
 
She answered their questions with patience and as little
elaboration as possible.
 
Adrien
was thoughtful as he watched her presentation.
 
She had bowed to the political realities of their visit and
that day worn a green dress representing her noble position as bearer of
Midiral.
 
It was stained to the
knees from her trips between the muddy smith huts; she smelled smoky from the
flames of the forges.
 
Her hair was
slipping from the bits of ribbon she had used to tie it up that morning.
 
The roots showed her true color upon
close examination; the dye she had used was fading quickly.
 
Her subterfuge was not as necessary as
it had been; she was known here and accepted as a stranger from a place where
color did not have the same meaning.
 
If the visitors cared about her disheveled state they gave no sign of
it.
 
The royals and their
assistants listened intently to her explanation of the workings of the weapon,
asking relevant and thoughtful questions.
 
From their rapt expressions she realized they understood how pivotal to
success the guns could be if deployed properly.
 
This had been a great concern of Adrien's, she was glad she
would be able to reassure him that they would respect the weapons' priority in
his battle plans.
 
She let one of
the smiths take over the technical parts of the discussion to slip outside of
the tent with Adrien for a moment of discussion.

 
 
The smiths had learned quickly how to create the new weapons,
she told him with relief.
 
They
should have all they had hoped for within the few days.
 
More smiths were coming, they had
assured her, and would be able to speed up the production.
 
He nodded at her confidence, happy that
her share in the plans were going well.
 
He asked her to meet with the rest of their party before sunset in their
dining room for the evening meal, and rejoined the rest of the royals to
continue with their inspection.

After
they finished their tour of the smithies, there was still several challenges
facing Adrien and the rest of the leadership.
 
There was the matter of the espionage the King of Roden had
gathered over the previous weeks concerning the location of Skranteen’s troops.
 
His spies had heard numerous tales,
many contradictory, and it was the duty of their committee to sort through the
stories to find the most plausible place and time for the coming attack.
 
All agreed that the Lord of the
Southlands would personally command the troops, he would come from his secured
lands to the west, and he would make his move within a fortnight.
 
Roden was separated on the west from
the Forgotten Lands by a series of rolling hills and valleys.
 
The easiest crossing was in the Valley
of Farewells, a wide open gash in the ground easily assessable from either
direction.
 
Legend told that it was
the scene of several major battles in the Beginning.
 
The leaders decided it would be best to send the troops
there as soon as they could to await the coming attack.
 
It was well understood that if
Skranteen’s monsters crossed the valleys and the border, nothing would be able
to keep them from Trees Men and the fall of Roden.

Adrien
and the other military leaders hung a large detailed map of the valley in their
meeting room and argued strategies for hours, until all were too tired to think
and called for a break.
 
Adrien
forced himself to write a few final ideas then stumbled back to their guest
quarters, shoulders stooped in fatigue.
 
Without a word he pushed open the door to their sitting room, spotted
the remaining open seat, and crashed into his chair and closed his eyes.

When
he opened them again a minute later, he noted all of his companions in similar
exhausted positions.
 
In the seat
next to him, Tarien leaned forward heavily on a new walking stick.
 
He had spent the first part of the day
with Tomas and his men, evaluating the skills of the foreign troops they had
joined.
 
He had only spoken with
Adrien shortly at the noonmeal to share his disappoint in the state of the
armies’ readiness.
 
The men from
Leixan and Brannon were battle-hardened and ready, but the Roden men were more
bluster than practical skill.
 
He
had arranged for cross training between the local warriors and the foreign commanders,
and hoped for Adrien’s postdated approval.
 
He agreed and turned to Brendan to order he direct the new
system of training.
 

Brendan
had his boots off and was rubbing his aching feet.
 
That day he had hiked for hours in the empty woods
surrounding the city, before he had in despair turned around and found himself
enclosed by a silent collection of armed elves.
 
They had silently led him to the campsite of the Elf King,
who had greeted him warmly and bade him to tell of the situation.
 
The King was eager to join the battle,
having seen the carnage waged by the destructive forces from the West.
 
Berte was again assigned as an
emissary, carrying messages back and forth until it was time to publicly
acknowledge the new allies waiting in the woods.
 
Brendan agreed to take control of the troops the next day,
if in exchange Adrien could meet in person with the Elf King and detail his
ideas on the best deployment of his warriors.
 

Finally
Adrien turned to Elenna, who as first arrival claimed the full length of the
sofa.
 
She described the great
process the weapon makers had made after his departure.

“I’ll
have about fifty guns done tomorrow afternoon,” she related tiredly.
 
“I need men to train on them.”
 
She turned to Tomas.
 
“Can you sent a few soldiers over to
me?
 
The ones with the best aim.”

He
nodded.
 
“You will have them by the
noonmeal,” he promised.
 

Adrien
asked, “How many weapons can you have in within a week?”
 
She paused thoughtfully, and answered
about two hundred.

“Tis
not many,” Brendan mused.

“Tis
enough,” Adrien disagreed.
 
“They
will lead the attack.
 
The monsters
won’t expect us to have anything like these.
 
It will take some of the heart out of their fighting.”

“And
when they see the elves…” Tarien added.
 

Adrien
nodded.
 
“That tis our hope.
 
They’ll still field more warriors than
our alliance, so we'll need any edge in our favor we can find.”

“These
elves look to be sharp with their weapons,” Brendan said between yawns.
 
He paused as a set of servants entered
to lay out the evening meal.
 
They
silently arranged a large number of steaming plates on the table in the corner
of the room.
 
For the sake of
private discussion, Adrien assured them they could serve themselves and asked
for the servants to leave.
 
When
they were gone, Brendan leapt up with some energy and went to fix a plate as he
continued speaking.
 
“I’ve no doubt
they will live up to their own stories.”

Elenna
yawned suddenly.
 
“Sorry,” she
muttered.
 
“Long day.”
 

“Fill
your plate,” Adrien commanded, stifling a yawn himself.
 
“Then go to your rest.
 
Tomorrow will be yet again as long, I'm
sure.”

Tarien
glanced at him curiously.
 
“Do you
not go to our host’s chambers for the evening?
 
We have been invited.”

“I’ve
pleaded my excusal already,” his ex-student replied.
 
“I have seen Erik all day and shall see him all day
tomorrow, and so I have no need to see him tonight yet more.”

“Tis
no need to woo the Lady he has already won,” Tomas offered a light teasing of
his commander.
 
He smiled brightly
at his leader, who shrugged lightly in reply.
 
Adrien had told only Brendan of his change in status with
their host, and he didn’t want to start any more conversations tonight.
 
He would speak to the other men in the
morning.
 
Exhausted, all took their
leaves of each other.