A Dance of Blades

4

M ark Tullen rode toward the gates of Felwood Castle, as always in awe of the fortress made of dark stone covered with ivy. Among his other provisions stashed in his pack was Alyssa’s letter, requesting him to retrieve her son and bring him back to Veldaren. He’d been in Riverrun when the letter arrived, not far south of Felwood. He’d written his response in a hurry, for he could sense Alyssa’s unease. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to lose any favor in her eyes because he tarried.

“I seek audience with Lord Gandrem,” he called at the gate. “I am Mark Tullen, lord of Riverrun, and I come at Lady Gemcroft’s request!”

The gates opened, and guards escorted him in. After he cleaned his boots, he followed them along the emerald carpet to the throne, the seat of power for all the Northern Plains. John Gandrem stood as they entered, a smile on his wrinkled face. He wore robes of green and gold, and a thin crown of silver atop his gray hair.

“Welcome,” said John, clasping hands with Mark. “It’s been too long since you visited. The distance here to Riverrun is not so great that you should visit only once a year.”

“I was here in spring,” Mark said. “Do not tell me you forgot?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I did,” John said, sitting back down and trying to laugh off the error.

“Sadly, I cannot count this as much of a visit,” Mark continued. “I’ve come for Alyssa’s boy, Nathaniel. I’m to give him safe passage back to Veldaren.”

A shadow passed over John’s face, and he took a sip from a goblet beside him before responding.

“Nathaniel is not here,” he said, setting the goblet down. “Lord Hadfield came a few months back and brought him north to Tyneham. I assumed this was at Alyssa’s request, and he certainly implied as much.”

Mark felt his gut tighten.

“I’m sure Arthur’s done the boy no harm,” the old man continued. “Said he wanted to show him the ways of the business, if you know what I mean. If he’s to take over the Gemcroft fortune, a bit of experience with their mines would do him good.”

“Thank you,” Mark said, bowing.

“Will you not stay?” John asked.

“My apologies,” Mark said, glancing over his shoulder. “But Alyssa seemed eager to see her son, and this delay will add at least two weeks of travel. I dare not spend even a single night here when I might be riding instead.”

“Very well,” said John. “Safe travels.”

“And pleasant nights,” said Mark.

He left Felwood and immediately followed the road north. Thankfully he’d packed enough rations for both him and the boy, so he’d have enough to make it to Tyneham alone. While there he’d need to resupply, at least enough to get them back to Felwood Castle. He let his mind wander as he rode. It’d take a week to arrive, so he had more than enough time to think.

Mark knew he and Arthur were rivals for Alyssa’s affection. They were rarely together, but he knew Alyssa found him more interesting, more handsome. But Arthur had wealth and influence, something Alyssa could not ignore. Nearly every town along the mountainside belonged to Arthur one way or another, while Mark controlled just Riverrun, and that only recently due to the Kull’s execution, at Alyssa’s hand no less. By the whispers he heard, and the cold stares from Alyssa’s advisor, Bertram, he knew he was not the favorite in the rest of Veldaren’s eyes.

But he wouldn’t let that stop him. He’d been told the same about challenging Theo Kull, who had his fingers in everything. But Theo had died, and amusingly enough, because his son Yoren had tried for Alyssa’s hand. Alyssa had kept an eye on Mark’s takeover of Riverrun in the wake of the Kull’s demise, and that was how he had first met her.

“Ride on,” Mark whispered to his horse. “I know you’re tired, but give me just a few more miles.”

Nathaniel alone with Arthur…the lord was an older man, calm in all things, calculating every potential outcome of a choice. It was as if they played a game, moving pieces and exchanging tokens, all for the sake of Alyssa’s heart. So far, Mark was losing, and now Arthur held a potential game ender. If the boy favored Arthur, then his mother’s heart might easily follow.

He slept close to the path, keeping his sword beside him as he tucked into his bedroll. His hard rations were bland and salty, but they kept him going. The next morning he found a stream to fill both his waterskins as well as give his horse a well-deserved rest. He kept up his pace, though not quick enough that it might endanger his mount. The whole while, he pondered Arthur’s reaction. Clearly he wouldn’t know of Alyssa’s request to have her son returned. Would he refuse? Come with? Ask for proof? Mark had Alyssa’s letter, of course, but what if Arthur challenged its authenticity?

Mark pushed the thoughts aside. It wouldn’t matter. Trying to outthink Arthur would be pointless. He’d make the best decision available at the time, without fear or doubt. That was how he’d risen to his stature. That was how he planned on rising even higher.

On the sixth day out from Felwood, he arrived at the mining village of Tyneham. The lone inn was small, with only two rooms and a post out back to tie his horse. He had a bite to eat, drank a cup of their awful ale, and then asked for Arthur Hadfield’s location.

“He don’t come to town often,” said the innkeeper, a portly old woman. “But when he does, you can find him overlooking the mines. He keeps an eye on things, and he’s caught quite a few thieves who thought themselves bright.”

Mark smiled at her obvious hint.

“I come in the right,” he told her. “But if I were a thief, I’d share at least a token of my haul with you, if only for your beauty.”

She laughed and waved him off.

He received a few odd stares as he worked his way toward the mountains. He’d seen the Crestwall Mountains only once before, and he stopped beside a well to take in the view. They rose toward the sky like bony fingers, cracked and weather-beaten. He wondered at how vicious the storms might get so far north, something he hoped to not find out. Still, the mountains possessed a majestic beauty, towering above them, reaching into the clouds until their tips turned white with snow. Winter was halfway over, but he wondered if it ever ended here. The past several days he’d ridden through snow, and he thanked Ashhur there was an abundance of trees for firewood.

Realizing he was stalling, Mark forced himself onward. As he neared the bustle of activity at the mines, a foreman spotted his approach and yelled for him to halt.

“Not from around here,” said the foreman as he neared. He wore furs that were hopelessly dirty, and giant calluses covered his hands. “You dress too well and too lightly.”

“I’m warm enough,” said Mark. He offered a hand. “Mark Tullen, lord of Riverrun. I’m here to speak with your lord.”

The foreman grunted.

“You’re in luck. Arthur and the boy are further in. We might have hit a new vein, and he wants to take a look.”

Mark tried to hide his reaction at hearing about ‘the boy’ but felt like he did a miserable job. The foreman raised an eyebrow but refused to comment. Mark mentally cursed himself. If he couldn’t hide his emotions from a lowly foreman, what hope did he have with someone as observant as Arthur?

“Please,” he said, deciding to get it over with. “Can you take me to him? I come with urgent business from Alyssa Gemcroft.”

The foreman snapped to attention. If there was anyone more powerful than Arthur in the village, it was Alyssa. It was her mines that gave them work, wealth, and means to survive the harsh land. Without them, Tyneham would become a ghost town.

“Follow me,” said the foreman.

They walked along a path pounded flat by half a century of carts, feet, and wheelbarrows. A few of the men glanced up, but most ignored them, or did their best to look busy. Mark saw several women wandering about with food and water for the men. A few carried needles and cloth to wrap, stitch, and bandage the day’s toll of blisters and cuts. He saw at least four main entrances to the lower slopes of the mountain. The foreman took him to the largest, where a crowd had gathered.

The two stopped and listened, for a man had come from inside the mine. A young boy stood at his side, his red hair covered with dirt. Mark knew them both.

“I’ve looked it over,” said Arthur as he pulled off a pair of gloves and tossed them aside. “It’s a new vein, all right, the richest we’ve found in ten years. We’ll shift men from mines three and four to help drain the rest of the water, and I’ll send word for more oxen. Hard work is ahead, but tonight, we’ll share a glass to celebrate!”

They cheered and smiled, and even the foreman beside Mark clapped in excitement. Mark kept his arms crossed and watched Nathaniel. He stood beside Arthur, keeping his face passive and his eyes to the ground. Such good behavior from someone barely five…it struck Mark as worrisome. Even when the cheering began, Nathaniel only looked around once, and after a few seconds’ delay, clapped twice.

Mark waited as the rest of the men resumed their duties, cheerfully delving back into the mines or pushing their carts for the smelters and their mills. Arthur saw Mark through the crowd, nodded once, and then approached.

“Lord Tullen, I was not expecting such a pleasant surprise,” he said, but the tone in his voice never matched the honeyed words.

Mark withdrew the letter and handed it over.

“I’ve come for Nathaniel,” he said. “Alyssa wishes his safe return, for she misses him terribly. I must say, I was surprised to find him here instead of with lord Gandrem.”

A smile pulled at the sides of Arthur’s lips. He had a long, oval face, and gray hair trimmed extremely short. Mark had never seen a worse shit-eating grin.

“I often talked with Alyssa about bringing Nathaniel here to learn the duties involved in running the mines. At my last visit, I mentioned doing so should the weather break.”

“Her letter doesn’t say that.”

“Given how great her duties are, I am not surprised such a casual comment by myself went unremembered.”

Mark didn’t believe it for a second, but he tried to act like he did.

“Either way, she wishes him back,” he insisted. “So come, Nathaniel. Let us return to your mother.”

“You can’t take him,” said Arthur. When Mark’s eyes flared, the grin on Arthur’s face only grew. “Not by yourself. You would bring the son of the Trifect along the northern road unprotected? He is far too precious a target for ransom. Let me send you some of my men as escort.”

Mark looked away and muttered. Arthur was testing him, his reactions, and he’d given away his thoughts plain as day. As he looked about, he saw two wagons loading up not far to the south.

“Where are they headed?” he asked.

“They?” asked Arthur. He followed his gaze, and then answered far too quickly, “I’m not sure, but they are of no matter to you. Let me get my men.”

“Veldaren,” said Nathaniel before Arthur could leave. “Every week, they bring gold for Veldaren.”

Mark shot the boy a wink, not caring that Arthur saw.

“Then I will ride with them,” he said. “Surely we will be safe amid a well-guarded caravan.”

Arthur’s grin faded.

“Very well. They will slow you down, so make sure Alyssa knows the reason for your delay falls upon you, and not me. I’ll tell the men you’ll be joining them. Nathaniel, go to the castle and pack your things. Hurry now! Do not keep lord Tullen waiting.”

Nathaniel bowed to both and then ran off. Mark watched him go.

“Not a smart child, but at least he is obedient,” Arthur said, walking away.

*

N athaniel rode in one of the two wagons while Mark trotted beside them on his horse. He’d purchased supplies from the tavern, not wishing to be a burden on the caravan. Though he’d stayed out of their way best he could, he made sure to sneak a glance at the cargo-crates of gold coins, all bearing the symbol of the Gemcroft family. Each wagon had a single crate.

“Why just one crate per wagon?” he asked the leader of the caravan, a fat man named Dave.

“Each wagon has its own driver, own guards, own cargo,” Dave answered. “Makes it harder for someone to get to plotting. That, and we’ll fill both wagons on the way back with supplies. You should see how many tools we run through. I swear, for every pound of gold we dig we break two pounds of iron.”

Come nightfall, they set up camp. Several of the guards had slept during their day ride, and so they wandered about, eating, drinking, and watching the roads. Mark took the time to find Nathaniel. The boy ate by himself, huddled in a blanket with his back to a fire.

“Cold?” Mark asked as he sat down beside him.

Nathaniel shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I can’t be. Arthur says that makes me look weak.”

Mark chuckled. “Even the greatest of leaders needs to wear boots in the snow, Nathaniel. You’re allowed to be human.”

The boy pulled the blanket tighter about him. He looked so similar to his mother, the same soft features, stubby nose, and startling red hair. He glanced back at Mark, and then a smile crept across his trembling lips.

“Maybe I’m a little cold.”

Mark laughed.

“Here then,” he said, wrapping his own blanket around the boy. “This should help. From here on out, anything Arthur told you, you double-check with me, all right?”

“Why?” Nathaniel asked, suddenly looking worried. “You saying he lies?”

“No, no,” Mark said, quicker than he meant. “He just…has a peculiar way of looking at the world. He doesn’t think people get cold, remember? I’d love to see him wander in his skivvies during a snowstorm. I bet he’d look like a blue ogre when he came back inside. What do you think? Or maybe a blue orc. Nah. He’s too skinny to be an orc.”

He yammered on, telling jokes both humorous and terrible. It didn’t matter. He watched Nathaniel slowly warm to him, and it relieved Mark tremendously. He’d worried Arthur’s words had wrapped a spell about the boy, turning him into some mindless stooge believing his every word. But Nathaniel was still a five year old boy, and given the chance, he wanted to laugh and joke as much as any other kid his age. Mark knew he might not be the most charming dinner guest, but at least he knew how to make a kid laugh.

Mark let him keep his blanket, instead borrowing another from the wagons. They slept beside the fire.

Come the next morning, Mark awoke with a chill seeped deep into his bones. When he stirred, he saw a thin layer of snow atop the world, including his blanket.

“About time,” said Dave, who was busy untethering their oxen. “You sleep like the dead, Mark.”

“Better to sleep like them than to be them,” he said, shaking off his blanket and looking for a fire.

“No fire,” said Dave. “We need to save the wood in case the snow picks up. Move about. Help us pack. You’ll warm up soon enough.”

He found Nathaniel sitting in one of the wagons, half-buried in blankets.

“I hate winter,” he said when he saw Mark.

“I hear you,” Mark said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Just try to endure. We’ll be home with your mother soon enough.”

The snowflakes were light as they traveled, just a slight nuisance that wet their skin and occasionally stung their eyes. By midday it had thickened, until at last Dave called a halt.

“The wagons might get stuck if it continues,” Mark told him.

“Better stuck on the road than in a ditch,” Dave shot back.

They used the wagons to block the wind, shoveled snow until they found cold, dry ground, and then built a fire. They gathered around it, their own bodies sheltering the fire from the wind that sneaked in.

“Come morning we’ll dig out and then continue,” Dave said as they huddled there. “Run this route plenty of times, and I have a feeling for how the weather works. We’ll have clear sky tomorrow. Assuming we don’t break a wheel, we should reach Felwood in a…”

He stopped, for amid the howling of the wind he heard something strange.

“Horses,” said Dave.

“Who would ride in this weather?” asked one of the guards.

Mark drew his sword and stood, and the rest did likewise. There were only four guards per wagon, and the eight hurried to the openings between them.

“It might be a messenger meant to reach us,” said Dave, just before a crossbow bolt pierced his arm.

“Shit,” he cried, snapping the shaft in half and tossing it. “Stay down, all of you!”

Horses thundered by either side, and as they passed the gap, many fired crossbows. Mark dove into one of the wagons as the bolts flew, dragging Nathaniel with him. The horses turned around, and at their return charge, he heard the sound of steel hitting steel.

“Stay down,” Mark said to Nathaniel. The boy sat huddled in blankets beside the crate of gold. His eyes were wide, rimmed with tears that refused to fall in the chill air.

“I’m scared,” Nathaniel said, and his whole body shook.

“I am too,” Mark said as bolts tore through the fabric of the wagon, thankfully missing. He kept his sword facing the back of the wagon and listened. He heard screams, plus Dave hollering like a madman. From where he stood he could only see a small portion of the combat. The guards had cut down two of the riders, but the rest continued their charge, hacking as they passed or firing more crossbow bolts.

Then he heard Dave cry something that made no sense, but at the same time, was certain to be true.

“Lord Hadfield? But why?”

He died soon after, or at least his orders stopped. The cries of pain lessened. Swords struck rarely, then stopped altogether. Mark pushed Nathaniel further into the wagon and tried to shrink down. He might be able to surprise one or two of them if they didn’t realize he was inside…

A man rode up before the wagon, a crossbow in hand. Mark lunged at him, extending his arm as far as it could go. His sword pierced the man’s breast, punching through his leather armor. As he bled out, the crossbow fired harmlessly into the air. Mark retreated into the wagon, his blood running cold. He recognized the symbol on that armor. It was Hadfield’s men, all right. But why? Why would he ambush his own wagons?

He glanced back at Nathaniel and decided he already knew the reason.

“Mark?” he heard Arthur call out. “Is that you in there, Mark?”

“Just keeping warm,” Mark shouted back. “What’d your men do to deserve this?”

“Deserve? Nothing. They died in my service, as all men should for their masters. Where is the child? I don’t want him to witness your execution.”

Mark clutched his sword tighter. Behind him, he heard Nathaniel whimper.

“You’d protect him?” Mark asked.

“As if he were my own son.”

Or at least until you have a son of your own, thought Mark. At least until you’ve consummated your marriage to Alyssa, you heartless bastard.

“Listen to me,” he whispered to Nathaniel. “He’s lying, I know it. You need to run, you understand? I know you don’t want to, but you have to try. He’s cruel. I’ve always known it, now just…”

“Mark!” Arthur shouted. “Come out and face this with honor!”

“That way,” Mark said, pointing to the opposite exit beside the driver’s seat.

Nathaniel nodded. Despite his fear, he was holding together. Though they lacked any blood connection, Mark felt proud of the boy. A child worthy to raise, to claim the Gemcroft wealth. A child who’d probably freeze to death in the next twelve hours. He almost thought to change his mind, to carry Nathaniel out and see what Arthur would do. But he couldn’t. If Nathaniel was somehow part of his plans, Mark wanted to ruin them. It was petty, perhaps, but by the gods, he had to do something to avenge his death.

He stepped out from the wagon, his sword still drawn.