The Crown and the Sword

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘Use that whip, dammit!” barked Dram Feldspar, as the heavy freight wagon struggled through the last leg of the ford over the Vingaard River.

The hill dwarf teamster in the driver’s seat, already lashing his team of six oxen for everything he was worth, didn’t bother to reply to the mountain dwarf. Instead, he roared at the beasts, hauled on the reins, and called the laboring animals every manner of vile name. The massive bovines responded by lowering their heads, straining in their harness, and hauling the massive wagon up the bank and out of the water. Rivulets streaming from the cargo bed, the wagon rumbled and skidded into the ruts on the muddy road.

“Now you, there-move!” shouted Dram, turning to the next-and last-in the long line of wagons. He reached up to grasp the bridle of the massive draft horse leading the team and tugged until his face turned an alarming beet red, as if by dint of his own strength he could pull the animal and heavy wagon where he wanted it to go.

Whatever small contribution he made, it worked. The four big horses pulling this last wagon surged and strained, and finally pulled free of the river. The broad, hair-skirted hooves of the team churned through mud, and the wagon rocked and jolted through the ruts worn by the wheels of previous vehicles, finally rumbling onto the plains road.

Dram’s legs were about ready to give out. Sweat ran in his eyes, and his left shoulder throbbed where he had been kicked early on in the fording process. But finally the entirety of the huge wagon train was across the Vingaard and rolling toward the distant heights of the Garnet Mountains. The big vehicles carried everything needed to rebuild the Compound on its new site, including all of the raw materials, equipment, and personnel to resume operations. Fortunately, as they moved away from the river, the roadway hardened and the dry, solid ground allowed the laboring beasts to pick up speed.

Wearily Dram returned to his horse, where it was being held by a young hill dwarf. Normally he detested traveling by horseback, but now he was honestly grateful to pull himself up into the saddle and to let the animal carry him along. He rode a stocky, short-legged gelding-little more than a pony, actually-but the gruff mountain dwarf had become rather fond of the steed during the long days of riding across the plains.

Now he spurred the gelding into a trot, conscious of the fact he looked far from graceful as he clutched the reins with one hand and the bridle with the other. The saddle jarred and shifted beneath him, and it was all he could do to keep his balance. But it was important he catch up with the head of the column, already several miles away across the plain.

He jounced and bounced past dozens of large wagons. Many were hauled by teams of draft horses. These contained the household supplies as well as food and other sustenance (thirteen wagons hauled thirty-two casks of beer, each) for the whole community that lived and worked in the Compound. The even larger freight wagons, hauled by teams of oxen, carried the vast stockpiles of precious black powder, as well as the charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur that were the raw materials of Dram’s work.

Other oxen dragged massive timbers of ironwood, hewn from the coastal forests and first hauled up and over the Vingaard range, now drawn hundreds of miles to the east, following Jaymes’s orders to reestablish the Compound in the Garnet Mountains. The Compound had been closed down and packed up in a little more than week, and by that time Dram’s agents had returned after purchasing every wagon within a hundred miles.

It had taken the long wagon train five days to reach the Vingaard River and two more to get all the wagons across. It was fully a week after the fording that the massive column finally drew near to the lofty, snow-peaked mountains of the Garnet Mountains. Dram had sent a scout party, led by his wife, ahead of the main body. As the mountains took shape on the horizon, Sally returned to the caravan to inform him they had located a valley with the requisite characteristics: flat ground in the bottom, plenty of water, and hardwood forests nearby.

“It’s right up there, through that notch in the foothills,” she explained, pointing. Though she had been apart from him for a week, she avoided meeting Dram’s eyes.

“Good,” he replied. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Look, I know this is hard on you-leaving the Vingaards and all. I just want you to know that I’m grateful; I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am here,” was her reply. She left unspoken the truth they both understood: she was a dutiful wife and would follow her husband wherever he needed to go.

“All right!” Dram shouted, urging on the lead wagons. “We’ve got a destination. Let’s roll on up there so we can get to work!”

As befitting Solanthus’s status as a stoutly fortified city, the ducal palace was more like a castle than a grand manor. Situated near the center of the city, it was easy to find, and as the kender and lord marshal emerged from between the Cleft Spires, they made their way directly to the grand structure. Four tall towers rose, one each at the corners of the walled compound, which occupied an entire city block.

The streets themselves were nearly abandoned. The swordsman drew minimal interest from the few passersby, though the citizenry inevitably gave the kender a look of horror and clutched whatever purses and valuables they carried tightly to themselves as they hurried past.

Moptop ran ahead of Jaymes as the two approached the massive gate at the front of the palace. Immediately a pair of guards scrambled from a little hut beside the gate, one taking each of the kender’s arms and lifting him right off the ground.

“Hold it right there, you rascal!” one declared, shaking the little fellow rather more than was strictly necessary.

“Hey! Ow! That hurts!” cried Moptop, squirming fruitlessly in the double clasp.

“He’s with me,” Jaymes said, striding forward. “Let him go.”

“And who in the name of the Abyss are you?” asked the second guard, his hand on the hilt of his sword. When the marshal didn’t slow his approach, the man released the kender and drew his weapon, extending it aggressively.

“Hold it there, stranger,” he said in warning then addressed his companion without shifting his gaze. “Lew, better call out the sergeant major.”

“Do that,” Jaymes replied. “But let the kender go.”

“Who are you, sir?” huffed the mustachioed knight who emerged from the guardhouse a moment later. “What’s the meaning of all this?”

“I’m Lord Marshal Jaymes Markham, commander of the Army of Solamnia. I’m here to see the Duchess Brianna, and this kender is my guide. I ordered him released, and if your man doesn’t comply, I’ll see that he’s not fit to hold so much as a chicken leg when dinner comes around!”

“There, there,” soothed the older guard. “Lew, release the kender. Max, go tell the majordomo that the duchess has a visitor-give him a good description. In the meantime, why don’t we all just calm down and get this sorted out?” He fixed Jaymes with a wary look. “Though, if you’d been around here for a while, you’d know that none of us has had so much as a glimpse of a chicken leg in quite some time.”

Moptop made a great show of wounded dignity in adjusting his topknot and tunic, making sure all his pouches were in order. He stalked back to Jaymes with the air of one who had endured a great insult, but the dignified effect was somewhat ruined when he stuck his tongue out at the scowling Lew.

“You’re the lord marshal, eh?” said the sergeant major, making an elaborate show of spitting a stream of tobacco off to the side. “Don’t have much of a uniform. I suppose that would have been a bit of a distraction, when you rode through the enemy lines, eh? You and your kender guide.”

“I’ll tell my story to the duchess,” Jaymes said easily. He stood a dozen paces away from the guard post, watching as more men appeared atop the palace wall. A door opened off to the side and still more guards hastened out, quickly circling outward to form a ring around the two visitors.

“So did you get a look at the half-giant when you slipped past his tent?” continued the sergeant major, swaggering forward. He had an increasingly skeptical look on his face. “Maybe share a cup o’ tea with him?”

The guards numbered more than a dozen, and all of them regarded the visitors with blatant hostility. Their faces were gaunt and unshaven, and their sunken eyes gleamed with suspicion. The effects of hunger were clearly visible in every face.

“Psst-I don’t think they’re very glad to see you,” Moptop whispered loudly, tugging on the lord marshal’s sleeve. “Maybe we should go back to the Cleft Spires.”

“We’ll stay here until we have a chance to talk to the duchess,” Jaymes replied calmly.

“Maybe she’s got some more important business than talking to a spy,” the guard sneered.

“He’s not a spy! He’s the lord marshal of the whole army, and I’m his professional guide and pathfinder extraordinaire!” the kender declared, bristling. “And we didn’t come through Ankhar’s army-we found a new way to get here! And you just better-hey!”

Moptop squawked in alarm and ducked behind his companion’s legs as a shadow suddenly flashed above them. A large net, a circular web with heavy weights around the fringe, soared from the wall, having been flung at them by a pair of guards. It spun itself taut and dropped toward the two travelers standing outside the palace gates.

In the same instant, Jaymes reached over his shoulder and pulled Giantsmiter from its sheath. Blue flames flashed in the sunlight as he swept the weapon in an arc over his head, neatly slicing the strands of the net as it plummeted. The weights carried the fringes to the ground, but the swordsman and the kender stood, unencumbered, in the middle of the ruined net.

For the first time, the sergeant major’s eyes showed the shadow of respect. He scowled darkly, while several of his men whispered among themselves. “That’s the sword of Lorimar, all right,” one of them said quite audibly. “Mebbe he is who he says.”

Further debate was prevented by the arrival of a woman, a very young woman of striking beauty, dressed in a supple leather skirt that reached to her feet. Hair of coppery red spilled across her shoulders, curling and full. Her face was pale except for the dark circles surrounding her sunken eyes. Her cheeks, neck, and arms had the same slightly gaunt look that was characteristic of everyone in the besieged city, but they were also alight with a glow of warmth, greeting, and something else-hope, perhaps.

“My Lord Marshal,” she said, stepping through the ring of guards to approach and holding out her hand in greeting. Jaymes took it and bowed. “How nice it is to see you here.”

“The honor is mine, Your Grace,” he replied.

“Sergeant Major Higgins,” she said, turning and regarding her guard with slight disapproval. “Perhaps you could help our visitor disentangle himself from the net?”

“But… Your Grace! So you do know this man?” Higgins sputtered. “He’s not from the city-and yet, how could he come through the siege lines?”

“I have never met him-but he looks exactly as Dara Lorimar described. Those eyes! They look like they could stab you from ten paces away. The beard is a nice touch, my lord. It gives a weight of maturity to your countenance.” She turned to the sergeant major, the hint of a smile playing about her lips. “And from what Dara told me about him, years back, I should think that if Jaymes Markham wanted to pass through the lines of a siege, he would be able to figure out a way to do that.”

“I showed him the way!” Moptop proclaimed.

“How very nice of you,” the duchess said with a dazzling smile. “You must be a splendid guide.”

Moptop beamed in return, and seemed to grow a good two inches.

The city of Solanthus was still intact, Jaymes could see as the duchess led him through the streets toward the western quarter. The buildings were mostly made of stone, and many of them loomed two or three stories high. Their facades were undamaged, their stonework and outer staircases clean and neat. But upon close inspection he saw that many structures had an unfinished look, and this was because wooden porches had been pulled down. Benches were gone, and even unnecessary doors had been removed.

“We burned almost all of our wood during the last winter,” Brianna explained. “Even so, we lost a thousand people-mostly the very old and the very young-to the cold.”

“Your brave stand has been remarkable,” Jaymes acknowledged. “The whole of Solamnia is heartened by your example.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. How could anyone who was not here understand what these people had been going through?

He noticed, as they passed corrals and stables and small barns, that there were no animals about. They, like the wood, had undoubtedly been consumed during the nearly two years of siege.

“We were faced by a new attack just a few days ago,” Brianna explained as they walked, without ceremony, through the city streets. “It was a being of magic, gigantic in size, terrible in its destructive force.”

“I received word of that,” the lord marshal replied. “A wizard told me-she described the creature as an elemental, a magical composite of fire and water, earth and air.”

“Oh! Did she tell you how we might kill this magical foe?” the duchess asked.

“Not in so many words,” Jaymes said, shaking his head. “That’s one of the reasons I came here; I am helping her search for the answer.”

“Come this way, and I will show you some of the damage it wreaked.”

They passed several knots of defenders, all of whom stood at attention when they saw it was the duchess approaching. The men of her garrison obviously regarded her with affection bordering on awe. They hastened to clear a path for her, lunging to kick pieces of rubble out of her way, following her reverently with their eyes as she walked past them. Despite her beauty, there was nothing of lust in their expressions-rather, they reflected more the adoration a young boy might show for his mother.

Jaymes noted the duchess’s eyes were filled with sorrow, however, as she guided him and Moptop through the city, escorted only by a quartet of palace spearmen who materialized an unobtrusive distance behind them. Word spread, seemingly through the cobblestones themselves, announcing her approach. The people turned out along the whole way, leaning from upper windows, lining the walks beside the narrow streets. They did not cheer, but quietly nodded, bowed, and curtsied as the duchess passed.

These same people regarded Jaymes with frank curiosity and an occasional scowl of apparent hostility.

“They remember the promises of Caergoth and Thelgaard,” Brianna explained apologetically, “and the knights who never appeared here. Very little is known about you, of course, though we have word that your army came north across the Garnet River. But they have had so little cause for hope in this last year.”

“As of now, my army should be crossing the Vingaard. Relieving your city is our objective, but even so it will take days for my armies to close in upon the enemy camp.”

“Until then, of course, we must continue to survive,” said the princess coolly. They came around a corner and saw a whole block of devastated buildings. “Come this way. We’ll climb the wall, and you’ll be able to get a good look.”

They made their way up a narrow stone stairway, quickly ascending to the top of a city wall. The duchess climbed the steps with easy grace. At the top, she gestured to an adjacent area that looked like the desolate ruin of some long-past civilization.

“Just a week ago this was a complete, fortified castle,” Duchess Brianna remarked sadly. “But the fire-giant did all of this damage in less than an hour. More than a hundred men died.”

Jaymes nodded his head. He had seen Garnet after it was sacked and burned by Ankhar’s horde, but this devastation was worse. The rubble contained jutting pieces of broken stone and shattered timbers, but the wreckage was so thorough, he found it hard to imagine that the materials he could identify had once been part of an actual building.

He eyed the duchess, whose faraway look was full of unspoken heartbreak. She was so very young, a year or two past twenty at the most, but she carried herself with impressive dignity and purposefulness. Her leadership, the marshal knew, had inspired the long and stubborn resistance that Solanthus had offered to the besieging army.

“Why did you come?” asked the duchess, turning to him suddenly. “It cannot have been easy to get here-I know about the magic shield raised by the Cleft Spires. And couldn’t you do more to help us by being with your army, and riding at its head?”

Taken aback, Jaymes pondered before replying. “Whatever did this to your city, it’s a force that alters the balance of this war. This battle will be decisive. I needed to see this creature for myself, to formulate some kind of strategy to fight it.”

“What can you, one individual, do?” she demanded then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know how important it is to keep up hope; it’s the only thing that keeps us going. But how can we muster any optimism in the face of this? ”

She indicated the gap where the gatehouse had been, where the enemy was busy within Jaymes’s view. Under a screen of heavy shields rolled in on carts, dozens of ogres were hauling rocks away. They were building tall, wide barriers to either side, clearly clearing a path for an attack that would smash through the city streets at some point in the near future.

“We showered them with arrows on the first day,” Brianna explained with an edge of bitterness. “But we have only so many arrowheads, though the armorers’ smithies are working day and night to produce all that is necessary. We’ve been melting down pots and pans, shovels and plows. But we can’t maintain a constant barrage.”

“They’re very methodical about it, aren’t they?” Jaymes watched a team of ogres maneuver a shield forward, while a dozen others advanced, picked up the rocks strewn everywhere, and started to heave them to the sides. The rock barrier, as it rose continually higher, gave protection to the ogres, while funneling an attack into the city.

“I suppose this is just one of several routes of advance that are being prepared,” said Jaymes quietly, “and when they are ready, then he will once again release his elemental.”

“And what will happen to us then?”

“I have with me a tool, a magical tool. The wizard thinks it might allow me to understand something vital about this conjured giant. In any event, I think our goal must be to strike at those controlling the elemental. It will be waste of time to attack the elemental itself.”

“A waste of time,” murmured Brianna, frowning.

“But there is cause for hope. Imagine a vicious dog, restrained by chain and collar, clubbed by a brutish master. When freed, that dog can be counted on to turn on its master. Perhaps we can free the elemental to turn on its controllers.”

“My Lord Marshal,” the duchess said, smiling suddenly. As she took his arm her excitement was palpable. “You must tell me more about this vicious-dog strategy. And I’m certain you’re famished and tired. Please, let’s return to my palace-I will provide you and your companion with guest apartments and then ask you to join me for dinner.”

Moptop and Jaymes were shown to private rooms in the palace. The dinner invitation, it seemed clear, did not extend to the kender, and Moptop would have felt slighted if he didn’t feel the tug of more interesting temptations.

“You go ahead and have a boring dinner,” he told Jaymes cheerfully. “I’ve never been in a palace under siege before, and I’m going to have a look around this place.”

“Try to stay out of trouble,” the lord marshal counseled, not very optimistically. He took the time to wash some of the dust out of his hair and beard; then he surprised himself by deciding to shave, trimming his whiskers to some semblance of neatness. By the time he was finished, a servant girl had come to escort him to the dining room.

There were several other guests, including two noblemen, Lords Harbor and Martin, and Lord Martin’s son, Sir Maxwell, who was a Solamnic Auxiliary Mage-a Kingfisher. An empty chair had been placed at the table, in memoriam to a brave captain named Cedric Keflar. He had led the valiant but futile defense of the West Gate, paying with his life.

“He left behind three children and a wife who is terribly sick,” Brianna explained sadly. “And yet he did his duty by us all on that terrible day.”

“The Oath and the Measure compelled him, Your Grace,” said Sir Maxwell. “He was an inspiration to all of us who served under him.”

“Tell me,” Jaymes said, turning to the Kingfisher. “Have you found much use for your spells in withstanding this siege?”

The young man nodded seriously. “Not yet. But I have been marshalling my resources, and I have ideas for what may be helpful in the future, my lord.”

“Sir Maxwell has proved an excellent spy,” Brianna said. “He masks himself in all manner of sorcery and has become thoroughly familiar with Ankhar’s camp.”

“That is good,” acknowledged the lord marshal.

“Why is it taking so long for your army to come to our relief?” asked Lord Harbor. “We hear of victory after victory, yet these triumphs are remote to us, and so far as I know, your troops are still on the far side of the Vingaard.”

“Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do,” Jaymes replied.

Over a meager meal of bread, dry cheese, and thin soup-all of which was presented on elegant china and eaten with silver utensils-Jaymes shared information about the campaign to date. He outlined the ongoing plan for crossing the Vingaard.

“The three armies were to have launched this attack yesterday morning. By now the issue should have been resolved,” he declared, feeling a twinge of annoyance that he couldn’t claim to know what his army had accomplished during his absence.

“We will pray for the best, of course, and know that, if courage and ingenuity can prevail, your army will have crossed successfully,” said Sir Martin, offering a toast.

“I have seen the barricades and breastworks in the street,” Jaymes noted, awkwardly changing the subject. “How well are you prepared to stand against another attack?”

The duchess nodded at Lord Martin, who wore the tunic of a Sword Knight with the golden epaulets of a high-ranking officer. “Bartholomew, can you summarize our situation?” she prompted.

“Most of the wall, and the other two gatehouses, are still intact. But the destruction at the west gate has created a tremendous vulnerability, as you no doubt saw today. We have established command posts at inns, stables, and warehouses within the area of devastation and committed most of our reserves to holding those streets. But if the fire giant comes like before, I don’t know how we can expect to hold anywhere.”

That bleak assessment, all too realistic, cast a pall over the rest of the meal and conversation. But finally the food was eaten and the other guests departed. The duchess rose and indicated two soft chairs near the large, currently chilly, hearth.

“Please understand that your visit here has boosted morale,” she began, taking one of the chairs and gesturing him toward the other. “My morale, in any event. I’m pleased you have risked coming. And I am intrigued about this magical tool you speak of possessing. What more can you tell me about it? I pray it gives us a fighting chance.”

He shook his head ruefully. “It is not a weapon. At best, it will allow me only to learn certain things about this creature. I have to believe that this knowledge, this intelligence, will lead to a winning tactic. I can’t promise any more than that.”

The serving girl returned to the room, bringing a fresh bottle of red wine-a rare vintage that, Jaymes suspected, the duchess had been saving for a very long time.

“That will be all, Darcy,” the duchess said after the last plates of dinner had been carried away. “But you may leave the bottle.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the maid, curtsying politely then closing the door behind herself as she departed.

“So you were a friend of Dara Lorimar’s?” Jaymes asked, settling into the chair beside her.

“Yes, and of Selinda du Chagne’s. I come from Palanthas but spent summers on the plains. Lord Lorimar’s estate was a favorite refuge of mine, and I do remember seeing you back then, when you worked for the lord as his guard captain. Dara was a little bit in love with you, I think. I’m beginning to understand why.”

“She was only a girl,” he said. His tone was cold, cutting off further inquiry. “And she died too soon to know anything about love.”

“You are a strange man,” Brianna rebuked him sharply. “Cold and frightening, but frightened in your own way, as well.” Then she smiled almost coyly. “Don’t you think I know that you killed my husband? That you stole the Jewels of Garnet from his wagon?”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback, before shrugging. “I didn’t come here to apologize. He deserved to die. And I needed the jewels-for Solamnia,” he replied.

“Yes,” she said tersely, “you are right. The duke did deserve to die. He was a coward, venal and greedy at heart. And he abandoned his city when his people needed him the most. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Of all the possible reactions, that is not what I expected to hear from you,” Jaymes allowed softly. “To be honest with you, I must tell you the rest of the story-the whole story. I killed your husband to punish him for a terrible crime. But, as it turns out, he didn’t commit that crime. Someone else did. Someone who remains free.”

“You killed him because you thought he killed Lord Lorimar?” asked Brianna, smiling thinly. “Yes, I heard that. But I know he didn’t have the courage for such a deed.”

“He had a reputation as a splendid swordsman; he’d faced men in duels to the death and always won. Except that last time, of course.”

“But he fought you because you challenged him; usually he was very careful to arrange his duels so that he couldn’t possibly lose.” She shrugged. “So he died for something he didn’t do, when there were many things he did do for which he deserved punishment. But enough of this talk-I don’t want to reminisce about my late husband.”

Jaymes looked at her with fresh, wondering eyes. She was indeed a rare woman.

The duchess leaned forward with the decanter and filled his glass with wine, rich and full and almost the color of blood. Then she added enough to her own so it, too, was full. She raised it to him, and he followed suit.

“You, my dear Lord Marshal, are just what this nation needs-if it’s ever going to be a nation again. You don’t lose your head in battle, and men seem to follow you, even die for you. Lots of men.” She smiled again. “And some women, too, I would dare to venture.”

He shrugged. “For the most part, I do things by myself. I act alone.”

“Tonight,” she said, sliding into his willing arms. “You will not be alone.”