David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

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.