Miles Cameron - The Dread Wyrm

“But you have asked me to command,” Ser Gabriel said.

“You are the most famous commander in Nova Terra just now,” Ser John said.

“And the Westwall heir,” Ser Gabriel added, a nasty note in his voice.

Ser John swirled wine in his silver cup and then turned to face the younger knight. “Yes. Why hide it? Surely your mother will sign and your father will commit if you are to have the command?”

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I truly doubt it. I’m sorry, Ser John. I’m still under contract to the Emperor. As the Emperor’s man-I have no feudal obligations at all in Alba-I would be willing to command your field force after I return from the tournament, but it is not vital to me. In fact, to me it looks like a summer of brutally hard work for no money and little thanks.”

Ser John managed a smile. “You describe my whole tenure as Captain of Albinkirk.”

Gabriel rose. “Ser John, I agree that having a mobile force to face the Wild is a necessary evil. I will command it for a summer-and pay my own wages from my tithe as Duke of Thrake. I will do this whatever the Earl of Westwall chooses to do. I will leave most of my people here with you. But I will not make the least effort to convince the earl or my mother to join this alliance, and can offer you no counsel about them.”

Ser John stood, too.

“Where do you think Thorn will strike?” he asked.

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “Middleburg would have been weak had I lost in the east. But I didn’t, and now it is very strong. Albinkirk-let us be realistic. Albinkirk has a solid captain and a small army-and is close to Lissen Carak and a magnificent array of magisters who have, since last spring’s near disaster, come into their own.”

“The nuns?” Ser John asked.

“Yes. I’d be very surprised indeed if Thorn tried again there. Were he to re-invest Albinkirk and Lissen Carak he would have to do both together, would he not?”

Ser John had not considered this. “Ah-yes. Because leaving either one would leave a force operating behind his siege lines. Bah-you are the right man to command.”

“I have read some very good books. The Archaics thought deeply about war, Ser John. At any rate, he would have to divide his efforts, whatever solution he chose, and the morale consequence of a second failure in the same place would probably be disastrous for his forces.”

Ser John smiled. “I just make war. I see you think about it.”

Ser Gabriel shrugged. “That leaves Ticondaga-it’s the most exposed. Or he might strike west, into the upper lakes country, and spend the summer gathering allies. There is a rumour that he and the Faery Knight quarrelled over the winter. Do not imagine that the Wild is a unified force. And luckily for us, the more puissant he grows, the more likely it is that other Powers in the Wild will try to drag him down.”

“Try to drag him down?” John said. “You are leaving something unsaid, I think.”

Ser Gabriel leaned close. “I think perhaps he has… help.”

“Saints alive!” Ser John said. “Saint Maurice and Saint George, my lord. You speak of the Enemy?”

Somehow, that old name for Satan made Ser Gabriel smile. “Perhaps I do. The sorcerer is, at least, more dangerous than the sum of his parts.” He leaned back. “This is not something to be discussed aloud.”

Ser John nodded. “I thank you for your confidence,” he growled.

“His help will not keep other Powers in the Wild from contesting with him,” Ser Gabriel said.

“So you think we might get through this summer untouched!” Ser John said.

Ser Gabriel gave a thin smile with no mirth whatsoever. “If we do, it will only be because he has chosen to make himself far more powerful for next spring. And if he does, I have no idea where he might strike.” Gabriel settled back against the wood panelling. If he had intended to leave, he had changed his mind.

“You think Ticondaga then?” Ser John asked.

“I think it is the most exposed fortress we have; its lord and lady do not really desire to cooperate with the rest of us, it is the strategic key to the lakes and the inner sea, and despite its reputation for invulnerability, it is overlooked by Mount Grace.” Ser Gabriel shrugged. “And-do you really want to face an army of the Wild in the deep woods?”

Ser John nodded. “You are very persuasive. And the Galles?”

Ser Gabriel frowned. “I confess I cannot fathom what they are about. But with a Galle knight at the king’s court and another leading an army in the far north-” he waved a hand. “Jean de Vrailly is…”

“Insane?” Ser John asked.

The Red Knight raised an eyebrow. “Your words, my lord captain.”

Ser John nodded emphatically. “I mislike the man, and Ser Ricar detests him.”

Ser Gabriel nodded. “You understand that if Alba is indeed tipped towards civil war, Thorn”-he seemed to savour the name-“might be our salvation.”

It was Ser John’s turn to frown. “Why?”

“Because if he strikes into a civil war, every baron will unite against him under the king, and that will be the end of it.” Ser Gabriel spoke with all the arrogant satisfaction that made him so easy to loathe. He made it sound as if he’d planned the whole thing.

Ser John put his wine cup down.

“Come, Ser John,” Ser Gabriel said. “Let’s put our crooked dice away and speak like honest men. It is civil war that you fear, and not the sorcerer in the north. And you want to know where I stand, where the Westwalls stand, where the Brogat barons stand.”

Ser John’s eyes narrowed. “If the King were to send de Vrailly north to collect taxes as he did in Jarsay last summer, we’d have a war right here.” He frowned. “Your lady mother said as much.”

Ser Gabriel nodded. “I thought that’s what you feared. It is certainly what the duchess fears-she’s more interested in laying the claims to her own sovereignty than in facing the sorcerer.”

“Where do you stand?” Ser John asked.

Ser Gabriel met his eyes. “As the Duke of Thrake? Or as a sell-sword?” He smiled. “Nay-I’ll answer honestly. I despise de Vrailly. But there’s no reason behind it. I met him, and I know him.” The Red Knight leaned back and sipped wine. “So are you really assembling a northern army to face de Vrailly?”

“God between us and evil!” Ser John spat. “I would never fight against the king, no matter how misguided he might be. But if I can build a force in the north, I’ll tell the King that the northern army is his taxes ‘in kind’ and give de Vrailly no excuse to march here.”

The Red Knight raised his goblet and toasted his companion. “Well thought out. I missed it-a fine gambit.” He sat back, savouring the wine and the idea together. “On that understanding, perhaps I’ll modify my course and approach my mother.” He smiled, clearly pleased. “For everyone’s benefit.”

“I can see through a brick wall in time,” Ser John grumbled, but he was pleased. “Now-when you go south, will you take my writ and gain the king’s appointment? And you see why I must have your lady mother’s agreement as a vassal and not as an ally?”

Ser Gabriel closed his eyes and frowned. “Damn,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

A day later-the hour after dawn, and the spring sun was the warm, golden colour that men remembered in mid-winter. It sparkled on the muddy puddles that lay at the corners of fields, where snow had lain just a few days before. Ser Ricar’s messengers brought word-a day of constant fighting, but no organized foe, and the roads both north and south of the fords were clear.

For an entire day, the duchess hinted that sovereignty was her price for alliance, and most of the other lords refused to discuss what was to some treason, and to others irrelevant.