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Károví had reclaimed its independence. Gallenz had never tried.
Nor had Valentain, an even older and stronger kingdom.
Raul rubbed a hand over his face. Strange how the past continued to haunt this region, or perhaps it was his mood. He returned his attention to the present and the remaining segment of their journey. The trail, now just a worn track, looped down the foothills to Veraene’s central plains, which burned a brilliant gold in the late-afternoon hour. Even as he watched, the sun dipped below the horizon. Light flared upward, a surge of crimson, as if a sword had pierced the sun and a gout of blood splashed the darkening sky. An unsettling omen, he thought.
He shaded his eyes against the glare. He could just make out what had to be the dark mass of D
uenne along the horizon, its towers rising up from the plains in a low irregular silhouette. A pinprick of silver winked in the dying sunlight—the Gallenz River as it flowed out from the city to the highway.
Six years since he had traveled that road. Six years since the king dismissed him from court. Instead of returning to his father’s domain in Valentain, he had fled to Tiralien and established himself there.
I was a coward, he thought. I sent others to speak my words, to perform my deeds.
Because of that cowardice, Dedrick had died. Also Lothar Faulk, Faulk’s brother Simon, Rusza Selig, and others in Raul’s network of spies.
Raul’s guards remained silent. Only the jangle of reins from a restless horse betrayed their anxiety with this latest, abrupt halt. Raul rubbed his face again and scowled. Self-pity was such an ugly thing.
“Benedikt, how many days before we reach the city gates, do you think?”
His weapons master, now second in command for this company, squinted and made a silent calculation. “Five more days, my lord. Four if we push the horses. Shall we make camp?”
“We will,” Raul said. “But that means an early start tomorrow.”
No one complained. No one had the entire journey from Tiralian, though Raul and Ault had driven them hard. Raul had insisted on long days, with watches set throughout the night, and each halt had proved an exercise in military precision.
Within an hour, they had unloaded their gear, tended to the horses, and set up a camp. One pair gathered firewood. Another dug the latrine, while the rest laid out the bedrolls. Once Ault gave the watch orders for the night, he followed Raul to the ridge overlooking the plains.
“Thinking, my lord?” he asked.
An oblique way of asking if Raul regretted this sudden upset of the past six years.
“I would like to believe I always think,” Raul said. “In spite of frequent evidence to the contrary. But yes, I am thinking. About the implications and the consequences of this journey. And you?”
Ault shrugged. “I dislike the journey, but I told you so before. My lord, you are a fool to trust Armand of Angersee and his pet cur.”
Raul’s lips puffed in silent laughter. “I don’t trust them. I am an inconvenient obstacle to Armand’s war. If he could wish me dead, he would, and Lord Khandarr would oblige him except he cannot without good cause. I am not Dedrick Maszuryn, a younger son of an inconsequential baron.”
“Even so, my lord. There are others, in Tiralien and elsewhere, who have risked a great deal for you. What of them?”
“I did not leave them unprepared, Benedikt, but I take your point. For all my distant friends, I have a plan in case my interview with the king goes wrong…”
It was a simple one. Two guards would ride ahead of the company to Duke Kosenmark’s household to announce his son’s arrival. They would take fast horses, and if questioned, they would pass themselves off as free swords, looking for guard work in the city. The rest of the company, including Ault, would accompany Raul. While it was possible that Lord Khandarr’s spies had observed their departure from Tiralien, and would therefore know how many had started with Raul, Raul doubted the information would reach Duenne faster than he did.
“If I meet with disaster, my father will be forewarned. I can trust him to carry word to Tiralien and Melnek.”
Ault shook his head. “It’s not enough, my lord. Nor quick enough.”
Raul drew a sharp breath. “You think Lord Khandarr would attack my father?”
“No. But what if your guards are intercepted before they reach your father? What if Lord Khandarr has set a watch for your arrival at the city gates? He might send out orders to arrest your people even before the king agrees to an audience.”
He could imagine that. Markus taking Gerek hostage. Markus executing the remaining members of Raul’s shadow court, one by one, until Raul publicly vowed his allegiance to the king’s war. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to erase that image from his imagination. He could not.
“Tell me, then. What would you advise?”
“Just one thing, my lord. Send your two guards ahead, yes, but leave one here. If the duke your father sends word of disaster, or sends no word at all, then have them ride as fast as they might back to Tiralien.”
Raul nodded slowly. “Yes. That would work. Or better—keep one here. Send a fourth east a day’s ride.” He was working through the permutations of that—whether to tell the first two guards about the fourth one, or if breaking the chain of secrets would add another layer of security, in case the guard left here met with difficulty. However that had its own disadvantages. “A company of five is too few,” he said. “Markus would surely suspect something.”
