The wandering inn volume.., p.323
The Wandering Inn: Volume 5, page 323
part #1 of The Wandering Inn Series
Being helpless, in short. I’m out of my depth here. And the Goblins…
“The Goblin Lord will be attacking Liscor, then. And brave Tyrion Veltras will swoop in to save the day. Oh, hurray.”
Gamel catches the sarcasm in my tone. He hesitates.
“Isn’t that good, sire? I mean, it will be war with the Drakes, but the Goblin Lord will be dead at least.”
How casually he says that! War with another species. Intercontinental strife! I’ve talked to enough people to know how big this is. If Liscor, this gateway between north and south falls, it will be war, regardless of the Goblin excuse. Not to mention…I shake my head.
“War isn’t a good idea, Gamel. It seldom is, if ever. As for the Goblins, I very much fear that we are doing a terrible thing.”
The worst. I feel my shoulders ache. I have had time now. Time and perspective to think on what happened. And now that I have, I can sense the weight of my sin. Gamel doesn’t understand.
“They are monsters, Emperor.”
“Yes. And we treated them as such. We—I—ordered Wiskeria to attack them. To use poison gas. Tyrion marched them hundreds of miles. And soon, they will be killed to the last to start a war. There are historical precedents for this, Gamel. And it makes me think that we’re on the wrong side of history.”
I have done a terrible thing, I think. And I am about to be part of something just as bad. Or worse. But how can I get out of it? No way has presented itself. Tyrion is in charge here and I lack authority and power. Oh, I feel foolish.
Durene.
Gamel clears his throat. He hates it when I talk like this. The one argument we’ve ever had was when I said this was a mistake for the first time. Now, he dances around the subject.
“On the wrong side of history…isn’t that something for people with quills to decide, later, your majesty? [Scribes] and [Historians] and such? Why would their opinion matter?”
I shake my head. There’s so much I have to teach Gamel. Gamel and all the others. Things I have to remember. Morality and more.
“Gamel, it’s said that history is written by the victors. You understand? Whoever wins writes history. The Goblins’ side of things never gets brought up. And tragedy, the crimes committed by others…they tend to be overlooked when glorifying the past. But a record will remain, especially if I have anything to say about it.”
“Yes, sire.”
That’s code for ‘I don’t understand’, or perhaps ‘I don’t agree, but I’m not going to say so’. Or maybe ‘you’re an idiot’. I don’t care. I stretch. There’s already sounds coming from outside the tent. People getting ready. I still have an hour before I need to get up, though. The [Mages] will be getting the Goblins moving, but since I’m not in the advance group—being a poorer rider—I’ll be moving with the main body more slowly.
“Well, let’s get ready for the road. I want to ride with Lady Ieka today, Gamel. Please send a message to her and ask if she’s willing—”
I break off talking sharply. Gamel notices and turns towards the tent flaps. My senses extend just around the tent, but it’s enough to give me a warning. I hear a knock on the canvas flaps, and catch a whiff of a distinct smell. What’s this? I frown.
“Enter, Gralton.”
Outside I sense the man hesitate. Then Lord Gralton enters the tent. The infamous, hot-tempered dog lord steps into the tent and I smell the odor of dog on him. I sense him as well; a huge, imposing man. Gamel steps forwards, bowing, and I sense him only slightly shifting to get his sword’s hilt closer to his hand. He’s wary. And he should be.
Gralton. Of the [Lords] and [Ladies] in the camp, he’s one of the most powerful. The most unpredictable as well. He was one of the first people I was introduced to when I first arrived. And now he’s come here. That’s…unexpected. I haven’t said two words to him since the first night I arrived. To the other nobility, yes. But not to Gralton. While they tested and prodded at me, asking where I was from and trying to curry favor and weigh my influence, he just watched. And now…
“Can I help you, Gralton? Or are you going to keep sniffing me?”
I turn my head towards Gralton. The man narrows his eyes. But then he grunts.
“I’ve been looking for you. Emperor.”
The title is sardonic when he says it. I raise one eyebrow, refusing to be riled. Gralton will have to try harder than that. Besides, I had my first measure of the man and I know how to deal with him.
“Really? You’ll have to elaborate. And please stop looming over my manservant. Gamel, let Lord Gralton pass. I believe we have an understanding.”
“We do?”
Gralton steps forwards. I don’t bother to look at him. I can sense him, and it bothers people when I don’t pretend like I have eyes. I stare somewhere to the left of his navel and shrug.
“Let’s see if you recall. Heel.”
I hear Gamel suck in his breath. Gralton freezes. For a second I sense his arms tense, and then he laughs. He takes a seat on the ground of the tent since there are no chairs.
“You’re brave, I’ll grant you. And if you weren’t an [Emperor] or half as brave, you’d pay for that. But since you and I understand each other—I didn’t come here to socialize. I came here to ask what you’re doing.”
“I see. Are you referring to the attack on Liscor, my presence in the camp, or something else?”
“All three. I want to know if you’re for this thing. War with the Drakes.”
Now that’s interesting. I cover a frown.
“Getting cold feet, Gralton? We’re all committed to this attack. Lord Tyrion has made it clear he’s expecting no dissidence.”
I hear a snort and pray Gralton won’t spit.
“He says that. But I’m my own man. I followed him because I thought we’d be killing Goblins. Now we’re starting a war and you appear. I want to know if this is all one big plan you and Veltras came up with. And if it’s not—I want to know what comes next.”
“You think I know? I am far from home myself, Gralton. And I’m not partial to war. It tends to leave all sides poorer. And as I’m sure you know, war never goes the way anyone expects. Just look at history.”
The man pauses.
“We’ve fought a lot of wars. Which one are you talking about, exactly? The Antinium Wars? Ones from wherever the hell you come from?”
I raise my eyebrows. By this point little verbal snares barely trip me up.
“Does it matter? Any war. Any great war, rather. It will be catastrophic. Tyrion may win or he may not, but wars always spell death and destruction.”
“So why are you supporting him?”
“Because I enjoy the scenery? Why are you?”
He laughs at my response. But—I can sense his eyes on me. And the way he sits, alert, and from his posture, I get a sense. Gralton’s not as simple as he lets on. He’s bestial in some ways, but if it’s dog-like, it’s savage instinct that he has, not mindless aggression. He came here for a reason, and not to state the obvious.
“War’s war. We’ve never been fully at peace with the Drakes. They attack us, we attack them. I don’t care. If it’s a fight, I’ll take part in it. But it’s the politics I hate. If you sleep with the wrong people, you end up with knives in your back. Better to be in battle than face that.”
“Hmm.”
What is he saying? I frown, buying time. And then I sense someone else approaching the tent. I pause.
“We have another visitor. Gamel?”
He’s already at the tent flaps. I hear him halt whoever’s outside. I frown. I know that figure. And I know that voice.
“Your majesty? Lord Yitton Byres wishes to speak privately with you.”
Yitton? I sense Gralton shift to look past Gamel. Then he looks at me. I can sense him grin. He knew Yitton was coming.
Instinct. I nod at Gamel and he moves back.
“Very well, let him through. He can join our impromptu meeting.”
A man steps into my tent. He pauses when he sees Gralton sitting on the floor. For my part, I study Yitton in my mind.
An older man. Fit for his age, but not rich. He has a sword at his waist and chainmail. Mustache, beard…but it’s his reputation and my understanding of him that stands out in my head. The other nobles regard Yitton as inferior to them in many ways, a small [Lord], albeit with ancient holdings. But he’s someone that’s allowed into Tyrion Veltras’ most personal meetings. An honorable man, by all accounts.
And currently, haunted by something. Yitton takes a step into the tent and I incline my head.
“Emperor Laken.”
“Lord Yitton. What brings you here?”
The man hesitates. He glances sideways at Gralton, who just nods a greeting.
“I had hoped to speak with you privately, your…your majesty. Would you grant me an audience?”
“I would. Gamel, please guard the tent. As for you, Gralton—I rather suspect you’d like to stay. Which you may, unless Lord Byres objects?”
The [Lord] of the Byres House hesitates and looks at Gralton again. Something unspoken passes between them and he nods hesitantly.
“It’s…not that secret of a matter. By all means. Excuse me, Lord Gralton. My issue is urgent. I wouldn’t bring this up, but I have nowhere else to turn. Tyrion is not open to reason, and—”
And no one’s sticking their necks out for you. I nod.
“Go on.”
Yitton takes a deep breath.
“It’s my son. And my daughter. I think they may be in Liscor.”
I sit straighter. Gralton doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this. He must already have known. But I didn’t. And that’s not good.
“Are you sure?”
He shakes his head.
“I do not know. Liscor’s Mage’s Guild is refusing all [Message] spells not from a Drake city. But my daughter was last sighted at the city. She and her team ran into an—an incident. I was informed she survived and joined a new team, and that my son went to check on her. But neither has sent me a [Message] spell and I fear they may be trapped in the city. Or worse, as prisoners.”
“And we are about to assault said city, which is inhabited by Drakes.”
“Yes.”
Yitton said the word heavily. I nod. That said it all, really. I heard that Yitton was against attacking Liscor from the start. It’s not a position anyone else in the camp has taken. But his sense of honor plus the fact that he might be putting his children in danger, well, it paints a picture.
A terrible one, because I can’t help him. But Lord Gralton and Yitton are both looking at me, and I sense I’m being tested. By Gralton. I think Yitton is genuinely at the end of his rope. But why Gralton? Does he want to see what I’ll do?
No, no, Gralton is too straightforward for that. Then, is he hoping I’ll help Yitton? Or perhaps—
I turn my head towards the two, more to buy time than anything else. Let’s see. We have an [Emperor], me. An unknown quantity. Lord Gralton, who hates trickery and is about as sociable and charming as a rotting pig’s carcass. But is powerful. And Yitton Byres, one of those rare honorable men people keep talking about. I’m not sure how honorable he really is if push comes to shove, but I think he’s a man who tries to be good.
Ah. I think Gralton sees what I see. An opportunity. I lace my hands together and lean forwards.
“I see. I understand your predicament, Lord Byres. Unfortunately, I doubt if anyone could persuade Lord Tyrion to halt the attack, for any reason. Nor do I have the…power to rescue your offspring if it turns out they are indeed in Liscor.”
Yitton’s shoulders fall. Not that I think he was expecting any other answer. He’s desperate.
“I see. My apologies, Emperor Godart, Gralton.”
He turns to go. I raise my voice.
“Lord Yitton, that doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to help. And, I think, neither is Gralton. If there is a way to rescue your children, whether by ransom or some other means, let’s discuss it.”
The man turns, hope on his face. I turn my head towards Gralton and sense him bare his teeth in a savage grin.
“Is there something that might be done?”
“Perhaps.”
I temper expectations. I don’t know, honestly. But the point isn’t to make outlandish statements. I look towards the tent opening and raise my voice.
“Gamel! Find two chairs for Lord Gralton and Lord Yitton, please. I think we’ll be here until we’re ready to ride. And perhaps while we’re riding we’ll speak further. Until then—Lord Yitton, please have a seat on the floor. I’d offer you my bed, but then I’d have to do the same to Gralton and I prefer life without fleas.”
The man barks a laugh. Yitton looks askance as he takes a seat on the floor. I sit and look at the two. It’s not just about Yitton’s son and daughter. It’s about forging connections. Choose your allies wisely. And unless I’m wrong, I’d guess that Lord Gralton’s made his choice faster than the other nobles. Faster than Lady Ieka who makes me nervous, Lord Erill who’s a bit too cunning, or the others.
“I don’t know what the future will hold, much less the attack on Liscor. But I do know that when the pieces are in the air, we can only make plans and hope they go well. You don’t know where your children are, Lord Yitton.”
“I know where two are. But the other two…”
Yitton trails off. I shake my head.
“If and when, gentlemen. If and then. If they are in Liscor and if we attack, what will occur?”
“They’ll be taken prisoner. Or killed.”
Gralton speaks bluntly. Lord Yitton puts his head in his hands. I turn my head reprovingly towards Gralton.
“Very well. But perhaps we can forestall that? With an offer of a ransom, perhaps. Or a guarantee? Do Drakes honor the rules of war? And what will your children do, Lord Yitton? I heard that they’re…adventurers?”
“Yes. Yvlon’s Silver-rank. And Ylawes is Gold-rank. His team is strong, but he couldn’t take on a city.”
“But he could protect his sister? Don’t give up hope, Lord Yitton. What would he do? And how might we aid him, if it comes to that. Lord Gralton, I’m sure you’d be willing to help. As allies.”
“Perhaps.”
The man growls. Yitton looks up. He glances towards me and Gralton as if he’s only now figuring out what’s going on. Perhaps honorable men are just rather slow on the uptake when it comes to intrigue. He hesitates, and then he nods and sits a bit straighter. He doesn’t seem that much more hopeful, but he’s trying.
“If Ylawes is in the city, he knows what’s coming. And the only reason he would stay is—he’s a [Knight], and he champions causes. But he wouldn’t risk a war unless Yvlon were there. He won’t abandon her. So he’d be trying to find them a way out. North, towards us, unless he’s wary of the Goblin Lord.”
“Would he go south?”
“He’s Human. And he’d run into all the Drakes heading towards Liscor. No. No, he’d go north. And if he were trying to escape…”
Yitton grips his hands together worriedly as he talks. I listen with Gralton as Gamel reappears with some chairs. We talk, forging the beginnings of what might be friendship, an alliance of convenience, or something else. And I invest my time and energy into helping Yitton do something for his son and daughter. What else can I do? I can’t stop the war. I can’t change Tyrion Veltras’ mind. I have very little power. But perhaps—I sense Gralton looking at me.
Perhaps I have an ally. A smart one who conceals his true intentions behind a façade that’s half-real. And who’s decisive enough to take sides rather than choose the strongest person to hide behind. Maybe Gralton’s a betting man. Maybe I look like a likely dark horse to him. There are worse allies to have than him and Lord Yitton Byres. I nod at Gralton.
A smart man. He still smells like wet dog, though. Then I turn my attention back to Lord Yitton. If his son really is in Liscor, I pray he won’t do anything stupid. For his father, if nothing else.
—-
“We’re going.”
Yvlon looked up at her brother. He was dressed in full armor and had his shield on one hand. His hand was hovering around his sword’s hilt as he stared down at her and looked around the inn. The other Gold-rank teams stared at him and Dawil and Falene, standing behind Ylawes. The Dwarf hefted his hammer and the half-Elf shifted her staff. Yvlon glanced at Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr. Then she looked up at her brother.
“What?”
“We’re going, Yvlon. Now. Grab your gear and get ready. We’re leaving Liscor and going north. Any team who wishes to join us—or anyone in the inn—is welcome to come, but we are going now. Before Liscor is attacked.”
The [Knight]’s jaw was set. Yvlon leaned back in her chair as Ceria rubbed one eye and stared down at her eggs. She looked towards Erin and Lyonette.
The inn was barely open this morning. And signs of last night’s festivities were still scattered around the inn. Empty mugs, plates that had yet to be washed, a passed-out Goblin lying under a table…Yvlon shook her head.
“It’s too early for this. Lyonette! Can I get some water?”
She waved her mug. Ylawes frowned at her.
“This isn’t a joke, Yv.”
“I’m not saying it is. And I’m not going, Ylawes. I’m staying with my team.”
Yvlon looked back up at Ylawes, scowling. Her brother grimaced.
“So you’ve said. But your captain doesn’t seem capable of making up her mind.”
“Hey, I’m just—”
Ceria protested weakly. Yvlon stood up.
“We’re going with Erin. We’re not leaving her behind.”
“I’m making up my mind too!”
Erin shouted from the kitchen. Ylawes looked at her and shook his head.
“I understand that, and it is a noble cause, Yvlon. But be realistic: Liscor is about to be attacked, and when it is, both you and I will be in grave danger. Our only chance is to go north now. Persuade your captain, bring Miss Solstice and the others.”
“I have a name you know, it’s Ceria—”
“Why don’t you go and let us decide what we’re doing, Ylawes? If we go north, we’ll go north. But we’ll do it with our team. You can leave.”
