Fields of Battle

By Marcus Pailing

The third book in the Fields of Battle trilogy, part of the Count of Trall series. "Fields of Battle" continues the story begun in "The Death of Kings" and "The Demon's Consort".

Two great armies clash to decide the future of Gilderaen ...

Kieldrou, the Count of Trall, is back in Hograth at last, looking forward to his impending wedding and hoping for a peaceful future now that his recent travels and adventures are over. He has introduced his intended wife, Rhianne, to the Hograthian court; and all of Hograth, it seems, is delighted that the wayward Count is about to relax into settled, married life.

But they all know that peace will not last. War is brewing in the south of Gilderaen. The Hussanians have been preparing to invade Barrowgrar for two years. Despite Kieldrou’s constant warnings, the King of Hograth has done nothing to counter the Hussanian threat to its defenceless neighbour.

Already there are disturbing tales of banditry, designed to keep the Hograthians focused on events within their own borders. Now the south of Gilderaen reels as the armies of Hussania sweep into Barrowgrar, in the wake of a welter of treachery, treason and assassination. The only one who can prevent total Hussanian victory is Kieldrou, torn away from his new wife’s side to wade once more into the bloody fray, his loyal friends at his side. Yet, with rebellion brewing back in Hograth, the outcome does not seem so assured ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marcus Pailing
• Release date: Oct 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465852649

Marcus Pailing

Marcus Pailing took a degree in Ancient History and Archaeology where he specialised in the history of Alexander the Great and the Successor kingdoms. Later he took a Masters degree in Medieval History, specialising this time in 12th century historical writing and the Icelandic Sagas.He worked for a number of years in the business training industry, including a stint as a writer of e-learning courses, before training to be a teacher. He now teaches History in Leicestershire, England.He is a keen traveller, especially in the Middle East and Central Asia, where he busies himself visiting as many ancient and medieval sites as he can. In England, he thrives on visiting medieval castles and cathedrals!

Book preview

Fields of Battle, Part 3

Fields of Battle

Book Three of the Count of Trall series

by

Marcus Pailing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Marcus Pailing

Other books in the Fields of Battle trilogy by Marcus Pailing:

Book 1: The Death of Kings

Book 2: The Demon’s Consort

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Fields of Battle

Book Three of the Fields of Battle trilogy

Chapter One

Along the border between Hograth and Barrowgrar, in Western Gilderaen, ranged a series of border forts. They stood twenty miles apart, stretching from the far north down to the coast in the south. Those in the most northerly marches were controlled by the barons in whose lands they stood, although the law permitted the king of Hograth to take control in time of war. Where the forts lay in the narrow strip of land between Barrowgrar and the land given to the Shankar people, however, they lay permanently under royal command, for all that territory, and the Shankar lands themselves, were historically royal demesne.

The forts were manned by garrisons of twenty or thirty, although each structure had been built to house two hundred. Only in time of war were the garrisons strengthened to their full complement, and the rest of the time the thirty men were occupied only in policing work, protecting the law in the villages and towns that invariably had sprung up around them. The castellans had no civil power, but answered to the town or other local sheriff, who in turn was appointed by whichever baron held the land. In wartime, the castellan was sent a warrant, proclaiming him to be an officer of the king, and at these times he was permitted, if necessary, to impose martial law on the town. The barons, understandably, disliked this system, but it was written down in the statutes, and any who denied or abused the power it gave to the castellan could be punished heavily. When the barons had risen against Theovald III and forced him to sign the Book of Law, it had been the barons themselves who had designed the process. Were their descendents to abolish what they had created? What was more, the system had appeared to work for two hundred years.

There had been no true war on this border for over a hundred years, although there had been much raiding in the north, between Hograth and Hussania, and so the royal warrants had been brought to the castellans of the forts many times. All major conflict on the eastern side of Hograth had been confined to Barrowgrar, where the kings of Hograth regularly had to defend the principality against the hostile incursions of the Hussanians, who still claimed Barrowgrar for their own.

Barrowgrar had indeed once been a part of Hussania, its westernmost province. When a rebellious prince had led the people to declare it an independent state, the then king of Hussania had invaded the province to bring it to heel. Hograth had stood aloof, unconcerned by Hussania’s internal strife; but when a Hussanian force marched too far west and burned some Hograthian farms, the king’s reaction was swift and severe. Ten thousand Hograthians swept through Barrowgrar, crushed the Hussanian force and captured a prince of the realm. As ransom, the Hussanians were forced to pay a crippling sum in silver, and also to recognise Barrowgrar as an independent state.

Far from being an end to the trouble, that was just the beginning of Barrowgrar’s sorrowful history. It had been required to pay reparations to both Hograth and Hussania, spread over a period of fifteen years, during which time the two kingdoms enjoyed peace. But as soon as the fifteen-year truce ended, Hussania looked to regain its former possessions, and Barrowgrar came under attack; for Barrowgrar had become the patrimony that was each king’s duty to inherit. Hardly a monarch in Hussania died without having made at least one incursion into the beleaguered little state.

Hograth came to the aid of Barrowgrar each time, throwing vast resources into wars which should have mattered little to the kingdom. Yet Barrowgrar was not really the issue, for Hograth and Hussania had been enemies for centuries. Barrowgrar was merely the excuse used for the two kingdoms to engage each other.

Never let it be said that Hograth was the pure and noble defender each and every time. A useful and rich ally, Barrowgrar was also a fine testing ground for the proud Hograthian nobles, and it was common for the armed might of Hograth to tramp across the cultivated fields of the little principality to strike at their age-old enemies, under the guise of a benevolent protector.

Theofric III, the current king of Hograth, was a noble and just ruler. He insisted on maintaining the true nature of the alliance between Barrowgrar and Hograth. In his long reign he had not once declared war on Hussania as an aggressor, nor had he contributed to the ravaging of Barrowgrar with anything less than a heavy heart. Yet he had gone to Barrowgrar’s defence no fewer than five times in his thirty-four year reign. The ruling house of Barrowgrar pledged more heartfelt loyalty to Hograth under Theofric than ever before, knowing that each time his armies trampled the land it was in pure defence of their independence. In times of peace the only armed Hograthians in Barrowgrar were the garrisons placed there for protection, under a commander nominated by the king’s council, and usually replaced after a year, to prevent any one from attempting actions other than those to which he was appointed.

It seemed at last that Barrowgrar might be allowed to thrive.

It was winter, early in the first month of the year 1261. Snow lay in a thick white carpet across the rolling hills of Hograth, and weighed down the branches of the trees of the mighty Hograth Wood. Livestock scrabbled about looking for food, and very few people ventured out of doors if they could help it. Normally the snows were gone by now, or at least were on their way, most commonly disappearing by the end of the twelfth month; often there was still some left at the turn of the year, but not as thick and enduring as this. In fact, it was snowing on the day that the two riders urged their weary horses through the final drifts towards the border fortress by the town of Arbroan, in the northern provinces of Hograth.

Both riders were men, mounted on sturdy, thick-coated horses that were bred to endure this kind of weather. The beasts’ breath was visible as they exhaled it in noisy snorts, dissipating in the chill, biting air. It was a good thing that there was no wind, for then it would have been unbearable – the snow was heavy enough without being lashed in the riders’ faces.

Why did we agree to come out here in this weather, Kieldrou? grumbled one of the men, hunched in his saddle as he pulled his coat tighter about him.

The speaker was tall and slim, broad-shouldered and with the athletic musculature of a swordsman. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and his eyes, too, were dark beneath thin brows. Handsome, his hair was long, sweeping out from his hood to lie wet on his shoulders. He had not shaved for a few days, which made him look particularly rakish, for most men in Hograth grew a full beard rather than go clean shaven. This effect was heightened by the glint of gold rings in his ears, and the healthy tan of his skin, even in the depth of winter, although this was now tinged with blue from the cold. He was wrapped in bulky winter clothes, including a long sheepskin coat, and he wore high boots of heavy leather. A narrow bladed sword, swaddled in oiled skins, hung on his back.

His companion laughed. You mean you dislike the snow, Andryn?

This man too was tall, a little over six feet, and he was also slim, although broader and more bulky in his muscle then the other. Clear blue eyes flashed from underneath his hood, and his hair, longer than Andryn’s, was so blond as to be almost pure white, although he was not old, being only in his thirtieth year. Kieldrou’s skin was also tanned and weathered, used to a lot of sun and outdoor life. Silver hoops hung from his ears, and the stubble on his chin was also white blond. The sword on his back was larger, broader and heavier than Andryn’s, although he did not appear to notice its weight.

Together, they looked like a pair of outlaws, wild and unkempt. In fact, Kieldrou was the Count of Trall, one of the most powerful nobles of the Hograthian court, and Andryn was his secretary.

Surely you have better things to do, moaned Andryn. You are getting married, you know.

Not for another month yet, Kieldrou replied. I did consider sending you on this mission with Clipdish, but Rhianne complained that I was getting in the way. It was she who told me to do something useful.

You call this useful? Andryn barked a bitter laugh. Ploughing through knee-deep snow to visit one lonely fort?

Kieldrou smiled, but did not answer. Andryn knew as well as he that their mission had been given to them by the King, Theofric, who already asserted his authority over the lands where this fort lay. They had been the lands of Sturgar, the Earl of March, who had turned traitor and fled the kingdom, having failed in two attempts to murder both Kieldrou and Andryn. A little over a month ago they, and two others, had caught up with Sturgar by pure chance while he was claiming sanctuary in Hussania. They had hanged him for the successful murder of one of their friends, while Theofric held his lands forfeit.

Until the King decided who should inherit Sturgar’s baronial holdings the lands were under Crown control, which meant that the fort’s castellan was the King’s man. Kieldrou and Andryn, unable to return to their island home of Trall until the sea lanes re-opened, had been entrusted with delivering the royal warrant to the fortress, and passing instructions to the town’s sheriff. It was a task that took Kieldrou away from his bride-to-be, and Andryn from the comfort of the royal castle in the Hograth City, where a young noblewoman waited in vain for his attentions.

I do not know why you hide from Atelina, Kieldrou had said to Andryn in puzzlement as they rode from the Hograth City.

She hopes to convert me to life in the City. She turned up her nose when I said she should come to Trall.

You know, Fernhelm cannot believe it. He thinks you are too exacting when it comes to women.

Andryn laughed. Just because I don’t leap on every passing wench as if my life depended on it, as he does … or at least as he used to.

Yes, it is strange, mused Kieldrou. He has been very circumspect since we came back from the Great Og. Was he attached to that young priestess, the one who died?

Andryn shook his head sadly. Not in that way. Grioch meant a lot to him, and we think she was in love with him. But he never touched her, and I believe he let her down gently.

Only scant months before, Kieldrou and Rhianne, his intended wife, had found themselves prisoners of a cult of demon-worshipers who dwelt in a mountain fortress in the Great Og, the desolate wasteland that divided the continent of Gilderaen in two. Fernhelm, who was Kieldrou’s foster brother and closest friend, had led Andryn and four others to rescue them, having been apprised of their danger by a young priestess from Trall. The priestess, Grioch, had been wickedly slain by the devil-priests, and Fernhelm had wreaked terrible vengeance on the priests for that evil deed.

And then there was something he mentioned very briefly, about some other woman in his life, Kieldrou added. Because of his internment by the priests of Sheoleth he had missed much of the events in the west since the summer.

Well, if he has not told you, his best friend, he will not have told us any more, Andryn sighed. Although we would dearly like to know. Someone he met but once, when he was spying in Hussania. A noble woman, apparently. He seems to pin some hope on stealing her away, and declaring his undying love to her.

Kieldrou grinned. You are very cynical.

Andryn shrugged. When I see Fernhelm happily devoted to one woman, I shall eat my saddle.

I seem to remember you said the same about me, not twelve months ago, challenged Kieldrou with a laugh.

Andryn shrugged again, but he also laughed. You are different. Besides, I think Grandalm might not be too happy. His daughter certainly will not be pleased. Nor, I think, will Atela, the Lady of Beresbridge.

Atela gave up on Fernhelm a long while ago. I am sure she will find a means to assuage any disappointment she might feel. In the past, Kieldrou had been no stranger himself to the charms of the Lady of Beresbridge, who happened to be the niece of the kingdom’s chancellor.

They arrived at the town of Arbroan towards nightfall, which descended swiftly at this time of year. It was not a large town, comprising some three thousand souls, most of whom were agricultural workers and herders in the surrounding countryside. There were many villages spread across the lands once held by the Earl of March, and the nearest castle used by the Earl as a residence was a day’s ride to the west of Arbroan – they had stayed there last night.

The town lay on a flat area of grassland, unusual in that it had no wall. The fortress, which stood a little to the east, could accommodate large numbers for at least a short duration, and the Earl’s castle, which could protect the rest of the population, was close enough to offer comfort if the border ever became unwholesome.

Kieldrou and Andryn would normally have paid a visit to the town sheriff before proceeding to the fortress, for he was the superior dignitary. Today, however, there was no time, for they were tired, wet and hungry, it was getting late, and there would be nowhere suitable to stay in the town, except for a shabby inn with inadequate stabling. They rode, therefore, directly to the fortress, clattering through the gateway past a surprised guardsman, who did nothing except gape at the arriving horsemen.

Come here! Kieldrou ordered curtly as he climbed from his saddle.

The guard came over, unsure how to react to this imperious visitor who looked like a bandit.

You are on guard here? I would expect to be challenged upon arriving at a martial outpost. Or has the soldiering tradition been abolished?

The man began to stammer an apology, only to be waved into silence by Kieldrou.

Where is your sergeant?

Dead, sir.

Dead? Is that all? Hell, man, you have a lot to learn. Where might I find the castellan?

In the main hall, sir. Shall I fetch him?

Kieldrou sighed. If you did, he said with exaggerated patience, then who would guard the gate? No, I will find him. You stay here, and if anyone else happens by, be so good as to find out who they are before letting them in.

The guardsman nodded, and Kieldrou stalked off towards the keep. Andryn made to follow, then turned back to the castigated man. After that, you might have tried to challenge him, he suggested, as kindly as possible. He is the Count of Trall, by the way.

The man looked alarmed, and Andryn shook his head in despair, before striding after the Count.

The snow had been cleared from the large courtyard earlier that day, but already a fresh deposit crunched underfoot as the two visitors tramped over to the keep, where the large oak doors stood open. There was no guard on these doors, although there should have been.

It is very quiet, commented Andryn. Did you notice how tired that man was, also? I’ll wager he has not slept for a couple of days.

He did not explain about his sergeant’s death, agreed Kieldrou. There should have been an immediate replacement, as well. He could be hanged for that inept display, but I agree that all is not well, so let us leave him be for the time being. The castellan had better come up with a good explanation, though, or there might indeed be a hanging before we are done here!

They reached the hall, and pushed the doors open. It was a long hall, and broad, large enough to seat at table many more than the garrison alone. The torches were not lit, and the fires were cold. A heavy silence hung in the air.

Well, he’s not here. Let us find his solar.

A winding stair took them to the upper floor, and they passed a number of locked doors before they stood at one that was slightly ajar. Come in, came a tired response to Kieldrou’s rapping, and the two men entered the castellan’s solar room.

Vegias was in his thirties, a thin man with a deep voice that belied his build. Normally at pains to look immaculate, he sat at his table in crumpled clothes, with two days’ growth on his chin. His eyes were sunken, behind dark rings that spoke of sleepless nights. Brown hair tousled, he sat with his head in his hands, looking up from an unrolled parchment to see who his visitors were.

Ah, good, Vegias said in a weary voice. You have brought a relief, and an investigator, I trust?

Kieldrou and Andryn looked at each other. No, Kieldrou answered with a frown. I am Kieldrou, the Count of Trall, and I come with a warrant from the King.

Vegias leaped to his feet and gave a hasty bow. He seemed to have gained some energy at least. My lord. I had no news that you were coming. Forgive me.

Andryn perched himself on the edge of Vegias’ table. There was no point in sending a messenger ahead, he said. He would have arrived no more quickly. Your guard at the gates did not even see us until we rode past him, he was so tired. Why don’t you tell us what is going on?

Vegias ushered them to sit down, and went to the back of the room to fetch a jug of wine and three cups. When he had poured for his unexpected guests he resumed his seat and began his tale.

As you probably know, I have a garrison here of thirty, men who used to wear the livery of the Earl of March. Since these lands have been taken by the King, we have changed our surcoats, as you see. We do not mind whom we serve, for we are soldiers and we obey orders. I would not say that Sturgar was a bad master. He paid us on time, but we hardly ever saw him. I always felt that he considered these border posts a waste of time and money.

Andryn snorted. That stands to reason, as he was in league with our enemies.

Vegias nodded, keen to be seen to be loyal to the king and not to the treacherous earl. "Indeed. Anyway, things carried on as normal once Sturgar disappeared. We had a visit from the seneschal at the castle, telling us what had happened and announcing that we were henceforth the King’s men, but nothing changed. We still got our money on time, and for most of the men that is sufficient – so long as they can drink in the town and visit the town’s whores, they are happy enough.

We ran into problems some days ago. As I said, I have a garrison of thirty. Or at least, I had. Someone poisoned our well, and in two days I lost eighteen men, some dead, the rest of them clinging to life in the infirmary. Twelve men remain, besides myself, and we are trying to keep things going as normal, but that is difficult even with a full complement, and made near impossible in this weather.

Can you not get help from the townspeople? They have little to do in this weather.

I would if I could. Unfortunately, a number of the townsfolk also drank from our well, men who deliver supplies to us and so had reason to come here. The sheriff has declared this castle out of bounds, forbidding any of the people to come here. They will not let us leave, either, not even to get water from their wells or from the stream. We have had nothing to drink but wine and beer, and our food supplies are dwindling. We are prisoners in our own castle.

Kieldrou was shocked. The sheriff is loyal to Sturgar, of course. It was a statement rather than a question, for he knew the answer well enough.

Vegias nodded. He was close to Sturgar before the Earl disappeared.

Why have you not gone to the King’s seneschal at the castle? Andryn asked. He has authority over all.

I did. That is why I thought you had brought a relief. I sent a man three days ago.

Kieldrou sighed, knowing that this would be the start of endless troubles. Well, I’m sorry, Vegias. Andryn and I were with the seneschal all day yesterday. No messenger had arrived. I fear you must expect him to be dead, as well.

Vegias cursed, raking a hand through his tousled hair. Can you help, my lord?

I think I shall have to. We came only to bring you your royal warrant, confirming that you are now under the King’s orders. It seems we must also help you solve your problem. The well is still contaminated, I take it?

There is nothing we can do about it.

All right. It is dark, and we have been in the saddle all day. You need a good night’s sleep, as well. If you point us in the direction of your kitchens, we will leave you for now.

I shall keep you company, my lord, Vegias protested, knowing his duty.

You will go to bed, Andryn said firmly. That is an order. What use are you if you cannot think straight? Kieldrou and I can fend for ourselves.

Vegias gave a smile of thankful relief.

There can be absolutely no doubt that the Hussanians are behind the poisoning of your well, Kieldrou declared to Vegias the next morning, as the three of them sat together at breakfast. They drank no water, of course, washing their meagre portions of bread and cheese down with cups of weak beer. Kieldrou had explained that the Hussanians were preparing to invade Barrowgrar, and it stood to reason that they might wish to weaken Hograth’s border defences. There was no other obvious suspect behind the deaths.

What were the symptoms? Andryn asked. It is odd that so many should have died, with no chance to tend to them. You said last night that over twenty were affected.

It was a strong venom, no doubt about it, Vegias relied. When they drank the water they were fine for two or three hours. Then they were taken by a fit and they foamed bloody froth at the mouth. It was horrible to watch. Their eyes bulged and their tongues gagged out, and their faces went blue. It was as if they were being strangled. They choked to death, and their limbs lost all control as well. I curse the day I saw that.

Why did so many drink?

It was dinner time. They all sat in the main hall together. The men who survived were on other duties, and so were not at the fortress. We have to patrol the town as well, you see. I came to dinner very late, as I had letters to write. I walked in just before the first man began to suffer. I thank Hogra that I am slow with my letters, or I too would now be dead.

How can you be sure it was the water? Kieldrou asked.

I poured some from a jug, and it was clearly tainted, although I don’t know what the poison was. I ran out to the well to get some fresh water, but in four pails the water was the same. It was a terrible poison, and strong, not to have diluted to nothing in the well. There must have been a lot of it, as well.

Kieldrou pushed away his plate, and swallowed the last of his beer. He sat back, lost in thought, while Andryn continued to pick at his final lump of cheese.

What about the sheriff? Andryn suddenly asked through a mouthful of food. He is, as you say, one of Sturgar’s friends.

Kieldrou nodded slowly, then stood up. I had considered the good sheriff myself. I would be surprised if he had done it himself, though, so we shall still be looking for others. Andryn, I think we must pay him a visit. After all, we have come on the King’s business and courtesy demands it.

The two Trallians stalked to the door. Kieldrou turned just as they were leaving. Keep all your men here, Vegias, but tell no-one that we are investigating this. It’s possible that there might be a culprit amongst your remaining soldiers.

Vegias nodded, and the two Trallians swept from the room.

Do you suspect Vegias? Andryn asked when they were out of earshot.

I’m not sure. What do you think?

He is as likely a suspect as the sheriff, I would say. Who can say whether he isn’t also fiercely loyal to Sturgar?

They saddled their horses, which had at least been fed and groomed. Wrapping their coats around them they mounted up and rode down into the town. It only took ten minutes or so to reach the first houses, although it took them a while to locate the sheriff’s house.

As was to be expected, the sheriff of Arbroan lived in a good sized house in the northern quarter of the town. Appointed to the position by the baronial lord, the position very much depended on his conduct, and if relieved of his position the sheriff could easily find himself living in a hovel in the poorer, southern quarter. The furnishings of the house demonstrated moderate wealth, and there were ten servants, as well as a bodyguard of four men-at-arms. The sheriffs might come and go, but all the appendages of the office were constant, for they all belonged to the Earl of March (or the king, in this instance, since the disappearance of the treacherous earl).

The responsibilities of a town sheriff differed according to the mandate handed to him by the local baron. It was in a lord’s interests to give his sheriffs a lot of power, to ease his own burden, although a balance had to be found in case of a wavering of loyalty on the part of the sheriff. Corrupt officials were, alas, not uncommon, and too much of a free reign might encourage one to forget to whom he owed his position. In general, the sheriff was responsible for law and order in his territory, and for keeping the petty problems from the baron’s own court. In addition, the gathering of taxes and tithes, and the despatching of these to the baron’s deputies, fell upon the shoulders of the sheriff; from these he took his own commission. Many sheriffs became wealthy in this way, making it a position worth paying a good price for in the first place. The sheriff was also responsible for the raising and training of the local levies in time of war, though in a border town like Arbroan this military task might be given to the castellan of the fortress if the king’s warrant required it. Certainly the sheriff of Arbroan was expected to work with the castellan, for the former needed the latter’s men to help keep order in the town, patrolling the streets, arresting malefactors, and operating the watch at night.

The sheriff of Arbroan at this time, Berrano, was a thin, weasel-faced man, who looked cruel and evil even when he affected to be charming. Appointed by Sturgar, he had made himself rich at the expense of the town, although he was a fair man when it came to dealing out justice. The people respected him as a civil leader, and disliked him for his relatively heavy taxation. Kieldrou disliked him on sight, although he admitted to himself that he was prejudiced by the man’s closeness to the Earl of March.

My lord Count, welcome. Berrano bowed low, and led his visitors to his study. I did not know you were coming to Arbroan, or else I would have given you a more fitting welcome.

There was no insincerity in his voice, which irritated Kieldrou – he wanted to find reasons for his dislike of the man to be warranted.

And you are welcome too, sir, Berrano nodded to Andryn who, as Kieldrou’s secretary and a lord of Trall himself, deserved an honorific.

Berrano summoned a servant and ordered wine to be brought, ushering his guests to seats. Another servant appeared to take their outdoor garments from them, and the Trallians handed over their swords, too, out of courtesy. They never liked to do so, but they knew they should be safe here.

I am sorry we did not come last night, Kieldrou said, forcing himself to be civil. But it was late, and we had to deliver Vegias’ warrant to him.

The sheriff waved a hand. No matter. Certainly, though, I must offer you both the run of my house. It is more comfortable than the fort, and we have no plague here.

Indeed. We wished to speak to you of that. But we can do so later. We do not know how long we will be in Arbroan, so we might not need to force ourselves on your hospitality.

Berrano nodded affably, and looked up to acknowledge the man who brought the wine. Local wine, my lord. I do not know how it will compare with those you drink on Trall, but I fear it might appear a little sour to you. It is the best we have.

The man seemed sincere, and not overly obsequious. Maybe, Kieldrou conceded to himself, the man was not so bad, with only his weasel looks to hold against him; which was unfortunate, if he really was all right, for people tended to be prejudiced – if one looked bad, then one was usually assumed to be bad. The Trallian ruefully had to admit that he had been so prejudiced himself.

Berrano, before we talk of the troubles at the fort, I have to speak with you about Sturgar, and what happens to you now that his lands are forfeit.

Ah, I see. I must be in quite a difficult position. The sheriff was no fool, and he knew that his future was far from secure.

Maybe. But not necessarily. It is my duty to inform you officially that all lands formerly held by the Earl of March are henceforth the property of the King. Until you are informed otherwise, you will consider yourself answerable to the King’s seneschal, who will come here in person when the weather permits it. I have delivered to Vegias a warrant that places him and his garrison under the King’s orders; it does not give him jurisdiction in this town, and he will still be responsible for supplying you with the men you need to carry out your duties. But if anything happens that might run contrary to the King’s will, then Vegias will act in the King’s interests.

That makes sense, and I agree that it is proper.

Good. Now, let us have a review of your activities as sheriff of this town.

For the next two hours the three of them talked, Berrano giving the envoys a detailed account of his term as sheriff. He had held the position for eight years, having been appointed by Sturgar, although he had served the family for much longer. He had always been friendly with Sturgar, and he had been content serving him. Sturgar had shown him favour, and had appreciated his counsel, which was a good thing for a sheriff to be able to say of his patron.

And what did you know of Sturgar’s dealings with Hussania? Andryn asked finally. He had said little up to this point, and Kieldrou and he had planned their inquisition very carefully. The Trallians watched Berrano’s reaction to the sudden question.

The sheriff was surprised by the question, and shocked, but there was no reaction that indicated a guilty conscience. I swear by Hogra that I knew nothing of Sturgar’s treason, he asserted. Occasionally, I admit it, there were Hussanians in Sturgar’s castles when I visited him. But I know of no law that forbids Hussanians from entering Hograth, and these men seemed to be merchants or border barons. I never saw anything to suggest that Sturgar plotted against Hograth.

Had you seen anything, what would you have done? Andryn leaned forward, fixing Berrano with a stare.

The sheriff met his eyes without flinching, and spread his thin hands. I must honestly say that I cannot tell you. I owe my position to Sturgar, and his father before him was good to me. It would have been hard to betray him, even to the King, who is ultimately my lord. However, he continued, sounding sincere, I am loyal to Hograth over everything. I think it would have weighed heavily on my conscience had I known anything and yet done nothing.

So you would have reported it?

Berrano licked his lips and darted a glance at Kieldrou, who was sitting back, watching him closely. I would be foolish to remain in Hograth if there was a chance of failing this test. And I would be unfit for office were I not to have expected these questions. I will be honest: I paid homage to Sturgar and he demanded my fealty. I would almost certainly have remained loyal to him, even had I known of his treachery.

Berrano licked his lips again. There, he had said it clearly, and now he waited for the judgement that might well deprive him of his livelihood, and possibly his liberty.

Do you know where Sturgar went, when he fled? Kieldrou asked.

No, my lord, I do not. I did not know he had gone until I received word that his lands were forfeit to the King. I assume that he went to Hussania, but I received no word from him.

Kieldrou nodded slowly. Fair enough. Forgive our blunt questions, Berrano. I am glad you answered truthfully, for loyalty is important, and you declared a loyalty to Sturgar that he was entitled to. That means that I am much more likely to trust you, myself. Although I am sure you are aware that Sturgar and I are mortal enemies. (Kieldrou was careful to avoid letting slip that Sturgar was already dead.)

Berrano smiled weakly, acknowledging that he did, indeed, know of the feud between the count and the earl.

Listen, Kieldrou continued, leaning forward in his chair. We need your help. When Andryn and I came here, we intended to leave tomorrow. This business at the fort, however, has caused a problem, and it concerns you as well as Vegias, for a number of townsfolk died as well. We must discover who was responsible.

The sheriff nodded. You realise that I had to quarantine the fortress? If his men wandered into town, with plague at the fort …

Plague? Kieldrou and Andryn exchanged glances. There is no plague, Berrano. Someone poisoned their well.

It was not the custom to eat much in the middle of the day. People ate a hearty breakfast, and a large supper, but they tended to restrict themselves to light fare in between. Today, however, and throughout the coldest two months of winter, people made an exception. Berrano’s table boasted a whole roast chicken, a side of beef large enough to feed six, loaves of warm, freshly baked bread, a large bowl of vegetable broth, a plate of fruit, and a huge flagon of mulled wine. They attacked this voraciously, eager to warm their insides, and only after some time did they resume talking.

First of all, Kieldrou said, cleaning a chicken bone, why did you pronounce the fort out of bounds after the deaths? There was no plague, as I have said.

I will not lie to you, my lord: Vegias and I are not friends, we never have been, and I doubt that we ever shall be. I am not going to paint a bad picture of him, but I am sure you know that some people just cannot get on with each other.

I appreciate your honesty. So answer the question.

That’s the point, my lord. We don’t get on. When I heard about the townsfolk dying, and all the soldiers, I sent a message to Vegias. He sent word back that there was sickness in the fort, never mentioned that the water was poisoned. I … well, I just assumed …

Kieldrou now returned to his original question. So, why did you pronounce the fort to be out of bounds?

Because there would be no way of securing the townspeople against plague. The town has no wall, and I don’t have enough men to guard the approaches to the town – as you know, it’s Vegias who supplies the men for the town watch. So it was easier to contain the … what I thought was a plague, by instructing Vegias to remain inside the walls of the fort.

When Andryn pointed out that Vegias had spoken of a ban on the soldiers taking water from the stream, Berrano looked aggrieved. I never forbade them to use the stream, and how could I stop them, anyway? Perhaps Vegias misconstrued my instructions because it is what he assumed I might say.

All right, Kieldrou said, raking his hands through his hair. This is what we will do. Andryn and I will return to Vegias, and talk with his soldiers, those that are left alive. You, Berrano, must find out who in the town is well-known for taking supplies – of any kind – to the fort, who was not there when the people were taken ill. I want to know about everyone, but especially people who did not lose a relative to the poison. Do not arrest anyone, for you don’t have enough men to cope with that. Just find out the names of those we should speak to. We will return tomorrow.

The sheriff agreed, and walked with his guests out to where their horses were waiting. Thank you for coming, my lord. Until tomorrow, then.

Until tomorrow, nodded Kieldrou, climbing into his saddle.

I would be interested to know if there have been incidents such as this in other forts along the border, Kieldrou said to Andryn as the two of them sat alone in the fort, while Vegias inspected his depleted force. Fernhelm spoke of the Hussanians planning something prior to invading Barrowgrar. Whoever did this chose a good time, in the harshest weather, when Arbroan is all but isolated.

How would the Hussanians have communicated with their agent?

Who knows? Kieldrou mused. Unless this was Sturgar’s work. If he was in contact with the Hussanians before he fled, then he might have arranged this months ago.

Andryn nodded. When Sturgar realised that we were not killed in Eorpa, and that Fernhelm was back in Hograth, he fled to Hussania. We know that. We also know that he came to his lands first, for he took with him many possessions, and a goodly amount of his treasure. If he then came to Arbroan, which is perfectly possible, perhaps he contacted his agent, giving instructions as to when the poison was to be administered. Then, he slipped over the border and made his way to Hussania, content that he had left a nasty legacy to cause uproar in Hograth.

Kieldrou nodded grimly.

In which case, Andryn continued, it cannot have been any of the garrison here. Sturgar went what? Four months ago? A large barrel of lethal poison could not have been kept here in the fort for that long without Vegias finding it.

"Which means that it had to be someone who delivers goods to the fort, and particularly someone who would not arouse suspicion carrying barrels. Kieldrou smiled. It is conjecture, of course, but it makes sense. Unless my hatred of Sturgar, even now he is dead, is making me wish it to sound right."

Andryn gave a wry grin. "Unless, of course, Vegias is the culprit …"

Hush, Andryn, laughed Kieldrou. That did cross my mind, but I am inclined to think not. And I think that, had it been Vegias, he would not still be here, and looking so unnerved by the whole situation.

I wish we did not have to stay here, Andryn grumbled, changing the subject. I was hoping we could leave in the morning.

It is inconvenient, Kieldrou agreed. Rhianne will kill me. Still, we cannot leave these people until this matter is resolved.

Kieldrou! I never thought to hear you afraid of a woman. Andryn was laughing, and the Count aimed a playful kick at his secretary.

I tell you, Andryn, she is not one to lose her temper. I have only seen it once, a couple of weeks ago, just before we left to come out here. That was enough, I assure you.

Wait until I tell the others, Andryn laughed. He did not often laugh, although he was not lacking in humour, but now his serious disposition broke down completely, at the thought of his friend, the fearless Count, being terrified of a woman.

What is the commotion? Vegias asked, walking into the room.

Nothing, Vegias, nothing. Andryn found something I said amusing, that is all. How have you got on?

The castellan sank into a chair. He still looked tired, but the presence of the two Trallians had cheered him somewhat. He shook his head. I don’t know. My men are tired, nervous. They haven’t had water for days now, and a man cannot expect to survive on wine and beer alone.

You could always fetch water from the stream, Kieldrou suggested.

And risk that coming back poisoned? Or my men ambushed by angry townsfolk?

Kieldrou stood up, and went to lean over the seated soldier. Listen Vegias. We know you and Berrano don’t get on with each other. He was quite open about it, and he admitted declaring the fort out of bounds. But this whole sorry business has been made worse by your enmity. You made the sheriff think that you had plague at the fort, so it was perfectly sensible for him to quarantine you. But he put no bar on you collecting water from the stream, only from going into the town. Send your men with a clean barrel to the stream and fill it, by all means. I will stand surety for both you and Berrano.

I’ll take the men down, offered Andryn.

Vegias drew a hand across his face. Berrano really didn’t mean to deprive us of water?

No, of course not. I think you have been seeing phantoms and traitors where there are none, Vegias. There are plenty of those about without you inventing more. Don’t be proud, send the men.

Later, Kieldrou walked around the fort with the castellan. All the men they met, and these were few and far between, were weary, unable to keep their concentration on their tasks, whether guarding the gate or polishing weapons. Kieldrou spoke with each man, sitting with him and chatting about anything: wives, families, parents. For years afterwards these men would boast of their meeting with the Count of Trall. Kieldrou’s was a name well known in Hograth, especially in soldierly circles. Not only was he a man who cared for the lot of the common soldier, he was also known to be a superlative general, who had not yet lost a battle where he had commanded. In addition, it was rumoured that the Count of Trall was a mercenary and a pirate, who was not averse to wandering off on strange adventures where his rank was of no importance or interest.

Kieldrou knew full well what people said of him. He enjoyed the adulation of the soldiers, naturally, and he encouraged the rumours of his less salubrious activities, seeing advantage in a certain amount of notoriety. Few people were aware that they were not merely rumours, but true, and even fewer realised that the rumours did not do justice to the full extent of his escapades! He was not, however, a pirate, save for occasional forays against Hussanian shipping; but then only in defence of his own island domain.

He returned with Vegias to the castellan’s solar, where they ate a small meal. The fire was lit, and they stretched their legs out before it, enjoying the warmth, when suddenly Andryn burst in, his face flushed and his breathing heavy from running. Kieldrou, Vegias, come on! I think we might have found our man!

They followed Andryn out to the courtyard at once, while the dark-haired Trallian explained. Berrano was doing as we said, but the fool was not subtle about it. It then came to light that two men he identified had left their homes, and could not be found anywhere. Someone admitted seeing them leave town, on foot. Berrano was about to send men after them when I arrived. I told him to do nothing, and rode back here as fast as possible.

Excellent! Vegias, are you coming?

There are two more horses being saddled now, Andryn said.

Kieldrou pulled on his coat, and slung his sword onto his back. He checked the saddle girth before climbing into the seat; he was not fool enough completely to trust another with his safety, especially a man as weary as the soldier who had undertaken to prepare their mounts. Within a few minutes the three men were heading towards the town as fast as their horses could go through the snow.

They found Berrano waiting at the door of his house. I am sorry, my lord, the sheriff said. I was not as circumspect as I had hoped. In a town this size you have to ask some questions, and word gets around.

Never mind, Kieldrou said. Who can show us which way they went?

Berrano called out, and one of his men-at-arms appeared. The man bowed, and motioned the riders to follow him as he set off at a brisk walk. He led them through the town to the south side, and halted by the last buildings, where a few people stood watching as the man pointed to the tracks.

There were two men for sure, with no horses or other animals. Luckily the snow was no longer falling, so the tracks were clear, although difficult to follow in the deepening afternoon. They led off south and east.

Hoping to by-pass the fort, Vegias said calmly.

Kieldrou dismissed the man-at-arms, and the three mounted men spurred their horses on. The refugees had an hour or two’s head start, but the snow lay thick on the fields, and the horses would gain on them as time wore on.

They rode in silence, slowing every now and then to peer at the tracks, ensuring that they did not lose the trail. As it got darker the moon rose, casting a pale light over the countryside and allowing them to see their surroundings far more clearly than in the earlier dusk. The fort was to their left, a wild, dark silhouette, and a patch of trees lay to their right, looming like spectral shadows, the bare branches swaying in the breeze. After an hour of riding they were technically over the border into Barrowgrar, but they did not stop, knowing that their quarry would not.

Time passed, and they halted for a while to rest their horses, cursing as they inspected the beasts to see where the leather was chafing in the cold. There would be sores around the horses’ mouths by the morning, making them impossible to ride. Then they went on again, aware of the discomfort of the poor creatures, but as heedless of it as they were of their own.

It was not until midnight that they saw the stumbling shadows ahead of them, hardly discernable even though all around them was white. The two men were obviously close to exhaustion, yet they continued at a shambling run through the snow, supporting themselves on long staves, packs balanced uncomfortably on their backs.

Within minutes the riders had caught up with them, and they stood, scared and yet defiant as their pursuers dismounted and closed in.

Not a word was said. The Trallians and the Hograthian soldier would not waste their breath calling for surrender, and the two poisoners would not give themselves up easily. They raised their staffs and prepared to defend themselves.

Kieldrou ducked under a wild swing, and wrestled his man to the ground, tearing the staff from his hands and throwing him onto his front, hauling his hands behind his back to immobilise him. Vegias grabbed the other from behind, but the man swung his staff awkwardly. The heavy wood cracked across Andryn’s temple, and the Trallian fell to the ground, blood seeping over the snow, just before his attacker was felled by Vegias, who thumped him into submission.

Kieldrou finished tying his prisoner’s wrists, and ran to his friend. Andryn was unconscious. The thick hood of his cloak had deflected the blow somewhat, yet it had still struck him with considerable force.

Kieldrou went to his horse, and pulled a bandage from his saddle bag. Lifting Andryn’s head he pressed a handful of snow to the cut, which was deep and bleeding steadily. He scooped up more snow, and gradually slowed the sanguinary flow. Then he wrapped the linen bandage around his secretary’s head, pulling his hood tight to keep the man’s head warm and protected. We will have to take him back now. We cannot leave him even for a short while.

That could be dangerous, moving him, Vegias retorted.

Better than lying in the snow in the deepest night, Kieldrou countered. If we do not move him he will be dead by morning.

Kieldrou was right. Normally a man with a head injury such as this should be kept still, but it would be sheer folly to leave Andryn exposed in this freezing weather. So Kieldrou and Vegias gently lifted Andryn’s limp body, and laid him over his saddle. The two prisoners were hauled to their feet, and the motley troupe began the weary trek back to Arbroan.

It was morning when they arrived, cold, tired and bad-tempered. Berrano called his servants, who gingerly carried Andryn’s cold body into the sheriff’s house, to put him in a warm bed. A physician was summoned, and was there within half an hour. Kieldrou scoffed a quick breakfast, and then went to see his friend, who still had not emerged from his stupor. Only later did he himself collapse onto a bed to sleep.

The two prisoners were thrown into a cell without a word, to await their trial, which was to be conducted in the afternoon. They had not spoken since their capture, and made no attempt to protest their innocence. There was no point, for their guilt was obvious from their hasty flight from Arbroan.

Andryn woke shortly after noon, in a feverish state, and was fed hot soup by a servant, as directed by the physician. The doctors in these country towns were ignorant and incompetent at times; but this man was vouched for by Berrano as being a knowledgeable man. Kieldrou’s glare had impressed on the poor physician the importance of nursing the injured man to full health.

Andryn would live, it was decided, as long as he was kept warm, and not moved from his bed at least until his fever was past. Kieldrou would have to return to the Hograth City alone, leaving his friend in Arbroan. I will stay if you wish, he said to the injured man, but Andryn shook his head weakly.

No, Kieldrou, you must go. Theofric must be urged to take the Hussanian threat seriously. He is too adamant not to appear the aggressor, and too many of the lords are encouraging him.

Fernhelm is there. He has given Theofric enough warnings.

Andryn struggled to sit up, but sank back defeated. Fernhelm will do his best, but he is not the Count of Trall. You need to get there. Besides, what would Rhianne say if she found out you had stayed away longer than you needed to?

Kieldrou grinned: Andryn was going to be fine!

The trial of the prisoners was little more than a formality. Berrano, as the sheriff, sat as judge, but the Count of Trall sat beside him, as did Vegias. The fort’s remaining soldiers stood as guard. The two men made no attempt at a defence, but stood tall, proud of their deed. The sentence was death by hanging, and Kieldrou put his seal to the sheriff’s warrant. Only then did the accused look afraid, but they still stood defiantly.

Kieldrou suggested that they be hanged at the fort, not granted even the dubious dignity of a public execution. The hanging was to take place at noon the next day, by which time he would be on his way back to the Hograth City.

He stayed the night at Berrano’s house. Early in the morning he took his leave of Andryn, who promised to join him at the City as soon as possible.

Before leaving, Kieldrou took Berrano and Vegias aside, and urged them to forget their personal dislike of one another. There was too much of a threat to Barrowgrar, and also to Hograth, for there to be petty enmities in the Hograthian border towns. They agreed, and each apologised to the other for allowing their squabble to exacerbate the situation at the fort, which had been dire enough without silly misunderstandings denying the soldiers water for four days.

Kieldrou shook his head at the stubbornness of men, and rode out of Arbroan.

~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Two

The clatter of hooves on the frozen cobbles was deafening as the heavily-armed cavalcade passed under the arched gateway and entered the massive courtyard of the royal castle of the King of Hussania. Fifty well-armed troopers dispersed to form a defensive circle around the yard, and four carts trundled inside the ring, along with a sturdy wooden carriage hung with embroidered curtains that hid the carriage’s occupants from view.

A soldier in glittering mail stepped forward and opened the carriage door, stepping back with a bow as an old, heavy man stepped out, exhaling a breath that clouded in front of his wrinkled face before dissipating on the breeze. The man looked about him from between broad shoulders stooped with years, and strode away from his transport, ignoring the slender, be-ringed hand that emerged from the carriage, expecting to be taken to help its owner from her seat.

Arbak, the Earl of Serapan, was not one to show great courtesy, which ill-fitted his persona as Hussania’s foremost warlord. His was the gruff manner of a man who had lived too long amidst armies, where the only women were the camp followers, rough and hardy whores and soldiers wives, deserving and getting no gallantry. He had never been able to change this manner, even with his wife, whose sole reason to be near him was to bear him a son and heir. Sons he had had aplenty, and while he couldn’t elevate those born out of wedlock all his legitimate sons had perished, those who had not died on battlefields having succumbed to disease and illness. Alena was his last chance, for he grew no younger, and he knew it. So far Alena had not got with child, young and healthy though she was, and time was running out.

Serapan did not think he was to blame for Alena’s failure to get pregnant. He had given her wealth, status, anything she asked, but she still remained a cold little bitch, or so he complained to his close friends. It never occurred to him that, when he condescended to visit her bed, she found him repellent and unable to rouse the slightest glimmer of excitement in her. And these visits had been rare, mercifully so for her.

Alena sat back in the carriage, pouting and fed up. The journey here had been hard and tedious, cooped up in the jostling carriage with an old man she detested. Young and full of life, she lived in a confinement that she hated, surrounded by soldiers who leered invitingly at her whenever their lord’s back was turned. She loathed them as much as she loathed her husband, and she shuddered whenever she remembered how her maids giggled and flirted with the ugly, smelly guards, and sneaked away with them when dismissed from her chamber.

Alena was just past twenty, her long golden hair falling free about the shoulders of the rich winter cloak that shrouded her body. Beautiful and voluptuous, her curvaceous figure made her the envy of the other women at court, and her wide blue eyes and full red lips had lost none of their brightness after five years of a miserable marriage to an aged boor. She longed to be out of it, to be married to a man who understood her and respected her. She did not care for age, although she would definitely prefer a younger man. Only once had she considered cuckolding her husband, though, of running away with another. She had encountered a forester, or a scout, in an inn a few months ago, a strange man to whom she was immediately and inexplicably attracted. And that night she had almost succumbed, almost allowed the stranger to take her, before her sense of honour – and his, if she told the truth – stopped her and she ran back to her ghastly husband. But the stranger’s parting words allowed her to keep a tiny, almost impossible hope within her breast: "We shall meet again, in more pleasant circumstances. I promise you that," he had said.

She climbed from the carriage, accepting the assistance of the captain of