The Axe and the Throne (25 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He is a disgusting old man. I will
not
,” came the voice of a girl.

“He is mature and wealthy,” said a man. “You are being unreasonable.”

The fight between what sounded to be a father and daughter coming from outside the carriage was a familiar one, and the longer Annora eavesdropped, the less she found it an entertaining distraction.

“How
long
can he make us wait in here?” asked Mollie.

As long as he likes
, Annora thought. Mollie may have been a fellow lady servant, but she had the look and haughty mannerism, at least when not in Cassen's presence, of Adeltian nobility.

Annora simply shrugged and Amalee shrugged in kind. It did not seem right to complain about being stuck in a carriage, waiting to be the guests of an event that most girls, even highborn, would give anything to attend.

“At least we have food and drink,” said Amalee as she helped herself to another of the thin cookies that Annora had found to be grossly sweet.

“I have to use the privy…” said Mollie.

“Perhaps, then, you should put down your glass.” Annora had watched Mollie drink the sour punch with such a thirst she wondered if she had ever tasted anything but water. Annora's suggestion earned her a look of annoyance.

“What is he
doing
anyhow?” said Mollie. “The ball started hours ago, and we wait out here like idiots.”

“I am sure
Mother
has her reasons,” said Amalee.

Mollie sneered. “The only thing he's a mother to is lies,” she spat. “I think I know by now the look in a man's eyes when he wants more than he's being given.”

“You are being vulgar. Don't talk that way,” said Amalee. “Mother treats us all like daughters.”

Mollie snorted and rolled her eyes. “Tell her, Annora. I see the way he looks at you. I am sure you two have shared more than secrets.”

It was a loathsome thought. Cassen had a nimble way with words that allowed him to speak deceitfully without lying, but thankfully, he had never shown any of the other characteristics Mollie was claiming she saw in him.

“For so knowledgeable a girl, it is surprising you do not know why Cassen delays us,” Annora said.

Mollie showed mock boredom before she spoke. “Oh, please. The Spiceland girl will teach me about the importance of arriving late to events? I shudder at the thought of what would pass for an event on your savage islands.”

This may have been the first trip to the Adeltian Throne for the other two girls, but Annora, who had accompanied Cassen on several occasions already, knew enough to realize the ball was not their main reason for being here. “Savage though I may be,” she said, making a conscious effort to keep her accent from flaring, “I would not be foolish enough to attempt to teach you anything.”

Mollie rolled her eyes again. “I never called you a savage.”

She hadn't, Annora realized, but the reference to her islands as savage was perhaps more hurtful due to the truth of it. The life Annora had known across the Western Sea seemed barbaric now by comparison to what she had come to know in Adeltia, but that did not change the reality that, here, she was a slave.

“How much of what your patron discusses with his friends do you overhear?” Annora challenged the impudent girl.

“Plenty,” said Mollie. “Too much. It is tedious. I do what I can
not
to listen.”

It was difficult to take this girl seriously. Mollie's patron was a powerful merchant who worked closely with Emrel, Annora's own patron. Annora knew both men to be entrenched in plots of subversion.

“And you know nothing about their plots of treason?” asked Annora, keeping her voice low.

Mollie's eyes went wide with fear, and Annora would have savored the victory had the girl's eyes remained fixed on Annora. That was not the case, as Mollie looked over Annora's shoulder toward the carriage window.

“Mother,” said Mollie, her tone having changed completely. “We were just speaking fondly of you.”

Annora did not even have the strength to scowl at the girl, instead using what little vitality that remained to will that Mollie was only playing a trick on her. Amalee, who faced the same as Mollie, did not betray any emotion other than her usual doe-like awe.

“Is it time for us to depart, Mother?” said Mollie. She then broke into a fit of giggling, allowing the blood to return to Annora's face.

Just to be sure, Annora looked over her shoulder. Seeing no one behind her, she shifted her position so that she no longer faced Mollie, and had a view of the window out of her periphery.

“You scare too easily,” said Mollie, still tittering.

Go ahead and laugh until you piss yourself
, thought Annora. She was done speaking for the night. For Cassen to have walked upon them gossiping like women in the laundry would have been bad enough, but had Cassen overheard their conversation it would have been unforgivable. Annora did not divulge much of what she gleaned from her patron to Cassen, in spite of her implicit duty to do so. Escape from servitude was her main concern, and she had not yet determined if Cassen's knowing of the impending plots would help to that end.

“Come, my doves,” Cassen had said upon finally returning. “You must accompany your mother as I flutter around those of dignity.”

The three of them did their best to hide their excitement as Cassen had instructed, a thing far easier for Annora as her night had already been all but ruined. Her mood was soon forgotten, however, as she was calmed by soothing music and enchanted by the beautiful sights—of those sights Annora found her gaze lingered on several of the young men. Light featured and thin, Adeltian men were not those she would consider paragons of attractiveness, yet they had a certain elegance about them, dressed in their high-collared suits.

Cassen had gone straight toward one of the prettier girls in attendance who stood oddly apart. She looked to Annora to be as snooty as the rest of the highborn girls she'd had the privilege of meeting, and her initial assessment seemed to be correct. As Cassen and the girl conversed, however, Annora was impressed, if not shocked, by the way she fenced with him. Most were either fearful or disgusted by Cassen, but this Lady Ethel was not afraid to trade witticisms with the man.

As the conversation turned in the most unexpected of directions, Annora knew both Mollie and Amalee would be salivating at the prospect of being chosen by Ethel. Looking so different from the people of Adeltia and already having a patron, Annora was sure she stood no chance of becoming this girl's personal servant, and when Ethel chose her by name, she did not know if she should be elated or scared. Annora had grown accustomed to the life she knew in Eastport, and eager though she may have been to flee from it, she was wise enough to realize this would be no true escape. Nonetheless, she found herself delighted—if only for knowing how jealous Mollie must have been—as she was led off, arm-in-arm, by this bold-spoken highborn.

Just as they had gone a far enough distance for them to speak in private, they were interrupted. Annora immediately bowed in reverence when she noticed they were in the company of His Grace the King, fearful that somehow the man might be able to tell she'd so recently uttered the word treason. Ethel's impropriety seemed without bound as she stood stiff legged, acknowledging the regally dressed king with only a nod as one might a person of equal status.

“Good evening,” said Lyell. He did not look to be a man suited for such events, but he was doing well in hiding any discomfort.

“Grandfather,” said Ethel.

Are Adeltian ladies supposed to refer to the king as their grandfather?
Annora thought it best to keep her eyes down and mouth shut, as was often the case.

“You must not call me that, Ethel. We share no blood relation. …Though I did almost marry your mother… She is a pretty thing, that one,” he finished, now looking off into the distance.

“Yes, she is. Thank you,” replied Ethel. It was clear to Annora that Ethel was not enjoying this encounter. Any elevation to her status gained by speaking with the king, who apparently truly was her grandfather, if only by marriage, was not worth the discomfort it appeared to be causing her.

The king snapped his attention back to Ethel and studied her head to toe in a way far from grandfatherly. “As have you become.” Lyell cleared his throat. “I hope I am not too forward in asking you for a dance.” Before having finished the request, he'd already begun to take Ethel by the hand, leading her to the center of the ballroom, away from Annora.

Annora stood alone and watched as Ethel did her best to conceal her displeasure while dancing with the elderly ruler. Annora saw other girls pointing with disbelief at the dancing pair, some actually appearing jealous while others snickered. Despite his old age and matching demeanor, the king moved with the grace of a man who, even if having no love for the act, was familiar and adept at performing the motions.

Annora wondered if sharing her secret of what to whisper in a king's ear to repel him would help Ethel, but given Ethel's existing relationship with the man it was not likely. In any case, she and Ethel would have much to speak about when they were finally alone. They already had more in common than Annora would have ever guessed, and they were yet to trade words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having not encountered the expected Dogman wastelands as they traveled north, Titon had explained they must be in a finger of the canyon so far to the west that it was yet to be raided. Nonetheless, the terrain had changed drastically as they went, forcing the men to recognize just how much time Titon had saved them via the route along the flat cliffs of the western shore.

Rocks and deadfall littered the uneven ground making travel slow and dangerous, especially so with all the plunder dragged and carried. Decker warned the men that any clumsy enough to break an ankle would have to limp home without aid, as they would not slow their pace for a single man. It was not long before one among them challenged him on that claim.

“You are lucky it was just a sprain and not a break,” Decker told Tryg, a boy of eleven years whose foot had found a hidden hole. “Else you would be feeding the vultures.”
Else you would have made me a liar
, Decker admitted to himself, believing his father would have done the same. The men took turns supporting the weight of the hobbled boy as he limped along. In spite of his injury, it was not the boy who had slowed their pace. It was the grey-haired Dogman who called himself Greyson.

They had acquired him at the last village where he'd begged them to spare him. It was not something any had a mind to do until he explained he only wished to live long enough to have vengeance on the “fools who left their village unprotected” as he put it. The band of Dogmen Greyson sought apparently had gone looking for a fight, and with Titon indifferent, Decker made the decision to allow this man his revenge—so long as he led them directly to these Dogmen who might give them their first real skirmish.

“Slay the mad one first. I will not have the stories say we let an old, crazed Dogman do our killing for us.” Decker got a good bout of laughter from the men prior to them charging in to annihilate the group of Dogmen they'd been led to, but not before one of their axes found its way into Greyson's skull.

“Mountain's tits!” Decker shouted in frustration. “These were the bravest Dogmen?” This was the last battle they would likely have on their way home, and it was not one to be remembered. The Dogmen and their demonic companions scattered like frightened pests. At Decker's feet was the only Dogman still to draw breath, although not easily. He was a large man with hair as fiery as Red's when she was younger. He almost looked as if he could be Galatai.
Perhaps this one would have fought.
It was a shame that this was the man Greyson had chosen to wound with his cowardly assault. Had he been any other Dogman, Decker would have let him suffer, but the way this man clung to both life and hatred was respectable. Decker rewarded him with an end to his agony.

The red Dogman aside, these were a sad and pathetic people. There was no heroism in having defeated them in battle. Titon must have felt the same, as he did not even bother to make chase when the cravens fled. He had not seemed himself since having taken the pretty woman at the previous village, and Decker suspected it had not gone as Titon had hoped. Some of the Dogmen women were quite strong, and Decker had almost been stabbed by one from the same village.
Perhaps
Titon caught a knee with his manhood.

After picking through the corpses' belongings and finding only a few knives and bows worth keeping, Decker checked to see if any of their men were missing.

“Where is Leknar?” Decker asked, shocked by the possibility of having lost such a capable, if not foolhardy, man. He received nothing but dumb looks in return.

“Leknar!” Decker's shout echoed against the rocks and faded without response.

“Perhaps he's lost,” said Arron.

“He must be,” said Decker. “He's too strong to have been killed by any of these weaklings.” Decker drew a mighty breath. “Leknar!”

Decker did not wish to have his brother's raid stained with so needless a casualty, but neither did he wish to wander aimlessly in the canyon in search of a fool. As disgusting as it was to have possibly lost a man to mere disorientation, Leknar was—aside from Griss—the man Decker least cared for of their group. Remembering that Leknar had also been responsible for their only other death, Decker lost all will to draw out this search any longer.

“If Leknar fails to meet up with us north with the others, I say his cheese goes to Titon!” Decker had hoped to raise the mood with his declaration, but when the men laughed instead of cheering, Titon shot him a look of sour reproach.
Perhaps I could have worded that better.

“Will we head for the shore after we meet up with them?” asked Arron.

The question had been directed at Decker, and he deferred to his brother with a questioning glance.

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Decker met his brother's melancholy with cheer, hoping it might affect him. “The flat tops will make dragging these supplies far easier, and it only makes sense to return the same way we came—through Titon's path of glory.”

Though it took longer than expected, their group reached the coastline as victors. The Frozen Sea, the very sound of which had once put fear in their chests, now welcomed them with adulation.

Heavy-laden though they were with quantities of both meat and cheese, they had very little in the way of treasures. Decker had snagged a broken piece of silvered glass and some of the men had taken metal cooking utensils with shoddy engraving, but they found no precious metals or gems. It did not bother Decker any. His main concern was seeing his clan through the winter, and this would do that and more. Titon, however, had the look of a man defeated.

“You do not seem pleased with your raid,” Decker said.

He and Titon had been walking in silence for what felt like ages as Decker gave Titon time to overcome whatever it was that dejected him.

Titon shrugged his shoulders as his only response. His continued mood puzzled Decker. They had just led the most successful raid in as long as he could remember, and Titon had orchestrated the entire incursion. His brother said little or nothing when they ate together, he did not join the men in song, and the one person among them Titon did speak to was an outcast himself.
Nearly three weeks away from the tannery and Arron still smells like piss
, Decker mused in amazement. Decker did not know how Titon could endure the assault on the nostrils that a lengthy conversation with Arron must entail and was afraid the stench might somehow infect his brother in kind.

“It will take time for the men to see you as their leader.”

“I am not their leader,” replied Titon. “Our big fool of a father has been wrong about a great many things, but he was right about this. These men will not follow me. Nor do I believe I truly wish to lead them.”

Decker tried to make sense of what he'd heard. Everyone wished to lead.
For such a smart man, Titon speaks much nonsense.
“Given time—”

“No,” Titon said, cutting him off. “And it makes little difference. This raid went well, but it will only force the Dogmen farther south.
Given time
, we won't be able to reach the Dogmen villages even via descending the cliffs.” It seemed as if Titon emphasized his words in a way to make Decker feel as stupid as possible.

Titon was always right and this was like to be no exception, but Decker had grown tired of trying to console a man who should be overjoyed with accomplishment. Decker decided he would prefer to drop behind and speak with men that he knew would be in higher spirits.
If you continue this way, Titon, none will follow you. A cynical leader inspires no belief.