The Making of a Mage King: White Star (42 page)

When Laon was safely in a chair at their table, Sean saw that his face was ashen and his mouth was grim. “Can you ride?”

“I’ll ride,” said Laon, sounding as though he would much rather go throw up somewhere.

Sean looked at Mattie; her expression was stony. “Can he ride?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, Sean slapped his hand on the table causing her to jump, nearly letting out a squeak. Laon jumped too, but then he squeezed his eyes shut and a soft sound of pain escaped his lips before he could stop it. Sean winced again, for Laon this time, but pressed Mattie for an answer. “Can he ride?” he asked, pronouncing each word deliberately.

“No, he shouldn’t even be standing,” said Mattie, tightly. “You threw him into the wall, Milord. You nearly killed him.”

Sean let her anger wash over him, he deserved it. It was part of what she did that kept him human and therefore fallible.

Frei watched the exchange with fascination and only shook his head.

Sean reached a hand out and rested it on Laon’s arm. Under his touch, Laon dropped his head down to the surface of the table with a groan, then writhed slightly as Sean’s touch found more than just the concussion that split his vision. He found cracked and bruised ribs and a gash up the back of his leg from a broken chair. Mattie had done her best; Laon was in no danger of dying, but she hadn’t been strong enough for this much damage, not all at once. Sean wiped it all away. Laon had taken enough abuse at his hands.

Laon was left weak and shaking, but he managed to put away almost half of his scrambled eggs, sausage and potatoes.

Frei accompanied them through the soft, new snow to their camp, where Cordan and some men holding their horses met them. Cordan’s greeting was a little more formal than usual, then he led his wife away, out of sight. Frei looked over the array of horseflesh displayed in front of him and nodded approvingly. Seth led Sean’s horse up to where he waited. “Next time you take off, take this beast with you,” he pleaded. “If he’s not going after the mares, he’s trying to kill the young stallions, or the geldings, and when he’s bored, he goes after any man he can see. He’s a real bastard to handle, and I don’t have a muzzle, or I’d use it.”

Sean took the reins. “I will, Seth. Sorry.” Then he batted the horse’s teeth away from his hand. He then turned to bid his general goodbye.

They shook hands. “I’ll have your flag flying from every pole as soon as I can have them made,” said Frei.

Sean raised his eyebrow. He had totally forgotten about flags. All it took was to add a little color. All the flags he could see now boasted the White Star.

Frei watched the magic lick across his city and laughed to see the new flags. He backed away with a wave. “It’s been an honor, my lord,” he called.

Sean mounted and waved back, then signaled for them to start moving. This time, the road led southwest. Sean was ready for the change.

According to his map, the road to Sanco was a little over a hundred miles, five days at least if he rode every step. But just as he had done out of Lorraine, he scouted and then gated them ahead, covering large gouts of distance in only a few minutes. Because of that, their camp that night was only about thirty miles from the city.

That night, Sean’s sleep was plagued with odd dreams. Something about this whole area had triggered a flood of memories, and they were still trying to come out and be noticed. All night long, scenes of marching through the area played out in pieces and parts. Sometimes he was alone or with a single companion. Sometimes, he had an entourage that included ladies and wagons. Other times, an army. Every now and then, only a formal escort. Occasionally, he or they were struggling through winter snows, but mostly it was in the summer heat. The paces were different too, ranging from walking slow enough to match the stride of a child, to racing as hard as a horse could run, knowing that it might drop dead from under him at any moment, and wondering how he would make it in time if it did. The cause for the hurry was lost behind the next dream.

The clearest was the meeting of a woman. She was old enough to be his mother: she had a thin body, her face was square and lined with worry, and what he could see of the hair that had escaped her scarf, was dull and straggly like dry grass. She reached up with a sad look in eyes that were brown like Hershey’s chocolate, and brushed his cheek with a cool hand that was shrunken and thin from hard work. “You’re so handsome, but that scar…” Sean jerked awake, still feeling her touch. He never considered himself vain; he never bothered with a mirror unless he was shaving…which, his fingers said was long overdue, as he felt for that scar. It had run from his temple to his chin, and made his jaw ache.

He sat up and had to smile. Kendal was curled up on the end of his cot, and Charles was sleeping on the floor right beside him. The dim light from a lamp turned low, showed that Laon also shared his tent, though his cot was by the entrance.
I really must learn to sleep lighter
.

He teleported to the middle of the tent where he quickly dressed, then, with his cloak around his shoulders, he teleported outside. With a glance at the cloud-covered sky – it wasn’t snowing now, though it had been – he waved to the watch commander and strode off through the camp. He wandered through the tents, pausing for a moment at Cordan’s.
I will need to speak with them soon
. He continued on to the horses, all of them quiet. He spoke to the sentries for a moment, and to the handlers Seth had watching over his herd. The horses looked healthy and the camp was peaceful. What more could he ask for? And yet the woman’s face still haunted him. Who was she? Who had been scarred? He carried the memories of all the kings that had come before him all the way back in an unbroken line to the first, and none of them had been scared in the face.

Shelving it as just an odd dream, Sean spent the rest of the morning warming up and becoming reacquainted with his horse. The week of cantankerous leisure had done him good; he had put on some weight, and hair was starting to cover his scars. A good name floated to the surface as he worked: Punír – the word meant punisher; it was appropriate.

Laon found him after about an hour, but he hung back and only watched. A short time later, Mattie too found both of them and waved a long spoon at him. Sean waved back; breakfast was ready.

After breakfast, Sean jumped them to within three miles of Sanco; it was closer than he was of a habit of doing, but then he wasn’t planning to camp here if he didn’t have to. He passed the order “Keep it tight” and headed directly into town.

The entire district was a ranching community. The ground was good for little else except along the riverbank, where Sanco itself was located. The surrounding lands were dotted with herds of cattle and their herders, and little else; the herders’ homes were far flung from one another, and from the road.

Sanco had been just another ranch that had coincidently grown into a city. Sean shook his head. He shouldn’t know this, but it was useful information. The Sanco family had died out generations ago, but the city still carried the name, though it was possible they had no idea why. The current family in charge should be Besan. The city was utterly without walls, and aside from a police force to hold crime down, they were unguarded as well.

The place had been built for handling large herds of cattle. The streets were wide and the walkways that ran in front of the different shops were about three steps up off the ground; not enough to stop a really determined bull, but a good deterrent at any rate, and the hitching rails helped. The whole place, aside from the size, reminded Sean of John Wayne movies with dusty little western towns and their dirt streets, boardwalks and clapboard storefronts, but without the storefronts. Instead, the shops had small, hanging plaques that declared what was sold within, and instead of dust, the streets were whitened with new fallen snow. Even the people on the boardwalk came close to looking like they came from those movies, except they all wore heavy cloaks, and in place of pistols, a few swords hung from the belts of those who wore them.
I suppose a central bazaar would be difficult to keep if herds of cattle were driven through town to
… he craned his neck …
it looks like holding pens near the docks
.

He halted their progression through town, and shadowed by Laon, went to have a closer look at the docks. The rail fences sectioned off half a dozen blocks – city blocks – of space, with aisles between that led to docks where large, square barges waited. Just now, the pens were empty and the barges stood silent, surrounded in shelf ice. A dim memory said that barge traffic was difficult at the best of times, not to mention the fact that it was a long way to the next market center.
I wonder if they made improvements, but even if they have, the season would make travel difficult; water levels would be low this time of year
.

When he returned from his exploration, he found Cordan speaking to a group of six men. One of them turned to Sean, obviously at Cordan’s direction. “This man tells me that you’re supposed to be the new king. What gives you right to such a claim?” He tossed a couple coins in his hand idly.

“Well,” said Sean, dismounting to stand between his horse and these men. “Unfortunately, my proof tried to kill me about a month ago or he’d be here for me to show you. Now…” he glanced at Cordan, “I suppose that my only real proof is the fact that I’d prefer to buy a few steers rather than take half a herd and slaughter the rest for my trouble.”

The expression on the man’s face said that, if it wasn’t himself, he at least knew someone who had met Ludwyn, or one of his representatives, in just such a manner. “Makes no never-mind to me who sits on the throne, long as he’s better than that bastard. I suppose you expect my sons to come serve, do ye?”

“Well, yes,” Sean replied, taken aback by the question.

“Then you’ll have to wait until my youngest is old enough. I won’t be turning him over to you now.”

Curious, Sean said, “Your youngest, what about your older boys?” Had Ludwyn raped this family too? Had he already taken the man’s older sons?

“All my older sons is married and some of them is fathers themselves; it’s not for me to be telling them to go or stay anymore.”

“That’s fine by me.” Sean colored the flag that flew over the docks. “As long as you remember I sit on the throne now.”

“I’m not a fool. Are you going or staying?” asked the Besan family patriarch. And just in case Sean might have misunderstood the question. “Where do I bring your steers?”

“We’re heading west,” answered Sean. “Our next stop is Castrum.”

The man’s grimace nearly made Sean laugh out loud. They made red wine over there and grew far more grapes than they had herds of cattle.
What use was red wine if there wasn’t any good fat beef to set it beside?
Sean chuckled about that until they were well out of the town again. Someone had said that very thing to…someone; he didn’t know or care who. He chuckled again.

Cordan caught up with him. “Is that it? Just change the color of his flag and buy a few head of cattle?”

“Nothing needs to be done here,” said Sean. “Besan’s in charge of the district, or enough so for my purposes. He even offered physical support; that’s more than anyone else offered. It’s snowing, Cordan, I don’t have the time to reconstruct the government in every district.”

Cordan finally asked him the question that had bothered him almost from the beginning. “Why are you so pressed for time? It’s more than just beating the snowfall, isn’t it?”

“I don’t really know, Cordan, but it’s a drive I can’t ignore. I must be finished with this…soon, I must.” A few minutes later, just as Cordan was about to drop back again, Sean said, “Cordan…about Mattie.”

“Mattie’s fine. She told me what happened. She deserved what she got. Maybe she deserved more, but I’m glad you didn’t hurt her.”

Sean could see that Cordan was thinking of Laon. With a sigh, he forged ahead. “I hope she can forgive me.” Then to change the subject. “I haven’t seen Lyra; I didn’t scare her into leaving, did I?”

“You scared her plenty, but she’s fine too. She spends almost all her time with Seth now. They might even get married if you give them the time.”

“She’s too young to get married,” protested Sean, remembering his own fears on the subject not so long ago.

“She’s thirteen and she’s been on her own for a month and a half now, give or take a few days, and he’s nineteen. He’ll do right by her. He can give her a good home and she’ll never lack for comforts.”

Sean sighed.
Customs were so different here. If you weren’t looking to get married by the time you were sixteen, you were threatening to fall into that category of people called troublemakers or old maids.

“Sicily and Charles might be becoming an item too,” said Cordan, with a grin.

Sean looked at Cordan, astonished. “What…?”

Cordan laughed out loud. “I said ‘might be’. They spend some time together. They’re learning how to talk to each other. It’s a start.”

Just as they were about to make camp, Besan himself brought up six steers with the help of a son that looked to be about twelve, and two other hired hands that might double as bodyguards. Sean ordered one of the steers butchered on the spot and invited Besan to stay for the meal. The rest of the evening was spent talking over thick steak, vegetable stew and beer bought back in Basilia as they had waited for Sean to return from riding the patrol.