The Misbegotten King (28 page)

“How we fight it,” interrupted Brand.

“Exactly.” Roderic pushed back his chair and walked over to the windows. “Recommendations, gentlemen?”

“We must get down there as quickly as we possibly can,” said Brand. “Are those dispatches ready to go out?” He glanced at
Henrode.

“I signed them this morning,” answered Roderic.

“Gentlemen,” Phineas said softly, “I agree that the garrison at Dlas must be relieved. But I think the reports we have all
heard warrant greater caution. Given the depleted state of our men and our supplies, sending more troops down there may be
suicidal.”

“Phineas,” Brand said, “Dlas is too important—”

“Brand.” The older man spoke so quietly, Roderic had to strain to hear him. “Dlas is of minor strategic importance at the
moment. I know the safety of the men at the garrison means a great deal to you—it means a great deal to us all. But this is
an enemy unlike any our men have ever faced. We have to consider how best to fight him.”

“Him?” Miles asked.

“Amanander’s behind this,” said Roderic. “The reports are too similar to the soldiers Amanander used last summer. The only
difference is he seems to have recruited Harleyriders.”

“We suspected that from the beginning,” said Brand. “What does it matter who fights for him? And I beg to differ with you,
Phineas. Dlas is of strategic importance and always has been. Dlas protects the underbelly of Arkan. From Dlas, it’s an easy
march into Missiluse. We lose Dlas and we lose a key position.”

“We don’t know yet if we’ve lost Dlas,” replied Phineas. “You are making an assumption that the garrison has either been attacked
and is lost, or is under attack and must be relieved. Neither is certain.”

“So you’re suggesting we sit and wait? For what?” Brand thrust his chair back from the table. “Must Amanander’s army come
knocking on the walls of Ithan?”

Roderic exchanged a glance with Miles. “We haven’t exactly been idle here, Brand. Fighting a war on this many fronts requires
a certain amount of coordination—”

“Indeed. And while we coordinate, Amanander gains ground.”

“What ground has Amanander gained?” Roderic shot back. “Our troops were beaten once. Kye maintains his position in Atland,
the Arkan lords hold fast, Everard has contained the Mutens in the North. Yes, I agree that the time is coming soon for us
to plan a major offensive. But, Brand, we have to know what we’re fighting in order to win.”

“So what are you suggesting, Roderic?”

“I am suggesting that a scouting party be sent into Dlas. We need to know everything we can learn about these Harleyriders.
It won’t take the scouts long to return. And by the time they do, the reserves I’ve called from Ahga will be here. Then we
can act.”

“And in the meantime, brave men at Dlas may be under siege or worse, while we sit and wait for information?” Brand got to
his feet. “No. That’s not acceptable.”

“Then what would you find acceptable?’ asked Phineas.

Brand stared at Phineas and force of long discipline made him square his shoulders. “Let me take some men down there. Send
the scouts with me—you know I have more years fighting the Harleys than almost anyone here. That way I will be in position
to command the reserves from Ahga—to secure the roads from here to there—”

“And to ensure that Barran is alive and safe?” Phineas spoke gently.

Brand’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Are you suggesting—?”

“No,” interrupted Phineas. “I understand your concern for your son, Brand.” He cleared his throat and looked at Roderic. “What
do you say to the captain’s suggestion, Lord Prince?”

Roderic thought quickly, and looked from one man to the other. He loved both of them, had trusted their counsel for as long
as he had been Regent. He understood Brand’s fear for his son. Forcing Brand to stay at I than would only further frustrate
him. “I think,” he said slowly, “I shall miss your presence, Brand. But I also think your absence may serve us well.”

He saw the satisfaction leap into Brand’s eyes and knew that Phineas watched them both with a troubled frown.

A cold sun rose on the day Roderic bid good-bye to Brand. The calendar proclaimed it the first of Gost; Roderic, shivering
as he rose before the stars had set, thought it felt more like the first of Tober. There was an autumnal chill in the morning
air as Roderic walked down the steps of Ithan where his brother awaited him, already mounted on his horse.

As the heralds blew the orders to move out, Roderic reached for his brother’s hand. “The One be with you.”

“And keep you,” Brand answered.

“Remember, don’t provoke an attack. We need information more than anything.”

“Roderic, you sound like an old woman.”

“I’ll send those reserves out as soon I can.”

“I know. Farewell, little brother.”

Unexpectedly, Roderic’s throat thickened and his vision blurred. He had relied upon Brand’s experience and his advice for
so long, it seemed unbelievable that his brother was leaving without him. “Farewell.”

With a grim little smile, Brand tugged at the reins and turned his horse. He rode out the gates after the long column of men
and wagons.

Roderic stood watching as the regiments were lost in the misty dawn. He heard a distant cheer go up as Brand galloped past
the lines to take his place at the head of the army. Would Brand have been so eager, Roderic wondered, if he knew that the
Prince he fought for was not the true heir? If he knew that the man whose blood he
sought to shed was more his brother’s than the man whose blood he’d pledged to die for? Yes, he decided at last, it wouldn’t
matter to Brand. For Brand went to fight for his son, and Barran meant more to him than all the gold in Ahga. He thought of
Rhodri, of the child who lay sleeping in his cradle, of Melisande who played and danced and laughed with such abandon. Perhaps
Brand was right, he thought. Perhaps children were the only thing worth fighting for.

L
ess than a week after Brand’s departure, the first of the reports from the scouts began to filter into Ithan, and Roderic
lingered long into the nights with Phineas and Miles, drawing upon every scrap of information they could glean from the soldiers
who had returned from Loma. On a chilly Gost night, it seemed Roderic had just closed his eyes when frantic knocking at the
door of the outer room made him bolt awake.

By reflex, he grabbed for his sword, encountered a bed robe instead, and threw it over his shoulders. He hurried into the
outer room to see a sleepy Ben opening the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Roderic tied the belt around his waist as the old
man threw open the door. “What’s wrong?”

In the rushlit hall, a sentry stood at attention. “You must come at once, Lord Prince.”

“What’s going on? Has anyone died?”

“No, Lord Prince. Chiavett Kahn, Lord Prince. He arrived moments ago.”

“Who?”

“He claims to be the leader of the Harleyriders.”

“What? A Harleyrider? Here? In Ithan?”

“As I said, Lord Prince.”

Roderic stared at the man. His stolid face was set. “Where is he now?”

“In the hall, Lord Prince.”

“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I dress. Take him— have someone take him to the council room. PU be there as soon as
I can.”

“As you say, Lord Prince.”

Roderic shut the door and walked back into the bedroom, beckoning to Ben. The old man scurried after him. “What does it mean,
Lord Prince?”

Roderic pushed his hair off his forehead. “I don’t know, Ben. One of the Harleyriders here? The One only knows what it could
possibly mean.”

Roderic reached for his clothes and stripped off his robe. “Go back to bed, Ben. You need your sleep more than I do.”

The old servant handed Roderic his boots. “I’ve been your bodyservant since you were twelve, Lord Prince. Won’t be the first
time I’ve waited to see you to bed.”

“No, Ben.” Roderic hid a smile as he tugged on his boot. “Though this is the first time you’ve waited because a Harleyrider
has come to me.”

Roderic was immediately sorry that he had told them to bring the Harleyrider to the council room. He had forgotten about the
smell. The Kahn was a big man, tall as Roderic, but broader, his chest and arms huge slabs of muscle. He wore skins and leather
breeches, and across his chest were thick silver chains. His hair was dark and hung in lank strands over his chest and back,
and his
beard was braided in what looked to be hundreds of tiny plaits. Four of Roderic’s men at arms surrounded him. He loomed in
their midst and the soldiers snapped to attention as Roderic entered.

“Lord Prince,” said their captain. “I hope I was not wrong, sir, to waken you. This—this man came in around midnight, demanding
to see you immediately, and I thought you would want to know.”

“Of course, Captain. You did right.” Roderic looked the outlaw over. “Why have you come to Ithan?”

He pulled himself to his full height, and Roderic recognized the indefinable quality of nobility despite the grime. This man
was every bit as much a Prince as he. “I need your help.”

“Help?”

“My people are in danger.”

“Danger? What kind of danger?” Roderic knew that his amazement was plain on his face.

“I want to talk to you alone, Prince Roderic.”

Roderic looked at the soldiers, who exchanged warning looks with their captain. “Why?”

“I didn’t come here to be a hostage. I’m here for some help.”

“Surely you understand that the relationship between our peoples has not been an easy one?”

“Do you think I’d come at all if I thought I had another choice?”

“Wait outside.” Roderic waved the guards away and sat down in one of the chairs, as far away from the Kahn as he could get.
“Now. What exactly are you talking about?”

“Look, Man,” he said. Roderic raised an eyebrow at the Harley title of respect. “There isn’t much. Back about two winters
ago, my old lady, my Mamma-Doc, had a spirit dream of death with two faces walking across the land. The pattern, she said,
the pattern was broken, and had to be restored. And there was something about a tree, a tree that put forth many branches
and had flowered in this generation. All sorts of stuff. None of it made much sense to me. I listen to my Mamma-Doc; don’t
get me wrong. But it isn’t the right thing for a man to listen to his woman too closely, you know? And besides, death is everywhere.”
He shrugged, and for some reason, Roderic felt sorry for him.

“Go on, please.” Roderic nodded.

“Then she had another spirit dream. This time was about her and me. We were walking through the Plains and the road split.
We had to make a choice, she said, and she had told me to take one path, but it was the wrong path in the end, she said when
she woke up. And she made me swear to remember that. That she had told me to take one path and that it had turned out to be
wrong.” He shrugged again. “So I swore. Didn’t seem like it mattered much.” He paused and stared into the space over Roderic’s
shoulder. “But then Harry Onrada came to me.”

“Harry Onrada? Harland? The lord of Missiluse?”

“Him.” The Kahn’s mouth twisted in outright disgust. “Said we had a chance to claim our space. So we went to meet him and
my Mamma-Doc came along. We met the Ridenau—the one who claims your throne. And my Mamma-Doc—she told me to join with him.”

There was a long silence. Roderic considered the man carefully. “What happened?” he asked at last.

“So we joined up. We gave our word, sealed it in spit. With my men, I went to his fortress. I ordered them to obey him—”

“Who?” interrupted Roderic. “Harland?”

“Nah. Amanander. The Ridenau. At first it was all drills and practice—I thought nothing of it. And then, I began to notice
changes in my men.”

“What kinds of changes?” Roderic leaned forward, forgetting the stench.

“They—they no longer respected me. No longer listened to me. It was as if they were always listening to someone—something—else.
Someone or something I couldn’t hear. And then one day, I saw the son of one of my oldest friends die on the practice fields.
It was an accident—I saw it with my own eyes. They carried his body away. And the next day, I saw him in the hall, by the
Ridenau’s right arm.”

“What?” Roderic sat back in disbelief.

“Yah. Sounds worse than any dream, doesn’t it?” The Kahn gave a short, bitter laugh. “My men aren’t mine anymore. The ones
who live are his slaves, and the ones who are dead walk still.”

“You’ve seen him raise the dead?” whispered Roderic.

“Nah. I don’t know how he does it. I can only tell you I’ve seen dead men walk. I should’ve remembered the spirit dream. For
now my Mamma-Doc is dead, and my men are no longer mine.”

“How did she die?”

“My men killed her.”

“What? Why?”

“The men are killing all the women. And the kid-dens.”

Roderic stared in disbelief at the man who sat at the opposite end of the table. “Your own people?”

“Yes.” The Kahn raised his eyes to Roderic, and in their depths, Roderic saw utter hopelessness.