Fidele walked out of the shade of Ripa’s hall into the sunshine. It was autumn now, but here in the south of Tenebral summer lingered. Only a chill to the sea breeze hinted at the changing seasons. She strode down the steps and through a courtyard, beneath wide wooden gates and onto the plain beyond, her shieldman Orcus at her heels. It was here that Krelis trained his warband in the shield wall.
Men were lined up on the field, gripping their great round shields, while a small clump of men yelled orders at them. Krelis stood tall amongst them. The warriors raised their shields, interlocking them so that they became a solid wall. Other men ran and battered against the shields. A horn blast and the shield wall was moving forwards, those before it falling or giving way. Some fled to the flanks of the wall, where they renewed their assault. Another horn blast rang out and the shield wall rippled as men from the back reinforced the flanks. It worked well enough, repulsing the attackers, though something about the movement looked ragged.
She approached Krelis as horns signalled the end of the session. The rows of men in the shield wall breaking up, dissolving into individual sparring sessions.
‘My lady,’ Krelis said as she drew near. Peritus was there, talking with a white-haired man, Alben, the sword-master of Ripa. He was old, but had a sprightly energy about him. Fidele had spoken with him and found him to be humble and intelligent. He had even made her smile, something in short supply of late. Two younger men were there. One of them had a large tooth tied by a strip of leather about his neck. A draig’s tooth. She recognized him – Maris – as having served in Nathair’s warband and returned with him from his campaign to Tarbesh. These are the two Nathair sent to teach Krelis the shield wall.
‘It looks very impressive,’ she said to Krelis. ‘Well done,’ she added to the two behind him. ‘I am sure my son will be pleased with you and the work you do here.’
The two warriors bowed.
‘Their hearts are not in it,’ Krelis said, looking at the field of warriors. ‘This is the way men should fight. Looking into each other’s eyes. Skill and courage deciding the victor. It is honourable.’
Fidele sighed. ‘We’ve been over this. It is unlikely that Asroth, the Fallen One, will be concentrating on honour upon the battlefield. The priority is to win. I do not intend to discuss it again. I came to tell you I will be travelling to the Vin Thalun shipyards today. I will leave at highsun.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Krelis said, a frown creasing his large head.
‘Yes, I am. I will have my own honour guard with me, obviously, but I thought you might wish to accompany me. To see and hear for yourself.’
‘Yes. Of course. I will be ready to ride by highsun.’
The road through the forest was dappled with sunshine, but it was cooler under the swaying branches, the smell of autumn, of decay, much stronger. Peritus rode one side of Fidele, Krelis the other, but there had been little conversation since they had left Ripa. She had too many warring thoughts swirling around her mind. Foremost of those were the hints and suggestions discovered in the underground library back at Ripa, with the help of Ektor. He is a rare find indeed, such a mind.
Fidele had left him in his library, determined to sift through every single one of the myriad scrolls in search of the briefest mention of Halvor’s writings. Just the memory of her time there unsettled her. One Ben-Elim, one Kadoshim walking this earth. And the reference to high king’s counsel. She felt worried, scared for Nathair, had thought of writing to him, warning him. Had even reached the point of putting quill to parchment, but the words had dried up in her mind, with any warning that she would write sounding even to her like the mad ramblings of someone struggling for their sanity.
Warning him of what? A riddle in a parchment written before our kin even set foot upon these Banished Lands. It is too unclear, the riddles bewildering. Perhaps Ektor will find more, something clearer.
Her thoughts turned to Meical – Who is he? An ally? An enemy? Part of her could not bring herself to believe that. She had never liked him, exactly, but there had been an honesty to him, even if it had been cold, sometimes even cruel. Something clean. And Aquilus trusted him. Could he have been so easily fooled? The answer to that came back quick and sharp. Of course he could be fooled. He was murdered in his own chamber by a king that he trusted. She pushed away the pain that threatened to rise in her at that thought.
I have more pressing concerns to focus upon.