You could have opposed me and served Steveren.
And find myself with them? he said, indicating the rotting dead in the mud.
There is always a choice.
A fools choice, Rodrigo said softly, or a dreamers. Pointing to the workers at the top of the hill, finishing up the platform, he changed the subject. What is going on up there?
Our victorious monarchs require some theatre, said Daylon sourly.
I thought Lodavico closed all the theatres in Sandura?
He did. After complaining that the plays were all making a jest of him. Which was occasionally true, but he lacks perspective, and a sense of humour. Daylon added, And hes completely incapable of seeing the bitter irony in this.
This theatre is entirely too macabre for my taste. Rodrigo passed his hand in an arc around the battlefield littered with dead. Killing men in the heat of battle is one thing. Hanging criminals or beheading them is another. I can even watch heretics burn without blinking much, but this killing of women and children
Lodavico Sentarzi fears retribution. No Langene left alive means the King of Sandura can sleep at night. Daylon shrugged. Or so he supposes. He kept his eyes fixed on the makeshift stage at the top of the hill. The workers had finished their hasty construction of the broad stage: two steps above the mud, elevated just enough for those on the hillside to be able to see, sturdy enough to support the weight of several men. Two burly servants wrestled a chopping block up the steps while a few of Lodavicos personal guards moved between the makeshift construction and the slowly gathering crowd.
This business of bashing babies against walls, ugly that and killing those pretty young daughters and nieces that wasnt merely a waste, it was an iniquity, complained Rodrigo. Those Firemane girls were breathtaking, with those long necks and slender bodies, and all that red hair
You think too much with your cock, Rodrigo. Daylon tried to sound light-hearted. Youve had more women and boys than any ten men I know, and yet you hunger for more.
To each man his own appetites, conceded Rodrigo. Mine easily turn to a pretty mouth and rounded arse. He sighed. Its no worse than King Hectors love of wine or Baron Haythans lust for gambling. He studied his friend for a moment. What whets your appetite, Daylon? Ive never understood.
I seek only not to despise the man I see in the mirror, said the Baron of Marquensas.
Thats far too abstract for my understanding. What really fires you?
Little, it seems, Daylon replied. As a young man I thought of our higher purpose, for didnt the priests of the One God tell our fathers that the Faith brings peace to all men?
Rodrigo looked at the nearby battlefield littered with the dead and said, In a sense, life eventually brings peace.
That may be the most philosophical thing Ive ever heard you say. Daylons gaze followed Rodrigos and he muttered, The One Gods priests promised many things.
Rodrigo let out a long, almost theatrical sigh, save Daylon knew his friend was not the sort to indulge in false play; the man was tired to his bones. When four of the five great kings declare a faith the one true faith, and all others heresy, I expect you can promise most anything.
Daylons brow furrowed a little. Are you suggesting the Church had a hand in this?
Rodrigo said, I suggest nothing, old friend. To do so would be to invite ruin. His expression held a warning. In our grandfathers time, the One Gods church was but one among many. In our fathers time, it became a force. Now He shook his head slightly. By the time of our children, the other gods will have withered to a faint memory. He glanced around as if ensuring they were not overheard. Or, if their priests are clever enough, they might contort their doctrine to become heralds of the One God and survive as shadows of their former selves. Some are saying thus now. He paused for a moment, then said, Truly, Daylon. What moves you in this? You could have stayed home.
Daylon nodded. And had my name put on a list with those who openly supported Steveren. He paused, then said, Truth?
Always, replied his friend.
My grandfather and my father built a rich barony, and I have taken what theyve left me and made it even more successful. I wish to leave my children with all of it, but also have them secure in their holdings.
You are close to a king yourself, arent you?
Daylon shared a rueful smile with his friend. Id rather have wealth and security for my children than any title.
Satisfied no one was within earshot, Rodrigo let his hand come to rest on Daylons shoulder a moment. Come. We should attend. This is not a good time to be counted among the missing, unless you happen to be dead already, which their majesties and Mazika might count a reasonable excuse. Anything else, not.
Daylon inclined his head slightly in agreement and the two noblemen trudged the short walk up the muddy hillside as the rain resumed. Next time you call me to battle, Daylon, said Rodrigo, have the decency to do so on a dry morning, preferably in late spring or early summer so its not too hot. I have mud in my boots, rain down my tunic, rust on my armour, and my balls are growing moss. I havent seen a dry tunic in a week.
Daylon made no comment as they reached the top of the hill where the execution was to be held. Common soldiers glanced over their shoulders and, seeing two nobles, gave way to let them pass until Rodrigo and Daylon stood in the forefront of the gathering men. The platform was finished and the prisoners were being marched out of the makeshift pens where theyd been kept overnight.
Steveren Langene, King of Ithrace, had been fed false reports and lies for a year, until he thought he was joining with allies to meet aggression from King Lodavico. Daylon was one of the last barons to be told of the plan, which had given him little time to consider his options. He and Rodrigo had less than a month to ready their forces and march to the appointed meeting place; most importantly, they were given no opportunity to warn Steveren and aid him effectively. Distance and travel time prevented Daylon or others sympathetic to the king of Ithrace from organizing on Steverens behalf. Even a message warning him might be discovered by Lodavico and earn Daylon a place on the executioners stage next to Steveren.
This morning, they had arisen to fix their order of battle, trumpets blowing and drums pounding, Steverens forces holding the leftmost position, awaiting Lodavicos attack. The battle order had been given and suddenly King Steverens allies had turned on him. It had still been a bitter struggle and most of the day was gone, but in the end, betrayal had triumphed.
Daylon could see the prisoners being forced out of the pens on the other side of the platform. While Steverens army had been in the field, slogging through the mud of an unseasonably heavy summer storm, raiders had seized the entire royal family of Ithrace from their summer villa on the coast less than half a days ride away.
Cousins of blood and kin by marriage had already been put to the sword, or thrown off the cliffs onto the rocks below the villa by all accounts more than forty men, women, and children. Even the babies were not spared. But the kings immediate family had been granted an extra days existence to suffer this public humiliation. Kings Lodavico and Mazika were determined to show the world the end of the Firemane line.
Now that royalty was being marched at spear-point to their deaths.
The children came first, terror and bewilderment rendering them silent. They shuffled along with eyes wide, lips blue from the cold and limbs trembling, their red hair rendered a dull dark copper by the rain. Daylon counted the little ones, two boys and a girl. Their older siblings came after, followed by Queen Agana. Last was King Steveren. Whatever finery they had worn had been torn off, and they were all dressed in the poorest of robes, their exposed limbs and faces showing the bruises of the beatings they had endured.
King Steveren wore a yoke of hardwood, with iron cuffs at each end confining his wrists, and his legs were shackled so he shambled rather than walked. He was prodded up the steps to the platform while the army gathered. From the swelling bruises on his face and around his eyes, it was miraculous that he could walk without aid. Daylon saw the dried blood on his mouth and chin, and winced as he realised the kings tongue had been cut so he could not speak to those gathered to watch him die.
A few soldiers shouted half-hearted jeers, but every man standing was tired, some wounded, and all wished for this to be over quickly so they might eat and rest. For most, the approaching sack of Ithra was why they had served today, and that would not begin until this matter was put paid to, so all wished for a hastened ending.
Daylon glanced at Rodrigo, who shook his head ever so slightly in resignation. There was no precedent for this butchery, and no one could reconcile what they were about to see with what they understood of the traditional order of things. History taught that a king did not kill a king, save on the field of battle; even barons were rarely executed, but usually ransomed for profit and turned to vassals.
For as long as living memory on the world of Garn, five great kingdoms had dominated the twin continents of North and South Tembria. Scattered among them were independent states ruled by the most powerful barons, men like Daylon and Rodrigo, free nobles allied with, but not subject to, those kings. Other, lesser nobility held grants of land and titles from the five great kingdoms.
Daylon locked eyes with Rodrigo, and in that instant knew that his friend understood as well as he that an era was ending. What had been a long period of prosperity and relative peace was over.
For two centuries, the five great kingdoms of North and South Tembria had been bound by the Covenant: the solution to centuries of warfare over control of the Narrows, the sea passage between the two continents. It was the choke-point at which two outcrops of land had created a passage so constricted that no more than half a dozen ships three eastbound and three westbound could navigate and pass safely at the same time. The need to reduce speed here and the overlooking rocks had made this the most prized location on Garn, for whoever controlled the straits controlled all eastwest shipping across two continents; the alternative sea routes around the north or south of the twin continents were so difficult and time-consuming that they were considered to be close to impossible. Alternative land transport would take triple the time, and twice the cost.