King of Ashes. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ unallied. The rulers of Marquensas and Copper Hills had sworn to no king, but most of the remaining thirty barons had social or monetary obligations that effectively bound them to one of the great monarchs, at least until debts were repaid or obligations discharged.

      ‘Your oathmen won’t object?’ asked Rodrigo.

      ‘My oathmen are free to travel with Their Majesties,’ Daylon replied dryly. ‘I have no plans to campaign again soon, so should they wish to wager blood against gold, so be it. My castellans will come with me without complaint. I provide for them well enough.’

      ‘You may feel free to choose, my friend,’ said Rodrigo, ‘but from Lodavico’s mood, your departure may be seen as insult. He might not care that mercenaries and other lowborn left without his leave … you are hardly anonymous.’

      ‘He’s going to be too busy fighting over Ithrace to notice I’m not there.’ He shrugged as if it was of no concern. ‘And if he does notice, he will not dare make an open issue of it, lest he offend the other free barons.’

      Rodrigo forced a smile. ‘You are so well loved, then, my friend?’

      Daylon returned his faint smile. ‘No, but should my freehold and lands be taken by Lodavico, what is your first thought, Rodrigo?’

      ‘Who’s next?’ he conceded. Rodrigo paused, stopping where he would leave Daylon to make his way back to his own encampment. ‘You’ve thought this through.’

      ‘I have. All that I have done I did to ensure my family and people’s survival. Lodavico is covetous, and more than a little mad, but he’s not stupid.’ Daylon gestured towards the carnage around them. ‘A stupid man cannot scheme to end a rival kingdom in a single day. Lodavico planned this for a long time and in great detail, and he paid no small sum of gold to make it happen.

      ‘So, would he turn on me out of spite?’ Daylon shrugged and let out a small sigh of fatigue. ‘He knows that every free baron, and their oathmen, would think as we do; and while alone none of us are a threat, united we could end his rule.’

      Rodrigo nodded in agreement. ‘More than a few of Lodavico’s oathmen would seize the opportunity to change their allegiance if all the free barons rose at once: he does not treat them gently. Release from his yoke would be worth the risk.’

      ‘The day will almost certainly come, my friend, when Lodavico has earned enough ire to force an alliance of enemies, but that day is still years away. Too many rivalries have been exploited, too much distrust seeded among those who need to unite against Sandura, and too many willing to support him out of fear, or hope of benefit.’

      Daylon took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then with a wry smile he said, ‘Yes, that day will come, but not today.’

      Rodrigo was thoughtful for a moment, and then dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. ‘Well, return home to that young wife of yours. If I don’t go on to Ithra, I’ll have rebellion to deal with: my castellans haven’t been paid for a while and I need my share of the booty to cover wages and leave us a little besides.’

      ‘Scavenge well, my friend,’ said Daylon with a faint smile. The friends gripped each other by the right hand and touched chests. ‘But a word of warning,’ Daylon spoke quietly in Rodrigo’s ear. ‘A wise man prepares for the next war after his last battle, not when it is already sweeping across his land.’ He locked gazes with his friend. ‘As I said, that war is coming, not soon, but eventually. The balance of power has shifted.’ He waved back towards the hill where Lodavico had stood minutes before. ‘Sandura has the advantage for the moment, but with things now as they are, another may choose to seize it. One day someone will seek to become the new fifth king. Be ready for that day.’

      ‘Do I hear ambition?’

      ‘I seek no enlargement of my own holdings, but I’d topple another ruler rather than lose what’s mine. You need to think on this, old friend. Prepare not for the little wars, which will plague us soon, but for another such as this’ – Daylon nodded towards the bloody field – ‘where crowns are the prize.’ He leaned even closer. ‘Perhaps it will take five years, or ten, or longer, but certainly there will be that war. Lodavico is mad to be the high king.’ He lightly poked his finger against Rodrigo’s chest. ‘In your heart you know his ambition as well as I do.’ Glancing around to ensure they were unheard, he continued. ‘But Lodavico will eventually overplay his hand, and that’s when we need to be prepared.’

      Rodrigo shook his head. ‘Bleak advice.’ Then he sighed and said, ‘But well considered.’ With a wave he walked away, and then paused as if a thought had struck him. He turned back to look at Daylon. ‘Wasn’t there a new baby?’

      ‘I don’t take your meaning.’ Daylon’s brow furrowed.

      Rodrigo looked into Daylon’s eyes for a long moment. ‘I thought I’d heard word that the Firemane queen had delivered a late autumn child.’

      ‘The queen had a child late, yes …’ said Daylon. He let out a long sigh. ‘Most likely it died during the taking of the villa. They threw babies from the cliffs to the rocks when the household was slaughtered. Perhaps he was one.’

      Rodrigo shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ He turned away again and left without further word.

      Daylon lingered. ‘A baby,’ he muttered, amused for the first time in days. Tales of a surviving Firemane baby would prevent Lodavico from sleeping well for the rest of his days, even if the whispers were false. He briefly considered tossing coin to a rumour-monger to fuel such gossip. Nothing else in this evil business was worthy of mirth. He looked skywards, attempting to ignore the circling flocks of carrion eaters and enjoy what he could of the lowering sun and blue sky on the western horizon. ‘Well, at least the world didn’t end,’ he muttered to himself.

      Of all of the nobles present, Daylon was among the very few who could be considered scholarly. He had studied the legends surrounding the oldest houses and knew of one myth in particular that predicted that a rampant chaos would be unleashed upon the world should the Firemane line end. Having witnessed no thundering hordes of demons racing towards the battlefield, Daylon moved towards his pavilion wondering if Steveren had indeed been the last of his line …

      He passed by huge mounds of dead bodies awaiting burial. Exhausted soldiers laboured over the digging of mass graves, while priests of the One God said their prayers over the corpses. Daylon resisted an urge to curse in the name of the old gods; he had no desire to be denounced and burned at the stake.

      Lost in thought, he barely realised he had reached his pavilion when he noticed two men standing quietly before the tent flap. Reinhardt, captain of Daylon’s household guard, wore the tabard of House Dumarch: a tough veteran, he had earned his position through years of loyal service.

      The man next to him was also familiar to Daylon. He was a broad-shouldered, thick-bodied man, strong and keen-eyed, but one who had also started to show faint signs of ageing. His dark eyes were underlined with shadow and they possessed wrinkles at the edges that were evidence of a hard life. His brown hair was turning steel grey and was receding. His walk betrayed a stiffness in one hip, most likely the result of a wound taken in a fight years before. Covered in grime, soot, and dried blood, the man bowed slightly, barely more than a nod, but enough to satisfy Daylon’s need for deference.

      ‘Edvalt,’ said Daylon in greeting.

      ‘It is the day, my lord,’ said Edvalt.

      Daylon released a tired sigh and said, СКАЧАТЬ