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Praetor Arval was elevated to general two months after their return to camp. As soon as he heard the news, Vaeren knew change was in the offing.
As one of Ylandre’s handful of career generals, Arval now counted among the kingdom’s highest-ranked military officers. It was all but certain another praetor would be appointed commandant of the Royal Garrison in his stead since the only administrative post fit for a general was the superintendency of either the Military Academy near Ilmaren or the Fleet Academy in Vireshe. Therefore, Vaeren hoped for the best, but readied himself for the worst.
The Ardan came to the camp to personally confer the honor. The ceremony took place on the dais behind the command hall. It was the venue for the presentation of military honors, the ceremonial reviewing of the troops or in this case, the formal investiture of office or rank on a warrior. Covered by a wooden canopy, the platform was enclosed in back with multiple panels upon which hung the standards of the Royal Garrison’s three regiments.
In full view of all the camp officers and warriors, Arval renewed his oath of fidelity and obedience to the Crown, vowing to do his duty to the best of his abilities. Whereupon Rohyr ritualistically touched the flat of his sword to the officer’s shoulders and pronounced him a general of the Royal Army.
Vaeren watched the proceedings raptly, his attention more on Rohyr than Arval. He was a tiny bit infatuated with the Ardan and not ashamed to own it. Really, who was not enamored to some degree with Rohyr Essendri?
In his case, he had personal reasons for his admiration. Not only had Rohyr been instrumental in his promotion to commander, Vaeren had actually spoken to him during the campaign in eastern Velarus. He met Rohyr one last time at the Citadel upon his return from Velarus. By then, he had decided this was a Deir he would follow to the ends of Aisen even were he not his sovereign.
Rohyr stepped down from the dais with Arval, obviously in a fine mood judging by the smile gracing his beauteous face and his animated conversation with the general. There would be no reviewing of the troops. Instead the two made their way through the gathering, the Ardan pausing here and there to speak with one warrior or another. In keeping with his preference for blending in rather than standing above and apart from his subjects, the Ardan was clad in the stone-gray hues of the common foot soldiers. Only his white-silver earring adorned with a rare and costly adamant signaled his royal standing.
Vaeren gingerly reached out and picked up some of the exchanges. He quickly realized Rohyr was probing the soldiers on their thoughts—their homes and families, gripes and ambitions, even their opinions about how the royal forces were being administered. His admiration for the Ardan grew.
Here was a monarch who took interest in his soldiers as individuals and not merely part of the entity charged with protecting the realm.
The Ardan was now just paces away. He had stopped to greet Ranael who stood at the forefront of the Red Knights. He spoke to Ranael not as king, but as kin, even eliciting a grin from the captain with a subtle jest. Vaeren almost held his breath when Ranael turned around to lead Rohyr toward the company. Behind him, the Rikara Guards drew themselves to full attention, but he sensed their excitement and anxiety as their sovereign approached.
There was no formal presentation of the troop, but Ranael started to introduce him. “This is Commander—”
“Vaeren Henaz,” Rohyr cut in, startling them all. “Why the surprise, Ran? I don’t easily forget people who’ve done the Crown a great service. Commander Henaz performed with great skill and valor in Velarus and made it possible for a garrison to be established sooner than anticipated.”
Ranael quickly collected himself and agreed. “He is a skilled officer indeed.”
“And braver than most, Ardan-tyar,” Arval interjected. “I am evidence of it.”
“Yes, I read your report about that incident, General.”
To Vaeren’s shock, Rohyr seemed to regard him with fondness. He mentally shook the impossible notion away. His cheeks warmed up nonetheless.
Did you like what you heard?
Vaeren almost gaped. Rohyr had somehow felt his probe, mild as it had been. He had not realized how strong the Ardan was or how sensitive.
Forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant no harm.
Rohyr’s smile widened. Rest you, I took no offense. Out loud, he remarked, “I don’t always choose rightly. But with regards you, Henaz-tyar, I made one of the best decisions of my reign. And you didn’t fail my trust. For that I thank you.”
A small gasp escaped Vaeren. It was not meet for the Ardan to thank him!
“It is I who should thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I only did as duty dictated.”
He became aware that he had probably broken protocol by speaking to Rohyr uninvited. Sure enough, Ranael and General Arval displayed consternation at his breach of official procedure.
But Rohyr said to them, “I’d rather folk told me straightly what they think than wait on decorum until too late.” He looked back at Vaeren. “Mere duty doesn’t require us to carry out a mission with minimal casualties, only that we bring it to a swift and successful conclusion. Yet you accomplished both, thereby going beyond what was required of you. Which appears to be a pattern with you, Commander. Methinks you inherited more than your late sire’s appearance.”
Rendered quite flabbergasted—and judging from Ranael and Arval’s expressions, he was not alone—Vaeren could only swallow hard and say without stammering too much, “Y-you honor me, Dyhar. My gratitude knows no bounds.”
Rohyr scoffed. “It’s only what you deserve,” he said.
With a nod, he turned away and headed toward the Northern Spears. Ranael looked at Vaeren in amazement, his eyebrows briefly lifting high, before he schooled his expression and followed his cousin.
“I understand your choice even better now, Ran,” Vaeren heard Rohyr say.
“What do you—” Ranael stopped in his tracks causing Rohyr to pause as well. “Roh! How do you discover these things?”
“Ashrian let it slip.”
“Heyas! He promised not to tell.”
“To be fair, he was only indiscreet. He was sharing a jest with Aeldan and didn’t quite lower his voice. Rest you, I’m the only one who heard.”
He motioned to Ranael to walk on with him.
Vaeren wondered what it was that had discomfited Ranael and then dismissed it. He chanced a quick glance around and noticed many taking a look at him without appearing to do so. But one of Ranael’s fellow captains did not bother to rein in his stare. Captain Merand, he who had once deemed Vaeren little more than a procurer of drink and prostitutes, stared at him with open incredulity and no little amount of suspicion. Vaeren stifled a resigned sigh.
His encounter with the Ardan would give rise to talk about the reasons for Rohyr showing such favor to him. There would be much speculation about what he had done to merit royal attention. His friends would point to his exemplary military record. But others would ignore it and wonder whose boots he’d licked or, worse, how much licking he’d done.
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Ranael walked back to the camp with General Arval after seeing his cousin off. He looked up at the standard fluttering on the thick pole extending from the arch of the main gate. It was a constant reminder that every Deir within the Royal Garrison had sworn lifelong loyalty and utter obedience to the Crown.
In that they were all equals, the officers, rankers, and nonmilitary personnel who lived and worked within the four stone walls of the camp. But there were those who stood above the rest in the Ardan’s personal regard. Ranael was one of them by dint of his kinship with Rohyr. Naturally General Arval was another. It was to be expected. But what occupied Ranael’s thoughts was the unexpected.
He abruptly said, “Dyhar, you mentioned before that Rohyr ordered Vaeren’s elevation to commander in order to encourage promotion through merit. Regardless of social standing or caste.”
“It was our assumption, yes, considering Vaeren’s exemplary service thus far.”
“And yet...” Ranael shook his head. “I got the distinct impression he’s familiar with Vaeren and not just his military record. I can’t say exactly why.”
“You’re very close to him,” Arval pointed out. “You know when he speaks or behaves differently even if you can’t explain what is different.”
“I suppose so. General, when Rohyr chose Vaeren to lead the Velarus campaign, did he ask for the names of all the sedyran officers in camp?”
“Come to think of it, nay.” Arval frowned in recollection. “He specifically named Vaeren. But didn’t I say his order was unprecedented and without explanation?”
“Yes, but that suggests Rohyr intended far more than to simply make an example of him,” Ranael mused aloud. “Is it possible he has read Vaeren’s personal records and saw much to his liking?”
“I would have known were that the case,” Arval said. “Vaeren’s personal records were sealed by General Veos when he was commandant of this camp.” He nodded when Ranael stared at him in surprise. “Save for his parentage and the fact that he grew up in a public orphanage, everything about his life prior to his arrival here is under lock and key. Seeing as those files are in my keeping, His Majesty’s request for them would have been coursed through me.”
Ranael frowned. It was highly unusual for any warrior’s past to be hidden so stringently, only the king or a duly authorized member of the Ardan’s Council had access to it. Records were usually sealed to protect a soldier with a less than savory background or who may have committed some offense that had since been redeemed by outstanding service. He did not see how either applied to Vaeren.
Bastardy did not count as unforgivably disreputable given how many by-blows entered the armed forces and proceeded to serve with honor. And Vaeren had come under the army’s jurisdiction too young to have engaged in a worse crime than what most street urchins got up to—being a cutpurse or engaging in petty pilferage. Besides, he was fairly certain the commander was too principled to have stooped to thievery of any sort even as a child. In any case, neither possibility warranted the concealment of one’s early years.
“What in Aisen could Vaeren have done to gain Rohyr’s notice?” Ranael wondered. “Are you sure he doesn’t know?”
“He knows as much as we do which is virtually naught.” Arval dipped his head to acknowledge the sentries at the gate as they reentered the camp. “Indeed, he asked me at the time why the Ardan chose him. I couldn’t give him an answer then; I can’t explain it to you now.”
“Methinks I’ll have to ask Rohyr next I visit court,” Ranael murmured.
“You can try,” Arval said. “But if His Majesty’s actions do hinge on information that are in Vaeren’s private records however improbable, it’s unlikely he’ll reveal his reasons even to you. He’s a Deir of honor before he is Ardan.”
Ranael sighed. “True. I’ll make the attempt nonetheless. Verily, this is an itch that needs be scratched.”
They parted ways at the command hall. Arval entered the building while Ranael made his way back to the officers’ barracks where he knew Vaeren would return in order to change into clothing suitable for an hour out on the drill yard. The commander would be putting several greenhorns through their paces.
He knocked on Vaeren’s door and entered the room when bid. Vaeren had shed his formal tunic and trousers and was now clad in simple breeches, a sleeveless shirt and hardy boots. His hair was loose upon his shoulders; he’d been about to tie it back when Ranael arrived.
“Is His Majesty returned to Rikara?” he asked.
“Yes, we saw him off,” Ranael replied.
Vaeren regarded him searchingly for a few moments. He said, “I don’t know why the Ardan singled me out. I do wish I knew.”
“Does it frighten you?”
“To have merited royal notice?” Vaeren shrugged. “I’m not frightened, only puzzled. It’s odd that he should treat me as if he knows me.”
“I discussed that with Arval,” Ranael said. “How long were you with Rohyr in Velarus?”
“We camped by Tal Ereq for two days before we rode to the border. I met him only twice more. When he came to the front and at the Citadel after the campaign. Verily, this is the first I’ve seen him since then.”
“Well, you certainly impressed him. Were I not certain of his passion for Lassen, I’d wonder at his interest in you.”
Vaeren’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Rohyr Essendri interested in the likes of me? It’s so far-fetched, it’s laughable.”
“Nay, it’s not. Or are you disparaging my taste in lovers?”
“Is that a roundabout way of saying you think me attractive?”
“I wouldn’t have let you into my bed if I didn’t,” Ranael retorted with a playful punch to the commander’s upper arm.
Chuckling, Vaeren suddenly pulled him into his embrace. “If I didn’t know better, Captain, I’d say you don’t want the Ardan to take an interest in me.”
Ranael snorted. “Why, do you?”
Vaeren eyed him askance, his expression calculating. A slow smile curved his lips. “Jealous?”
Ranael narrowed the distance between them. “Should I be?”
His answer was a bruising kiss that stole his very breath from him and reduced his thoughts to a jumble. He returned the molten caress with equal ferocity, inviting the plunder of his mouth as avidly as he pillaged Vaeren’s. Some lucidity remained to him, and he broke the kiss, attempting to push the commander away while paradoxically clinging to his shoulders.
“You’re expected at the drill yard,” he breathlessly said.
“And?” Vaeren murmured as he nibbled at Ranael’s throat.
“Damn it, Vaer! Would you leave me in this state?” Ranael growled. Try as he might, he could not will away his arousal.
“You know I’d never do that to you,” Vaeren whispered.
With a wicked smirk, he dropped to his knees. Ignoring Ranael’s halfhearted protest, Vaeren swiftly undid his lover’s breeches and yanked down his drawers. Ranael had only enough time to brace himself against the wardrobe before Vaeren wrapped his lips tight around his shaft. He stuffed a fist against his mouth to keep from moaning too loudly.
Will I come to you tonight? Vaeren’s question brushed his mind.
Though almost delirious from pleasure, Ranael managed a fervent, Yes!
Will you be as eager when you find yourself unable to sit for long tomorrow?
The implied promise of a thorough buggering whipped Ranael’s excitement into a virtual frenzy. He started to thrust erratically into Vaeren’s mouth, savoring the wet heat enclosing his flesh. Veres save me, he thought as his rapture spiraled out of control.
He who had been raised to play the stud now yearned to be mounted and frequently. When had his needs changed so utterly?
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Barely a month after General Arval’s formal elevation, the camp troops gathered anew before the ceremonial dais. Arval stepped onto the platform from behind the paneled backdrop, another Deir in officer’s tunic and mantle behind him. The Deir remained in the shadowed back of the dais so as not to call attention away from the general.
Arval briefly surveyed the gathered troops, his expression a tad melancholic.
He doesn’t want to leave, Ranael heard Vaeren in his mind.
Unfortunately, policy leaves him no choice.
Let’s hope his replacement is half as capable at the very least.
They ceased their silent conversation when Arval cleared his throat and started to speak.
“I have two announcements to make. First, I’m taking over as superintendent of the Ylandre Military Academy from General Davalos and as such will be departing for Ilmaren within a fortnight.”
He paused to allow the warriors to digest the information. “I’m sure many of you expected something of this nature to happen. Well, I’m not ashamed to admit I would have preferred to remain here. But duty dictates otherwise. Thus, it’s with a heavy heart that I now turn the Royal Garrison over to Praetor Ruven Beraz.” Arval’s voice caught as he ended his speech. “And it is with great pride that I present him with the finest warriors any Deir can ask for.”
At his gesture, the officer who’d accompanied him onto the dais stepped out into the light. Ranael glimpsed the earring on his left ear. Ley-silver adorned with an emerald. The praetor was either a Herun’s son or brother or a thein. Taller than Ranael by an inch or so but slightly leaner, he swept his gaze over the gathered officers with an air of entitlement that bespoke more than a privileged background.
This was a Deir who’d never been denied anything. Or one who was used to getting whatever he set his mind to.
The two officers stepped down from the dais, and Arval proceeded to introduce his replacement to each company’s officers. As he studied the new commandant, Ranael was reminded of ice.
Praetor Beraz was very fair in coloring with nearly white-gold hair, frosty-gray eyes, a thin sharp nose, and pale pink lips. Each time he spoke, he recalled the floes that littered the frigid bays in the far north of Vihandra. His tone virtually dripped with chilly disdain.
But he was undeniably handsome. Had he been a tad warmer, Ranael might have deemed him beautiful.
Whatever did we do to deserve him?
He glanced sideways at Vaeren with a small frown. There was little chance Beraz would pick up the commander’s shielded thoughts, but Ranael deemed it foolhardy to take the risk. The praetor did not look as if he would pull his punches whether literally or figuratively if you got on his wrong side. Nevertheless, he had to agree with Vaeren’s implied assessment of the Deir.
Beraz was very much General Arval’s opposite in attitude and demeanor. They could only hope he was as capable a commandant as his predecessor had been. He snapped to attention when Arval and Beraz stopped before him.
“This is Captain Ranael Mesare of the Red Knights,” Arval said.
Ranael dipped his head deferentially as he was presented. When he glanced up, he was taken aback to see Beraz looking him over more slowly than he had the other officers. The praetor’s eyes glittered as he finished his perusal, and a small cold smile curved his mouth. Ranael fought down the shiver his scrutiny evoked. He did not like being sized up as if he were a piece of merchandise on display in a market stall.
More like a brothel auction.
It took some effort not to flinch at Vaeren’s suggestion particularly since it was probably the more accurate evaluation of the praetor’s unnerving appraisal. He pursed his lips and returned Beraz’s gaze squarely, keeping his face devoid of expression.
To his dismay, Beraz’s smile turned into one of amusement, but his eyes gleamed with even greater interest.
“And this is Vaeren Henaz, Commander, the Rikara Guards and Captain Mesare’s second.”
Beraz’s stare lingered on Vaeren’s short braid. The Deir’s expression changed from veiled disdain to open scorn.
“How did one of the premier troops come to be led by a mere Half Blood?” he asked, his tone a-brim with disbelief. “And for this error to be compounded by making him company second-in-command? It’s unseemly, don’t you think, General?”
Vaeren did not bristle visibly, but Ranael sensed his indignation at being so summarily dismissed. He debated the wisdom of speaking up in his lover’s defense before a new superior officer he knew nothing of as yet. Fortunately, Arval also took exception to Beraz’s words.
“Commander Henaz is one of our most capable officers,” he said, placing clear emphasis on Vaeren’s surname. “He has proved time and again that he is more than worthy of command of the Rikara Guards. Hence his appointment as company second. Furthermore, it’s due to his bravery that I’m alive today.”
Beraz glanced at Arval with a small frown, obviously surprised at being rebuked by the general.
“Ah, I didn’t quite catch his name,” he said only a bit less frigidly. “So you’re the late Tribune Henaz’s sole issue, Commander?”
“My birth documents say I am, Dyhar,” Vaeren replied just as coolly.
“Hmm, a pity he got himself killed in Tenerith.”
This time Ranael bristled on Vaeren’s behalf. Beraz had clearly implied he thought Jored Henaz had run on his death.
“Henaz died in the line of duty,” Arval pointed out reprovingly. “Above and beyond it in fact. He personally led the company that delayed the advance of a much-larger rebel contingent in order for the injured to be taken away to safety. But perhaps you don’t deem it worth your pains to keep mere rankers alive.”
Perhaps Beraz realized he’d crossed a line, gaining Arval’s irate disapproval in the bargain. He offered an apologetic dip of his chin to the general, saying, “That was an unfortunate choice of words, Arval-dyhar. I didn’t mean to make light of the valiant Deira of our army. Certainly not one as highly regarded and fondly remembered as Tribune Henaz.”
He still did not look at Vaeren, though he invoked his sire’s memory. But at least, he did not make any further suggestions that the commander was unworthy of his present position. Though visibly far from appeased, Arval chose to be civil and allow the apology. He continued to present the rest of the officers.
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After what had been for all intents and purposes an impromptu review of the camp troops, Vaeren started to walk back to the officers’ barracks with Ranael and his friends. But Arval hailed him, so he waved his companions on. He returned to the general, wondering at the Deir’s displeased expression.
When he reached Arval, the latter gestured in the direction of Praetor Beraz who was also heading for the barracks. Right behind Ranael, he noticed with a scowl.
“I’m sorry about what happened just now, Vaer-min,” Arval said. “Beraz had no call to demean you that way. Unfortunately, there are still a great many who think very highly of themselves just for being born into the right family.”
“Not just a great many,” Vaeren said. “Unfortunately, you’re a rarity amongst your fellows. Pardon my curiosity, Dyhar, but is he a worthy successor?” he dared to ask.
Arval snorted. “Oh, he wouldn’t have been given command of this camp otherwise. He headed the forces sent to the Upper East Marches two years ago when the Moravins tried to extend their borders into our territory. He drove them back and brutally so from all accounts. He employed a rather gruesome method of retribution—chopped off the hands and feet of those unfortunate enough to fall into his hands.”
He grimly smiled when Vaeren flinched in revulsion. “A bloodthirsty fellow when he’s angry it seems. He also fought in Tenerith about a dozen years after your sire’s death. His company was almost obliterated during an ambush; he was very nearly killed save for the timely arrival of reinforcements. Which is why I’m appalled at his belittling of your sire’s sacrifice. We all know a tour of duty in Tenerith can well be our last.”
Vaeren pursed his lips and then reluctantly said, “So long as he’s a capable commandant and won’t bring us to grief from incompetence, I suppose that’s all that should matter.”
Arval eyed him curiously. “But something else worries you, and it has naught to do with his abilities as an officer. Out with it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Vaeren murmured, “He has his eye on Ranael.”
“Does he?” The general shook his head. “You had a better view of his face so I trust your intuition on that. But what if he does? Ranael is a Mesare. It’s all but inevitable a highborn Deir would take interest in one of the heirs of Edessa.”
“Is he a baron?”
“Nay. His brother is Herun of Vessan. Are you familiar with Vessan?” Vaeren shook his head. “I thought not. It isn’t a major fief.” All the major and therefore well-known fiefs were headed by kin or fast allies of House Essendri. “Vessan is to the west of Sidona and about half its size. But it’s rich in fertile land and resources. The Berazes have ruled it since several centuries before the Interregnum. So, they’re one of the oldest families in the land.”
“Respected, then.”
“What if they are?”
“He’d be a better match for a Mesare.”
Arval scoffed. “Shouldn’t that be for Ranael to decide? And as I said earlier, if Beraz has designs on him, it’s to be expected. Anyone who hopes for a good political alliance would think thusly.”
“Except I don’t think it’s just political to Praetor Beraz,” Vaeren said. “Ranael is very desirable even without the trappings of his birth. But that demure manner of his? It’s usually taken as modesty, but its also been misconstrued as challenging.”
“So you think Beraz might be goaded into pursuing him even more?”
“He strikes me as someone who expects to win whatever he desires.”
“Hmm, I get that impression too. But surely you trust Ranael to ignore any overtures other than yours.”
“If it had aught to do only with his heart, yes, I trust him. But he’s no ordinary Deir. Saints, he’s not even a mere blueblood.”
Arval stared at him in dawning comprehension. “I take it your visit to Edessa wasn’t encouraging.”
“His stepfather was amiable enough as were his brothers. But his sire made it clear he could do much better. He suggested that Ranael spend less time with the rank and file and mingle more often with his equals.”
“Heyas! Endrin said that?”
“Not to my face. I overheard them arguing about it.”
Arval shook his head. “I’ll have a word with him next time I set foot in Diondra.” When Vaeren started to protest, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, he won’t think you sicced me on him. I’ll have you know, I can be quite the diplomat if need be.”
Vaeren wanly smiled. “Thank you, Dyhar. You’ve looked after my best interests these past many years.”
“Not soon enough,” Arval said regretfully. “And not often enough either. See here, if Beraz gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to write me. I may no longer be in command of this camp, but I’m still higher ranked. He’ll think twice about crossing me.”
“That’s very kind,” Vaeren warmly said. “But I’d rather not. It’ll only give credence to the talk I licked your boots to get where I am now.”
“Damn the gossips!” Arvan complained. “You’d think the royal forces were stuffed with busybodies with nothing better to do than speculate about other folks’ lives.” He looked at Vaeren with renewed concern. “Beraz will be wary of mistreating you for now. But eventually he’ll get wind of your refusal to seek my help. I doubt he’ll hesitate to take advantage of your situation then.”
“I expect it,” Vaeren said. “But I don’t have much choice either way. I do promise you, I won’t hesitate to stand up for myself. And I won’t let him run me off from the army either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or Ranael’s side.”