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Alvir glared at the messenger before him. His fists were clenched tightly. He wanted to lash out, strike something, but the High Warlord knew such a display would accomplish nothing. The message would not change even if he killed the messenger who delivered it.
The messenger was tall, even by Nordsman standards, and nearly had to hunch entering through the door of Alvir’s tent. Looking over his shoulder to Tarik, Alvir saw the messenger had at least convinced his retainer of the news. Cracking his knuckles, the orc chieftain, Urzg, gave a low growl of displeasure. That made two the messenger had convinced.
“You’re sure?” Alvir pressed the Nordsman before him. “We have nearly starved Pskov out, and you say there are crusaders at Biorkon?”
“Clan Frost Lion’s women are not known for birthing liars,” the messenger insisted.
Alvir took a step back. Crusaders were in the Nordslands. That response came faster than Alvir would have anticipated. Urzg frowned at Alvir’s hesitation. This orc despised weakness even more than Alvir did. That made Urzg a valuable tool so long as Alvir appeared strong. He needed to come up with a plan fast if he wished to maintain the loyalty of Urzg’s tribe.
“Map.” Alvir thrust a hand out to Tarik.
Grabbing a large sheet of parchment, Tarik unfurled the map of the Nordslands and spread it across the table in the center of the tent. Alvir consulted it, tracing his finger across its features. News took time to travel, and while news traveled, so did armies.
“By the time we get down there it will be too late to relieve the Clan Owlbear warriors.” Alvir shook his head, looking to Tarik then Urzg.
“They’re already dead,” the messenger said with a grimace, bowing his head. “The crusaders slaughtered them to a man.”
Urzg snorted, picking a speck of filth from his tattered cloak.
“My lord,” Tarik interjected. “It stands to reason that the crusaders did not come to Biorkon by chance. If that’s the case, Azgald’s own army could be on its way here now to relieve this siege...”
“I am aware,” Alvir cut in. “And believe me, I have no desire to share the fate of our brothers at Biorkon. Abandon the siege. Strike the camp immediately.”
“Where are we going?” Tarik inquired.
Urzg’s expression changed from contempt to intrigue. Though cowardly and vile, orcs were not stupid. They could appreciate tactical and strategic nuance, even if their own raids were more direct affairs.
“With the crusade at Biorkon, they will undoubtedly pay their devotions at Vindholm before moving on to another fortress.” Alvir turned back to the map. “The Silver Suns will try to get the crusaders to march east while the Azgaldians will wish to push against our invasion from the south.”
Tarik and Urzg nodded in agreement. Alvir knew his foes well.
“But the crusaders themselves will want to strike at our heartland.” Alvir pointed emphatically at the map. “They may compromise on a northeastern target, Skasgun, maybe Epsberg. Tarik, Urzg, stay in the area with a small army of your best skirmishers. Raid. Pillage. Give the Azgaldians something to chase for a while. I’ll take the rest of the army to Skasgun, then Epsberg if I don’t find the crusaders along the way.”
Urzg balled his fist and thumped his mailed chest in salute. Tarik made to leave the tent, but Alvir grabbed him by the arm.
“And one more thing,” Alvir added. “Send word to Nera. We’ll need her to persuade more volunteers to reinforce you up here.”
“My lord.” Tarik bowed before leaving the tent.
Rubbing his temples, Alvir sat in a chair near the table with the map spread out over it. Seizing the throne had been easy enough. Maintaining it was proving much more difficult. Tarik was loyal to the end, but most Clan lords watched the balance of power shift with a keen eye, while orc and cyclops lords were sure to break their vows of allegiance the instant they believed Alvir to be losing control. Assurances, gifts, threats, all these things and more were required for Alvir to maintain his grasp on the Clans even while winning a war. How much more would be required of him should he begin to lose?
Clasping the dragon pendant around his neck, Alvir took comfort. Nera would help him maintain control. Her reputation as the Great Witch of the North gave Alvir a certain measure of authority; however, what she sought at Olso would not only cow the Clans into permanent submission—it would ensure Alvir’s victory in the war against Azgald as well.
***
A fire crackled in the hearth on the far side of the room. The blanket covering Godfrey was warm, and the bed was soft. He tossed in the sheets, and bit back a curse he wanted to screech as sharp pain ripped through his belly. A gentle voice shushed him as a soft feminine hand caressed his hair. Warmth washed over him, and the pain dulled.
Godfrey’s eyes popped open in surprise. The light pouring from outside through the window was so bright. The bed Godfrey was lying in was set in an unfamiliar room while a damsel sat in a chair beside him, hovering near him. Seeing Godfrey’s eyes flash open, she withdrew her hand as if Godfrey’s head were suddenly on fire. Her dark hair cascaded around her pale face, from which her grey eyes sparkled down at Godfrey. Did those eyes really sparkle just now?
“I am dead,” Godfrey declared, exhaling loudly.
“What?” the damsel asked in confusion.
“You are the girl from my dreams,” Godfrey explained as he closed his eyes again. “So I must be dead, and this is one of the celestial kingdoms.”
The damsel blushed and stood. She flattened the creases in her green dress with her hands. Brushing her long hair out of her face with her fingers, she huffed restlessly.
“Well you’re very much alive,” the damsel said with a smirk. “So stop dreaming.”
Godfrey sat up as he opened his eyes again. Tears filled his vision from the pain in his gut as he shifted in bed, but he was ready for it this time. Wiping away the tears, he looked at the damsel again, and his heart almost stopped. There was no mistaking it. This was the girl from his dreams.
“What is your name, my lady?” Godfrey offered his hand to the damsel.
“Madeline,” she replied as she returned the gesture.
Godfrey kissed her hand briefly before she withdrew it. Realizing he was wearing a tunic he did not recognize, his mind raced. He looked about the room quizzically but winced with every movement.
“Where am I if I am not dead?” He met her gaze.
“In Biorkon of course.” Madeline shrugged. “You’ve been lying here for days. Most of us thought you were going to die.”
“The battle?” Godfrey pressed.
“You did splendidly.” Madeline smiled, indicating the window off in the corner of the room. “I saw you lead the charge against those berserkers. It was very brave of you. Most knights of Azgald or even Silver Suns would think twice before doing that.”
“I did the only thing I could think of,” Godfrey confessed. “But after what they did, I might think twice next time. Why are they so hard to kill?”
“Berserkers are devoted to the Nordsman war gods,” Madeline explained. “Some say the dark gods bless them for their devotion. Others say that, because berserkers think they are invincible, it takes a very heavy blow to convince them otherwise.”
“I’ll remember that.” Godfrey nursed the wound in his gut. “I thought this castle belonged to the Silver Suns. What is a damsel like you doing here?”
“My father is the Duke of Pavik.” Madeline sat back down in the chair she had risen from. “He came here to meet the leaders of the crusade when they arrived.”
“And where is Pavik?” Godfrey asked.
“It’s the westernmost duchy of Azgald,” Madeline sighed. “In winter, it can take more than a month to reach it from here.”
“That’s a long way for a duke to bring his daughter,” Godfrey said. “Was your father’s only intention to meet the leaders of the crusade?”
“We shall see.” She gave a mischievous look and rose from her chair.
Madeline walked slowly to the door without another word. Godfrey watched her. The damsel’s ornate jeweled hairpin on the back of her head reminded him of the hilt of a dagger. Then again, most things Godfrey saw tended to remind him of the tools of his own trade. He was utterly captivated by her beauty, but there was also intelligence in her grey eyes. The careful way she chose her words before speaking also suggested she had spent significant time with books.
Realizing she was about to leave, he silently stammered for something to say, but words failed him. Thought itself failed him. Had he not known better, he would have said she was enjoying watching him squirm for that brief moment. With a wink, she was out the door.
Forgetting his wound, Godfrey flopped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. His head seemed so light that it might well fly away from his body entirely. He envisioned Madeline’s face in his mind, silently repeating her name over and over again. She did not exactly seem subtle in displaying her interest either, which excited him all the more. He tried to rise from the bed to go after her, but yelped as the puncture in his stomach argued otherwise.
Walaric knocked on the door, and cautiously entered the room. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw Godfrey was awake. Striding to his friend, Walaric plopped in the chair Madeline had occupied just a minute or so before.
“Glad to see you are up,” Walaric confessed. “Turpin and I have been praying for you.”
“Thanks,” Godfrey acknowledged. “What happened? How did the battle end?”
“Losses were minimal,” Walaric reassured him. “We took them completely by surprise. Turpin says Alvir was not here though. Word is that the Nordsman High King was fighting another battle farther up north.”
“I see.” Godfrey scratched his forehead.
“Well we’re off to a good start anyway,” Walaric beamed.
“Right.” Godfrey gave a bemused smile, thinking of Madeline again.
“Duke Tancred is arguing with the Silver Suns and Phillip and Henry over where to attack next,” Walaric said after a while.
“Will this be how it is the whole crusade?” Godfrey rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why we don’t just take the crusade to wherever Alvir is. Defeat him, stop the Nordsmen. That objective is easy enough. Who is this Duke Tancred? Why didn’t King Lothar join us here?”
“You know each of these lords has his own agenda in this,” Walaric quipped sardonically. “King Lothar went north to repel the main Nordsman advance. High King Alvir is probably up there with the Clan army. As for Duke Tancred, he is also one of Azgald’s lords. I think he said he was the Duke of Pavik or something like that. He is arguing that the crusade should follow the King, and try to retake some of the northern fortresses.”
“Is that what King Lothar thinks is best for the crusade?” Godfrey wondered aloud.
“Lothar hasn’t sent word to give any direction,” Walaric replied with a frown.
“So Tancred is siding with Oksar then,” Godfrey noted, suddenly finding great wisdom in the Baron’s position.
“It looks like it,” Walaric agreed. “You should rest up. Another council is being called together as soon as you are able to walk again.”
It took another three days for Godfrey to be able to stand on his own. Standing was almost unbearably painful up until that point. Even still, he winced with every step. Madeline had not come to visit him in his room again, though Walaric assured him she and Duke Tancred were still in Biorkon. At one point, Biorkon’s castellan, a middle-aged man named Poil, came in to express the Silver Suns’ gratitude, but Godfrey was only disappointed it was not Madeline who had come to visit.
“There are other maidens here too,” Walaric told Godfrey as he lay in bed, complaining about Madeline’s absence. “There’s a few other lords from Azgald looking to find marriage prospects for their daughters by the looks of it.”
“Take them,” Godfrey scoffed.
“They’re not bad-looking.” Walaric shrugged. “Besides, I’m afraid I can’t. I’m binding myself to one of the celestial gods, remember? That means complete celibacy unless I change my mind and choose a nature god for my patron.”
“Right.” Godfrey rolled his eyes. “With that rule, how do the celestial gods find any priests to venerate them?”
“There’s more to life than just girls,” Walaric chastised him, apparently trying to convince himself as much as his friend.
“I was just kidding,” Godfrey quipped. “I know.”
Painfully, Godfrey found himself limping down the fortress corridors by the end of the fourth day since he regained consciousness. The Sun was setting, and the Silver Sun orderlies were lighting torches and candles in the hallways. Shadows danced through the halls as the candles and torches flickered. Godfrey was hoping to find Madeline, but was disappointed at every turn. Biorkon was almost as large as Fuetoile Keep and completely unfamiliar to Godfrey.
A Silver Sun chaplain led a group of knights in plainsong from somewhere farther down the corridor. Godfrey wandered towards the melodious hymn. The sound was almost hypnotic.
Morgan the Bloodied emerged from the chapel in which the knights were singing. A scowl creased the Grand Master’s face as he met Godfrey’s eyes. Godfrey stopped in his tracks as his hand began to tremble. This was the last person he had hoped to find.
“Godfrey.” Morgan sneered as he drew closer to him. “Glad to see you are on your feet again. Perhaps now the crusade can go back on the offensive.”
“I did not ask the whole crusade to stop for me,” Godfrey countered.
“The second largest group of crusaders is under your command.” Morgan pointed at Godfrey’s chest. “If you stop, the whole crusade stops. Try not to throw your life away for no reason.”
“I did not see you doing anything about those berserkers,” Godfrey snapped with a voice that shook almost as badly as his hand.
“A wise commander would have let his infantry deal with the berserkers instead of wasting the lives of his knights.” Morgan glared at him.
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Godfrey countered, throwing out his hands emphatically. “How could I ask the men to do something I would not?”
“This is all a moot point now, wouldn’t you say, Grand Master?” Turpin cut in, approaching from behind Godfrey.
Godfrey almost jumped at Turpin’s surprise entrance, but he was equally relieved that he was no longer alone with the Grand Master. Grumbling something indistinct, Morgan stormed away down the corridor. Turpin’s eyes followed the Grand Master until he rounded a corner and was out of sight. Scratching his head, the chaplain turned to Godfrey.
“The Grand Master of the Silver Suns would make a terrible adversary out here,” Turpin said, frowning.
“I didn’t start it.” Godfrey’s frustration returned as quickly as it had left.
“No,” Turpin concurred. “But he is a powerful man, especially here in Azgald. Try to stay on his good side.”
“Right.” Godfrey bit back any further retort he might have wished to say.
“The council is about to be held.” Turpin indicated the direction Morgan had gone. “Make a left down the corridor there, and it should be in the first room on your right. I’ll be joining you as soon as I fetch Walaric.”
Turpin left in the direction he had come from. Limping down the hallway, Godfrey frowned at the thought of going into the room without Turpin or Walaric. He had no other friends among the crusaders. He slowed his pace, hoping Turpin might return with Walaric before he even reached the other lords, but that did not seem likely with how little corridor remained in front of him. Turning the corner, Godfrey was surprised to see Baldwin de Ghend about to enter the door Turpin had indicated.
“Hello.” Baldwin half-smiled.
Baldwin stepped past the door and grasped Godfrey’s hand.
“Charging those berserkers during the battle was awfully brave of you,” Baldwin said, releasing Godfrey’s hand.
“Some people would call it foolish.” Godfrey grimaced.
“Other people are green with envy at such a glorious exploit.” Baldwin shrugged. “You should have seen the look on Conrad’s face when he heard you survived the charge.”
“There is no love lost between the two of us,” Godfrey sighed.
“The same could be said of Conrad and many people,” Baldwin muttered.
Godfrey paused, considering Baldwin. He was different from the other crusaders Godfrey had met thus far. This was the first outside of his own men from Bastogne Godfrey met who did not seem openly antagonistic. Baldwin’s amicability was a shock. Godfrey had come to expect worse.
“Why did you come on crusade?” Godfrey asked bluntly.
“Oh...” Baldwin hesitated, taken aback. “There is more than one reason to choose from? I came because the gods called.”
“As did I.” Godfrey smiled. “How are affairs in Ghend?”
“Trade with the dwarves is good.” Baldwin cracked his fingers. “At least it is when winter isn’t bad and brigands aren’t out.”
“Fair enough,” Godfrey conceded.
“Did you know Conrad before the crusade?” Baldwin inquired.
“No.” Godfrey crossed his arms.
“Let me tell you something about him.” Baldwin looked to make sure no one else was within earshot. “He is a genuine prick. As such, even when he does the right thing, it’s for the wrong reason. Most of the crusaders I’ve met are here for the right reasons. Don’t judge us all by his example.”
“I’ll try not to.” Godfrey’s voice trailed off.
A tall, broad-framed man entered the corridor. A white dragon set against a red field was emblazoned on his tabard. Godfrey’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Madeline standing just behind the man. The man’s hair was long and as dark as hers. The resemblance left little doubt in Godfrey’s mind that this was Madeline’s father. Baldwin’s jaw hung open at the sight of Madeline, and Godfrey shot him a dangerous look.
“This is the boy?” Duke Tancred looked Godfrey over, apparently unimpressed.
Madeline shook her head in reply, trying to conceal a smile.
“He doesn’t look like much now, does he?” Tancred scowled. “He’s not very tall or strong for a knight.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Madeline started. “You saw from the wall how he charged those berserkers.”
“Foolish,” Tancred countered. “It was the antics of a young and foolish boy.”
“Brave is the word you’re looking for, father,” Madeline insisted more earnestly than before. “He also slew a vampire back in Lortharain.”
Who told her that? Godfrey wondered.
“I killed a man-eating giant when I was his age.” Tancred’s tone grew disinterested.
Godfrey raised an eyebrow, impressed at Tancred’s feat of arms.
The disappointment in Baldwin’s face grew as he apparently realized Madeline had not even noticed him. Though Godfrey had quickly grown to like Baldwin, he willed his newfound friend to simply go away and forget about Madeline. It seemed Godfrey would have enough of a challenge from Madeline’s father without competition.
“Boy,” Tancred addressed Godfrey directly for the first time. “You are the son of Ulric, the Duke of Bastogne?”
“Yes, my lord,” Godfrey answered in what he thought was the most polite voice he could manage.
“And how many knights can Bastogne muster?” Tancred pressed.
“Well...” Godfrey thought about this for a moment. “I brought five hundred with me on crusade and six thousand infantry.”
“So Bastogne is a large and powerful duchy then,” Tancred said, seeming to weigh this information against other facts. “But there are other powerful lords here too.”
Baldwin’s eyes lit up as he was about to say something, but Godfrey stamped his foot over Baldwin’s. Baldwin silently bit back a curse, looking quizzically at Godfrey, who pretended not to notice.
“Come, Madeline,” Tancred continued, gesturing for his daughter as he opened the door.
Madeline caught Godfrey’s eye for just a moment as she walked through the door. Then her father whisked her to a seat at a large table between him and Conrad the Wolf in the next instant. Godfrey’s blood boiled at the sight. His only consolation was that Madeline did not seem to be enjoying her time with Conrad any more than Godfrey would have.
“That’s a shame,” Baldwin added sourly, following Godfrey’s gaze. “Looks like neither of us gets her.”
“Come on.” Godfrey gestured for Baldwin to follow him into the council chamber. “Let’s get this over with.”
Spotting Godfrey, Torcul of Cumbria pulled a seat out for him. Godfrey sat next to Torcul and Baldwin found another seat nearby. Torcul slapped Godfrey on the back endearingly.
“Aye lad,” Torcul swelled. “You did a great thing out there the other day.”
“Except when you cried for your mother,” Conrad taunted, interrupting Torcul. “What a great, brave warrior crying for his mother as he bleeds out in the snow.”
Godfrey bit his lip in embarrassment. He had forgotten about that until now. Madeline frowned at Godfrey then turned her eyes down into her lap. The others fell silent.
“Oh.” Conrad smirked, now jeering at Madeline. “You did not know just how brave Godfrey de Bastogne was?”
“At least he fought them,” Madeline replied meekly.
“We all did,” Conrad blustered. “I killed over a dozen of the brutes myself. But the first thing Godfrey does is get himself stabbed and cry. ‘Mother help... Please, mother.’ How pathetic.”
“Enough,” Henry the Pilgrim cut in as he entered the room.
Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone turned to face Henry. The look on his face was cold. No one dared to speak.
“I have seen men do far worse in the face of death,” Henry added, brushing his cloak over his back. “What I hear of your own near-death experience is hardly flattering, Conrad. Shall I tell everyone here what you did at the siege of Friegslav when you got that scar? I’m sure everyone here would want to know how brave you were when facing the wizard Thuz.”
“He was a wizard...” Conrad’s voice trailed off weakly.
Sulking, Conrad lowered his eyes in shame. Godfrey and several others shifted uncomfortably at the word wizard. The old Gothian scowled as he looked over everyone present. After a satisfied look at the other crusaders, Henry moved across the room. To Godfrey’s surprise, Henry took his seat next to Morgan. The two had argued so intensely back at Kalscony that this was the last thing Godfrey had expected.
“We have made amends,” Henry explained to the questioning stares Godfrey and the others gave him.
Godfrey silently bet that such amends somehow involved promises of money and or lands changing hands.
The last of the crusade’s leadership entered the council chamber, as did some other Azgaldian lords Godfrey had not previously met. A few maidens attended these Azgaldian lords. Godfrey guessed these damsels were the lords’ daughters and unmarried sisters. Walaric was right. They were each attractive in their own way. They traded flirtatious glances with the younger crusaders, but Godfrey only had eyes for Madeline, and she for him.
One curly-haired maiden locked eyes with Baldwin, and the two mouthed silent promises to meet up later. Godfrey smiled at this development and made a note to ask Baldwin about it later. At least his interest in Madeline was now redirected towards another beautiful young damsel.
Turpin and Walaric found their places just behind Godfrey, and he turned his attention back to war and such serious matters. Love would have to wait. The murmur of voices that had arisen as the remaining crusader lords and their attendees arrived was diffused as Morgan gestured for quiet.
“This was a great victory,” Morgan exclaimed. “The Silver Suns are in your debt. However, this attack on Biorkon shows just how vulnerable Azgald’s eastern borders are. If Alvir is unafraid to send forces to Biorkon, then Narlstad is vulnerable, and even the holy city of Vindholm itself could be attacked.”
“Alvir attacked Biorkon without knowing about the crusade’s arrival,” Tancred countered. “He will be more cautious in the future.”
“Agreed,” Phillip d’Artois added. “We should link up with King Lothar’s forces in the North and press our advantage. We can invade the Clans, force them to the defensive.”
“But Vindholm is sacred,” Henry argued. “We cannot let the Nordsmen defile the temples there.”
“The gods would curse us all if we allowed Vindholm’s sacred sites to burn,” Morgan noted grimly. “The King has the North under control. The crusade’s duty should be to the eastern theater of this war. It is the only sensible option.”
Godfrey wanted to agree with Phillip, as his support might help him gain favor with Tancred, but the Grand Master of the Silver Suns was clearly right in this instance. Closing his eyes, Godfrey silently prayed for inspiration. Was Vindholm really under immediate threat? Godfrey knew so little of Azgald’s geography. Vindholm was a sacred city with many holy sites, but he did not know its strategic value. Henry the Pilgrim knew the land. He had been here before. Should he follow Henry’s sentiments? Conrad was also vocalizing his support to push north, and Godfrey knew what he must say.
“The men of Bastogne will march east,” Godfrey blurted out over Conrad. “Protecting the temples of Vindholm is a sacred obligation we cannot ignore. Who is with me?”
“Aye,” Baldwin and Torcul chorused.
“Aye,” Raymond of Wrehst concurred a moment later.
“It seems we have a majority.” Henry smirked, nodding to Godfrey.
“Excellent.” Morgan clasped his hands together, eager to lay out his plan of attack. “There are four great fortresses which form the backbone of the Eastern Marches: Epsberg, Mirborg, Laht, and Odsha. If we strike all four of them at once, the Eastern Marches are as good as ours.”
“That will require us to break up the crusade into significantly smaller armies,” Phillip protested. “The Nordsmen could easily defeat us one at a time if we committed to this plan.”
“But if we strike fast enough, we could consolidate our forces again before they can counterattack.” Torcul gestured with his fist.
“There is a lot of timber here in the Nordslands.” Baldwin scratched his chin. “Siege engines could be built on site to save time hauling them with us from castle to castle. We leave the stone-throwers with whatever garrisons are left behind, dismantle the towers and ladders, then start over at the next objective.”
“Don’t you remember what Oksar said back at Kalscony?” Conrad cut in angrily. “How are the Silver Suns going to hold onto all of these castles after we go? This will just be a waste of time.”
“My men and I could hold one of the fortresses until reinforcements came for us,” Raymond answered. “We could live off the land there. We could send for our wives and children if we were there long enough. It would be an honor.”
Tancred and two of the other Azgaldian lords murmured to each other quickly and quietly. Some sort of agreement was reached that Godfrey felt suspicious of. Madeline, listening in on her father’s conversation, winked at Godfrey from across the table when their eyes met. He let out a slow breath, trusting Madeline’s judgment for what it was worth.
“Let it not be said that Pavik did not do its duty to Azgald and the gods.” Tancred crossed his arms. “If the crusade moves east, my men and I will come too.”
The other Azgaldian lords present assented.
Morgan nodded graciously in reply.
“It’s settled then,” Henry affirmed. “Tancred will accompany Godfrey and Conrad to Epsberg. Baldwin and Phillip will go to Odsha. And I will take Raymond, Torcul, and Gunthar to Laht. Morgan, can your Silver Suns take Mirborg?”
“I will send to Oksar in Kalscony.” Morgan smiled maliciously. “He owes a debt to the Silver Suns that I think I would now like him to pay.”
“Once each army has completed its quest, we will rendezvous at Narlstad,” Henry added. “That will put us in a good position to plan our next move.”
The crusaders murmured in assent and began to leave. First, Torcul and Gunthar left the room as they kept a close watch on each other. Then Phillip and the two Gothians left. Baldwin slipped out after the curly-haired maiden so quickly and quietly, Godfrey barely noticed. He silently wished them luck.
Hoping to catch a private moment with Madeline, Godfrey lingered. She gave him an apologetic look, as Tancred was trying to force her into a conversation with Conrad. The other Azgaldian lords around the table eyed Godfrey as if he had overstayed his welcome.
Turpin cleared his throat, gesturing for Godfrey to follow him and Walaric out the door.
“There will be more opportunities,” Turpin consoled Godfrey as they made their way out into the corridor. “If not her, then another damsel will present herself. There have been a lot of lords coming to Biorkon over the last few days introducing their daughters to the crusade’s young bachelors.”
“But none like her.” Walaric wistfully batted his eyes at Godfrey.
Godfrey shoved Walaric away, who only cackled madly in response.
Giving a slight cough, Phillip emerged from an alcove in the corridor. Godfrey, Turpin, and Walaric stopped in their tracks. Godfrey’s eyes narrowed as they met Phillip’s.
“You seem to have discovered how to exert your influence over the crusade,” Phillip began diplomatically. “May I have a moment with you, Godfrey, alone?”
Godfrey shrugged to Turpin and Walaric. They exchanged glances, but the two left Godfrey with the Duke of Artois and continued down the corridor without him. Phillip looked both ways down the hall. They were alone. After a long moment, he gestured for Godfrey to join him in the alcove.
“I took you for a fool,” Phillip confessed. “I was wrong. Will you accept my apology?”
“I was not offended,” Godfrey cautiously replied.
“You have quickly learned the one truth of negotiating on campaign,” Phillip continued smoothly. “The lord with the most soldiers under his command is always in the majority. How did you figure this out while so young?”
“It was a couple of things,” Godfrey admitted. “When I first met Conrad, he was jealous of me because I brought more men than he did. Then, tonight Morgan accused me of holding up the whole crusade because of my injury.”
“You are sharp.” Phillip smiled. “Conrad is a fool, eager for glory and bellicose. He will align himself with me, hoping to enhance his own prestige. But together, we have almost thirteen thousand men. I cannot turn down that kind of support. If you were to support me, we would have more than half the crusade on our side. Then we could ensure that things move the way we want them to.”
“You mean the way you want them to,” Godfrey corrected.
“Listen...” Phillip’s expression grew stern. “Artois borders Bastogne. When this crusade is over, I will not forget my friends...or my enemies. Understood?”
“Your threats don’t scare me.” Godfrey shook his head. “What do you have to gain from capturing the Northern Marches? I thought going east would be best for Azgald, but you want to go north regardless of how much sense it does or doesn’t make.”
“Think over my proposal,” Phillip snorted. “Choose wisely before you say anything else that might hurt Bastogne in the future.”
Without replying, Godfrey briskly walked down the hall in the direction Turpin and Walaric had gone. Retracing his steps proved difficult for Godfrey. Eventually, he found a set of spiral stairs. It was not the set he had come down earlier, but he was sure it would lead him somewhere familiar.
A cold draft followed him up the stairs. He froze in place then almost fell backwards as he saw Madeline sitting on the stairs ahead of him. Gesturing for him to be quiet, she indicated he should sit next to her.
“Father doesn’t know I’m here,” she whispered. “But I have ways of slipping out of sight when I need to. Still, he would be very upset if he found out you approached me like this.”
Godfrey believed Madeline had reversed who had found whom, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
“Right.” He frowned as he sat next to her. “I thought he would be, after what I did down there.”
“You think for yourself.” Madeline smiled. “I like that.”
Godfrey blushed.
“Tell me about your hand.” Madeline was suddenly very close to Godfrey.
“What?” Godfrey could do little to hide his surprise at the sudden request.
The smell of her perfume intoxicated Godfrey. Madeline was close, but Godfrey wanted to be even closer. The look on her face completely disarmed him. Resisting the urge to kiss her on the spot, Godfrey pretended to cough.
“I’m sorry,” Godfrey said. “What was that?”
“Your hand was shaking in the council chamber when Conrad was mocking you.” Madeline indicated Godfrey’s right hand. “It did it again when you went against father.”
“Oh,” Godfrey exhaled, understanding what Madeline meant. “It started doing that a while ago. I think it was some time after my first battle.”
Growing uncomfortable, Godfrey thought hard about how to change the conversation.
“Who were those other men in the council chamber?” he asked.
“The Dukes of Austlad, Gotlad, and Smalad.” Madeline shook her head dismissively. “A few of the barons and counts who could make it were also there. Don’t worry about them. They’re loyal to father.”
“Right.” Godfrey scratched his ear, unsure if Madeline’s comment should really inspire confidence in him.
“You have lots of nervous habits,” Madeline insisted. “Tell me about your hand.”
Stretching his mind, Godfrey tried to think of what caused his hand to tremble. He had not realized it was shaking in the council chamber. At other times the sensation was so overwhelming it almost paralyzed him. He thought back to the vampire’s castle in the swamp. There were other times too, some more recent than that.
“I guess it has something to do with fear,” Godfrey divulged guardedly. “Or anger. I don’t know.”
“I don’t think anyone else noticed,” Madeline said. “Don’t worry. I don’t think you’re a coward.”
“Thanks.” Godfrey breathed freely as his thoughts and feelings suddenly came pouring out. “It’s just, you don’t realize until you’re actually there in battle. Death doesn’t distinguish between brave men and cowards. It’s not until you’re there that you realize the squire who fell next to you could have been you instead. During that first battle, I saw men eaten alive by shambling hordes of undead. Zombies, ghouls, it was just...awful to see.”
Godfrey had to take a long breath to steady himself. He had never told anyone how he felt after his first battle. There had been no point in telling Fallard, Bruno, or Fulcher. They had all been there too. Walaric would not have understood. Yet it was so easy to confide in Madeline.
“So why do you still go out there?” Madeline asked after giving Godfrey a long, hard look. “Why do you go out to see the blood and gore and men screaming as they die?”
“Duty,” Godfrey answered quietly. “This is the task the gods have given me by my birth. Maybe others could do it instead of me. Bastogne has plenty of soldiers. Someone else could have led the crusaders here in my stead. But the gods called, and I obeyed. Then that obedience led me to you.”
There was a long silence. Had Godfrey said too much? Earlier, he had told Madeline she was the girl of his dreams, but that statement was born of a fleeting bravado he had only rarely felt around young women. He was not about to tell her he really had been dreaming of her well before they met. Most people’s faith had limits. Did he even really believe she was the girl in his dreams now that he thought about it? Or was his mind playing tricks on him?
He had trouble reading Madeline’s expression. Her eyes focused on something distant. Finally, her gaze fell on him. Her lip twitched. In a flash, she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and flew up the stairs before he could even react. Stunned, he sat on the stair for a long while, holding his face where Madeline had kissed him.