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It was early morning when Godfrey and Madeline returned to Narlstad. Godfrey’s bones ached from the cold. They had ridden all night, and he did not feel like saying anything anymore. He was glad Madeline was safe, but he was just too tired to engage in conversation at this point.
Horvath and Turpin approached them from just outside the heavy wooden gate when they ascended the hill. Horvath mimicked Turpin’s grim expression, though Godfrey was unsure if Horvath normally expressed himself this way. Godfrey’s only interaction with the castellan left him with bad news, so Godfrey had seen Marshal Horvath wear few other expressions.
Feeling Madeline beginning to dismount Baruch from behind him, Godfrey stopped her with a gesture. He remembered what Horvath had said about holding her hostage. Despite her father clearly having wronged the Silver Suns, Godfrey was not about to jeopardize her safety, even for justice’s sake.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
“But,” she began.
“We don’t know if this is a safe place yet,” he explained.
She resumed her spot on Baruch without further argument. Godfrey urged Baruch forward a few more paces. Horvath and Turpin were now within earshot. Examining Turpin for any clues that might reveal what he and Madeline might expect from the Silver Suns Marshal, Godfrey was disappointed to find none.
“You’re safe, my lady,” Turpin said, giving a slight bow.
“We are glad you brought her back,” Horvath added, acknowledging Godfrey.
“Godfrey saved me,” she cut in before Godfrey could say anything. “The others were killed by the enemy.”
This was not strictly a lie, but the slightest resentment simmered in Godfrey. Did she not trust him? Did she think he had forgotten to keep her secret? He remembered all the trouble he had gotten into with the priests back at the Temple of Spes. He was not about to say anything that might arouse fear or suspicion.
“Come with me, my lady.” Horvath proffered his hand. “You must be tired.”
“If it’s all the same,” Godfrey interjected, “I’ll be watching after Lady Madeline.”
She huffed in apparent protest, but Godfrey could not tell for certain. Right now he did not care. Horvath paused for a moment, calculating something before lowering his hand. The castellan glanced at Turpin. Then he looked back to Madeline. Meeting Godfrey’s eyes, Horvath’s expression was unreadable.
“As you wish, my lord.” Marshal Horvath gestured to the open fortress gates.
Turpin gave a discreet nod, and Godfrey urged Baruch through the gates. Turpin and Horvath followed. Once they were in the outer courtyard, a Silver Suns servant offered to take Baruch’s reins. Godfrey and Madeline dismounted, and the servant led Baruch to the stables. The crusaders from Bastogne were mingling with the Silver Suns, repairing arms and armor, mending clothes, eating, drinking, and gossiping.
“Any word from the others?” Godfrey asked no one in particular.
“We just received word that Mirborg is back in Silver Sun hands,” Horvath answered as they continued to the inner gate. “One of the garrison’s captains betrayed his section of the wall to our forces in the night. The defenses crumbled after that.”
“That’s encouraging,” Madeline chimed in.
“Word is the siege at Laht is also going well,” Horvath added. “But they are having trouble at Odsha.”
“We should go and help them,” Godfrey suggested.
“Grand Master Morgan is already on his way to Odsha,” Horvath countered. “The fortress will have fallen before you get there.”
“Fine,” Godfrey conceded as they passed through the gate to the inner courtyard.
“Your men should rest here for at least a few days,” Horvath advised. “That was a bold move your crusaders made, attacking four castles at once, but my spies say Alvir is moving his own forces into this region to counter the crusade. Rest, regroup, then plan your next move.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Godfrey acknowledged.
“Where are the rest of your men?” Madeline asked Horvath.
“Excuse me?” Horvath was caught off guard by the question.
“There were a lot more Silver Suns here before I left.” Madeline looked about the courtyard seeming to count the soldiers present.
“They are joining the Grand Master at Odsha.” The irritation in Horvath’s voice was unmistakable.
“Is that the Grand Master’s only destination?” Madeline raised an eyebrow.
“Once Odsha has our standard raised over it,” Horvath said, “they are going to Epsberg to persuade your father and Conrad the Wolf to yield the castle.”
Scandalized, Madeline stopped and turned to Godfrey.
“It was the Silver Suns’ castle before the Clans took it,” Godfrey reasoned, stopping in his tracks. “And the crusade offered to reclaim it for the Silver Suns.”
Her expression was hard. Clenching her fists, she glared at Godfrey as if he had betrayed her at the deepest level. Godfrey gritted his teeth. How did she expect him to react? Tancred was wrong. Did Madeline not understand that?
As if sensing Godfrey’s frustration, Turpin stepped to his side.
“Your father acted in bad faith,” Turpin clarified. “He took advantage of us.”
Madeline was about to say something more, but apparently thought better of it. She looked from Turpin to Horvath to Godfrey. Unclenching her fists, she sighed.
“You’re right.” She lowered her gaze. “What is going to happen to father?”
“As I said,” Horvath reaffirmed, “the Grand Master hopes to persuade your father and Conrad the Wolf to yield Epsberg to the Silver Suns. He won’t use any unnecessary force.”
“It would not be wise for Azgald and the Silver Suns to be at each other’s throats with the Clans on the offensive,” Godfrey said, turning to Horvath.
“Agreed,” Horvath concurred. “But the Duke of Pavik’s actions are unacceptable. We will just have to see what terms he and the Grand Master come to.”
With that, Horvath showed Godfrey, Turpin, and Madeline into the citadel. The interior of Narlstad’s keep reminded Godfrey of Biorkon. The castle was as much a monastery as a fortress, the Silver Suns within the keep constantly singing hymns, praying, and burning that incense Godfrey despised.
Horvath led Godfrey, Turpin, and Madeline up a set of spiral stairs. They ascended four or five levels up the keep’s southeastern tower before stopping. Godfrey silently hoped he would not need to climb too many more stairs today.
“This will be your room, Lord Godfrey.” Horvath indicated a plain door as they stepped out onto the landing. “Lady Madeline’s room is at the top of the tower on the next level.”
“I’ll escort Madeline the rest of the way,” Godfrey said, half-wishing he could stop here. “Thank you, castellan.”
“Very well.” Horvath’s indifferent reply surprised Godfrey, who expected some sort of resistance from either Horvath or Turpin.
He saw none in either of them. He had grown accustomed to someone somewhere always telling him that he should not do what he intended, for some reason. More surprisingly, Turpin did not seem to have a rebuke for Godfrey after he ran off after Madeline by himself.
With a bow, Horvath excused himself back down the stairs. Turpin followed the castellan without a word. It was just Madeline and Godfrey again.
“Lead the way, my gallant knight.” She gestured toward the stairs.
After reaching the highest level, Godfrey recognized the door to the room at the top of the tower was identical to all the others he had seen as they walked up the stairs. He opened it without so much as glancing inside, and gestured for Madeline to enter. She complied with a curtsey. It was only as she passed him that Godfrey realized they both smelled like they had been out in the woods for far too long.
Following her in, he closed the door behind him. The room was a semi-circle, the wall dividing it from the stairwell and anteroom on the other side. It was austere, with little adornment aside from a few candles and a prayer book set on a small desk, a hard wooden chair, and a small brass four-pointed star hanging from the wall. Madeline reclined on the bed occupying the center of the room, and invited him to sit in the chair with a wave of her hand.
“This reminds me of the shrine at Harv,” he noted with a touch of sadness as he took his seat. “It’s where I first met Walaric.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He was hurt pretty badly in the ambush.” Godfrey frowned. “He couldn’t walk. They must have taken him to the infirmary.”
“Maybe I can help,” she suggested.
“Good idea,” he agreed. “Let’s find him after we’ve rested a bit.”
His eyelids growing heavy, Godfrey stifled a yawn. The temptation to curl up in the bed next to Madeline grew stronger, and the thought chased away his desire for sleep. She was a very beautiful young woman. And she had feelings for him too.
“Go get some sleep,” she advised, a touch of sobriety crossing her face. “We will talk more later.”
“Later,” Godfrey repeated blearily, scraping the chair against the floor as he stood. “That will be good.”
“Oh,” she added. “And if you ever think about trying to do anything unchivalrous with me, I’ll burn you to a crisp.”
Madeline snapped her fingers, and a few small sparks sputtered away from her hand. Whatever fantasies he had begun to entertain concerning Madeline vanished as his feet found purpose in walking out of the room. Once he left, he let out a long yawn. His thinking was becoming muddied and his movements slow as he descended the stairs.
Godfrey’s room was much like Madeline’s with few differences he could notice upon entering. He turned to the brass four-pointed star hanging from the wall in his room. He realized he should give thanks. He muttered a prayer of gratitude to Loxias that was probably too brief. But fatigue was overcoming him. Flopping onto the bed, he did not even bother undressing before falling asleep.
***
The next day started relatively uneventfully. Godfrey made sure to bathe at the first opportunity. He also spoiled himself on the first hot meal he had eaten in a while. It seemed surreal just waiting in one place after so much constant travel.
“I will let you know the instant I hear anything about the other crusaders,” Turpin reassured him as the two ate porridge at a table in the great hall. “Don’t worry about them for now.”
“Besides,” Madeline cut in as she joined Godfrey and Turpin at the table, “we have Walaric to worry about.”
“He’s in the infirmary?” Godfrey asked.
Turpin nodded in reply as he slurped down the rest of his porridge. Godfrey hastily tilted his own bowl, letting the warm contents slide down his throat. Having finished his meal, he set the bowl down on the table, and pushed his chair out with a scrape.
“I know the way,” Madeline said in response to his questioning look.
“Let’s go,” he replied, waving farewell to Turpin.
As Madeline led Godfrey through a series of narrow corridors, he could not help but be reminded of Biorkon. Both fortresses lacked adornment, and the Silver Sun inhabitants lived like monks when not actively training for combat. As a crusader and a traveling squire not long before that, Godfrey had grown used to a lack of material comforts, but he had difficulty imagining forgoing such things indefinitely. There was a simple beauty to their chants, prayers, and hymns. He just also wanted to make time for feasts, jongleurs, and jousts too.
“The Silver Suns have jousts on the field,” Madeline said when Godfrey made these complaints known.
“Right,” Godfrey conceded. “But the Silver Suns don’t keep score. They don’t give out accolades. It’s not a sport for them.”
“I thought jousts were meant to keep a knight’s skills sharp,” Madeline jibed.
“Well yes.” Godfrey was slightly flustered by this intentional misdirection. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t all watch and enjoy it. Jousts and tournaments can be pretty large events back in Lortharain.”
“Did you have a favorite back home?” Madeline asked.
“Karl the Hammer from my father’s court,” Godfrey answered. “He was just as good with a lance in a joust as he was with his maul in a battle. He always managed to do something unexpected to throw off his opponents on the field, a real crowd-pleaser.”
“I guess we Azgaldians just take life a little more seriously up here,” she said with a shrug. “But I don’t think anyone would mind if you wanted to watch a joust, keep score, and give prizes to the Silver Suns.”
“Maybe I will,” Godfrey muttered as he became lost in his thoughts.
Entering the infirmary, he and Madeline approached Walaric as he lay sleeping in one of the beds lining the chamber walls. A few other patients lay in some of the remaining beds. Some were awake, chatting with visitors. Others slept like Walaric. All were wounded crusaders Godfrey recognized from his own forces.
“I’m going to try laying my hands on him like I did for you back at Biorkon,” Madeline explained to Godfrey. “But let’s wait a little while for some of these other visitors to clear out. I don’t want them to see my magic.”
“The day is still very young,” he countered. “Do you think there will be less activity as the day goes on?”
“You have a point,” she conceded.
“Is your healing magic flashy?” He subtly gesticulated to emphasize the last word.
“Not as much as the other fire,” she said.
“Just try to be casual about it,” he suggested. “Make it look like you’re praying over him or something. I’ll keep a watch out for you.”
Madeline nodded in agreement. She knelt over Walaric, laying her hands on his head. Glancing around them, Godfrey did not think anyone was paying them particular attention. He looked at Madeline, then tipped his head to Walaric. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. A soft glow emanated from her hands. Godfrey gritted his teeth nervously. The light was not so bright that it drew anyone’s attention, but it was not as subtle as she had suggested.
After a moment, she stopped. The glow disappeared. Walaric’s eyes flashed open. Confusion struck his face as he tried to make sense of Madeline’s hands resting on his head. She quickly withdrew her touch, but an impish smirk crossed Walaric’s face.
“Oh ho ho!” Walaric exclaimed.
“It’s not what you think.” She shook her head reprovingly.
“We were praying over you.” Godfrey crossed his arms.
“Oh,” Walaric huffed, noticing Godfrey for the first time.
Jealousy aside, it was not until that moment that Godfrey fully appreciated the sacrifice the clergy made by vowing to never enter a romantic relationship with another person. For just a few seconds, Godfrey saw Walaric’s eyes light up with the possibilities afforded by the thought that Madeline had come to visit him by herself. The disappointment in Walaric’s expression was unmistakable as he realized things were not as they first appeared. Godfrey could not help but give a sad smile at the thought.
“Try to stand,” Madeline urged.
Walaric shifted in bed, straining his arms.
He struggled but without success.
“I still can’t feel my legs.” He gave up, lying back down.
“I thought it would work.” Madeline frowned.
“You thought what would work?” Walaric eyed her suspiciously.
“The prayer,” Godfrey covered for Madeline’s momentary lapse. “The gods gave me a gift without my asking. I am set apart as one of their champions. Why should they not hear my prayer?”
“The gods answer all prayers,” Walaric reassured Godfrey. “But sometimes the answer isn’t always what we think is best.”
“Maybe this prayer wasn’t strong enough.” Madeline looked at Godfrey. “Maybe we need to try again later or do it longer.”
“Right.” Godfrey was unsure he was still able to follow the metaphor for magic.
Walaric did not know about Madeline’s abilities yet, and Godfrey supposed that talking about what went wrong with the spell in front of him was not something they should do. He was sure Madeline would trust Walaric enough with the secret, but others were in the infirmary too. If Godfrey understood correctly, Madeline was saying she did not know why the spell did not work either. They might have to try again later, as she suggested.
“At any rate,” Walaric continued, “the doctors say this paralysis may only be temporary. We’ll know in a few weeks whether I’ll ever really be able to walk again.”
“Well there’s some hope.” Godfrey patted Walaric’s shoulder.
“I guess you should just try to get some rest in the meantime,” Madeline added.
“You’re leaving us?” Walaric scowled. “Where are you going?”
“This castle has a pretty large library.” She gestured around her. “There may be some secrets hidden away in an obscure tome that could help us.”
“What kind of secrets?” Walaric pressed.
“If the crusaders get divided between supporting the Silver Suns and my father, we may need some extra help.” She pursed her lips, then left without another word.
“Well that was cryptic,” he snorted.
“I think I have an idea what she may be looking for.” Godfrey’s voice trailed off as he watched her walk out of the infirmary. “I’m going to go help her if I can.”
“Now you’re leaving me?” Walaric’s scowl grew deeper.
“I’ll be back,” Godfrey insisted. “Maybe Madeline will have some books at the library we could have you look through.”
“She didn’t even say what she was looking for,” he pointed out.
“Like I said,” Godfrey replied, “I think I know. Let me catch up with her, and we’ll see if there’s something we can all do to help.”
“Don’t be long.” Walaric tugged at Godfrey’s sleeve. “This place gets boring pretty fast.”
Staring up at the ceiling, Walaric quietly began muttering one of his poems. Godfrey could not make out the words his friend was chanting, but it had a slow sad meter. With an awkward nod, Godfrey left Walaric and chased after Madeline.
Exiting the infirmary, Godfrey frowned as he thought of Walaric’s plight. If the acolyte were paralyzed permanently, he certainly could not continue on the crusade. Bishop Clovis would have to come for Walaric and take him back to Bastogne. But then what would happen to Walaric? Did he have family to take care of him, could he still become a priest, or would he be forced to beg at the footsteps of some shrine? It was only then that Godfrey realized how little he knew about his friend’s family and home life. Walaric mentioned something about an orphanage a while ago. Maybe Clovis was the closest thing Walaric had to family.
Godfrey dwelt on these thoughts for a long time before realizing he no longer recognized where he was going. The corridor was completely unfamiliar to him. Retracing his steps proved futile. He had mostly been following Madeline without thinking too much about where he was going. After a while, he ran into a Silver Sun orderly, who pointed him in the right direction.
Entering a large, dusty room at the top level of the main keep, he found her sitting at a table with nearly a dozen books stacked up beside the one she was reading. The lighting was dim, and she read with the aid of a large oil lamp sitting on the edge of her table. There were shelves lined up in several rows and columns going from one end of the room to the other. Tables like Madeline’s were set at intervals in the aisles between the shelves, but only a couple of monks and Silver Sun orderlies occupied the chamber, aside from Godfrey and Madeline. Silence covered the chamber as thickly as the dust did.
“So this is Narlstad’s library.” Godfrey’s hushed whisper took on a venerating tone.
“There are only a couple other such libraries in all of Azgald,” Madeline whispered back, turning to Godfrey with a creak of her chair. “Vindholm has one, and the third library is at Sudvall in the Duchy of Smalad.”
Godfrey turned his attention to a solitary monk a few tables down. He was scribbling into an open tome with a large quill while consulting an old, tattered codex. Godfrey frowned at this. The monk looked tired, and his movements were sluggish as if he had been reading and writing for some time.
“What is he doing?” Godfrey indicated the monk.
“Copying the manuscript,” Madeline said, shrugging.
“I know but why?” Godfrey’s frustration began to show.
“The Silver Suns don’t just fight and pray.” She gestured to the countless volumes around them. “They use their wealth to support scholars as well. Without monks and nuns copying down these books, we would eventually lose all this knowledge.”
“Right.” Godfrey looked over her shoulder, satisfied with her answer.
Madeline’s hair smelled of some sweet fragrance he could not identify. It was good to know they had both bathed today. Trying to read the page of the book she had open, he squinted. After a moment, he realized the script was written in characters he did not even recognize.
“And what language is this?” He reached over her shoulder, pointing down at the page.
“It’s elvish.” Madeline’s own annoyance was beginning to grow. “Back in the Imperial Age, all important books were written either in elvish or celestial.”
“That makes sense.” He nodded. “What are you reading about?”
“Some things we were talking about back in Vindholm have given me an idea.” Her voice took on an evasive tone.
Godfrey furrowed his brow but said nothing.
“Let me read more into this before we get too far into it.” Madeline pointed to her stack of books. “My plan may not be feasible.”
“I thought maybe Walaric and I could help.” Godfrey rolled his eyes. “If you told us what you were looking for, we could make this go a bit faster.”
“I appreciate it.” She smiled, diffusing the tension. “But neither of you reads elvish, so I don’t think there’s much you can do.”
Godfrey made no effort to hide his annoyance at this answer.
“I am looking for Farthest Thule,” she said with a huff. “I believe I may be able to find some clues in the elves’ writings that might lead us there.”
“I thought so.” Godfrey looked at her skeptically. “You want to ask them for help? The elves’ power has all but vanished, and they have gone to great lengths to isolate themselves from the rest of us. Why would they help us?”
“The elves helped out some crusaders in the past,” she reminded him. “Aside from that, the state of the crusade is pretty dire. Conrad tried to get you killed. Some crusaders have deserted. We need the help.”
“Who says they simply won’t try to advance their own interests even if we do persuade them to join us?” He sighed, turning away.
“Defeating Alvir is in their interest.” She stood, grabbing Godfrey’s face and forcing his gaze to meet hers. “This High Warlord has united the forces of darkness in a way that few others have before. Imagine if he united all the Nordsmen Clans, the trolls, the orcs, the cyclopes. Azgald already stands on the brink of destruction. Imagine if he got the necromancers on his side. Farthest Thule would not be out of Alvir’s reach.”
Releasing Godfrey’s face, she sat again. She stared at him long and hard. He softened his expression after a moment, putting his doubts aside, despite the nagging realization that her own father had indeed pursued selfish desires in the face of Alvir's dark threat.
“Have faith,” she said, noting the change in Godfrey’s expression. “The gods have set you apart for something great. Who is to say this is not it?”
“If one crusader can find Farthest Thule,” he agreed, “then there’s no reason a crusader with a holy blade cannot.”
“The Nordsmen would not spare Farthest Thule once they find it,” she added. “The Clans would enslave the elves just as they have already done with the dwarves and men they have conquered.”
“The elves just need to be brought to see it,” Godfrey concluded. “You’re right. Walaric and I don’t speak elvish, but he speaks celestial. Let us help you find those clues.”
“Give Walaric these.” She handed Godfrey a few of the tomes on her desk. “See if he can find any reference to Farthest Thule in them.”
“It will keep him from getting too bored in that infirmary anyway.” Godfrey tucked the volumes under his arm.
Madeline shushed him for getting too loud, and he cringed in embarrassment.
“I’ll have a look around before I go,” he said.
“Have fun.” She buried her face in one of the open books at her table.
Turning to the nearest shelf, Godfrey picked up a scroll at random. He unrolled the parchment, and saw that it was written in elvish too. Disappointed, he put it back, and grabbed the scroll next to it. More elvish script. The third scroll was written in celestial. He recognized the letters at least, but the words did not make any sense to him. Walking down a few aisles, he selected a very large codex with the words Nature of the Planes written on its spine. At least he could read the title of this one.
He hefted the codex off the shelf and set it and the books Madeline had given him on the nearest table. The covers of all of these works were old and worn. The pages were yellowed and musty. He opened the last book he had grabbed, and a few pages in the middle immediately came loose from the binding. Carefully, he turned to the first page. Though the script was miniscule, he could read the words on the first page. However, the author’s introduction immediately jumped into a dense topic Godfrey was entirely unfamiliar with. There were a lot of terms he did not recognize, and trying to figure out what they were from context was proving quite tedious. Frustrated, he closed the volume and placed it back on the shelf. He gathered up the books Madeline had given him, resolving to give them to Walaric then spend the rest of his free time on less-strenuous mental activities. That was enough time with books for now.
Since Madeline insisted on solitary confinement in the library, and Walaric was still bedridden, Godfrey took up patrolling Narlstad’s walls. The outer wall gave him a longer route to meander across, but the inner wall gave him a better view of the surrounding countryside from its higher vantage point. He switched between the two routes at first, but after a few days he grew tired of making idle chatter with the Silver Sun guards who were stationed along the walls.
He visited Walaric in the infirmary on occasion, but the acolyte was growing more pessimistic the longer he went without the use of his legs. Madeline did not know why her healing magic would not work, though she admitted she had never tried to use it for much more than closing her own minor cuts before. Godfrey’s injuries were the most severe she had ever successfully treated. Walaric’s injury was severe but not life-threatening like Godfrey’s had been. It stood to reason that she should have been able to heal him if she could heal Godfrey. There was still so much Madeline did not understand about her own abilities and the limits thereof.
Godfrey eventually found himself mostly staring off into the distance from atop one of the keep’s four towers. The towers had the best view, and he discovered there was only ever one tower occupied by sentries at a time. From atop the windswept tower, Godfrey spent days gazing off into the horizon. He was growing tired of dealing with people. The isolation was comforting.
The creak of the opening trapdoor made him jump in surprise. A moment before, he was leaning over the parapet, brooding over the state of the crusade. Thoughts of Tancred’s treachery and punching Conrad the Wolf faded to the back of his mind as he saw Turpin emerging through the open trapdoor. The chaplain did not comment as Godfrey took a second to regain his composure.
“Some of the men are running out of money,” Turpin said and grimaced, leaning against the parapet as Godfrey had been a moment before.
“So the loot from Epsberg is running out?” He resumed his spot by Turpin.
“I think Tancred reserved a larger portion for himself than he will admit,” Turpin mused.
Godfrey wiped his face with his mailed gauntlet.
“If we could get moving again, the men could forage.” Godfrey scanned the horizon. “They would not need to keep spending their money on the Silver Suns’ food.”
“Aye,” Turpin agreed. “But that is not the present situation.”
Godfrey felt the satchel slung on his belt. It was much lighter than when he had started the crusade. A twinge of regret streaked across his conscience. If only he had been more frugal before now. He unclasped the satchel. Reaching inside, he found he had only a few silver coins left, but there were more of the larger gold coins still.
“Divide these among the poorest of our crusaders.” Godfrey handed all the gold coins to Turpin. “Discreetly, please.”
Turpin counted out the gold.
“This should help.” Turpin produced a few gold coins from his own bag. “But we will need to take more loot from the next battle if we want to stay on crusade any longer than that.”
“I’ll write father again,” Godfrey added. “Maybe he can send more money.”
Moving towards the trapdoor to leave, Turpin suddenly froze in place. Following the chaplain’s gaze, Godfrey saw an army approaching from the east.
“The Clans?” Godfrey asked.
“No.” Turpin squinted. “Look at the banners.”
“Crusaders,” Godfrey exclaimed. “It’s Phillip!”
Phillip, Baldwin, and Torcul met Godfrey, Turpin, and Horvath in Narlstad’s great hall. Many of the other crusaders and Silver Suns also filled the great hall. Godfrey caught warm greetings and rude jokes being exchanged among the reunited crusaders. It reminded him of when he was young back in Fuetoile Keep. Was Godfrey growing homesick?
“Where is your acolyte friend?” Torcul asked him, searching the noisy crowd.
“He’s hurt.” Godfrey frowned. “He may be crippled for the rest of his life.”
“Damned shame,” Torcul cursed.
“Where is Gunthar?” Godfrey changed the subject.
“He went with Oksar back to Kalscony,” Torcul spat. “Gunthar the Red says that, by taking Laht, his crusading vows are fulfilled. He’s going back home to Dyfred.”
Godfrey shot the man a quizzical look.
“In truth,” Torcul corrected, “Gunthar is abandoning us because he lost a lot of men at Laht. The coward doesn’t have the stomach for this business.”
“Aren’t you worried about what Gunthar might do back in Cardigal while you’re still here?” Godfrey remembered what he was told about the rivalry between the kingdoms of Dyfred and Ogledd.
“Aye,” Torcul confessed. “But the gods watch over crusaders. Cumbria will still be there when I get back.”
Phillip d’Artois cleared his throat loudly, and Godfrey and Torcul broke from their conversation. The room quieted down as all eyes turned to Phillip. The old man certainly looked the worse for wear as far as Godfrey was concerned.
“The Eastern Marches are back in our hands,” Phillip announced.
Godfrey noted that the Duke of Artois did not say Silver Suns hands.
“I have also received news from the Ostlands,” Phillip continued. “More of our Gothian brothers will be joining Henry the Pilgrim and Raymond of Wrehst, and they will continue to aid the Silver Suns in holding that realm.”
“That will leave us free to take the offensive up into Clan territory,” Baldwin added.
“Precisely,” Phillip agreed.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Conrad the Wolf to rejoin us?” Godfrey had difficulty containing the venom in his words. “He still has a sizeable army. We were lucky and caught the Nordsmen off guard. But with Gunthar the Red returning to Cardigal, don’t you think it would be wise for us to wait until Conrad is back?”
“Why would you want to wait for him?” Phillip asked. “It’s no secret what happened between you and Conrad at Epsberg.”
Godfrey flushed with anger and embarrassment. He only wanted to shame Conrad and Gunthar by noting their absence. He had not really thought the comment through.
“I think Conrad will be back with us soon enough,” Phillip reassured Godfrey. “Morgan the Bloodied can be very persuasive.”
Averting his eyes, Godfrey crossed his arms.
“By going to the Northern Marches we can draw Alvir to us,” Phillip continued. “If we kill him in open battle, the Clans will be divided again.”
“We almost did that already at Epsberg,” Godfrey muttered.
Phillip ignored Godfrey. Baldwin and Torcul, however, gave him a concerned look. Shaking his head, Turpin gestured for Godfrey to hold his tongue.
“The Silver Suns are eternally grateful for the crusade’s support,” Horvath cut in. “Once our position out in the Eastern Marches has been consolidated, I am sure the Grand Master will send men to join you.”
“Pskov will be our next destination,” Phillip declared. “From there we could take Fhunlan or Brismarik if the gods will it.”
The Duke of Artois looked into Godfrey’s eyes as if daring him to challenge the decision. Godfrey only frowned, and stared at the floor. He was growing tired of this constant contest of wills. He missed home.