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A week later, Godfrey spotted Conrad the Wolf and Duke Tancred’s armies approaching Narlstad with Morgan the Bloodied and his Silver Suns. Madeline stood atop the southeastern tower with him. She held his hand. Though right now, it was little comfort to Godfrey.
“You still haven’t finished reading those books in the library?” Godfrey asked more to divert his attention from the sight of Conrad and Tancred’s approach than anything else.
“Translating elvish is a difficult task,” Madeline admitted. “The verb stems can change pretty radically depending on the form, and elvish writers are known for using some rather poetic expressions even on mundane topics.”
“Sounds tough,” Godfrey agreed, only partly understanding her explanation. “Walaric hasn’t found anything helpful in the books you gave him, either.”
“I didn’t say I haven’t found anything helpful,” she corrected.
“So where do you think Farthest Thule is?” Godfrey’s full attention was now on her. “What did you find?”
“Some elvish poetry makes mention of a ‘home with the dragons high and cold’.” Madeline looked out past the horizon. “Other poems talk of ‘silver halls’.”
“Well that’s obviously the Wyrmwind Peaks,” Godfrey hissed. “How has no one figured this out before now?”
“Elvish is a hard language to translate.” Madeline emphasized this point with a gesture. “For instance, ‘dragon’ could be a metaphor for something hard or dangerous. Depending on the context, it could mean just about anything really. ‘Silver’ can also be an insult if contrasted with ‘gold’, but it just means ‘wealth’ a lot of the time. It’s not very direct, and there’s a lot of symbolism, idiomatic expressions, that sort of thing. Others have translated those phrases to mean entirely different things.”
“Then how are you sure?” he pressed.
“I’m not entirely sure actually,” she admitted. “It’s a hunch, a starting point. I still have more to read through.”
Godfrey’s attention was back on the approaching host. They were almost at the open fortress gates. Madeline gripped his hand again and squeezed it tightly. She looked at Godfrey with all the intensity a young woman could ever feel. The two exchanged a long kiss.
“I won’t marry Conrad.” Madeline’s expression was resolute. “Father can’t make me.”
“Refusing a duke can be difficult,” Godfrey countered.
“You’re also the son of a duke,” Madeline said. “Have your father write my father.”
“Okay.” Godfrey bit his lip, thinking of his father for the first time in too long.
Godfrey felt the slightest twinge of guilt. He had written the letter asking his father for more money, but he had not written any other letters back home for any other reason since then. Then again, no one back home had bothered writing him in all this time, either. Godfrey should have received a response to his first letter by now.
“Would you be all right leaving Azgald?” he asked. “Lortharain is pretty far.”
“A lady’s place is always uncertain until she is married.” Madeline shrugged. “Often her home in adult life is determined by which lord can best negotiate with her father.”
Godfrey was about to say something, but she put her finger to his lips.
“Just make sure your father negotiates better than Conrad,” she reassured him. “He’s a brute I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“You will like Bastogne,” Godfrey promised. “It’s not so cold there, and it’s a wealthy duchy. King Wilhelm is not the greatest lord we have ever had, but he hardly ever visits Bastogne. He won’t stick his nose into things too often.”
“I’m sure there will be much to love about that land.” She smiled.
Madeline gestured to the trapdoor on the tower roof, and Godfrey opened it for her. She descended the ladder, and he followed her. For how cold and drafty he generally found the tower, it was certainly much warmer than outside.
“Where are we going?” he asked once they had reached the bottom of the ladder.
“We’re going to see father, of course,” Madeline answered, descending the stairs.
Conrad and Tancred had gathered in the great hall with Horvath, Morgan, and their retainers. They did not seem to notice Godfrey and Madeline enter the chamber at first, as they were caught up in a heated discussion. Madeline gestured for Godfrey to join her in a corner of the room away from the discussion. Hoping to remain unnoticed, he complied.
“No.” Tancred gestured to Horvath. “I’ll take the hundred talents of gold now, thanks.”
“All treaties negotiated with the Grand Master must be ratified by a quorum of three lesser marshals before they are official.” Horvath shrugged unhelpfully. “You know this is our order’s law.”
“You agreed to pay one hundred gold talents for our services in reclaiming Epsberg for the Silver Suns.” Conrad pointed an accusing finger at Morgan. “Pay up.”
“Are you a crusader or a mercenary?” Morgan waved away Conrad’s finger before turning to Tancred. “I agreed to pay the hundred talents as a ransom to get you out of Epsberg, you traitor. Since I did not say when I would pay it, you will have to be patient while I procure the funds.”
Torcul, Baldwin, and some of the other crusaders entered the great hall, initially attracted by Conrad and Tancred’s arrival. The argument attracted more crusaders and Silver Suns. Godfrey spotted Turpin and some of the other Bastognians among them.
“You and I both know Epsberg is worth far more than the hundred talents,” Tancred said in dismissal of Morgan’s accusation.
Morgan’s face twitched in agitation.
“You said you needed a quorum of three to ratify this treaty?” Tancred continued, indicating Conrad. “Well, how about our quorum of almost eight thousand soldiers already inside Narlstad’s walls? We’ll take the gold by force.”
“This is outrageous,” Morgan spat.
“I won’t stand for it,” Godfrey interjected, pushing forward. “Your greed will be your undoing, Duke of Pavik.”
Tancred’s ire now found its focus on Godfrey. Standing right in front of the Duke of Pavik, Godfrey took a deep breath. He puffed out his chest, hoping to appear confident.
“Earlier I prophesied that this crusade will fail unless a dragon is slain.” Godfrey pointed to the heraldic device on Tancred’s tabard. “Maybe that dragon is you.”
“Ah yes.” Tancred gave a bemused smirk. “Godfrey de Bastogne.”
“But no longer heir to Bastogne.” Malice dripped from Conrad’s words.
“What do you mean?” Godfrey narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“We came across a couple of friends of yours on the way over here.” Conrad stepped to the side, gesturing back to the hall’s entrance.
Godfrey blinked in disbelief. Bishop Clovis and one of Godfrey’s father’s knights, Karl the Hammer, stood in front of him. The Bishop’s face was creased with a frown. He had aged a lot. What had brought these two all the way up here?
“We need to confer in private, Godfrey,” Clovis advised.
“There’s no need for privacy,” Conrad boorishly insisted. “You already told us. By now, all the crusaders in Narlstad know. Please tell everyone here!”
“It’s all right.” Godfrey gave the Bishop an uncertain smile. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Your father has not been able to respond to your letter because he died shortly before it arrived,” Clovis explained. “Sir Karl and I came up to tell you personally because King Wilhelm has installed his own nephew as the new Duke of Bastogne.”
***
Clovis and Karl whisked Godfrey and Turpin away and huddled in a corner of the great hall out of earshot of Tancred and Conrad. The Bishop put a finger to his lips, indicating they should whisper. Turpin nodded in agreement, and Godfrey swallowed hard in an attempt to control his emotions.
“Father’s dead,” Godfrey began, his hand trembling with shock and anger. “But my birthright...”
“King Wilhelm argues that all dukes derive their authority from the King,” Karl spat. “So it is ultimately his right to choose who the dukes are.”
“That just slaps hundreds of years of tradition in the face.” Turpin gritted his teeth, enraged.
“I don’t agree with this decision.” Clovis shook his head. “But it is not without precedent. King Wilhelm has his supporters back in Lortharain.”
“Well so do we,” Turpin countered, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wild. “A crusader’s lands are inviolate while he is away. How is a crusader’s inheritance any different?”
Godfrey had never seen Turpin so visibly angry before. Even when the chaplain struck Godfrey back at Fuetoile Keep, he did so with the restraint of a parent disciplining a child. Now Turpin was uncontrolled and furious. He paced back and forth for a moment, allowing his rage to subside.
“Godfrey.” Turpin regained a measure of control in his voice. “Harv will support your claim to Bastogne. Your cousin, Fallard, will aid you in battle. We have thousands of Bastognian men right here battle-hardened and loyal to you. We can be back in Lortharain in just a few weeks, and restore the Duchy to you with six months of hard fighting at most.”
Tancred and Conrad now stood with crossed arms in front of Godfrey and his allies. Their conversation could no longer be private. Karl gave Godfrey a reassuring wink before they turned out of their huddle to face Conrad and Tancred.
“I was able to secure a score of gold talents from Fuetoile Keep before leaving,” Karl the Hammer added loudly enough for everyone in the great hall to hear. “The Bishop and I brought them with us for you to keep your army in the field long enough to retake Bastogne.”
Tancred shot Bishop Clovis a surprised look. Obviously, neither he nor Conrad had known about the gold Karl had taken from Bastogne.
“More correctly,” the Bishop explained, catching Tancred’s eye, “we left the gold under guard at Vindholm until we could make contact with you, Godfrey.”
Looking from Turpin to Morgan and Tancred, Godfrey felt the weight of the whole crusade upon his shoulders. All eyes were upon him. He still had five thousand infantry and four hundred knights with him. With twenty gold talents added, Godfrey could do something with that for at least a little while longer.
“Ghend will also support you,” Baldwin added, cursing. “If that’s how Wilhelm treats his vassals, we’ll put him in his place.”
The crusaders began to murmur as Tancred and Conrad exchanged uneasy glances. They obviously had underestimated Godfrey’s popularity. This was not the reaction either had foreseen. Godfrey supposed that Tancred and Conrad had been hoping this news would simply force him out of the crusade landless and destitute. Comprehension dawned on their faces as they realized that was not going to happen.
“I appreciate the thought, Baldwin.” Godfrey took on a mollifying tone. “But my crusading vows have not yet been fulfilled. I’ll not draw half of the crusade back to Lortharain with me for my own benefit. As Torcul said earlier, home will still be there when we get back.”
Godfrey turned to the room at large. Phillip had also entered the great hall at some point, without his knowledge until now. Godfrey’s reaction had stunned them all into silence.
“Some have already abandoned the crusade.” Godfrey gestured to the room. “Constant bickering and infighting have already robbed us of victory at least once. How many more crusaders need to desert or be killed before we stop trying to stab each other in the back?”
He turned to Tancred. Fire still burned in the Duke’s eyes. If there was ever a time to be bold, it was now.
“The Duke of Pavik used the good faith of the crusade to steal a ransom from the Silver Suns,” Godfrey declared. “I decree that any contract made between the Silver Suns and the Duchy of Pavik regarding Epsberg is void.”
“By what authority can you make such a claim?” Tancred sneered. “You have no lands or titles to support you.”
“I am the champion of the gods.” Godfrey unsheathed Uriel, flashing the blade in Tancred’s face. “If my word does not mean anything, then what does?”
Cold fury emanated from Tancred as he stared Godfrey down. Godfrey did not flinch. Tancred looked to Conrad, but the Duke of Errans appeared uncertain. Seeing no support, Tancred snorted in disgust.
“I’ll not forget this.” Tancred pointed to Godfrey. “My men and I will leave immediately. Do not expect further help from us.”
Thinking better of it, Godfrey held back a retort about not wanting such help in the first place.
With that, Tancred stormed off. Godfrey sheathed his sword, breathing a sigh of relief. Conrad hesitated as if unsure whether he should follow Tancred or remain in the great hall. Conrad’s gaze met Godfrey’s, and the Duke of Errans turned away angrily. Yet Conrad still did not leave.
“Don’t think for one moment that we are friends,” he muttered as Godfrey approached him.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Godfrey shook his head. “But can I count on you to work with me for the crusade?”
“I’m here aren’t I?” Conrad stared at the floor.
“Let’s take another day or two before leaving Narlstad,” Godfrey suggested, looking to Phillip. “Give the men of Errans time to rest from their march.”
Phillip nodded in agreement. Godfrey hoped the Duke of Artois appreciated his effort to defer to his leadership. Morgan and Horvath approached Godfrey as the room began to buzz with activity.
“I was wrong about you,” Morgan apologized. “You have made a friend of the Silver Suns this day.”
“I’m just trying to do what’s right,” Godfrey answered.
Morgan nodded, and Godfrey bowed in return.
Godfrey turned to Bishop Clovis and Karl the Hammer. “Welcome to Azgald. Thank you both for coming so far.”
“Certainly,” the Bishop agreed.
“Walaric was gravely injured.” Godfrey frowned. “He lost the use of his legs in battle on the way here. He’s in the infirmary.”
“I’ll see to him,” the Bishop reassured Godfrey, though he winced at this news.
“I fear my presence back in Lortharain will not be welcome given the circumstances under which I had to bring you your father’s gold,” Karl admitted, clearing his throat. “But it was your father’s dying wish that I bring you as much of your inheritance as I could.”
“Twenty talents is a lot,” Godfrey said.
“We had help,” Karl added. “But even with help, the transfer did not go unnoticed. There was blood spilt in Fuetoile Keep. Only Bishop Clovis’ protection saw us the rest of the way.”
“I see.” Godfrey grimaced, imagining the gold-laden carts under attack. “You were always a loyal knight in my father’s household, and you have shown me loyalty through your actions here today. House Cretus will honor your loyalty.”
“Thank you, sire.” Karl bowed.
“You’ve seen my father’s chaplain, Turpin, still in our company,” Godfrey added. “Sir Rodair is here too. I think there are others here you should know as well.”
Leaning on the shaft of his heavy two-handed maul, Karl knelt in front of Godfrey.
“In this moment I swear fealty to you as I did to your father in past years.” Karl kept his eyes to the floor. “In this same moment I also vow to join the crusade until its successful completion. May the gods witness my vows.”
“I accept your oath of fealty.” Godfrey offered his hand to Karl, bidding him to rise.
“And the celestial gods accept your crusading vow as well,” Bishop Clovis acknowledged with a gesture to the heavens.
Standing, Karl the Hammer embraced Godfrey as tradition demanded. What a rare thing, Godfrey thought. How many men had he met on crusade who acted out of pure self-interest? Yet Karl the Hammer acted out of pure loyalty to Godfrey’s now-dead father.
After Godfrey released Karl from the embrace, Turpin slapped the knight on the back. Karl turned and smirked at the grizzled chaplain. There was a knowing gleam in both men’s eyes; something that came from years of hard trials endured together.
“Your maul is greatly needed up here,” Turpin said.
“To outdo Rodair’s sword and Euric’s ax once again,” Karl reminisced aloud on days past.
“Rodair’s sword yes,” Turpin agreed with a frown. “But not Sir Euric’s ax.”
“He died saving me at Epsberg,” Godfrey added solemnly.
“Then it was a good death.” Karl nodded in understanding. “That’s not the sword you came on crusade with, is it, Godfrey?”
“Yes actually,” Godfrey said, drawing the blade from its sheath for Karl and Clovis to examine. “The gods blessed it at the Temple of Spes back in Vindholm.”
“That is a rare honor,” the Bishop noted. “Even the most holy paladins are considered fortunate to be granted such favors.”
“But why?” Godfrey asked. “This sword has caused as much resentment among my fellow crusaders as it has helped me in battle.”
This was the question he had been hoping his father could answer for him in his first letter home. However, with his father gone, Bishop Clovis was probably the next best person for Godfrey to confide in. In a lot of ways, Bishop Clovis was probably the more qualified person to consult, he thought. The reality of the loss of Godfrey’s father was only now just beginning to sink in, but with so much going on there was little time to contemplate this latest death.
“The gods have their purposes,” Clovis answered. “Sometimes we only see those purposes in hindsight. But I don’t think the gods give us any challenges we are not ready to face. You seem quite adept at using that blade in more situations than simple combat anyway.”
“That’s true,” Godfrey acknowledged, thinking back to Tancred’s almost frightened expression as he waved Uriel in front of him.
The thought of Tancred reminded him that he had left Madeline in the corner alone. He turned back, searching for her, but she was gone. Scanning the crowd, he still could not find her among them.
“Excuse me, Bishop,” Godfrey dismissed himself, going back the way he had come.
Walking slowly through the great hall, he did not see Madeline anywhere in the room. Was she using her magical abilities to hide? Why would she hide from him?
He retraced his steps back to the tower his and Madeline’s rooms were in. Not finding Madeline in either his room or hers, he climbed the ladder to the tower roof. She was there, watching the men of Pavik departing through the gate they had entered only shortly before.
“You did not even say hello to your father,” Godfrey observed.
“He seemed rather busy.” She brushed off the comment, attempting to restrain the emotion in her voice.
“I suppose asking for your father’s permission to marry you is off the table now.” Godfrey gave a humorless smile.
“It seems that way.” Madeline’s tone was evasive.
“What if we eloped?” he asked.
Blushing, Madeline averted her eyes. Stung, Godfrey wondered why that was not an option. There did not have to be so much ceremony and ritual with everything.
“How long until your father figures out you aren’t heading back to Pavik?” Godfrey changed topics.
“Traveling with the army,” Madeline thought for a moment, “I’d say we have about a day or so before he reaches the site of the attack.”
“He’ll think you’ve been killed.” Godfrey began thinking through the possible implications. “Or he’ll think you’ve been captured.”
“Some of the men of Pavik saw me here,” Madeline assured him. “Once Father comes across the attack site, someone will come forward and tell him I’m here.”
“Then he’ll march right back here and fetch you,” Godfrey finished, exacerbated. “Why don’t you just save him the trouble, and catch up with him? You could take Moon Frost; Walaric’s not using his horse here at Narlstad.”
“I don’t plan to be here by the time Father and his men sort out where I am versus where I am supposed to be,” Madeline divulged. “Godfrey, remember Farthest Thule...”
A loud creak came from the trapdoor behind Godfrey, startling both Madeline and him. Turpin opened the door, revealing his head. Clambering up through the portal, Turpin looked at the two of them disapprovingly.
“This is no time to be getting romantic,” he scolded them. “You know, Godfrey, the longer we stay in Azgald, the harder it will be for you to reclaim Bastogne.”
“I know,” Godfrey begrudgingly admitted. “But I already said I’m not going back until my crusading vows have been fulfilled.”
“Yes,” Turpin agreed. “But right now, even with Conrad the Wolf back, we only have a little under twenty thousand crusaders here at Narlstad. The castles we took in the Eastern Marches were small. Morgan the Bloodied assures me that the fortresses in the Northern Marches are much more formidable. They will not be taken so easily.”
“And Morgan the Bloodied can’t spare any of his Silver Suns to help after you did so much for him?” Madeline crossed her arms.
“No.” Godfrey frowned. “They can’t afford to only leave behind token garrisons in their newly won fortresses. They’d lose their castles just as quickly as they regained them. What about King Lothar’s army?”
“Word is they have taken heavy losses.” Turpin grimaced. “The King is currently gathering more men at Pskov.”
“Godfrey...” Madeline’s expression was determined. “I think we should go looking for Farthest Thule. It’s the best chance we have for getting any kind of help attacking the Northern Marches.”
“The crusade can’t get lost looking for something we don’t even know is there,” Turpin countered.
“I’ll go,” Godfrey declared. “Turpin, you lead the men in my place until I return. Madeline, I’ll need you to guide me to the Wyrmwind Peaks.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Madeline could hardly contain her excitement.