I
IT was an old keep, some wreck from the Age of Penitence. Duke Harlaw didn’t even know the name of it, but names didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was it served its purpose. The building hunkered at the apex of the three kingdoms of the Suderfeld. Neutral territory. Or at least that’s what he hoped.
They sat in the only room that was still held up by four walls. There were five of them, each sworn enemies, shut in around a table of rotten wood. Their knights and bannermen were outside and Harlaw could only hope that this business was concluded before someone tried to settle an old score, inside the keep as well as out.
Harlaw was at the head of the table, but that was only fitting since he was the one who had arranged the meeting. It had been hard for him to persuade King Stellan that it was time for talks, let alone the four envoys who had come to attend. This was a risk. But then the War of Three Crowns would never end unless someone took a risk. The chance for peace, to end the slaughter, was a slim one but worth it.
To his immediate left sat Clydus, consul of King Ozric and his father Leonfric before him. It was no secret the old goat was the real power in Eldreth. He was a wizened skeleton of a man, who reminded Harlaw of the stories he’d been told of the Crown Sorcerers of old. Harlaw could well believe the man held Ozric under some kind of enchantment, but everyone knew there was no magic in these lands anymore. Clydus’ power was in his poisoned words, not in any sorcery he might spew from his wrinkled lips.
On Harlaw’s right was Manssun Rike, champion to King Banedon of Arethusa. He was a hulking brute, arms wrapped in iron bands and tattoos, face a mass of scars. His red hair and braided beard were as fiery as his temper, and it had taken all Harlaw’s powers of persuasion to make him leave his huge broadsword outside the room. Not that it would stop him killing everyone here if the mood took him.
Beyond those two was even more trouble – two individuals Harlaw hated more than anyone. They represented the real reason the War of Three Crowns had lasted so long.
Mercenaries.
Castor Drummon was a lithe snake, all sinew and leer. His right hand drummed on the chipped wood of the table, restless now it no longer held the knife he used to constantly pick at his teeth. He was leader of the most ruthless mercenary company in the Suderfeld and had spent the past year harrying counties in Canbria at the behest of King Ozric. Of everyone at the table he was the one Harlaw would have most liked to see hanged at the end of a rope, but this was not a time for settling scores. Harlaw had to remember that.
Beside Castor was an equally lean woman, head shaved at the sides showing faded tattoos in concentric patterns around her head. Maud Levar sat in silence but she was likely the most dangerous of them all. Her mercenary company had fought for all three kingdoms over the course of the war and she held no loyalty to anyone. Harlaw suspected she would rather have slaughtered every man here than see peace prevail in the Suderfeld, but her company was the largest of them all. If Harlaw had to persuade anyone that reconciliation was the answer then it was her.
‘King Stellan wishes peace in the Suderfeld,’ said Harlaw. There was no point dancing around it. ‘There must be an end to this slaughter.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ Clydus replied, his croaky voice grating on Harlaw’s nerves like a knife on a mirror. ‘He is losing this war.’
‘We are all losing this war,’ Harlaw replied, desperate to keep his own temper in check. ‘How much has King Ozric wasted in coin and corpses over the past year alone? There will be no winners at the end of this. Only a kingdom of dirt and bones.’
‘So what does he suggest?’ said Manssun Rike, rumbling voice resounding through the small chamber. ‘A truce? We tried that once. You’re old enough to remember the Treaty of Iron. And how did that end?’
‘So we must try again,’ said Harlaw. ‘A new treaty. Stronger than iron. One we are all committed to.’
Manssun laughed. ‘And built on what? The last time the kingdoms united it was to fight a common enemy. Once that enemy was defeated the three kings were at one another’s throats again. We have no common enemy now. Only a common hatred.’
‘Then we must set that hatred aside,’ Harlaw insisted. ‘Unite the realms by other means than war.’
‘By what means, exactly?’ asked Clydus. Harlaw had a feeling the old bastard already suspected what the solution would be.
‘Stellan has sons. Ozric and Banedon have daughters. Join the three kingdoms by marriage and this hatred ends in a family united under a single banner.’
Manssun slammed his meaty hand on the table and Harlaw heard the wood crack under the blow. ‘So Stellan’s heir is the one who becomes king of the Suderfeld? And you expect King Banedon to accept such an arrangement?’
‘There can be no unity in the Suderfeld as long as three different kings rule. It is time to end this destructive feud.’
‘By handing Stellan’s line the key to the three kingdoms,’ said Clydus, his voice dripping with contempt.
Harlaw opened his mouth to argue that all three lines would inherit a single realm, when he was cut off by another voice.
‘And where do we fit into all this?’ Castor Drummon spoke quietly but it still silenced the room. ‘I have a host of bastard heirs. Will you offer one of them a crown?’
Harlaw had already anticipated this, but had hoped to broker the offer from a position of unity with Clydus and Manssun. His position was now weak but he had to try anyway.
‘You will all be compensated handsomely for a cessation in hostilities. The mercenary captains will each be offered manses and a generous stipend for retiring their companies.’
‘Paid for by whom?’ Castor asked. ‘I doubt Stellan’s coffers will stretch to compensating every company in the Suderfeld.’
‘The three kingdoms will contribute,’ Harlaw replied. ‘Each king will donate an equal share.’
There was a moment of silence before Clydus and Manssun began as one, berating Harlaw for his idea, accusing him of trying to rob their kings of both coin and crown.
‘Enough!’ This time it was Harlaw’s turn to slam a fist on the table, only there was no crack of wood. ‘Those are the terms I suggest. Return to your liege lords and give them the offer.’
Manssun rose to his feet, chair falling back with a clatter. ‘King Banedon would rather gut Stellan’s heir than see his only daughter wed to that cow-eyed cunt. As for paying mercenaries for peace, the armies of Arethusa will ride over their bones before they see a single piece of gold.’
Maud Levar was next to rise, and Harlaw saw the glint of a dagger in her hand. They had all been checked for weapons before they entered the room – someone would pay for their lack of diligence.
‘You want to try and ride over my bones, you ugly fucker?’ she said.
Clydus and Castor likewise rose to their feet. The old man already had the blade of a punch dagger protruding from between his knobbly digits. Could no one check for weapons these days?
Everyone was shouting at once as Harlaw gently pushed his own chair back. They were still in the throes of screaming at one another as he opened the door to the chamber and walked out, taking a deep breath of the fresh evening air. Of everyone gathered, he knew best the smell of defeat when he tasted it.
Warriors still milled around the courtyard, every one turning expectantly as he appeared, and Harlaw took some solace in the fact that none of them seemed ready to start a fight. Sir Arlis sat astride his horse, waiting patiently.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Harlaw said as he mounted his own white steed.
As they made their way from the courtyard, Harlaw could still hear the sound of argument pealing from within the old keep.
‘Things not go to plan?’ asked Sir Arlis, as they made their way down the long road to Northold.
‘You could say that,’ Harlaw replied, as they were joined by yet more of his knights. He took some comfort in seeing their familiar red eagle livery.
The ride back was mercifully swift, but as Harlaw saw the fortress-city of Northold in the distance he suddenly wished it had been longer. Now he had to report yet more ill news to King Stellan. It seemed of late that was the only news the beleaguered king ever received.
* * *
The throne room sat at the heart of the palace. It had once been a place of revelry and mirth during the days of King Harald but now it was little more than a sepulchre. The golden lion banners of the Canbrian kings hung all around, but even their majesty did little to lighten the air.
But then what could Harlaw expect? As well as being a nation riven by war it had also recently lost its queen, and her husband now had to rule alone. Harlaw would have sympathised had his own marriage been more than one of convenience.
King Stellan stood, tall and straight, his hands clasped behind his back. The armour of his office made him look like a giant.
‘My liege,’ said Harlaw as he entered.
Stellan turned from the window, a trace of a smile crossing his face as he saw his faithful duke, but it was gone as soon as it came. Clearly the king was expecting bad news. He would not be disappointed.
Harlaw dropped to one knee, bowing his head. ‘My apologies. I made the offer as best I could. It was not well received.’
There was a pause. Harlaw wondered if this would be the news to finally spark Stellan’s ire but the king merely said, ‘Stand, my friend.’
Harlaw rose to his feet, looking at the king’s impassive face. It seemed he was unmoved by the news. More than likely he had simply been anticipating the worst.
‘So, it is war?’ asked the King.
‘Ozric and Banedon know we want peace. They will naturally assume we are weak and seeking amnesty because of it. We will prove them wrong. And quickly.’
‘How?’ Stellan asked.
‘Our troops are battle-fatigued, but the right offensive in the right place will make Canbria at least appear a force still to be reckoned with. I have already made plans for our next attack.’
‘Then make it so, Duke Harlaw.’ Stellan clamped a hand on his shoulder.
‘You would trust me with this after I have so recently failed you, my liege?’
This time Stellan’s smile remained on his face. ‘You took it upon yourself to perform an impossible task, my friend, and yet you still carried it out as best you could. Of course I trust you, Harlaw. You were my father’s man, and now you are mine, are you not?’
Harlaw bowed his head. ‘Now and forever, my liege.’
‘Good,’ said the king. ‘Because we have a battle to plan.’