Page 28 of Court of Talons
It’s an instructive night for sure.
Later, much later, I dream of laughter and spitting campfires and song; a lifetime’s worth of memories cobbled together in one night’s revelry.
By the time I awake the next morning, one of our horses, a heavily muscled gelding, has been tied closer to our camp. Caleb, when Nazar informs him it’s his, can’t stop staring at the horse—at least until Nazar gives him a brush to groom it. Then his grin splits wide, and he starts up a nonstop flow of chatter as he works, almost without drawing breath.
“Lord Rihad’s holding is the biggest castle you’ll ever see, they say, this side of the Exalted Imperium’s borders, and I believe it. Windows made of colored glass that turn sunlight into elaborate patterns, and the walls and floors cut of pure marble. And they don’t dress like this”—he gestures at our simple tunics and breeches—“for all that this material is the finest I’ve ever felt, sir, begging your pardon.”
His hasty words bring another smile to Nazar’s face. I’ve never seen the priest so tolerant, and my own doubts are chastened further. But I can’t help continuing to feel a vague disquiet about the squire, something that just seems…off.
“They wear state clothes all the time?” Nazar asks.
“To every meal and speech. And there are alotof speeches in the Court of Talons. The Lord Protector assembles his house’s soldiers at least three times a week to remind them of their importance to the Exalted Imperium and within the Protectorate themselves. Bards are instructed to tell only the high form of the battles of the Western Realms, and they have banquets once a week, whether there’s anything to celebrate or no.”
I frown, looking up at the enormous castle on the far rise. “It costs a lot of money to host so many banquets.”
“They’ve got it, and to spare.” Caleb waves again, taking in the bustling fairgrounds. “The Tournament of Gold has already been going on for days and days. There’s money flowing freely, and you can be sure the First House gets its due. They’ve got their hands in everything, and what they don’t drive themselves, they know about, for sure.”
They’ve got their hands in everything,I think. Including who killed Merritt? Were they even now preparing an assault on the Tenth, seeking somehow to take over the farthest border house, the ancient gateway between the Protectorate and the Exalted Imperium?
But no, I follow hard upon my own words. No one considers the Tenth House a threat, regardless of the ancient role it served when the Protectorate was first created, to provide first news to the capital city of Hakkir of any threat within the Protectorate’s borders. Now the Tenth is merely a small, lonely house, out in the middle of nowhere.
The First House could roll over the Tenth if it wanted to, it’s simply too big. That’s not who was behind Merritt’s death. More likely one of the lesser, but more aggressive houses, one who felt it had something to prove.
My purpose here isn’t to root out Merritt’s killer, however. It’s to protect the Tenth.
“We need to make sure the soldiers are ready—and not too drunk to ride,” I say, renewed urgency tightening my words. “If we don’t leave today, then we leave midday tomorrow, no later.”
“Lady Talia, too?” Caleb asks, and Nazar fields that one as I blink.
“I’ve sent her to a proper inn with a small brace of men to prepare for her return to the Tenth,” he says, his voice stony enough that Caleb turns to him with wide eyes. “You did well to bring her back last night, and I thank you again for it. Something in the manner of Fortiss’s soldiers deeply distressed her.”
“Well, Rihad’s men are ass-mongers when it comes to women, everyone knows it.” Caleb shrugs his left shoulder, causing his stump to bobble. There’s barely three inches of his arm remaining, and he keeps the end carefully wrapped at all times. To lose a limb is virtually a death sentence, especially without expensive doctors at your beck and call. I can’t imagine the pain Caleb must have endured when it happened.
“All of Rihad’s soldiers live within the First House’s gates, yes?” I ask, to pull my mind away from the horror of those images. “Or do you know?”
“Oh, yes, I know that for sure. Fifty fighting men and a dozen banded soldiers, plus another six or so warrior knights,” Caleb confirms with a grin. “You don’t see ’em out here, mixing with the people, right? That’s on purpose. They have a certain status to uphold.”
“A status.”
“Not a good one. The whole lot of them are mean as snakes, not a noble-blooded warrior among them except maybe the Lord Protector’s nephew, and he’s as grim-faced as the rest of them.”
“You mean Fortiss,” I say, his face emblazoned in my memory. “Is he noble in truth? First-blooded?”
“He’s totally first-blooded, his family entwined with Rihad’s, though I’m not exactly sure how. His father died young, if I have the story right, when Fortiss was still a boy. Fortiss himself was raised by the Lord Protector, even calls him uncle, but there’s bad blood there.”
“So they’re not truly related,” I echo, while Nazar prompts, “Bad blood?”
“Absolutely. No one talks of it, which means everyone talksaroundit, but all these years later, there’s only whispers and dark secrets, none of it proven.”
A horn sounds in the distance, and I turn. Caleb hops up from where he’s been brushing down his new horse. The animal snorts, nudging Caleb’s good arm.
“They’re starting the pit battles,” Caleb announces eagerly, patting the gelding. He turns to me, then Nazar. “If you don’t have a need for us, Merritt should at leastseethat before we leave.”
I make a face, remembering this term, at least, from the bards’ tales. “Pit battles? That barbarism ended long ago, I thought.”
“They truly taught younothingat the Tenth House, did they?” Caleb laughs. “They still call them pit battles, but you’reright, no one actually fights in pits anymore. They’re up on platforms so everyone can see—and so that the ground isn’t churned up for the real battles to come. But the fights live on—have to, to keep the flow of soldiers fresh. Accidents happen, people die. Even when there’s no war, you still want a whole company of foot soldiers on hand, if you’re smart, especially the houses like the First, where whole cities sprawl out around them. The pit battles make that easy. Everyone wants into a garrison, and this is the only way in. Once you’re in, if you don’t make banded-soldier status, it’s the only way tostayin, unless you rise to officer ranks. Gotta keep your skills sharp, after all.”
I shake my head. We have no garrison; we have no soldiers beyond our retainers, now numbering fifteen men. We should, by rights, have more defenses than the Eleventh and Twelfth House, at the least, but Father is tight with his money and tighter with his disdain of anything other than a first-blooded Divh.