As the others awoke and broke camp, Caderyn sought out Delwin: the battered old soldier who had faithfully served his parents for years. The scarred, grizzled man let out a fierce yawn as Caderyn approached.
"Only a few days until we reach Ravenmark, my lord," he said with a smile. "Your father's vassals will surely have a damned fine welcome for us."
"Yes," Caderyn said with a soft smile. "Though I have one task for you, first. But if you travel quickly, you should still be able to catch up with us for all the grand festivities."
He placed a hand on the old veteran's shoulder.
"The farmer whose fields were burned by Jadewall's forces...I want to help him. Take ten gold coins from the reserve, double back, discreetly give it to him, and then catch up with us."
Delwin frowned at the cart carrying all of the treasures and other offerings intended for the shrines they were to visit on the pilgrimage.
"That's for the monks and nuns, milord."
"I know. But I'll make up for the lost coin by borrowing some from father's vassals in Ravenmark. And to be honest with you, helping an aggrieved farmer is more important than tossing a few coins to a shrine."
"Allow me to help as well," said Paolo, the portly bard who was a member of Tessandra's troupe. "If we stop at a tavern or two on the ride back, I can make a small pile of coin as well. And a bard with a bodyguard will arouse less suspicions than an ugly old brute like Delwin traveling on his own."
"Paolo," Tessandra said with a playful grin. "There's no need to toss out such insults."
"Is it an insult if it's true?" Delwin asked with a laugh, giving the younger bard a grin. "But aye, my lord, I wouldn't mind the company."
"When did you suddenly develop a charitable streak?" said one of the other bards to Paolo.
"That burned vineyard was a scene I witnessed dozens of times back in my youth. In that old man's gaze I saw...echoes of a life I'd rather forget. And if there is a chance to help out in some small way, I must seize it."
"Don't dally too long," Tessandra said with a wag of her finger. "I'll need you for accompaniment when I play
The Jester-Knight's Last Ride.
That song is always very profitable when performed in Ravenmark."
Caderyn laughed, for he himself could attest to that, having attended many feasts and tournaments in his father's duchy. Whenever a bard sang of the cowardly Sir Jehan of Jadewall, nearly everyone in attendance had risen to their feet. Many a tankard of ale had been enjoyed to that tune about the failings of Duke Thandor's cousin.
"Do not worry. We'll catch up for your grand performance."
Together, Paolo and Delwin headed to collect the gold and their horses, then rode off to the east while the others continued westward.
The mood of the locals in the Duchy of Wolfgate appeared to improve the farther they got from their neighbors in Jadewall. Smiles and even a few cheers greeted them when villagers realized who he was. A few older men emerged from taverns and homes to greet him, telling stories of how they'd fought alongside his father's forces during the war against the barbarians. A handful of young men, eager for a pleasant little adventure, even offered to join their escort for the rest of its trek through Wolfgate.
As they passed by thriving farms and churning windmills, Caderyn looked to one of those local men.
"Tell me, Winstan, what do you make of all this ugliness between Wolfgate and Jadewall?"
The young man's attention was focused solely on Tessandra, who rode a bit ahead of the others, her sleek blonde hair shimmering in the morning sun. Clad in form-fitting leggings and a vest that left much of her chest exposed, she was certainly a sight to behold. Caderyn did not begrudge the young man for gawking at the woman.
"Winstan?" Caderyn repeated, grinning a little.
"Oh," he said, blushing. "Sorry, milord. Erm, yes. Jadewall..."
He cast a nervous glance eastward, almost as if Duke Thandor would have been able to hear him.
"It's ugly business. Back in the war against Kovgaard, three of our barons died. Two of them had no heirs, which caused a messy succession crisis in a few of our most important baronies. It could have boiled over into civil war, but Duchess Chera was able to clamp down on it. Doing so left us vulnerable, however, and Duke Thandor exploited that. He forced trade treaties on us that weakened the baronies and guilds, placed higher tariffs on our goods, and forbade us from growing wine in certain parts of our own lands, too. And now his men have been crossing the border, enforcing those treaties with fire and fear."
Winstan bristled, his hands balling into fists.
"It's been insult after insult. Nothing that could ever provoke a true war, though, because the bastard is careful and precise, and we don't have the strength to openly defy him. But he's slowly turning us into nothing more than another vassal. Some whisper that it's only a matter of time before he tries to annex our duchy."
For a moment, Caderyn regretted sending Delwin off to help that farmer. As the companion with the most experience serving his parents, Delwin likely would have had more insight into the situation. Most of his other companions were less-seasoned knights, wandering mercenaries, or amusing miscreants who had become loyal friends. Few would have had keen advice on a delicate political crisis.
If someone wiser like Berent were with him, Caderyn might have thought about meeting with Duchess Chera and formulating some sort of alliance against Jadewall's schemes. Given how pious Chera was purported to be, a lecherous rogue like Caderyn would probably only make things worse. Chera's daughters were also quite fetching, from what little he'd seen of them at feasts, and it would be hard to keep his wandering eyes in check.
Better to focus on the pilgrimage, do his duty, and leave the schemes to his parents and brother.
**
Thanks to Wolfgate's devotion to the gods, the duchy had allowed the construction of over a dozen shrines and monasteries on its lands. Traveling to all of them would have delayed them considerably, so he picked the one closest to the main road: a shrine dedicated to the concept of divine silence itself, rather than being sworn to any one saint. The monks were said to have sworn never to speak a word aloud, and did little other than study sacred texts or silently pray.
Caderyn soon came to regret that decision, for his two days at the shrine were among the most miserable of his life. After leaving behind his escort at the gates, he approached and the monks gave him a scroll with detailed instructions. Upon stripping down to his smallclothes per their orders, he was allowed inside, where the mute monks scourged him with long strands of grass that barely left any marks.
Next they nearly drowned him in a pool of holy water to cleanse his sins, paraded him before the entire monastery, then locked him in the central shrine. Surrounded by stained-glass windows depicting pious monks ripping out their own tongues, he was forced to remain alone in silence.
The dull, boring minutes were more painful than any wound he'd suffered. Knowing the monks would be right outside listening for violations, he dared not curse or complain aloud. Instead he stalked and stomped through the room, fuming at his foolish decision, trying to distract himself with thoughts of fucking Tessandra when this debacle was done.
That proved to be a foolish choice, as it caused a flare of arousal, but he dared not risk doing anything about it. If the monks overheard Caderyn pleasuring himself in their sacred shrine of silence, they'd certainly not bless him, and they might even inform the other holy orders about it.
And that would be quite the embarrassment to his family.
Fuming, he continued to stalk through the shrine, forcing his mind down darker paths to dispel the embers of lust. He thought of Wolfgate wilting away beneath Jadewall's oppressive treaties and of the constant skirmishes between the noble families. His mind wandered, thinking of the lingering threats in Kovgaard. After all, King Ulrik would not live forever, and his truce with the south would die with him. The next king chosen by the tribes could call for a bloody war in the name of Kovgaard's hungry gods.
The most potent thoughts of all, though, were of his child. By the time Caderyn finished with his long pilgrimage across the Empire, Solveig likely would have given birth. His child would come into this world completely bereft of a father's love. The thought nearly brought tears to his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and soldiered on, shifting his mind back to thoughts of conflict with Jadewall.
Exhaustion finally defeated him and he curled up beneath a pew, slumbering fitfully. At dawn the monks awoke him, once more lashing him with strands of grass, before again immersing him in the holy water, then yanking him out for another day of silence in the shrine.
For the second day, Caderyn mostly sat still, glaring at the stained-glass windows as he imagined leading a tide of knights into Jadewall, finally ending the rivalry for good. The dark, bloody thoughts shifted as he imagined commanding troops across the breadth of the Empire, uniting the duchies for the first time in decades, stopping the endless cycle of petty rivalries, and perhaps seizing the empty Imperial throne for himself.
A foolish ambition. And yet those wild dreams provided quite the useful distraction during the long hours of solitary silence.
When the monks finally released him, Caderyn nearly wept with relief. They anointed his forehead with holy oil, passed him a sacred scroll that confirmed his sanctification, then sent him on his way.
Once free of the shrine and its vows of silence, Caderyn erupted with a long, bestial sound that was half-laugh and half-growl. Gwion and Nolmvar emerged from the trees, having camped out beside the monastery to wait for him.
"Fangs of the gods," Nolmvar cursed. "You look as if you've aged a year."
"And I feel like I've aged ten," Caderyn growled. "I need a damned drink."
More importantly, he needed that pretty blonde bard and her wondrous body.
**
When they returned to the little town further along the main road, he stormed into the tavern where his companions had lodged for the evening. Tessandra's fellow bards were performing on stage, but she was nowhere in sight.
"She retired early for the night," said Winstan with a little blush as a local girl grabbed him by the hand and tugged him out for a dance.
Ignoring the welcoming shouts of his other companions, Caderyn gulped down a cup of mead and bounded up the stairs. At the door to Tessandra's room, he paused. Eager as he was for her touch to help ease the mental aches inflicted by his two days of silence, he was not quite selfish enough to interrupt her much-needed slumber.
