Chapter Twenty-Three
"A baby?" Rusol said. "A baby." He sat down with a thump, his knees suddenly weak. He was going to have a child.
"Yes," Yassi replied. "Kolvi says it'll be seven months."
"What do we...? Why are you up? Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I'm fine, Rus. My mother will know what to do, and we'll find a midwife."
Rusol nodded, barely listening. "He'll be the next king." A new prince, coming so soon after the coronation, would be taken as a good sign. Rusol's branch of the family would retain the crown and control of House Larse, promising stability for another generation.
"It could be a girl," Yassi pointed out.
"Oh. Yes, of course, but a girl would still prove we can continue the line. We can keep trying." He ignored the look of disgust that crossed her face. He'd grown accustomed to it, and surely things would improve now that they were having a child together. She would finally come to care for him. She
had
to.
His thoughts kept flitting around. He was going to be a father.
If there was a child coming, he couldn't risk being at war against the wardens. Not now, at least. They hadn't been the ones to kill Rikard, but that didn't mean they wouldn't strike into the palace if they realized someone was hunting them.
Luckily, Leonis was dead, and the First didn't know what Rusol had been up to. None of the others had any idea who he was.
The shadow creature wanted him to kill the other wardens, but it had seemed to think he'd make that decision himself. If so, it would have to wait.
Besides, defeating Leonis had been more about luck than skill. The man had grown overconfident after years of fighting weaker elder witches, and hadn't been prepared to face Rusol and Kolvi at full strength. And he hadn't been aware of Rusol's own divine magic, negating Leonis's biggest advantage.
But Rusol was under no illusion that he was ready to face a fully prepared warden. Rather than risking outright confrontation, he could take a more prudent approach. Wait and watch, and learn.
Yes, with the immediate threat from Leonis over, it made sense to proceed with caution. His family's safety had to come first, and then he would bide his time.
#
"This is Corec of House Tarwen," Kevik announced to the assembled knights. "You know who he is, and I don't want to hear any complaining. He's leading the town's assault against the dragon."
Corec stepped forward, then stopped and looked each man in the eye before speaking. He was wearing King Argyros's armor for the first time. It was made from the same dull, brownish-gray metal as the maul, and his attempts to polish it had failed, but the unusual appearance drew the knights' attention anyway.
"You heard him," he said. "I'll tell you now, I don't much care what you think about me. I've got a job to do and I need men who can handle themselves."
The oldest of the knights, with graying hair and a gut that stretched his mail to its limit, spat on the ground. "We don't deal with traitors, wizard."
"I didn't betray anything," Corec said. "I never took the oaths. But I'll overlook your lie and your insult for now, Sir Georg. Dealing with the dragon is more important than challenging you to a duel over what little remains of your knightly honor, and Kevik tells me you have a fine eye for siege weapons."
Corec was walking a fine line in goading the man, but he hoped to push one of the knights into issuing a challenge of their own. It would reinforce to the others that he was their equal. He'd brought his old spare sword from Mama Wenna's attic in case he needed it. His new weapons were too likely to kill his opponent.
After debating the matter with Kevik, Corec had decided to try to recruit all four of the remaining knights. While he himself could teach the new armsmen to load and release the ballistae, there wasn't enough time for them to truly master the weapon. The knights could serve as spotters, estimating windage and distance to give the bolts a better chance of reaching the target.
If they didn't accept his leadership, though, they'd cause more problems than they were worth. A challenge might resolve the issue, proving to them he could still act as a knight.
Georg scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but another man spoke first.
"Oaths or not, you're still a mage," Sir Osbert said. He was tall, with a clean-shaven head, and he wore a full set of plate armor. He'd been stationed at Fort Hightower during Corec's first year there, before being transferred back to Telfort. Apparently he'd returned. "If Four Roads wishes to allow magic within their borders, that's their business, but I won't have anything to do with it. We don't need your help. We'll wait until the Order arrives."
"The Order isn't coming," Kevik said, then paused to let that sink in. "The message arrived this morning. Our brothers aren't coming, but since we're already here, we've been told to help out in whatever way we can. So, either the six of us try to hunt down a dragon by ourselves, or we can work with Corec and the rest of the Four Roads expedition. Unless, of course, you want to abandon our duty entirely, Osbert."
Trentin's lips had tightened into a thin line while Kevik was speaking. It was a lie, then. There hadn't been any orders.
The rest of the knights exchanged worried glances. Clearly they'd been expecting support from their own people. The Order of Pallisur prided themselves on their ability to handle threats no one else could face, and whatever problems Corec had with the knights, it was clear that this small group hadn't intended to abandon Four Roads to its fate.
"The people in town say you killed a drake!" exclaimed a young knight with freckles and curly red hair. From Kevik's description, that had to be Willem. He was only a year or two older than Nedley.
"Two, but I had help," Corec said. "Just like I'll need your help with the dragon."
The boy nodded, his head bobbing up and down.
"Why is the seaborn woman wearing armor?" asked a man with sandy blond hair. He had on well-maintained plate armor of his own, and his look was speculative rather than judgmental. As the only one left, he had to be Sir Cason, who Kevik said had trained at Fort Hightower.
Ariadne had remained silent until then, but now she came to stand beside Corec. "I'm no seaborn," she said. "I am Ariadne, of the Mage Knights of Tir Yadar." They'd worked out an introduction for her that didn't require mentioning the Chosar. She preferred to leave her past a mystery.
Sir Georg barked a laugh. "Shiny armor doesn't make you a knight, girl."
"My order existed long before yours, son of Pallisur," Ariadne said, staring him down. "I swore the oaths to my people, and was raised to knighthood in the presence of The Lady herself."
Corec had coached Ariadne on what to say, but he hadn't heard that last part before. She'd rarely ever mentioned the new gods in all the time he'd known her.
She waited, and it was Georg who looked away first. He wouldn't challenge her--women in Larso weren't seen as fighters.
"
Mage
Knights?" Osbert said. "There's no such thing."
