Told in Stone Chapter 12: Money and Spite

Riot’s head was pounding and his feet were in agony from the new leather shoes. The stiff uniform collar cut into his neck but at least it resembled a fighting man’s uniform, he’d managed to pull off most of the lace. The worst was the pounding in his head. As they had discussed their plans for securing Gwilhelm’s favour, the small Wikkan, Deacon had drunk him under the table.

“It has a kind of rustic charm, don’t you think, Nate?” Gwilhelm gushed, gazing around at the grand ballroom.

“Wonderful, your highness,” Riot replied, plucking a fluted glass from a passing tray and draining it. The wine was tart and the bubbles stung his nose. As for the house, creeping vines, and candelabras had been artfully placed around, but the cracks running up the walls were two inches thick at the top. Riot could likely wedge his blade in there and likely bring down the whole thing. He might do it to, if it would bring an early end to this night.

“I made the effort to understand your world, and now you shall see mine. I shall civilise you with conversation, music and dancing–”. The Princes exclamation was cut short and he took a step back, bumping into Riot. “Nate, I order you to save me from General Loe,” he hissed.

A large Faelen approached them, parting the crowd like gaudy warship. He bore the chain and pendant of a general and bowed low to the prince, the gold rings in his long ears chiming together. His uniform collar was so large and stiff that he could barely move his head. “Most glorious highness, let me be the first to extend my sympathies for the ill health of your mother, our most revered queen.”

The Prince stammered, stumbling over his words. “Thank you, General Loe. I really must–”

“If I may, my liege, myself and the other generals are of the opinion that the Erudorans should cead their position as first regiment for the upcoming battle at Fallow. It’s rather a question of respect, don’t you agree?”

“The battle? Well I expect that is something that Lord Roveran–” Gwilhelm began.

Loe gave a hurrumph of agreement and continued to speak over the stuttering boy. “Excellent, my liege, I am pleased that we are of one mind. Given the current circumstances, myself and the other generals feel that it would be necessary for you to accompany our troops through the Echo. Your presence at the battle will certainly bolster the moral of our regiments. After all,” Loe leaned in. “You might be the King of our people before then, it would do well to show leadership.”

Riot had been about to step in, but at the mention of the Echo he remained still. If Gwilhelm went into the Echo, then surely his equerry would go with him. Riot was sure he wouldn’t need long in the red land to catch the trail of the red robed Faelen monks.

Gwilhelm looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. “I’m not sure how much use my presence would be.”

Gwilhelm nudged his boney elbow into Riots ribs and shoot him a desperate look. But Riot remained silent. He felt bad for the boy, but he had to do what he could for Fletcher and Martin.

“Your highness, will you be sharing any more of your musical compositions with us this evening?” a voice said.

“Wikkan Deacon!” Gwilhelm clapped his hands together.

Deacon approached and pointedly glared at general Loe. The older Faelen managed to withstand her gaze for a moment, before he gave a tight lipped bow and moved to one side.

“If it pleases you, your highness, the mistress of the house would surely wish to give you her respects. I was her charge for many years of my childhood.” Deacon’s voice was deadpan, but a wry smile played on her lips.

“You continue to arrive at the most astute of moments to rescue me, Wikkan Deacon. General, my apologies, I certainly want to hear your thoughts on…” he waved a hand airily. “Whatever it was you were talking about. But it will have to be another time,” Gwilhelm declared, taking Deacons arm in his and leading her away.

General Loe looked as if he had been struck in the face with a wet fish. His expression quickly turned to anger as he took a determined step forward, and stopped, glaring at Riot’s hand that was clasped around his arm. “What is the meaning of this? Unhand me!”

The generals exclamation drew the glances of several well dressed guests nearby and Riot leaned forward and spoke in a low tone before releasing the general.

“I’m going to get something to eat, enjoy the party,” Riot said in a louder voice, leaving the ashen faced general standing alone.

A long table was piled high with food that Riot didn’t recognise. He seized a small tart and sniffed it, recoiling slightly. It smelled like a rotten old boot.

“That is a gnomish tart, Lieutenant. As a race, they have a terrible sense of smell which I am afraid makes their culinary produce, especially, pungent.”

Roveran Listor stood behind Riot. The general of the combined Arcanum, Erudoran and Royal Faelen regiments wore his typical nondescript grey uniform, his grey beard trimmed to a neat point. His hands bore the same silvery scars as Riots, the bindings of the arcane leyline and Roveran’s were as fine as any Riot had seem. Hundreds of small runes cut into the flesh that seemed to move across his skin like birds in flight.

The short Wikkan, Ritta Kerne was in her customary place at his side.

“Sir.” Riot stood to attention and saluted, then instantly felt a fool.

If Roveran noticed he didn’t show it. “It is fortunate that we should encounter you, Riot. Wikkan Kerne and I have just heard the strangest tale. It seems an Erudoran officer has been threatening some of our allies.”

Before being made a Lieutenant, Riot had been a sergeant in the rank and file for eighteen years and he instinctively took on the slightly miffed speaking-to-superior-officers expression. “Sir?”

“Apparently the officer threatened him with violence if he didn’t leave the Faelen prince alone,” Kerne supplied.

“Sounds like the general might have had a little to much wine, Sir,” Riot suggested.

“I did not, of course, mention that it was a general,” Roveran said, plucking a stuffed olive and popping it into his mouth as Riot silently cursed.

Roveran dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Naturally, I assured him that no officer under my authority would act that way, or they wouldn’t be an officer for much longer, don’t you agree?”

Riot nodded to show that he understood the reprimand.

“Capital. Now I must greet the Tarian ambassador. You will excuse me.”

Riot bent at the waist, but Roveran had already turned on his heel and left, leaving him bowing to empty air.

Kerne snorted and snatched some more food from a silver dish. “Did you really tell Loe that you would cut his strings?”

“How much trouble am I in?” Riot replied.

“Loe’s a windbag. Kerne made a dismissive gesture. “This gives him something to complain about other than who gets to march first.”

An easy silence fell between them. For all of her scheming, Riot found himself liking the short Wikkan. She didn’t have the pompous airs of the other nobles, and had never talked down to him.

“You like dangerous women, Nathanial?” Kerne asked, smiling as she saw the question catch him off guard. “First Natalia Quinn, now Deacon.”

Riot scoffed. “It’s nice to see you don’t know everything that happens around here.” There wasn’t anything especially wrong with Deacon. But apart from the fact that he was more than twice her age, she was a Warcaster. The years had done little to soften the stories of the horrific crimes her kind had committed.

“Wikkan Deacon is ambitious, and she has twice been exiled for falling prey to that ambition. Take care you do not do the same.”

Riot felt as though he stood at a crossroad. Deacon and Kerne were both the same in his book, but the Warcaster had offered him a way to look for his men, if Kerne couldn’t do the same, then he knew who he had to work with. “Two of my men were taken prisoner in the battle. Will you move them up the transfer lists?”

Kerne held Riot’s gaze for several long seconds, her black eyes unblinking. “No, they’ll come back eventually.”

Then there was no choice after all, he would work with Deacon.

Kerne took her leave and Riot stood alone. Musicians plucked their instruments, women’s tittering laughter rang out and cigar smoke clotted the air. Riot pulled open the top button of his tight collar. He needed to get out of here. He didn’t belong and the longer he stayed the more of a fool he would make of himself. He made his way around the back of the crowds, exchanging nods with the guards at the door who glared back at him. Dressed like this he wasn’t one of them any more.

Large doors gave way to a stone terrace with steps down to a sweeping garden. The overgrown foliage spilled out over cracked moss covered flagstones. Torches lined the pathways and groups of chattering and laughing guests were scattered around. A young woman served drinks from a silver tray and a man gave the particular barking laughter of the rich that grated on his senses.

Riots attention snapped back to the serving girl. She was tall, with sure movements and piercing blue eyes. Where had he seen her before? He took a step forward, but froze when he saw who it was that plucked a glass from her tray.

Captain Vincent Leguard was speaking to a large group of Erudoran officers and half a dozen woman in gowns. He finished telling his story with a flourish and the group erupted in laughter.

Riot reached for the hilt of his sword before remembering that formal uniforms didn’t have sword belts. He eyed the stone balcony, judging the drop. In a moment he could be making his way through the garden and back to the town. The lads would be enjoying a drink about now.

“Here he is, my lady,” Deacon said as she stepped onto the terrace.

Trailing the Wikkan was a woman wearing a slender gown with silver strands that caught the flickering torchlight. Her long black hair had grey streaks at her temples and hanging on a fine chain around her neck was the largest ruby Riot had ever seen. It would be enough for him to buy a half dozen captains commissions, perhaps even a majors title.

“Riot, this is Lady Marguerite,” Deacon announced.

“Ma’am,” Riot said with a small bow, taking Marguerites outstretched hand. Should he kiss it? There were likely a thousand rules of etiquette and he knew none of them. He settled for shaking it gently and felt a fool as she smiled indulgently.

Marguerite held onto his hand and turned it over so that she could look at the hundreds of silverly scared runes that allowed him to control the leypower. “At ease Lieutenant, this is a party not a parade ground,” the older woman said.

“This is Lady Marguerites house,” Deacon supplied.

Riots brain emptied and he looked up at the crumbling balconies and down at the cracked flagstones, desperate for something to say. “It’s very nice,” he managed.

“It’s a crumbling wreck, much like myself, held together with pride and spite,” Marguerite smiled as she spoke, carefully appraising Riot. She had a severe kind of beauty, like a bird of prey, but there was a crispness to his speech that made him feel like a tradesman confronted with the lady of the house. She kept glancing above his head and he felt as if he needed to smooth his hair.

He wished his hands weren’t empty. He should have grabbed a drink. The uniform was hot and he looked like a fool. He bowed again and caught the faint smile on Lady Marguerites lips.

“I’ve been telling her ladyship about the Leybound regiment. It was impressive to see them in action,” Deacon said.

“Yes, the Leybound are fascinating, everyone is talking about them. Tell me, do they have what it takes to beat back the Faelen?” Lady Margeritte asked.

Riot was grateful that the conversation moved to more familiar territory and he sensed that this was Deacons intention. “Not yet, my lady. But soon, with training I think we could stand against their lines.”

“If anyone stands toe to toe with the Mazral, it will be the Erudorans.” Leguard’s face was flushed with drink, the usual curl of his upper lip now a full sneer as he appraised Riot. “My lady,” he said, taking Marguerites outstretched hand and bringing it to brush against his lips. “I must advise you against taking military advice from Lieutenant Riotus. He is up from the ranks and apparently only knows how to give one order, and that’s to retreat.”

Marguerite looked deeply uncomfortable. Deacon’s face was a mask, her features carved in stone.

“Will you be leading your regiment into the Echo, captain?” Lady Marguerite asked.

Leguard sniffed. “Not at this time, my lady. The Erudoran and Arcane regiments will be going directly north to engage the enemy, while the Roya Faelen push the remnants of the Mazral out of the Echo and create another gateway. I assure you that by the time they arrive, the city will be taken.”

There was a movement in the crowd and Gwilhelm emerged, his face set in a pout that he directed at Riot. “Nate, you abandoned me to General Loe, and now I must travel through the Echo to watch a battle.”

Everyone bowed to the prince, but Gwilhelm was seemingly unaware and continued berating Riot, stamping his slippered foot. “I won’t travel with those frumpy old generals, Nate, you must take me,” he concluded, crossing his skinny arms and huffing.

“Your highness. I would be glad to offer my protection,” Leguard said, smoothly.

“I think his highness would be safe with his current equerry. What do you think, Lieutenant Riot?” Deacon asked.

Riot hesitated. He was his opportunity to go into the Faelen lands and look for Fletcher and Miller, but he’d planned to travel with a battalion of Faelen. Taking the Prince without the support of the generals in would be a risk. Kerne would flay him alive when she found out. But he had a duty to his men. “If you joined us, Wikkan Deacon, I think we would be more than a match for any enemy,” Riot confirmed.

“I insist in joining you as well, your highness. The Erudoran empire will protect you,” Leguard declared.

Gwilhelm clapped his hands, treating the three of them to a wide smile. “My trio of heroes, how wonderful. Off to the Echo we go, the things we will see. Wikkan Deacon, you must tell me what you know of the Echo, you know I have never been.” The Prince grasped Deacon by the arm and lead her away, chattering animatedly.

Leguard took a step toward Riot, his breath a wash of strong spirits. “You cannot hide behind the Wikkan forever, Riotus.”

“You’re crowding me,” Riot growled.

Lady Marguerite stepped neatly between the two of them and hooked her arm around Riots. “Lieutenant Riot, I simply insist on taking you for a tour of the grounds.”

Riot let himself be steered away. Traveling with Leguard would be trouble, but he cheered himself with the knowledge that the Echo was a large place, and accidents happened all the time in wild lands.

The summer air was filled with the scent of honeysuckle and tinkling water fell in the fountains.

“I apologise for Leguard,” Marguerite said.

“He was just drunk.”

“As well he would want to drink. He has money problems you know? Desperate for some kind of glory in battle he can turn into wealth. A frightfully borish man, but again most of the Erudoran officers are.” Margeritte clung to Riots arm, steering him through the gardens, past sweet flowers. “Not that I include you in that group, Lieutenant, you are something different entirely. The grandson of a regicide, promoted from the rank and file and made Leybound. It really is an extraordinary story.”

“I’m just a soldier, ma’am.”

“But you have the power of the leylines. The rumours about you swirl around polite society. Tell me, what is it like to be bound to such a power. Does it trouble you to control it?”

Riot found the cool air relaxing, and had no mind to return to the house. He described the barrier he had created to contain the leyline. Each Leybound had to tame the savage power in their own way, and Riot had formed his own monstrous regiment of faceless soldiers in his mind. On his order they parted and only then could the leypower seep into the Chanels it had cut into this body and fill his core. Though some leybound had learned to live side by side with the leypower, for Riot, it had been his rage that had cowed the leyline in the end. Now, they lived in a wary truce.

They were deep in the gardens now, the music from the terrace only a faint sound on the breeze. The sounds of amorous couples could be heard in some of the more secluded areas and the already hot uniform began to feel warmer.

“I wonder, Lieutenant, if you would visit my private garden? The night is young.”

She was beautiful in her pride and her boldness, but everything about this world felt like he were in a foreign land, and he didn’t know how to manoeuvre. Then there was Natalia Quinn, though she had made it clear he owed her nothing, he still wanted to.

“My lady, I cannot.”

There was a flash of annoyance that pinched the woman’s face, but a moment later it was gone and she gave an exaggerated sigh. “You find me too old?”

“No, not at all. I think you’re beautiful, but I have a woman. I think.”

“She is rather fortunate then. I wish you luck in the Echo.”

Riot took his leave and made his way back to the regimental camp. Another retreat to be sure, and more harrowing than the last one.