Told in Stone Chapter 7: End of the rope

Somewhere to Riot’s left, Loic cursed and stumbled in the dark. “Are you sure you told him where to meet you?” The young northman hissed.

“He knows where to be,” Riot replied, stopping on the tree line and scanning the darker shadows.

The grass clearing behind the crumbling Priory building was deserted, only dimly lit by a sliver of a creeping moon.

“Could be an ambush, could be that he got scared, asked around about you,” Loic suggested.

“He knows damn well who I am, that’s why he’s got a stick up his ass.”

“Chopping the head off of a king,” Loic made a slicing sound and chuckled. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riot snapped.

“You don’t exactly get on well with any of the nobles do you?”

The clatter of horses hooves sounded on the distant road before stopping abruptly, moments later three shadowed figures emerged from the tree line on the opposite side of the clearing.

Three Erudoran fools had challenged him over the last year. The first had forfeited, giving up his commission in shame and returning to Erudor. The second had chosen swords to first blood and it had taken only a handful of minutes before Riot bloodied him. The third had been cancelled by Roveran after he had banned duelling in the combined regiments.

The three figures had made their way to the middle of the clearing and were looking about anxiously. He felt a stirring of nerves himself, his guts knotted up like old rope. He’d fought duels before, but not when he had something to lose. He was an officer, something he would have thought impossible a year ago. And then there was Natalia Quinn, the woman who loved him in the winter and left him in the Spring. Was she his to lose though? She came back into his life when he least expected it, staying a night or two before disappearing. Would she mourn his death?

Riot turned to Loic. “I die, will you try to get word to Natalia?”

“I’ll try, what shall I say you left the poor woman, a handful of pocket fluff and a pair of stolen boots? What about the sword? you said I could have it.”

The sword was a gift from Walden Moran, an old Faelen blade forged in the Echo. It was over a yard long of heavy, dense steel. Apart from Riot, Loic was the only one in the regiment who might be able to swing it.  

“You can have the sword, but it won’t be today, come on.”

Leguard waited with a tall Erudoran officer and a skinny figure in a black frock coat and round cloth cap. “Riot,” Legaurd said without any warmth. “This is Captain Rosedale, and Doctor Beamish.”

The thin doctor tipped his hat, swayed slightly. He smelled like stale sweat and raw spirits.

“Let’s be glad he won’t be stiching you up,” Loic murmured.

Captain Rosedale cleared his throat. “Captain Leguard has challenged your honor, therefore the choice is yours, Lieutenant Riot, heads or flowers?” He said, holding up a coin.

Riot felt Loic shift next to him. Rosedale’s coin was a Faelen guilder, but most called them white guilder, pure gold and worth ten times the value of the black, corroded guilders of the Arcanum. Twenty of those would buy Riot a captaincy in any regiment he wanted. “Heads,” he said, his mouth dry.

The coin flashed and made a ringing sound as it spun in the gloom, before Rosedale snatched it out of the air. “Flowers,” he proclaimed.

“I choose Arcane arts,” Leguard said without hesitation.

A grim prospect. It took Riot all of ten seconds to form the Leybound’s only weapon, and even then hitting a target at forty paces would be blind luck.

“You shall take twenty paces, turn and release your workings. The death of your opponent will result in a victory but be considered poor taste,” Rosedale explained.

“Good luck,” Loic murmured, his voice betraying his concern.

Riot’s instincts pricked at him as he set out across the clearing and when he was half way they practically screamed at him and begged him to go back. His mind raced. Arcanists power was weaker than the Leybound. They drew latent arcane power from their surroundings, but Riot was bound to a leyline that felt so alive that Riot thought it wanted him dead most of the time. But the town of gravetree was slap bang under the path of the leylines that twisted around the continent, did that even things up?

Riot realised with gut twisting horror that he had walked half the distance already and in a panic forced the leypower in his core to leak out from the long scars in his forearms, cupping his hands and holding the dirty grey light. He crushed it as he turned on his heel, not willing to look up at Leguard who was likely already casting.

The spell crafted runes that had been scored into the backs of his hands flared, containing the power and Riot glanced up to see Leguard one hand outstretched, the other held behind him as if he were drawing on some great longbow.

The leypower hummed in Riots ears as he willed the leypower to form a sphere, but another sound reached him. Galloping horses and voices shouting out from the direction of the Priory.

Three black horses with black hooded riders burst out of the gloom into the clearing. Riot released his unformed charge and drew his sword, but Leguard turned his working to aim at the lead rider and a yard long bold of silver light exploded from his hands. The spear flew at the rider and when it struck, nothing happened. The rider just seemed to absorb it.

The lead rider jumped from the horse and pulled of their hood to reveal Ritta Kerne, her eyes blacker than the shadows under the trees around them. “What in the name of the gods do you think you’re doing?” She thundered.

“Wikkan Kerne, I–” Leguard stammered, hurrying forward.

“Seize him,” Kerne snapped at two Wikkan girls with pale skin and long black hair took who hurried to stand either side of the Arcanist. “Take him into the city and wait for me.” Kerne turned her attention to Rosedale and the doctor. “You two get out of here, now.”

The doctor sprinted away but Rosedale stood his ground, for which Riot gave him some credit. “The rule is not over, the matter of honour is not settled.”

“There was no duel you hear me? No matter of honour, you were never here and if I hear you say you were I’ll have you commanding a prison hulk in the west for the rest of the war. Is that clear?”

Rosedale looked as though he’d chewed on a rotten lemon. “It’s clear.”

“Then get out of my sight.”

Kerne waited until the cleaning was empty before turning and advancing on Riot. He still held his sword, but knew it would be of little use. He’d rarely seen the short woman this angry, her habitual farmers wife demeanour burned away.

“Evening Wikkan Kerne,” Loic said, touching his forelock.

“If you can’t keep it shut, Fitchen, I’ll shut it for you,” Kerne snapped.

The Northman raised his hands in mock surrender and retreated several steps.

“What are you doing here?” Riot asked.

“You were told to stop accepting their duels, you were ordered by myself and Roveran. He won’t protect you this time. Colonel Worthy knows all about this, he wanted me to throw you in a stockade and tear you back down to the ranks.”

“Leguard set me up?”

“No-one set you up.” Kerne snapped. “The whole damn officers mess heard Leguard call you out and you didn’t fool anyone with your little refusal. Vincent Leguard is almost a big a buffoon as you, but I’ll deal with him, after I’ve dealt with you.”

Riot was already in the baggage train, what more could they do to him? For all their threats, they couldn’t throw him back in the rank and file, no officer would be able to lead men effectively while Riot was among them. He told Kerne as much and for the first time, she smiled.

“You won’t be fighting anyone my boy. In fact, you won’t see a battle this side of the new year. You’re to go to the town and join the royal household of Prince Gwilhelm. He’s very excited to have you.”

Behind him, Loic turned a laugh into a hasty cough.

“A bloody Royal Guard? You must be joking,” Riot spat.

A tense silence fell in the clearing, and Loic took another step backward.

Kerne moved closer and the shadows seemed to trail in her wake. “Do you see me laughing? You’ll go there and you’ll salute, and you’ll stand guard, and you’ll fetch and carry his frilly knickers if he asks you.”

“I’m a soldier, not a bloody valet,” Riot said.

“This is soldiering! If we want to win we need support, allies, patrons, money, influence. You need those things too, don’t you see? Roveran won’t help you any more, and Moran isn’t here. I’m handing you an opportunity and you are too bloody minded to see it. Gain the Princes favour, gods knows he has a whole army at his disposal.”

“And if I don’t?” Riot asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’ll be court-martialled, and this time there won’t be anyone to save you. You’re almost out of rope my boy and at the end of it, is a noose.”