Darius Chapter 17

Marth stood outside the Royal Forges looking for Darius, but he was not there. The forge itself was filled with dull coals and piles of ash, left to burn down to nothing even at this hour of the day. From what he’d seen, Darius never let the forge burn out while the sun was still up. Even when he was running an errand, one of his apprentices or helpers – usually Bart – was tasked with keeping it stoked at a workable temperature.

He had come to say goodbye.

On the road back to Erinstone, Heldrus told him about his argument with Layla, and the reason why the bandits had been marauding the woods for such a long time, and in such large numbers. They weren’t there just to make small raids on travelers or merchants, they were there because they were paid to be – paid to stop Marth from joining the Erinstone Royal Family. He got the message – he was not welcome, nor safe in Erinstone, so he had decided to leave. To hell with the consequences.

Marth ventured into the smithery and checked Darius’s quarters just in case. Not there either. It was unfortunate, but he was going to have to leave without saying goodbye. In his ruminations whilst on the straight Road back, he had concluded that leaving was the best option. Every moment he spent in Erinstone increased the risk of Layla or some other corrupt noble achieving their goal of eliminating or debilitating him. He and Heldrus had put a serious dint in the bandits' forces, but all it really meant was the remaining bludgers would be paid a larger share, incentivizing them to stay the course. So, with a scrawled message left under Darius’s pillow he left the Royal Forge, pulled his cloak over his face and headed for the barracks.

After some consideration, the Barringvale soldiers had been housed in cabins not far from the main barracks, but far enough away that there was a sense of ‘your-side vs our-side' when Marth’s soldiers went out to train with the Erinians. Their stay had been peaceful enough, aside from when one of the Barringvale soldiers had been caught with the daughter of one of the Erinian generals, being more friendly than they should have been given she was set to marry one of the young Erinian captains. A fight had broken out at the training grounds between the two men, but the wooden swords they were equipped with didn’t do much more than give them both sore heads and bruised ribs. It turned out the captain had his own fair share of unfaithful adventures, so the marriage was called off, and the general ended up gifting the Barringvale soldier an expensive flagon of rye whiskey for exposing the situation, which was enjoyed by the soldiers that night.

Marth went to their cabins now, taking care not to be recognized. He entered each cabin, told the men to gather their gear and collect their horses if they had them, and leave Erinstone in groups of four once night fell, meeting him about a kilometer from the most external gate. He didn’t say much more except that they were returning to Barringvale. The men were organized by the time Marth stepped out each of the cabin doors, all of them keen to leave this foreign land and return to their homes and families. They were allowed to keep their weapons and gear on-hand rather than deliver them to the armory, saving them the suspicious trip of a group of foreign soldiers all requesting weapons and armor at once.

Marth had expected Grenfell to be his biggest issue. The advisor had taken up knitting, which he conducted from an armchair in his room. He would sink into the voluptuous cushions so far that his knees almost hit his chin, then he would lay out a ball of yarn in his lap, creating some kind of cozy woolen item.

To get to that armchair and its busy occupant, Marth would have to get himself into the Royal District and the castle without detection. He couldn’t be sure how many of the guards and roaming soldiers would be on Layla’s payroll, but he assumed the number was high given her apparent deep pockets. Fortunately, he didn’t have to take the risk. Since Marth’s disappearance the morning before, Grenfell had been in a state of anxiety, rushing about all over Erinstone in search of him. At present, Marth found him in one of the Barringvale cabins, in a heated debate with some soldiers about where they should search next for Marth. Grenfell was up close to his map of Erinstone, peering at the names of different places written in a small font. A soldier was talking at him while the advisor scrutinized his map.

“Sir, his horse isn’t in the stables, there’s no purpose in looking within the city – we should be sending men outside Erinstone to look for him.”

“Nonsense! You never know what might’ve happened, perhaps his captor just released his horse so that we would think that! Think, man, think!”

Marth decided to put Grenfell out of his misery.

“You been looking for me, Gren?”

The advisor stood straight as an arrow, spinning on his heel to face Marth.

“Good heavens boy! What the flippin heck do you think you’re doing, running off like that? Are you mad?”

He strutted over and inspected the several light bandages poking through under Marth’s cloak. He became more of a doting mother than loyal advisor as he noticed the bruises and cuts and general grime that Marth was covered in. Marth gave the cabin the same order he’d given the rest.

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“Alright Gren, alright. I’ll update you later, for now we need to get out of Erinstone. We’re returning to Barringvale. I want you to do a headcount of all the men, and then meet me at the gate to Mouse’s Melee immediately after, okay?”

“Yes sir, will we have time to pack provisions?”

Marth looked out the wooden shutters nearest him, noting the rapid decline of the sun as it dipped toward the horizon.

“No time I’m afraid, and forget anything about carriages. We’re doing this one rough.”

An hour later, the Barringvale army had evacuated Erinstone, gathering outside the castle at their full headcount. Most had their own horses, but some were sitting two men to a horse, the poor beasts weighed down by the heavy armor and men they carried. Marth spoke in a hushed voice, cautious despite their distance from even the outlaying Erinstone farms.

“Alright lads, we’ll get more horses on the way, but for now, if you’re two men to a horse, you’ll both need to drop your armor and chuck it in the forest. Once the cat is out of the bag and they discover our cabins empty, I have a feeling we’ll be pursued. We need to get the fuck out of their range, and we won’t be taking the Great Road this time. Follow me.”

He gave his horse a nudge with his right knee, leading it off the Road into the lighter forest on the western side.

The journey to Barringvale had begun.

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Heldrus approached his mother, staying atop his horse in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

She was shaking with barely contained rage and her knuckles were white from the pressure of balling her hands into fists. Her nails drew blood as they dug in, but she didn’t seem to notice.

He stopped a few meters away.

“We beat them, Mom.”

She glared daggers at him.

“I didn’t go back to stop your plan; I just didn’t want my men to die. They’re good soldiers and they didn’t deserve it.”

Layla gritted her teeth and spat out her response.

“I don’t give a shit about your men – you're a disgrace, and we’re done. I’ve arranged to have you wiped from the Avongold name – and consider your captaincy renounced.”

Heldrus felt his stomach sink and his face burn bright red.

“You’re going to renounce my captaincy? There’s no way you can do that – as far as the rest of the soldiers know, my men and I are heroes! We did what no one else was brave enough to do! And now their captain is punished? They’ll revolt.”

His horse pranced a little as it felt its master’s unease.

“The soldiers will believe what they are told. And what they are told by me and Tallacus will be that you led an unsanctioned expedition to desert Erinstone with your men. The men will be whipped and kept to the training grounds for weeks as punishment. You beat the bandits, but you lost to me.”

Heldrus felt terrible for the remaining men in his squadron. He’d promised them bonuses and promotions but instead inflicted them with pain and punishment. In that moment he knew for sure that he was going to leave Erinstone, his discussion with Peskimir earlier that day coming true. The thought that he was leaving nothing behind strengthened his resolve.

“You know, Mom, if this whole ordeal was anyone’s fault, it was yours. You’ve never cared about me, you’ve never shown any affection or interest, you made me a captain, sure, but now that it backfired on you, look how you act. You pushed your hate for Marth Ranvost and his father onto me since the first time I held a sword, and I don’t even know why I hate them! You conditioned your child to want to kill a man he’d never met – and then tried to use it against me later! Why?”

Every word that Heldrus spoke felt like a weight coming off his shoulders. Thoughts that he brushed away as nuisances – complicating his life – rose to the surface and burst out. Layla yelled back at him, breaking the flat tone she had used so far.

“You want to know why? Fine! Your father didn’t just die in a skirmish somewhere out on the Continent – he was killed by Tarth Ranvost on a raiding mission in Barringvale. He was sent there, under-provisioned and with only a handful of men, by King Draythar, as punishment for his affair with the Queen and creation of that illegitimate child, Silfor. Are you connecting the dots here, buffoon?”

If Heldrus’s stomach had sank before, it was now located somewhere in his feet. He hopped down off his horse, stumbling from shaky legs both due to riding and shock.

“What... his child? Lady Silfor is my stepsister? But we were to be married! You knew we were blood-related, and you still allowed it to go on? You and King Draythar?”

Layla smiled, knowing she had the upper hand.

“The bloodline was to be kept pure – and as far as the public knew, you were the son of a noble and she was the daughter of a King, a perfect match. The only reason the wedding didn’t go ahead was because that blasted minister Renthow found out and threatened to expose us all. He insisted Silfor be married off to Marth to stop the war, which the public supported. You think I’ve never fought for you, but hiring those bandits kept your chance of being King alive.”

Heldrus did his best to make sense of the landslide of consequences that he’d learned. There was one thing he didn’t understand.

“But why do you hate the Ranvosts then? If King Draythar sent Dad on that doomed mission, his blood is on the King’s hands, not Tarth Ranvosts and certainly not Marth’s. And why do you care for Dad at all if he was having an affair?!”

Layla enjoyed seeing Heldrus squirm. It gave her back the feeling of power she had over him.

“People have affairs like the seasons change – marriage to nobility is about power, not love, and your father and I were powerful. The King doles out punishments, as he is required to do. The way I see it, your father got off with an easy sentence. Dying in a raid gave him honor after death and let you and I live on in our position. King Tarth swung the sword; thus, it is his death I wish for. And yours too, now that you have betrayed me.”

Heldrus said nothing else, disgusted. He mounted his horse, looked one last time at the Erinstone castle, the window to his quarters, and the lawns he had played in as a child, then he turned his back on them and left. He did not say goodbye to Layla.

Heldrus rode into the night, leaving behind everything he’d ever known.