Darius Chapter 36

Before Darius was left to the sanctity of his new forge, he had some administration to do first. He knew Marth would be honorable about the money side of things, but he wanted to hear from the king’s coffers that he would be paid for his services. He’d been granted a gift, and he wasn’t going to let his parents struggle through their hard times without a big sack of gold supporting them.

They powered up through the streets before too many of the Barringvale folk got a good look at their returning prince. The last thing they needed in a time of urgency was to be swamped with celebrating citizens, flower garlands and shouts of ‘huzzah!’ for the young ruler. It was a stroke of good fortune that the news of the battle hadn’t made it through the crowd. Marth made a mental note to give many thanks to the soldiers and guards privy to the conflict at the Road.

When they reached the castle grounds, Darius had to stifle a laugh. Marth assumed a look of disdain as he passed the manicured hedges, bubbling water features and exquisitely raked garden beds. Crisp white petals bloomed, staring out at them and displaying the small black buds clasped within. A squadron of gardeners tiptoed through their creation, pulling out the minutest of weeds and perfecting the imperfections. Even the birds and insects played nice – a swallow sang its song perched right at the tip of an overhanging branch, and the crickets quietened when they rode past. It was a picture of order and rigidity and resoluteness.

Just a few of the things Marth tried to stay away from.

It made Erinstone feel rather drab. The stone slabs leading to the Erinstone Castle were as decorative as a burnt loaf of bread, built only for the purpose of hauling nobles around. The anteroom was no more than a temporary holding chamber for those without purpose, as compared to the synagogue-like place Darius could see ahead of them.

When he reached a set of pristine marble steps, a suited man stepped forward and helped him down from his horse, taking the reins and guiding the horse around the corner to what was probably chevalian luxury. Perhaps they’d wash her spots off.

The anteroom stretched high above them, causing their steps to echo on the clean floors. Darius couldn’t stare too long, or the reflecting light sent around the room by those walking through it messed with his vision. A man walked up to them, notebook in hand. He spoke to Marth like he’d expected him at precisely this moment, scrawling and ticking things in his book. His bald head and clean-shaven face made him as shiny as the floor.

“Prince Ranvost, it is a pleasure to see you again. Your father would like to see you immediately.”

Marth spread his arms.

“Lead the way, Sontrel. Darius is coming with us – making sure he has an audience with Dad is of more importance than myself right now. Does that fit in the timetable?”

“Anything for you, my Prince.”

Sontrel ripped a page from his notebook and slotted it in a few pages behind. Given the scrupulous nature of the castle so far, Darius had expected he might rewrite his entire diary to make room.

The butler tapped off at a rapid pace, weaving around servants and occupants like an ant navigating its nest. He reached a flight of stairs and Darius suddenly started to like the Erinstone castle far more. Elevation was not his friend, nor was the effect it had on his knees. Sontrel sped up, taking them two at a time and leaving Darius in the dust.

Show off.

Marth waited for him when he finished crawling up the sixth flight. Sontrel stood at the end of the corridor, looking down his nose at Darius as he furiously scrawled in his notes.

“Come on, old bloke. You gotta divert some attention from those arms and give it to your legs. Sontrel is forty years older than you!”

Darius wheezed out a reply.

“Exactly! He’s forty years more experienced. Let me recover a moment.”

Sontrel and Marth, the bastards, didn’t give him time to catch his breath. The door to the King’s Hall swung open, revealing more marble and illustrious decorations. Darius was astonished by the lifelike statue sitting at the end of the room, before he noticed it was King Tarth Ranvost.

He had come to expect much of Marth’s father, despite never seeing or hearing him before this moment. He had met the two most powerful men on the Continent in a matter of two months, and he had to say, the war could be ended in Barringvale’s favor if the two Kings just settled their differences in a one-on-one fight. King Tarth was huge. He sat draped in ruby red robes like banners around the pillars of a temple. A spiked crown sat on his russet curls, angled so precariously that he had to be careful not to jolt too much when he spoke. It was difficult to see the resemblance between Marth’s lithe frame and the King’s meaty build.

“My son.”

His voice carried through the hall, rolling into them when they’d barely crossed the threshold.

“Hello, Dad. How’ve you been?”

“There’s been less trouble without you around. Did you bring back Lord Grenfell?”

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Marth considered being a pain and pretending he’d forgotten Grenfell in the forest, but he didn’t want to disrespect the advisor who he’d come to admire so much in their travels. He also wanted to at least pretend to be serious when he told Tarth about Darius’s magical prowess.

“I did, and I’d like to keep him as my advisor. He annoyed me for most of the journey there, but if not for him I don’t think we would’ve made it back.”

King Tarth gave a slight inclination of his head as he scrutinized his son, waiting for the joke or rescinding of his words. When none came, he was surprised.

“Those are very mature words. You’ll have to discuss it with him, and it would require you to take up more duties than you currently do.”

Marth sighed. The man was all business, never relenting to say ‘Welcome!’ or ‘Glad you didn’t end up with a spear in your back!’. Tough love, he’d call it.

“I assume you’ve found out that neither I, nor anyone else, will be heading back to Erinstone on diplomatic missions any time soon? They haven’t turned out to be the nicest folk – at least their royalty hasn’t – the common people are quite nice.”

King Tarth adjusted his posture, taking off the bejeweled crown and setting it by his side. How rebellious.

“Sontrel informed me, yes. I believe I should apologize for sending you there. I’m glad you made it home safe.”

“I’m one of the lucky ones.”

The Prince and King looked at each other, neither speaking. Darius gritted his teeth and wobbled on his heels, feeling out of place. He decided to speak up.

“King Ranvost, I apologize, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Darius Kersana, a blacksmith from Karringlock. Marth saved me when I was attacked by Trenks near the Great Road. You taught him how to use his spear quite well.”

Tarth looked thankful for the interruption.

“Indeed I did, Mr. Kersana. I wouldn’t let the master of arms come near him until I’d taught him all the basics myself, and a bit more than that. By the time he was fourteen he was besting all the captains.”

Darius smiled, happy to have struck a proud chord with the King. Marth reluctantly gave in to a smile, then spoke.

“Dad, I brought Darius with me because I believe he is the key to winning the war against Erinstone. He can create –”

“War?! Who said anything about war?”

Marth was stunned at his father’s response.

“What do you mean? Platoons of your men were just killed by Erinian soldiers at the behest of their King and Princess. They hunted me down and paid bandits to attempt to kill me! Surely you won’t let them walk all over us?”

Bulging veins rose on Tarth’s forehead, and his brow creased into wrinkles.

“Watch your tone, boy. Just because you marched in here with your sights set on revenge doesn’t mean mine are too. There will be a war council held, and we will discuss our next actions, like we have always done. But please, I interrupted you, tell me about Darius here.”

Marth continued, biting the retorts that came to mind.

“The current theory is that the ancient blacksmith, Rath, was a real person after all, and he pioneered a type of magic that involves imbuing weapons and armor with various spells, one of which was shown to great effect in the battle today. Darius discovered that he too has the power to create these weapons, and I would like to employ him to outfit our army with them. Besides the point, he is one of the most talented blacksmiths on the Continent, and he would be an asset to our military. Good enough that when Lady Silfor discovered his power, she attempted to lock him and his apprentice away, forcing them to work for her.”

Tarth looked amused, but not convinced.

“Do you have any of these weapons with you? We already have a lauded team of smiths here at Barringvale – we don’t need another set of hands just because they’re good at the job.”

Marth knew this question was coming, and he hadn’t prepared an answer. The only evidence they had was currently galloping back to Erinstone to be placed in the hands of their enemy.

“We did – about an hour ago, at least. The lieutenant who was wielding it died, and Mitrev, Silfor’s right-hand man, escaped with it. It was a battle axe, and without it we would have all been crushed.”

Tarth took a deep breath and exhaled it through his noise. The sound of the air catching in his nostrils could be heard throughout the Hall.

“So you’ve got no evidence. Am I just supposed to take your word for it and pay this man to chant over a weapon and tell me it’s magical then?”

Marth couldn’t hold back any longer. He’d been treated like a child one too many times.

“You are to take the word of your son! Is that so much to ask? Your own flesh and blood, father, yet still you think I would lie to you, just to scavenge some measly gold from your endless coffers? You think little of me for nothing, for just being different to you! So what if I don’t want to wear robes and sit on councils with men three times my age, so what if I want to sit with the soldiers, my future subjects, when we feast! You’ve sat the throne so long that you can’t distinguish the people who come before you, you haven’t changed since I left, and you never will.”

He turned on his heel and left, not waiting for Sontrel to open the huge doors. Darius was left alone with the King, knowing he’d missed his chance to leave as well.

Sorry Ma, sorry Pa, there’s no money coming your way now.

“Darius.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“From what you see, do you think I am the man my son thinks I am? Speak truthfully now.”

Darius did not have the qualifications to be a psychologist to the King. Perhaps if he was an iron ingot, he could mold him to a different shape, but he was pretty sure human brains weren’t that malleable.

“Your Majesty, I know less about this stuff than I do about fighting, and I’ve never swung a sword at a human in my life. I don’t have children of my own, but I don’t think either of you are treating each other as you should. But I do know that whilst I’ve known Marth, I’ve never heard him say a single negative thing about you until just then. He jokes and pretends, but I think he just expects as much from you as you do from him, and... perhaps he thinks you want him to be something other than what he is?”

Tarth sat back in his throne, smirking at Darius.

“For someone who says they know nothing about psychology, you sure do have a way with words. Did you rehearse that? Never mind, leave me and find Marth. Tell him to show you to your new station at the Barringvale Forge.”

Sontrel led Darius out, forgiving his lethargy on the stairs.

Darius was employed once again.

The Blacksmith of Barringvale.