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Chapter 41
Taking Shelter
The road to Urundock was much the same as the areas around Rubastre, only the villages were becoming less and less regular. They’d had to sleep out three nights out of the five since they’d left Crossroads.
Daegan was finding that he was settling into the routine of travelling; they would ride for a few hours, breaking for meals by setting up a small cookfire or—if they were close enough to a village—they would press on to get to whatever the tavern or inn that the place had to offer. The food was getting progressively worse and the whitewhiskey progressively stronger the further north they went.
Daegan had even purchased a dragonshide flask in Furstone—one of the villages they’d passed through—that he now kept topped up from every tavern they passed by. He’d paid ten copper marks for it. Rowan had said he was being cheated and that it likely wasn’t even real dragonshide but Daegan didn’t really care. What was ten copper marks to him? The inns they stayed in usually charged them a copper mark each for bed and meal, at that price he could live out here in the outbacks for fifty years if he wanted to. Longer even, maybe. He had a few gold marks hidden in a secret pouch in his saddlebag and on his person. A lot more in silver and copper in his coin pouch—kept in a pocket in his cloak—his new flask fit snugly next to it. He had enough money, he wagered, to drink all the whitewhiskey these shithole towns had to offer and still have some left over for a plate of tough mutton.
The pretense of being a cartographer kept him making maps as they travelled which he traded to some of the inns they stayed at. At a town called Megarstown, the mayor had even tried to commission him to chart all of the mining routes through the Iron Hills. Had offered to pay him a whole silver mark for the job and was affronted when Daegan had declined. “Ye won’t get much better price than that ‘round these parts, lad,” he’d said, “trust me, ain’t no one going to want to buy maps of the places north of Nortara. Yer wasting yer time.”
They were a few days' ride still from Urundock when rumours had finally started to catch up to them; word had gotten out that the Reldoni Prince was missing, some claiming assassination, others that he’d run afoul of the Ironworks Guild. Daegan had been surprised at the accuracy in some of the rumours and aghast at the ridiculousness of others.
Claims that he was working with his ‘warmongering’ brother Prince Landryn to sow discord between their nations.
That the Reldoni were plotting to invade.
That Altarea was only the first of Prince Landryn’s conquests.
He’d been surprised to hear that his brother was getting an international reputation as a warmonger. Being a ‘foreigner’, Daegan was often asked his opinion on the alleged hostility of the Reldoni army. Some that recognised him as actually being Reldoni asked if he was a deserter from their military. He hadn’t realised the extent that these people had thought of his people as being a military power. He supposed it made sense, they had been buying weapons from Rubane for decades and only increasing their demand during the war with Altarea and the rising tensions with Rein and Keiran.
“What do you think happened to the Reldoni Prince?” The innkeeper at Megarstown asked them as they settled their bill for the previous night.
“I don’t think there’s much truth to the rumours” Tanlor told the weasel of a man. Daegan could feel the tension in his shoulders. He glanced at Rowan who didn’t seem overly interested in the conversation but when they met eyes, Daegan got the distinct impression that he was suspicious.
“You lads came from Rubastre? Did you see him?” The innkeeper’s son asked, equally weasel-like in appearance.
“Can’t say I had,” Tanlor replied with a casual tone..
“I heard ‘e was a cripple,” the young man added, “that his brain didn’t work right like Old Jim’s lad. Got ‘imself into trouble with the Ironworks.” Daegan stiffened at that, his eyes snapping to the young man who seemed oblivious to the shift in his and Tanlor’s postures.
“Aye, yeah. I’d heard he was cripple alright,” the innkeeper said, leaning across his filthy bar, “you sure you lads didn’t see him? Jim’s boy has trouble walking straight. Has a bit of limp, see. The Reldoni Prince’s probably the same. You didn’t see anyone with a limp like that?” Daegan’s throat clenched up and he clenched his jaw clenched so tight that he thought his teeth might crack. He wanted to throw the glass of ale into the innkeeper’s face—No, he wanted to smash the glass right into it.
“No,” Tanlor said, his voice now rife with condescension, “there’s tens of thousands of people in Rubastre. More people than you can imagine so no… we didn’t see him.” He turned to Daegan and almost had to drag him out of the inn.
Daegan felt rigid with tension. The audacity, the outright disrespect! He could feel the anger scrunching up his face.
“Ignore them, my lord,” Tanlor said gently to him before Rowan followed after them, “they’re just fools and don’t know anything beyond this pisshole of a town. Come on, let's get out of here.” They packed up their horses and were back on the road. Daegan didn’t miss that Rowan was suspiciously quiet after the village, normally he would happily indulge Daegan in some conversation on the road. Stories of some of the contracts he’d taken, he’d made a bit of a name for himself as a road-knight and tended to avoid the castle contracts if he could. Old acquaintances would often recognise him at the inns they passed through and he greeted them with friendly smiles and handshakes.
They followed the road along the river, heading north for a few hours and leaving the village behind them. Occasionally, the road would pass through thickets of woodland between the expanses of farms. The weather had been wetter which kept the snow from sticking, Rowan said it was normal for the area and that the snows wouldn’t be coming strong there for a few more weeks, the snowfalls would only start to impede them once they reached Urundock. But it meant that now instead of snowfalls to contend with, the group would often need to find shelter from heavy downpours. Dark clouds loomed over the Iron Hills to the east bringing with them the threat of another downpour.
“Looks like a heavy one,” Tanlor guessed, “Let’s take shelter under the crossing ahead. We’ll camp there for the night if we have to.”
“I don’t fancy sleeping outside in wet clothes,” Daegan agreed.
“Better to stay warm than get warm,” Rowan added. Daegan checked the weight of his flask, it wasn’t even half empty yet. Good. The whitewhiskey kept him warm but only so much. I’d really rather not be hungover and have pneumonia in the morning. They pushed their horses hard as the clouds rolled down off the hills. They’d just made it to the stone crossing when the rain hit.
The bridge crossed a steep gully but there was a convenient flat area just at the base where they made camp. There were even the remnants of a campfire. Just as they hitched up the horses, the rain came in strong, sheets of water pouring over the sides of the bridge. There were a few logs left from the previous campers but not nearly enough for the night. Daegan looked out unenthusiastically at the torrents of rain. It had become one of his responsibilities to gather firewood while Tanlor and Rowan swept the area for any tracks that might allude to outlaws or anything else dangerous out there.
“So,” Rowan started, pulling off his wet cloak and shaking it off, “I’m guessing the Prince of Reldon won’t want to be collecting firewood anymore.” Daegan froze and Tanlor turned on Rowan.
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Tanlor raised a warning finger at him.
“No?” Rowan chuckled, “your secret’s safe with me, you should know that Tan and don’t treat me like a fool.” Daegan eyed him.
He’d enjoyed Rowan’s company but he’d liked that the man didn’t know who he was. He’d been friendly with him and hadn’t judged him when he’d learned that Daegan was hindered. He didn’t want that to change and he knew that Rowan wasn’t overly fond of highborn and ‘Prince of Reldon’ was pretty much as highborn as you get.
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He looked back out at the rain and drew up his cloak around him, “it’s true… I am a Prince of Reldon. My real name is Daegan Tredain,” then he nodded to the campfire, “get that fire going, might be some driftwood along the bank. If I collect it now we can dry it with what we’ve got.” He stepped out into the torrent and climbed—well mostly slipped—down the gully to the river bank.
“Can I still call you Dessie?” He heard Rowan call after him.
“If you want,” he shouted back up over the rain.
“Daegan’s alright, I suppose.”
He made a few trips back and forth gathering sodden branches. Rowan had the campfire going and was drying the haul that Daegan had lugged up. His cloak did an excellent job of keeping the rain off him. And his boots—”a pound on the feet is ten on the back,” Rowan had told him when he insisted that Daegan buy the cheaper leather boots over the more expensive dragonshide. “Past Urundock, we’re going to be on foot, the less weight on you the better.” They were bulky, ugly boots but were lined on the inside with wool and Daegan’s hadn’t been warmer since he’d arrived in Rubane. The cloak and the boots could only do so much though, and the water did seep in.
“Dry them by the fire,” Rowan advised him as Daegan pulled them off, “wet is—”
“—wet is dead,” Daegan interrupted, grinning at him. Rowan gave an amused chuckle, “guess you have been listening,” he replied. He handed Daegan a bowl of stew that he’d been preparing over the fire. It was bland but hot and Daegan’s hands stung pleasantly with heat as held it. He breathed in the heat of the stew and let out a satisfied sigh.
“So,” Rowan began, “what’s chasing you?” Tanlor was still off doing the perimeter sweep, making sure there were no bears or rakmen close by. Daegan eyed him over his steaming bowl, “an assassin,” he breathed.
“I’d say you’ve had your fair share of those come after you being a Prince and all. Why’s my brother protecting you instead of your own men?” Daegan gave him a heavy stare but kept quiet. He had never said it out loud, it had been Tanlor that had given the report to Duke Edmund, Daegan had just dazedly nodded along in agreement.
He found now that it was difficult to voice what happened. Ferath, his own bodyguard—his friend!—had betrayed him. Had the man ever been his friend though? He was Landryn’s friend… not his. He had always seemed so loyal… so trustworthy. He felt his eyebrows not in anger.
“I see,” Rowan granted despite Daegan not saying anything, “shit. You know why?” Daegan shook his head.
“A stupid question but you got any enemies?”
“There’s no stupid questions,” Daegan replied a smirk at his lips. Rowan leaned back a grin breaking across his face, “walked into that one, I did.”
“I’ve got enemies, but no one I can think of that would risk trying to have me killed… I can’t make any sense of it,” talking about it, Daegan felt like a weight was being lifted off him. Like he’d been carrying it around with him since they’d left Rubastre. It felt good to talk about it openly, any time he’d tried bringing it up with Tanlor, the man would shut down the conversation with a hard look. Daegan explained the events that night to Rowan, not leaving anything out. How it seemed like a flame had gone out in Ferath’s eyes and he was suddenly a different person. How they’d been friends before—at least Daegan had thought they were. And the impossible things that Ferath had done.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said with sympathy in his tone, “having your own companions turn on you,” he shook his head, “I don’t know if it helps at all but I’ve felt a betrayal like that before. Someone very close to me,” he trailed off, his brow deep and his eyes sad, “I’ve felt the pain you’re feeling… the confusion, the anger.”
“Thank you,” Daegan replied, “that does help actually,” and surprisingly it did. Daegan did feel better, he felt understood. For the first time in two weeks he felt that deep quiet anger starting to lessen.
“Who stands to gain from your death?” Rowan asked. It was a good question, one that Daegan had laid awake some nights trying to figure out.
“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Those rumours about you running afoul of the Ironworks Guild?”
“They’re true,” Daegan admitted, “but far too risky for them. They’d use other tactics I think, position to have me sent back to Epilas. I don’t reckon they’d try something so bold as try to kill me. Other than that, I don’t think I’d made any enemies in my time here.”
“I’ve heard shady things about the Ironworks Guild,” Rowan disagreed, “I wouldn’t put murder past them if it’s gold they’re after.”
“My father wouldn’t allow the insult of having his son being murdered to go unpunished,” Daegan replied, “he may hate me but I still reckon he’d burn Rubastre to the ground than let his reputation be wounded.”
Rowan gave him a concerned look at that comment, “who do you think he’d come for first?” Daegan considered for a moment, scratching at his throat. He hadn’t thought of that. Who would his father blame?
He likely wouldn’t go directly after Ironworks Guild, not with the dependency of our army’s steel shipments. Then he realised. He’d go after the Duke. He wouldn’t care if it was Edmund that did it or not, he would kill him just for the appearance of it.
Would his father really wage a war against Rubane? Rubane stayed neutral throughout the war with Altarea and the centuries of border disputes with the Reinish. They were so far from Keiran that the Emperor wasn’t concerned. Rubane had always been a bystander. A bystander that sold arms to all the other countries at war with each other. Rubane’s own military was incohesive, with each Duke having his own men that were loyal only to their Duchy and they had their internal feuds to deal with, smaller scale skirmishes between unfriendly Duchies. Rowan must have noted the realisation on Daegan’s face, “he’d go for the Archduke,” Daegan admitted.
“So,” Rowan probed, “who would gain from a war between Rubane and Reldon?”
“Fuck,” Daegan swore, he’d been coming at this all wrong. He never thought that his life would be used for such large scale schemes. Lukane and Landryn dealt with these kinds of things… He wasn’t supposed to be involved with anything like this. He had to let his brothers and father know… and he had! He’d written a letter for his family and given it to the Archduke. Edmund had asked him to write that. He said he would make sure it made it to Reldon. “Edmind had known,” Daegan realised, “He knew my father would react with war. He had me write a letter to my family, explaining the situation.”
“Why send you away in the first place?” Rowan asked, “surely it would be a safer option for the Archduke to send you home?”
“I don’t think he trusted I would make it there.” With reason, Daegan’s own men had tried to kill him and it’s not as though Daegan could fend for himself.
A familiar frustration rose in him, it grabbed at his throat. He coughed to clear it, “none of this would be happening I was a runewielder,” he said bitterly, “I wouldn’t even be here!” Rowan held eye contact and gave Daegan a sad look. The pity in it made Daegan angry, he was about to snap at him for that look but Rowan spoke first, “how many runewielders has your father got in his army?” The question caught Daegan off guard.
“They’re all runewielders,” he replied with a dismissive hand wave. Rowan laughed, not his usual raucous laugh, but a low knowing laugh, “you’ve only as many runewielders as you’ve got runestones,” he said, “so I guess a more appropriate question would be; how many runestones does your father have in his army?”
“I’m not sure,” Daegan rubbed at his neck, “a few thousand maybe?” he answered. Rowan whistled at that.
“Rubane doesn’t have that many?”
“Topaz is common enough so there’s a few companies of grenadiers,” Rowan answered, “Earthstone isn’t as common here as your country, we have a few trained stonebreakers but most of them work in the mines or as smithies. I’ve got one, but I was castle-trained, and I would be considered an amatuer by any half-decent stonebreaker. Wouldn’t be much use in a battle with it anyway.”
“What about wavecallers? And stormstone?”
“Even less so. The runestones are too rare, and people who can use ‘em, well they’re even rarer. Up here, steel and the strength of your arm is what matters, not your edir. You won’t find many folk outside of the highborn that can afford a runestone… I’d wager the same is true in your country too. Now don’t get me wrong, up against a runewielder you’re at quite a crucial disadvantage but I’ve seen a castle-trained knight with runestones taken down by a peasant with a bow and I’ve seen a farmer with a pitchfork defend his home from a Rak chief with a stormstone.”
“Rakmen can runewield?”
“They sure can.”
“Runestones seem to be reserved for their chiefs. At least from the ones I’ve fought.”
“I thought you don’t see much of them south of Nortara”
“Not usually, but every few years, a few bands of the bastards make a push south… but we’re going off topic here.” Daegan had purposefully been pushing the conversation in a different way. He didn’t want the same lesson he’d heard before that being hindered wasn’t so bad, “I’m not some peasant with a pitchfork,” Daegan said.
“No,” Rowan acknowledged, “you’re a Prince of Reldon. You’re supposed to be a warrior—a General, even—like your ancestors before you. But you don’t have to be a runewielder to be those things.”
“Tell that to my father.”
“I hope I never get the chance,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile but then his eyebrow raised as Tanlor appeared, sliding down the wet grass of the gully to their camp. His cloak was almost black with the rain, he pulled back his hood, worry painted on his face.
“What is it?” Rowan asked.
“Four travellers, heading this way from the north and fast,” he said.
“Probably the rain,” Rowan guessed, “they’ll likely want to shelter here too.” He still reached for his sword and buckled it to his belt.
“Doesn’t look like you believe that,” Daegan said, eying the sword. Rowan looked at Daegan and winked, “better to have it and not need it.”
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