So many of a general’s decisions, I find, come down to simple math. Do we have enough food to march so many miles with so many troops? Math. Do we have enough food to feed three thousand refugees? Math, and the simple answer is no. Can we afford to fight the daemons that are devastating that village? Only if we have three Exarchs for every daemon, and we do not, so we leave them to die. After the daemons have gone, my men will bury the corpses and scour the ruins for food and coin. Perhaps what we find will keep my army in the field a week longer, and perhaps that means we can catch one of those daemons alone, or that we can save the next village.
* The Campaign Journals of General Aurelius, volume III
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9th Day of New Summer’s Moon, 297 AC
Trist turned away from his brother-in-law, Sir Gareth, and wrapped his fingers around the rounded stone railing that bordered the rooftop garden. His father had John Granger and perhaps twenty men-at-arms. It was a small force meant to discourage bandits, hunt down wolves that emerged from the Ardenwood to prey on livestock, or provide a few men as escorts when the family traveled. No one had ever intended a small woodcutter’s village to fend of a full-scale siege.
An army of veteran Kimmerian mercenaries, led by daemons, would crush Trist’s home utterly. His hands tightened on the stone, and he stared down at his white knuckles. The only hope was that the enemy had not sent any of their force to Camaret-à-Arden; but the words of the daemon Vinea came back to him. “We will meet again at your home,” the monster had taunted from beneath the storm clouds. “It is long past time I had words with your father.”
“Husband?” Clarisant stepped up to the railing beside him, and placed her hand over his.
“The daemon told me it would meet me there,” Trist told her. “That it was going for my father.”
“It also told you that I was in danger,” Clarisant reminded him. “Trist, it is using the people you care about against you. It used me to escape you, and now it is using your father to lure you out from Rocher de la Garde, just when the city needs you here. It will either be a trap, with an overwhelming force waiting for you at the edge of the Arden, or they will simply wait for you to leave and then launch an assault here, when we have no Exarch to hold them off.”
“But if I do not go,” Trist countered, “and they kill my father? Burn the town?”
“Sir Trist,” Gareth called over, having apparently read the letters. “I do see here that King Lionel was concerned that the strategic asset of the Iebara wood be secured, if possible. If he were here with us now, however, given the enemy’s movements, I believe he would agree that any chance for that has passed, and that it is more important - vital, in fact - for you to remain here and help us hold the city.”
Trist turned away from the railing to face the man who held Rocher de la Garde until Baron Urien returned. A handsome woman in her middle years, with dark hair the same shade as Clarisant’s, save for the gray running through it, came up on Gareth’s left. She held a goblet of wine in her hand, as if forgotten, and added her voice to that of her son.
“Yes, you must remain here with your family,” Blasine du Rocher de la Garde insisted. “Your father and his people will have retreated into the Ardenwood for shelter, no doubt. The main enemy force will come against our walls, and so long as we hold here, the people of Camaret-à-Arden will be able to return to their homes in a few days.”
“I cannot simply leave my father and my people to be slaughtered,” Trist protested. “Put aside the filial duty I owe my father, it is my solemn place as a knight to defend the people who place themselves under my family’s protection.”
“And is this not also your family, now?” Gareth broke in, and swept his hand out to indicate the city beneath them. “Are these not also your people? You are wed to my sister, now. Should the worst happen, our father will confirm your family’s lands upon you, and we will settle new families to log the forest.”
“You are speaking as if they are already dead,” Trist said, trying to restrain his anger. “As if there is nothing that can be done to help them.”
“There isn’t,” Blasine reproved him, sharply. “Any man trying to make it through enemy lines to the forest will be captured before they get a mile north. Put it out of your mind, boy. Besides, how will you protect my daughter and her child if you leave?”
Trist bristled at his mother-in-law’s words, then glanced to Clarisant; they hadn’t been separated since entering the castle.
“Who told you, Mother?” she asked, before he could say anything himself.
“You rode with three knights of this Barony,” the older woman said, rolling her eyes. “Of course it was reported to me. That child,” Blasine continued, practically stabbing her finger in the direction of Clarisant’s belly, “is the continuation of both our family lines. My daughter cannot be allowed to come to harm. She must be protected.”
“You don’t need to worry about that, Mother,” Clarisant said. “If my husband rides north, I will ride with him.”
“Absolutely not,” Sir Gareth declared.
Trist sighed. “Pigeons were sent two days ago, from the King and Baron Urien, to order Camaret-à-Arden evacuated. How many men were sent north to see to that?” He looked around the small party at top of the keep, from Sir Gareth and Baroness Blasine, to Gareth’s wife Lenomie. His cousin, Lucan, wore the same frown that Trist couldn’t keep from his own face. “You did send men to evacuate the town, did you not?”
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“We could not spare any of our soldiers,” Gareth said. “We need them to hold the city.”
“My father may not even have known the enemy was coming,” Trist realized. “We need to leave tonight.”
“I have command of this city, Sir Trist,” Gareth said. “You will remain here.”
“The King commanded me to use my own discretion,” Trist countered, shaking his head. “And that is what I am doing. Unless, Sir Gareth, you would countermand the King’s own word?”
Gareth held Trist’s gaze for a moment, then shook his head and stepped back. “I cannot stop you, it seems. But I will be certain that both my father and the King know that you were not here when our walls came under assault.”
“You will do as you see fit. I beg you all to pardon me; I am leaving tonight,” Trist said. “As soon as the horses can be saddled.” He strode for the stairwell leading down into the keep, and Clarisant hurried her steps to walk beside them. As soon as they were out of the garden, enclosed by the spiral staircase, he couldn’t bite back his words any longer. “He did not even try to save them!”
“I won’t excuse my brother’s decisions,” Clarisant said. “But I do understand them. There are a few hundred people in Camaret-à-Arden, but there are thirty-thousand in this city. He is choosing to sacrifice the few, in order to save the many.”
“People are not numbers,” Trist said, storming out of the stairwell and down the hall toward her room.
“I never said they were, Trist,” Clarisant said, struggling to keep up with him. “But that is how he thinks.” She caught a passing maid by the sleeve. “Go and fetch a man at arms named Henry from the barracks. Hurry.” The maid rushed off.
Trist took a deep breath, and stopped, letting his wife catch up. “No, you did not. I apologize. None of this is your fault, and it is not fair to let my anger out on you.”
“I’m glad you can see that,” she said, after a moment. “I will accept your apology, so long as you allow me to come with you.” Clarisant stepped up to the door to her chambers and pushed it open, leaving him in the hallway.
Yaél sprung to her feet; she’d been scouring Trist’s armor clean from a bench in the sitting room. “What’s happening?” the young squire asked as Trist followed his wife in and then closed the door behind him.
“Get into riding clothes,” Trist said. “We’re leaving as soon as we can get armed and armored. Clarisant!” He followed her through the next door and into the bedroom, where she was pulling a parted riding skirt out of one of the chests she’d not brought with her for the wedding.
“I must ask you to help me dress, husband,” she said, laying out a doublet next to the skirt. “I left my maid with the army.” She began pulling her leather belt through the silver ring that secured it.
“Your mother is right about one thing,” Trist admitted. “I do not like the idea of you coming with me into a fight, when you are carrying our child.”
Clarisant threw her belt onto the bed, quickly unfastened a few buttons, and then shimmied out of her dress, leaving her in only a white linen chemise and stockings. “Trist,” she said, coming over to him. “Am I safer with you, or away from you?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. The sun was nearly down over the horizon, but the painted clouds outside the western window lit his wife from the back, so that she almost seemed to glow, and the shadow of her body was clearly picked out beneath the thin linen she wore, silhouetting her form. He took a step forward, wrapped his arms around her, and drew her to his chest. “But I cannot let anything happen to you.”
“To me, or to our child?” she looked up at him, and did not return his embrace.
“To either of you,” he said.
“And I can’t stand being left alone again,” Clarisant insisted. “I’ve told you this. I swear to you, I won’t be in the way. I won’t place myself in danger. I have a good head for numbers, and for organizing things, and I’ve met many of the people of the village. I can be of use getting them evacuated south.”
“What if a daemon gets by me?” Trist asked. “What will you do?”
“What would I do if a daemon came here, while you were rescuing your father?” Clarisant answered his question with her own. “I would run or die. But given the choice, I’d rather be within your arm’s reach. I need this,” she continued. “You can’t leave me here to toss and turn, sleepless with nightmares, not knowing if I’m carrying a child who will never know her father.”
Trist frowned. As she pleaded, his wife’s eyes grew wide, and he could feel her trembling in his arms. He had never seen her frightened, like this, before the night his brother was murdered; but then, he’d never known her well, either. The look in her eyes was the same look his father had, when he spoke of battle. She looked, he realized, haunted.
“We may only be able to bring two horses,” Trist cautioned her. “You will ride on Cazador, with me.” He would never make a horse bear a doubled burden before battle, if not for the Hunter’s Boon.
“Of course.” Clarisant slipped out of his arms, with a small smile as if pleased with her victory, and reached for the riding skirt she’d placed on the bed. By the time he’d helped her into her riding doublet, and they’d emerged into the sitting room, Henry had arrived, and was helping Yaél belt on her shirt of mail. The young squire had gotten back into her clothes from the past two days of riding, because they hadn’t had time to get her any spares.
“What’s the plan, m’lord, m’lady?” Henry asked, pulling the belt tight with a yank.
“The plan is that we ride for home,” Trist said, pulling his own shirt of mail on. “We ride armed and armored for battle, on only two horses.”
“Don’t worry, Henry,” Yaél teased the archer. “I won’t let you fall off.”
“And how do we get past the enemy, with only four of us?” Henry asked, stepping back to let Yaél busy herself with the work of strapping Trist’s armor on. Clarisant took a hand, as well, copying what the squire did, if a bit awkwardly. Piece by piece, a shell of steel was built up from his sabatons.
“We use the Boon I earned from the Horned Hunter,” Trist said. “I Tithed two of the souls from Adramelech, and I think that I can speed two horses now, at least for a time.”
“You think?” Clarisant asked, coming around to his front and arching her eyebrows.
“There has not been an opportunity to make a trial of it,” Trist admitted. “We ride fast, until dawn. If I can hold it together, we will ride faster than any mortal can follow, and the horses will not tire.”
“We can’t possibly make it to Camaret-à-Arden in a single night,” his wife protested, but Yaél laughed as she worked on his left pauldron.
“You never rode like this, m’lady,” the girl said with a wicked grin. “I have. It’s like you dreamed you were a hawk, and when you wake at dawn, you’ve come across half the world.”
“If I can hold it long enough,” Trist repeated. Acrasia would know, but since their confrontation on the road, the faerie remained silent, and unseen.