A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [32]
The courtier gaped at him. "Old Garzhar of the Guards? In charge? But-but Lord, where will you-?"
"I'll be riding to war," the regent told him with a savage smile, "at least one last time. For Aglirta, and a future for us all!"
His smile twisted wryly. "As the bards say."
The attack was a complete surprise. Thinking themselves safe with the hastily whelmed forces of Brostos massed between them and the brigand army of Bloodblade, the red-cloaked knights of Maerlin were still fetching out their best blades and brightest armor when barges grated against their docks and the warriors of Bloodblade stormed ashore, spitting everything that moved on their spears-and greeting the indignantly charging knights with volleys of heavy crossbow quarrels, whistling storms of death that slew hundreds in the space of a few breaths.
Then it was just a matter of seizing riderless horses and riding through the barony, swording half-armored, magnificently moustached men as they tried to hide or gather their best treasures before fleeing.
Brostos would keep, an all-too-sparse line of armaragors and farmhands hastily made armsmen waiting in grim fear along the borders of the barony. They'd not move a stride onto lands not their own-so why break blades against them, when they'd surrender like the grateful cowards they were, once summoned to Flowfoam by the new king?
Castle Maerlin was scoured out by nightfall, its dungeons crowded with terrified baronial heirs, wives, consorts, and courtiers who had-or claimed to have-hidden wealth with which to buy their freedom, if taken under escort to reclaim it.
Bloodblade was already hard at work on the list of those his men were to make sure "accidents" befell after their treasure was safely in hand and of those who were harmless enough to be let go.
There were three fair lasses waiting in chains in his bedchamber this night, but they would have to wait until another feast was done, whereat another dumbfounded, fearful crowd of commoners would be told that there'd be no more "bejewelled parasites" of courtiers overtaxing them in Bloodblade's Aglirta-if they but spared some food and drink for his armies, as he marched on Flowfoam to take the Throne. It was so close now that Bloodblade could taste it.
"I've a bad feeling about this," Craer grunted, as they trudged along the road together.
"What, walking? Try to remember all the years before you became an overduke, and your feet should recall their familiar aches," Sarasper told him with mock tenderness and sympathy.
"No, you old dolt, not my feet-the road. 'Tis too quiet," Craer snapped. "Where're all the peddlers? The carters? By the Three, not even a wagon, let alone a caravan! Just locals, like those woodcutters-no one who's traveled far!"
"That's true enough," Hawkril rumbled, looking thoughtful. "Aye, these roads'd have to be busier than this."
Raulin and Embra both looked at Craer with wide, fearful eyes.
The procurer nodded slowly, and voiced the fear rising in all of their minds. "So what has been happening in Aglirta while we trudge along the backlands of nowhere? What wow?"
"Ready, Halvan?" Blackgult called, reining in his huge black warhorse and ignoring its dragonlike snorts of outrage.
"Ho, Regent!" the fat armored man on the bay mount almost as large roared back. "My Sirl Swords can o'ermatch anything Bloodblade can send against us!"
Blackgult grinned. "For the coin you cost, that's the least I'd expect! What, no dancing girls, too?"
Halvan threw back his head and roared with laughter.
They understood each other, the Regent of Aglirta and the Sirl mercenary captain. Blackgult had whelmed a few hundred men from the fragments of his own old baronial forces-but if the news that Bloodblade had taken Maerlin was true, that meant the Regent