A March of Kings (16 page)

“I’m afraid our treasury is near bankrupt. The situation is grave. I warned your father of this, but he did not take action. He did not want to raise a new tax on the people, or the Lords. Frankly, he did not have a plan. I presume he thought that somehow it would all work out. But it has not. The army needs to be fed. Weapons need to be repaired. Blacksmiths need to be paid. Horses need to be tended, and fed. And yet our treasury’s nearly empty. What do you propose we do, my lord?”

Gareth sat there, his mind swimming, wondering what to do. He had absolutely no idea.

“What would
you
propose?” Gareth asked back.

Owen cleared his throat, looking flustered. It seemed as if this were the first time a king had asked him his opinion.

“Well…my liege…I…um… I had proposed to your father that we raise a tax on the people. But he had thought it a bad idea.”

“It
is
a bad idea,” Earnan chimed in. “The people will revolt with any new taxes. And without the power of the people, you have nothing.”

Gareth turned and looked at the teenage boy seated to his right, not far from him.  Berel, a friend of his, who he had grown up with, someone his own age; he was an aristocrat with no military training, but who was as ambitious and cynical as he. Gareth had brought in a small group of his own advisers, his friends, to help balance out the power here, and to have some advisers his own age. A new generation. It had not gone over well when they had arrived with Gareth, upsetting the old guard.

“And what do you think, Berel?” he asked.

Berel leaned forward, arching an eyebrow, and without pausing, said, in his deep, confident voice: “Tax them. Tax them triple. Make the people feel the yoke of your new power. Make them fear you. That is the only way to rule.”

“And how would you know what it means to rule?” Aberthol called out to Berel.

“Excuse me my liege, but who is this person?” Brom called out, equally indignant. “We are the King’s Council. And we never sanctioned any new councilmen.”

 “The Council is mine to do with as I wish,” Gareth chided back. “This is one of my new advisers. Berel. And I like his idea. We will tax the people triple. We will fill our coffers, and even more, we will make the people suffer under the burden of it. Then they will understand that I am King. And that I am to be feared—even more so than my father.”

Aberthol shook he said.

“My Liege, I would caution against such a harsh response. Everything in moderation. Such a move is rash. You will alienate your subjects.”

“
My
subjects,” Gareth spat. “That is exactly what they are. And I will do with them as I wish. This matter is ended. What other matters are before me?”

The council members turned to each other and exchanged troubled glances.

Suddenly, Brom rose.

“My Liege, with all respect, I cannot sit on a council that does heed our advice. I sat on this council for years for your father, and I am here to serve you out of deference to him. But you are not my King. He was. And I shall not serve on any council that does not pay homage and respect to its original councilmembers. You have brought in these young outsiders who know nothing of ruling a kingdom. I will not be a part of this facade. I hereby resign from this council.”

Brom scraped back his chair, got up and marched from the room, yanking open the door and slamming it behind him. The hollow sound echoed in the chamber, reverberating again and again.

Inwardly, Gareth’s heart was pounding. He felt the deck of cards crumbling around him. Had he gone too far?

“Never mind,” Gareth said. “We do not need him. I will bring in my own adviser on military affairs.”

“Do not need him, my Lord?” Aberthol echoed. “He is our greatest general, and was your father’s best adviser.”

“My father’s advisers are not
my
advisers,” Gareth threatened. “It is a new era. Is there anyone else here unhappy with this arrangement? If so, you can leave now.”

Gareth’s heart pounded as he sat there expecting the others to walk out, too.

To his surprise, none did. They all looked frozen in shock. He felt he had to assert his authority, had to make this kingdom his own.

Sweating now, Gareth just wanted this meeting, which had already gone on for hours, over with.

“Any other news, or can we finish?” he asked, peremptorily.

“My Liege, there is another important matter,” Bradaigh said. “News of your father’s death has spread to all corners of the Ring, and has reached the McClouds. Our spies inform us that they are meeting with a contingent from the Wilds. The rumor is that they intend to attack, either alone or with the Empire in tow. They may allow them to breach the Eastern Crossing of the Canyon. I suggest we mobilize our forces, and double our patrols of the Highlands.”

Gareth sat there, rooted in place, unsure what to do. He had never had any skill when it came to military affairs, and the thought of the McClouds invading terrified him.

“The McClouds will not let the Empire breach the Canyon,” he said. “That would imperil them, too. They might attack, though, even with my sister as their new Princess. Maybe we should not wait. Maybe we should attack them first.”

“Attack them unprovoked?” Kelvin asked. “And spark an all-out war?”

Gareth considered the possibilities, resting his hand on his chin, wondering when this would all be over. He wanted to be outside; he did not want to think any more of these affairs. And he wanted to get off his mind his most pressing concern—the investigation into his father’s murder.

“I will consider what to do,” Gareth said curtly. “In the meantime, I must raise a much more pressing matter, concerning the murder of my father. It has been brought to my attention that the assassin has been found.”

“What!?”

“What my Lord?”

“Who? How?!”

The councilmembers all yelled out at once, some of them standing in shock and outrage.

Gareth smiled inwardly, realizing he had them exactly where he wanted them. He turned and nodded towards Firth, who, standing on the outskirts of the room, walked across it, holding something small in his palm. Firth made a show of reaching out and handing it to Gareth, and as he did, Gareth held it up so that the others could see. He leaned forward on his throne and held out the small vial.

“Sheldrake Root. The same root used in the first attempt to poison my father at that night’s feast. As you can see, this vial is nearly empty. This vial was found in the killer’s chamber, on that very night.”

“But who is the killer, my Lord?” Aberthol yelled out.

“It pains me to say,” Gareth pronounced slowly, doing his best to feign sadness, “that it is my eldest brother. My Lord’s firstborn son. Kendrick.”

“What!”

“An outrage!”

“It can’t be!” they yelled back.

“Oh, I’m afraid it is,” Gareth replied. “We have gathered ample evidence. As we speak, I’m sending our men to arrest him. He will be imprisoned and tried for the death of my father.”

The council broke out in outraged mumbling.

“But Kendrick was the most loved of your father!” Duwayne yelled out. “And the most loyal of all.”

“It must be a mistake,” Bradaigh yelled.

“And our own committee is still investigating the matter!” Kelvin shouted.

“You can call off the investigation,” Gareth responded. “It is concluded.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Firth said, stepping forward. “He has a motive. Kendrick was the firstborn son. He was passed over. He must have had a vendetta, and must have pined for the throne himself.”

The councilmen turned and exchanged troubled, skeptical glances.

“You are wrong,” Aberthol said. “Kendrick is not ambitious. He is a loyal warrior.”

The councilmen debated with each other, and as Gareth watched them, he smiled inwardly. This was exactly what he’d wanted: to plant doubt in their minds. He had achieved his vision. He had found a scapegoat, planted evidence, and gave himself cover to imprison him. He would not give him a trial. He would let the kingdom know that the matter had been settled, quickly and easily. And in the process, he would remove one more threat from the crown.

Gareth sat back, satisfied with himself, and watched and enjoyed the chaos spreading before him. He was beginning to realize that it suited him, after all, being King.

It suited him very well.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Thor marched amidst the huge contingent of Legion members, Krohn at his heels, Reese, O’Connor, Elden and the twins at his side, all of them heading down a wide, dirt road which never seemed to end. They had been marching for hours, heading towards the distant Canyon, preparing for their first leg of the journey to the Tartuvian Sea. Thor had made it back in time from his night with Gwen, had awakened with the dawn and arrived first thing in the morning at the barracks; he’d joined the others as they were rising, prepared all his things, grabbed his sack, his sling, his weapons, and left with the others just in time.

Thor could hardly believe he was embarking on this journey with all these boys, on his way to what he knew would be the most challenging hundred days of his life—on his way to leaving boyhood behind and becoming a man. His heart pounded with anticipation. He could feel the excited buzz in the air, and also the tension. Some boys walked with a bounce in their step, but others kept silent, and wore scared expressions. When Thor had arrived, he heard reports that two Legion members had fled during the night, apparently too scared to embark on The Hundred. He was glad that none of his newfound friends had left.

Thor might have been flooded with anxiety, too, but, luckily, he was also preoccupied, his mind swimming with other things. Gwendolyn. His night with her lingered over him like a cloud; he could not shake the image of her face, the sound of her voice, her energy. It was as if she were with him right now. It had been a magical day and night, the best of his entire life. His heart soared as he thought of her; knowing that she existed made him feel as if everything would be all right in the world, no matter what happened during the Hundred. As long as he had her, he had reason to survive, and reason to return. He felt that would carry him through.

They had mourned together for her father, and having her at his side had brought him a sense of peace and solace he hadn’t had before; being able to share it with her had somehow made it all the more bearable. It had also made them closer. He closed his eyes and saw that lake she had taken him to, its white and blue waters, that island, so secluded from the world; it was the most magical place he had ever been. He remembered their looking up at the stars, all night long, she lying in his arms. She had slept like that, in his arms, all night long. Neither of them had taken off their clothes, but they had kissed all night, and she had finally curled up in a ball, and lay her head on his chest. It was the first time a girl had slept in his arms. At some points during the night she had cried, and he knew she was thinking of her father.

He had awakened at the first light of dawn, a beautiful red light blanketing the horizon with the first rising sun, and all had felt right in the world. He had awakened with her still in his arms, the feel of her on his chest, the warmth of her, the complete perfect stillness of the summer morning; there was a light breeze, the trees swaying above him, and all had felt perfect in the world. It was the first time he’d ever awakened feeling a true sense of comfort, of belonging, of love. For the first time, he felt
wanted
by somebody, and that meant more to him than he could say.

They had parted ways sadly early in the morning, Thor needing to rush back to the Legion before they left. She had cried quietly, tears dripping down her cheek, and had leaned in and hugged him—and would not let go for a long time.

“Vow to me again,” she had whispered, “that you will return.”

“I vow,” he’d said.

He could still remember the look in her teary eyes as she looked back at him in the early morning light, filled with such hope and longing. That look sustained him now. Even now he saw those eyes, as he walked on this road with all of his Legion brothers.

“I’m not looking forward to crossing the Canyon again,” came a voice.

Thor snapped out of it, looked over, and saw Elden, a few feet away, anxiety on his face. In the distance was the outline of the bridge. The Eastern Crossing of the Canyon. Hundreds of soldiers were lined up along it.

“Nor I,” O’Connor added.

“It will be different this time,” Reese said. “We go as a group. We are in the Wilds only for a short bit, and then we are at the ships. Is a direct route to the ships. We do not venture deep into their territory before we hit the ocean.”

“Still, we’re beyond the Canyon, and anything could happen,” Conval said.

The group fell silent, and Thor listened to the sound of hundreds of boots crushing rocks, of Krohn panting beside him, of horses, being walked next to some of the warriors, clomping; he could smell the horses from here, the sweat of men afraid. Thor was not afraid. He was excited. Nervous, maybe. And overwhelmed with longing for Gwendolyn.

“Just think, when we return, next season, we will all be different men,” O’Connor said. “None of us will be the same.”

“
If
we return,” Reese corrected.

Thor took a good look at all the boys and men around him, and he thought about that. Nothing would ever be the same. He felt the world constantly changing around him, every minute of every day; it was so hard to hold onto anything. He wanted to freeze all of this, but even as he did, he knew that he could not.

*

They finally reached the base of the Western Crossing of the Canyon, and the group of them paused before stepping onto the bridge. Thor could see the look of wonder and fear in the eyes of his fellow Legion members. He remembered when he had first seen it, and he understood how they felt. Even now, looking at it for his second time, it inspired the same sense of awe and fear and wonder in him: the bridge spanned forever, disappearing from site, and the drop-off below was bottomless. Although the bridge was lined with hundreds of the King’s soldiers, it felt as if the first step onto the bridge was a step of no return.