“You are correct,” Hausey said. “We do have the strength to withstand this invasion. We have equal numbers, and the defenses at Orrock would make a siege difficult, but not impossible for us to weather. We could easily hold out through the winter, if worse came to worst, and then drive them back in the spring after they have been weakened by the cold and lack of resources. But that does not take into account the people living near Orrock. Their homes would be pillaged and burned, their crops and livestock stolen. And if a force were to invade from the east, we would be helpless. They could ravage their way to Orrock and reinforce the siege, which would put us at a distinct disadvantage. All might be lost. We need Zollin.”
“We’ll ride with you,” Zollin said, and the words felt like gravel being ground into the wound of his grief. “If we hear news of the dragon, though, I must turn aside, at least temporarily.”
“You would disobey your King?” said one of the knights in a haughty tone.
“Do not question his loyalty or courage,” said Hausey angrily. “If finding his beloved is what it takes to get him to Orrock, that is what we will do. We will support you, Zollin.”
“That is all I ask,” he said.
Mansel felt his rage burning more fiercely than ever. He had understood that Zollin needed closure, perhaps even revenge against the creature that had stolen Brianna away from him. But now he would have to persuade Zollin to leave his King and country in order to go south to Lodenhime. The muscle in his jaw flexed so hard it felt as if his teeth would break under the pressure.
They turned and rode hard through the day. They passed a few villages where people still made their homes, although there were many empty homes and farms even in the occupied villages. No one had heard any news of the dragon in weeks. It was a discouraging sign for Zollin. The beast may have taken refuge in another mountain lair, or it may have doubled back to its original cave far to the north. Either way, Zollin knew he would not be able to rest until he had tracked the dragon down and discovered what had become of Brianna.
Chapter 22
“You want war?” Prince Wilam said angrily. “You want to take the riffraff forces we have here and march against King Ortis’s entire army?”
“Yes,” said Gwendolyn. She was pouting at Wilam, using all her charms to break down his resistance to her plan.
In most other cases, she would have merely replaced a man who showed any doubts about her plans, but she knew she couldn’t lose the Crown Prince of Yelsia. He was important and so she coddled him.
“We have their cavalry,” she said.
“We have a portion of their cavalry,” Wilam corrected her.
“You have to remember that I don’t want to kill them,” she said. “I want them to join us. I want to build a grand army and march south.”
“But why? Is what we’ve given you here not enough?”
“Of course it isn’t,” she giggled. “Don’t be silly. I’m a woman, I can never have enough. Besides, this will be your chance to show me what you’ve been able to do with my army. I’m anxious to see the fruits of your hard labor and reward you.”
Wilam knew that Gwendolyn had great power over men, even if he couldn’t recognize that he himself was bewitched by that power. He had been in awe when the cavalry force surrendered to her and pledged their swords to her service. It had been an incredible feat, and although he was jealous of the men and the way Gwendolyn fussed over them, he was glad to have a stronger fighting force. He doubted that an entire army could be won over so easily, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to show off the army he had built for Gwendolyn. The scouts had returned with more men, and with the contingent of cavalry from Ortis, they were five hundred strong now. Each man knew his duty and each was eager to fight for Gwendolyn. Wilam was not eager to fight, but he was desperate for the reward, which he assumed would be a place in the witch’s bed.
“I shall not disappoint you. We will be ready to leave at dawn.”
“Not dawn, no, that won’t do,” said Gwendolyn. “Have your men ready, but make it midday. That sounds much more pleasant.”
Wilam was at a loss for words. He bowed and hurried from the room. He was walking across the long feasting hall on the way to inform his troops to gear up and prepare to escort their Queen to Blue Harbor when he was met by Keevy, the Castle steward.
“I shall be leaving with you tomorrow,” he said, doing his best to sound confident.
“Oh, no,” Wilam corrected him. “This is a military matter. Your place is here,” he said in mock sympathy.
“I serve Her Majesty,” Keevy said angrily. “I’ll not leave her alone with you.”
“You’ll do as you’re told, or we’ll find a new steward while your head decorates the Castle gates.”
“No!” he shouted, his pudgy face red with indignation. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me since you arrived. I won’t let you. I won’t let you worm your way into Her Majesty’s good graces.”
“Do not forget who you are talking to,” Wilam said in a low voice that was brimming with anger. “I have not forgotten how you went behind my back and told the Queen about the force from Ortis. You are a snake in the grass, and I’ll have your head if you cross me again.”
“You can’t kill me. The lady Gwendolyn needs me,” he said haughtily.
“Don’t test me.”
“I’ll do more than that, I’ll slice your throat while you sleep. I don’t fear you. You’ve had everything handed to you your whole life. You’re nothing but a bag of hot air.”
In most circumstances the entire exchange would have been laughable. Prince Wilam was not the kind of man who bandied words with anyone, and no one who knew him would ever accuse him of being lazy or spoiled. If anything, the Crown Prince was too dedicated and suffered from an inflated sense of responsibility to his people. But the steward’s constant scheming chafed Wilam, as did the steward’s access to Gwendolyn. His fist shot out so fast that Keevy never saw it, just felt his head snap backwards from the blow.
The Castle steward staggered back and fell over the long feasting table. Even though he was much older than Wilam and had no experience fighting, he bellowed in rage and launched himself at the Prince. The fight didn’t last long. Wilam used the steward’s own momentum to flip him over, and Keevy landed on the stone floor with a bone-jarring crash. In any other circumstances the fight would have ended there, but Keevy was insane with jealous rage. He picked himself up off the floor, his face twisted in anger and pain. Wilam didn’t wait for the steward to launch another attack, instead he kicked Keevy hard between the legs. The older man folded over in pain and fell back onto the floor.
The fight should have ended then, but Wilam was caught up in battle lust. He grabbed the steward’s head and slammed it into the flagstone floor of the feasting hall. The skin on Keevy’s forehead split, sending blood streaming from the wound. The man was unconscious as Wilam slammed his head into the floor over and over again, shattering Keevy’s skull and pounding his brains to jelly. When Wilam stood up, he was covered with blood and bits of gore. Several other servants had come running to see what had happened. They had heard Keevy’s bellow of rage and seen Prince Wilam beat him to death.