“Since you started accusing our men of killing prisoners.”
“I have not accused your men. I have said the men have not yet been identified. The guards are drawn from all parts of our forces. Yours and those of Lady Brockenhurst as well…”
“So it could be Brock-men who did it?” Sir Fitz said.
“Or no one,” said Lord Kindrick. “You heard a clatter? Is that all you’re going on? A clatter?” He laughed.
Lythian’s upper lip twitched. “More information will come through shortly.”
Kindrick had a gulp of wine. “You want this to happen. You want it to be northmen to blame.” He drank again. “Gods forbid your precious Agarathi might have started it.”
Lord Rodmond frowned at him. “Just what are you insinuating?”
Kindrick looked over at him lazily, an ingratiating smile on his lips. “Nothing. Just words. They’re just words, my lord. Nothing to worry about.”
He has no respect for him, Lythian thought. Or for me. Tension thickened in the room, a short silence brewing before they heard the sound of footfall outside. The flaps swayed open and Sir Adam Thorley stepped in, Sir Storos Pentar right behind him. “My lord, we heard what was happening,” Sir Adam said. He had been sleeping, that was evident by the puffy eyes and messy hair. Storos had been taking a watch on the walls tonight, Lythian knew, though might well have wandered out toward the traps as well to check in on his men. The muddy boots would indeed suggest he had spent time beyond the walls.
Lythian invited them both to sit, as Sir Ralf served the wine. Outside, the first faint signs of dawn were beginning to glow. It was going to be a long morning, Lythian sensed. He sensed too he was going to have to make some difficult decisions by the end of it, depending on what Sir Guy Blenhard reported. I cannot let this stand, he thought. If Vandarians are to blame, I must come down on them hard.
And then he thought of the grinning man. Had he imagined that? And the Agarathi with the red eyes? Had he imagined that too? They were crazed, he thought. Wild. Was that just driven by hunger and hate, by the slurs and the taunts and the mocking of the men who guarded them? Or was something more sinister happening here?
He mulled on that as the debate went on.
“We need to get rid of them,” Lord Barrow declared of the prisoners. He waved a hand as though his word was final. “These Agarathi clearly cannot be trusted. The others from the empire…mayhaps they can be kept here for now, but the dragonkin, no. Load them up on a ship and send them away. It’s time, my lords. Let them fend for themselves at sea.”
“A leaky ship with torn sails and wonky masts,” smirked Sir Fitz Colloway. “We let these creatures crawl off to Agarath, and they’ll only be re-armed and sent right back. They’re wild, every one of them.”
“Would you listen to yourself, Colloway,” Sir Storos scoffed at him. “Only a fool makes such broad claims.”
“And only a sympathiser would deny them.”
Sir Storos shook his head, exasperated. “Do we have to invite this child to these councils? Lord Taynar, it is well within your power to dismiss him. All he ever does is smirk and spit this bile.”
Rodmond glanced at Lythian, then said. “He does have a point, Fitz. You say little that is constructive.”
“And you say little without Lord Lythian allowing it,” the haughty knight came right back. He sweetened the insult with a smile. “Apologies, my lord. That came out wrong. I only mean to say…”
“You think I have no mind of my own?” Rodmond bristled.
“No, of course you do. Only…”
“Only what?” He stared at him. “Speak.”
“I only meant to say that you served under Lord Lindar for a long time, in the Varin Knights. Those habits are hard to break, and...”
“And you were never a Varin Knight at all,” Rodmond dismissed. “Frankly, you are nothing. Go. Get out of my sight.”
“My lord?”
“Did you not hear me? I said go.”
Sir Fitz Colloway stood, sketching a stiff bow. “I serve at your pleasure, Lord Taynar.” He stalked off out of the tent. Kindrick’s eyes followed him darkly, the shadow of a smile on his face.
Lord Barrow was the best of the three. “I apologise for the boy, my lord,” he said to Rodmond. “His uncle favoured him, but he has much to learn of command and courtesy.”
“And me?” Rodmond challenged. “I am five years his junior. A boy, as you would say.”
“A boy raised to rule.”
“No. I never expected to rule. Nor did I want to, which I have made quite clear. But fate has handed me the reins of House Taynar and I will steer her as best I can. Perhaps I do seek guidance from Lord Lythian, as I did King Daecar before he left. A wise man knows to learn from his elders. Would that not be the case, my lord?”
Lord Barrow nodded agreement. “Well said. I quite agree.”
The tension was somewhat defused by Colloway’s departure, though they still had Lord Kindrick to contend with. “Fitz is a fool,” he said, in his grating voice. “Young and spirited and a little bit stupid as well. But what he said is not wrong. We have heard what those Agarathi did out there tonight. Who’s to say the rest won’t rise up and go wild as well?” He looked around. “They have to die. All of them. This is war and they have to die. We can’t keep sharing our rations with them. While we eat the flesh of dead dragons, they eat the flesh of our livestock, pork and beef and mutton stew.” He snorted at the notion, over-exaggeration though it was. “Is it any wonder the men took action?”
Lythian sat uneasily at the command table, peering across at the man. “So you’re admitting the men took action?”
Lord Kindrick sniffed. “In defending themselves when these barbarians rose up in riot. Yes. They took action. And rightly.”
“That is yet to be seen.”
Kindrick spat a breath. “Why do you always defend them? You’re the First Blade of Vandar. Vandar, not Agarath. It’s your sworn duty to defend this realm from those heathens and I’m sorry to say it, my lord, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” He gulped his wine, gave a snort, then stood. “I take no pleasure in saying that, but your time in the south’s made you soft and every man in this city knows it. Best you have a good long think on that, my lord. It’s high time you set your priorities straight.” He stiffened that weasel face of his into a look of great gravity and turned to leave the tent without another word.
Lord Barrow gave out a solemn sigh at his parting. “I must apologise again, my lords. He is tired and fretful and worries sorely for his wife and children back home. It is a malady we all have to bear, I fear, though affects us all very differently. He blames the Agarathi for his toils.” He stood from his stone seat. “Might I suggest we adjourn until a later time? We have all woken suddenly and it would serve to cool our tongues. We can reconvene when there is something new to report.”
It was a sensible suggestion. Lythian nodded, silent, and the men rose from their perches and moved off, leaving him alone with only Sir Ralf for company. For a long moment the First Blade brooded, saying nothing. Eventually, Ralf spoke. “What do you plan to do?” the old man asked. “If Sir Guy should report that some of Barrow’s men, or worse Kindrick’s, were responsible for the violence…”
“Then they will be dealt with…and harshly.” His voice was hard, his eyes sharp. “I have made plain the punishments, Ralf.”
