Chapter 1220: Brittle Resolve(2)
Chapter 1220: Brittle Resolve(2)
Sorza’s hand twitched. Had his mother’s palm not already found his brother’s cheek, his own fist might have done the work. He was already drowning in the wreckage of his own failures; he did not need the child of their house chirping like a frightened bird over his shoulder.
"Is this the son that came from my loin?" their mother hissed, her hand retreating to the side of her head as if to steady a mounting headache. "What would your father say if he saw you now? A royal of the South reduced to a quivering mess of nerves without even a sword in sight!"
Edmure had always been a fearful boy with restless, fluttering hands. His long hair, which he allowed to drape limply over his face, made him look less like a man of royal blood and more like a willow branch swaying in a weak breeze. His natural disposition toward terror had only been sharpened by their father’s death, though that was a poor excuse in the eyes of the woman who had carried him.
As was his custom, Edmure did not raise his head. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the tips of his boots, his silence a shield that offered no protection.
"One thing you were right about," their mother continued, and Edmure looked up at the sudden shift in her tone. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically. "It was a mistake to have you accompany your brother. You would be of more use in a skirt while I donned the mail. If you are quite finished whimpering, we have matters of importance to discuss. We do not expect you to provide meaningful counsel, but as you are family, you will at the very least sit and listen."
She sank into a heavy oak chair that groaned in weary protest under her weight. When Edmure hesitated, she raised her hand and mimicked the motion of rising, causing the boy to wince and recoil. She didn’t strike him again, however; she merely sighed and turned her attention to her eldest.
"We have received many tales from the front," she said, her voice dropping into a somber register. "Some are so absurd I took them for the ramblings of drunkards, yet given how the Habadians, Kakunians, and Ezvanians turned their backs and fled the field, I fear truth was in some of them.
Sorza exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Is this Prince of Yarzat as cruel as they say?" she asked, a flicker of genuine apprehension in her eyes. "We received word of atrocities that should not be spoken of even in the heat of war. A woman knows not what to believe anymore."
Instead of the eldest it was the youngest who spoke. "This war..." Edmure spoke up, his voice trailing off as he waited for a blow that didn’t come. When it was clear his mother was waiting for him to finish, he found the needed strength to continue. "The tales are true. His is an army of monsters. Cruelty comes to them as easily as breathing. Every morrow, we would find limbs and dismembered corpses strewn at the edge of our camps like unwanted refuse." He shuddered, his hands beginning to shake again. "Whenever we sighted their scouts, they had the scalps of our men dangling from their belts. And the Prince... in battle, he was as mad as the beasts he led. I saw him fight for the better part of an hour with a broken lance head embedded in his head. He is a demon, Mother. A monster in human skin."
’’His head?What man is there that can survive a lance to the head boy?’’
Instead of answering Edmure looked down, muttering that he had nonetheless survived.
With a sigh their mother turned to Sorza, who gave a grim, slow nod of confirmation. A low, thoughtful humming sound came from her closed lips.
For the moment she skipped over all that jubble.
"Is it possible for him to turn his gaze here for a siege?" she asked, the worry finally seeping fully into her voice.
Sorza shook his head, he may have feared the man but even he could not evade logic. "He is likely besieging Duresa or some other lord’s stronghold closer to the border. Winter is already making itself heard in the winds; I doubt he can maintain an army of that size in the field for much longer.He will be forced to turn home soon"
"Will that truly matter to Lord Darry?" she countered. "We do not know what a man of his temper will do when his lands are in peril and his castles sit directly in the path of Yarzat’s vengeance.He was never the man of great courage neither one of great loyalty, and yet it was in his backyard that battle was given."
"Lord Darry has a duty to defend the crown’s interests," Edmure attempted, his voice thin and yet carrying hope.
That was probably the only good thing about him, Sorza thought, that he still had hope.
"And the crown has a duty to defend a lord’s land," she snapped back, her eyes fixed on Sorza. "You can put that notion away. Currently, the crown cannot even defend its own honor, let alone a border lord with the wolves, or better yet the wolf lingering around.. If we are lucky, we shall only lose Darry this year. The lords felt the crack in our power long ago; this campaign has simply shown them the rot beneath the paint."
She leaned forward, her expression hard. "Too many failures and too few victories lie behind us. We are unable to stop Yarzat; that much is plain to the blind and the dead alike. Even with the help of three other thrones, the result was a slaughter. By next spring, more lords will be sending secret envoys to Yarzat, begging to be spared the repercussions of our failure. Our granaries are empty, our people’s faith is plummeting, and our stores of weapons are as depleted as our larders. If any of them choose to change their allegiance, we cannot even afford a response that isn’t a strongly worded letter.
Five be good and merciful. And speaking of them what is the fifth prince at?"
’’Lingering in bed. Hopefully with a knife stuck in his ribs’’
She sighed angrily at that, a sound directed at the world at large. Was she furious with her son for leading them into this catastrophe, or with the Prince of Yarzat for leaping from victory to victory while they drowned in the mud?
"If the Prince of Yarzat commences a full-scale invasion next year," she finished, her voice cold and hollow, "we will be sitting ducks in a golden pond, with famine on our heels and a lack of weapons in our hands. That cannot be allowed."
"Would you have us fight then?" Sorza asked, his voice cracking with the strain of a man who had seen his dreams ground into the southern silt. "I doubt we can even muster enough forces from our lords, if they even bother to raise their banners at all. Cousin Malis may stand by us, as will Lord Emm, provided he still believes his grandson will sit on this throne after me. As for the others? The All-Knower only knows..."
"I suppose you’d wish to fight with stones instead of steel?The only good thing about Emm are the riches on his land, his greatest skill is but chuckling and throwing money at his problem. Malis is a man of martial, but only with their support we would not be able to clean a stable let alone wage war." There was a sharp edge of reproach in her words. "I would evade the fighting altogether. The moment the Princess of Yarzat thinks of sending that hound of hers, that Prince of War to our gates, it is done. Even with the Prince of Habadia helping us, we would be powerless."
Provided he even helps, Sorza thought, though he kept the bitter suspicion behind his teeth.He favored not telling her what happened with him.
Habadia’s loyalty was as fickle as the desert winds and they had enough of sand in their mouth.
"I doubt the Yarzat prince will make peace with us now," Sorza said. "Not after the blood he’s tasted , not now that he is winning."
"He will, if you’re forthcoming enough to bend for the thrust." She looked around the chamber, her irritation mounting. "Where is the wine when it is actually needed?"
"Forthcoming’’ he replied ’’Just as you’d wish I be to that dog. But what I wish and what that Peasant Prince wishes are two different things. He has victory in his hands; why would he even think...." He trailed off, his mind racing toward Kakunia. Perhaps he may yet be reasoned too. "The reason the majority of the forces retreated from the field at the Bastion was because the Prince of Yarzat had captured the bastard son of the Prince of Kakunia, whom he wishes to install as heir over his own nephew, the one currently marching beside the Yarzats... Perhaps Alpheo wishes to wrap things up here to aid his ally’s claim there... maybe he could be reasoned toward peace with a tithe of land and gold.If nothing else I could convince that Mad bastard to desert the campaign.Perhaps then Yarzat could be reasoned to peace"
"And something else, too.I recall we had a peace before someone had the bright mind of spitting upon it’’ She turned her gaze toward Edmure, who jolted as if struck by an invisible lash. "Perhaps we may finally have a use for you, son."
"I... y-you will?" Edmure stammered.
"Yes, but enough of that for now. First of all, I want some damn win—"
At that the door burst inward as if a storm-wind had been trapped behind the oak.
Sorza was about to jest that the wine had finally arrived, but as he looked at the man who stood in the threshold, the words died in his throat and never came out.
It was not his squire’s face, and he also carried no wine, though he would have gladly preferred him holding a sword at hand than saying the next words that came out from his bubbling lips.