Chapter 1222: All men must serve(2)
Chapter 1222: All men must serve(2)
All men must serve, that was the holy law of the order. But as Rodry adjusted the heavy grey plate of his armor, he couldn’t help but think the Father never intended for those in power to be such an insufferable bitch about it.
Most knights would have wept with joy to be assigned the personal protection of the Prince’s heir, yet Rodry felt only the dull ache of a mounting migraine. Had he known that catching a glimpse of the boy sneaking through the camp would result in this, he would have kept his mouth shut and let the fucking boy be.
He should have stayed silent and let some other poor bastard find the "thief," but fate had a cruel sense of irony. The golden boy had asked his father for a new toy, and the Prince had acquiesced; as for the toy’s opinion?Who cares.
For a time, Rodry had actually feared that Basil desired him dead. As dead as the soldiers that during the siege of the Bastion had simply... disappeared while scouting or foraging. But sense eventually took hold.
Basil wasn’t half as cruel as he would need to be to order a man’s execution, especially not a knight as innocent and pious as himself. Mischief, jests, and high-born teasing were Basil’s true weapons; he was a master of making a man wish he were dead, which was far more efficient than actually killing him.
With the mocking jeers of his companions still ringing in his ears, Rodry stepped out of the inn and into the biting cold of October air. He found the heir quickly enough. As it turned out, Basil was simply bored and had a sudden, whimsical urge to walk the muddy streets of the camp.
"My father came to know of certain... outings I took," Basil said, keeping his back to Rodry as they started down the road. "He was most wrought with me for the nature of those trips, and even more so for what I did. Those who accompanied me were lashed for their ’negligence.’ So now, whenever I wish to stretch my legs, he has ordered that I be accompanied by you."
Basil paused, turning to give Rodry a long, scrutinizing glance that felt like a needle under the skin. "I am glad you returned from your own ’outing’ to Sharjaan,by the bye. How was it?’’
He shrugged.
’’I was forced to stay in a rundown tent and sleep in a bed so infested with fleas I think they were trying to carry me back to the Bastion. I can tell you, the Prince of Sharjaan is not a host I would recommend for travellers of a senile age." He reached up to brush a lock of black hair away from his eyes, his gauntlet clinking. "Though I suppose the war played a part in the lack of silk pillows."
"No one forced the Prince of Sharjaan to come here," Basil noted dryly.
"Though we did force him out," Rodry countered. They shared the shortest, sharpest chuckle, it was rare they found common ground between the two of them.
"My compliments on its outcome" Basil muttered. He stopped suddenly, his gaze softening as he approached a stable. A sturdy brown horse was snorting softly, crunching on a carrot held by a trembling stable boy.
Rodry watched the heir’s hand reach out to stroke the beast’s velvet nose with a tenderness that he would never think the boy capable of. It was a baffling sight. He was so incredibly caring with animals, yet so casually cruel with his fellow man.
Where the sense lay in that, Rodry didn’t know, and as he watched the "monster" of the court coo at a horse, he doubted he would ever find out.
"You should save those sweet words for Ser Aron," Rodry muttered, watching as the horse gave the boy’s hand a playful, nipping bite. The stable boy’s face went bone-white, likely picturing his own head on a platter for allowing the heir to be tasted by a beast. "Aron was the one who actually had to negotiate with the Prince of Sharjaan. I was merely made to taste that ’sweet hospitality’ for a night before we departed the next morrow with the Prince’s answer in tow."
"Had fun, did you?" Basil asked, his voice dripping with a casual, aristocratic boredom.
"Never had more," Rodry lied flatly.
"Should have perhaps stayed there. I am sure you could have found a quaint little inn on the plain to work in. You have the look of a man who enjoys scrubbing floors."
"I would have to ride a long way to find a roof, my prince. The Sharjaan put the torch to everything they could not carry. Inns, villages, granaries, it’s all blackened timber and ash now.And the deads are just as many I fear"
That made the boy pause. His hand retreated from the steed’s velvet nose, and a rare flicker of gravity crossed his youthful features. "My father will need to allocate funds for the reconstruction," Basil mused. Those lands had fallen under royal control during the invasion of Oizen years ago; an injury to the place was a direct wound to the crown’s purse. More importantly,it was greatly profitable even without the iron mine, there were many inns and flourishing villages that provided food and rest needed for the caravans carrying ore to the capital. "Perhaps he will assign me to oversee the rebuilding..."
"You?" Rodry blurted out before he could catch himself.
"Yes! Me!" Basil snapped turning to him in anger.
"That came out wrong. I apologise" Rodry said, though the apology felt as thin as the ale he’d drank that morning.
The boy huffed, adjusting his fine silk cloth while walking forward. "For your information, my father has entrusted me with many important works at court. I have managed ledgers, overseen audits, and settled disputes between the lesser houses while you were busy playing with your sword, aiming it under the skirts of nuns"
Rodry felt a chuckle bubbling up in his chest. Despite knowing it was spectacularly unwise, he found he couldn’t bite back the retort. "Ledgers and audits? Tell me, my little prince, were there shoes that needed counting? Or perhaps you were in charge of ensuring the palace had enough lavender for the linens?"
Basil stopped dead in his tracks. He turned slowly, his gaze icy and sharp enough to draw blood. "Are you aware, Rodry, that as the Prince’s son, I could have horse shit put in your boots every morning for a year? I could have you scrubbing the latrines with your own white cloak, and you would never be able to do a thing about it."
Rodry didn’t flinch.He wouldn’t with a boy.
"The Prince, your father, would never allow it. He values the dignity of the White."
"Then you would have to get to him to complain, wouldn’t you? And as I recall, Vrosk is always at his side. And he..." Basil’s grin widened. "Well your commander loves no one in this world more than his dear Prince’s son. I suspect he would find a reason to lose your petition in the hearth before it ever touched my father’s desk.And even if you met my father, what punishment would he really deliver upon me?I am his golden boy..."
"I see you are in a good mood," Rodry replied, deciding it was safer to let the boy win the skirmishing of tongues.
"Am I?" Basil asked, though his eyes lacked the usual bite.
"Half a month ago, you were always brooding, biting at your nails until they were raw. I always wondered what a boy like you had to worry about so much." Rodry saw the boy’s lips thin and realized his error. "No shame in that, of course," he added quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from the rocks. "This is war. It is only right for a son to fear for his father. Gods know how many sons will have to burn and bury their sires when this business rolls to an end."
He glanced at the horizon, where the smoke of distant fires smudged the sky. "I suppose your father feared for you just as much. Dead children are the easy coin of war, and I do not think he was eager to pay out of his own pocket that particular bill. Though, I must say, the Prince dealt his own well enough on the field. I never thought your father would be so apt with a sword; he never quite had that air about him, you know?But damn if he didn’t fight like a demon."
From the look Basil gave him, Rodry realized he hadn’t done much to improve the boy’s spirits. He cleared his throat, trying to offer a more grounded comfort. "Listen, the worst of it is behind us. The war is almost over. Before the cold set in, you’ll be back home, safe with your sister and your mother."
"My mother has written to me," Basil said, his voice suddenly distant. He gestured vaguely at his muddy boots and the sprawl of the military camp. "And truthfully, I am not eager to see her and what she has in store. For... good reasons."
With a tilt of his head Rodry was about to ask what those reasons were when the sound of the camp changed. The lazy drone of afternoon chores was replaced by the rhythmic thunder of hooves.
A group of riders came trotting down the camp’s main road, their armor clattering and their faces grim. Behind them, the infantry began to roll out,. They weren’t in a formal march yet, but they were all flowing in a common direction toward the western perimeter.
The two of them watched the exodus for a moment before Rodry stopped a passing man After a few hushed, frantic exchanges, the knight turned back to Basil, his hand instinctively dropping to the pommel of his sword.
"What is it?" Basil asked, his earlier bravado vanishing.
"Unwanted guests," Rodry said, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Thousands of them, gathered just outside the camp. And they aren’t flying your father’s banners.Not that they have any from the looks of it....I fear we’ll have to make our walk rather short , my prince."