Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(59)
Hal’s few days at home were less than satisfying. None of the people he wanted to see were there, and the familiar surroundings only brought back memories of what he stood to lose. His mother had always taken great pride in her gardens. Now the borders were blurred, overrun by thistle, the flowers blown and gone to seed.
At the center stood the massive spreading white oak, symbol of their house. Legend said that it predated the Breaking and the Montaigne line of kings. His little sister Harper used to lurk within its branches to avoid her scripture tutor and to intercept her brothers on their way to adventures outside the walls. Eventually, she talked the blacksmith’s boy into setting iron bars into the wall of the back garden so that she could engineer her own escapes.
No doubt, even now, she was scheming to escape her current predicament.
Wait for me, Harper, Hal thought. He would not rest until he’d got them back.
The prospect of seeing the empress’s hordes come riding down the western slopes of the Heartfangs lent a special urgency to his mission. It was fortunate that the empress’s obsession with finding the magemarked busker had sent her north instead of south. But he was under no illusion that she would be satisfied with the Fells.
His father had been in the field for months, so Hal was swarmed with petitioners and requests to settle disputes or make decisions on matters that had been deferred for too long. He’d spent so much time away that he was of little help in directing the household or answering questions from the farm managers and rent collectors. He was, however, a convenient target for complaints about shortages of, well, nearly everything, from wine to salt to fodder to men to work in the fields.
This even though the larders were overflowing compared to what he’d seen in the queendom of the Fells.
Rolande was a nuisance as well. Since Hal was the highest-ranking person he could get at, the thaneling was constantly at his heels, offering silly advice on all topics.
At least Rolande had birds on hand to communicate with the rebel forces. Hal sent a message to his father in the code they’d used since he was a boy.
It’s Halston. I’m at White Oaks. Orders?
A message came back the next day, in his father’s usual effusive style.
Glad to hear it. You’re needed. Report to Temple Church as soon as able.
As soon as Hal could extract himself, he was riding hard toward Temple Church, where the rebellious thanes had gathered. Rolande was, of course, eager to come along, but Hal ordered him to stay behind on pain of court-martial.
Temple Church was a good strategic position—astride the North Road so that they had a good road straight to the enemy should they choose to use it. The same could be said for the king’s forces, of course. Prior to the fall of Delphi, such a position would also have blocked access to the weapons factories and mines in the north.
Now, with Delphi at their backs, hills to the east, and Tamron Forest to their west, it wouldn’t be easy to come at the thanes from any direction other than the south.
Ordinarily, Hal might have actually looked forward to fighting in the flatlands for the first time in a long time. But this time, he’d be pushing for diplomacy and negotiation, tasks he had no skills for.
There had always been a small garrison house and other military facilities at Temple Church. Hal arrived after sunset, and it seemed that campfires and tents spread across the plains as far as he could see. That was good news—up to a point. Armies are not good at waiting around with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Hal guessed that the command post would be in the garrison house; if not, those posted there would be able to tell him where to find his father.
As it happened, he didn’t have to do any fast talking to get in to see his father. The first person he encountered after handing off his horse was Jan Rives, who was walking the paddocks, a list in his hand. Rives had been one of the first officers Hal served under when he joined the army, before he’d got his growth.
“Why, it’s Little Hal, I believe,” Rives said, a smile breaking across his face. “Lord Matelon told me that you’d survived that hellhole in Delphi after all.”
After Rives had lost an arm during an uprising in Bruinswallow, Lord Matelon had taken him on as quartermaster for White Oaks. Hal still called him Sergeant, and Rives still called him Little Hal, though Hal towered over him now.
Rives was the only one allowed to call him that, as Hal had made clear to some of his fellow soldiers who’d tried to follow suit.
“Sergeant Rives,” Hal said, grinning and clapping him on the back. “Can you tell me where to find my father?”
“He’s in with some of the other lords, fighting toe to toe as usual,” Rives said. “It’ll do him good to see you.”
“I hope so,” Hal said, wishing he could meet privately with his father and win him over before springing his news on the other thanes.
He heard voices before he reached the door of the meeting room.
“My men need to get home and into the fields or we’ll have no harvest at all this year,” someone was saying. It was a voice Hal didn’t recognize. “The buds are already breaking, and with the vines not properly trellised, the quality of the—”
“Blood of the Martyr, DeLacroix, can you give it a rest?” That was his father’s unmistakable bass rumble. So the first speaker was Pascal DeLacroix, Rolande’s father, until recently a firm ally of the king. “If we don’t strike now, when we have the advantage, you won’t have to worry about your swiving harvest this fall. Someone else will be drinking your wine.”