The Tree of Black and White (The Shadowdancer Chronicles, Book Two)

Chapter Five

Each of the lavishly decorated lords rose as he entered the over-sized council room. Such sycophantic gestures were expected, of course, but at the present, their ubiety succeeded only in furthering his frustrations. They were morons, plain and simple. Indifferently, he motioned for the men to be seated as he found his chair at the end of the table. Most of his counsel was present. He glanced around the room, at Lord Raef and his ridiculous outfit—he looked more like a sprite than a man. But he was the key to the west since Lord Edson of Westerlay was currently under siege, and the king knew that there could be no victory in ostracizing the few lords that remained whom were not involved in open conflict. Opposite the flagrant Lord of Carron sat Lord Ott Fargon, the Lord of Eastwatch. He was a stubbly man, with beady eyes and a deep black beard that surrounded his round face. His frown was warranted, the benefits of traveling the breadth of the empire on direct order of his king with little notice and even less choice. King Maras did not care if they were unhappy about the summons.

            The rest in attendance resided in Harrendom and were lords merely in title, though little else. Lord Avon Tupp was wiry, with bushy eyebrows and hazel eyes. His face was long and narrow, making him a peculiar looking individual. In essence, he was nothing more than an advisor, and perhaps a facilitator, his family being stewards for the sitting king for the last ten generations. To his left was Lord Liam Ranes, the Master of Coin for the empire. He was aptly nicknamed the Glutten Lord on account that he would eat his weight in meat nearly every day. Lord Liam was somewhere around thirty stone and perhaps the largest man in the empire. He had more chins than King Maras had previously thought possible, and the king was certain that the fat lord would simply die in his sleep one night and rid the realm of his obesity. Though, despite his arid nature and questionable smells, he was a magician at getting gold and silver. Without him King Maras was sure that he would have had to have raised taxes generously. The last lord also appeared to be the meekest. Lord Wilan Batram was in charge of information and secrets. He was a small man, more a dwarf than a person, but it was his seemingly tentative nature that gained him his accolades, for his ears heard everything that was not meant to be heard, and his eyes witnessed everything that was not meant to be seen. Lord Wilan was as valuable to the king as the Master of Coin, even more so, perhaps. His expertise made him invisible, but it was all a ruse. King Maras knew that the man was anything but timid, as did anyone who had ever seen his true face.

            “Gentlemen,” King Maras began, “I have called you here during this time of need for obvious reasons. Westerlay is under siege by Lord Went and his vassals of Hest and Prine. Lord Carlysle led his vanguard, but disappeared shortly after the siege was initiated. I am hesitant to send an army to aid Lord Edson, I am sure I do not need to expound on that hesitation.”

            Lord Raef only shrugged, his obvious inadequacies as a military leader as bright as the shining sun. “I am finding it difficult to call my banner men to such a cause. It is difficult to see how this is in any way Carron’s problem.”

            A laugh escaped from Lord Ott, his eyes rolling in obvious distaste. “Poofs never want to fight,” he said with little regard to whom it may offend.

            “Excuse me?” Lord Raef responded with an anger-laced voice.

            Lord Ott met the prim lord’s eyes. “I am sorry, my lord, did I speak too softly?” He leaned forward, his face contorted in a repugnant way. “Don’t you have a party to organize, or some dresses to tailor? I would hate for Carron to lose its sense of fashion while its lord stumbles outside and breaks a nail.”

            Lord Raef moved to reply, but was cut short by King Maras.

            “Enough!” he scolded, “I did not bring you here to bicker like children.” He glanced around the room for a moment before he calmed. “Lord Raef, you will gather your banner men and you will aid Lord Edson as soon as your forces can depart. I will send you a thousand of my best men and Sir Aaron will lead them as your van. Sir Aaron answers to me, and to me alone, so form your strategy accordingly.”

            With an abashed look upon his face, Lord Raef only nodded in reply to his orders, obviously displeased that Sir Aaron Haymond, Captain of the Royal Guard and a knight in title, would, for all intents and purposes, be his commander in the coming battle.

            “What of the Merchant Lord?” the Master of Coin chimed in, his chins slick with the grease of his previous meal. “Last we heard his forces had retaken Dunmont, or at least what was left of it.”

            “There is nothing left to hear. He arrived at Dunmont, found the town in ruins, and put what was left to the torch.” It was Lord Wilan’s turn to speak. “My scouts put his small host around fifteen leagues from Garr. Their return will be met with mixed remorse. Garr is already under siege by the very man who rules it. Curfews are in effect. The peasants are paying for what happened to the city of Dunmont, for what happened to the Merchant Lord’s favorite nephew.”

            King Maras waved a dismissive hand in the air. “We can worry about Victor Grey in the future, I am sure that his vengeance will fuel him for some time. There are more pressing matters.”

            A crude smile wrapped Lord Ott’s face as King Maras leveled his eyes across the table. “Lord Borlay requires a lesson, I am afraid. Sir Lyle will accompany you, with a number of my men. I will leave the particulars to your discretion, Lord Ott, but make no mistake—I want the realm to know  what happens to traitors, Warden Lords or not. I will join you within the fortnight.”