Robin Hardy Online

Games of God and Men: Book Six of the Latter Annals of Lystra

from the back cover:
Driven to distraction keeping control of twin twelve-year-old daughters, Surchatain Ares welcomes the services of a jester at the palace of Westford. Upon finding himself a celebrity and a confidant of the Surchatain, the jester attempts to discredit his main rival for Ares' attention: the Surchataine Nicole.

In countering the jester's attack, Nicole turns to the superior gamesmanship of the beautiful, heartless Chataine Renée, who plays her part with such skill that the jester becomes a pawn in a power struggle between two provinces. However, the game is altered by the unexpected entrance of another player—Renée's younger brother Henry. Exiled for his faithfulness, struggling with the apparent capriciousness of God, Henry makes the move that determines the game's outcome.

Chapter One

Surchatain Ares sat in his receiving room with a small, soiled roll of parchment on the table in front of him. He took up the roll, deliberately breaking the wax seal on its edge, then unrolled the parchment and smoothed out the creases to read the hasty lettering on the inside.

While he was thus engaged, the door to the corridor opened to accommodate the rushed entrance of a nymph in a blue silk dress topped with a white rabbit surcoat. Being on the edge of young womanhood, she wore skirts that fell precisely midcalf—when they were not being blown about in tumultuous motion—and thick white hose over slender legs. She had long chestnut tresses, clean and curling, bound up in a ponytail by a single blue ribbon that threatened to give way from the stress at any moment.

"Papa!" the vision cried, rushing to the rear of the low-backed chair in order to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek—the scarred one. That deep, ugly gash, and the man to whom it belonged, were so legendary in Lystra that admirers and imposters alike had begun mutilating their own faces in attempts to reproduce his likeness.

Eyes still on the letter, he did not look up as his daughter propounded, "Papa, today is the wolf hunt and you promised you would think about letting us go watch!" By "us," she was referring to herself and her twin sister. "Our guardians have the sleigh all ready and Bonnie is getting her cloak on now. I know that it snowed again last night, but we have plenty of furs, and Tobias says the snowfall didn't cover the stakes, so you can still see where the road runs. Please, Papa?" she pleaded with beguiling green eyes.

"No, Bonnie," he replied.

She let down in a disappointed pout before catching the discrepancy. Flustered, she began, "But, I'm Sophie—" Only then did her father look up with the barest twinkle in his grave brown eyes. She fell on him, consumed by embarrassed giggles. "Beast! How did you know?"

Smiling, he turned in his chair to lift her onto his lap despite the petticoats entangled around her long legs. "You are not your sister, dear one. The pretense is not convincing."

"Yes, it is! We can fool everyone but you and Mama!" she insisted, snuggling him, her forehead tucked under his smooth jaw. Ares expended the effort to shave daily around his scar mostly because his children preferred it. The last time he came home from an extended trip with a beard, Bonnie ran away from him in tears. He never understood how facial hair could be more frightening than the cleft in his face, but—

"Oh, Papa, please let us go watch the hunt. It's so boring not being able to go out at all. I hate the winter. I hate the cold," she fumed as someone who slept under downy quilts and never had to lift a finger to light a fire.

"Bonnie, how long has Tobias been your guardian?" he asked. The question of the wolf hunt being a dead issue, he would not address it again.

"Um, I don't know. A few years, I think," she replied in disinterest, playing with the frill of his white shirt that peeked out from the black brocade coat. It amounted to meager adornment compared to the finery his daughter wore. "Papa, why do you always wear black? It's so tiresome. Wouldn't you like to wear something colorful for a change?"

He shifted to look at his daughter, soon to be twelve. Now forty-seven himself, Ares had already exceeded the life expectancy of men in this century. But visitors to the court at Westford were awed by his vigor. They whispered that he must have found some magic potion, else what could account for his still-muscular build, his clarity of sight, hearing, and mind, his full brown hair?—only slightly greying at the temples. And he still had all his own teeth! He was imposing enough to rule with little distraction, for the most part. In the last three years, he had been challenged only once for the throne.

That challenger, a young man from Dansington named Sulander, discovered the hard way that the old man was not to be trifled with. As the challenged party, Ares was entitled to choose weapons. He chose the estoc, which the unfortunate Sulander had never seen before. Given no time to practice with the newfangled sword before Commander Thom shouted, "Begin!" the young contender attempted a cut, which did indeed nick the Surchatain's arm as he deflected the blow. But he answered with a straight thrust which, much to Sulander's surprise, pierced his jerkin clear through to his heart.

Following, Ares had sent ten units—a hundred men from the Red Regiment—to seek out all of Sulander's family and friends. Anyone who might have known of his ambition, and supported him in it, were collected with all their possessions and driven out of Lystra into southern Qarqar. Ever since then, whenever any young man began boasting over his ale how he could whip the old Surchatain and take over the throne, he was inevitably beaten senseless by his own companions first.

In response to his daughter's question about his attire, Ares replied, "What could I wear that would grace me better than two beautiful daughters? Would I be more attractive in motley, like Twomey?"

Bonnie laughed, clinging to his neck. "Only if you told stories like Twomey! He is so wonderfully amusing!" Her father nodded slightly, narrowing his eyes, and she quickly turned serious. "Oh, Papa, I know you don't like jesters—or don't like Twomey—but please don't send him away. He makes me laugh myself silly. It would be unbearable over the winter without him," she pleaded.

He regarded her. "Would it mean that much to you to keep this fool around a while longer?"

"Oh, yes, Papa, so much! Be a dear and let him stay. He doesn't eat much and Uncle Giles says he doesn't drink nearly as much as Carmine," Bonnie urged.

Ares allowed not so much as a flicker of pain to cross his face at the mention of his old friend, and only said, "Then, for you, he may stay."

"Thank you, Papa," Bonnie sighed, hugging his neck.

"Now, about Tobias, your guardian," Ares broached. When Bonnie had nothing immediate to offer on the guardian's behalf, her father went on, "He must be rotated out of service soon, you know. All guardians are rotated."

"I know," she said. He listened hard for any particular inflection in the words, but found none.

"So," he posed, "would you like a say in selecting your new guardian?"

She sat up in his lap. "Can I?" she asked with gleaming eyes.

"Yes. After I have the Commander nominate candidates, I will narrow them down to the top three or four, then let you make the final choice."

"Oh, Papa, really?" she breathed.

"Yes. It's important for you to feel comfortable with your guardian, and I think you are mature enough to base your selection on something other than how he wears his hair or whether he has nice eyes," he said dryly.

"Certainly, Papa," she said with that touch of haughtiness that children mistake for maturity.

"Well then, Chataine, let me get the Commander up here to start on it," he said, nudging her from his lap.

She stood, shaking out her petticoats from habit. "How long will it take to get them ready for me to choose from?"

He considered the question as he rose from behind the table to stretch his legs. Although the room had been plastered to seal cracks in the stone, and a fire burned heartily in the large fireplace, it was still cold enough that he had to move around frequently to shake off the stiffness. His old battle injuries haunted him daily during the winter. "Give us at least a fortnight, Chataine."  She exhaled impatiently, and he nodded. "Call the sentry in."

She went to the door and opened it, gesturing to the sentry in the corridor. He stepped into the room, saluting. Ares told him, "Go tell the Second Oswald that I give permission for the twins to be taken sleigh riding out to Willowring Lake and back. Not on the wolf hunt."

"Papa!" Bonnie cried in joy, jumping up and down.

Ares looked down on her. "Uncle Oswald will take you himself. And see if your mother wishes to go." Neither Oswald nor Giles was related to the royal family. The gentle, massive Oswald had earned their love through his unflagging loyalty, and Giles, the palace Steward, had adopted the twins with a vengeance when it became apparent that, because of the numerous gifts they constantly received, they cared little for spending anything themselves.

"Papa, you're wonderful!" Bonnie cried, catapulting herself amid a flurry of skirts into his arms.

"If my daughter thinks so, then my life is complete," he murmured. In a flash she was out the door into the corridor, the sentry trailing her. "And don't run," he said long after the blue lightning had vanished. When a second sentry approached to take the place of the first, Ares instructed him, "Summon Tobias."

As that sentry departed, a third came to take his place. And so they would continually replace themselves, which is what they had been trained to do. Everything went so much better when they did what they were supposed to do. Ares sighed and shut the door.

Returning to the table, he dropped heavily into the chair and took up the small scroll once again. It read, "My darling. We will leave today on the wolf hunt but I have made arrangements not to come back. It will be well. I am yours forever." This message had been intercepted from the hand of a maid who confirmed that she had been instructed to deliver it to Bonnie. The informer who brought it to Ares told him that its author was Tobias. But Ares did not know this for a fact. 

At the knock on the door, Ares placed the scroll in the pocket of his jacket and stood. "Enter."

The sentry opened the door to announce, "Tobias, as you summoned, Surchatain."

"Very good," Ares said genially. "You stay as well," he told the sentry.

The man stood aside respectfully as Bonnie's guardian entered. He was young—probably no more than twenty-three—and pretty, as little girls liked. "Tobias." Ares greeted him with outstretched hand. "You have served so faithfully that I fear I have abused you. How long have you been Bonnie's guardian now?"

"I believe—about two years, Surchatain," Tobias replied, visibly sweating.

Ares winced. "Too long to be saddled with babysitting. Forgive my negligence in not rotating you out sooner."

"It has been an honor to serve her—you, Surchatain," Tobias replied.

"Yes, yes, I know," Ares said dismissively, ignoring his slip of the tongue. "And you have performed honorably, for which I commend you." Practiced negotiator that Ares was, he still had to turn away as he said this, to hide the telltale clenching of his jaw. Tobias' manner did not lend credence to his innocence.

But Ares had seen enough innocent men put to death to make him cautious in issuing judgments; therefore, he would not hold Tobias guilty unless it was certain. With the honor of his daughter at stake, however, he had to act. "Now go gather your gear, for you will be released to genuine soldiering today."

Tobias paused. "I thank you, Surchatain. But might it not wait until after the wolf hunt? I have been conscripted to help."

Ares smiled on him in apparent approval, but any longtime associate who saw him smile like that would have been shaking in his boots. "Faithful to the end, eh, Tobias? But have no fear; I will not hold you to petty obligations when your release has already been granted. Go get your gear and report to the Second Rhode."

Turning back to the table, Ares could feel the young man's hesitation. "Oh—one more matter," Ares said, facing him again, and Tobias straightened. "I would like your recommendations as to who should take your place. Sit and write out at least ten names for me." He gestured to a pile of blank parchment and a quill in ink on the table.

"As you wish, Surchatain." Tobias sat distractedly in the Surchatain's chair, then took up the quill, wiped the nib on the lip of the inkwell and began to scrawl out names. Ares watched him steadfastly.

When he had achieved a short column of names, he looked up, but Ares prompted, "A few more."

Dipping the quill again and biting his lip, Tobias added three names to the list. Ares said, "Excellent." He gestured to the sentry, instructing, "You will assist Tobias in collecting his gear and taking it to the officers' quarters. He is to wait there until he receives his orders from the Second."

As the sentry saluted, Tobias asked tightly, "Where am I to be stationed, Surchatain?"

Ares glanced at him in mild surprise. "That is your superior's decision. I'm sure he will place you wherever you are most needed. You are dismissed."

Grimacing, Tobias saluted and turned out with the sentry down the corridor. When the next sentry approached, Ares told him, "Summon the Commander." That sentry saluted, sprinting away, and Ares shut the door. He sat at the table and removed the crumpled roll from his pocket. Opening it, he laid it beside Tobias' list to compare the lettering point by point.  

He was still poring over the two documents when a knock signaled Thom's arrival. Ares sat back as he entered, and the two eyed each other for a moment. Thom still sported a short, stiff beard, along with new, deepening lines in his face and an extra ten pounds. "Congratulations, Thom. Another son, I hear." This was the second; Thom's firstborn Ryal was eight years old.

The Commander glanced down. "Thank you, Surchatain."

"What is his name?"

"Tor, Surchatain."

Ares smiled slightly. "I hear that he required the large tub for his first bath."

"He's—adequate, Surchatain. Deirdre had a time of it, but Doctor Savary says she'll be fine. She is highly dissatisfied with the nursery mistress," he added thoughtfully. 

Ares leaned forward. "Then the Surchataine Nicole will find an appropriate gift with which to placate her." Diverting to other matters, he extended the scroll to the Commander. "This was to be delivered to Bonnie this morning."

Thom read the message, his lips tightening. "From Tobias?"

"Twomey says so," Ares replied.

Thom paused. "If this is true, it means death for the guardian. Have you any way of verifying this?"

"I asked Tobias to write out recommendations for his re-placement. Judge for yourself." Ares handed him the list.

Thom compared the two writings for several minutes while Ares waited without comment. The Commander then decided, "They are the same hand."

"I felt so, yes," Ares said softly.

Handing both back to him, Thom said, "Then he must suffer the consequences."

Ares stood with a troubled sigh. "An execution? No, I cannot see that. Not a hint, not a breath of scandal must touch Bonnie from this. I do not believe she even understands the young man's feelings—when I told her he must be rotated out of service, she accepted it without a murmur. She was far more fearful of losing Twomey!"

Thom allowed himself a thin smile. "Distancing yourself from the jester publicly seems to have served you well. But, you are saying that you cannot punish Tobias without also casting suspicion on the Chataine."

"Exactly. So I wish you to write out a commendation, and then instruct Rhode to send him to Nicole's Harbor. The moment the snows abate, he is to be dispatched to Odea."

This was an outpost on the far western border of Lystra, a rough station in inhospitable country at the foot of the Poison Greens, four days' travel on horseback in good weather from Westford. Its existence was due to Eugenian merchants, escorted by mercenaries, constantly trying to break the border without paying tariffs. Also, slave traders rebuffed from entering Lystra through southern Qarqar routinely attempted to gain entry around the western edge of the Poison Greens instead. The spartan outpost, originally built to house five hundred men, now accommodated a thousand, so the soldiers stationed there spent most of their off-duty hours building additions. It was not a popular place of deployment, to say the least.

Thom stiffened. "Yes, Surchatain, but—I strongly protest commending this traitor in writing. That cheapens the commendation for those who deserve it."

Ares eyed him sideways. "Your rebuke is noted, Commander. I have commended him verbally before one witness. That will have to suffice."

Relaxing, Thom acknowledged, "Thank you, Surchatain. And how long shall Tobias be stationed in Odea?" His lip curled knowingly.

Ares nodded at the Commander's assumption. "Forever. If he returns to Westford of his own accord, I will certainly put him to death."

"Done, Surchatain," Thom said. To warn the renegade guardian of his peril did not cross the mind of either man. All guardians pledged their lives to protecting the lives and honor of their charges; Tobias' egregious disregard of that vow merited no special favors. If he obeyed orders from here on out, well and good. If not. . . .

Almost lightheartedly, Ares tossed both parchments into the flames. "Ah. That reminds me. You're to nominate ten men to be potential guardians. After I have interviewed them, I promised Bonnie the final choice."

Thom's bristly jaw dropped. "You're going to allow the Chataine to choose her own guardian?"

Ares smiled back at him. "So we had better make sure that any we present to her are worthy, eh?"

"The burdens you place on me," Thom muttered, and Ares chuckled.

Then he sobered, adding, "The Second Oswald is about to take the Chataines out in the sleigh. He might need to be informed that he is responsible for warding Bonnie, and why."

"Surchatain." Thom saluted on his way out.

At that moment, having been summoned for the sleigh ride, Sophie's guardian, Seane, was meeting up with the Chataines in the foyer. This stone hall, sixty feet long from the foot of the wide, curving stairway to the tall, iron-banded double doors, was almost large enough to be a banquet room itself. Still, it was adequately warmed by the mammoth fireplace to the right of the stairway, across from the chapel doors. It helped that the hall was crowded as usual with merchants and tradesmen who conducted business on a daily basis with the palace. The thought that a mere snowfall should interfere with such business was ludicrous. 

Seane's charge Sophie and her sister had just descended the stairway, giggling and whispering, while Seane anxiously looked from one to the other. He was relieved, firstly, that they were not dressed exactly alike—one wore white furs while the other wore brown. That enabled him tell them apart, once he ascertained which was which. Those first few minutes were perilous: if he guessed and was wrong, they laughed at him. Occasionally, they tricked him, pretending to be each other.

Recalling the time that he had spent the whole day ignorantly warding Bonnie still made Seane break into a sweat. The Surchatain had glimpsed him escorting his charge back from town and paused to query where Sophie was. In heart-stopping panic, Seane had deposited Bonnie in the foyer and ridden back like a madman to the confectioner's shop where Tobias and Sophie had been lingering.

Taking possession of her, Seane had informed Tobias of the girls' deception. Tobias was wroth, Seane remembered. He still wondered at it. There was every reason to be afraid, because if something happened to one of the girls when she was supposed to be in her guardian's care, the Surchatain would not countenance the explanation, "They tricked us." But Tobias had been exceedingly angry about it.

In the foyer now, Seane ventured, "Chataine Sophie?" and they both turned toward him.

"I'm Sophie, Seane," the one in brown said.

"No, I'm Sophie," said the one in white, a wicked glint in her eye.

The first turned back to the second. "We agreed not to fool our guardians any more, Bonnie. They could get in very bad trouble with Papa." While her sister considered this with a disappointed pout, the foyer doors opened amid a blast of icy air. The Second Oswald, in his regular uniform with a threadbare army cloak tossed over his shoulders, gestured. "Your sleigh waits, Chataines."

Hoisting the hood of his cloak, Seane took each girl's arm to escort them down the slippery stone steps into the courtyard. Due to the traffic in and out, the cobbled courtyard was a mess of trampled snowdrifts, dirty slush and icy patches.

At the foot of the steps, Oswald reached down to lift each girl on a trunklike arm. He carried them that way through the crowded, treacherous courtyard, secure in his footing. Seane slipped and slid behind him until they had exited the palace gates to the sleigh waiting on the snowy road.

Here, Oswald deposited the girls directly into their seat. Seane scampered up behind them, glancing at the mounted bodyguard that stood nearby. But when Oswald climbed into the driver's seat and clucked to the pair of horses harnessed to the sleigh, Seane leaned over the rail. "Wait! Where's Tobias?"

The Second glanced over his shoulder. Even with three passengers in back, his large frame on the driver's seat caused the front of the runners to dig down into the snow. "He's been rotated out of service. Chataine Bonnie's got me today."

Seane's mouth hung open. "Rotated out? In winter? Why—?"

Oswald slapped the reins on the horses' backs, causing the sleigh to lurch forward so that Seane landed at the Chataines' feet in a heap. While they laughed at him, he scrambled back onto the seat across from them. Right now he almost envied Tobias, because guarding these girls had to be the most painful, humiliating duty imaginable. 

In the Surchatain's suite on the second floor, Ares steeled himself against the cold to open the leaded-glass windows and look out over the pristine white countryside beyond the front courtyard. Few tracks marred its smooth skin, as few men or beasts roamed in this weather.

True, the Village Branch to the southwest of the palace and the paved roads on either side were thronged year-round with travelers from Westford to Nicole's Harbor or back again. The wolves were always a plague in winter, however, which was why the hunt had been organized to begin with. At a bounty of two royals a pelt, a good bowman could earn the equivalent of three months' standard wages in one day.

Movement beyond the gates caught Ares' eye, and he looked down on the Chataines' sleigh heading out toward the lake. He could discern both girls wrapped up thoroughly on one seat and Sophie's guardian in the seat across from them. Nicole was not with them. Oswald himself was driving the sleigh while four soldiers rode alongside—a precaution that must have originated with the Second.

Ares inhaled the cold, stinging air in gratitude. Had he known nothing of Tobias' plans, and allowed the girls to go watch the hunt with their guardians and Oswald, Tobias would have had no more chance to abscond with Bonnie than he could walk out of the treasury with an armful of gold, and live.

He heard the Commander reenter the receiving room behind him. "What of Seane, Thom?" Ares asked, eyes below. "How is he performing?"

Approaching to glance down through the window, Thom raised his brows. "I hear that he is overvigilant to the point of nervousness, Surchatain."

"He has only been on duty for—what? A few months?"

"Five weeks, Surchatain," Thom replied.

Ares nodded. "Good." After closing the window, he was mildly surprised to see the Commander's face settle into a troubled, indecisive expression. "Thom?"

He exhaled. "Captain Crager recommends, again, that Henry be promoted to the Blue." Of the four regiments in the army—the Green, Gold, Red, and Blue—the Blue was the highest, comprising men who had exhibited uncommon valor on the field.

Ares lifted his chin. "And you don't agree."

Thom, known for his logic and fair-mindedness, took his time to phrase his objections and still stumbled over the words. "It just seems—obscene, in a way. His grandfather Talus killed your grandfather to usurp the throne, and his father Cedric almost succeeded in having you beheaded."

"Which Henry prevented," Ares pointed out.

"Which the Law prevented," Thom countered. "True, Henry has served bravely, but . . . for those of us who remember his lineage—" Thom broke off, glancing at the old banner on the wall, that of Ares' great-great-grandfather, Roman. Those faded, frayed patches of fabric depicting a lion and a cross had come to be practically revered by those who lived by Roman's Law. "It is a hard thing to swallow."

"So . . . Talus was more equitable than we," Ares said.

"What?" Thom said, shocked.

"Talus promoted me to lieutenant, though I was the one who most threatened his line," Ares observed.

Thom's color rose. "Talus would have sent you to the block but for his brother Reynard, who stood in as your guardian. I resent that you equate us, Surchatain."

Ares smiled, glancing down. "Well said. Let me ask you this, though: If it had been anyone but Henry who spotted the brigands swimming up the Passage in the dead of night, and disabled the five of them virtually unaided when the watchman refused to open the gate, would he have been promoted by now?"

Thom's jaw tightened. "Yes."

A few seconds of silence passed, then Ares said, "If you are waiting for me to order you to promote him, I won't do that. I am no longer his guardian, but you are his Commander. Your decisions stand."

Thom passed a hand over his face in resignation. "Barring specific knowledge to the contrary, I must accept the recommendations of my officers. Henry will be promoted." He felt compelled to add, "But, being already certified in the Law, that makes him eligible for promotion in rank."    

"So it does," Ares observed. "You are dismissed, Commander."

Saluting, Thom withdrew, and Ares sat reluctantly to attend the ever-pressing correspondence on the table. He perked up at the sound of the bell tolling, but sank back down when it struck only one. Afternoon drills with the Greens would not be for another two hours yet, and Ares was restless for the exercise they afforded. Sometimes he desired to go back to simple soldiering and leave all the administration to others. In that area, Carmine always excelled—

At this point, Ares blocked out thoughts of anything but the next letter atop the pile. It was yet another overture from Surchatain Fanchon of Seleca to reopen trade between the two provinces. Ares was wary of the idea, given Seleca's history of slave trade, but Fanchon maintained that he had purged his province of it as much as possible, and there was some evidence that the slavers had mostly relocated to southern Qarqar.

Given the horrendous suffering that the slavers inflicted on whole populations, Ares wanted to do more than make them move; he wanted to eradicate them. A few notorious slavers had large bounties on their heads, but anyone caught participating in the slave trade was subject to death upon discovery. The only people who had nothing to fear from the slavers were the lepers.

In the last few years, a virulent form of leprosy had sprung up all over the Continent, everywhere at once, it seemed. The disease was so feared that its sufferers were branded on their rights hands as identification and warning. They were shunned wherever they went, given no lodging nor even food, and slavers would not touch them, lest they infect their whole stock.

Lepers were not branded in Westford, as Ares considered it unreasonably cruel when Doctor Savary insisted that the disease could be cured. But neither were they welcome here. In an attempt to alleviate their plight, Ares had set aside funds for a leprosarium to be built not far from the abbey south of Westford. It was slow going up because no laborers could be found who would do the work other than the lepers themselves. But now it was almost completed.

All that aside, Ares studied the seal on Fanchon's letter, which depicted a gryphon—a beast with the body and hind legs of a lion and the wings and head of an eagle. Because the gryphon was reputed to feast on the flesh of men, Fanchon's choice of emblem was not particularly reassuring to Ares.

He simply couldn't know whether it would be prudent or disastrous to resume trade relations with Seleca, as an earlier venture into that province in cooperation with Lord Lieterstad had produced middling returns. And since any Selecan traders would of necessity pass through Scylla to reach Westford, Ares would need the cooperation of the Scyllan Surchatain, irascible Magnus. Yet, on the outside chance that it would prove profitable—Ares pushed back from the table and headed for the door, intending to summon the Counselor for his opinion on the matter.

Opening the door, he had an instant to brace himself before Henry, who had his hand on the outer latch preparatory to rushing inside, smacked into him with such force that they both were knocked down.

copyright 2008 Robin Hardy

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