Faerie Knight 158

158 - King’s Harbor

Hungry soldiers can’t fight.

• The Campaign Journals of General Aurelius, volume IV

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16th Day of High Summer’s Moon, AC 297

The Perce-Pierre had left Rocher de la Garde with nearly empty holds: sea rations, barrels of water, and only a few chests filled with coin from the treasuries of Baron Urien.  Now, dropping anchor just south of where the Avainne River spilled into King’s Harbor, she wallowed under a heavy load of food.

Clarisant stood at the rail, where she could get a clear view of not only the capital city of Lutetia, but the army encamped just south of the walls, lit by torches and campfires.  King Lionel had told her to look for them not at Rocher de la Garde, but somewhere along the march north, but she had not hoped to find them already besieging the capital.  To her right and left, two Raetian ships, the Dögun and the Narhvalur, weighed anchor as well, similarly laden with supplies.  With the funds in the Bank of Raetia, they’d had enough funds for more, but this was all that could be spared.

“Quicker journey back then out,” Dame Etoile remarked.

“We did not have so far to go,” Claire replied, turning away from the shore.  Her eyes immediately fell to the sword of ice resting in a sheath at the knight’s side.  “And we did not have to worry about encountering the leviathan.”

“No, your husband did for that monster,” Ettie agreed.  “Can’t say I understand how, exactly.”

“Nor do I,” Claire admitted.  “But he was there when I needed him, all the same.”  She wished that he had come again, during their voyage: perhaps in the quiet of the long nights at sea, when she felt most alone.  She had so many questions for him, and in his absence it was easy to fear and to doubt.  “Are Yaél and Henry ready?” she asked, pushing aside her thoughts for what needed to be done in the present.

“They were just about packed when I came up,” Ettie assured her.  “And Captain Morrel has his men lowering a boat for us.”

“Good,” Claire said, drawing her cloak tighter around her body.  Without the warmth of the sun, the sea breeze cut straight to the bone and chilled like ice.  She set off down the length of the ship, Etoile trailing her in her armor, until they found Henry and Yaél, loading their bags and trunks into a rowboat suspended by ropes, just below the deck of the ship.

“Here you are, Lady Clarisant,” Captain Morrel said, approaching her with a grin.  “Home safe after a successful voyage.  It is a relief to me not to have failed your father in this.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, taking the old man’s wrinkled hand in her own and giving him a smile.  “For everything you have done.  I will never forget it.”

“You take care of yourself, now,” Morrel insisted, leading her over to the rail by their linked hands.  “A siege is no place for an expecting mother, but I suppose you already know that.”

“I need to report to the king,” she told him.  “But I can promise you, Captain, I have no plans to engage in battle.  All I want now is to see the war over, the sun returned, and go back home with my husband.”

“These men will row you to shore,” Captain Morrel said, helping her over the rail.  Standing in the boat, Henry reached out with both arms to pull her in, not letting Claire go until she had her feet under her.  Etoile followed her over without help, and once they were all settled on the wooden benches, the sailors began hauling on the ropes, lowering them down to the black waves of the bay.

“Do you think Trist’s with them already?” Yaél asked, leaning over on the bench across from Claire.

“I’m not certain,” Claire admitted, with a frown.  “I did not get the impression he was still a captive, but we only had a moment to speak.”  Avitus ripped them out, Trist had told her, when she’d seen the cloth over his eyes. But I can see without them.  Don’t worry about me.  It sounded to her like that meant he’d escaped, but he hadn’t actually said so.  If he had gotten away, it would make sense for him to be with Lionel’s army, but she didn’t want to be disappointed.

Captain Morrel’s sailors rowed them to shore quick enough, and Narvonnian soldiers were waiting to help drag the rowboat up onto the sand.  If they’d already taken the capital city, it would have been easier to simply tie the three ships up to the pier and unload the cargo there.  As it was, the rowboats would have to make the trip back and forth dozens of times, to be loaded and unloaded.  It would be the work of hours, if not days.

Claire stepped onto the sand to find a welcoming party assembled, in the light of half a dozen torches held by mounted knights.  “Lady Clarisant,” King Lionel said, and though he maintained the formal facade of a ruler, she thought by the way his shoulders relaxed that he must be feeling relief.  “I am pleased to see you safe.”

“I wish we could have brought more,” Claire apologized, giving a cursy made only slightly awkward by the unsteady sand beneath her boots.  “But Basilea is rationing food already, and three ships’ worth was all they could spare, even at the highest prices.”

“It will be enough,” Lionel said, stepping forward and taking her hands to raise her back up.  He had lost weight, she could see it in his face.  “Our men will eat better tonight than they have in weeks.”

“Is my husband here?” Clarisant asked, and despite herself, she prayed for the king to answer yes.

Lionel Aurelianus shook his head.  “No,” he admitted.  “But I do have word of him.  Dame Margaret,” he called, and a ghost stepped forward.

“We’d heard you were dead,” Claire said, unable to believe her eyes.

“Not dead,” Margaret Bowman assured her, with a smile.  Her armor was a patchwork, but her eyes were bright.  “Thanks to your husband, in fact.  He saved three of us - Sir Lorengel, Sir Cynric and myself.  I have quite the story to tell you.”

“As do we,” Claire said.  “We saw him in Basilea, where he killed Forneus.”

King Lionel frowned.  “I do not see how he could have possibly gottten that far north so quickly,” he remarked.

“I may have something of an idea,” Dame Margaret admitted.  “But come.  Let us get you and your party into camp, and out of the chill, where we can speak more.”

Lionel’s eyes scanned over Henry, Yaél, and Dame Etoile, settling on the hilt of her sword.  “I recall bidding safe journey to five of you,” he remarked.

“John Granger gave his life along the way,” Claire said.  “I will tell you everything, Your Majesty.”  She shivered.  “But it would be nice to get warm.”

“Of course,” Lionel said.  “Come, we brought horses for you.”

“Is the Lady Ismet waiting for us in the camp?”  Claire asked, following along.

The king shook his head.  “No.  It seems we have that story to tell you, as well.”

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Lionel took them to his pavilion, the same tent that had travelled with him to Falais and back, and then north to the very edge of Lutetia.  With guarding duties split between five Exarchs once again, Dame Etoile and Henry were dismissed to get a hot meal and some sleep, while Yaél was permitted to stay as Claire’s attendant.

She suspected it had as much to do with the king’s own squire, Isdern, and it brought a smile to Claire’s face to see the two young friends hunched together, scraping the crumbs and sauces off their plates with hunks of bread, at the far end of the pavilion’s great sitting area.  Her brother Gareth was here, as well, and had caught Claire up in an embrace as soon as she’d stepped through the flap of canvas that kept the heat of the braziers from leaking out the entrance into the night.  She recognized Sir Florent, representing the troops from Rive Ouest, though it appeared her father had stayed behind to oversee the wreck of Rocher de la Garde.  Finally, Commander Shīrkūh, who led the Caliphate troops in Ismet’s absence, seemed to have settled into an easy familiarity with the others during the long march north.

It was difficult to tell time, without a true sun, but Claire guessed the hour quite late by the time tales had been told on all sides.  Dame Margaret sat on one side of the king, and Sir Bors on the other, while Sir Guiron kept watch outside the tent.

“It is good to hear the monster is dead, at the least,” Gareth said with a scowl, then took a deep draft of watered wine from his cup.  “Though I would have preferred you not to be in the middle of it all.  And bargaining with the faeries again - that is dangerous.  I hope you did not give up anything too precious.”

“Nothing I would not have lost anyway,” Claire answered, keeping her face as neutral as she could.  “So when last you saw my husband, he was at the Court of King Auberon,” she asked Dame Margaret.

“Aye, but not planning to remain for long,” the Exarch of Rahab explained.  “I think he had nearly learned what he needed to from the faerie queen and her daughter by the time we were leaving, and I could tell he wanted to be off as soon as he could.”

“This trick of seeing to distant places,” Lionel remarked.  “Which I assume must be how he intervened in Basilea to protect you.  And he saw Ismet in the Maghreb, as well, which is how he sent us word that she was well.”

“He told me that he didn’t need his eyes anymore,” Clarisant said, but she couldn’t help but flinch at the thought.  How Trist must have suffered, hanging in a cage of iron, nothing but bleeding holes where he should have been able to see…

Margaret reached out and rested a hand on Claire’s arm.  “He was well when we left him,” she said, gently.  “And he wanted to see you more than anything.  But he has an oath to keep.”

“Which brings us,” Lionel said, “to what we must do here.  Sir Trist will see his errand on behalf of the faeries complete, I have no doubt of it, and we hope that what he does will benefit us here.  But we cannot help him, nor are we in any position to aid Ismet.  She will have to deal with the Plague Dancer, and free the Caliphate, on her own.  Our task - the battle in front of us - is to force our way into Lutetia, and kill Avitus.”

“Can we?” Gareth asked.  “I mean no offense Dame Margaret, but you fought him once before and lost.  If I understand what has been shared here this evening correctly, the man is three hundred years old, and an Exarch that entire time.  He must be the most dangerous man in the world.”

“Last time we were taken by surprise,” Margaret said.

“And you did not have me,” Bors added, with a growl.  “Trist and I reaped plenty of Tithes from Andrammelech.  We will face Avitus.”

“But he is not the only threat here,” Claire pointed out.  She opened her copy of the Marian Codex, brought all the way from Rocher de la Garde to Basilea and then back again over the sea.  “From your descriptions,” she said with a nod to Dame Margaret, “he has three daemons in addition to the Serpent of Gates.  And while no one has seen the Sun Eater since the battle at Falais, we must assume that monster is in play as well.”

“Five daemons for five Exarchs,” Lionel said.  “And the abomination they have created from Saint Camiel Besides.  We will need to defeat them in detail, draw them out one by one.”

“You have one more person who can kill a daemon,” Claire pointed out.  “Dame Etoile carries a blade of ice given to her by the faerie queen of winter.”

“Then we will use her,” Lionel said, looking around the table.  “I hope that everyone is well rested.  We are not leaving this tent tonight until we have a plan.”