Measure and the Truth

CHAPTER THREE

The three great towers of Vingaard Keep rose above the plain like a triple-peaked summit standing alone on a small island. The great Vingaard River, nearly a mile wide there, curled and meandered to the east of the ancient fortress. A smaller tributary, Apple Creek, guarded the southern approach to the castle and surrounding town. Apple Creek was a raging torrent as it rose in the heights near the crest of the Vingaard Mountains, but where it meandered across the plain to join the mighty river, it was merely a wide, sluggish stream with a muddy bottom and swampy, reed-choked banks. The waterway was not deep, though the soft bed made it a major impediment to the maneuvering of an army.

The Palanthian Legion marched out of the mountains and approached the keep along a road that followed the south bank of the creek. Soon after they had started across the plains, a message from General Dayr arrived, reporting the reasonable progress of the Crown Army. A day later, and ten miles short of Vingaard, Jaymes called a halt, putting his army into a fortified camp.

There was a sturdy span called the Stonebridge over the Apple, well downstream from where the legion camped, but none of the emperor’s officers questioned his decision. The bridge and its approaches were within catapult range of the fortress, and if in fact this looming confrontation came to be, that was not a location for any sensible soldier. Besides, there was a ford near their camp, where the banks were dry and the bottom of the creek was lined with a bed of boulders and gravel-the only such crossing until they reached the mouth of the stream and the ancient bridge.

General Weaver, the legion’s tactical leader under Jaymes’s overall command, joined the emperor on a low hill overlooking Apple Creek. In the distance they could see the elegant trio of spires of the keep. “Any word from General Dayr?” asked Weaver.

“The Crown Army is only a day’s march south of the keep,” Jaymes replied. “As I expected, they are making good time. He’s crossed over to the west bank of the river. What have you learned about the situation in our immediate neighborhood?”

The emperor gestured to a nearby grove of apple trees, and beyond it the vast stretch of airy woodland that extended for miles along the other side of the creek.

“The scouts have returned. They report a full regiment of pikemen in that grove, ready to block any attempt at fording. They have archers and heavy infantry to back them.”

“We’d certainly outnumber them,” Jaymes noted.

“Oh, of course,” Weaver replied. “But it would be a bloody crossing.”

“Well, maybe we won’t have to shed blood. Any word from Lord Kerrigan regarding the parley?”

“I dispatched the message to the keep as you requested, Excellency, but there hasn’t been-oh, wait. Here comes my man, Baylor-the one I sent with the message.”

The two commanders rested easily in their saddles as the lone rider urged his horse to a gallop and up the gentle slope to the hilltop. He saluted briskly; Weaver returned the formal gesture, while Jaymes nodded.

“Lord Kerrigan accepts your offer of parley, Excellency,” Baylor said, addressing the emperor. “He questioned me strictly on the guarantee of safe passage to your headquarters, and naturally I pledged to him that you gave your word he and his party would be allowed to come and go in safety.”

“Go on,” Jaymes said.

“He will arrive an hour before sunset, and wishes to discuss the possibility of ending this dispute in an amicable fashion. He sends assurances that he does not wish to challenge your ultimate dominion of the empire, and merely wants to negotiate some of the fine points of governance.”

“Very well,” replied the new emperor of Solamnia. He looked at the sky, squinting at the western sun. “We’ll see him in a few hours, then. And then we shall see what we shall see.”

Lord Kerrigan was a tall, hearty duke with an ursine aspect and, under most circumstances, a hearty, infectious laugh. His red hair fanned across his shoulders in a cascade of curls, and his cheeks and nose flushed, either from exposure to the air as he rode the few miles out to the army’s camp or-more likely-from an excessive fondness of strong drink and rich food.

He was accompanied by a knight in a black tunic adorned with the red rose, an elderly priest of Kiri-Jolith, and a younger man in a silk shirt and elegant riding boots. A quick search, supervised by Sergeant Ian of the Freemen, ascertained that none of the three was armed, and the pickets stood aside to let their horses advance, at a walk, toward the table and chairs set up outside the emperor’s headquarters tent.

“The young fellow-that’s his son, Sir Blayne,” Weaver said quietly, standing next to Jaymes as they awaited the truce party’s approach. “A good knight-served five years in the legion. Smarter than his father, I’d say. Back then he was a bit hotheaded, though.”

The four men rode nearly to the circle before reining in. Stewards took their bridles as they dismounted in unison. Kerrigan stepped forward, his eyes frank and inquiring as he advanced toward the emperor. He began to extend his hand until something in Jaymes’s face caused him to halt. Instead, he straightened.

“Excellency. Thank you for hearing my parley.” His voice was friendly, though his expression had grown watchful and guarded.

Jaymes nodded and indicated the chairs that had been arrayed for them. The four men of Vingaard sat, and the emperor took his seat. General Weaver occupied the chair at his right hand, Captain Powell to his left. Lord Templar, the clerist, was the fourth member of the emperor’s party.

“It is impossible not to notice you have disregarded the government’s lawful requests for tax payments, as well as refusing to send recruits for the empire’s army,” Jaymes began. His tone was dry, almost bored, but his eyes bore a different intensity and never wavered from Kerrigan’s face. “My agents have addressed this lapse by letter and emissary for nearly twelve months, now. I regret that it became necessary for me to bring my army into the field. Now you find us before your gates, after a march of no little expense and inconvenience.”

“You’re not at our gates yet,” muttered Sir Blayne, drawing a sharp look from his father. Kerrigan cleared his throat gruffly, and returned the emperor’s even gaze.

“Wait,” Jaymes said, holding up his hand before the duke could speak. He glanced at the young knight, an almost-smile creasing his lips. “The only reason we are not at your gates, young sir, is that I do not want to kill your men unless I have to. Your regiment of pikes-and the hidden archers and swordsmen-in the grove across the stream wouldn’t stand for ten minutes under a concerted assault from my battle-hardened men. But we are here to talk because we hope such an attack won’t be necessary.”

The young knight flushed. His hand brushed the curl of his mustache, and his eyes attempted to bore holes in the emperor’s face. But he held his tongue.

“And, I trust, no attack will be necessary,” said Kerrigan smoothly. “Naturally, I anticipated that your scouting would be thorough; my men were there for you to discover them.

“But, Excellency,” he continued, “as I tried to explain to your emissaries-the burden you place on Vingaard is too heavy. Our economy is on weak footing, and our population is too small. To pay half the tribute you demand would be a hardship-to contribute half the recruits you require would be a terrible burden. To fully comply with your numbers would be to destroy all I have worked to build here. So I beseech you, Excellency, lower the numbers. Let us begin to work together.”

“It seems to me you have been rather fortunate, here in Vingaard.” The emperor gestured to the keep. Even ten miles away, it dominated their view with its lofty towers, the spires so slender they almost seemed to sway in the sky, defying gravity. “In the past few years, Garnet and Thelgaard have been captured and sacked by barbarian forces. Solanthus endured a siege of two years’ duration and a destructive battle of liberation. Caergoth has been transformed into an army and naval base of unprecedented proportion. Palanthas has filled the coffers of the empire with the steel of commerce, and at the same time it has contributed countless men to the ranks of the legion and the knighthood.”

He continued speaking, his eyes daring anyone to interrupt the emperor. “This magnificent road-the highway that runs almost past your fortress gate, that has opened trade routes to Kalaman and places as faraway as Neraka-is a tangible benefit of the new Solamnia. There are inns and wayhouses every mile, smiths working hard for the benefit of travelers-and all of them paying taxes into your treasury. While you, here in Vingaard, have farmed your farms, fished your river, and harvested your apples.”

Sir Blayne clenched his jaw with visible anger, while the flush spread upward from Kerrigan’s cheeks to fully encompass his brows and forehead. Even General Weaver, beside Jaymes, looked at his leader, who had adopted a sharp tone, askance.

The duke took a long moment to draw a breath and calm himself before responding. “Surely you are aware, Excellency, of the contributions made by the men of Vingaard during the campaign against the barbarian Ankhar! Our knights rode with the regiments of Crown and Sword and Rose-a hundred of my men fell in the crossing of the Vingaard, the very river that is our namesake! We were there when the siege of Solanthus was broken-we, too, bravely faced the fire giant in the Battle of the Foothills!”

Jaymes shrugged. “I am not disputing the sacrifices made by your men-they are as worthy, and no more so, than any other knightly unit. Est Sularus oth Mithas, naturally. But that was the story of wartime; this is a time of peace. And these figures are based on property, not men, and it is here that your realm has emerged without the scars that have marked these other places.”

“So you would destroy us with taxes and conscription?”

The emperor shook his head. “These contributions will not destroy you. They should make you stronger-they will make you stronger, for the larger nation needs your contribution of steel and men in order to restore its place as Krynn’s mightiest empire.”

“It is too much, I tell you!” declared Kerrigan, his voice rising almost to a shout.

“You refuse to pay? Still?”

“I cannot pay!”

Jaymes nodded. His eyes flicked to Sergeant Ian, commander of the Freemen, who stood with his small company off to the side of the council. “Then arrest these men now. I want all four of them clapped in irons.”

“Yes, sir!” replied the young knight, waving his men forward.

“This is an outrage!” cried Kerrigan, leaping to his feet, instinctively grasping for the hilt of the sword he wasn’t wearing. “You gave us your word that we would parley under a truce!”

Jaymes stood too, not cowed by the duke’s display of temper. “I changed my mind,” was all he said.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” Selinda said to Coryn as the guard closed the door behind the white-robed enchantress.

“Of course-I would have come at once, but I have been busy in Wayreth for the last ten days.”

Coryn the White embraced her friend, concern reflected in her dark eyes. The wizard’s black hair fell in a loose cascade over her shoulders and halfway down the back of her immaculate white robe. The silky material was embroidered with countless images in silver thread, and the magical sigils seemed to glimmer and gleam in the bright, sunlit room.

Selinda noticed, with surprise, that a few streaks of gray had begun to appear in those thick, dark tresses. But Coryn’s face was smooth and unlined, her features still those of a very young woman.

That was, except for her eyes. The enchantress, the Master of the White Robes, had seen much of the harshness of the world in recent years, and those experiences, Selinda could see, were taking a toll. She remained a very beautiful woman, but there was a maturity and sadness about her that Selinda saw more clearly than ever before.

“What is the news in the city and the land-of Jaymes… and Vingaard?” Selinda asked as the two women settled themselves on a settee beside one of the tall windows-not the pane with the angular crack running across it. The summer morning was balmy, and a slight draft of fresh air wafted from the open doors to the nearby balcony. “No one will tell me any real news, up here.”

“And are you stuck here? Are you not allowed to leave?” Coryn had heard the rumors but hadn’t credited them. She looked at the princess with upraised eyebrows.

Selinda felt the flush creep across her features, a mixture of humiliation and anger. She met her friend’s gaze and spoke quietly. “Jaymes-the emperor,” she amended bitterly, “says it’s because he doesn’t want anything to happen to his-our-baby.”

The wizard blinked and, unless it was Selinda’s imagination, she started, for a fraction of a second. Then a mask fell across Coryn’s face, but it didn’t cover her eyes-and those dark eyes, the princess realized, seemed terribly wounded.

Then the mask was dropped. Coryn’s expression warmed, and she reached out to take Selinda’s hand.

“Well, that’s bigger news than anything I can tell you. Congratulations, my dear.”

Selinda looked away, changing the subject. “But what is the word from over the mountains? As I said, they tell me nothing.”

“Jaymes took his army all the way through the pass and down to Vingaard Keep. I understand that he intends to stand firm and that he doesn’t expect Duke Kerrigan to agree to his terms.”

“So-there will be civil war?” asked Selinda, despairing.

“I hope it won’t come to that-I trust it won’t!” Coryn replied without a great deal of conviction, to Selinda’s ears. “I’m sure they will come to some kind of understanding. The duke has to recognize how important the riches of his realm are to the restoration of empire.”

“ ‘Empire.’ Such an old-fashioned word, it seems to me,” Selinda replied. “I would have thought that, perhaps, the modern world has outgrown such concepts.”

Coryn shook her head firmly. “There will always be a struggle between order and chaos, between light and dark. And a strong empire-an empire that upholds the Solamnic Code, the Oath and the Measure-is the greatest defense we humans have for the future. It is the only thing that can protect us from the scourges that have befallen the elves, from the menace of minotaur invasion that has swept over so much of Ansalon. Of that I am certain.”

“And Jaymes Markham is the only man who could forge such an empire, isn’t he?” the princess asked.

“Frankly, I have invested all of my hopes in him,” Coryn answered. She looked sincerely at the other woman. “He has brought our fractured land together, led our defense against unspeakable evil. He is a great leader-though he has his faults. Even so, I never imagined he would keep you virtually imprisoned here!”

Selinda looked out the window for a long time before squeezing Coryn’s hand and looking again at the enchantress, staring deep into her dark eyes. “Coryn, I need your help.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything I can,” pledged the wizard.

“This baby…” Selinda spoke softly, and her face was wrenched by an expression of raw emotion-grief, rage, and frustration all twisted together. “I am so afraid-I don’t know if I can bear it! What kind of father could Jaymes be? What kind of mother will I be?”

Coryn sat back, shocked. “But-you-you’re pregnant!” she finally stammered. “The die is cast. I mean, it’s natural for you to be afraid-all young mothers are. But… how can I help you?”

“I will not let my life be carried away by this current beyond my control!” Selinda declared in utter sincerity. “Will you advise me, help me? Is it possible… to bring about some delay? To let me think, give me time to reach some decision?”

The wizard stood and moved to the window. Selinda could see that Coryn was trembling, her legs shaking. The White Robe wrung her hands together, stared outside for several interminable seconds, then turned back to the emperor’s wife.

“I–I don’t see what I could do to help,” she said, and Selinda sensed that she spoke candidly. “There is nothing in the repertoire of a white robe wizard that would enable me to do anything even if-”

“Even if you wanted to help me?” the princess finished bitterly.

Coryn sat back down and took both of the other woman’s hands in her own. “I do want to help you. I meant that, and I still mean it. But I spoke the truth: I have no skill, no ability to change or delay this reality.”

Selinda’s eyes welled even as she clenched her jaw. “Isn’t there anyone?” she asked. “Anyone I can turn to?”

The wizard thought for a very long time. “I don’t know, not for sure,” she finally said, speaking very deliberately. “But perhaps you could speak to a priestess… someone you know… a wise woman who could counsel you, could help you to understand, to cope.”

The princess of Palanthas nodded as she worked to keep her expression cool and mask her disappointment. Of course, Coryn was speaking the truth-it wasn’t a matter for a wizard of the white robes.

“There is… there is something I can do that might alleviate your troubles,” Coryn said softly. She removed a slender silver band from a finger on her right hand. “I give this to you-it will assist you in escaping from your prison here.”

Selinda took the tiny circlet and looked at the enchantress curiously. “How?”

“It’s a ring of teleportation. Put it on your third finger-there, like that. To use it, simply twist it three times around your finger, and say the name of the place where you wish to go. It must be some place known to you, and you need to picture it very clearly in your mind. The magic will transport you to that place.”

The princess had a look of awe in her eyes as she examined the little ring, gleaming and silver, on her right hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “Indeed this will help.”

The burly Freemen moved quickly, grabbing Duke Kerrigan and leaping to restrain the two nobles sitting beside him. Chairs tumbled over as the fourth member of the party, Sir Blayne, dived to the ground and, for just a second, eluded the grasp of the guards. The young knight no sooner broke free from the clutching hands than he abruptly disappeared from sight.

“Where’d he go?” demanded one of the Freemen, looking around in confusion.

His partner reacted with more imagination, diving onto the ground where the knight had disappeared, grappling with an unseen presence there. Abruptly a sharp smack sounded, and the guard’s head snapped back. Blood spurted from his nose as he lay, stunned, in the tangle of chairs and feet and milling confusion.

“He’s made himself invisible somehow,” Jaymes declared calmly, pointing as one of the chairs was knocked out of the way. An edge of exasperation crept into his voice. “Surround him! Stop him!”

Then the bearlike Lord Kerrigan suddenly broke free from the two men holding him. With a strangled cry of rage, he lunged toward the emperor, his hands outstretched. One of the Freemen, blade raised, lunged to intervene, and the duke ran headlong onto the blade, forcing the swordsman back a step. With a groan, Kerrigan staggered, dropping to his knees.

“Damn!” snapped Jaymes, grimacing. He looked down at the stricken duke, a crimson blossom spreading across his chest.

And chaos still reigned in the camp. The emperor barked at his men, who ran around like clucking hens trying to locate the invisible Sir Blayne. “Fools!” he demanded. “He’s getting away!”

Another man stepped forward from the army’s entourage. He didn’t wear a knight’s mailed shirt; instead, his tunic was emblazoned with the Kingfisher. He was Sir Garret, one of the mages who like the clerists, had become an integral part of the emperor’s military machine. Garret spoke a word of magic, holding out his hand, fingers splayed.

Immediately young Blayne appeared as the dispelling incantation took effect. The knight could be seen, crouched between a pair of guards, looking around wildly; at first, he didn’t seem to realize that he could be seen.

“There he is!” cried a dozen men at once. As Jaymes’s men lunged for him, Sir Blayne vaulted away with a wild spring-bursting out of the council circle as if he had been shot out of one of the bombards. He streaked toward the waters of nearby Apple Creek with shouts trailing after him.

“Run! Get away from here, my lord!” cried Vingaard’s priest of Kiri-Jolith, firmly in the grasp of several burly Freemen.

Lord Kerrigan writhed on the ground, bleeding from the wound in his chest, breathing bubbles of blood from his mouth and nose.

“More magic, this one a haste spell,” Jaymes remarked, standing above the dying man. “He surprised me. He was prepared for anything, your son.”

“He was prepared-for you!” challenged the duke, struggling bravely for breath, the words bubbling thickly from his bleeding mouth. “He had your measure… I was a fool to think there was a reason… to parley.”

Jaymes shook his head in irritation. That was not in his plan. “Lord Templar!” he shouted. “We need you-at once!”

“Yes, Excellency!” the Clerist Knight reported, dashing up to the emperor and kneeling beside the dying man.

“See if you can help him,” Jaymes ordered irritably.

The priest touched the deceptively small wound, murmuring a prayer to his just and lawful god. The emperor ignored the healing attempt, gazing off into the distance instead, watching as the young knight darted right, then left, evading the rush of a dozen men-at-arms. Horses reared as he darted past a picket line. The alarm was spreading; a score of men moved to block his path.

Still running like a madman, Blayne dropped to his hands and knees and scooted right under the belly of a startled charger. The horse reared, feathered hoofs flailing in the faces of the pursuing men, while the fleeing knight popped to his feet, dashed past another line of picketed horses, and rushed to the riverbank.

He shucked his tunic off, the silken material seeming to hang in the air briefly as the human was bared. Then, inches ahead of his pursuers, he made a clean dive, plunging into the cool, deep water with barely a splash. He disappeared beneath the waters as the knights shouted and pointed and waded in different directions. But Blayne was halfway across the creek before he surfaced, swimming with amazing speed downstream, toward Vingaard Keep. The magic propelled him. Arms churning, legs kicking, he seemed to swim even faster than a man could run.

“Archers! Ready a volley! He can’t outrun an arrow!” shouted an enthusiastic sergeant of longbows. His men, some fifty of them, had been standing guard duty, so their bows were already strung. They put arrows to the strings and drew them back. The sergeant raised an eyebrow, looking at the emperor.

Jaymes frowned and shook his head, a very slight gesture but enough to cause the sergeant to hold his command.

“Let him hie back to the castle,” the emperor said calmly. “We’ll catch up with him later, when we conquer the place.” He looked down at Lord Templar, who was gently closing Lord Kerrigan’s eyes.

“I am sorry, Excellency,” the clerist said. “His heart was pierced-there was naught that I could do.”

The emperor nodded, turning to the other prisoners. The Vingaard priest, squirming in the arms of two brawny Freemen, looked at Jaymes with eyes spitting hatred.

“So you’ll take Vingaard?” he challenged, looking helplessly at his slain duke. “You have killed our lord! You will destroy our keep! And then what? Thelgaard? Solanthus? Palanthas? How long are you going to make war on your own country?”

“As long as it takes to build the future,” Jaymes replied.

“You have no sense of honor, no sense of tradition-you mock the greatness of this country. You’re a blight on Solamnia.”

“And you think it’s honorable to withhold taxes and men, the lifeblood of the nation, from its lawful ruler? Is that right? Is that the kind of virtue you espouse?”

“Est Sularus oth Mithas!” declared the priest stiffly.

“Your honor is your life?” Jaymes repeated the oath contemptuously, his tone drawing looks of unease from several of the knights in his own entourage. He ignored their expressions.

“That’s your luxury, then-worry about your honor, your life. As for me, I must look out for the greater good.”