Chapter Five

“Quinlan!” called Maddon, catching up with him in the castle halls, his footsteps echoing off the stone floors “I need to talk to you.”

Quinlan heard him but kept walking.

“The answer’s no,” he said, not turning round.

Annoyed, Maddon persisted.

“I haven’t asked you anything yet,” he said.

Quinlan sighed and stopped, turning to face him.

“You want to make me the same offer you made Ariana, you want me to help you out in the melee so that you don’t get your arse kicked. Correct?”

Maddon shrugged, unembarrassed. He knew his strengths.

“I’ve seen you and Ariana fighting, you’re a natural, if you trained more you could be one of the best swordsmen in the Kingdoms. You’re one of the only people here who could beat her in a duel. All I want is for you to lend a helping hand in making sure I reach the last four.”

Quinlan raised an eyebrow sceptically.

“Flattery is fine, but in reality I may not even make the last four,” he said. “Besides, Ariana is a friend, if I were going to team up with anyone, it would be with her. Why should I help you? If you were the better swordsman I doubt you would give me a second glance before turning down this demand.”

This was proving to be another hard sell. He had expected that, going in with no leverage, but it was still frustrating. At least with Ariana he had managed to get her to agree not to fight him until there was nobody else left.

“There must be something I can help you with that you wouldn’t go to Ariana with,” insisted Maddon. “A secret, or someone you’ve made angry. I’m a prince, and this is a rich Kingdom, if there’s something you need money for I can lend a hand. New armour, or weapons for the tournament perhaps?”

“I have no secrets,” protested Quinlan, turning angry and moving away from him. “There’s nothing you can help me with, and I don’t want your money. It’s just a tournament anyway, it won’t kill you to fight it like a man instead of trying to cheat your way through it.”

For a moment Maddon considered it. He could just try to fight. He would almost certainly be beaten by the first knight who fought him, but was there any shame in losing to a trained warrior? Then he thought of his father’s look in the council meeting, and the people who would be watching. He knew his father had wished for another son, even more so when seeing Maddon’s lack of enthusiasm with fighting. It would be nice to gain his respect for once. Also how wonderful would it be to best Ariana at her own game and wipe the superior smirk off her face? He would not give up on any possible route to winning.

“Even if you don’t need my help now that doesn’t mean you won’t need it later, and as you said, it’s only a tournament,” continued Maddon calmly. “It’s always good to have friends in high places. Even now I sit on the Grand Council, and when I’m King it would be useful for you to have me owe you a favour, especially as a bastard.”

Quinlan’s nostrils flared, and his look was stony. That last remark may have been poorly chosen, although Maddon didn’t consider what he’d said to be rude. It was just the truth.

“Do you have anything else to say or are you done?” he asked the prince, folding his arms.

Maddon sighed, recognising a lost cause. It had been necessary to at least try. There was some slight suspicion in his mind that Quinlan had been overly defensive when he had suggested having a secret, but if that was the case it would be difficult to find out.

“It was just a friendly offer, let me know if you change your mind,” said Maddon, remaining civil.

“Yes, alright,” sighed Quinlan, shaking his head. “Now goodbye.”

He walked away, leaving the prince to think about how else he could try to pull this off. He could always just give up on the melee and put all his efforts into practicing the jousting instead, there would be honour in winning that, even if it was less prestigious than the melee. His riding and balance was decent enough, and he knew most of the others would probably be practising their duelling more than anything else. Still though, there would be knights who specialised in the joust anyway, and he wasn’t even sure if Ariana would enter. His father cared much less for that sport, which would make any victory far less sweet. As for the archery, there was no use him even trying with that.

Maddon looked out through the thin window to where men were training in the courtyard outside. He didn’t want to approach any of the other entrants as he had done with Ariana and Quinlan. It was one thing to ask family, but it was not a princely thing to do to go begging for help from strangers. Perhaps he would just have to win on merit. He didn’t have Ariana’s talent but he was probably cleverer than all the brutes swinging at each other down there. He could watch them all and look for any repeated sequences they were trying, and any weaknesses they might have. His memory was almost faultless, and he was sure he would be able to remember everything he noted down. Ariana in particular was guilty of rattling off the exact same sequences of moves a lot of the time. It meant they were fluid and fast, and even when you knew what was coming it was hard to beat, but it could be predicted.

Of course, any of Maddon’s counterattacks to these moves would cause them to react differently to what he might see in training, but in a crest fight the objective was just to destroy the crest atop each knight’s helmet. As in a real battle, one quick move could finish the fight.

He couldn’t do anything about entrants from other regions who arrived on the day of the tournament, but other than Fendred and any others who came with the Darrowmeres, he didn’t expect a large number to do so. Rivergate was the capital and naturally harboured the largest number of knights, and not all would have the money or the inclination to make the journey here. Once in the arena, he could try to seek out those he had noticed with particular weaknesses, and just play defensive while keeping out of the fighting as much as possible. It would not be easy, but it was the only way he could approach it. On top of that he would need some training with the Weapons Master, he couldn’t rely on his head alone.

“Am I interrupting some deep thoughts?” asked a voice, making him start.

“Damn you can walk quietly,” complained Maddon, shaking his head at his sister Ariana.

She was wearing an emerald green dress which had taken into account the toned muscles of her arms and shoulders from years of archery and swordfighting. Their father had tried to discourage her somewhat over the years but short of locking her up all day there was little to be done about it. Her unusual behaviour did not help when coupled with her clearly quite plain facial features, and although his memory was unclear as he had paid little attention to her as a child, he got the impression that she hadn’t fit in very well with the other young girls of the court. He had definitely observed that she became uncomfortable and didn’t talk much around their cousin Seraphina, John’s daughter. Maddon had grown up with similar problems, although on his side he knew it was in large part due to his own intolerance for the stupidity of others, and he often chose to just be in his own company. Still, despite their differences, he did feel that they shared some bond because of it.

“So what winning solution have you thought up?” asked Ariana casually, her fingers dancing along the stone of the window ledge as she came to stand beside him and look out at the courtyard below.

“Is it so obvious I’m scheming?” asked Maddon jokingly, to which his sister didn’t reply. He sighed. “I don’t know, I’ve thought about it, and I think I know what I need to do, but there’s no getting around the fact that most, if not all of them are better swordsmen than me.”

Ariana seemed thoughtful as her eyes lingered over the people below.

“Being more athletic doesn’t necessarily make them better swordsmen,” she said. “Speed, strength, and experience matter of course, but I think there’s a lot to be said for quick thinking and improvisation.”

Maddon looked at her doubtfully.

“Easy for you to say,” he said. “Besides, why do you care? You didn’t even want to fight together.”

Their conversation felt strained. Both of them knew the ultimate aim was to defeat the other in the tournament, but they still pretended to be pleasant.

“I was just giving my opinion, and not wanting to look after you the entire time doesn’t mean I don’t want you to do well,” she huffed. “Just try not to get too caught up in it, it is just a tournament, it will all be forgotten in a year. You care too much about what people think of you. Sometimes it’s just better not to. Enjoy it just for the sport. It’s a lot more fun that way.”

“Perhaps,” he muttered, although he didn’t fully accept that; doing well did matter to him, and affected him more than it affected her. “How about you, I assume you’re planning to enter the archery as well?”

She nodded, perking up a little.

“Yes, I’ll certainly try, there is prize money after all,” she said. “And I think someone in the family needs to win something or we’ll never recover the cost of setting it up.”

“Indeed,” said Maddon. “Well, at least father’s letting you participate.”

She made a face.

“With conditions.”

“I suppose,” he said. “But it might turn out alright. It’s not ideal that you’ve never met him, but at least it’s better than a fat old man,” said Maddon, trying to keep her spirits up with fake optimism. “Imagine if you’d been promised to someone like Moredent.”

She gave a small laugh, but it seemed tinged with sadness.

“Well, I’m not sure I have a choice either way.”

Maddon felt a pang of loss at the idea of his sister leaving. If there was one person in the castle he could be open with, it was her, even if he resented her a lot of the time. He might have to actually make friends. He hesitated before saying what was on his mind, knowing his mother and father would disapprove.

“There may not always be a good alternative,” he said. “But you always have a choice.”

She sighed.

“Well, we’ll see,” she said, moving to leave before remembering something. “Oh, by the way, Favian Slynn is downstairs. Some kind of miners’ business, you might want to check it out.”

***

Maddon entered the throne room, where the evening light coming through the large stained glass windows cast long shadows, and made unusual colours dance across the room. He glanced at the tapestries depicting various scenes of famous battles as he walked. One in particular always struck him. It depicted the battle of the East Sea, and though the first part showed far fewer Farhorn fireships and missile boats to counter the invasion force the end result told a different story. Flaming arrows sailed overhead and there were men being burned alive as bright orange hellfire arced towards them, turning their ships to ash and melting their skin. Even the men in the water were not spared, as the substance was potent enough to burn on any surface once alight. Even with such a crude medium the maker did well to capture the expressions of agony on the bronzed faces of the foreign invaders. What a thing it would have been to witness. It was often spoken of as the most impressive military victory in history, at least in their kingdom. The scale to which the Farhorns had been outnumbered was probably exaggerated, but considering that the attack had come before any declaration of war yet not a man of the invading army had landed, there was no doubt that it deserved to go down in history. Little would please Maddon more than to have the fame and respect of Rowan the first, or as he became known after that battle, Rowan Dragonfire.

He had been a younger brother, Maddon recalled, a prince until King Doram the Yellow heard the Eastern armada was coming and ran to hide at Lord Darrowmere’s castle in the West with his daughters. The younger brother, a more suitable King, took control and gained fame. At the same time, Lord Darrowmere had seen an opportunity and he married Doram’s eldest daughter, knowing any male children would have a good claim to the throne. The result had been civil war a generation later, something Maddon believed Rowan could have stopped if he had used his power to arrange an ‘accident’ for his brother and wife, taken custody of his daughters and married them to people of his choosing. Even better, they could have become Virgins of Metella, forbidden by religious vow to procreate. He could have had them killed as well of course, but that would be a little distasteful, even in the circumstances.

Maddon took his mind away from history and looked to the front of the throne room. His Mother and Father were both listening as the mine owner spoke with serious expressions. Slynn looked dishevelled, and had presumably been travelling without a carriage. The King and Queen on the other hand looked pristine, with Berin in royal garb, having cast off the sling for his arm as soon as possible, and his mother Helena resplendent in a perfectly tailored dress with her long dark hair held in place by ornate silver clasps. The man stopped speaking when Maddon came into earshot, turning to the King as if to check his permission.

“What’s happening?” asked the prince seriously, trying to work out what would be serious enough to cause Favian to come straight to the King before cleaning himself of the mud and dust of the road.

“It appears that a group of rebel miners at least one hundred in number have seen off the men and seized the main brimstone store,” his father said in a critical tone.

Maddon blinked, surprised.

“Why?”

“They want more money, nothing else,” said Favian, shrugging it off. “There is no need to do anything about it at the moment, they will need to return to work soon enough.”

“It is not for you to decide whether there is or is not a need to do anything about it,” said the Queen, a touch of ice in her voice. “You might have seen that your actions would anger the men like this, it is hardly surprising they reacted so.”

“My Queen, I apologise for my lack of foresight, as I did not expect anyone to resort to illegal actions. I did tell his royal highness the King at the last council meeting I attended about my plans,” he said, bowing in deference to her.

Maddon’s mind flashed back, remembering the last time he had seen Slynn at that meeting. Little of great importance had been discussed that day, but he had been pleased with his contribution overall, and remembered suggesting a change to the market tax which had been implemented.

“As you left you mentioned that you planned to return to pre-war levels of pay,” Maddon recalled. “The way you said it made it sound trivial. How much of a change was it?”

“A reduction of about eleven silver eagles per pound of pure brimstone,” said Slynn, “from twenty-five to fourteen.”

Something like that would make a massive difference to the workers, his mother was right, that was obvious to cause discontent among them.

“And were you going to pocket this difference?” asked Maddon, trying not to sound too accusing.

“Now now Maddon, it was within his rights to do what he did, that cannot be disputed,” chided the King.

Meanwhile his mother, whose eyes were normally a soft, kind green seemed hard and disapproving. She did not like Slynn.

“Thank you your highness, I am sure you are aware that it will benefit the capital with reduced costs as well, and as they are used to higher pay they should increase productivity once they become accustomed to the change. In the meantime, I can arrange for any new brimstone mined to be transported somewhere else. It is only a fraction of the miners who have protested.”

So far, thought Maddon.

“Shouldn’t we call a council meeting about this?” he asked, not entirely approving of the position Slynn seemed to be taking as sole advisor. King Berin shook his head.

“No need for that, it is only a small matter as of yet. I shall send a messenger commanding them to disband, and if they do not, the store shall be forcibly retaken. I will order a small force of men to commence combat preparations.”

“We should be careful, violence could easily turn the common people against us, especially if they feel the miners are justified. After all, they did not kill anybody,” the Queen said, seeming displeased. “They may not mean any harm.”

“Nevertheless, they are criminals,” said Berin. “We cannot leave them unpunished, or meet their demands, or before we know it all of the mines and quarries will be doing the same. However, I will arm the men only with quarterstaffs, and if they refuse the demand to give up the brimstone stores then they shall be able to take it back without killing if needs be. If there are indeed only a hundred or so men it should not be difficult, and I will instruct the men not be overly violent unless attacked. We will have the moral high ground in this.”

“A very wise stance, your highness,” said Favian. “I would only advise not to make any threats you cannot follow through on.”

“Of course, of course,” muttered the King.

Maddon’s mother seemed satisfied, but he himself was unsure. He knew that appearing fair was important, but half-measures could be worse than doing nothing, as Doram the Yellow and the Darrowmere rebellion proved. In this case if Maddon were King he would either use overwhelming force and kill whoever resisted to make an example of them or give them what they wanted using the Royal coffers. In the first case he may anger some, but they would certainly hesitate to defy him, and in the second the men would be happy, and thankful for his kindness. Either way, the issue would be dealt with. What his father was doing risked making him look weak if the non-violent staff-wielders did not force them away. He did not argue though, because he knew his father had more experience and no reason to listen to him. Besides, he may very well be right to worry about people being dissatisfied with how he responded. Sometimes major events such as rebellions could result from trivial causes.

“If it pleases you, your majesty I shall retire home,” said Favian, bowing, and leaving when King Berin gave his assent.

“Did you come for anything else?” asked his mother, as Slynn’s footsteps faded.

Maddon saw that for once, nobody was here to see the King and the only other men in the room were the guards who could easily be ordered away. Now would be the time to mention what he suspected about a spy in the castle. He hesitated, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. In all honesty, he didn’t trust his father not to tell those he trusted, his brother or the rest of his council. The only one of them Maddon truly trusted to be innocent was Ariana, who he didn’t see as capable of something like that. Even if the spy was just a kitchen maid or guard, Maddon didn’t want any discussion being overheard, or given away in pillow talk to the servant. Besides, if the person who wanted the King dead was in the Kingdom, there was a good chance they were at court, and putting them on alert with a pointless search would make them more careful. Better for them to believe they were safe, and they might make mistakes. This tall, cloaked, bald man may turn up in the castle. There was also the second assassin to worry about.

“No, that’s all, I just came because Ariana said something was going on down here,” he said, feeling a touch of unease as he thought of the man who was to be executed soon, and what he might say of Maddon’s actions when he was captured. His father had been against torture and uninterested in what the man had to say, so that was in his favour at least.

“I expect you are preparing well for the tournament,” said Berin soberly, leaning forwards to hear what he had to say.

“I am,” Maddon nodded. “I have a training plan, and I’ve decided what I need to do.”

His father seemed pleased.

“Good, I’m certain you will make me proud,” he said, as Maddon controlled his expression carefully so it wasn’t obvious he was cursing his father’s certainties in his head.

“I will certainly try,” said the sixteen-year old, nodding to his parents before he left, his smile fading once out of sight.

He would just have to conduct his own investigation.

:"Book E�z� �

Next Chapter: Chapter Six