Chapter Eleven
Even in sleep, Saskia's hardships would not relent. In her mind's eye, she saw herself back in Vergen, walking down a shadow-choked corridor of the dwarven catacombs. Her only light was a candle she held in front of her, and its pale glow touched little more than her forearms. Her vision was further hindered by the hood of her cloak, pulled over her sunken head as her gaze remained on her feet. Instinct alone seemed to guide her to her somber destination.
She came to an alcove that served as the resting place for a number of fresh dead. Kneeling before the nook in the wall, she dipped her candle to another one waiting on the ground. The burst of new light unfurled upon one of the corpses laid to rest. She made out the pristine burial shrouds tightly woven around the stunted body of a dwarf.
"Forgive me," she whispered to the deceased miner, steeling herself to look up at his lifeless figure. For a moment it appeared as though he nudged. Surely, a trick of the candlelight.
An ominous scraping of claws echoed down the hallway behind her. She turned and lowered her hood to face the thing approaching in the darkness. Her head pivoted once more to the deceased. There was no denying it this time—the dwarf was moving. Struggling in his shrouds.
Alarmed, she stood and removed a strip of the burial shroud from the dwarf's face. His eyes became visible, and they were wide with fear, darting to and fro to make sense of the surroundings. Afterward, they focused in disbelief on her, then averted to the approaching noise. An animalistic snarl joined the scraping of claws.
She turned back again. The images in the dark were beginning to take shape—the shape of a horde of Rotfiends. She reached for her sword, but found it absent from its sheath. It would take the fury of a dragon's fire to best this approaching foe.
The muffled cries of the dwarf sounded behind her…and all around her. She realized now that all of the miners in the crypt's alcove were alive and moving, fearful of the impending monsters.
She could not save them without betraying herself to them.
With a sigh, she rewrapped the shroud over the dwarf's eyes, trying to ignore his stifled pleas.
"Please. You must forgive me," she murmured as she blew out the candle at the base of the tomb. Taking up her own light, she turned and departed down another corridor as the Rotfiends descended in their gluttony upon the helpless buried men in the dark.
Saskia woke. Her back ached from the hardened ground beneath her tent, but she still found it a welcome release from her nightmare. It seemed as though the spirits of the dwarves who had died trapped in Vergen's mine sought to haunt her to the end of her days. She wondered if there was any way to give rest to their souls, and respite to her own.
Pushing the haunting thoughts from her mind, she made herself stand and don her armor. She exited her tent in a haze and trudged to the stream beside the camp. The swirling and rippling of the stream distorted a reflection she knew would look tired and haggard. Her hands lowered to cup the water.
"Umm…I don't mean to tell you your business, Saskia, Ma'am…but I wouldn't be doing that just now," Lionel ventured from nearby.
Saskia looked up to him. "Why is that?"
The peasant pointed upstream. Lark stood on the bank, holding the reigns of the horse Lionel had loaned her. She stroked its nose with an absent expression on her face. The horse stood hoof-deep in the water, hind legs bent, tail raised…
"Oh." Saskia stood and wiped her hands at her sides.
"Will Miss Faye be alright, Saskia?"
She looked over at Lionel. He wore the eyes of a calf as he asked about the sorceress. Her throat filled with words of warning, heeding Lionel to be wary of those who dealt in spells. But the words didn't escape her lips, for she reminded herself of Triss' aid to her outside Loc Muinne, proving that not all mages fit Philippa's devious mold. She merely replied, "I've yet to see her this morning."
"Right. Well, when you do, if it ain't too much trouble, tell her I hope she gets better."
"Why do you not tell her yourself?" Saskia asked.
Lionel shrugged.
"…Very well. I'll relay your regards to her."
The peasant tipped his head. "Thank you, Miss Saskia. It's surely appreciated."
He trudged away, and after a time Lark vacated the stream with the horse. Judging it as sanitary as it would ever be, Saskia splashed the stream's cool water on her face. She stood and wiped her face on her sleeve. The night's sweat was washed away, but the nightmares that brought it still remained. She looked to the tent where Faye was laid, protected by Yarpen and others.
Perhaps it wasn't the spirits of the dwarven miners that haunted her. Perhaps it was Faye's misfortune that rekindled these nocturnal horrors.
Just as her orders caused Vergen's miners to suffer the claws and jowls of Rotfiends, now they brought the same misfortune on the Kaedweni sorceress. It was her choice to send Tarn to the front of the party as they approached the trappers' camp yesterday, leaving them vulnerable to the attack. And though no one fell prey to the monsters' jaws this time, Faye had fallen ill from a Rotfiend's burst carcass. She hung to life, thankfully, but in truth Saskia doubted if she'd be able to continue the spells needed to teleport them home at their journey's end.
In spite of her doubts, Saskia could not let herself waver in front of her subjects. If she appeared to lose heart, then so would they. She affixed her most steadfast expression to her face and strode to where the sorceress rested.
Faye lay on a pile of bags. There was a mortar and pestle at her side, a concoction of crushed herbs within. It looked like she had taken some of the remedy already, for her color was less pallid than the day before. Her gaze remained as vacant as ever.
"Faye." Saskia addressed her as stoically as possible.
"Yes. I'm here," the mage murmured, as if she was just summoned from another realm. Saskia couldn't help wondering which one she truly lived in. At least she was well enough to speak and comprehend.
"I have come to check your condition and decide if you are still fit to travel after yesterday's incident." The fledgling queen kept the same demeanor she had when judging Lionel and Tarn in Murivel's ruins. "Furthermore, Lionel Hix sends his well-wishes to you."
Faye nodded slowly. "Your people need us to continue," she stated simply.
Saskia blinked. "Us?"
Faye waved her hand towards the tent's opening, towards their other travel mates who milled about outside. "All of us. The peasants who gather the tinder, who build and break camp. The dwarves, who protect us with steel. The elves who shield us from nature's wrath. Even the Count who weaves words of silver. We all must play our roles to reach our goal. Who am I to give up mine?" She turned and gave Saskia an earnest look. "And you….you play yours well. Most well of all."
That one pierced too close for comfort. Saskia started to excuse herself, but settled on diverting the topic. "True, but your role comes with strains I must know you are still able to bear. Can you still perform the ritual each day to draw the Power that will teleport us home?"
"Yes, but it will drain me. Magic demands much, and I'll need rest after my rituals. Maybe until noon, maybe until evening. Before I'm well again, I can't cast further spells. I'm sorry."
"We'll do without until you're healed," Saskia assured her. "One last thing. Lark confirmed that there's a mountain pass on the other side of this valley, connecting Redania to Kaedwen. …You hail from Kaedwen, do you not?"
Again, Faye nodded. "Before Vergen, my home was Ban Ard."
"I know what happened in Kaedwen, after Loc Muinne," Saskia ventured carefully. "I know what Henselt did to his kingdom's sorceresses."
A look of grim recollection came over Faye. Clearly she had spent as little time thinking about her final days in Kaedwen as possible…and even less talking about it. "Sorcerors died, too," she whispered. "Ban Ard's magic academy for boys is where they honed their craft. But bearers of the unicorn's banner came and cut them down alongside their mothers, sisters and daughters of the art." An upward glance. "My brother was one of them. He taught me what the sorcerors' school would not. And he perished for it, so I might flee to pass it on."
Saskia found herself reaching out to touch Faye's shoulder in sympathy. She halted, and instead searched for words. "You do your brother a great credit to employ his teachings in service to Upper Aedirn," she commended. "I urge you to use them wisely, should we meet who you call the 'bearers of the unicorn's banner' on our journey along Kaedwen's western border. Especially on the mountain pass we now approach."
"My brother's temperance will halt me if you wish them to live," Faye replied. "His fire will burn at my fingertips if you wish them to die."
Saskia yielded to her impulses this time and rested a hand on Faye's shoulder. Then she turned and left the tent.
(***)
True to her word, Faye struggled to perform her ritual that morning. As soon as her crystals glowed with the sudden flooding of Power in them, she slumped down until her arms dropped on her knees.
"Yarpen," Saskia beckoned. "Help her gather her magic components and hoist her onto her horse. Hold the reigns alongside your own if necessary."
"Hmph," Yarpen grumbled in his throat. "I suppose somewhere in the supplies, I'll find a stepladder to do all that with? I say we just load her back on the mule cart again."
"Too bumpy," mumbled Faye. "My horse is better."
"Don't worry, I've got her," Lionel spoke up. He knelt by Faye to scoop her crystals into their satchel. He handed it to her, and took hold of her arms to help her up and usher her to the waiting mare. Faye teetered on the mount's back.
"The lass can barely sit upright in her saddle," Yarpen observed. "How can ye even bloody expect her to hold the reigns?"
"She won't have to." Lionel stood at the horse's withers and grasped the reigns, ready to lead the animal along on the next mountain climb. "As long as it's alright with you, Saskia?"
A nod. "Of course, Lionel. Just stay on your guard—we're nearing a region that holds bad memories for her."
"Don't worry none. I'll keep both eyes open," he promised.
Moments later, as they waded across the stream, he lost his footing on a slick rock and stumbled. Luckily he caught himself before he could fall under the horse's hooves, and he moved along with nothing to show for it but wet feet. "No harm done," he grinned.
The early morning sun crawled higher into the sky, slowly maturing into a noontime blaze. At the front of the procession, Saskia was aware of the usual chatter humming within the company.
"What I wouldn't give for a taste of wine. How you dwarves are managing without the liquor you so rely on is beyond me."
"Fuck me, would ye find the buttons to yer lips, Count?"
"Else I'll make ye some myself!"
There were the complaints of Tarn and the dwarves who guarded him.
"I hope there are no more harpies on the next mountain."
"I'm more worried about the rockslides, myself."
There were the humans, ever wary of what lay ahead.
The elves were characteristically silent and aloof to the back. Yet, Saskia felt an unrest at the back of her mind. She sensed there was a baited thickness to the elves' silence that wasn't there before. She turned back to them. Her eyes met Iorveth's gaze for a fleeting second, before he promptly set his attention between the ears of his horse.
Was he still mulling over their talk at the stream the night before? Did he not find her requests to be fair?
As though he'd read her mind, Iorveth suddenly hastened his horse's pace and met her at the front of the party.
"What is it?" she asked.
Without a word, he drew his bow and notched an arrow. He steered the arrow's point into to the treetops and sent it sailing. She didn't have time to question him further before an insectoid screech rang out, and from the amber-leafed branches fell a large, red scorpion-like creature.
"Endregas," he said.
In spite of the arrow stuck in its carapace, the endrega wasn't quite dead. It scuttled onto its belly and clambered on its six spiny legs toward the team. Saskia reached for her sword, but before her fingers could curl around the hilt, there was another twang of arrow leaving bow. Again Iorveth met his mark, and the wretched bug shuddered then expired.
"There will be more ahead. This is the season their larvae hatch, making the colony more defensive and hostile," Iorveth explained. "Would you have us take the lead, and pick off the drones waiting to ambush from the treetops?"
"If you think it best," Saskia agreed. "We'll stay behind and you will signal when the path is clear."
"It would be better for the rest to remain close behind," he replied. "A Queen Endrega usually stays dormant, but if her young are threatened she proves a force to be reckoned with. Her fury rivals that of the phantom we faced in Murivel, and caltrops would be useless against her."
"Alright," Saskia conceded. "We'll stay close at hand, but I am depending on you to mind the safety of this team."
"I've not strayed from that purpose yet," he reminded her. "And so long as my men do not suffer for it, I don't intend to."
At the broad sweep of Iorveth's arm, the other Scoia'tael sifted through the convoy to the front and led the way into the trees. Saskia motioned for the rest to follow. They entered the woods to the chorus of arrows launching, endrega hides rupturing, monstrous forms tumbling from the trees and final blows landing. Once, a fallen endrega strayed within range of Saskia, only to cease its moving at the behest of her sword. Another was likewise silenced by Zoltan's blade.
Just when it seemed they had for once found an obstacle with no surprises, a deep snarl rumbled in the glade ahead.
Faye whimpered and her horse became skittish, but Lionel did his best to calm both. Even he froze, however, when just ahead a towering colossus shambled over a fallen log and towards the group. It had a bulbous abdomen and pincers fit to consume anything in their reach.
"Watch it! That's a Queen Endrega if I ever saw one!" growled Zoltan.
"But I distinctly heard the elf say it only attacked if its young were threatened!" protested Tarn. "As I recall, we've touched no larvae!"
"Feel free to make that case to it, then. We'll ploughin' wait!" Zoltan retorted.
Larvae or no larvae, the Queen Endrega's massive footfalls drew nearer to the team. It wasn't alone, either. At least four more endregas—lesser in size, but equal in aggression—skittered down from the trees to join the foray.
"Spar'le!" At Iorveth's word, a hailstorm of arrows pelted against the Queen. Its pronounced posterior would have made an easy target even for a novice archer, so naturally the Scoia'tael's arrows found it as though guided. The monstrous matriarch staggered with each new piercing, then charged forward to unleash the wrath of its pincers on the elves. Two of the lesser endregas attacked Iorveth's warriors from the sides. The Scoia'tael were competent archers and swordsmen, but not both at once—and so the beasts' snaps and lashes were upon their horses before they could swap their bows for their swords.
Meanwhile, the other two endrega warriors caused trouble for Saskia's team. The dwarves' weapons dented and splintered the insectoids' exteriors like wood, all while the monsters continued doggedly in their assault. Saskia drew a breath to order Faye to lend them her magic fire or traps, but she faltered upon looking back at the sorceress. She was still hunched forward in her saddle, head hung low, exhausted in her illness from just the strain of her daily ritual. Lionel was at her mount's side, wood axe at the ready, though he mostly just swung it in a pale imitation of the dwarves as they busily dealt with the endregas.
Faye could not help them now. The dwarves' strikes and profanity-laced battle cries endured for the moment.
The elves, however, were becoming overwhelmed. Only Lark remained firmly on her horse's back. She did her best to stop the animal's bucks and kicks but ultimately just settled on trying to steer them to crush the endregas, with limited success. Iorveth and the others dismounted with swords drawn, letting their horses scatter in a frenzy. One of the elven warriors was kicked in the back of the shoulder by an unruly hoof, which sent him staggering into an endrega guard's waiting maw. Iorveth attempted to sidestep the Queen and attack it from the side, but the chaos obstructed his path of movement, and he staggered at the looming foe's lunge.
Saskia glanced back to the two endregas, still held at bay by the dwarves, but slowly closing in on Lionel, Faye and Tarn.
She looked ahead to the devastation being wrought on the elves.
She dismounted, drew her sword and pushed forcefully into the onslaught ahead. With a brisk battle cry, she delved into the back of the nearest endrega guard while the recently-kicked Squirrel grappled it from the front. The surprise attack was all the bug could sustain, and the elf took the opportunity to finish it with a sword. Only then did he stop to massage his aching shoulder, while casting Saskia an expression of begrudging thanks. Barely stopping to acknowledge him, Saskia pushed on.
As she narrowly dodged Lark's rearing horse, she caught a glimpse of the half-elf still atop the animal. She was waving an item in her hand and shouting in Elder.
Without a second to question her, Saskia made way to the Queen that now had Iorveth prone. She gave a strong hack at the beasts' side. It shuddered and turned to face her. She managed to parry a jab of its pincers, and swung back on her sword to hit it again.
Before Saskia could swing, the Queen Endrega recoiled and perished.
Saskia lowered her sword, confused. She looked at Iorveth, who was just stumbling to his feet. Lark was still on horseback, and the other Squirrels now busied themselves with the remaining endrega guard. She looked back to the dwarven party, who had just finished off their own insectoid attackers. Yarpen was heartily thumping Lionel on the shoulder, while the peasant struggled to yank his wood axe from a dead endrega's head.
"Good on ya, lad! Learn to walk on your knees, and we'll make a proper dwarf of you yet!" the old veteran was chortling.
Now at her horse's side, with the reigns in hand to subdue the mount, Lark smiled. "Ceádmil," she said, putting away the mountain troll's jawbone trinket.
Saskia followed her gaze to see who she was talking to. From around the Queen Endrega's corpse strode a mountain troll…nearly identical to the one they met on the mountaintop, but stouter and with thicker hair on its arms and head. The troll spoke in the same coarse variant of Elder Speech, and Lark responded.
"You were alerting him," Saskia realized, turning to Lark. "You asked him to help us."
Lark nodded. "He says he was scouting for food to bring to his mother for winter. He doesn't fear the 'big bug's' poison or bite, but he is sorry that his foraging has brought the big bugs' anger on 'friends of trolls.'"
Saskia noticed that the troll had something crudely strapped to his back…a sizable green larva cocoon. Having lived among humans for most of her life, she was not one to criticize the appetites of other species. So she simply replied, "You may tell him his mother and brother have gathered plenty already, and he is free to go home and reunite with them."
Lark relayed the message, and the troll gave his reply. The exchange went on longer than Saskia expected. Had Lark misspoken? Did the troll take offense to her suggestion?
Finally, Lark explained. "He thanks us and will go back to his family soon. He also mentioned he is glad to cut his hunt short, since many 'humies' have been arriving on the pass at the top of this mountain.
Saskia knew well from many inspections of their map that the pass due north was a road spanning between the Redanian city of Rinde and the Kaedweni city of Daevon. It was probably heavy with traffic between the two nations, especially if they were sending aid to each other as Nilfgaard encroached.
"If we are crossing the pass, he bids us to be careful," Lark continued.
"And so we shall," Saskia said. "Let us make short of these pleasantries, then, and be on our way."
The troll gave a crude bow to Lark after her translation, then lumbered past Saskia in the direction of the valley to the south.
"Revolting." Tarn cringed at the sight of the endrega cocoon on the brute's retreating back.
In her weakened state, Faye made no request to stay and harvest alchemy components from the fallen insectoids, so the group resumed their trek once more. As Saskia trod on, she focused on how to barter passage with the Kaedwenis or Redanians they risked meeting at the crossroad ahead. The fur trappers in the dale were but common folk and might have been subdued by Tarn's glib negotiations, had they not fallen prey to wolves. The trail ahead, however, may put her team in contact with armed forces whose shields boasted the emblem of the phoenix or the unicorn. Worse, some of the Scoia'tael archers who were responsible for turning the tides in the Battle of Vergen travelled with her now. If word reached the major cities on either end of this road that they left Vergen unfortified…
"Saskia." Her thoughts were cut short when Iorveth's horse again matched the pace of hers. She glanced to the left to face him, and while keeping his gaze forward he continued. "Don't think it escaped my attention what you did for the elves in that glen. Your men and mine both faltered in the endrega nest, yet it was us you chose to assist."
"You have kept your word to aid my men, and admirably so," she said. "I intend to keep my word that yours won't suffer on this quest in favor of mine."
Though the cowl and a deep scar obscured his face, a faint smile dared to emerge. "I stand reassured as ever of your iron will, Dragonslayer," he proclaimed. There was a ring of respect in his words, and a ring of relief she didn't fully understand. It was as if this statement had more meaning than he let on. "What remains of the Vrihedd Brigade would readily follow you into the Ravine of the Hydra, if you asked it of us."
She paused under the weight of these words. The Ravine of the Hydra…where the disgraced Scoia'tael warriors were executed after the Peace of Cintra—an ultimate mark of betrayal to the elven people. "You honor me with such loyalty," she replied. "But rest assured my plans don't include such a demand of you."
That seemed to satisfy him for the rest of the climb.
(***)
The elements, though chilly as before, were kinder to them on the way up this mountain than they had been on the first. There were no harpies or hostile trolls to contend with. Whatever mild nuisances met them, from the stray endrega to the wandering nekker, were dealt with effectively. Saskia's concern remained on the crossroads just ahead. When the map indicated they were within a few minutes' reach of the trail, she brought the procession to a halt.
"The travelers on the mountain pass ahead will not likely be any friends of ours," she announced. "There is a chance that both Redanian and Kaedweni passengers will be too preoccupied with the Nilfgaardian menace to mind our passing, but we must choose our approach wisely. Count?"
Tarn's plumed hat rose slightly from the back. "Lady?"
"I trust you were not too deterred by the mishap at the fur trappers' camp to lend us your ambassador talents once more," she presumed. "You may take the forefront again—this time the dwarves will accompany you closely in case of an attack. Whether you encounter the subjects of Henselt or of Radovid, you must persuade them to let us cross in safety."
"Yes, Lady Saskia." He rode forward. "It would be my privilege."
"Be doubly vigilant, Tarn, if you find yourself meeting Kaedwenis," she warned. "Needless to say, there is some precedent for a parley between representatives of Kaedwen and Aedirn to go poorly."
"Of course. As a native Aedirnian I accepted this role when we first set out from Vergen, aware even then of that risk," Tarn replied. "Our two nations have a tense history, it's true…but the rain of fire that consumed both our armies three years ago proved that there is still much that can unite us."
"Well spoken," she said. "I hope those you encounter feel the same."
Tarn, joined by the dwarves who supervised him each day, rode on towards the mountain trail. Saskia and the humans followed, the elves trailing them. Saskia prepared herself to intervene should Tarn's efforts take a turn for the sour. But she held fast to the words she had spoken to Iorveth the night before: trusting the Count was the surest way to keep his loyalty intact.
There was a steady rumble of wagon wheels in the near distance. As they edged closer, Saskia could make out horses through the trees. Fortune seemed to favor her group, for there was no glint of armored men on the march to accompany the animals. Instead there were several plainly dressed humans on mules, and a few finely dressed ones on well-bred horses. The sound of churning wagon wheels was underscored by the hoofbeats and calls of beasts. Not just horses and mules; there were sheep among them, too. The creatures bleated and brayed as they were ferried along the trail. The troupe was moving from right to left—Kaedwen was their origin, and Redania their destination.
Saskia watched as Tarn dismounted at the edge of the trail and cradled his hat against his chest like a yielding diplomat. One of the finely dressed travelers regarded him, directed his horse to the trail's side and pulled back the reins to reach a stop.
"Ho there!" she heard a Kaedweni accent call out from the saddle. The man atop the steed was clad in a tartan and thick furs, making his age and weight hard to discern. He was unmistakably human, though, and if his steed or style of dress left any doubt then his commanding tone confirmed he was a man of importance.
"Good sir," Tarn greeted with a bow. "My company and I hold your mother kingdom of Kaedwen in the highest regard."
Though Saskia could see only the backs of their heads, she imagined the dwarves with Tarn would be biting their tongues at that remark.
"Ah, an Aedirnian, if my ears serve me right," the horseman chortled. "What brings you so far north? I am to understand Aedirn's more pressing problems are currently to the south."
"You understand well, Milord, and they advance ever northward," Tarn replied. "It is my company's earnest wish that Aedirn and Lormark remain the strong and steady rampart between the foe to the south and His Majesty King Henselt's still-proud realm. We ask only to cross this road in peace that we may pursue this goal."
Smart, Saskia thought. He used the Kaedweni-favored term "Lormark," rather than the more modern "Upper Aedirn," no doubt to gain influence with this subject of King Henselt. His flattery of Henselt's name could go far, too, if Kaedwen's recent defeat still tasted bitter on this man's tongue.
Unfortunately, out of all Tarn's well-crafted words, the horseman picked the unlikeliest to take issue with.
"Aedirn and Lormark, you say?" he scoffed. "And which is it you represent, Sir? Though you speak with the tongue of the late King Demavend's countrymen, you ride in the company of dwarves. How peculiar, given that a dwarven town was the site of Kaedwen's loss and Upper Aedirn's gain."
Tarn gave no reply. Not good. This skeptic could react unfavorably whether the Count claimed fealty to Aedirn or Upper Aedirn. He may merely make them wait until his procession had crossed…or he may sent a messenger to alert Kaedwen of their intentions.
Finally, Tarn lifted his head. "Milord, national borders have counted for little in our history, and would count for even less under the White Sun's banner. King Henselt himself made the prudent deal with Radovid of Redania to divide and annex the fragments of Temeria. Just as your Kaedweni party now seeks to make a prudent deal with the neighboring Redania in the exchange of your pedigreed livestock, as it would seem. National borders have merit only by the grace of the leader who governs within them. And so, though I am a son of the esteemed Aedirnian house of Marco, I am privileged today to count myself among the citizens governed by she who boldly declared borders of her own: Lady Saskia of the Pontar Valley."
There was a bated silence.
"Marco?" repeated the horseman. "Did you say 'house of Marco'?"
"Aedirn's finest in the breeding and rearing of horses. I am Tarn, Count of the House of Marco," came the boastful reply.
A robust chuckle jostled the man's thick layer of furs. "Why didn't you simply say so from the beginning, Count?" The horseman dismounted and removed his own hat to reveal nearly-black hair streaked with gray. "I am Baron Silas Mayhew. You look a lad, so perhaps you don't remember. But the Mayhew and Marco households have something of a history, as it were."
"Of …course! The esteemed Mayhews," Tarn acknowledged unsurely. "My father has spoken of you. His favorite riding saddle bears your house crest. A black and red ram, I believe, on a…"
"…On a yellow field," the older man finished. "He's kept it all these years, then? It was decades ago that I gave it to him in thanks for his goodwill. Our family had lost much of its livestock to plague, and we faced ruin if we couldn't repopulate our pastures. Your father had been idealistic in his youth—a trait he clearly bestowed on you. In his idealism, he yearned to see Kaedwen and Aedirn as steadfast neighbors, not foes. To this end he provided some of his finest stallions, which he assured me would sire the most impressive stock my house had ever seen." Baron Silas Mayhew waved a hand across his congregation. "As you can see, his words were not hollow. This integrity is what separates us nobles from mere farmhands. Would you say you follow his example in this, young Tarn?
"I answer to Lady Saskia, who measures noble and peasant by the same scale," proclaimed Tarn without hesitation. "But be assured, Baron Mayhew, that I have not abandoned the honorable principles that my family upheld then as they do now."
"Nor have I," the Baron replied. "Your self-fashioned queen and her riffraff brought humiliation on the Unicorn. Under lesser circumstances, I'd not give them an inch. But I'll honor the Marcos of Aedirn by letting you and yours be on your way, unimpeded. No one in my charge will interfere with your affairs."
"Thank you. And wellest of wishes on your venture into Redania."
(***)
Saskia had anticipated disaster, perhaps even bloodshed. But for once, Tarn Marco had exceeded her expectations. "Well done, Count," she commended him once they were back in the seclusion of Sverren's old mountain trails.
He gave her a nod. "I had much to prove to you after my infractions in Murivel."
"You've regained a degree of my faith, so I will restore your unimpeded status in this convoy." She raised a hand. "You are no longer required to stay under the supervision of the dwarves or the Scoia'tael."
Tarn grinned. "My sincerest thanks." He tipped his head. "You favor me with this bestowal of faith."
"Perform as admirably as this in Hengfors, and I shall waive your counsel hearing in Vergen, too," she said.
"I guarantee you, Saskia." The Count looked straight into her eyes, forgoing the "Lady" title for the first time. "Hengfors will be an ally to our children's children once I've had my say."
"Take just one thing to heart," she continued. "You said to Baron Mayhew that a nation's borders are given merit by the leader within. Don't forget what gives that leader merit. Not bloodlines, but supporters—the people who make up a nation." Faye's words from that morning replayed in her mind and then passed her own lips. "We must all play our roles to reach our goal."
Tarn bowed his head, then looked up. "I see precisely what you mean. As long as they believe this to be true, they'll kneel before you."