The Eagle’s Flight - Chapter 229: Dragon Wing

Few but servants and sentinels were awake when the first departures from the Citadel began. Three men left before any others, wearing hoods and furtive glances. They moved towards the northern gate, ready to leave the city by sunrise.

Two hours passed after dawn before the stable hands prepared a carriage along with twenty more horses. Servants hauled luggage outside and loaded it up while kingthanes issued from the castle, talking idly as they found their steeds. Finally, four women appeared. Arndis, Jana, Eleanor, and Gwen entered the carriage, a servant climbed onto the driver’s seat and took the rains, and the procession left.

A while later, the third departure of the day took place. The duke of Belvoir and his attendants left swiftly. Most of his forces had been quartered throughout the city, primarily Lowtown, and they joined up as he rode down the Arnsweg, leaving the city through the southern gate.

~~~~

Still in the city, the lord marshal had his own tasks requiring attention. Weeks of siege and the recent battle both outside and inside the city had left Middanhal in turmoil. Every soldier that could be spared would be needed for the invasion of the Reach, leaving the new captain of the Citadel with a scraped garrison.

While William and Fionn discussed the defences of the city, the quartermaster of the Order was equally occupied. An invasion meant the creation of long supply lines, and the provisions gathered for the siege now had to be prepared for transport; most of the army being already in the field only increased the challenge. Carts, oxen, and mules were gathered from across the city to fill the courtyards, the armouries were emptied of weapons, and the vast stores of cloth for surcoats, cloaks, tents, and more were opened. For the first time in its history, the Order would march beyond the borders of Adalmearc.

~~~~

Not all soldiers wearing the Star participated in the hectic activities. In a particular tavern in Lowtown, the lieutenants of the king’s archers sat comfortably, drinking ale. They commanded the best table in the room, as one of them was married to the owner’s daughter; their fame as companions to the king and the subsequent attraction of other clientele did not hurt either, and the tavern had full tables.

A whiterobe kept the archers company, slamming his tankard onto the table with a satisfied look. “Just what I needed,” Caradoc declared. “Though Hamaring smite me if I won’t be needing another shortly!”

“Never you fear. Any of king’s hundred heroes may drink here without paying,” Nicholas declared magnanimously. “Don’t tell Geberic,” he hurried to add with a panicked look. “He’d abuse it.”

Laughter bellowed from the priest. “Of course not! That leaves more for me.”

“You’ve just asked the wolf to keep quiet about the chicken coop, so the fox won’t take them,” Quentin grumbled. “When we get back, there’ll be nothing but empty kegs.”

“Never you fear, my ever-smiling friend,” Caradoc said. “I’ll be going go the Reach with you lads.”

“Won’t they miss you in that little shrine where we found you in Heohlond?” Quentin asked acerbically.

“Another year won’t hurt,” the whiterobe declared with a placid expression.

“Why do you want to go to the Reach?” asked Nicholas. “If I didn’t have to go, I’d stay for sure.” He sent a longing look across the room to where his wife filled tankards from a keg.

“I’m the first whiterobe to ever enter the Reach,” replied the priest. “Now I’ll be the first to do it twice! Not to mention, they’ll be talking about the fight in the streets for years to come. And when they do, Caradoc Whitesark can say he was there, swinging his hammer.” He grinned. “Besides, it wouldn’t do to deprive the soldiers of my spiritual guidance. Who knows? Maybe even your king will have need of me soon enough, like his father and mother did.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nicholas proclaimed, and the other men raised their own mugs accordingly.

~~~~

Preparations for the invasion consumed the Citadel over the next two days. Presumably, it also took all of the king’s attention, as he did not emerge from his chambers and refused to see anyone; those in need had to seek audience with the dragonlord instead. Some whispered that the king was ill, or that his injuries from the battle had taken a sudden turn for the worse, which only initiated a flurry of new rumours.

Thus, when the king finally appeared after days of absence, it caused a stir. He did not seem inclined to offer any explanations, striding through the Citadel towards the royal wing, and the courtiers were left with only guesswork to underpin their speculations.

He went to his own chambers first, throwing his cloak aside. Slaking his thirst, he bid a servant have a meal prepared for his return and swiftly left once more. Walking through the hallways, he chose the path that led from the royal quarters to the library tower.

Even before he stepped inside, numerous voices reached him through the heavy door. As he opened it, the curious sight of a dozen kitchen maids met him, reading by the tables of the library hall. At the sight of the king, the voices became quiet, and a variety of expressions greeted him. Shock and fear seemed prevalent; some of the youngest girls crawled under the table.

Looking slightly amused, Brand let his eyes wander over the gathering. Some met his gaze while others stared directly into the ground. With an aghast expression, Egil came running from the scriptorium, and he gave a deep bow. “Forgive me, my king,” he rushed to say. “I’ll send them away!”

Brand raised a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Let them read. Follow me, Master Quill.”

Egil sent a confused look towards the bedroom where until recently, the previous King’s Quill had resided. “Oh, that’s me.” Gathering his wits, he followed the king as the latter entered the scriptorium, leaving the befuddled kitchen girls behind.

“All of you, be quiet,” Kate admonished them. “Not a sound.”

Brand walked along the desks and shelves of the writing hall until his eyes fell upon a large book. His hand slid across the golden letters on the cover, revealing it to be the Tome of Names for House Arnling. “I gave this to your predecessor to restore, years ago,” he explained, opening the book. “I rather forgot about it with all the events happening, but it seems he completed the task.” His fingers ran over the lines as he read the names of his ancestors.

“Master Quill was always reliable,” Egil said quietly.

Brand ran through the pages until he reached the last one bearing letters. “Adalbrand, born to Arngrim of House Arnling,” he read aloud. “No further names will be written,” he mused. “House Arnling is gone, replaced by the House of Adal.”

“Yes, my king,” the young scribe mumbled.

“Dragon born to eagle wing,” the king read on. “My birth words. The norn had it right.” He closed the great book. “As the King’s Quill, you will record all the recent events into the annals, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I have decided you shall accompany me into the Reach. Both to record the campaign accurately, but also any knowledge we might learn about the outlanders.”

Egil stood with open mouth for a moment before he collected himself. “As you say, my king.”

“What happened to your master?” Brand suddenly asked. “He was not so old.”

“Did they not tell you? He was imprisoned by Prince Hardmar and brutalised by his men. Poor Master Quill never recovered after that.” Egil’s voice quivered.

“I was away. They did not tell me the details, and I never asked until now.” The king took a deep breath, and he seemed on the verge to continue speaking; instead, he turned away from the books and shelves, leaving the scriptorium and the library itself.