Before the gates

Malav’s march to Gaelel was surprisingly unhindered. Cerik was impressed at how quickly Malav’s army consumed the few men who dared to make an attempt to impede his advance. Why he stopped at the gates of Gaelel and let them seal them was baffling.

“My dread King. May I ask, why have you not simply taken the city? Your army-” Cerik paused looking at the malicious grin on Malav’s face.

“I would have my wife given over to me before I unleash my army. I do not want her harmed or frightened.” He gestured expansively toward the walls. “I can take this city at any time, Cerik. My army is surrounding it. There will be no escape unless I allow it. I want them to know this, and I want them to fear what may happen if they refuse.”

Cerik almost opened his mouth to comment on the inevitability of frightening her with this army but instead, he schooled his face to neutrality and tilted his head. He turned to begin preparing the King’s tent. A few of the living soldiers had made their way to the front of the army, looking as if they wished to be of service, and Cerik availed himself of their presence.

He ordered tents to be clustered around it for those hardy souls who wished to remain and be of use. Those who would prefer to serve from the ranks of the living, well behind the ranks of the dead, should strive to maintain discipline and forge supply lines. Malav usually took such things into consideration, but this time he had been neglectful of the needs of his men.

They had been pushed by the speed at which he had moved, his dead soldiers requiring no rest, no food, no consideration. Too much more of that might end in a rebellion amongst the ranks. Cerik gave permission for the soldiers to send out sorties to raid and do a bit of plundering in the smaller villages. Letting them see the benefit of the fear Malav was creating and letting them line their pockets with it would go a long way in keeping them loyal.

When Cerik had finished ironing out the few details as best he saw fit he returned to Malav, “Your Majesty, food and water for washing will be brought to you shortly. I-” He paused taking in Malav’s speculative look.

“I heard the orders you gave. Keeping discipline usually involves disallowing them to raid and plunder. But I understand the necessity. You’re concerned that I’m going to push them too far and that they may turn on me.” Malav’s words were quietly thoughtful.

“Yes, your Majesty. They are good men, but you have neglected their well-being on this march. I thought perhaps if they could reap some benefits…” Cerik trailed off and shrugged noncommittally.

“You have always been a clever one, Cerik. And you almost always exceed my expectations.” Malav looked at him approvingly. “I am making you a Lord of Luzoron. You’ll have all of Varnus’ titles and lands, bestowed now and publically at my wedding and official coronation. I need you to keep me from being too neglectful of my duties to the living.” Malav looked very pleased with himself.

Bowing deeply, Cerik spoke, “I thank you, my dread King. I will strive to serve to the best of my abilities.” Such a prestigious lordship opened up possibilities that he had thought long lost. A wife, children … children. Cerik winced. If Lady Charyic named her child after him this would be a very short appointment.

“Something troubles you?” Malav’s voice was curiously bemused. “Vennius?”

Cerik allowed himself a laugh, “No, my King. Your wife.” The older man took in the sharp look on Malav’s face and spoke with resignation. “She said that if she lived long enough to bear a son she would name him after me.” He watched as Malav’s eyes widened. “Lady Charyic is fond of me, and she was grateful that I aided her in her escape.”

Malav began to laugh. “I intend to have her back before my son is born. If, for some reason, I do not, and she names him after you, I’ve been forewarned.”

“I will ask her not to do so, your Majesty. As a Lord, I might be able to begin my own family now. I would have my own sons named after me.” Cerik let the hopefulness remain in his voice.

With a thoughtful nod, Malav offered, “Help me win back her love and I will provide you with a wife to bear your sons, my old friend.”

If that was the condition to be placed upon having sons of his own Cerik felt decidedly less hopeful. He suggested gently, “Lady Charyic always craved closeness, she wanted to be near you. You will need to keep her close and ease whatever fears she might have.”

“That will not be difficult. I plan to keep her by my side. I will shower her with affection and gifts.” Malav spoke confidently.

“It will be easier said than done, my King, she believed you wished to kill her.” Cerik swallowed the accusation of shaking her faith by proving himself a philanderer. That would be harder to overcome.

“Had she not carved ‘dissolved’ into Vanyic’s face I would raise her to serve my Queen. I regret-” Cerik watched as Malav’s words ground to a halt and his jaw clenched. “I will do whatever is required. I need my Queen.”

Cerik bowed low, “I will send a rider with a missive to the gate. If they have all night to consider they may send her out more quickly in the morning.”

“Thank you, Cerik. See it done.” Malav’s look at the city walls made Cerik hope fervently that they would send Charyic out promptly. A refusal would see Malav bringing them down with a vengeance.