Part IV: Three Years Later

  Several trade boats were docked in the small pier along Fort Camulan’s riverbank. More were anchored beyond, waiting for their turn. Workers hustled back and forth, unloading cargo from some boats and loading more cargo on others.

  Beyond that, a massive section of earth was being moved for the construction of a new harbor just beside the fort. It was an empty area now, but soon it would be filled with water and ships, increasing the amount of trade Fort Camulan could sustain.

  Outside of that, a second massive wall was under construction to protect the harbor, the town that was growing around it, and Fort Camulan itself. Men worked alongside soldiers and the newly formed Mage Corps to move earth and stone and reshape the land surrounding the city.

  The small little villages that had sprung up outside of Fort Camulan had burned down and then grown again. The neighborhood of Foregate was now behind a wall with a gate on both sides. One led outside to the road, the other to Fort Camulan itself.

  Many asked who was funding the massive construction projects. Some said the king, while others said it was his son Alfyn. Some claimed that they had been conquered by the Fenns, and the construction was to protect the city from an attack by the king’s army. Still others claimed it was Prince-General Aeolwyn who was funding it out of his own pockets.

  The most loyal ones knew the truth. It was funded by expanding trade. As general, Aeolwyn did have access to funds, both his own personal chest, as well as the funds reserved for the fort and army from the Royal Treasury in Teorton. He had used this money to help kick off trade between Fort Camulan and its neighbors, including Tambryne to the south and Fortru to the north.

  The general had made important deals with the Captain’s Guild and the Porter’s Guild to ensure smooth and speedy trade. In the three years since the battle that made him general, Aeolwyn had been busy, both improving the lives of the citizens of Fort Camulan, and keeping them safe from the Fennish invaders.

  Some had whispered that he intended to make this the new capital of Camulan, and why shouldn’t it be? It was the only city that bore the kingdom’s name. It wasn’t the kingdom of Teorton, after all.

  But Aeolwyn was only a general, and the youngest in his family. When the time came, Alfyn would ascend the throne, and he would not. And if tragedy struck twice, Davinya and Wolfryn were the next two in line. It would be a horror if he inherited the throne. That meant his entire family would have been slain.

  By then, the nobles would begin questioning if House Camul even had the right to rule anymore. The first thing Aeolwyn would have to do would be to go to war to prove he still bore the Laryn-given right to be king.

  Aeolwyn didn’t want to be king anyway. He was happy where he was, commanding Fort Camulan. After the battle at Lannic Outpost, the neighboring kingdom slinked back across their side of the border and didn’t bother them anymore.

  He missed the excitement of combat if he was honest with himself. Sure, he was content reading reports and signing orders, but what he really wanted to do was be out in the field commanding his soldiers from a horse.

  Instead, he was in his office, behind his desk, going over paperwork with Captain Brakus and his page Veila, General Alaric’s former page that he kept on. This was how his day was usually spent. Going over the ledgers, approving spending, planning new construction, and reading reports from the rangers he sent out to scout for any signs of activity across the border.

  After the battle at Lannic Outpost, the Fenns tried to seize Fort Camulan as well. It was a half-hearted attempt that they beat back easily. After the failed battle at the outpost, their general had no real stomach for an assault on the well-defended fort. They seemed happy with a few charges at the walls before retreating across the river.

  “So, after paying the porters, the captains, and the merchants, our share of the profits is 1,300 gold,” Brakus said.

  “That seems small,” Aeolwyn said.

  Brakus frowned. “We’re not the ones taking the real risk, General. If the ships sink or get hijacked, we’re not the ones dead or out of business.”

  That was true. They were just sitting here collecting revenue as far as he was concerned. They weren’t sending soldiers out to protect the shipments, though they did protect them in the vicinity of the fort, but they were doing that anyway. And even though he thought the 1,300 gold they’d received as their share of the profits wasn’t very much, when that was multiplied by the number of ships coming through, that number really added up.

  At this rate, they were going to be richer than the king. That was assuming they were keeping it all, which they weren’t. Aeolwyn would send a token amount to his father, but the rest was being spent on recruitment, training, and his building projects.

  Technically, he needed his father’s permission to embark on all the building projects he’d been doing, and he’d sent a messenger off to the capital with a formal request. The building projects couldn’t wait though. The citizens around the fort needed protection, and when the opportunity to increase the trade in and around Fort Camulan landed in his lap, he didn’t have time to wait for approval. The Captain’s Guild and the Porter’s Guild would have gone elsewhere. Up to Branson’s Fork, probably, and so would their profits.

  Profits that would be better in Camulan’s coffers rather than Wickshire’s.

  “Anything else, captain?” Aeolwyn asked. He was ready for a break. He wanted to go down to the yard and work the sword with his soldiers or work his acrobatics with Reiva. Even though, as a general, he didn’t need to work on his hand-to-hand combat any longer, getting sweaty in the yard kept his mind clear and his attitude humble.

  Plus, it was good for morale. Soldiers liked seeing that their general was not only willing to work hard on his sword forms but teach the other soldiers the techniques he’d learned from Sir Jom. Not many of them had the privilege of being taught by a master.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Well, there is the matter of Captain Flint,” Veila brought up.

  “Captain Flint?” Aeolwyn asked, confused. He had been inside Lannic Outpost when it burned to the ground. Everyone assumed he had burned to death. Aeolwyn still felt guilty about that. In the chaos of the battle, he hadn’t been able to free his prisoner, who, as far as could be seen, was just incompetent, not a traitor.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Veila said. “We sent men and a construction crew back to Lannic Outpost as you ordered. There was no repairing what was left. They had to completely dismantle the whole structure.”

  “And? What does that have to do with Flint?”

  “When they got to the dungeons, they found no sign of him.”

  “What do you mean, no sign of him?” That was odd. Even in the heat, there should have been some remains. At least some bones, maybe some of the jewelry he’d worn.

  “They didn’t find anything. No bones, no metals, no fabric remains, nothing.”

  Brakus shrugged. “Isn’t it possible that he was burned to ash?”

  “No, Captain,” Veila said. “According to our mages, the fire was not hot enough to have done that.”

  “Did he escape?” Aeolwyn asked, hopeful. If that were the case, why hadn’t he come back to Fort Camulan? He should have; he was still a soldier, after all. Aeolwyn had even sent out scouts to look for stragglers from the battle to collect.

  “Possibly, highness. But unlikely. Most are operating under the assumption that animals may have—”

  The door to his office burst open and Farvarir rushed in. He was hot and sweaty and had a wild look in his eyes. He smelled like he’d been rolling in horse dung. Not exactly the proper way to present yourself to the general.

  “Farvarir, what is the meaning of this?” Brakus demanded. Even Aeowyn’s dragon-head sigil that the soldiers had taken for their own was dirty and frayed. All his soldiers had embroidered it onto their chests as a symbol of loyalty, oaths to the king be damned.

  Why was he here, though? He thought Brakus had sent Farvarir to the palace a year ago. Technically he had been given a letter to deliver to his father, but his real job had been to keep an eye on things in the capital and send word back. Only no letters had come.

  “General,” he started, but Aeolwyn didn’t hear anything the soldier said after that. A woman slowly walked in after the soldier. She was wearing dirty, travel stained clothes that looked as though she had been sleeping under a bush every night for a month. She smelled like it, too.

  Her hair was flame-red, like his, though hers was streaked with grey. She also shared his high cheeks and narrow chin. Normally she carried herself with poise and grace, but not today. Her shoulders were slumped, and she dragged her feet along the floor as she entered.

  He stood from his seat. “Mother!” He climbed over his desk and embraced her. What had she gone through that she looked like this? Why would she look as though she walked here? If she had come for a visit, his father would have sent her in a carriage.

  She hugged him tightly and sobbed quietly but said no words. When he left, she had towered over him, but now her face was buried in his shoulder. When was the last time he’d seen her? Had it been five years?

  “That will be all, men,” Brakus said quietly.

  “But sir,” Veila protested. “What about—”

  “That will be all,” Brakus said more severely. He stood up and ushered Veila and Farvarir out of the office before quietly closing the door behind himself as they left, leaving Aeolwyn alone with his mother. He would have to remember to thank Brakus for that.

  He brought his mother over to the chair Brakus had vacated. He sat across from her in Veila’s chair. Her face was dirty and tear stained, but she was still strikingly beautiful. She was older than he remembered. Her skin, normally soft and radiant, was now sunburned. Wrinkles had begun forming around her sunken eyes.

  “What’s happened, mother?” he asked. “You don’t look as though you traveled here for a visit. You look as though you’ve fled for your life!”

  “I have,” she said softly.

  She took his hands and stared at them without speaking. He let her. She turned them over and over, running her fingers softly along the callouses that had formed from long hours with the sword. She ran her hand up his arm and squeezed his muscles.

  “You’ve grown, Aeolwyn. Both in height and strength. You’re a man now, and a general. I’m so proud of you. Your father would be, too.”

  His father? “What do you mean, would be?” That didn’t sound particularly good. He’d had word that his father had been ill, but that the illness was manageable, and he was still running the kingdom. With the help of Alfyn, of course.

  “Oh, Aeolwyn. Your father is on his deathbed!”

  Deathbed? He hadn’t heard that. None of the reports that he’d read coming from Teorton had said anything of the sort. All the messages and orders had been signed in his name, though a few had also been signed by Alfyn, including the one that confirmed he was officially promoted to general.

  “I knew he was sick, but I’ve continued to receive messages in his name. Even today!” He pulled out one of the requests for the intelligence that he’d been gathering regarding the Fenns.

  “That’s not your father’s hand,” she said. “It is a forgery.”

  “A forgery?” Was someone impersonating his father and sending him false orders? Who would do such a thing?

  “Yes. Your brother has been the one ruling the kingdom in your father’s place, while he lay abed. None of the doctors or mages are able to cure what ails him.”

  “Why would that make you flee?” he asked. “Alfyn is the crown prince. He’s supposed to run the kingdom when father can’t.”

  She grasped Aeolwyn’s hands tightly, squeezing them with surprising strength. She held them for a moment, while she sat, sniffling. She made no effort to wipe the tears that were falling from her eyes.

  “Aeolwyn,” she said softly. “I think your brother has been poisoning your father. And it’s bad enough that the king will soon be dead. Once Alfyn is truly the king, the palace won’t be safe for anyone. Not Wolfryn, not Davinya, not Filliya, no one!”

  She paused, trying to catch her breath as she sobbed quietly. Aeolwyn squeezed her hands back. Those were some incredible accusations, and he didn’t know how to take them. He knew his brother didn’t like him – the crown prince had, after all, sent assassins to kill him. But killing his own father was a whole different thing.

  “Aeolwyn, Filliya is already getting sick, and Ulfnar has been missing for years. Everyone thinks he’s dead, and I’ve given up hope of ever seeing him alive again.”

  He’d known about Ulfnar. He’d received a letter shortly after becoming general. It wasn’t signed and was written in a messy hand, like its author had been using their opposite hand to write it. maybe to hide who they were.

  The letter said that Ulfnar had been captured but was rescued and was now safe. After receiving it, he’d sent a dozen men out to try to find him and bring him back to Fort Camulan, but no one, thus far, had been able to locate him.

  Now Filliya was sick? That was suspicious, and unusual. Alfyn had sent assassins after him. Why would he resort to poisons back at the palace? Ulfnar hadn’t been poisoned. From what Aeolwyn could piece together, he’d been captured sometime after he’d left Teorton.

  “Don’t worry, mother. You’re safe here. I’ll assign some guards and attendants to you.” He stood up and walked her to the door. Reiva was standing there on the other side when he opened it. His mother jumped back in fright when she saw the dark-skinned woman.

  “Listening again, Reiva?” he asked, smiling.

  “No,” she said coolly. She had been, but didn’t want to admit it.

  “Mother, this is Reiva. She is my bodyguard. She’ll help you get cleaned up.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” Reiva said, taking his mother’s hand. “Please, follow me.”

  “Reiva, come find me when you’re through. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

  Reiva nodded and helped his mother down the hall. She was so frail. He remembered her being strong as a bull, unafraid to go head-to-head with his obstinate father. And now she walked like an old woman. Did he need to find her a cane?

  He hoped Reiva would be back soon. He didn’t like what was going on in the capital and needed to figure out what his brother was doing. He would have to find a spy to send, someone he could trust. Not Reiva, his brother would recognize her in an instant, and not a soldier. After he hadn’t heard anything from Farvarir for a year, it was clear his brother was watching out for that kind of spy.

  He needed to send someone who could get close to his brother without being noticed. He needed a servant.