Havoc's Daughters

Chapter 4 - Night 1: Imrys (part III) - Shock

Imrys didn’t give Beryl a chance to persuade him. He left their course at tangent, intending to walk the camp perimeter, running away at a walk. Light faded with each footstep. Above him, the sky was a deep indigo coverlet the color of Faelian’s eyes, of Lania’s and her father’s. 

As if they are watching me from up there. Is that possible? Dark thoughts crept in with nightfall’s veils. 

Weary soldiers settled early, sleeping where they dropped and knowing the dawn would see them marching yet again. In the shadow of a darkened tent, where wiser heads than his were sleeping, monolithic monuments shook the ground with an occasional somnolent stomp. Heavy horse were a prized weapon, valuable for smashing lines in battle, but Imrys thought riding in such a charge must be something akin to riding the crest of a landslide, an avalanche.

Which again brought Havoc to mind, and he really did not want to be thinking of that family.

Watchfires on the perimeter were fueled with dried dung, gathered over the course of the day. Beyond, the cacophonous chorus of crickets and other night creatures drowned most other sounds, making the night seem empty but for their meaningless clamor. Something similar was going on inside his head, and Imrys felt numb from chasing the illusive pattern the facts he’d been presented at the briefing should form. 

What is Dirk Alzarin planning? How can I stop him? What will become of Roen, with a ruler as inept as I?

Rest hadn’t come often, this past eighteen months. Imrys was too aware of every heartbeat, wondering when the foxglove would appear in his evening tisane. When sleep came he awoke frequently, bedclothing tumbled and often on the floor, his heart fluttering from images he couldn’t quite remember, expecting to see Failian in the shadows…

…sometimes finding him there. 

Already, in the mirror, Imrys imagined he saw the beginnings of silver at his temples. Breeches that’d fit last year had been discreetly replaced by his manservant, having been ‘outgrown.’ He sat more at Council but was wearier from his ‘repose.’ If this continued, Lania Pereger would wed a fat, grizzled, old man come winter. 

But once she bore an heir, Faelian would probably find Imrys redundant. All this fretting would end with a fatal ‘accident’. 

It was almost a comfort.

Imrys paused to look over the quieting camp. He was trying hard to make this look like a casual saunter, but knew it was no use. And it didn’t help his kingly dignity that those around him were trying so hard to believe the act. Imrys was stiff as a wooden puppet, and certain his movements gave the appearance he had something stuck in his arse. 

Probably the alliance and trade agreements I offered Cumbera last year! 

Dirk Alzarin hadn’t even bothered to respond.

Major Fell joined the contingent of Royal Guards who kept Imrys company as he toddled around the camp. 

“Sire,” the major said, when Imrys acknowledged him. “Close to a hundred refugees have gathered outside of camp.” 

“See them taken care of,” Imrys ordered, dreading how the number would rise as they approached the Mirze. “If you can, find their leaders and see what more you can learn about Margrave Pereger and his family.”

“Aye, Sire,” the Major bowed. “May I go, Sire?”

Imrys nodded dismissal. 

Gods, I wish Father were here. 

The greatest jeopardy to Imrys might not be King Daphed’s assassin, yet at large, nor even the Cumberan king. Any man who wed one of Pereger sisters need only eliminate whoever stood between her and the throne.