Kingdom's Fall

Chapter 4, Part 2

The boy took the news well, Gray thought. Granted, he hadn't expected him to take it badly. There was something so crushing about the existence of a lone camp brat that any opportunity would seem like a gift to the boy. Cuan had grown up with the expectation of disappointment. Whenever he wasn't bent almost double by chores, he stumbled about the camp as if half-awake, choked into inactivity by the shackles of his own pathetic life. Gray would have happily taken on the boy's training, or assigned someone to the job - a spare pair of hands would have been helpful - were it not for the fact that the lad's father would have used it as leverage. In an army camp that felt like a pot on the stove sitting ready to boil over, certain sacrifices had to be made to make sure peace reigned. Cuan had been one of those sacrifices. Ronan would have been only too happy to take preferential treatment of the boy as sign of his own star ascending, and Gray was loathe to give the man more influence than could be safely dealt with. The message that summoned Gray back to the capital presented him with an opportunity to make things right by Cuan.  He could hardly be blamed for who his father was, and it had long been on Gray's mind to find a way to draw him out of Ronan's shadow.

One by one, the rest of the men had been taken aside and given their orders. Ronan was put in charge with the minimum amount of grumbling from the ranks, and no outright dissent. He sent them all packing, as anticipated, and they regrouped near the palace to await further instruction from Gray.

Gray, meanwhile, took a roundabout route on his way to see the King. Two generations ago, Varion's grandfather Vicarion, had pulled down the city walls, the great defences that circled the capital. The city hadn't seen a siege since the formation of the Kingdom, and the stone was a ready source waiting to be re-used. The walls were pulled down, and what wasn't used to improve the palace saw the bedding of a massive river-dock and a trade road, linking the river Alyn to the city that shared its name. While both projects had been completed before Vicarion passed on, the ring of cleared ground that was left behind once demolition ended stayed long after, left as an afterthought. What had been a neat ring of ancient stone was turned into a wasteland.  The air hung thick with slow-settling dust from scavengers and breaker squads for years, and as the rubble was cleared a new district sprung up to claim the land.  The displaced, the destitute, the families too poor to afford lodgings near the fresh air of the city's inner districts - all came to settle in the Ruins. A ramshackle tangle of cottage-style buildings sprung up, cramming together to fill every available space as the remains of the city's defences were reborn as homes to be lived in.  For the rest of Alyn, the people of the Ruins were a pool of cheap labour, and a drain on the city's resources; a group to be pitied and a painful reminder of the country's past. Gray had been born in the Ruins, had grown up with its unique social strata and dialect, and before his conscription he had been running with one of the larger gangs. When the Carelians rattled the sabre over the southern border, Gray had been instrumental in brokering peace in the city as the army marshalled to war. Those that wanted to take up a life in the army from the gangs were given pardons to do so, and those that remained called a truce, swayed by the compliment of the king's attention and – more importantly - the bribes they were offered. After the defeat over the Pinch, the gangs of Alyn were put to a different use; crimes that were once punishable by death became exile instead. The southern garrison was a dumping ground for men with dark beginnings, and so it seemed apt that Gray found himself commanding it. Even though fifteen years had passed, Gray always listened to the stories each batch of recruits brought south with them. Ronan had always barked about how important he was, how he had been lined up to run Alyn's streets until fate intervened, but Gray knew it was hollow. All it had taken was the glint of gold coin to turn Ronan's own men against him.

"Come on, lad," Gray said, hurrying him along through the alleyways. "We've got a lot to get on with." The boy hadn't been lagging at all - in fact he'd almost stepped on Gray's heels several times now - and Gray said it more to spur himself on than Cuan. The meeting with the king had drained him. The sight of Varion so weakened and the thought of a tide of Carelians rising to sweep north had shaken him, and he was starting to tire out. Admitting it would be to admit defeat. With his men already on the road south, he had done everything he could to provide the Kingdom with sufficient warning against an invasion. What it needed now was the leadership - the strength - to be ready to rise and meet it. Varion had laid a nigh-impossible task on Gray's shoulders, but there was no way he could have refused it. The condition of Varion's court told Gray it was weighing too much on the man for the Kingdom to survive it. The Kingdom needed the king, and if the price of that was having Gray waste his time chasing shadows and rumours of a foe long since gone, then he was more than willing to swallow his pride and do it. Being a soldier was about waiting, but being a commander was about knowing when - and how - to act. Something was coming, and whether it was the Carelians or a coup Varion would need the wit and freedom to defend against it.

"Where are we going?" Cuan asked.

"The king has lost something. Something valuable," Gray said. "More than that, it was stolen from him, and I've been given the job of getting it back."

"Do you know who took it?"

"Not exactly, no. And until we find out who took it and where they went, we're stuck."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We?" Gray half-turned to look back at the boy and grinned. "That's the spirit. We are going to ask some very awkward questions, and if we don't get any answers then we're going to have to ask them again a little more forcefully. It takes a certain kind of expertise to steal from a king, and a lot of money. Someone in the palace was involved, and I'm betting if we can find them then we'll find out more about our thieves."

"Sounds good. So where do we start?"

"We start at the bottom, and work our way up. What's the easiest way to get a favour?"

"Ask for it?"

Gray tutted disapprovingly. "Think, lad. When was the last time someone offered you a favour for nothing back?"

"Alright. You pay for it."

"Exactly. You might talk one or two simpletons into betraying their country, but somewhere along the path someone got paid and paid well for looking the other way. Now, where do men go when they get their pay?"

There was a longer pause before Cuan answered, and Gray remembered that he'd rarely been out of the army camp. "They spend it," he said eventually. "On drink, or women. If there's no drink and no women, they play dice for the rest."

"Ha!" Gray laughed. "We'll make a soldier of you yet. We're going to the palace to ask some questions."

"Weren't you just there?"

"A different part of the palace, then. Stables, kitchens, and guardhouse. We'll start at the bottom and work our way up. If all that fails we'll start on the gambling houses. It won't be dangerous, or shouldn't be, but keep your eyes open." Gray's cloak parted and he held a long, sheathed blade out to Cuan. "Here. This is for you."

"A sword?"

Gray laughed. "Almost. Bit short for a sword, bit long for a dagger, but it's the right length for you to learn with."

Cuan took it in both hands, and Gray noted how his eyes were drawn to the cross-guard at the base of the blade. It had a single curving bar off one side, indicating how it was meant to be held, and he watched the boy's fingers curl around the hilt, resisting the urge to draw it. He looked up at Gray. "Thank you," he said.