Free Soul of Swords (Book 7) by Jonathan Moeller Page B

and go home. Then you can devote your time to planting an heir in your wife’s belly.”
    “That is hardly a proper way,” said Maurus, “to speak of the Lady Consort.”
    Roger returned, holding trenchers laden with bacon and a skin of wine. “From the quartermaster, my lord Prince. And Lord Bryce and Lord Karlam are on their way.”
    “Thank you,” said Hugh.
    “I don’t suppose you thought to bring us all food?” said Montigard, eyeing the squire.
    Roger blinked. “Ah…I saw that my lord Prince had guests, so I made sure to bring enough!” He held out the trenchers.
    “Capital!” said Montigard. “A fine lad. Hugh, if Adelaide has a daughter, you should marry her to this boy.”
    Roger’s flush managed to get deeper.
    “Go and get my horse ready,” said Hugh, “and see to my weapons and armor. We shall ride to battle soon.”
    Roger bowed, handed out the food, and ran off.
    Hugh took a bite of the bacon. “Well?”
    “It is as you thought, my lord Prince,” said Maurus. “The Aegonar are indeed trying to construct a wooden bridge over the wreckage of the Castle Bridge.”
    “Aye,” said Montigard around a mouthful of bread, “Malaric’s witchery tore down the bridge, but the piers are still there, and the Aegonar have thralls laying down planks. Another few days, and they’ll be able to march right over the River of Lords.” 
    Hugh cursed. “So that’s why they threw those warbands against us. Not to cause chaos, though they stirred up enough. To distract us while they finished their damned bridge.”
    Maurus nodded. “Several thousand Aegonar warriors are waiting on the northern bank, and a strong band holds the southern bank. As soon as the bridge is complete, I suspect they will cross and construct a ringfort to hold the crossing.”
    Hugh sighed. “And then they’ll bring their whole host across and assail Barellion itself.”  
    “Just as well,” said Montigard, taking a swig from the skin of wine, “that you sent that lad to fetch your horse.”
    Armor clanked, and Hugh turned. A dozen lords and knights walked towards him. At their head strode two men in fine plate armor. One was stout and middle-aged, wearing a green surcoat identical to Roger’s. Lord Bryce Spearshore was one of the most powerful lords in Greycoast. He had sworn to Hugh after Malaric’s disastrous defeat at Castle Bridge, and Hugh trusted him.
    He did not trust the man at Lord Bryce’s left.
    Lord Karlam Ganelon of Rutagne was tall and lean, a wispy mustache and pointed beard covering his lip and chin. Despite his foppish appearance, his eyes were hard and cold. Hugh’s father had never trusted Lord Karlam, and Karlam had been one of the first to swear to Malaric. After Malaric’s defeat at Castle Bridge, Karlam had remained aloof, refusing to choose a side until after Hugh had prevailed.
    Lord Karlam also had numerous daughters, and had suggested, more than once, that Hugh divorce Adelaide for a woman of higher birth.
    That had not endeared him to Hugh any further.
    “My lords,” said Hugh. “Thank you for coming. It seems our fears were correct. The Aegonar are building a temporary bridge over the wreckage of Castle Bridge.”
    Lord Karlam swore. “The barbarian devils will not be content until they worship their serpent-god in the ruins of the Prince’s Keep.”
    Lord Bryce shrugged. “The master of the barbarian devils wants Knightcastle, not Barellion. We are simply in their way.”
    Karlam lifted a pale eyebrow. “Then perhaps we ought to permit them passage through Greycoast and let Lord Malden deal with them.”
    Bryce scowled. “Then you would expose the folk of another land to these Aegonar butchers? You know the atrocities they have committed in the north.”
    “I am simply saying it would be a way to get rid of them,” said Karlam.
    “No, Bryce is right,” said Hugh. “If we grant the Aegonar passage, Skalatan and Ryntald would use the opportunity to attack us.” He had met both