20. Dimitri
20
DIMITRI
T hick, choking smoke clogged the city. The plains before Tournai were blackened. From the upper reaches of the city, Dimitri watched the pyres burn, shaking with anger. Toroth had shown his hand. It only fuelled Dimitri’s desire to crush him. Hundreds from all walks of the city, from lords right down to the half-elf who owned the tavern by the gate, had burned. All for treason—and all innocents. All for rumours of Saradon, or criticism of the king’s own failures to keep the trade routes open.
The king had shown how fear and insecurity consumed him. Mere rumours and slights had doomed all those now who burned before the city. Despite Dimitri’s careful assurances that no direct names had been found, that the city was loyal to him, the king had gathered up anyone he had seen as a fitting target and condemned them. Death by dragonfire for all. The great, black dragon still wheeled above the city, as if surveying its handiwork with pride.
The full force of the Kingsguard flooded the city to keep peace, for the people revolted in their open fear, anger, and hate of the king. With the troubles, food was scarce—though not at the king’s table—and the mood volatile. A spark, ready to burst into flames. Dimitri only felt regret that ordinary folk—the downtrodden like him, who he had done all this for—had so far suffered more than the blasted king. He wondered whether the guilds would stand with him now. Soon, he promised himself. It was almost time. He could not wait for Saradon to sweep in and kill the king.
As he walked toward the great hall to attend the king, Raedon stormed the same way, visibly seething. No doubt because responsibility to keep the peace fell upon his shoulders, yet it seemed to be an evermore impossible task. Inspiration struck him.
“General!” Dimitri called across the courtyard, for Raedon strode so quickly, head down, that he had not noticed the king’s spymaster. Raedon stopped and looked up. His scowl deepened when he saw who had summoned him, then he turned away, striding off once more.
“Wait.”
Raedon did not stop, and Dimitri was forced to run after him, much to his annoyance. He stepped in front of Raedon, forcing the general of the Winged Kingsguard to halt.
“What do you want, spymaster?” growled Raedon. “Get out of my way.” His voice carried across the still air.
“Meet me in the rose garden at the next bell if you want to find out,” murmured Dimitri.
He strode away without looking back. He did not need to in order to know Raedon was hooked by curiosity, because he had not moved. He would come. Dimitri was certain of it.
Raedon stalked between the bushes. He had removed his distinctive red cloak and ceremonial garb, and wore only his usual scuffed, working leathers. He cast a striking contrast to Dimitri’s smooth, black robes. Tousled, sweaty hair, fresh from his patrol of the city, compared to Dimitri’s coiffed elegance.
“What do you want?” His voice was flat as he stood a healthy distance away, arms folded, eyeing Dimitri with distaste.
Dimitri ignored his rudeness. Relief prickled between his shoulder blades that the general had heeded his summons, but safety was not his yet. “The Kingsguard is struggling. I hear attacks upon the red cloaks have increased this week. I am correct, no?”
Raedon’s deepening scowl was his only answer, but it was enough.
“Worry not. We are warded. This is a conversation that ought not be overheard.” Thick rose bushes enclosed the small, round, paved courtyard in a cocoon of privacy. None would see them there.
Raedon frowned, but he did not speak. Dimitri surmised Raedon was curious enough to at least hear him out.
“The king is not himself,” said Dimitri evenly. “You have noticed, yes?”
Raedon did not move for a long moment, then nodded sharply.
“And, naturally, it is your job to clean up this mess. It will get worse after today, you know.” Dimitri referred to the burnings.
Raedon gritted his teeth and muttered something under his breath, his hands flexing as though they longed to clench into fists.
Dimitri leaned forward. “Hmm?”
“ Fool , I said. Damned bloody fool! ” Raedon seemed to feel better for being able to curse the king aloud—and now his hands were fists, and they shook.
“Yes. It was ill thought out. I did what I could to prevent it, but of late, he sees threats where none exist. It’s as if he thinks the very shadows are out to get him.” At Raedon’s incredulous look, Dimitri nodded. “I swear it. I tried to avoid this, but you know how wilful he is. Once an idea takes him, a dragon could not pry it from his grasp.”
Raedon grumbled his agreement. “What do you want, Spymaster?”
“I extend an offer of alliance toward you, General. We might not like each other, but we can work together.”
Raedon’s eyes narrowed sharply, filled with distrust. “For what end?”
“That depends. I seek a Pelenor that is peaceful and prosperous. What do you desire?” Dimitri hoped he was right to voice such things aloud to the general. He would not hesitate to punish him in Toroth’s name. He hoped he had the measure of Raedon right. That he, too, grew disillusioned with the king. Raedon’s eyes narrowed further. “It’s not a trick question.”
“Then you ought to know I desire that, too. I am duty-bound to make it so.”
“Of course—and the situation we find ourselves in at present could not be further from that. Could not be moving further away from that,” he added pointedly, meeting Raedon’s glare.
“What are you proposing?” the general asked guardedly.
“If the king is not fit to rule…” Dimitri left the sentence unfinished, the words hanging in the air.
“You are an idiot if you think I will help you?—”
Dimitri scoffed in disgust, cutting him off. “I do not want that. Don’t be ridiculous.” He might have wanted power and security, but he was not foolish enough to desire a throne. “Who are you bound to serve, General? The people and the land… or the king?”
“I won’t betray my king,” Raedon said stubbornly.
“A quality to be admired, to be sure.” Dimitri paced around the area, like a predator circling prey. He stopped to admire a rose. “Yet where has it gotten you? Over the years, you have followed orders you did not agree with. I know precisely what you have done.”
Raedon scowled again. “I don’t need your judgment. You’ve done far worse, no doubt. I’ve done my duty. I am bound to serve.”
“As are we all. But maybe that doesn’t need to be the case. Maybe we can serve without compromising everything we stand for.”
Raedon scoffed.
Dimitri allowed himself to chuckle. “Yes, quite. Not under the current paradigm. I will give you that.” He shrugged, fingering the rose and letting it drop. “All I’ll say is, with the current troubles in the city, which my reports tell me are spreading across the realm, and the illness that seems to be striking down half the court, including our own queen, I do not think Pelenor will hold much longer without some hope. We need a strong, fair leader to navigate us through this mire. To see Pelenor through to the other side, intact. I do not think Toroth is that elf.”
Dimitri slyly examined Raedon under the pretence of admiring their surroundings. He could not miss the slight straightening of Raedon’s shoulders. The spark in his eyes. The general had always wanted to be powerful, and there was only one position more powerful than the leader of the Winged Kingsguard.
“What would you have happen?” Raedon asked cautiously. They both knew what Dimitri suggested was tantamount to treason. But Raedon was cautious enough not to voice it.
“Just think on it, General,” he said. “Who are you bound to—king or country—and what is your duty?” Dimitri turned and left, his smile hidden. It was child’s play manipulating egos.
When Dimitri returned to his quarters, a note waited amongst his daily post. It was written in a charcoal stick, partly smeared by the hand that wrote it, upon a rough, dirty parchment scrap that had been torn from a bigger sheet. This had come from a smithy. Dimitri held up the crumpled paper.
“ We will stand. ”
He smiled, the satisfaction seeping through him in a wave of warm elation. The guilds were his.