Prologue
Westminster Palace
A battle was brewing.
A battle so big, so volatile, that everyone in the great hall of Westminster was coiled and waiting.
Coiled because they had to know which way to pivot when the battle began.
The king, Great Henry as he was called, was on one side, and on the other…
Well, the other side was the current Earl of Ashington.
A man once known as El Viento del Norte.
The North Wind.
One of the greatest mercenaries of his time, an English knight who had spent years fighting with the greatest mercenary army in Aragon under the command of his uncle, a man known as El Vibora.
The Viper.
Henry may have been the King of England, but Gage de Reyne, his opponent, was more than a formidable match. Henry had a healthy respect for the man, though he wouldn’t admit it. He preferred to stack his side of the battle with great warlords to hopefully show Gage that he wasn’t afraid of him.
At all.
Not even a little.
… maybe.
But it had come to this. Years of wrestling for the service of the same man, a man who happened to be Gage’s son, but who also happened to be a knight very much coveted by the king.
Gage had kept his son in the north, fighting Scots, knowing that Henry was eyeing the man for greater royal duties, and in a moment of weakness, he allowed his son, perhaps the greatest knight his family lines had ever produced, to accompany the king on crusade.
The French king was going, and Henry, being pious and semi-delusional, also decided to go.
It was an honor for Gage’s son to go with him, as Lord Protector.
Even kings needed a bodyguard. But ill health had forced him to turn back, and Gage’s son right along with him.
But the king kept him close, a security shield that he refused to release.
That was when the battle truly started.
The northern warlords, called the Northerners as a group, were a tough band of battle lords because they held the north against the Scottish and, at times, Northman onslaughts.
That made them perhaps the toughest of the tough.
When there were battles in the south of England or even in France, oftentimes the Northerners didn’t participate.
They still held the north, like their own little kingdom, and earls such as William de Wolfe, Adam de Longley, Gage de Reyne, and more were, at times, with power that equaled the king’s.
And Henry knew it. He knew the Northerners were their own little group, a very strong group, but they were still his vassals.
It was moments like this that he was forced to hammer that home.
The battle for Gage’s son had come down to this day, this moment, and now the final skirmish would unfold. A winner would be declared.
Henry intended to be that winner.
“Understand me, Ashington, so there is no doubt in your mind,” Henry said firmly.
“I am not requesting the service of your son. I am commanding it. He is not going home with you—he is remaining here with me. Why would you deny your king his wants? Furthermore, why would you deny you son such prestige?”
Gage, his expression lined with displeasure, faced off against a man he’d faced off against before.
Henry was old these days. He’d stopped actively participating in battles or even administering the country for the most part.
His son, Edward, had taken over most of Henry’s duties.
As Edward would be king one day, that was perfectly acceptable.
In fact, Gage could see Edward behind his father, seemingly remorseful for the man’s stubborn behavior against a loyal warlord.
But that remorse didn’t change Gage’s mind.
It didn’t even move him.
“Your grace, it is not prestige you offer Thor, but the role of a nursemaid,” he said frankly. “I permitted him to accompany you on the crusade to the Levant. I felt it was important to provide you with his protection. I felt—”
“He is my Lord Protector,” Henry said, interrupting him stubbornly. “I had a Lord Protector, once, in Patrick de Wolfe, but Patrick chose to marry and remain at his father’s holding of Berwick Castle. Thor is the perfect man for the task.”
Thor.
Thorington de Reyne, to be exact, Gage’s second-born son.
He’d been named after his mother’s family and had gone by Thor since he was an infant.
That was all anyone knew him by. He was also a twin, his older brother by ten minutes being Brian de Reyne, the man who would become the next Earl of Ashington.
Brian and Thor had essentially the same facial features and had, as children, been nearly identical, but time and growth spurts had changed that.
Brian was dark-haired and big, fair, and freckled, while Thor had the sultry darkness of the de Reynes—wavy, nearly black hair that tumbled to his shoulders and a smoldering handsomeness that he’d acquired the moment he transformed from a youth into a man.
But both he and Brian shared shockingly bright blue eyes when no one else in the family had them.
Thor, however, was the fighter.
A war god, just like his namesake.
“I gave my son to you on loan for two years,” Gage said, trying to keep his temper down.
“He was to accompany you to the Levant and fulfil his destiny as a great and noble knight, but that did not happen. He has returned home prematurely. Did you not think that I, as his father, also have plans for him upon his return? Plans that did not include playing a companion to the king.”
Henry’s features darkened. “He could only be so fortunate.”
Gage could see that he wasn’t getting anywhere, so he had to shift tactics.
He was dealing with an ill old man, one who was also conniving, and butting heads with him wasn’t going to work.
He’d known that from the start. Months of missives back and forth regarding the return of Thor to the north had culminated in Gage’s presence here at Westminster.
Henry had refused him audience for three solid weeks, and Gage knew why.
They were at the crux of that reason now.
Henry didn’t want to let Thor go.
“Of course he has been fortunate,” Gage said. “But I have great plans for him also. I expect him to take command of Septentrion Castle, my largest garrison, and a property he will inherit when I pass. It is his. Does a man not have a right to his own property?”
Henry simply looked at him. Then he spoke to Edward, standing behind him to his right, without looking at him.
“Edward?” he said. “Please tell Ashington our intentions for his son. The time has come.”
Edward didn’t look particularly eager to speak. “Now?” he said. “In front of everyone? Do you not wish to tell Ashington privately?”
“Nay,” Henry said in a calculated move. “Tell him now.”
Edward grunted, looking to Gage apologetically. “I will clear the hall,” he said. “I should not be—”
Henry cut him off, standing up from the chair he’d been planted in.
“Nay,” he said firmly. “You will not clear the hall, Edward. I will tell Ashington what we have planned for his son so that everyone may understand that what I have to offer him is far more prestigious than a little castle somewhere in Northumberland. Let his fellow warlords tell him what a great offer it is.”
Gage could hear the condescension in Henry’s voice. The man was going to try to use peer pressure to get his wants. “Septentrion is hardly a little castle, your grace,” he said. “It is large and strategic.”
Henry waved him off. “Compared to what I am prepared to offer him, it is a pittance,” he said. Then he pointed at Gage. “Listen to me and listen well, Ashington, because I have a little story for you.”
“Go on, your grace.”
Henry was moving stiffly, moving for one of the long feasting tables near Gage. He intended to sit, but before he did, he gestured to the men in the hall, men around him.
“Who do you see here?” he asked. “Look at them—do you not see the Earl of Canterbury? Daniel de Lohr?”
Gage’s focus moved to the big blond warlord standing off to the side. Daniel de Lohr had inherited Canterbury from his father, David, who passed away about ten years ago. The de Lohrs were legendary in the history of England and particularly during the last sixty or so years.
He acknowledged the earl who was also his friend.
“Of course I know Canterbury,” he said, watching Daniel smile faintly. “We are old friends.”
“And you know that Daniel’s uncle, Christopher de Lohr, gained his fortune through marriage,” Henry said. “Who else do you see here?”
Gage spied another Northerner, Edward de Wolfe, son of the greatest knight the north had ever seen.
William de Wolfe, Earl of Warenton, was a living legend, and his sons were all a chip off the old block, so to speak.
De Wolfe had six grown sons, and while five of them had followed the warring ways, Edward had followed the path of his grandfather and namesake, Edward de Wolfe, and become Henry’s counselor and premier diplomat.
He was quite young for such a role, but he was excellent because he had been mentored by Henry’s greatest chancellor, Roi de Lohr, the Earl of Cheltenham.
Roi was Daniel’s cousin and a greater statesman had never existed.
Roi was here, too, standing with Edward, both of them watching Gage to see how the man was reacting to Henry’s bullying.
It was difficult not to feel pity for the man.
“I see de Wolfe and de Lohr,” Gage finally said. “I see great men. What is your point, your grace?”