The Unseen

Chapter 153

"Nay," Gregory said. He rethought his reply. "Aye, I am part of it, as was my father before me." It was feeble to blame what was for what is. Still, he felt the need to push a portion of his guilt onto others.

"We are cattle," Striker said. Gregory nodded, though he was not sure Striker could see the acknowledgment.

"If the Answer had not come, would you claim this promise?" Striker asked.

It was a horrible question, one asked at the point of a blade. Gregory thought of lying, perhaps pretending he was a better man. The truth was something different. His reservations had always been deep, deeper after the loss of his first two sons. Yet each coming winter argued for it, age biting hard. He decided it was better to let the rain fall than to try and dodge the drops.

"Aye, I would have claimed it," Gregory admitted. "Now, I only desire to see the man my son has become. He is my eternity now."

Striker sat back, his blade settling on the arm of the chair.

"Know that my death will end nothing," Gregory continued. "The Queen has been given the promise, though it will never be honored. Her remarriage will identify a new line of kings, one chosen by the Brethren. Had the Answer not come, I would already be wearing the white. They smelled growing reluctance long ago and desired the end of my line. Best not to pass such reservations down the line."

"It is said that Lord Ogden and four Brethren fell to the Answer's swords in a tavern," Striker said. He flipped his knife absently, spinning it in the dark and catching the grip in a practiced way. "Answer or son; he will see evil in you. How is your swordplay?"

"Four?" Gregory asked, ignoring Striker's warning. "I would not think so few would test him again." Magna'est should have sent hundreds. It seemed out of character.

"The Answer's words travel too far and too fast. All will know of his plans before the next moon," Striker continued. "Mayhap, they goad him with victories as one would bait a trap."

"His plans are known?"

"Aye," Striker replied. "He means to gather at Goddess' Grove and then take the port."

"Goddess' Grove? Is that where you ..."

"Aye. It is the place. He claims it now and intends to don a crown - your crown. Then move on the port."

"And he tells others this?"

"Victories have swelled his mind. He tempts the Brethren by claiming they have seen their last winter," Striker said. "It is foolish to toy with them."

"Or not," Gregory said, a smile forming. One decisive battle or winters upon winters of battles and rebirths. His son has chosen too soon, but wisely. He rose from his chair, startling Striker. "Do you mean to end me or allow me to stir the fire?"

"Stir," Striker replied, his shadowy arm waving toward the hearth.

Gregory took the iron poker and turned some of the coals, pushing unburnt wood back on top of them. He leaned the poker back against the log bin and added some fresh wood. It took only a moment for snaps to emerge and new flames to grow. He sat back down, Striker's image gaining color.

"You bathed," Gregory observed, though his nose had sensed the first evidence.

"When I hunt, I must smell like the surroundings," Striker said with a shrug. "One must bathe when the quarry is a king." He flipped his knife again. The confidence of it was irritating.

"Ask, and I will answer," Gregory said. Striker already knew too much. Adding more was not going to make it worse.

It was a long conversation. The King explained what he knew of the promise and how it worked. He did not hide the damage done to the Chosen, though he possessed only incidental knowledge of the teaching and had only seen a rebirth once. It was challenging to discuss with a man on the edge, one who still felt loss so profoundly. Nevertheless, Gregory powered through and ended without lies or omission. A first.