The Soldier's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online Page A

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dark elves can live for millennia, and the urdmordar are immortal.
We live but a short span of years, and face foes of tremendous
power. Perhaps if we used magic to elevate ourselves, to
ascend…”
    “As Eve ate of the tree to ascend to the
knowledge of good and evil?” said Ridmark.
    Tarrabus offered a short, hard smile. “Let
us leave theological speculation to the priests. There is news of
more immediate interest. It seems that the Dux wishes for his
daughter to wed soon.”
    Constantine frowned. “It is unseemly to
gossip about my sister, sir.”
    One of Tarrabus’s knights, a scowling man
named Paul Tallmane, glared at Constantine. “You should keep a
respectful tongue in your mouth, boy. You are addressing the future
Dux of Caerdracon."
    Again Tarrabus lifted a hand, and Paul
stopped talking. “What gossip is there, boy? I merely repeat common
knowledge. The Dux is fond of his grandchildren, and he would like
more. And Aelia is a noblewoman both fair in face and character,
ripe to be wed.”
    Ridmark shrugged. “I am sure the Dux will
choose a worthy husband for her.”
    “A man of high noble birth, set to rise
higher,” said Tarrabus.
    “Or,” said Joram, “a knight of renown, who
has made a name with great deeds. A Swordbearer, perhaps.” He
shrugged. “Though I am sure I cannot think of such a man.”
    Tarrabus started to answer, then the Dux
cleared his throat, the hall falling silent.
    “My friends,” said Dux Gareth Licinius in
his deep voice, “I bid you welcome to my hall, on this joyous day
of Our Lord’s resurrection. We have faced many challenges this
winter, with raids from both the orcs of the Wilderland and from
the Deep.” He nodded in Ridmark’s direction. “And an urdmordar even
sought to enslave one of our villages. But by God’s mercy and the
valor of our knights, we have survived, and both Lent and the
winter are over. Let us then give thanks to God, and make merry
with food and drink and dancing.” A page hurried over with a goblet
of wine, and Gareth took a drink and lifted the goblet.
    “To the Northerland and the High King!” he
shouted.
    “To the Northerland and the High King!” the
guests roared back.
    A cheer went through the hall, and the
musicians upon the balconies started playing a lively song. The
lords and the knights went to the ladies and started to pair up,
dancing over the black and white tiles of the floor.
    “Pardon me, sirs,” said Ridmark, with a bow
to both Tarrabus and Joram.
    Tarrabus opened his mouth to answer, but
before he could, Ridmark strode away and approached the Dux’s
dais.
    Gareth looked at him, an amused look on his
face. “Sir Ridmark.”
    “My lord Dux,” said Ridmark. “I hope you
are well.”
    “I am,” said Gareth, “for a man of my age.
Ah, but these northern winters get harder to endure every
year.”
    “I wish to ask something of you, my lord,”
said Ridmark.
    “Certainly. You did a great service to my
lands and people when you slew the urdmordar Gothalinzur.”
    “I ask for the honor of the first dance of
the evening with Lady Aelia,” said Ridmark.
    Gareth chuckled. “Well, that is hardly mine
to give.” He looked at his daughter.
    Aelia smiled. “If I must, father, I shall
bear up under this dreadful burden.” She grinned, holding out a
hand, and Ridmark took it. His hand went on her left hip, their
right hands twining together, and he led her upon the floor of the
hall, moving in time to the music.
    “Shall we go faster?” said Ridmark.
    Her smile widened. “Only if you think you
can keep up, sir knight.”
    Ridmark laughed, their heels clicking
against the floor.
    “Poor Tarrabus,” said Aelia. “He looks like
he wants to rip off someone’s head.”
    Ridmark opened his mouth, and then closed
it. He was only nineteen, but he still knew enough of women to
realize that pointing out his rival’s flaws would not be
productive.
    “Well,” he said. “If he wanted the first
dance, he should have