The Poisoned Throne

Prologue

This is the third book in the series. If you haven't read the first book, The Broken Crown, you can click the external link :) (you can also continue reading, I don't think there should be any problems understanding the plot)

*

Darrel looked back as Orrell let out his sixth cough in the past two minutes. Each time, they seemed to get worse and worse. The young soldier was born in the south-east of Etheron, but Darrel had not considered which impact that might have once they reached the mountains.

 “Don’t die on me, eh?” he said, stopping so that the younger man could catch up. He slapped his shoulder amiably. “I wouldn’t want to be left alone up ‘ere.”

 Orrell wiped at his nose. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

 “The mountains in the winter,” Darrel mused, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this.”

 They set up camp some hundred meters further down the mountainside. They were still far up, which meant that all the water they could get was frozen, even if there was no snow. Darrel lit a fire so that they could melt a few chunks of ice that they got from a frozen lake. That night, they dined on salted lamb and carrots from which they cut large pieces of rot.

 “I think I’d like to get married when I come home,” Orrell said the next morning as he pulled on his boots.

 Darrel snorted. “Why’s that?”

 Orrell shrugged. “I don’t know, really.” He smirked. “Would keep my bed warm, though.” After a moment, he added, “I think I’ve got one in mind, actually.”

 “Who’s that?” He would never admit it, but Darrel liked to listen to Orrell’s rambles.

 "This girl I would’ve brought to the midsummer fair, had it not been for this mission,” Orrell continued, starting now to pick up his stuff. “She’s very pretty, a small farmer’s daughter. She’s said to be able to birth sons, which makes up for her dowry, my father says.”

 Darrel stood up. “You ready?”

 Orrell nodded, picked up his share of their things and started walking. “How will we know when we’re close, though?”

 “If her army’s as big as Her Grace fears, then we’d be able to see it from afar.”

 It was not long until they saw it. Orrell climbed atop a large rock pointing from the mountainside and scouted down into the valley. “See this,” he gasped, making space for his commander on the stone.

 Darrel climbed the rock with a little less ease than Orrell and let his gaze fall down - and there, stretching out on both sides of the river, were the brown tops of hundreds of tents.

 “Know what?” Orrell said. “I think I might just die on you, after all. I wouldn’t want to be alive when Queen Elizabeth heard of this.”

 Darrel raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt the gods, boy.”

Another day’s march passed, and the next morning, Darrel told Orrell to find the white flag that they had brought with them.

 “Do you reckon they’ll know what it means?” Orrell asked, and Darrel could hear fear in his voice. “I mean, they’re savages, aren’t they?”

 Darrel just picked up his bags. “I can’t say much about her people, but Evelyn knows the meaning of a white flag.”

 “Well, if you believe the stories, then she’s the biggest savage of them all,” Orrell said.