Unclean

by A. M. Manay

  “Why did you wish to speak to me?” Shiloh demanded, her patience wearing thin.

  “To assure you that the church universal stands with you, Your Grace. You will hear no sedition from any pulpit in Bryn as long as I lead the church,” Fenroh pledged. “I have told them that you were chosen by the Gods for this purpose, that they are to support you without reservation, and as a gesture of goodwill to you, I’ve struck the Cleanliness Laws as far as my authority extends.”

  “And you want what in return, exactly?” Shiloh asked, eyes narrow.

  Fenroh smiled broadly. “Simply for you to do what you do best, Your Grace. For you to continue smashing the world order to bits. And good luck clearing Vorren out of the Frontier. He won’t go without a fight. You shall be in my prayers.”

  And with that, Fenroh flicked his wand and disappeared.

  “I’ll smash you to bits,” she grumbled.

  “He’s right about Vorren,” Silas admitted.

  “I don’t want that man running the church in Bryn,” Shiloh snarled.

  “I know. But he has killed just about every priest who didn’t support him, with the exception of the ones you were able to save from the Citadel, who are hiding only the Gods know where. So, we either kill the rest of them, leaving a power vacuum and a rudderless and infuriated faithful, or we live with it, for now,” Silas pushed back. “You’ll gain more power, as time goes by. Eventually, you may be able to take control of the church. But not tonight.”

  Shiloh closed her eyes and pressed two fingers between them. “How in creation did I ever let you talk me into this insanity?”

  Silas threw a sheet over the mirror and shoved it into a wardrobe.

  “Come, little bird. To bed. Tomorrow, we ride for the Frontier.”

  For Bryn

  “Do you have anything for Edmun?” young Silas whispered to Henrik.

  They stood in a dark stand of trees. The sound of nearby revelry was clearly audible. The men were celebrating a victory, and liquor flowed freely.

  Henrik nodded and passed him two slips of paper. “A copy of a letter from Rischar to Keegan, trying to get him to switch sides. And a note from Alissa to Keegan,” he replied, “romantic in nature.”

  Silas passed him a coin in return. “Better get back to the party before you’re missed,” he suggested.

  Henrik smiled. “What about you? Edmun giving you an evening off after your exemplary performance in battle today?”

  Silas laughed. “Ha! No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid.”

  Silas watched him go and heaved a sigh, then dragged himself back toward Edmun’s tent.

  Shiloh was grateful to see Redwood Castle looming in the distance. It had been a long several days, beginning with the stomach-churning task of ferrying the army across a white-capped Bay, then continuing with the journey through the Gate to the Wood. Tomorrow, it would be off to the Frontier, but at least she was to have a night indoors to fortify her.

  She was less enamored with spending the night near the imprisoned Westan and his entourage, but she supposed she ought to be grateful they were locked up tight.

  “Well, there she is, my childhood home,” Daved told Shiloh with a grin. He seemed tickled by the idea of hosting her.

  “It’s a very pretty castle,” she allowed, returning his smile.

  “It’s more than pretty!” he countered. “My forbears spared no expense on the design and construction. It is considered the strongest castle in the realm and the most comfortable.”

  “Well, I do hope the general opinion is correct, as I am exhausted,” Shiloh answered.

  Soon, but not soon enough, she rode over the drawbridge to be greeted by some happy and familiar faces.

  “Jane! Lill!” she cried. “Oh, you two are a sight for sore eyes!” She descended from the saddle and landed lightly on her feet.

  They both curtseyed deeply, and Shiloh drew them each into an embrace.

  “And where is little Silas? Is he making trouble already?” Shiloh asked. Lill beckoned to a nurse, who brought forward the bundle. The child slept on, undisturbed by all the excitement of a royal arrival.

  “Oh, but he is precious!” Shiloh exclaimed. She laid a hand on his head and murmured a blessing.

  “Certainly more handsome than his namesake, and far better behaved,” Silas judged, then kissed his sister. “I’m so relieved to see you in one piece.”

  Lill swatted him on the arm. “No thanks to you, you foolish man! Leaving us in the wilds of the north to fend for ourselves! And I thought you were dead for certain, for months and months. How dare you make me worry like that!”

  “I am, indeed, worthy of your reprobation, dear sister,” Silas admitted.

  Those nearby hastily hid their laughs behind coughs and sleeves.

  “Your Grace, I have something for you,” Jane added. She turned and took a box from one of the footmen.

  “My jewelry box! You were able to save it!” Shiloh cried. Tears sprang to her eyes. “You have my thanks, the both of you.”

  She ran her fingers over the intricate gold filigree that depicted the hexmarks that covered her torso. With the design, Silas had been attempting to convince her that her scars were not ugly. She opened the casket and pulled out the wedding ring that she hadn’t laid eyes on in nearly two years.

  “May I?” Silas asked with a courtly bow.

  She smiled and handed it to him. He placed it upon her finger. Daved looked away.

  “Shall we get ready for dinner?” Lill suggested. “You must be starving, the lot of you.”

  “Yes,” Silas agreed. “After we eat, someone point me in the direction of the dungeon.”

  Redwood Castle didn’t actually have a dungeon. They housed their prisoners in a separate building next to the summer kitchen, a freestanding tower with but one exterior door and no windows at all. The walls were three feet deep, and the stone foundation extended far into the earth. Ventilation was provided by shafts whose openings were covered with iron grillwork sunk by magic deep into the stone. Men stood upon the roof at all hours, every day of the year, eyes peeled for any sign of the unusual. One of the guards bragged to Silas that it was the most inescapable prison in the realm, and Silas felt inclined to agree with him.

  “This is an outrage!” Westan cried.

  Silas rolled his eyes and took his seat in the former king’s cell.

  “Your Grace, we caught you in possession of the crown jewels, most of the contents of the royal treasury, everything that wasn’t nailed down in the National Mint, as well as every scrap of gold to be found in the cathedral. As if that were not enough, your men, under your orders, attempted to burn the City to the ground, and I fear you may have poisoned your wife in an attempt to illegally seize the throne.”

  “I am the king. It’s my treasury and my City and my wife, and I’ll do with them what I like!” Westan insisted, sounding like an irritated five-year-old.

  “You ceased to be king when Esta’s heart ceased to beat,” Silas countered. “You should have made sure you had Loor in hand before that happened. All you are king of is Gerne. Given that Bryn and Gerne are not currently at war, well . . . either you personally committed terrible crimes, or you’ve started a war that we will have to finish.”

  “My uncle will ransom me!” Westan replied with an assurance that almost made Silas feel a twinge of pity.

  Almost.

  “I’m afraid he has already declined to do so,” Silas informed him. He pulled a letter out of his coat pocket and made a show of reading it over. “It also seems that he has no desire for Gerne to enter into a war with us at this time. He writes, and I quote, ‘Westan’s actions were his own. You may feel free to adjudicate my nephew’s case in accordance with the laws of Bryn, and we request no input into the terms of his sentence. Any Gernish forces that currently remain in Bryn are in violation of my orders. Lord Vorren does not act with official sanction, and he will receive no support from Gerne, material or otherwise.’”

 
He looked up. Westan’s face was green.

  Silas smiled. “I think that’s his courtly way of saying, ‘Hang him high for all I care.’ I suspect he wants us to clear the deck for him, that he may inherit the throne of Gerne free and clear, and at the moment, I’m rather inclined to oblige. What do you think, Your Grace? Do I misjudge dear Uncle Hollon?”

  Westan they had locked up in a room almost befitting his station, with a proper bed and fine furniture, tapestries upon the walls, and lamps lit against the windowless dim. His men, on the other hand, were piled together in a large cell with little more than a chamber pot between them.

  Silas stood in the doorway, handkerchief held to his nose against the smell. He pointed to a burly man with a black beard and a missing finger.

  “That one,” he told the guard, then strode back down the hall and through the heavily guarded door.

  “Remind me of your name,” Silas demanded once they had brought the man out to the courtyard in chains.

  “Kuver,” he answered.

  “It seems to be my lucky day. I dared not hope I would ever actually catch up with you, but here you are, still in service to that idiot of a king. Do you remember me, Kuver?”

  The man’s eyes darted back and forth, as though casting about for the right answer. Alas, there was no right answer.

  “Uh, yes?” Kuver ventured. “Yer, uh, Silas Hatch.”

  “I am,” Silas confirmed. He smiled coldly. “I wanted to ask you a question about a couple of pink braids. And then there is the matter of my stolen wedding ring.” He drew his wand. “I’m afraid I am still a bit cross about that.”

  They had entered the Frontier from the Wood, and all along the King’s Road stood empty villages obviously abandoned in haste. When Shiloh had last seen them, when she’d been taken south to prison, they had been full of the sights and sounds of rural life.

  “The ones who didn’t run south to the Wood are all gone,” Daved whispered, tracing a circle on his forehead. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Nor have I,” Shiloh replied. She sent up a silent prayer.

  “No sight or smell of death. No signs of mass graves. I think they’ve been taken,” Silas surmised.

  “Taken? For what?” Daved asked.

  “As slaves, perhaps,” Silas proposed.

  “Since when is slavery legal in Gerne?” Shiloh demanded.

  “It is if you’ve been convicted of a crime,” Silas explained, “and I imagine that is the excuse they will use. I am hoping they are still being held on our side of the border. That is our best chance to free them. We are not prepared for an invasion of Gerne, even with all your new toys, Your Grace.”

  A scout came barreling down the road toward them, his horse dripping sweat. Shiloh’s stomach clenched.

  “Your Grace,” the boy panted. “Soldiers five mile out, busting up the road and blocking the crossing over Milky Creek. Lord Vorren is not among them.”

  “Gernish soldiers or Brynish conscripts?” Silas asked, handing the lad a waterskin.

  “A mix, and thank you, my lord,” he answered before taking a long swallow.

  “How many?” Shiloh asked.

  “I count five hundred, Your Grace, but there could be more in the woods,” he replied.

  Shiloh grimaced. “Good thing we have some men among us accustomed to fighting in the forest. Could someone please fetch my brother and my father?”

  The white flags went up at first light. The night of silent murder by the Feralfolk had terrified Lord Vorren’s men, and without him standing over them, courage was in short supply.

  The large number of Gernish prisoners afforded an opportunity for Silas to gather intelligence whilst Jerr supervised the repairs to the bridge.

  “Where?” Silas asked so softly that it was almost a whisper.

  The Gernish officer looked up in terror, eyes fixed upon the wand that had just made him scream.

  “I—I don’t know,” he protested. “Please!”

  “Here’s the thing, my lord. You’re a very minor nobleman. No one is going to ransom you. We already have Westan locked up, and they won’t even ransom him. No one will even miss you. Your only chance of ever seeing Gerne again is if you tell me what I want to know. And as you have already learned, I have no difficulty hurting you until you come to your senses. Now, where are the bulk of Lord Vorren’s forces, and what is his plan for defeating us?”

  “He’ll kill me,” the man protested.

  “Not if I kill him first,” Silas growled. “And I’m perfectly capable of killing you, too, if you insist. I want to hear everything you know, and I want to hear it now. The last man I spoke with is the one you saw hanging from a tree outside this tent. He was not very cooperative,” he lied. The man was actually one of their own, accused of rape. His corpse was making an excellent object lesson for both armies.

  “They intend to trap you between Northgate Castle and the short border with the Range. Lord Speckley is coming from the east. He intends to make himself king once the Usurper’s Unclean daughter is dead, and Gerne has agreed to back him,” the man confessed, all his words running together in his haste. “In exchange, Speckley has agreed to allow Gerne to keep the Frontier.”

  Silas smiled. “Now see, was that so hard?” Then he lifted his arm and backhanded the prisoner across the face. Blood poured from the man’s nose.

  “You will call my wife ‘Her Grace, Queen Shiloh’ or I will make you wish you had.”

  It broke Shiloh’s heart to see the condition of the Brynish conscripts. They were barely more than skin and bones. Her own troops made camp and took them in, feeding them on hardtack and broth to start out, lest their stomachs reject richer fare. She circulated among them, treating wounds and listening to their stories while she waited for word on the bridge.

  “My lady, my lady!” someone called out. Shiloh turned to see Hedsin, one of the farmers from Northgate Village, limping toward her.

  “Hedsin!” she cried. “My good man, it is lovely to see your face, though I regret the circumstances.”

  One of her guards stepped into his path. “That’s close enough to Her Grace,” he growled.

  “It’s all right, Kile, I know him,” Shiloh told him, and he stepped aside.

  Hesdin’s mouth fell open, and he dropped to one knee. “Apologies, Your Grace. The last time I saw you, they’d taken your title and were about to clap you in irons!”

  She waved him to his feet and replied, “It’s been a rather eventful couple of years, I’m afraid.”

  “Your Grace, they’ve got me wife and daughters locked up in Northgate Castle,” he told her, his hands twisting together in dismay. “Mine and many more. Told us they’d be killed if we deserted or lost the battle. Every castle between here and the border is stuffed to the rafters with prisoners, anybody they didn’t think could work a full day of logging or soldiering.”

  “Logging for what?” she asked.

  “Building battle engines, Your Grace. Rolling towers and the like. Spikes for trenches. They intend to keep the land they stole, my lady, or kill us all trying.”

  “And what do they intend to do with the land? With so many fled or in prison, or about to be killed in battle, there’d be no one to work it,” Shiloh said.

  “I heard they’re bringing in settlers from Gerne, giving them our houses, our farms, our shops. Gonna sell us all to them for slaves, they are,” Hesdin explained.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  They sat around the table in Shiloh’s tent, maps spread before them: Shiloh, Barr, Keegan, Robben, Daved, Silas, Hana, and Jerr.

  “I questioned the surviving Gernish officers individually. Their stories largely matched. Lord Vorren has the bulk of his forces here, east of Northgate, where the King’s Road makes a turn to the west,” Silas said, sticking a pin into a map. “Speckley and his men were expected to cross into the Frontier about three days ago, so are likely about here.” He placed another pin. “I’ve sent a
message to a friend in southern Vreeland who should be able to confirm or deny that information, as they would have been in sight of the Vree border guards.”

  “A friend?” Shiloh asked, eyebrow raised.

  “An agent,” Silas confirmed, “from the old days. Don’t worry, my money is still good.”

  “What if we send part of our forces to take Speckley from the east? He won’t be expecting an assault from the rear,” Daved suggested.

  “My thinking exactly, my lord,” Silas agreed. “At the very least, it will keep him from being able to aid Vorren. Perhaps you and Lord Blackmine tackle Speckley. He has less experience in battle than either of you at this point, and he is moving, so you won’t have any fortifications to contend with. Take cavalry; move quickly. Don’t have any qualms about killing him, either. It’d save me the trouble.”

  Robben and Daved both nodded their agreement, squaring their shoulders and sitting up taller, though Shiloh caught Daved anxiously tightening his grip on his goblet.

  “I heard from some of my old land folk that Vorren is well dug in. Spiked trenches, towers,” Shiloh informed them. “And his men are mostly Gernishmen, with some mercenaries from Vreeland.”

  “They’re right. I flew to check it out this afternoon,” Barr confirmed. “Here’s a rough sketch.” He handed Silas a scrap of paper before continuing, “On the bright side, that means he probably won’t be moving east. He’d be reluctant to abandon those fortifications after putting all that effort into building them,” Barr pointed out.

  “Collapsing the trenches won’t be too difficult,” Shiloh proposed. “I know how to crack solid rock. Dirt is trivial. The spells aren’t even difficult, just not well-known outside the Teeth. I could teach everyone with a wand in half an hour. And if we also break up the dirt under the towers, they’ll collapse atop their own men.”