Richney seemed less than enthralled. ‘As you wish, my Lord’
‘When that is done, come and join me in Athkaril.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘If I may ask,’ said Edrington, furrowing his brow, ‘do you know what reception you will get at Athkaril? Are they likely to attack you?’
‘No,’ said Hartfield, ‘their ire was solely directed at Wyak. You are as likely to be welcomed as a hero as anything else, my Lord, although our neglect of the people there is not something we can be too proud of.’
‘Maybe. Although there was little we could have done while Wyak was there. Now, for the next thing, and you all know what I am going to say – I need men. I put a lot of store in clinching this war this year. That is not going to happen and my stock will be all the worse for it. The loyalty of everyone here is not in question, but there are a few barons downstairs with grudges and they need little excuse to start stirring things up against me.’
Marschall’s eyes darted shiftily. ‘How many do you need? And is winter the best time to do this? Why not wait till the spring?’
‘I have no choice,’ said Leontius, his eyes keen. ‘As I said, we need Athkaril out of the enemy’s hands; there will be a muster after the week of religious observations and I will leave as soon after that as I can. Duneck will be going with me and I will be talking to the rest of you tonight about joining me. Edrington, as the senior man here, I would like you to stay and run the city in my absence. This whole enterprise is emptying the coffers and I am taking a massive gamble in sending such a force out there.’
Nicholas Hartfield finally took his seat. ‘It is possible we will be leaving the city and its heartlands seriously undermanned; it could embolden the bandits in places like the Morrathnay Forest to see troops stretched or withdrawn.’
‘What of the north and west?’ said Richney. ‘I was there not long ago; they have many fierce warriors – why should they be excluded from this?’
‘No, they shouldn’t be.’ said Leontius. ‘Any suggestions?’
Nicholas stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I was due to go up there in the spring for their council meeting. They have a meeting in the winter, too; perhaps I should go to that instead.’
‘I was hoping you would say something like that,’ said Leontius, with a knowing smile. ‘My sources tell me they are looking for some sort of tax concession. Give it to them in return for a promise of men, to either join me in Athkaril or to police our heartlands until I return.’
‘When is this meeting?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Soon, you will not get there in time if you go on foot. It may be winter but you will have to go by sea. I will speak to you later of this, but I suggest you go with a sizeable fleet to impress them. You will not be able to take all the men I wanted you to, but the flotilla should be sufficient for the task.’
‘We will be stretched thinly everywhere,’ said Marschall. ‘It will be a hard winter for us all.’
‘I agree,’ said the Grand Duke. ‘I have no words of consolation here; all we can do is pray for the mercy of the Gods and ask him to send a thunderbolt to strike Fenchard into the oblivion he so richly deserves.’
‘Winter Feast seems somehow to have lost its appeal,’ said Marschall quietly.
‘Nevertheless, we shall make the most of it,’ said Leontius. The door was tapped gently. ‘See, the wine has arrived – a glass for everyone and we shall return to the fray; it should be time to eat soon.’
Wine was handed out and one by one the nobles made their way down the stairs and back to the ball room. Nicholas was about to go when Leontius called him back. It was just the two of them left in the room.
‘Have you heard anything from your daughter?’ the Grand Duke asked in a hushed tone.
‘Strangely enough, no. At first she wrote regularly but lately her missives have been few and far between.’
‘Well, you will be seeing her soon anyway, I suppose. Her marriage to Osperitsan seems to be going well enough. I suppose the strength of the alliance will be easier to gauge when you see them.’
Nicholas eyes narrowed slightly. ‘May I be blunt?’
‘Of course,’ said Leontius with a smile, ‘I would expect nothing else.’
‘The marriage would be stronger if you could deny the persistent rumours that you plan to annul it and take my daughter for your own.’
‘And would you object to that?
‘Marriage to a grand duke? Of course not, but were such a marriage to take place then I can only suggest that this marriage to the northern baron was ill advised. An annulment will be seen as a huge slight on their part; also any hopes you have of getting the cooperation between the disparate elements of the country that you wanted will be dashed for ever.’
‘That is why no annulment will occur while this war continues. Do not worry, my friend; I will not undermine your visit to them. Their response will determine any future action. If I am underwhelmed by their reaction to our requests, then an annulment will happen sooner rather than later. I do not want that to happen, though. Return with a promise of troops from them and I will be happy and the status quo will be maintained for the present.’
‘So what you are saying is, if my mission fails, my daughter will end up married to a grand duke. It is hardly an incentive for me, is it?’
Leontius laughed. ‘Perverse, isn’t it? As I said before, do not worry; as far as I am concerned ultimately our two houses will be joined, whether it takes one year or five. As you know, the secret of sound leadership is to wait for the chance and take it when it presents itself. And that is exactly what I mean to do.’
Nicholas did not answer; he seemed to be mulling over Leontius’s words. Finally, he changed the subject. ‘Take Fillebrand with you; he is arrogant but he has both pragmatism and experience of warfare. Duneck can joust, as can you, but that is about it. Richney, too, knows nothing of war.’
‘And Marschall?’ asked Leontius.
‘An experienced warrior, but Marschall’s first interest is Marschall himself. Watch him try to send the minimum number of troops he can get away with. Do not accept it – he has more money than most. Get five hundred men off him at the very least.’
‘Sound advice,’ said Leontius. It was his turn to change the subject. He looked at Nicholas with a quizzical eye. ‘Tell me, Nicholas, which of the barons downstairs would you trust least?’
Nicholas laughed. ‘I am sure you have your own candidates, but, as you ask, Barons Schurmann and Lasthena are always the first to spring to mind. Maybe it is just their manner, though – both are surly and uncommunicative at the best of times.’
Leontius nodded his head slowly. ‘They are names I have heard before. Thank you Nicholas, I know in the past I have not been eager to seek your advice, but those who have had my ear before now have let me down rather. I have sworn to myself not to be so blinkered in the future.’
Nicholas gave a curt bow. He then followed the others back down the stairs.
Leontius was alone now. He heard the sound of music and laughter drift up the torch-lit stairs; it sounded like the evening was going well. It meant little to him. Here he was the most powerful man in the country having to get on his knees and beg for help from others. He had wanted to finish the eastern war with a display of audacity, bravery and chivalry so cementing his place in the annals of his House. Now, thanks to betrayal and incompetence, his very rule was being questioned, however tentatively. He needed to secure his power base and the best way to do that was patronage of the most powerful nobles, either through honours or marriage. His older sister and younger brother had been married off some years before, leaving only himself available. He knew what he wanted to do but the question was how?
There was a noise behind him, a gentle rustling of cloth. He knew what and who had caused it and did not even bother turning round to look.
‘Hello, Henk.’ he said casually.
‘My Lord.’ The voice was deep, gravelly.
‘You h
eard everything just then?’
‘I did, my Lord. Schurmann again; it is not the first time his name has been mentioned.’
Leontius turned to face the other man. He was looking at a tall, wiry fellow with not a spare ounce of fat on him, clad in black with copper-coloured hair and frost-blue eyes. He had emerged from behind a tapestry on the far wall behind which, if one were to look, was a small spy alcove with enough room for a man of height to sit and listen in comfort.
‘No it isn’t,’ replied Leontius quietly. ‘Well, you know what to do.’
The man bowed. ‘Yes, my Lord.’ He turned to leave but the Grand Duke raised his hand to stop him. ‘Wait, there is one other thing.’
Henk raised an appraising eyebrow. ‘My Lord.’
‘The fleet leaving for the north, I want you to be on it.’
‘For what purpose, my Lord?’
‘To observe primarily; I have spoken to you about the situation out there before and have told you what I consider to be the most desirable outcome. I do not expect you to do anything bar report back to me, but, if an opportunity presents itself, well I will trust your judgement. Do not fail me and do not ripple the waters or cause a situation that might inflame the barons up there. They are a prickly lot and easy to take offence, remember that.’
‘As you wish, my Lord. I shall deal with the Schurmann situation first, then I and my men will find a place on the fleet with the marines.’
‘I will get you a place on the flagship, the Lucellia; it is named after my mother, though whether that is I good omen or not I really cannot say.’
Henk stifled a laugh. ‘Very well, my Lord. With your permission I will leave immediately, I have much to do in a brief time.’
‘No, not yet. I have one final task for you.’
‘And what is that exactly, my Lord?’
‘Baron Sydmon and Lady Delphine – arrange for them to have a guest room here. Make sure they are drunk ... no, better still, drug his drink to ensure that he sleeps the night. When his wife is pliable enough, bring her to my rooms; she can serve her country by serving me this night.’
‘It will be as you wish, my Lord; I will attend to the matter immediately.’
He bowed and left the room, leaving Leontius gazing out of the window with his goblet in his hand. Behind him, a servant entered, his soft footsteps barely discernible on the carpeted stone floor.
‘My Lord, the guests are taking their places in the banqueting hall. Food cannot be served until you join them.’
‘Of course, I will be along immediately. Tell me, they are serving venison, yes?’
‘Of course, my Lord, cooked with seasonal fruit; the centrepiece of the display includes an arrangement made with their antlers.’
‘Good, I love venison.’
The servant bowed and left. Leontius sighed softly through his teeth, drained his goblet, and with his shoulders bowed slightly, followed the other man down the stairs.
2
Sitting in her room by her favourite window, Ceriana watched the baron’s staff tread gingerly across the cobbles, thick as they were with snow and slush. Winter came early in this part of the world. She had been out riding, trying to clear her head, when the first snows started to fall, tentatively at first, but gradually gathering momentum, the heavy flakes catching on the furs she was swathed in. When she had returned, nose as red as sliced beetroot, Ebba had commented on how she looked like she was born out here. It was meant as a compliment, though Ceriana wasn’t really sure if she should take it as one.
She had yet to live twenty years and was sure that for at least half of it she had done nothing more than sit and look out of a window somewhere. Back in Edgecliff Castle she had spent hours watching life go by outside her chambers, and now, hundreds of miles away, she was doing the exact same thing. She likened herself to Mountfessen’s princess. Mountfessen, one of Tanaren’s favourite writers, once told a tale of a princess, the only child of a powerful king. They had lost so many children, either through miscarriage or poor health, that when finally a girl was born her husband declared her so perfect, so beautiful, that no one would be allowed to go near or touch her. He kept her in a room in a high castle where only her nurses and tutors were allowed to go. She grew into a beautiful young woman, clever and desperately lonely. She spent all her waking hours looking wistfully out of her window, wondering what the world had to offer.
One day, a handsome young man, a prince from a nearby realm, espied her looking at him and instantly fell in love with her. He approached her father for her hand in marriage but was rebuffed. Finally, driven mad with longing and desire, the prince stormed her tower with his men. What he did not know, though, was that the king was a powerful mage. Seeing the prince charging up the long staircase, he used all of his strength and power to cast a slowing spell on the prince and his men. Such was the energy he put into the spell that the king collapsed and died where he stood, but the spell was still cast. The prince did not notice the spell himself but kept running up the staircase; it seemed endless but such was his love for the princess he was not daunted. One by one his men fell, wearied and exhausted, but the prince did not stop. Finally he reached the door. He shoulder-charged it, shivering it into a thousand pieces and entered her chamber – only to see her withered and skeletal, dead from old age and dead for many years, still sitting in the very seat from where he had first seen her. She had a rose in her lap that crumbled to dust in his fingers and a letter, sealed, which was addressed ‘To my Prince’. Eagerly, through his tears he prepared to open the seal, when the letter, too, dissolved into ashes in his grasp.
Yes, thought Ceriana, that was her, except for the beautiful bit obviously. They had been back on the island for some days. They had spent one evening with Baron Farnerun, during which he had pledged to restore the villagers, most of whom were still alive but who had fled elsewhere, to their town and to build a castle or defence work to watch the ruins on their behalf. Then they had taken ship again. Their first stop had been at the tiny harbour of Eltlo, where they dropped off Haelward, Willem and Alys, so that they could continue their journey back to Tanaren City. Haelward had offered to return again with the dragon tooth that was held at the university but Ceriana had politely thanked him and told him not to bother. There was no one left to translate its writings anyway, and even if they could, Dureke’s words still rang strongly with her. Nothing could now be done to ‘cure’ her, to rid her of her affliction, and so the existence of the tooth now seemed entirely superfluous.
Parting with Alys affected her more than she thought it would. She was of a similar age, if a little older, and was a link to Tanaren City. Her accent and mannerisms were that of a southern girl and Ceriana had seen something of a sister in her. Alys, too, seemed equally affected. The two girls hugged, said their farewells and promised to write as often as they could. From there it was back to Osperitsan; they had to journey through rough seas most of the time, making Ceriana as sick as a dog, though normally sea travel seemed second nature to her. It was touching to see her husband so concerned for her. He left her on the bed while he slept on the floor and insisted she was covered in at least one blanket all of the time. Thus cosseted she arrived back at the baronial hall and within the hour was back at her window, living her vicarious lifestyle.
Two men were unloading iron-bound barrels in the courtyard. Idly, she wondered what was in them; some foodstuff she imagined, brought in for the winter. As she watched them sweating, despite the temperature, her mind wandered over the events at Oxhagen, for the thousandth thousandth time. Nothing had changed for her. Despite all the death, the heroic sacrifice of Ulian, those poor people in the town, for her personally nothing had changed. She resolved to ask her father about her family history when she next saw him; perhaps she did carry some elven blood in her veins. Dureke had thought her special, a notion she found ridiculous, but her bond with the beast could not be broken and it was this inability to decisively affect the state of things that troubled her
the most.
Except of course this wasn’t entirely true. Something had changed. She had known for a while, of course, and Ebba had known for longer and now it was time to tell her husband, who, being a man, was completely ignorant of the situation.
She was about to go to his rooms and see him when he pre-empted her by walking into her room, as always, without knocking.
‘I have some news’ he said.
‘As have I,’ she replied, ‘but, as you have seen fit to barge in on me without even knocking ... again, perhaps your news should come first.’
He actually looked quite sheepish. ‘I apologise. I am so used to treating this place as my own. I will knock from now on.’
‘Good. It is nice to know that I am actually listened to. And your news?’
‘Oh yes, my news. The Council of the North meets later this month.’
‘Of course, four times a year, is it not?’
‘That is true. What I am trying to say, if given a chance, is that your father has brought forward his attendance to this council and not the spring one.’
Her mouth dropped. ‘You are serious?’
‘Completely. I imagine it has something to do with the protracted war in the east; at long last we are being asked to contribute. He will have quite the job selling this to some of the barons.’
She beamed the warmest smile it was possible for her to give.
‘Perhaps the Gods are still watching after all. Has he left already?’
‘I do not know. I have been given to understand he will be travelling by ship, the Lucellia it says in the letter.’
‘Then I shall pray to Hytha for calm seas and a safe journey. I need not write to him to convey my news after all.’
Wulfthram sat on the edge of the bed, so he was now facing Ceriana directly. ‘You are pleased, I take it?’
The Forgotten War Page 81
