Runacarendalur tossed his rain-spattered cloak over the nearest chair and leaned back against the wall. Ivrulion was wearing his blandest expression—one Runacarendalur had mistrusted from infancy—and Gimragiel was (as usual) falling over himself to match or even exceed their mother’s fury.
“How can you treat this as if it is some jest?” the Ladyholder demanded. “This treacherous viper— This outlaw, oathbreaker, this— Who knows what she will do? One of the Lightborn setting herself up as War Prince!”
“It’s impossible.” Princess Angiothiel spoke with as much conviction as her mother had.
“Yet it seems to have happened,” Runacarendalur pointed out. “And apparently old Thoromarth is still alive. I’m sure he’ll convince her to honor his treaties.”
“We should crush them,” Prince Gimragiel announced.
Runacarendalur sighed. “Yes, Ragi, of course we should,” he said patiently. “As soon as they do something. Our treaty with Oronviel does not require her to consult with us over changes to her ruling house.”
“She is Farcarinon,” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel hissed.
Farcarinon is gone. Runacarendalur didn’t bother to say so, nor did he say it was likely that Vieliessar, having been raised at Caerthalien until her twelfth year, might be more trustworthy than Thoromarth. It would only prolong the argument.
The news of the change in Oronviel’s fortunes had reached Caerthalien two days before. War Prince Atholfol Ivrithir had sent an envoy. Lord Bolecthindial had received her privately, then summoned Runacarendalur so she could repeat her message. Runacar shouldn’t be surprised that Ladyholder Glorthiachiel knew the messenger’s news: half the Court probably did by now. The tale was like something crafted by a storysinger: at Harvest Court, an unknown knight had challenged Thoromarth for his lands. She had defeated Thoromarth’s Warlord and champion and revealed herself to be Vieliessar Lightsister.
And that, Runacarendalur thought, is where matters become complicated. For Vieliessar Lightsister’s life was forfeit outside the bounds of the Sanctuary of the Star. More, after she had fled the Sanctuary, the Astromancer had ordered all the Lightborn of the land to seek her. Well and good, and no problem for any but the Lightborn.
But when Vieliessar Lightsister became War Prince Vieliessar Oronviel …
What then?
For a Green Robe to set aside Magery was as much a storysinger’s tale as War Princes being challenged for their lands. “’Rulion,” Runcarendalur said suddenly, cutting into the conversations going on around him, “has anyone ever stopped being a Green Robe?”
Ivrulion regarded him with faint suspicion. “It is not something you stop,” he said pedantically. “Yet—yes, there have been Lightborn who set aside their Magery. You will recall the story of Ternas of Celebros.”
“No,” Runacarendalur said simply, and Ivrulion grimaced.
“Ternas Lightbrother was one of the sons of War Prince Farathir Celebros. All others in the Line Direct were killed, save the greatson of Farathir’s heir, Prince Methestel. Ternas became Methestel’s guardian; when Methestel Heir-Prince was slain on his wedding day, Ternas renounced his Light to became War Prince. It was a very long time ago.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel demanded.
“It is precedent,” Runacarendalur said. “If Vieliessar wishes to cease to be Lightborn, there is no proscription.”
“Words, words, words!” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel snapped impatiently. “I suppose you will say next that there is no proscription against her conquering Caerthalien!”
“None—save the same reason Thoromarth never has. Oronviel cannot muster an army of sufficient size. I suppose they might have done it before this spring, if Thoromarth had been willing to empty his treasury, but we have made that impossible.”
“At the cost of raids and banditry,” Gimragiel said sullenly.
“I shall be certain to tell Father he must consult you before planning his next campaign,” Runacarendalur purred. “I am certain your strategies are equal to your generalship.”
Gimragiel shouted in fury and clutched his belt knife. Ciliphirilir jumped to her feet and shrieked as if she were the one being threatened. Angiothiel’s hikuliasa bounced toward her, barking happily. Ivrulion stepped between Runacarendalur and Gimragiel. “This solves nothing, brothers,” he said reprovingly.
“It brings us back to the question at hand,” Runacarendalur said, walking over to retrieve his cloak. “If Vieliessar chooses to become War Prince—as she might have done if her father had not been a fool—what must Caerthalien do? And not only is that a matter for Lord Bolecthindial to decide, but I remind you all: no one goes to war in winter. Especially in a winter where we shall be much harried by outlaws.”
The Harrowing of Farcarinon had already begun to bear its bitter fruit, and Runacarendalur could only hope the outlaws would soon retreat to their winter camps to give Caerthalien time to prepare its defense.
“So we are to wait for the spring, to give Serenthon’s whelp time to craft her revenge!” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said.
“If she sought vengeance, Mother, she would have taken it the moment she took the Green Robe,” Runacarendalur pointed out.
“You sound as if you are her defender!” Princess Angiothiel said with an angry giggle.
“Never that.” Runacarendalur turned toward his sister and gave her a mocking bow. “I am merely realistic. And if we are to fight Oronviel come War Season, be sure I shall win our victory.” He turned, bowing this time to Ladyholder Glorthiachiel. “But that decision has not yet been reached.”
* * *
“Do you think she merely wishes to rule Oronviel?”
Ivrulion caught up to him before he reached the staircase. Runacarendalur had suspected he would. It was unkind to say Ivrulion spied on his brothers and sisters—and their mother—but it was probably no more than the truth. He and his children were outside the succession unless all the other possible heirs to Caerthalien died first—and that was some two hundred of the Lords Komen. And yet … Ivrulion had been raised as heir-prince until the day he had been sent to the Sanctuary. There were times Runacarendalur wondered if Ivrulion thought it a fair trade.
“Possibly,” Runacarendalur said. Ladyholder Glorthiachiel’s voice could still be heard, faintly, in the distance. “Think, brother. Vieliessar did not go to the Sanctuary because the Light had been Called in her. She went to break the Peacebond Celelioniel Astromancer had laid upon her at birth. Because she was Farcarinon. Father had no choice in that. If he wed her to Huthiel—or any other of the Line—we would have had everyone from Aramenthiali to Daroldan at our throats.”
“Yet the Light came to her,” Ivrulion said.
“Something no one could have predicted—did you? Did Carangil? Did Seragindill? But even the Green Robe could not win freedom for her. I think her captivity weighed heavy enough that she chose the only path to freedom there was.”
“A domain on our border,” Ivrulion pointed out.
“A domain holding as many from Farcarinon as ours, or Aramenthiali, or Cirandeiron, or Telthorelandor. No doubt some of Serenthon’s vassals remembered old loyalties and helped her to possess Oronviel.” Runacarendalur shrugged. “Oronviel shares no border with Farcarinon, at least. Tell Father to send some envoy to her, to see if she means to abide by Thoromarth’s treaty with us. If not—” He shrugged again. “War.”
“War indeed,” Ivrulion said, with a thin, cold smile. “Enjoy the day, brother.” He bowed slightly, then turned and strode away.
I believe I shall, brother. I believe I shall pay a call on Domcariel, and ask him why he was not invited to Mother’s improvised council of war. Of course, I wasn’t invited either—but I believe the knowledge that she held one will come as a great surprise to Dom. And he can be reliably predicted to run to Father with the news.…
To win in the Challenge Circle was a skill entirely different from commanding an army, and if War Prince Viel
iessar did not lead her own army—at least for a campaign or two—she would not hold Oronviel by next Harvest. The idea of going to war against such an innocent was appealing. Far less appealing was the specter of war within Caerthalien. Ladyholder Glorthiachiel had led armies, and her hatred of Serenthon Farcarinon had not diminished with his death. Such hatred had been known to ripen into warfare, and her first opponent must be Bolecthindial. A House, so weakened, would be easy prey for its enemies. Better Lord Bolecthindial know at once how his lady’s temper lay, and if he chose to do what best pleased her, then they would be at one, and Caerthalien the stronger for it.
Cheered by the pleasant prospect of the coming War Season, Runacarendalur went in search of Prince Domcariel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE HIGH KING’S ARMY
The queen came riding and sang the song of freedom,
The queen came riding and truth was on her tongue.
The High cried out against it, but truth was on her tongue.
Truth forever. Landbond free.
—Tunonil Landbond, The Song of Freedom
Before she had left on her strange autumnal Progress, Vieliessar had spoken to all those Lightborn who remained at Oronviel, telling them they were free to go or to stay, and that she would place no restriction upon their use of the Light so long as they remained faithful to Mosirinde’s Covenant.
Many had gone—if not out of Oronviel, then at least back to their families—and some of the castel nobles had complained bitterly, for there were so few Lightborn remaining that their spells were occupied on necessary tasks, not in finding a lost glove or keeping bathwater hot. Finding no ally in their new War Prince, some had summoned their own Lightborn from their estates, only to discover that the War Prince’s decree had gone before them, and those Lightborn who had not left their lands could not be spared.
Others had accepted the new rules with good humor, for if Vieliessar lightened the yoke of custom that weighted the necks of the commons, she lightened it for her nobles as well. No longer did her lords need to fear their horses, jewels, servants, or estates would be seized because their prince or one of her favorites desired it. No longer did they fear to be punished—or banished—for rumor or lies.
And most unbelievable of all, any who wished were free to depart Oronviel, taking with them all their possessions and any of their people who went with them freely. Generations of war, ransoms, and treaty marriages had left many of the noble families scattered across two or three domains, or five, and among such families, blood ties warred with fealty oaths.
It was slow work to spread her new truths across the land, but all who left Oronviel, noble or servile, spoke of them. The Lightborn spoke to their fellows in other domains, and the crofters who lived along the borders had closer ties with the next steading, whether it lay in Caerthalien, Aramenthiali, or Ivrithir, than they did with their distant lieges. The word of all they would gain when Vieliessar Oronviel became High King passed through Oronviel and then across her borders.
Prince Vieliessar means to be High King. She will be a friend to all who fight for her, and when she is High King, she will hold no grudge against those who did not.
When Vieliessar is High King there will be a Code of Peace. One justice for all, be they highborn or low, not rewards for some and punishments for others.
When Vieliessar is High King, domain will not war with domain, for all domains will be one.
When Vieliessar is High King, the Lightborn will not be taken from their families and hoarded as a glutton hoards grain. They will go where they will and do as they wish. Nor will any children be forced to the Sanctuary against their will.
When Vieliessar is High King, lords will not steal from vassals, from craftworkers, from Landbonds—
When Vieliessar is High King, any with skill may become a knight, or a weaver, or a smith—
When Vieliessar is High King, any may own a horse, or a hound, or a sword—
When Vieliessar is High King …
The other War Princes counted the taille of Oronviel’s knights and thought it the whole of her army.
Her army was the whole of the people of Oronviel.
* * *
“Here is where we begin.” Vieliessar rubbed the drawing-chalk between her fingers. Rithdeliel’s workroom in Oronviel Great Keep was a vast space. One wall was covered with tallyboards listing manor-knights and the number of knights-at-arms they could muster. The center of the room held three enormous tables. One could be covered in sand so that the deployment of forces could be tried before orders were passed to the Lords Komen. The other two held maps. She glanced at the men and women around the map table. Rithdeliel, Gunedwaen, Thoromarth. Princess Nothrediel, Thoromarth’s daughter, who was the new Cadet Warlord; Aradreleg Lightsister, who was the new Chief Lightborn; Hanniach, knight-captain of the castel knights.
Gazing down at the map before her, Vieliessar thought of the first time she had entered the Great Library of Arevethmonion. The path she had begun that day had led here. She traced her finger along Oronviel’s marked border. “How much of the border is disputed?”
Rithdeliel laughed. “All of it, Lord Vieliessar. It is the nature of borders.”
“And how far can we go across this … disputed border before we are noticed?”
Gunedwaen cleared his throat. “That depends on why we go.”
“To secure the land. Here is what is in my mind. My knights will ride through Oronviel as if on progress, each troop under its accustomed captain, and Lightborn will ride with them. They will come, if I do not ask them to prison themselves in the Great Keep once more, if I tell them I send them to Farmhold, croft, and steading to do what seems good to them. My knights will seek out every smallholding, and there the Lightborn will hear of taxes and tithes. They will go also to the Landbonds and hear their words, and such spellcraft as is needed, they will perform. They will discover the habitations of bandits and outlaws. My komen will take such creatures prisoner and bring them to me for judgment.”
She paused. Gunedwaen looked worried. Hanniach looked doubtful. Rithdeliel looked as if he was storing up objections. “In addition to these tasks, they will find for me every youth or maiden who seeks knightly arms, no matter their degree. These, too, they will bring to me here, so they may be instructed. These tasks they will perform throughout Oronviel.” She set the chalk to the map, redrawing Oronviel’s borders with a few swift strokes, and in moments she had doubled its size. “These are the borders of our domain. All within it shall know they may look to Oronviel for safety.”
“That is an … audacious … undertaking, my prince,” Hanniach said, dubiously.
“It can’t be done,” Princess Nothrediel said flatly.
“It can,” Vieliessar answered.
“To take territory without warfare … it is an interesting idea,” Rithdeliel said, measuring his words carefully. “And yet, it is in my mind that such small forces as you propose to dispatch on this ‘progress’ will be easy prey for a larger force. If you must ransom every knight in your domain not once, but a dozen times during War Season, Oronviel will be impoverished by Harvest.”
“But I do not mean them to ride during summer,” Vieliessar said reasonably. “I mean them to begin now.”
“Ride to war in winter?” Rithdeliel said, aghast.
Gunedwaen laughed. “You are not thinking to win a war with the loyalty of Landbond and smallholder, are you?” he scoffed.
Vieliessar did not answer directly. “Aradreleg, where were you born?” she asked.
“On Willowleaf Farm,” she answered, sounding puzzled. “My father is overseer there.”
“Who rides to war without Lightborn, Gunedwaen?” Vieliessar asked next.
“Idiots,” Gunedwaen said. “But—”
“We win wars now with the loyalty of Landbond and smallholder,” Vieliessar said. “We send their children to the Sanctuary, and then we take them to war. High House or Low, we gather the Lightborn of our domains to
us and hold them close.”
“But—” Rithdeliel said, and stopped.
“We do it because it is our right,” Vieliessar finished for him. “And because we can win no battle without Lightborn to Heal our wounds, light our pavilions, gentle our horses, keep our food from spoiling, and a hundred other tasks. You say that Farmholder and Landbond care not who holds the land they work. I say: give them cause to care, and they will. Return their children to them, provide them with the safety and comfort that Magery affords, and they will give us a land at peace.”
“Until someone comes over the border to put an end to it,” Thoromarth said.
“Until then,” Vieliessar agreed, nodding. “But no army fights in winter, as you say. Let us use this winter to secure Oronviel.”
“By raiding beyond our borders,” Rithdeliel said, touching his finger to the chalk marks on the map.
“All borders are disputed,” Vieliessar reminded him. “Come Sword Moon, our neighbors will find their lands less than they once thought.”
* * *
“What has this mad plan of yours to do with…?” Gunedwaen asked after Vieliessar had dismissed the others to begin turning her ideas into reality.
“Everything,” she said. “I will build an army. I will push Oronviel’s borders as far as I may before anyone objects or even notices. If I hold the farms and make them safe, I hold the loyalty of the Lightborn who come from them. Next I shall take Ivrithir and Araphant: both are clients of Caerthalien, as Oronviel is. Ivrithir is small, and Araphant has a dotard for a War Prince.”
“Caerthalien and Aramenthiali will ally,” Gunedwaen said, speaking slowly and carefully, as if presenting information she lacked. “Oronviel cannot defeat such an alliance on the field.”
“Are you certain?” Vieliessar asked. “Wait and see.”
* * *
When she had been a Candidate, a Servant, a Postulant, and even Lightborn at the Sanctuary of the Star, Vieliessar had read voraciously—for pleasure, for knowledge, for an escape from the grey stone walls which were all she had ever expected to know. Her studies served her in good stead now, for Arevethmonion’s holdings were unmatched—and, for most of her time, uncensored. She had eagerly devoured accounts written by the Lightborn who had stood near for every princely council—tales not edited to flatter or excuse, for no lord would ever read them.
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