by S E Wendel
And it wasn’t just Scallya that benefitted. Though Manek hadn’t seen them, he knew Larn’s Midland warlords were building strongholds of their own to the east, past the Gray Hills. Soon his kingdom would be on the east, west, and south of the Highlands, and if he wanted, Larn could batter down the weak Highland flank and take her. But Manek knew Larn wouldn’t take the easy way, happier to turn his bullish head toward the biggest fight. The Highland flank didn’t bring with it the castles and cities of legend, like Dannawey.
Scallyans weren’t enthused to see the Lowland troops filing into their city, though Manek had left most outside the moat under Taryn’s supervision; only he, his captains, and a reduced retinue came inside. He knew the Midlanders didn’t see them as friends; a conquered, vassal people, Lowlanders were a step above slaves. He caught the eye of a buxom woman who looked him up and down then sneered.
Passing through yet another reinforced gateway with raised portcullis, the Lowlanders entered the wide stone courtyard of Larn’s castle. There was a new addition to the already sprawling complex: a square building with a pitched roof, what drew his eye was the circular window at the front. The glass had been stained different shades of red, yellow, and purple. The face of Dea stared down at him. Perhaps he should’ve been terrified; that’s surely what Larn intended with the depiction. Instead Manek could only shake his head. Of course, Larn’s one temple was dedicated to destruction.
Dismounting, a small army of scrawny pages saw to the horses as Dorran led the way to the great hall. They ascended wide, shallow steps up to great oak doors that required three men to move just one. Intricately designed iron adorned the face and hinges, spiraling into forms of stars and eagles.
Though the outside façade of the great hall was polished basalt, the inner walls were instead fine paneled timber. The dark, rosy hue made the hall feel warm, light splashing in from high vaulted windows. These too had stained glass set into shapes and patterns. A gray and blue one caught Manek’s eye. The rendering of Highcrest was unmistakable.
From the magnificent doors, it was almost a straight walk down the hall. Benches and tables had been pulled aside to make room for the dozens of warlords, chiefs, and captains who spoke, joked, and argued over goblets of wine and ale. They approached a great fire pit, as long as three men and as wide as five, with the flank of a cow and two pigs already roasting on iron spits. Over the simmering coals and crackling flame, Manek spied Larn.
Past the fire pit, up three wooden steps, at the end of the hall in a semi-circular apse, sat Larn and his lady on cushioned thrones. As they were meant to, they looked every bit a king and queen. Larn had a circlet of gold round his head with a single ruby set in the center. He wore a sleeveless coat of bearskin over a rich red tunic, slashed in two places along the forearm to reveal the silk shirt beneath. A belt at his waist held a jeweled scabbard. His breeches were finely woven wool, his boots finely buffed leather. His wife, Myrah, was also bedecked in red and jewels, though she was less impressive. Manek couldn’t recall ever having heard her speak.
A small movement over Larn’s left shoulder caught Manek’s attention. He wouldn’t have noticed the little body, almost hidden in the shadow of Larn’s throne, had she not moved. At first she seemed a ghost, someone he knew he should recognize. Only after a long moment did he realize it was a Courtnay sister.
Yes, the hair, the eyes. He knew it was the third sister. Adena, Ennis had called her. How had she survived? He hadn’t exaggerated when he foolishly told Ennis the short time Larn’s warprizes survived. She was thin, drawn, her face near haggard. The pale blue gown she wore with delicate gold embroidery couldn’t hide her wasted form.
Her eyes slowly drew up and fixed on him. There was no gleam, no spark of life to prove he wasn’t looking at a corpse. But the wraith blinked, her thin chest expanding with breath. He was so caught up in wanting to tell her that her sisters were well, one even making war aims of her own, that he barely heard Larn welcome him to Scallya.
“It’s always heartening to see your great city,” Manek said mechanically, finally tearing his gaze away from the Courtnay wraith.
Larn hadn’t missed his staring and smiled to see it. “I think the new additions suit it quite well, don’t you?”
Manek swallowed as if he had ashes on his tongue. “Quite.”
“And how fares the Lowlands? It’s been a productive winter I hope.”
“Yes,” he said, almost too quickly.
“You’ve brought the men required?” a new voice asked.
Manek’s head swung left to behold a lanky young man swaggering into the hall from a door disguised as part of the wall. Verian, Larn’s eldest son, was beginning to look remarkably like his father, down to the same ugly smile.
“Half the Lowlands is here for you,” Manek told Larn.
From the corner of his eye he could see Verian bristling at being ignored, but Manek was too weary from the journey to worry about the pup. Verian was of fighting age—indeed, he was several years older than some of Manek’s soldiers. No doubt Larn’s son would accompany them north, eager to prove himself worthy of such a father.
“And is half the number we wanted?” hissed Verian.
“I could’ve brought more,” Manek said, this time staring at the empty space between Larn and Myrah. “But I somehow doubt you’d like to see women filling out the ranks.”
“Don’t be coy. I want a number.”
Manek sighed. “Just over four thousand.”
“You will look at me when I speak to you, dog,” Verian spat.
He could feel the color rising in his face, and finally his gaze snapped to the little Midland lordling. Slowly, he looked Verian up and down.
Verian squared his shoulders, his thick lips twisted into a sneer, and Manek had the sudden thought that this was going to be a very long campaign.
“You’d do well to respect your lord.”
“As far as I can tell, I haven’t disrespected my lord.”
“Careful I don’t cut your tongue out, dog,” said Verian, taking a haughty step forward.
Manek felt the heat of Waurin’s body close behind him and knew before the lordling could draw his dagger, Waurin would run him through. And then everything would be for nothing.
Larn looked down at the sport with a toothy grin. Finally, it seemed he’d had his fill, and he rose, silencing his son.
“I’m afraid you fight against nature, my boy,” said Larn. “You see, a well-trained dog answers to only one master.”
Thirty-Two
It was a small affair, but Asa would not have wanted a spectacle. To answer your question, I’m well enough, as are the girls. There is much to see to with little baby Essa. It’s good she won’t remember. I do worry over Ennis, however. She busies herself with the baby, though she’s only five herself. She’s up from sunrise to sunset. But I suppose it’s a good distraction for her. Perhaps it’s best that way.
—letter from Ehman Courtnay to his sister, Aline Falkland
As Ennis folded the newly laundered blankets, Lora slipped into their bedroom and closed the door softly behind her.
“Ennis, I want you to tell me now.”
“Tell you what?”
“About the day the men left. Why wouldn’t you come?”
Ennis winced, continuing to fold as she hurriedly put an explanation together that wouldn’t make Lora hate her. She didn’t think she’d done a very skillful job of hiding her emotions so far; she’d spent much of the spring alternating between anger and anguish, and Lora felt the brunt of whichever intense emotion Ennis woke with in the morning, comforting her through tears and bearing through fits of anger and spite.
When she folded the last blanket and had nothing left to do with her hands, she sat down on her pallet, drawing her knees to her chest to shield herself from Lora’s questioning eyes. Lora sat down opposite her on her own pallet so that Ennis couldn’t easily avoid her gaze.
“Because I didn’t want to see him,” Ennis s
aid finally.
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t—” She choked on the memory. “He wouldn’t free me.”
She carefully watched Lora’s face. With lightning quickness she went from surprise to horror. “Why on Mithria’s green earth would you ask him that?”
“Because I thought he would.”
“Why?” Lora grew uneasy, her lips pulled down in an unhappy line. “Ennis, you didn’t.”
She picked at the cuticle of her thumb.
“You promised me you wouldn’t.”
Ennis couldn’t hold Lora’s gaze.
“You lay with him because you thought he’d free you? Oh, Ennis…”
“I’m not a whore, Lora,” she spat, though it’d taken her a long time to wash the feel of being one from her. She had hoped he’d free her, but it wasn’t why she’d gone to him. It wasn’t why she recounted that night again and again in her mind to keep her warm at night. It wasn’t why she thought of his body pressed to hers and prayed for him, prayed to all the gods she could think of.
“But then—”
“Despite what the Sisters say, I don’t just have designs of being freed. I’m not going to spread my legs for anyone who could do it.”
Lora blushed, but Ennis didn’t know if it was from her vulgarity or the insinuation that Lora believed what the Sisters whispered to each other behind their hands about Ennis and Manek.
“You love him,” Lora whispered.
Ennis winced. “Perhaps a little.”
Lora’s hand flew to her mouth. “You’re not…?” She looked pointedly at Ennis’s middle.
“No.” Ennis had never been so thankful to get her monthlies.
“Ennis, you’re a warprize!”
She gritted her teeth. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Lora huffed. “Can’t you see he was just using you? Why would he free you? How could you let yourself—?”
“I know what I’ve done. You don’t need to make me feel worse—he’s done a fine enough job of that.”
Ennis and Lora glared at each other, and Ennis had to wonder which would have broken their duel had Renata not opened their door without warning.
“I’ve a parcel for you to deliver,” Renata said, looking between the two of them.
Wordlessly, Ennis stood and took the package from Renata’s slim fingers. She avoided the other woman’s sharp gaze, knowing there was something else on the Lady Sister’s mind.
“Irina and I have been talking, and we both think it’s time for you to resume your training.”
“I see.”
Renata’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I’ve indulged your endeavors with Manek all winter. I’ve been quite patient, in fact. But he’s gone now and you’ve more important matters to attend to. We start this afternoon. When he returns in autumn with new gifts, they’ll take your place as liaison to the town and you’ll become a divine daughter, as you are meant to be.”
All she could manage was a stiff nod, for her heart had jumped to her throat at the thought of Manek bringing back more Highland women. Would she know them? Would he make one of them feel loved?
As was her way all spring, the anger ebbed with breathtaking swiftness, buried beneath a wave of tears that wanted to consume her. She looked down at where Lora still sat.
To her relief, Lora stood and asked Renata about the bandage supply, engaging the Lady Sister in a subject she never tired of: her Haven. Ennis squeezed Lora’s hand as she slipped away, hurrying downstairs and out of the Haven.
The delivery took Ennis far closer to the wall than she’d dared go since Manek left. She felt drawn to it as she handed over the parcel to the woman who answered her knock. Unable to resist, Ennis soon found herself sitting down the slope from the great house, the wall stretching like arms around her to the west and northeast.
Resting her chin on her knee, Ennis traced the speared silhouette of the wall with her eyes. She’d taken rare delight in planning their wall, had come alive with the work. Perhaps it was fitting that there was only half a wall to protect only half of Rising. The absence of the men was palpable, haunting the eyes of the women and echoing through the quietness of the land.
She’d watched men march off to war countless times before. Her father spent much of his life fighting to put Adren Dunstan on the Highland throne, and even when they succeeded, it was an unstable start to the newly unified kingdom. Each time she watched her father leading a column of warriors behind the Courtnay banner, she’d known, underneath the pride, there was a chance he wouldn’t return.
The women of the Lowlands hadn’t the consolation of pride. Their men didn’t fight for a kingdom but the greed of one man. They followed a man they believed in for a cause they didn’t. She supposed, then, that she was now a Lowland woman, for she hadn’t any pride to hide her fears behind. Manek seemed so sure he’d meet his end in the north that she believed it too. She’d tried to make her peace with the idea. But spring was almost over and she still choked on it.
The thought of running away crept into her mind. It wasn’t the first time she entertained the thought, and she regarded her plan as one does someone they haven’t seen for a very long time. She considered. How would she manage it? What would she be returning to? Her mind quickly wearied thinking of the distance between her and the Highlands. The idea of leaving Rising somehow made her feel hollow, her chest constricting at the thought of never seeing Kenna or a Lowland dawn ever again.
But what was she to do if she stayed? What was here for her except for divine daughterhood?
She lifted her head, slowly looking left to right. Over a season of work loomed before her, and the sheer impossibility of the project suddenly terrified and electrified her.
Damn him, if he wanted a reason, she’d give him one.
Jumping up, Ennis headed into the main square, suddenly invigorated.
She knocked on Kenna’s door but didn’t wait for an answer before letting herself in. As usual, the house was much warmer than outside, Kenna’s oven hard at work. She already had a stock of loaves and buns wrapped carefully in scraps of cloth, ready for those women who brought her flour to collect the finished product.
Startled, Kenna smiled to see Ennis, though her eyes had lost some of their twinkle since Taryn and their older boy Marc had gone. Only she and little Kellen were left.
“Well now! You’ve been a stranger to my door. What brings you, Lady Courtnay?”
Ennis dispensed with pleasantries, launching into her plan in a rush. She hoped at least some of it was coherent, for all Kenna did was stand there with wide eyes and listen.
When she finished, she waited anxiously for Kenna to say something.
“You think we can?” Kenna asked.
Ennis nodded. “Of course! What can a man do that we cannot?”
“Well…we’d need Makena and Rika—they and their husbands are woodcutters. Then there are the carpenters, over on eastside. Fallon owns three mules, and Tess…”
Ennis’s smile grew with Kenna’s list. Soon Kellen was clapping his hands at what sounded to him like a great party.
“We’ll need everyone to finish it, from the woodcutters to the milkmaids,” said Ennis.
This dampened Kenna’s flushed smile. “I don’t know that you can ask so many to give up their daily duties.”
“I won’t. We’ll work something out—every other day or the like. But, Kenna, we must do it! Who would it protect from the Oltaraani? Us.”
Kenna nodded slowly. “Yes.” Then she grinned again. “Manek would agree.”
Ennis stiffened at his name, but she took pains to keep her face cheery.
What Kenna said next wiped the smile, fake or otherwise, off Ennis’s face entirely. “We’ll need the warlord’s blessing, of course.”
“But—”
“No one will agree to help if the warlord isn’t behind it.”
Ennis groaned. “What do I say?”
“Tell him
the truth. You don’t even need his help, just his blessing. Why wouldn’t he give it?”
She hadn’t the heart to tell Kenna about Manek’s parents’ general attitude toward the project. Somehow, she didn’t think Kierum would appreciate the reminder of Manek’s ambitions when he was now the only warlord in Rising.
Kenna remained blissfully unaware of this obstacle, however, and once she’d extracted the last of her baked goods and filled Kellen and Ennis’s bellies with meat pie, she hung up her apron and ushered them from the house. Kellen she sent to a friend’s in the square, while Kenna herself went to those women she’d listed, and Ennis determined to speak with everyone else, putting off the trek to the great house until the very end.
Ennis quickly realized she’d set herself a monumental task when, house after house, she was met with scowls, scoffs, and doubt. A few conceded that a wall would be welcome protection, but even fewer agreed to help build it. She had so many colorful doors slammed in her face that they were beginning to run together into a muddy mess of color and disappointment. By the time Ennis reached the farrier’s, she hoped Kenna at least would be able to convince some.
Ennis approached the farrier cautiously, wary of his hammer. He seemed to be making nails, spraying little sparks in every direction. His leg had been crippled in some attack, much like Manek’s father, and both men were two out of a handful still left.
Between hammer strokes Ennis cleared her throat. “Good day, Master Haemon,” she said, more than a little proud she remembered his name.
His head jerked towards her, and he peered at her with squinted watery brown eyes. “What you want?”
