by S E Wendel
“I’m a fool, Lora.”
“Perhaps,” she said gently, and smiled when Ennis shot her a sour look. “But he’s more the fool. Something has to be done before the Lowlands is beyond saving. You’re just the messenger of news he doesn’t want to hear.” Lora gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “Take another walk. I’ll see to him—in fact, I’ve a mind to talk sense into him.”
Despite her tears, Ennis smiled. “All right, then. I’ll walk along the wall until I don’t feel like killing him.”
“Well, for now, spare him—if only for the excellent job I’ve done. When he’s well again, I don’t care what you do to him.”
“Fair enough.”
With another heartening squeeze of Lora’s hand, Ennis trudged towards the wall. She mounted the eastern stair, which took her up onto the stretch of wall that overlooked the narrow riverplain. Autumn would give way to winter soon, and a fine, cold mist rose off the Morroley.
Sometimes, when she looked at that Lowland river, she was struck with curiosity. Where would it take her, should she follow it east, into the foothills she saw growing from the horizon? Were there mountains in the Lowlands? How far away was this Kennick and his city of Wheatfield? She’d barely been outside the borders of Rising, and that fact sat uncomfortably in her mind. Her world had narrowed and threatened to shrink even more.
As she walked the ramparts, she stopped and greeted each of the women she recognized. Though the men were back, those women who’d volunteered for sentry duty still stood at their posts. She spotted some men here and there, as well as other walkers like her, but most along the wall were the sentries, their attention turned outward.
She was rather startled by one. Walking up to Kenna, she touched her shoulder gently. Kenna’s lips stretched upwards, but the gesture could hardly be called a true smile. Ennis’s heart broke all over again for Kenna; the loss of a child made Ennis’s own predicament feel paltry.
“How are you, Kenna?” she asked quietly.
Kenna shrugged. “Well enough. Couldn’t work up the gumption to get my ovens going, not with…” She sniffed. “Thought I’d take my turn here.”
“How’s Kellen?”
This was the wrong question; Kenna’s face contorted to hold in a sob. “He misses his brother,” she said and turned her face away.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ennis rubbed Kenna’s back. “Is there anything I can do?”
Kenna shook her head and dried her eyes. Shifting the bow she carried from one shoulder to the other, she wrapped an arm around Ennis in a hug. “Make sure Manek gets strong again. We’ll need him if we’re ever to be free of that Midland bastard.”
“Of course,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as hollow as she felt.
Something to the north caught Kenna’s eye, and she frowned.
“What?” Ennis followed her gaze.
Emerging from the trees to the north, into the glade, was a band of men. And they weren’t Rising men.
As if her legs moved of their own accord, Ennis hurried along the wall, her eyes fixed on them. Then she saw the colors and knew.
Forty Midlanders rode right up to Rising’s gate, Larn’s banner billowing behind them. They settled just below where Kierum and Kasia stood. Ennis, with Kenna close behind, moved closer until she could hear what they said.
“I didn’t ride all the way here to talk to you, old man,” the Midland captain was saying. Ennis thought a moment and remembered his face from when he’d come in winter. Dorran. “Where’s Manek?”
As if summoned by name, Manek himself took the north stairs two at a time until he stood beside his father. Kierum let out a hiss and Kasia wailed, “You shouldn’t be up!” Ennis had to agree with her. Though the Midlanders couldn’t see it, he leaned heavily on the battlements, and even from where she stood, she could see a line of perspiration beading along his hairline. But all he offered his mother in explanation was, “I saw them from the house.” An unsaddled Oren stood gnawing grass down below.
“Still alive I see,” Dorran called up cheerily. “And you’ve been busy. How did this fine new wall of yours not come up in conversation?”
Manek scowled. “Your lord’s back in Scallya I take it?”
“That he is. Nothing compares to home, wouldn’t you say? As it were, it’s Lord Midland who’s sent us here.”
“You don’t say.”
Dorran clucked his tongue. “It’s been a long, dusty road, Manek. You’ll forgive me if I amuse myself.”
Manek’s lips had gone white with how hard he pursed them, keeping in whatever barb wanted to come out.
Dorran smirked. “Now, as I was saying, we’ve been kind enough to bring you Lord Midland’s next instructions.”
“What?”
At this Dorran grinned nastily. “He’s a task for you.”
“My son isn’t Larn’s errand boy,” Kierum spat.
Dorran lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Isn’t he? And here I thought…” He waved his hand dismissively, and Ennis had the keen desire to spit at him.
“Tell us, then,” Manek said, putting a hand on Kierum’s shoulder. The old man looked about ready to fling himself off the wall at Dorran.
“As you should well remember, back in Dannawey, you had some rather serious charges brought against you,” Dorran said to Manek, taking obvious delight in ignoring Kierum.
“Accusations only,” said Manek, but already his expression darkened.
“I’m sure. Well, as you can imagine, Lord Midland’s been sorely troubled about the whole thing. You’ve put him in an unpleasant position, Manek. No one likes to call his son a liar.”
“What, are you dragging me to Scallya so that brat can lie to my face again?”
One of the Midlanders guided their horse to the front of the party, stopping beside Dorran. Looking down at the young man’s face, Ennis was struck by how much he looked like Larn. Same jaw, same eyes, same sneer. It disturbed her to think of Larn siring progeny.
“Sporting as that would be, no,” said Dorran. “Lord Midland’s thought of a way to resolve the matter without having to denounce Verian. And without making you go to Scallya, you’ll be happy to hear.”
“And what’s that?” Manek asked warily.
Ennis didn’t know if she’d seen anyone look as gleeful as Dorran did then. She was surprised he didn’t clap his hands. Even Larn’s son looked pleased, a smile as sharp as a knife slicing across his face.
“My father want to test your loyalty,” Larn’s son said.
“You’re to take your men and travel east, into the Mountain Lands. Landon’s lot has been harrying our borders, and Lord Midland wants the threat gone,” explained Dorran.
“And why should I march my men into the mountains with winter coming, to face a force more than double our size? Can your Lord Midland not defend his own borders?”
Dorran smiled. “Our Lord Midland considers it an excellent test of loyalty. Two birds, one stone, as they say.”
“And if I refuse?”
Dorran shrugged as if Manek had asked if he thought it might rain that evening.
Larn’s son answered for him, “Then your guilt’s plain enough.”
“I see.” Manek shifted his weight from foot to foot, peering thoughtfully down at the Midlanders.
Ennis’s breath hitched. He couldn’t honestly be considering it?—not after everything Rising had suffered. It was enough so many had been lost before the gates of Dannawey, but plague had felled so many of them here at home too. Rising had borne so much already; Ennis didn’t know if her people could bear more.
“Then tell your lord,” Manek was saying, “that I’ll consider it. In the spring. Not a day before.”
“It’ll be now,” Larn’s son said, his eyes flashing.
Dorran nodded. “We’re to accompany you. Make sure you don’t get lost in the mountains.”
“We did what Larn asked of us at Dannawey—we’ve barely been home more than a fortnight. I wo
n’t ask it of my people.”
“Think what you’ll have to ask of them instead.”
Larn would brand Manek a traitor and seek retribution. Larn would come. Here. The thought of seeing Larn’s horrid face, with its ghastly scar and leering eyes, crushed the air from her chest. The fear was a cold pit in her stomach, and she understood then, understood why Manek fought her rather than Larn. It wouldn’t just be him, either, it would be all the Midlanders he could rally at his back, here, in beautiful little Rising, with only a wooden wall for protection.
She could only see his profile, but she watched Manek’s cheek tic, watched these thoughts and more cross his mind. Kierum saw too. Saw his son beginning to think this test of loyalty the lesser of two evils.
Faster than she thought possible for the older man with his bad leg, Kierum seized Kenna’s bow, ripping an arrow from her quiver. He’d nocked it in the time it took Ennis to draw a startled breath.
“You go back to that whoreson,” Kierum growled, “and tell him the Lowlands isn’t his to order about. We won’t die for him again.”
The smile on Dorran’s face turned to a sneer, a challenge in his eyes.
Manek clutched at Kierum’s arm. “Father, we—”
“I’ll not hear it, Manek!”
“I thought you were the warlord here, Manek,” Dorran pressed. “Not this senile old man.”
The sight of Manek’s back straightening and his shoulders squaring made Ennis take a relieved breath.
“I’m warlord thanks to my father. He served well, as have I. What Larn asks is unjust and cruel.”
Dorran shook his head. “Stupid.”
Larn’s son snarled up at Manek, “You’re a liar and a coward.”
“Don’t call my son such things,” Kierum said, turning the nocked arrow in the young man’s direction. “You go back to that murdering beast and tell him never to look south again.”
Manek’s eyes slid closed, a pained shadow crossing his face.
Larn’s son snorted with indignation. “Dea take you!” And turned his horse just in time to miss Kierum’s arrow. The others spurred their horses as Lowland arrows came raining down. For a moment, everything was a chaos of scurrying bodies and high-pitched whinnying. Finally, they broke away towards the tree line, Dorran in the lead. They left behind four bodies.
When the Midlanders had disappeared into the trees, Manek deflated. He sagged against the wall, and his father caught a shoulder, trying to bear some of his weight. Without thinking, Ennis rushed forward, taking his other arm.
“He needs to get back to the house,” Ennis said.
“I can walk,” he bit out, trying to shake off her hand.
So, Ennis let him go; instead, Kasia helped him down the steps. She looked briefly at Ennis before taking his arm and heading with him back toward the house, Manek balanced between her and Oren, with Kierum hobbling behind them.
Ennis stood there on the wall as morning gave way to afternoon, her arms wrapped around herself. Kenna stood with her silently, somehow knowing she couldn’t bear curiosity or pity.
Manek had been right. The Midlanders, Larn, would come, and it would be as terrible as he believed.
And it was all her fault.
Forty-Six
Let us not live in fear and discord; let us take one another into our hearts and forget the days of old. War is an easy thing. I have known it all my life. What I propose is something far more difficult. Many do not want peace, for they have no power there. They do not know how to live. Their time is over. Good people, my people, let us leave the dead to rest. Let us greet Anona and have her bear away this crumbling age. We do not need it, for I have something far greater in mind. I see a land full of the promises of our fathers and of our children, a land that is not one man’s but all of ours. I see a future of peace, prosperity, and brotherhood. And if it is not to be so, if we Highlanders must fight unto the last man, then I leave it to the gods to prove it to me.
—coronation speech of Dunstan Gilcriss, first King of the Dunstan Line
Adren watched as the great hall of the Highland House bustled with activity. Well, perhaps bustled was too cheery a word. People moved about, seeing to tasks and chores and orders, but few talked. There had been little to speak of since returning to Ells, for what could be said?
Still, it seemed that, despite little conversation, the people who had come to stay in the Highland House preferred to congregate together. Perhaps they found comfort in other faces. Perhaps, like Adren did, they saw demons of Dannawey in the shadows.
The great hall had always been a meeting place, cushioned chairs and sofas arranged around the hall’s three great hearths. Servants and nobles entered and left from one of the many adjacent rooms and staircases, flowing like blood to and from the castle’s heart.
The nearest hearth to him had only a few seated around it.
Arion Morn stared unseeing into the fire, his gaunt face heavily shadowed by the flames. His eyes were still sunken, but Adren noticed that his chin had been shaved of whiskers, and his hair was combed. He looked…well, not better, Adren knew it would be a long time, if at all, before Morn was better, but he at least looked cared for.
The reason for it sat in an armchair beside him.
To anyone else, Isla would have seemed focused on her book, laying open in her relaxed palms, but Adren knew otherwise. She hadn’t turned a page in over half an hour and watched Morn from the corner of her eye, waiting for any indication that he needed something. Adren knew they had spoken, knew that Isla was one of the few to coax anything from the deposed Lord of Dannawey.
In the time that they had been back at Ells, Adren knew Isla and Morn had grown close, perhaps even closer than they had been years ago. He couldn’t help wondering, watching them now, what would have happened had he not been so selfish, had he not stalled and prevaricated negotiating their marriage. All to keep Isla with him. Isla would have been Lady Dannawey. Isla would have—he shuddered at this thought—seen all the destruction one man could wreak.
Would the campaign have been any better with Isla there? Adren’s stomach turned with acidic bile at the thought of Isla seeing, witnessing all that had happened, but he couldn’t deny that she would have been an asset. She would have rationed food better, helped them make it a little longer. She would have more strictly quarantined the first sickened areas and let the plague take its course, callous as it might have seemed. She would have been strong for all of them, Morn especially, when it felt like all a man could do was bend and break under the weight.
Adren couldn’t blame Morn for breaking, though. He himself at times felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he wondered, was this it? Would his heart just stop? Sometimes it seemed like a mercy.
They had all been broken by Dannawey, and he feared, though safe in Ells, none would be able to fully heal. It was why he needed Isla now, more than ever.
Adren eased from his spot by one of the large leaded windows overlooking the mountains to the north, his body creaking as it transitioned upright. He’d never felt an old man before, had prided himself on his heartiness and stamina for years, but it seemed that time was catching up with him. He’d more gray in his hair now than brown, the cleaved lines under his eyes always present, always telling a story of weariness.
As he made his way towards Isla and Morn, he spotted a spark of movement across the hall. It wasn’t that everyone else moved slow, but Colm had taken up moving fast, with purpose, everywhere he went. He reminded Adren of a shark, always swimming, always on the hunt. There was a hungriness to him, a need. The boy Colm had been, the sweet boy who refused to whip his horse to make it run and put spiders outside and smiled at each person he passed, the boy Adren loved more than himself, more than his crown, was gone.
But Adren needed the man Colm had become, too.
He beckoned his son, who nodded and joined him, Isla, and Morn.
Colm took the chair furthest from the rest, his brooding eyes immediately finding the
fire. The flames reflected there, making his eyes seem more like liquid heat than blue. Adren sat beside Morn, ignoring the twinge in his knee and thigh.
A little sigh of relief did escape him, though, at getting the weight off his right leg.
Isla closed the book she hadn’t been reading and looked at him with bright, expectant eyes.
“It’s time we all talked,” began Adren.
His children looked to him, and even Morn was tempted away from the crackling fire.
Adren had not come to his decision easily, had lost sleep over it and still felt the unease of it churning in his gut. But the Highlands needed more from him, from the Dunstans, if it was going to survive. If nothing else, Dannawey and Larn had shown Adren that. What were men’s traditions in the face of complete slaughter, annihilation?
“We cannot wait for spring to begin preparations.”
“Father…” Isla darted a glance at Morn, gently taking his hand in hers.
Adren pretended he didn’t see. He didn’t begrudge the comfort they found in each other. They had known each other so long and the pain was so great that Adren begrudged no one the comfort they could find. Lady Morn, when she wasn’t catatonic, didn’t seek comfort in her husband, and so Adren would let his daughter navigate this on her own. He had stepped in her path too many times.
“The Highlands took a blow that will take years to recover from. I intend to make sure we have the time we need. In a sennight, Colm and I will leave for King’s Cross and the east. We’ll visit every place we can, down to the smallest hamlet, to make sure they are prepared.”
He turned to Colm when he said, “And when we have made our way west, we’ll scout the High Mountains and see what can be done about Highcrest. I want everything north of the De’lan to remain in the Highlands. Highcrest is and always has been the key to this.”
Colm nodded, his frown fierce but a pleased grin tugging at his lips. It was the closest he got to smiling now.
“We’ll give them hell,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Adren. “But you will listen and learn as we go. You will hear what all the lords and people have to say about their defenses. And then you and I shall decide on what is to be done, as my Master of War.”
