Bonds of Vengeance: Book 3 of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by DAVID B. COE

  Turning to Brienne once more, he saw that she was gone. He took a long shuddering breath and stood, walking slowly from his presence chamber to the nearest set of stairs, and then up to the ramparts of the tower. He found Ioanna there, wrapped in a woolen cloak, though it wasn’t particularly cold. A stiff wind made her golden hair dance wildly, and she gazed eastward, squinting in the sun, though she had both hands lifted to her brow to shade her eyes. Ennis and Affery were with her. Seeing Aindreas, she pointed toward the road, a dark band of brown dirt that wound past tawny fields and small farmhouses to the city’s easternmost gate. It was a long way off, but following the line of her gaze, Aindreas could see riders approaching the tor, bearing the purple and gold of Eibithar. The king’s men.

  “I sent Villyd to the gate,” the duchess told him, her eyes never leaving the horsemen. “I hope that’s all right.”

  “Yes. I would have done the same.”

  She glanced at him. “Will you go as well?”

  He had yet to decide. Had it not been for the missive from the Qirsi, he probably would have. After Kearney’s last message, with its tidings of the Qirsi woman being held in the prison tower of Audun’s Castle, the duke had been searching for any path to reconciliation with the Crown. This was a time to end his conflict with Glyndwr and Curgh, to accept that he had been wrong, and unite the realm so that it might face the conspiracy united and strong.

  His alliance with the Qirsi would not allow this, however. He had cast his lot with the white-hairs, and he had little choice but to fulfill his pledge to them. To do less was to invite disgrace, not only in the eyes of Eibithar’s other nobles but also in those of his wife and children. Had it been only his life hanging in the balance, he would have gladly humbled himself before the king rather than help the whitehairs. But he could not bear the thought of bringing such humiliation to Ioanna or damning Ennis to lead a shamed house.

  “Aindreas?”

  “I’ll go,” he said. “If for no other reason than to send them away myself.”

  “Do you know why they’ve come?”

  He shrugged, looking at her. “I refused the king’s summons to a parley. And I’ve yet to pay Kearney his tribute for the last three turns.” He gave a wan smile. “I’d think that has something to do with it.”

  She nodded, her lips pressed in a tight line.

  Aindreas turned to go.

  “Can I come, Father?” Ennis asked.

  “Not this time, son.” The duke mussed the boy’s red hair, drawing a grin. Then he left them, stopping in his chamber to retrieve his sword, which he strapped to his belt. Though the riders would reach the gate before he did, he still took his time. Let them wait, he told himself, the pounding of his heart giving the lie to his bravado.

  Sheftam, his horse, awaited him at the castle gate, though he hadn’t ordered the beast saddled. Villyd, no doubt. It would speed his arrival at the city gate, and make him look even more formidable than he already was. The Tor atop the Tor, they called him, and with reason. Even before Sanbiri wine and the fine food in his kitchens made him fat, he had been a large man, broad and powerfully built. This messenger from the king would be merely the latest to quail before him.

  He stroked the animal’s nose for a moment, then climbed into his saddle and rode out of the castle toward the eastern gate. The lanes leading through Kentigern city were choked with people who paused now in what they were doing to watch the duke ride past. They didn’t cheer. They only stared after him, their apprehension manifest in widened eyes and pallid faces. All of them could hear the bells echoing through the narrow streets, and by now word would have spread through the marketplace that the riders bore the king’s colors.

  One didn’t have to be a minister in a noble’s court to understand that Aindreas’s defiance of the king had pushed Eibithar to the brink of civil war. And though the duke’s people would not have dared give voice to any doubts they harbored as to his judgment, they could not hide their fear. Nor could Aindreas blame them. His own hands remained unsteady, and he was thankful for the castle that loomed behind him, ponderous and grey, like some great beast called forth by the clerics in Bian’s Sanctuary.

  When at last he reached the city walls and steered his mount through the massive gate, the duke found Villyd Temsten, his swordmaster, standing in front of more than half the army of Kentigern. Villyd had his arms crossed over his broad chest and his stout legs spread wide, so that he looked almost as unassailable as the castle itself. Before him, mounted still, their banners snapping in the wind, were nine men, all of them wearing chain mail and bearing short swords on their belts and bastard swords in baldrics on their backs. One of the men, who was clearly older than the others, wore a surcoat of silver, black, and red over his mail, the colors matching those of the baldrics. These were men of Glyndwr then, whom Kearney had brought with him to Audun’s Castle upon taking the throne.

  The city bells ceased their tolling, the last peals echoing off the city walls and dying away. A moment later, the older man rode forward a short distance, his hand raised in greeting. When he reined his mount to a halt again, the horse nickered, cantering sideways nervously.

  “My lord duke,” the man said, his voice ringing clearly over the wind, “I bring greetings from King Kearney the First, who commands me to ask that you shelter us and name us guestfriends.”

  The duke gave dark grin. “And why would your king ask that, Glyndwr? Does he fear for your safety?”

  “Yes, my lord, I believe he does.”

  The smile fled Aindreas’s face, and he felt his color rising. “Is there more to your message?”

  The man’s eyes darted past the duke to Villyd and the soldiers. “There is, my lord. But perhaps the rest should wait until we can speak in private.”

  The duke briefly considered forcing the man to say his piece here, in front of all. A moment later, however, he thought better of it. His men knew that their duke and the king were at odds, but few of them understood how far the conflict had progressed. He didn’t want them to learn in this way that the duke was already considered a renegade in the City of Kings. By the same token, he wasn’t willing to name them guestfriends and allow them to stay in his castle. If there were Qirsi spies about, he didn’t want them to see that he had welcomed the king’s men onto the tor. He couldn’t very well make the men guestfriends if he intended to continue his defiance of the Crown.

  “Very well,” the duke said. “You and your men may make your camp in the shadow of these walls.”

  The man frowned. “My lord—”

  “Make certain they’re properly provisioned,” Aindreas said to Villyd, ignoring Kearney’s man.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Kearney faced the soldier once more. “I assure you, no harm will come to you here. My guards stand at this gate day and night.” He grinned again. “And I have little doubt that men trained by Gershon Trasker can defend themselves from brigands and wolves, should any approach the city.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the man said, clearly displeased.

  “I’ll send for you when I’m ready to hear the rest of Kearney’s message.” He turned his mount and started back through the gate. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he called over his shoulder.

  Crossing through the gate and emerging once more into the city, Aindreas thought he heard a voice call to him. Turning, he saw Brienne again, standing amid the vendors and their customers, gazing back at him sadly. She shook her head slowly and mouthed the words, “End this.”

  Aindreas reined his mount to a halt, wondering if she meant for him to go back to the soldiers and welcome them into the castle.

  “Brienne!” he called.

  She began to walk away, drifting in and out of view as she passed the others in the marketplace. The people around the duke were staring at him, looking frightened and uncertain, but Aindreas was too intent on watching his daughter to speak to them. She glanced back at him once last time, then stepped deeper into the crowd around her and was go
ne.

  He shouted her name again, but he couldn’t see her anymore, and with all the people and peddler’s carts lining the lane, he couldn’t follow.

  He raised himself up, standing in his stirrups, but still couldn’t spot her.

  “Are you well, my lord?”

  He whirled toward the voice, nearly losing his balance. Villyd stood beside his mount, eyeing him with obvious concern.

  “I’m fine,” Aindreas said, sitting in his saddle once more. He looked for Brienne one last time, then stared down at the swordmaster. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of the provisions?” he demanded.

  “I have a man seeing to it, my lord. I wanted to make certain that you were quite yourself.”

  “I just told you: I’m fine.”

  “Yes, my lord. But I heard you call out. . . .” He swallowed. “I heard you asking for Lady Brienne.”

  “Yes. I was . . .” He had raised his hand to point in the direction she had gone, but then let it drop to his side. Brienne was dead. Of course he knew that. But then who had he seen? “I think of her often, Villyd,” he said quietly.

  The man lowered his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I should get back to the castle. Ioanna will want to know about the riders.”

  “My lord, shouldn’t we allow them to stay in the castle? Perhaps a gesture of friendship on our part will ease tensions with the Crown.”

  “I have no interest in easing tensions, swordmaster. If it turns out that the king’s men have brought word of Kearney’s willingness to address our grievances, I can always welcome them onto the tor later. But until I have proof that they’ve come suing for peace, I’ll give no indication of any willingness on our part to surrender.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Aindreas could hear the disapproval in Villyd’s tone, but he chose to ignore it. He flicked the reins, and his horse started toward the castle once more.

  “My lord!” the swordmaster called after him.

  “Tell Kearney’s man I’ll speak with him tomorrow,” Aindreas answered, not even bothering to look back. “I trust he and the others will be comfortable until then.”

  He rode the rest of the way up the tor as quickly as he dared. He didn’t allow the horse to break into a gallop, not wishing to appear afraid or too eager to be back within the walls of his fortress. But he felt himself trembling again, and he had to resist the urge to search for Brienne’s face among those he passed along the way.

  As he ascended the winding road toward the castle gate, he saw Ioanna gazing down at him from same tower on which he had left her. She vanished from view before he reached the barbican, and Aindreas knew that she would be waiting for him by his presence chamber, anxious to hear what Kearney’s men had said to him. He would gladly have postponed the encounter until later, but he knew better than to try. Villyd and the others were afraid of him and easily put off; his wife was neither.

  He left his mount at the stable and returned to his chamber. Ioanna stood in the corridor just outside the door.

  “What did they want?” she asked, as he opened the door and gestured for her to enter the chamber.

  He closed the door before facing her. “I don’t know yet. Their captain wishes to speak with me in private. I’ll grant him an audience tomorrow and hear what he has to say.”

  “Why didn’t they come back with you to the castle?”

  He looked away, stepping past her to stand behind his writing table.

  “I didn’t offer to quarter them in the castle.”

  If she thought him a fool, she did a fine job of concealing it.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” was all she said, her voice even.

  Of course I do, he wanted to say. Would I have done it otherwise? Instead he shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to welcome them within these walls. I’ve ordered Villyd to give them whatever provisions they require.” He gazed out the window, watching a flock of doves circle one of the towers. “If the weather holds, they’ll have no cause to complain.”

  “They’d have no cause in any case,” she said. “Not after what Glyndwr and Curgh have done to us.”

  Aindreas closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. There was so much he hadn’t told her, so much that she deserved to know. Yet he was afraid to reveal any of it, lest he see the shame he felt at all he had done reflected in her eyes.

  “You must tell her.” Brienne’s voice.

  Opening his eyes again, he saw the girl standing behind her mother, their hair the same shade of gold, their faces so similar that he nearly wept at the sight.

  “What is it Aindreas?” Ioanna asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  “Tell her, Father.”

  “There’s something you should know,” he said, wishing Brienne would leave them alone. He paused, searching for the right way to begin. There’s something you should know. He nearly laughed aloud at his choice of words. The truth was he had so much he needed to tell her that he didn’t know where to begin. I spent the better part of the harvest torturing Qirsi in the castle dungeon, looking for someone who could lead me to the leaders of the white-hair conspiracy. Having finally found her, I proceeded to ally our house with the Qirsi traitors, all so that I could strike at Kearney and Javan and the others I believed at the time to be our enemies. I’ve since become convinced that it was the Qirsi and not Tavis who were to blame for Brienne’s death. I’ve betrayed our land and shamed our house for generations, all for nothing. I’m sorry.

  That’s what he should have said. But even knowing this, he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. He looked past Ioanna once more, gazing at Brienne, hoping she could read the apology in his eyes. She shook her head, tears on her face, and then began to fade, as if swallowed by a sorcerer’s mist.

  “Aindreas?”

  “Yes,” he said, facing his wife again. “You remember the message that came from Kearney about a turn ago?”

  “Of course.”

  He took a breath. “In it, the king claimed to have imprisoned a Qirsi woman who had confessed to being with the conspiracy. This woman, according to Kearney’s message, had admitted arranging Brienne’s murder.”

  Ioanna shook her head. “That’s impossible. Tavis of Curgh killed Brienne. We know that.”

  “We know what we saw, Ioanna. But this woman—”

  “No!” she said, shaking her head again, so that tears flew from her face. “There was blood on his hands! Her blood! His dagger—”

  She choked on the word, gagging and struggling to breathe until Aindreas thought that she might be ill. He reached for her, but she backed away from him, her entire body shaking, her trembling hands raised to her face, her eyes wide and wild like those of a feral cat, cornered and afraid. “You believe them!” she whispered. “You think this woman might be telling the truth!”

  “I don’t know what I—”

  “Don’t say it!” She leveled a quaking finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it! He killed her! You know he did! They’re lying to protect themselves, because they’re afraid now! They know what they did to her, all of them! And they’re afraid!”

  “Ioanna—”

  “If you give in to them,” she said, her voice dropping low, the finger still aimed at his heart, like a blade, “if you surrender and let them do this, I’ll hate you for the rest of my days. I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory. We know what happened. They’re trying to change it, to confuse us and fool everybody else in the realm, but we know. Don’t let them do this, Aindreas. Do you understand? Don’t let them.”

  What could he say to her? For so long he had been pouring his venom into her mind, telling her what he believed was true, and what he wanted her to believe as well. That she should spew the poison back at him with such fury was just one irony among too many. He took a step toward her, and this time she didn’t back away. A moment later she was pressing her face to his chest, sobbing like a babe, clutching his shirt with both hands. “Don’t let them,” she said aga
in and again as he held her, stroking her head.

  “I won’t,” he murmured at last. “I promise you I won’t.”

  Eventually her tears began to slow, her sobbing to subside. Aindreas gestured to one of the servants skulking by the door.

  “Summon the duchess’s ladies,” he told the boy quietly. “Tell them the duchess needs to rest.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Still Aindreas held her, until two of Ioanna’s servants came. Only then did he release her, kissing her forehead as she pulled away. She seemed dazed, only vaguely aware of where she was and who was with her. It was much the way she had been in the turns immediately following Brienne’s murder.

  “Put her to bed,” he said to the women. “I’ll be in to see her later. If the children need anything, send them to me.”

  They both curtsied, and one of them whispered, “Yes, my lord,” before they led Ioanna from the chamber.

  The duke stood in the center of his presence chamber for several moments after they had gone, cursing himself for having said anything to her at all, and cursing the Qirsi for their treachery and the ease with which they had ensnared him.

  “Wine!” he bellowed at last, returning to his chair by the writing table.

  He picked up Jastanne’s message again. You must break with Kearney now, and hope that others will follow. They were asking him to knot his own rope and slip it around his own neck. They might as well have commanded him to lead Kentigern’s army to the City of Kings and lay siege to Audun’s Castle. None of the other dukes would stand with Kentigern now. Those who were inclined to side with the king would have been convinced by word of the Qirsi woman’s confession. And those who had sided with Aindreas thus far weren’t yet ready to stand in open defiance of the crown. Perhaps they would be eventually, when they knew for certain that they could stand together against an attack from the King’s Guard and Kearney’s allies, but not until then.

  “They wish to make a traitor of me,” he muttered.

  To which a voice in his head replied, You’re a traitor already, made so by your own actions.