by Jeff Wheeler
Trynne hooked her thumbs in the broad leather belt. For an instant, she thought he had figured out her secret, that he’d recognized her as the Painted Knight. But in most of her appearances as the knight, she’d used her magic ring to alter her looks. “I was the first to train with him, my lord. And I have for several years.” She had the urge to tell him about Myrddin and the oaths she had taken, but just as she was about to speak, she felt the power of the Fountain stiffen her tongue. It was still not time to reveal it to him.
She gestured toward the door, and they walked together along the hall. Farnes had gone ahead to warn Captain Staeli they were coming.
When they reached the door leading to the battlement wall, from which they could take the stairs down to the training yard, Trynne paused, gripping the handle.
“The crown, my lord,” she said, nodding to the satchel. “Let them feel that you are their true king.”
Drew nodded in agreement and undid the straps of the satchel. His expression was conflicted as he drew out the ancient, tarnished crown. He stared at it for a moment, the light of the day glimmering off the metal band, but he did not put it on.
“What’s wrong, my lord?”
He glanced from the symbol of his power to her face, meeting her gaze. “I’m impressed that you’ve assembled such a force willing to fight for me, Trynne. I’m humbled, actually. You were the most prescient of us all.” He paused, gathering his words carefully. “But I’m struck by the realization that some of those maidens will die for me.” His free hand clutched at his tunic front, as if his heart were paining him. “How can I ask that of them?”
He gave her an imploring look. There was no doubt that he needed the additional support, but he was still reluctant to use it. Part of him still saw these warriors as innocents in need of protection.
Trynne felt a splash of insight in her mind. She turned to face him fully, her back to the door.
“My lord, let me try and put your mind at ease. Many women fear that they will die in childbirth. Yet despite that fear, we still willingly choose to bring life into this world.” Trynne turned her shoulder and gently patted the door. “Each one of these women who came to Averanche made the choice to be here. None were compelled. None were forced. If they die giving birth to your kingdom, is that not just as worthy a cause? They have chosen to be here, my lord. They have chosen to sustain you as their king. Their rightful king. I have been to Chandigarl and seen the opulence and riches there. But there is also a foulness to that kingdom that I don’t comprehend. I choose to fight for you, my true king and sovereign lord. And so do they.”
She could tell her words had struck him to his heart. Drew was silent for a moment, then he nodded to her and put the crown on his head. She felt the power of it radiating like sun melting the slush of snow.
“Thank you, Trynne Kiskaddon. A simple village maid once offered her help to the Prince of Occitania. And look what she accomplished.” He gave her a grateful smile and a nod. “Open the door.”
Trynne beamed at him as she tugged open the door. With one hand on the hilt of Firebos, Drew marched ahead of her and was greeted by a thrum of cheers from the Oath Maidens assembled in the yard below. An even louder cheer sounded when she appeared behind him.
King Drew marched down the steps of the battlement wall and entered the throng of warriors who gathered around him eagerly. Haley from Dundrennan stood near the front, taller than many of the others. She’d be helpful in securing assistance from the garrison. Maciel, the thief’s daughter. Gillian of Passey. Brooke was grinning as if she were ready to rush an army all by herself. The group of them gathered together, anxious to see the king up close.
“Stand at arms!” Captain Staeli roared, his command breaking the spell of adoration.
At his command, all the women separated into even rows and columns, legs spread in a martial stance, one hand behind their backs, their faces at attention.
Staeli walked slowly and deliberately, pausing to gaze sternly at the girls who had not fully stifled their excitement.
“My lord,” Staeli said with a sniff, bowing before the king, “I present to you the Oath Maidens of Averanche. All have been trained and will serve you faithfully. There is not a one of them whom I wouldn’t trust your life with, my lord king. They will fight to the last. Every single one of them.”
King Drew nodded his head at the little speech. He began to stride in front of the first row of warriors. “Last night, I was driven from the palace of Kingfountain by treachery,” he said. “My wife and daughter, I presume, have made it to the sanctuary of Our Lady. I know not for certain. I have no Espion to give me reports. I have none of my knights or captains. You,” he said, pausing in his walk and gazing at them, “are all that I have. We go to battle, my friends. I will not relinquish this crown willingly. Our enemy has magic in his words. He has persuaded many to bend the knee and serve him. He has replaced kings with men of his choosing. But our most dangerous foes are his Wizrs, who scheme and plot and murder. They do not know us or our customs very well. And they do not know that our people will not be ruled by a stranger.”
He unsheathed the sword Firebos, and a shimmering blue light emanated from the naked blade as he held it aloft. “The Fountain gave me this weapon just as it gave me this crown.” He lowered his sword. “And it has given me all of you.” Drew paused, his voice becoming thick with emotion. “I may not deserve such blessings, but I am grateful for them. I accept your oath of service. Serve the Fountain, and you serve me. We ride to the North. I will defend my kingdom at Dundrennan. Ride with me, my sisters. Fight with me. You each have the courage of a hundred men.”
A shout of energy throbbed in the air as the Oath Maidens united their voices in a thunderous cheer.
The army of Averanche camped that night in a meadow beside an ancient grove of yew trees. Everyone would sleep out of doors on blankets, including the king. While the men from Trynne’s garrison in Averanche had chosen to camp in the meadow itself, the women had sought the shelter of the yew trees. There were no cookfires to reveal the army’s position. The horses were being tended to.
Trynne stifled a yawn on the back of her hand, her body weary from the hard riding that day and from the events of the last few days.
“You’re exhausted, Trynne,” Drew said as he walked alongside her. They had just visited the camp of the men, where Drew had spoken to the soldiers. They had fought at the Battle of Guilme, and some were anxious at the prospect of facing Gahalatine’s forces again. They had invited the king to camp amongst them, but he had declined, saying that the Oath Maidens were charged with protecting his royal person. A gibbous moon hung in the sky, bathing the meadow in silver light.
“I am fine,” Trynne answered, struggling to conceal another yawn.
“How long has it been since you last rested?” he asked her pointedly.
She couldn’t even remember. The previous night had been a flurry of nonstop action, from her journey to the Forbidden Court to their return to Averanche. The army of Oath Maidens had begun its march immediately, and couriers had been sent out to summon the rest to Dundrennan. They had ridden hard and changed horses at Beestone castle, where they’d put the castellan on alert and sent out word via the Espion that the true king was on the march. Part of the garrison had ridden with them.
“I may have dozed a bit in the saddle,” Trynne said.
“Well, let’s remedy that. You’ll be of no use to anyone if you’re too tired. I’d like to send one of the maidens to Grand Duke Elwis. I know he wishes to reclaim Brugia, but I need his help defending the realm. Whom would you trust on such a mission?”
Trynne thought about it. “Rani Reya. I will ask her to go.”
“I trust your judgment. Send her in the morning. We all need to rest.”
Several Oath Maidens were standing guard around the grove, including Emilia, the master archer. She lowered her bow when she saw who it was.
“If any of the other men try to visit our camp dur
ing the night,” she asked the king with a sly voice, “do we have your permission to rebuff them . . . sharply?”
Drew chuckled. “Indeed. They won’t make the mistake twice.”
Trynne grinned as she led the king to the edge of the woods, where blankets had been gathered around the gnarled roots of a tree. There were so many bedrolls around, it was difficult to step over them to reach the vacant space at the center of the area—the spot they’d reserved for the king. Drew nestled down next to a tree, leaning back against it instead of lying down.
Trynne found her blanket and settled into it after unstrapping her sword belt. The smell of the dirt and loam was intoxicating. Her eyelids were getting heavier just from being near the ground.
“Won’t you sleep, my lord?” she asked, propping herself on her elbow.
“I will,” the king answered softly. The sound of breathing and the quiet murmur of voices mixed with the noise of crickets and cicadas. Oath Maiden sentries ghosted in and out of the trees, keeping watch while the others slept. There was excitement in the air, as thick and palpable as the yeasty smell of the gorse.
Trynne laid her head on her arm, her mind spinning with fatigue. She would fall asleep in moments, she had no doubt of that.
“Trynne?”
The king’s voice was just a whisper.
“Yes, my lord?” She lifted her head again, staring at him in the darkness. The massive yew shadowed them. There was no glint of light coming from him at all.
“A thought struck me just now,” he said, shifting a little to get more comfortable. “I just wanted to share it with you.”
“Please do,” she said.
“For the last year, I have felt so . . . so forsaken by the Fountain. It felt as if everything was being wrenched away from me. First Myrddin. Then your father. Your mother. Some of my dukes. Now my wife and daughter. One by one, those most important to me have been taken away. I’ve been disheartened, Trynne. Why would the Fountain allow this to happen? Why would it give me the kingdom and then painfully strip it away from me?
“You’ve experienced such evils too. Misery and grief that surpasses my own. Have either of us ever deliberately acted against the Fountain’s wishes? Not that I can think of, anyway. Yet still this has happened.” His voice sounded forlorn, yet there was a spark of hope in it still.
“And what have you decided, my lord? What have you realized?” She gazed at the dark shadows, unable to see him. But she heard his steady breathing.
“Your father taught me that history repeats itself over and over. And so a thought struck me. My own grandfather, King Eredur, had his kingdom wrested away from him by his uncle Warrewik. He had to flee to Brugia with his brother, Duke Severn. He had to win his kingdom a second time. It was Genevieve’s mother who told me the story, and then Polidoro confirmed it when I asked him about it. Eredur lost everything and had to live by the means of the King of Brugia. He had no soldiers. He only had his brother. His wife and children were in sanctuary. Does this not sound familiar?”
Trynne felt a ripple from the Fountain in her heart, warming her against the cold of the night. “Very,” she answered with a smile.
“Then Polidoro told me something that filled me with hope. Eredur never would have reclaimed his throne all alone. The people wanted him to be king, not Warrewik. Not an Occitanian prince. The one who helped my grandfather win back his crown was his poisoner, Ankarette Tryneowy. Sometimes I forget that you were named after her. I’m glad you are with me, Trynne. Good night.”
His words warmed Trynne more than her blanket. He was a kindhearted man—a good and true leader—and she had to believe that he was right, that they would prevail.
“Good night, my lord.” Trynne laid her head down on her arm again and fell asleep immediately.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept before being jostled awake. It was still dark, in the fullness of night.
Drew’s hand was on her shoulder. A man stood by the king holding a small shielded lantern. She didn’t recognize him, but she noticed the Espion ring on his hand.
“Trynne,” the king whispered. She rose quickly, her muscles aching and weary.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying not to groan.
“This man is an Espion from Glosstyr. He says Gahalatine’s fleet, the one that sacked Legault, has landed at Blackpool. Duke Severn is under attack. The battle started at sunset.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Trapping the Boar
It was a bruising ride from the yew forest to Blackpool. Trynne wished the old Wizr board had never been destroyed, that they could observe the pieces and see which were black and which were white. The kingdom was besieged and what they lacked most was information. Drew had asked for Trynne’s advice on whether she thought Severn had joined his daughter in betraying them. If they hastened to Blackpool, would they be greeted with a trap?
In Trynne’s mind the solution was obvious. Speed was essential. If Severn were loyal, their arrival might aid him. If he were false, knowing sooner would be better. Either way, an enemy army could block the road to Dundrennan, and it was critical that they reach the mountain fortress as soon as possible.
Going to Blackpool would only help their cause.
They had roused the sleeping troops with word of the conflict. The marching soldiers were told to move quickly, to abandon their camp and to get on the road under the pale moonlight. Riders from the Espion were dispatched to bring the duke word that support was on its way. The king’s presence was to be kept a secret.
Trynne was still weary, but at least she’d managed a little sleep. Despite her dwindling reserves of magic, she was ready for a fight.
Dawn found them on the road. As Trynne rode alongside the Oath Maidens, she could sense the tension that hung in the air. They had trained to go to battle. Blackpool might be the first opportunity to face their enemies. There was excitement. There was also fear.
The small army from Averanche marched up the road. This was the army of Captain Staeli, a proven battle commander. His eyes were radiant with emotion. He looked eager for a fight, to prove the mettle of the women he had relentlessly trained and the men who had served under him so courageously.
Midmorning, a rider from the Espion arrived with news that the battle was still under way. Severn would not quit the field even though he was overmatched. His soldiers had fought hard all night long, refusing to quit. The field was littered was corpses, it was said, and the enemy had nearly encircled Severn’s forces. The town was occupied by Gahalatine’s army, but Severn would not quit the battlefield.
Trynne’s stomach roiled with worry as they rode hard toward Blackpool, trying desperately to arrive in time. When they crested the hill that spread down to the plains surrounding the city, Trynne could see the shore and the fleet in the harbor. She was reminded of the story of how Lady Evie had once set a trap for Eyric Argentine in that very place.
This battlefield was much larger.
It was clear to her from the vantage of the summit that this was a one-sided battle. Severn’s army was going to lose. She could see that more soldiers were still unloading from Gahalatine’s ships. There was a never-ending flood of them, like the surf that hammered the shore. The stains of death were everywhere. She could see the strewn bodies in the field below, the snapped battle standards, could hear the moans of the wounded and the dying.
Duke Severn was down to his last hundred men, if that. His army was surrounded, and she thought she could spy the old king in the thickest part of the fighting. He had no horse. None of them did.
Severn was trying to stem the tidal flood by himself and she thought she knew why. Before the Battle of Guilme, her father had confronted him about the men in silver masks—the Mandaryn, she now realized—who had been infiltrating Glosstyr. Surely Gahalatine had determined that this was a weak point of the realm. But Severn would not have it said that his duchy had been won through treachery. He would rather die than be remembered as a traitor.
&nbs
p; “By the Fountain,” King Drew said hoarsely as his stallion rested next to hers, panting and lathered from the hard ride. “We’ve come too late. Too late!” There was a hard anger in his voice.
Trynne examined the battlefield. Even with the troops they’d brought, there were not enough of them to stem the advance. What would her father do in this situation?
She stared down at the fierce fighting, at the men of the White Boar surrounded by their enemies. Should they abandon their countrymen to their fate?
The thought struck her forcibly. No. The men had held their ground against impossible odds. Their king had come to rescue them. And even if they could not drive away Gahalatine’s forces, they could save the wounded survivors. She knew what her father would have done. He would have ridden down there to rescue Severn himself.
“My lord,” Trynne said, her voice choked with emotion. “By your leave, let me take my maidens into the fray. Raise your banners and wear the crown, and hold aloft your sword. Have the soldiers make a clamor on their shields. They do not know how many soldiers we have brought. Let’s give them a fright.”
Drew stared at her in surprise and then a grin brightened his face. “A deception.”
“A ruse, my lord,” she said, nodding. “It may not work.”
“But then again, it just may,” the king said, full of confidence. “Take your maidens. Go!”
Trynne nodded and quickly rode up to Captain Staeli. “Protect the king. I’m taking the maidens into battle.”
His expression told her what she already knew—her plan was risky, no, insane—but he was a soldier first and foremost. He obeyed. The look he gave her was full of worry. “Don’t be rash, lass. That’s all I will say.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Are you worried about me, Captain?”
“Aye,” he answered like gravel. “And always will be.”
Trynne fed part of her magic into the stallion she rode, invoking the word of power that would banish fatigue and weariness. The ground thrummed with the noise of horses’ hooves as the host of Oath Maidens charged down the hill. The enemy had turned to face the onslaught of horses. Trynne saw rows of archers lining themselves up in front of the leaf-armored knights. They were disciplined and calm, row after row of steel and fletching and death. Trynne’s heart hammered in her ribs. Was this foolishness? How many of her sisters would fall? She dared not think on it.
