“Horse thief!” Clovermead shouted out, and Sorrel brought his mare, Brown Barley, to a sudden halt. “The Mayor of Low Branding has sent us fourteen letters of complaint. You, personally, are responsible for the theft of forty-six of his best broodmares.”
“Nonsense,” said Sorrel. “There were only twenty-two foals, I was in High Branding, and no one saw me when I stole them. You have made this up to trap me, hellion, and have succeeded magnificently.” He jumped down, strode over to Clovermead, and looked at her disbelievingly. “Is it really you? You have grown another inch, Clovermead, and you are as tall as I am. I will never be able to pat you on the head again.”
“It’s me,” said Clovermead. “And you! I hardly recognize you in that mustache.”
“I hope it does not offend,” said Sorrel anxiously. Clovermead shook her head. “I am glad.” He smiled. “And as for you—you are three years older, and three years less a child in your looks, and I am not offended by anything about your appearance, young lady.” He looked Clovermead in the eyes—
They looked at each other with three years between them. It’s Sorrel, Clovermead told herself. I held his hand all summer long in the Steppes, and we kissed so often that I knew the feel of his lips better than my own. I cupped the curve of his chin in my hand. The mustache changes him, but it’s more than that; it’s someone different behind his eyes. Not entirely different, but not the same Sorrel I left behind.
She could see Sorrel think the same thoughts.
And I’ve been dreaming of kissing someone else.
Clovermead sneezed, suddenly and violently.
The Tansyard laughed, almost relieved. “Perhaps it would be better to kiss your hand, Demoiselle.”
“Not that,” said Clovermead. Lacebark had kissed her hand. She stepped in to Sorrel, kissed his cheek, and stepped away quickly from his suddenly too-close body. Sorrel stepped toward her, as if to return her kiss—and Clovermead took a step back.
“I dreamed of dancing with you,” said Sorrel wryly. “I did not quite envision this particular back-and-forth.”
Clovermead smiled a very little. “Me neither,” she said. “Not at all.” She made herself look him in the eyes again. “I’ve been dreaming of you so long, and I’ve missed you so, but—wait a little?”
You made me wait long enough.
In her mind’s eye Lacebark grinned at her.
“As you wish,” said Sorrel. Then he smiled. “The mustache can go.”
Clovermead couldn’t help but giggle. “Don’t do that! Really, it takes some getting used to, but it looks good on you.”
“Of course it does. My forefathers have always been known in the Cyan Cross Horde for their silky and admirable mustaches. Grandmother always told me that she must have married Grandfather for his mustache, because there was not a single other thing about him worth marrying. And Grandfather would say not a word back to her, but simply stroke his mustache with great self-satisfaction. He was a great man, a man to emulate!” Sorrel chuckled. “Ah, Clovermead, I have missed telling you such stories. But I am here at last, as I said I would be. I am no promise breaker.”
“I knew you’d come,” said Clovermead. “I wanted you to be a bit quicker about it, that’s all.” She turned to stare through the gates. “I didn’t expect you’d bring this many warriors with you. Why are they here?”
“Because Ursus will not let us enjoy our time together,” said Sorrel, suddenly grim. “His armies march north from the Thirty Towns at last. We came riding as soon as we heard the news. More Tansyards will be here before long, to join in Chandlefort’s defense.” He grimaced. “Am I the first messenger to bring this news?”
“You Tansyards ride fast,” said Clovermead. She sighed. “I want to spend hours talking with you, but I guess that’s not going to happen just yet. You’d better come to Mother right now.”
Chapter Four
The Prophecy
“How good is your information?” Lady Cindertallow asked Sorrel. She paced back and forth in her study. Her hands clenched and unclenched.
“A score of warriors from the Brown Diamond Horde went trading into the Thirty Towns this winter,” said Sorrel. He stood at ease on the rug of the study, by Clovermead’s side. “As they came back to the Steppes a month ago, they saw the bear-priests marching north from Queensmart along the banks of the Whetstone River. At first they thought Ursus’ soldiers went to conquer one of the last free Towns—Whetford, perhaps, or Steeplegrove—but the bear-priests did not stop at either city. They kept tramping north. So the warriors galloped over the Farry Heights to the Tansy Steppes, to spread the news as quickly as possible. Cyan Cross Horde and White Star Horde had wintered near Barleymill, to keep an eye on Ursus’ garrison, so we heard the news first of all the Hordes. Fetterlock took half the White Star Horde and went to gather the other Hordes. I went westward toward Chandlefort with the other half of White Star Horde, and the few warriors in the Cyan Cross Horde, for I thought you must be told this news without delay. We met the Red Square and Orange Spike Hordes along the way, and a few wanderers from other Hordes, and they joined us as we left the Tansy Steppes.
“We rode over the Farry Heights into the southernmost part of Linstock, where the Whetstone River rushes through a chasm too narrow and steep for habitation. We came to the east lip, and we saw the Bear’s army on the western side, along the Charbon Pike. There were bear-priests mounted on Phoenixian horses, bears that padded alongside the army, carts and catapults, and slaves who carried provisions on their backs. There were many, many bear-priests on foot, all silent and grim. Twenty thousand of them, maybe more.” Lady Cindertallow’s face went white. “Just so, Milady. I brought my warriors racing up the east side of the Whetstone, along the Crescent Road, until we came to the Millrace Shallows. I dispatched a messenger from there to Low Branding, to tell the Mayor that his armies would be needed soon in Chandlefort, and then we swam our horses across the ford. Afterward we rode our poor steeds ragged coming here. Milady, you have some time still. Because he takes the Charbon Pike, Ursus cannot be stopped at the Whetstone fords—but he must go slowly over that back road’s ruts. His army must still be three hundred miles away.”
Clovermead calculated marching times in her head. “Thirty days?”
“The bear-priests walked very fast,” said Sorrel. “I would say twenty-five. And their cavalry and bears may come ahead of the main body.”
“I should have heard this news from the Queensmarters in the southern forts,” said Lady Cindertallow. She scowled. “I told those blasted refugees they were my eyes on the Charbon Pike. This is poor recompense for my hospitality.”
“We Tansyards are very fast, Milady,” said Sorrel, almost modestly. “Even in their great days, the Queensmart cavalry never could outpace us. I’m sure you’ll hear word from them in a day or two.”
“Perhaps so.” Lady Cindertallow sighed. “I shouldn’t be angry at the wretches. Lady help them, I have no men to reinforce the forts. I hope they can hold out against the bear-priests. Or at least slow them down.” She shuddered. “You’re sure Ursus’ army marches against Chandlefort?”
“Where else, Milady? Low Branding is on the east side of the Whetstone; if he aimed for that, he would have sent his army up the Crescent Road. He would not bother to gather so many hosts against the lesser towns of Linstock.” Sorrel tried to look hopeful. “You have time to summon up your armies, Milady.”
“What armies?” Lady Cindertallow laughed hollowly. “Tell me, how many Tansyards will be able to come from the Steppes?”
“Four thousand warriors,” said Sorrel. “The old men will take the women and the children to the far northern Steppes, to wait for the outcome of the battle. If it goes badly, they will ride eastward, far from the lands of Our Lady, and hope that Ursus’ vengeance will not pursue them.”
“Small chance,” said Clovermead. She tapped at the side of her head. “I remember how the Bear thought, when he possessed me. He’d pursue prey to the ends of
the earth.” She shivered—sneezed, and cursed. She blew her nose into her handkerchief. “We still have two thousand Yellowjackets, Mother. Add in the Servants’ Regiment and the city militia, and that’s another thousand. How many reinforcements can we expect?”
“The Mayor of Low Branding has two thousand mercenaries,” said Lady Cindertallow. “With luck, three thousand soldiers will come from the rest of Linstock—though some will be boys who can barely tell their helmet from their greaves. We can scrape together twelve thousand all told—but Ursus would make mincemeat of them if he caught them outside the walls. They’d be safer inside the walls, but I couldn’t feed them all. I exhausted Chandlefort’s grain stores during the war with Low Branding, and I cannot feed both civilians and army for more than half a season. You say his army had provisions?”
“More than enough for a long siege, Milady,” said Sorrel. He looked at her with growing unease. “Have you no plan for this moment? Surely you knew Ursus would come north someday.”
“I have messengers ready to ride at a moment’s notice,” said Lady Cindertallow. “They’ll go to the Mayor of Low Branding, the Aldermen of the Lakelands, the Barons of High Branding, and the rest—I’ve consulted with all of them, and their armies will come quickly. I have barracks prepared for their soldiers. I have agents in the Thirty Towns who’ve given gold to the Townsmen who still love Our Lady so that they will rise when Ursus’ armies head north. But plans can only do so much. The Bear has the men and the wealth of the Thirty Towns beneath his sway, and I have only my poor Linstock. Our best defense has always been Ursus’ distraction. Our second best has been distance. Without those, we can’t stand against him.”
“We have Our Lady on our side,” said Clovermead. She sneezed again, and groaned. “Stupid cold. Don’t give up yet, Mother.”
“I haven’t,” said Lady Cindertallow. “And I don’t discount Our Lady’s favor. But as I recollect my catechism, her victories are on a different sort of battlefield, and sometimes they work through our worldly defeats. I also remember that Our Lady teaches us that the might of queens lasts but a summer’s day. These are not encouraging thoughts to contemplate as I consider how to deploy my armies. I’m sure our cause is good, but I’m not at all sure our cause will win.” She hesitated a long moment. “You know there are certain prophecies made about Chandlefort.”
“I remember,” said Clovermead. She glanced at the Tansyard. “Sorrel told me when I came to Chandlefort for the first time. We were hidden in the army of Low Branding, and I saw statues of twenty Ladies Cindertallow on the battlements. Sorrel said that the twenty-first ruler of Chandlefort was supposed to be the greatest of them all. And that she’d be the last ruler of Chandlefort. I can do the math: If you’re the twentieth Lady, I’d be the twenty-first. I never wanted to ask, Mother. Knowing prophecies never does you any good, and I figured that I’d just get conceited if I thought about being the greatest Lady Cindertallow—whatever that means!” She looked up at her mother with a face shadowed by unease. “And I won’t be Lady until you’re gone, Mother. I don’t want to think about that prophecy before I have to.”
Lady Cindertallow’s face softened, and she gripped Clovermead’s hand in hers. “Thank you.” Then she let go her daughter. “Nevertheless, I think the time has come to tell you about the prophecies. My plans are based on them.”
She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “The nuns have looked in their Scrying Pools for the Ladies Cindertallow ever since we began to worship Our Lady. It was foretold very early that ‘The twenty-first ruler of Chandlefort will be the last and greatest of them all.’ The prophecy was kept as secret as possible. It’s never comfortable to hear a terminus for your dynasty, and you don’t want to encourage your opponents to start murdering Ladies Cindertallow, so as to reach that foretold number sooner. I think it did encourage a certain long-range outlook among my predecessors—Grandmother certainly took some comfort, as the Empire of Queensmart fell apart, because she was only the nineteenth Lady Cindertallow. ‘Nothing too awful will happen to Chandlefort while I live,’ she always told me. ‘You’re the one who has to worry. You’ll muck up somehow, like as not. Greatest and last Cindertallow means your daughter will have to fix some ghastly mistake you’ve made.’”
“Pleasant lady, Great-Grandmother was,” said Clovermead. “Did she say that sort of thing often?”
“Once a week, more or less. I shed no tears when she died. Now, I disbelieved in prophecy quite furiously when I was young. The nuns also look into the future when each Demoiselle is born, and foretell what will happen to us. I did not at all care for the prophecy concerning me, and I refused to accept it. I cared even less for yours, Clovermead—’Ursus will put his mark on her.’” Clovermead’s eyes went wide, and she clutched at the scar on her arm. Lady Cindertallow nodded. “That’s explained now, but I didn’t like the sound of it when you were born. I refused to believe it—until Ursus had you stolen from your cradle. You disappeared, and afterward I thought that prophecy meant that Ursus had killed you, and the twenty-first ruler of Chandlefort would be someone else. Saraband, I thought for a while, until she gave up being Demoiselle. Some interloper like the Mayor, come to conquer Chandlefort and leave it in ruins. Oh, I began to believe in prophecies, all right. I sent for them as often as possible. And when one gave me a hint that you might be alive, I sent Sorrel to Snowchapel to find out where you were, and he ran into you in Timothy Vale, thinking you were an innkeeper’s daughter. You two know the rest.”
“What do the prophecies say now?” asked Sorrel. “Do they provide us any clues?”
“They say that Chandlefort will fall.” There was a long moment of silence. The sun went behind a cloud, and the room was suddenly very cold. “Every Scrying Pool these ten years and more tells me the same thing. ‘Chandlefort will be conquered. Bear-priests will march through the streets of the city.’”
“That seems quite plain,” said Clovermead. “There wouldn’t be any looseness in the wording?” Her mother shook her head. “Are you sure it’ll happen anytime soon?”
Lady Cindertallow laughed abruptly. “No. I have not been given even that much peace of mind. I thought the time had come at last when the Mayor marched against Chandlefort and you were possessed by Ursus. I thought it again when Mallow Kite besieged the city. I fought with all my might, sure my struggle was useless. And perhaps we will be saved again, by the skin of our teeth. But I do not think we will.” She took a deep breath. “So I have made plans to elude the worst of the prophecy.
“Chandlefort will fall, but that does not mean all Chandleforters must die. Sorrel, I want you to ride tomorrow.”
“No!” said Clovermead. Her heart seized up in her.
“I do not want to go so soon,” said Sorrel. He glanced at Clovermead. “I have been away many years.”
“I know the two of you want to spend time with each other now. I’d let you if I could.” Lady Cindertallow grimaced. “You’re the fastest horseman I’ve ever seen, Sorrel, and time is of the essence. I know you’re no longer in my service, so I ask this of you as an ally of Chandlefort. As soon as this meeting ends, I will order the evacuation of all civilians from Chandlefort. I want you—I need you—to go with some of your Tansyards to the Abbess of Silverfalls and ask her to open wide the gates of Silverfalls Valley for refugees. I think that every extra day she has to prepare will save more of my people’s lives.”
Sorrel groaned. “I could wish I were less singular in my riding skills.”
“But you’re not,” said Clovermead roughly. “So I guess you have to go.” She scowled at her mother. “What next? Are you going to send me to Scrimshaw Harbor, and make it so Sorrel and I can’t ever see each other?”
Lady Cindertallow shook her head. “You’ll be together soon enough. As soon as they’re ready to go, I want you to lead my Chandleforters over the western Heath to Silverfalls Valley. Lord Wickward and the Servants’ Regiment will escort you, to guard against bear-priests on the way. I’ll s
tay here with my Yellowjackets, and whatever other soldiers reach us in time, to prepare a proper welcome for Lord Ursus. With only soldiers in the city, we should have enough food to last us until winter. If he hasn’t taken the city by then, his bear-priests will be out of food, and he’ll have to retire back to the Thirty Towns with his army.”
“But you think he will take the city, Milady,” said Sorrel quietly. “Have you by any chance arranged an escape route for the army?”
“Secret tunnels and the like? There are a few bolt-holes here and there, but if they were big enough to let an army out, they’d be big enough to let an army in. No. The garrison of Chandlefort will be here for the duration.” She looked up at Sorrel. “Tansyards aren’t suited for siege warfare. I’ll want the Hordes to stay outside the city, ready to pounce on the bear-priests if they ever get careless.” She turned to Clovermead. “I want you to come back with the Servants’ Regiment when the refugees are safe at Silverfalls. If the Abbess can provide you some nuns’ men for your army, so much the better. Rendezvous with the Tansyards outside the town, and gather up any soldiers from Linstock who came too late to join the garrison. You’re to lead the combined army. Watch the bear-priests’ flanks—if they’re careless, perhaps we can coordinate a sortie from Chandlefort and an attack by your army. If they’re not careless—” She grimaced. “The twenty-first Lady Cindertallow will need an army after Chandlefort has fallen. It will give her options.”
“I don’t like this plan,” said Clovermead. Her throat was dry. “I’m sure you know why.”
“There are more than twenty thousand bear-priests headed for Chandlefort, Clovermead,” said her mother. “We can’t let them march in unopposed, but neither can we risk losing everything we have. Something must be sacrificed.”
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