Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  Earwood sat hesitantly, perched on the edge of the chair. “Yes, Highness, I ate in the barracks. Could we,” he looked meaningfully at Nurelka and the two other maids. “Speak in confidence?”

  As the crown princess, Ariana was supposed to avoid being alone with men, to keep up appearances. “Nurry, would you select an outfit for me to wear today?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nurelka knew from long experience that meant the princess wished to speak privately. She gestured for the other two maids to leave the study and close the door; Nurelka went into the back of the room-sized closet where she was far enough away not to overhear what was being said.

  “Captain Earwood,” Ariana said in a low voice, “what news from the border?” She had heard rumors the previous night.

  The captain shook his head slowly. “It is not good, Highness. It is a disaster. The army has regrouped, and General Magrane was preparing a counterattack on the enemy’s flanks along the River Fasse; to hit them before they have the bulk of their forces across the river. Yesterday, when Magrane requested permission to strike, your mother ordered him instead to pull the defensive line back forty miles, to the east bank of the Tormel river.” Earwood took a deep breath. “As I am sure you are aware, the land in that part of Anschulz is flat and open, mostly farmland. There are few natural barriers to the enemy’s advance, and a rearguard action while our forces pull back would be costly. And achieve little. The River Fasse is deep and wide, with bluffs on both sides. The Tormel is shallow; this time of year there are places where horses can wade across. That river is not suitable to a strong defensive line, and we have not invested in fortifications there as we did along the east bank of the Fasse. Your mother, I mean, the Regent, ordered General Magrane to hold at the Tormel until winter. Her hope is that winter will halt the enemy’s advance.” His face was bleak, his eyes searching her face for her reaction. “General Magrane believes the winter conditions in central Tarador cannot be relied upon to halt the enemy’s advance. If, when, the enemy crosses the Tormel, they will be in mostly flat, open country all the way here to Linden.”

  “You wish me to speak to my mother for you?” Ariana asked skeptically. Her mother had not listened to Ariana’s advice in the past, and they were not speaking at all now. The princess was not even sure her mother would respond to a request for a meeting.

  Captain Earwood shook his head. “I fear the time for that is past, Highness. General Magrane was able to persuade the Regent to transfer part of the army reserves from Rellanon; they will be on the march toward the Tormel line today or tomorrow. In order to,” Earwood hesitated, “avoid clogging roads across Anschulz, some of the reserves will be passing through Linden within the next three days.” He looked her directly in the eyes. “At that time, there will be almost a thousand Royal Army soldiers close to the capital.”

  Ariana felt like she could not breathe. What General Magrane had planned was a coup; to use the army reserves to seize Linden and lay siege to the royal castle. Ariana thought it very unlikely the coup attempt could succeed; the royal guards who controlled the castle would be on high alert when the army passed through Linden. Magrane must be truly desperate to plan such a treasonous action. And desperate to send a trusted captain to reveal his plans to the crown princess. “I see,” she said in a voice that could barely be heard. “Does General Magrane wish me to, to review the troops as they pass by?”

  Earwood’s shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. The moment when the crown princess could have denounced him for treason had passed. “Highness, it would be helpful for you to be outside the castle walls when the Royal Army reserves come through Linden. My suggestion would be for you to leave the castle within the next day, two at the most. If you need assistance to remove yourself from the castle,” he lowered his voice, “please contact me. I cannot promise this will be without risk to your person.”

  The army needed Ariana outside the castle; beyond the control of the royal guards. Because then the army could surround the castle with Ariana leading them. The guards inside the castle would be loyal to the legal leader of Tarador, the Regent Carlana. While the army would have an underage princess.

  It would tear the country apart. The dukes and duchesses of the seven provinces were in Linden, inside their own walled and heavily fortified estates. With their own provincial army soldiers, who would be drawn into the desperate fight for control of Tarador. “Captain Earwood,” she rose from her chair and the army man stood up. “Please signal General Magrane to-” To what? To wait? For what? “Would it be possible to move some of our forces back toward the Tormel line for now, while still being ready for a counterattack?”

  “It would be possible, for a short time, Highness,” Earwood responded hopefully. “Should I also-”

  “Captain, I must make preparations,” Ariana felt her own throat was choking her. “Please await my word.”

  The crown princess wanted to go to the royal chapel, to seek guidance from Mother Furliss, but she did not have time. In her private study, she knelt by the window and prayed silently, then sent for her chief advisor. Kallron found Ariana garbed in a formal but rather somber dress, and he was surprised to see her crown on the table. Ariana rarely wore the crown she was accorded as the future queen; she often said that she preferred to wait until the crown of a monarch sat upon her head. And her chief advisor could tell she had been crying, despite the makeup her maids had applied. “Kallron,” she said simply, “send for Duke Falco.”

  “Your Highness,” Duke Falco said with a short bow, no more than was required for the occasion. “You wished to speak with me?” The note from the crown princess had given no indication what she wanted to discuss. Regin, and Niles Forne, guessed she intended to appeal for Falco’s support, now that the forces of Acedor were across the River Fasse. Regin was ready to resist calls to his patriotism. If the princess cared so much about Tarador, she could work with Falco to agree on a compromise candidate for the Regency. With the Council in total disarray and every province putting forward their own candidate, even the princess and Regin Falco grudgingly coming together might not hasten the process of selecting a new leader for the nation. What Duke Falco could not understand was the expression on the face of Gustov Kallron. The man’s face was pale and his jaw set. Whatever the princess was going to say, it had greatly upset her chief advisor.

  “I do,” Ariana said stiffly. She was wearing her crown, and had received Falco in her formal parlor, rather than in the more comfortable study. It was warm and stuffy in the parlor, but there she sat on a raised throne, while Falco stood below her. “The forces of the enemy have crossed into Anschulz. General Magrane reports there is little between the enemy and the Wendurn Hills, and he is not confident he could hold them there, if they move their entire army across the Fasse.” She spoke in a stilted fashion, reciting a speech she had rehearsed. “We must be unified, if we are to defeat the enemy. If Tarador is to survive.” She took a breath to continue.

  Falco interjected. “Your Highness, we are unfortunately more divided than ever. There are many candidates for the Regency, and none has enough-”

  “I will marry your son,” Ariana said quickly, before she could change her mind.

  At first, Regin Falco was so stunned, he could not believe his own ears. “I am sorry, Your Highness. You agree to marry my heir?”

  “I do. Tarador will not survive without strong leadership, now. We will draw up a betrothal contract; I will marry Kyre on the morning of my sixteenth birthday, before my coronation ceremony. In exchange, you will vote for me as Regent, this very afternoon. And you will support me fully in this war, once I am Regent.”

  Duke Falco was still so surprised, that he had to pause to collect his thoughts before he could reply. “This afternoon, a vote, yes. I am sure that our advisors,” he looked at Forne and then Kallron. “can create an acceptable betrothal agreement quickly. Highness, might I suggest that I speak with Duchess Rochambeau, so that your selection as Regent be six out of six votes? To
show that we are unanimous in the face of the enemy?” Rochambeau would choke just thinking of voting for Ariana, but Regin was confident he could persuade her to vote with him.

  “No,” Ariana said emphatically, shocking everyone in the parlor. “I wish Duchess Rochambeau of Demarche to vote against me.”

  Niles Forne walked all the way through the long, echoing corridors of the place, down the steps, across the courtyard and into the carriage with his duke, without saying a single word. He remained silent as the carriage was driven out through the gates of the castle, because Duke Falco was lost in thought. The carriage bumped over the bridge on its way into the city of Linden before the duke spoke. “Forne, that was interesting.”

  “Interesting, Sire? It was a triumph! And absolute triumph for you! That silly little girl challenged you, and you beat her at her own game,” Forne gloated.

  “Careful, Forne,” Regin’s expression was displeasure, not exultation. “You speak of my future daughter-in-law. The future mother of my grandchild.”

  I will marry your son. Regin heard the words in his head again, and still he almost did not dare to believe it. What he found most surprising were his own feelings. Instead of feeling triumphant, what he felt was admiration for the princess. What an extraordinary young woman, he told himself. What a brave young woman. She was sacrificing her future happiness, perhaps her entire future, for the good of the nation.

  My future daughter-in-law. The mother of my future grandchild. A child who would unite the Falcos and the Trehaymes.

  Irritated with himself, Regin tried to push emotions from his mind. There would be a Council meeting that day, then he and the entire Council needed to focus all their energies to supporting Ariana. To save Tarador. If they could.

  Koren awoke to find Thunderbolt missing, but as soon as he scrambled to his feet, he saw the horse nearby in the meadow, happily eating hay. Eager to get going, Koren practically had to drag the horse away from the overgrown field. “I promise, we’ll get to a village soon, and you will have all the grain you can eat,” he laughed as the horse nuzzled his ear. Surely, a village had to be close. On royal roads, inns and stables were typically located one day’s journey apart, and villages often sprung up around the inns. With the inn at the crossroads burned, surely there must be another within a day’s ride, Koren told himself. Although, as they rode all morning without seeing any signs of civilization, perhaps the north country of Tarador was more thinly inhabited than Koren expected.

  Around noon, Koren halted the horse by a stream by the road, intending to rest and eat the meager food left in his pack. All he had left was jerky and hard cheese, having given everything else to the hungry horse. As he knelt down to drink from the stream, a distant sound caught his attention, and Thunderbolt’s ear pricked up also. The great horse began breathing deeply, nostrils flared. “Shh, shh,” Koren patted his flank to calm the horse’s breathing.

  Shouting. Someone was shouting, more than one person. It was coming from the north, the direction they had been riding all morning. Koren pulled the sword from its scabbard; the blade was not the best quality, but he had smoothed out the chips in the edge and kept it sharp. Of his quiver of arrows, there were only four that he trusted to fly straight and true; he moved them to the side where they could be easy to reach. “Thunderbolt, I think there is a fight ahead. I know, it isn’t our fight, but I can’t stand here and do nothing.”

  Thunderbolt tossed his head and stamped his feet eagerly.

  “Don’t you be so eager,” Koren warned, already feeling guilty. What right did he have to bring the horse into a battle? Thunderbolt had been in battle, but he had not been trained as a war horse. “We will see what it is, and if is trouble we can’t handle, we turn and run, you understand?” He tugged on the horse’s mane to look Thunderbolt in the eye, but the horse was practically shaking with excitement, and danced away from him.

  As the horse raced up the road, hooves kicking up dust, Koren had a brief moment to realize that he did not know why he was riding into danger. Whatever was happening ahead was not his problem, and- He pushed the thought from his mind. If he thought about it, he might not do what he knew was right. Then, in a moment, the time for thought was past.

  The royal road passed through meadows and forests; Koren had thought the woods would be the most likely spot for an attack by bandits, but the bandits had other ideas. Knowing guards would think as Koren did, the bandits had concealed themselves in the tall grass and bushes of a meadow. As a train of two wagons passed by, the bandits hauled up a stout iron chain that had been concealed in the dirt of the road, and fastened it around a tree. With the chain blocking the road to the north and ditches along both sides, the wagons could not go forward and could not turn around without their wheels becoming stuck in a ditch. More than a dozen bandits had attacked from both sides, against six guards and four wagon drivers. Two of the drivers had fallen in the first volley of arrows, and as Koren pulled Thunderbolt to a halt, the fighting was concentrated around the rear of the first of the two wagons. From what little he could see, some people were taking shelter under the wagon, and guards were using shields to fend off arrow, but two of the guards were down, and the bandits had drawn swords to end the fight.

  Koren did not need to dig his heels in to spur the horse onward, Thunderbolt kicked up clods of dirt in his headlong flight. Holding onto the tangled mane with one hand, Koren gripped the bow and an arrow with the other. They kept to the center of the road, with Koren hoping the wagon in the rear would conceal their approach. The bandits charged as Thunderbolt sped toward the fight, and no one had time to look to the south. As they neared the wagons, Koren directed Thunderbolt to the right with his knees, releasing hold of the mane so he could draw back the bowstring.

  Two of the enemy fell before they realized they faced a new threat; a third was struck by an arrow as he shouted a warning. The arrow thudding into his chest cut off his cry, and he was flung backward into the ditch. Koren had no time to nock a fourth arrow, they were already in the fight. Tossing the bow away, he drew his sword and swung a leg over to slide off the horse’s back. Koren skidded and stumbled in the dirt and desperately thrust the sword up to block a sword coming down toward him; the bandit’s sword was deflected but Koren momentarily lost his grip and his sword slipped from his hand. As he reached for the sword that was still spinning in the air and the enemy draw back to strike him, there was a dark flash to Koren’s right, and Thunderbolt’s front hooves thudded into the bandit’s face, sending the man into the spirit world. Koren caught his sword in the air and slapped the flat of it against the horse’s flank. “Go!”

  Startled, the horse leaped the ditch and bounded across the field, nearly falling prey to a pair of arrows that barely missed. With the horse running away, the stunned bandits turned their attention to the newcomer, and charged at him with a blood-curdling cry.

  Koren stood his ground, back to the wagon. He moved by instinct, as he had done in the sparring ground at the castle in Linden. Three of the bandits charged him in unison; Koren’s mind flashed an observation that the three likely had military training and were not merely thugs. His sword began to move on its own, almost faster than Koren could follow. Then, he could follow his sword’s arcing movements, because time slowed for him. Exactly as time had done when he sparred with the weapons master in Linden. And exactly as time had done when he killed an enemy wizard, to save Lord Salva. Koren heard the gruff voice of the weapons master in his head, instructing him to pay attention to the movements of the three bandits. The way they moved was important, as were their clothes, the way they held their swords, everything he could see could be important. And the fact that they moved together did suggest prior military training, which could be trouble for Koren. It could also be an advantage for him, because it made them somewhat predictable. The wisdom of the weapons master flashed through Koren’s mind; it was all good and true and useful. And it meant nothing, for Koren’s blade was lightning, flashing through the air
in the blink of an eye. The skill and strength and coordination of the three bandits did them absolutely no good; two of them fell back to sprawl on the road, while the third suffered merely the loss of his sword and two fingers. A fourth bandit came up behind Koren, dagger poised to strike, when the man came up short, paralyzed, as the sharp tip of Koren’s sword swung around to be poised at his throat.

  “I yield! Yield!” The man said in a strangled voice, his dagger thumping to the ground.

  Before Koren could speak, the bandit dropped to his knees, a knife sticking out of his belly. One of the guards had thrown the knife, and the man shouted a warning that another bandit was readying an arrow. Koren spun, facing the bandit archer, poised to cut the arrow out of the air.

  And the moment was gone. Koren’s surprise attack had changed the balance in the fight, and the bandits who were still able to move decided the two wagons were no longer easy targets. They broke and ran, scattering across the meadow on both sides of the road. “You! Boy!” A guard exclaimed, picking up Koren’s discarded bow and tossing it to him. “You are deadly with that bow, whoever you are. Those two are getting away.” The guard pointed across the meadow to the frantically fleeing bandits.

  Koren nodded, pulled an arrow from the quiver he still wore on his back, nocked it, and aimed. And lowered the bow. “I won’t do it,” he said quietly.

  “They’ll only attack another wagon, boy,” the guard growled.