She made her way to the left side of the great room and passed into the corridor leading to the Hall of Priestesses. Passing several young women who were moving quietly, almost gliding, from room to room, Selinda nodded pleasantly in response to their recognition. The wing she was in was the living quarters of a dozen of the senior female clerics as well as some fifty apprentices and novices, and the princess had visited there before. She turned into a small hall and went to the door at the end of the corridor. There she stopped, drew a breath, and knocked softly.
“Come in,” came the reply, the last word rising in inflection welcomingly.
She opened the door and saw Melissa du Juliette. The young high priestess was hanging her golden robe on an elaborate rack. She turned and smiled warmly.
“Selinda! It’s so nice to see you!”
Almost immediately after her greeting, however, Melissa’s brow furrowed in concern. Selinda hadn’t said anything, didn’t think that her practiced expression revealed her inner torment, but her friend and counselor had clearly perceived her anguish.
“Please! Come in; sit down. Take off that cloak-it’s so stuffy in here.” The priestess bustled around, pouring cups of tea.
The two women sat together on a low couch, holding their steaming cups, communing in silence. Selinda looked at Melissa, marveling at the young woman’s composure and maturity. Though barely thirty, the priestess had demonstrated such a keen intellect, and was so clearly blessed by the stern god of right and justice that she had quickly risen to a high position in the church. She was one of two high priestesses in the temple at Palanthas-two high priests served there as well-and Melissa du Juliette was younger by twenty years than any of her three colleagues.
Selinda had known her most of her life. Always, she had been a person the princess could talk to or simply enjoy her presence. As a teenage novice, Melissa had been one of the older girls who shared advice, gossip, and good humor with the young daughter of the city’s lord regent.
As they sat there, however, the wife of the emperor found herself at a loss for words. She was grateful that the priestess made no effort to draw her out, but seemed content to simply share the hot, spicy tea and sit quietly. Eventually, of course, the silence began to wear thin, and Selinda knew that she had to explain herself.
“I… I’m pregnant,” she began.
“Selinda!” Melissa’s face brightened, and she took both of the princess’s hands in her own. Then she frowned and looked at her friend more carefully. “Is it troublesome already? Are you in pain? Do you fear you’ll lose the child?”
“I don’t know. I’m not in pain, but I am afraid. Afraid that something will happen… or, sometimes, I confess, simply afraid I will have the child!” Selinda blurted.
The tears came then, and she let them flow unabated. The priestess gathered the other woman into her arms and held her, let the sobs, the anguish, run their course. Finally, the pregnant woman was able to push herself upright, draw a few steady breaths, and dry her eyes.
“I–I’m sorry,” she said. “That hasn’t happened before. I’ve been alone most of the time, and…”
“You don’t need to explain-about the tears,” Melissa replied. “But why do you grieve so? I understand your husband has taken his army through the pass, to Vingaard. Is that what worries you?”
Selinda shook her head. Somehow, she was strengthened by the thought of Jaymes Markham, and her apprehension became determination. “I felt this way even before he left. Indeed, I came to you because… because I am not sure that it is right to have this child. Perhaps I will be a poor mother-or what if it’s a boy, and he grows into a man like his father? What if I simply lost the baby? Perhaps that would be best!”
The priestess looked sad, moisture appearing in her own eyes. “Oh, child,” she said to the woman only a few years younger than herself. “Why? What makes you talk so wickedly?”
The princess raised her chin. “Is it wicked? What if the consequences of having the child are worse than the alternative?”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s my husband. He’s a very dangerous man. He’ll do anything to hold, to secure, his grip on power. The thing that would aid him the most in this goal is the birth of a son, an heir. Melissa, I don’t love him anymore; I don’t think I ever did.”
“But your marriage! I was there, performed the rites. You were head over heels!”
“I was bewitched, Melissa! I must have been! That’s the only explanation. You recall, I met Jaymes on the plains while he was still an outlaw; he had a strong presence even then. I caused him to be captured by General Markus’s men, and even in chains he seemed dangerous. When he first wooed me, I was cautious…
“But we shared some wine… and everything became very confused. My feelings for him changed in those moments, but it wasn’t anything he said. It must have been some potion in the wine!”
“This is a serious charge. If true, he has done you a great wrong. But surely you can see that the child is guiltless?”
“There is no child! Not yet. But I came to ask you if there is a way to stop that child from being born.”
“Selinda!” The priestess spoke with an air of resignation and finality. “What you ask runs counter to everything I hold sacred. I cannot help you in this matter. It is wrong.” Melissa sighed sorrowfully. “Still, I am glad you came to see me. I wish you had come sooner.”
“I couldn’t risk it. I have been locked in my chambers ever since he left. I only came now with the aid of this magic ring, from Coryn.”
“He locked you up?” Melissa’s eyes widened in shock. “He has no right to do that! You’re right about his power-he goes too far!”
“That’s what I’m telling you about him. He doesn’t need a right-he makes his own rights and expects the rest of the world to fall into line. Please-can’t you help me?”
“I will try to help you but not in the manner you request. I understand that your husband, the man who calls himself ‘emperor,’ has much to answer for. What I suggest is we go, together, to talk to him, to confront him with these truths.”
“What good will that do?” protested the princess.
“We have to try. Will you come with me?”
Selinda nodded. “But Vingaard is across the mountains, a week’s ride.”
Melissa nodded at the golden ring on the other woman’s finger. “You have the means to make the journey, right there on your hand. And teleportation magic is not unknown to those in our order. We could travel together, through the ether. I need some hours to prepare the spell, so let us plan to leave in the morning.”
Selinda thought about the journey. She felt nothing but anguish; there didn’t seem much hope of gaining anything from confronting her husband. But she had to try something.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go see him together.”
Blayne Kerrigan lashed his horse and led his triumphant column across the Stonebridge. The men whooped and cheered as they approached Vingaard Keep, stirring equally enthusiastic cries from the many citizens lining the walls of the lofty castle. The three tall spires all flew the banner of the Blue Sturgeon, the keep’s ancient sigil, and trumpets brayed a fanfare as the young lord and his warriors galloped into the central courtyard and dismounted in the midst of the frenzied populace.
The walls loomed high all around, white and pure and ancient. The three great spires lofted overhead, serene, aloof, grandiose. In the flush of Blayne’s victory, those towers seemed as permanent as the rugged mountains on the western horizon.
“The emperor’s great weapons have been destroyed!” boasted the young captain. “Make ready to hold the Stonebridge!”
Confetti rained from the high ramparts, and ladies-dressed in gowns and jewelry, as if for a ball-waltzed with each other and embraced each of the sooty, sweaty riders as they dismounted from their blown, lathered steeds.
Amid the commotion, Blayne found his sister, Marrinys. She was less exuberant than some of
the women, and he understood why. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her worried eyes. “You heard about Father?”
“Is it true he was killed by the emperor’s men, taken at the parley?”
“Yes.” The young nobleman didn’t try to hide his bitterness. “And he will be avenged. For now, you should know the castle is safe-the emperor’s great weapons have been destroyed!”
“I’m proud of you, Blayne,” she said, hugging him. He held her tightly, felt the tremors of her grief. Forcibly he broke away, reminding himself that the first blows of vengeance had already been struck.
“We won’t let Father be forgotten. But know this, my sister: the emperor’s bombards will not destroy our home! And we did it, we attacked brilliantly, without losing a man!”
“I’m happy about that, Blayne. Really, I am. But I fear for the future. Even if he can’t destroy this place from across the river, how long can we hold out here against his army?”
“I don’t know, Marrinys. Not for sure. But I think we can hold out for most of the summer, if need be. We can cover the Stonebridge from these walls, and our catapults and archers will pound any force he dares to send across. And the longer we hold our defense, word of our courage and success will spread across Solamnia. In a matter of weeks, I expect rebellions to arise in other parts of the nation. We have an ally in Thelgaard, where Captain Franz-the son of the ruling lord-despises the emperor, and works on his father’s loyalty. There will be unrest in Caergoth and perhaps even Solanthus. When fires of rebellion burn on all sides of him, the emperor will be forced to withdraw and alter his plans.”
“I hope you’re right, my brother. But even so, I’m afraid.”
Blayne had no time for her concern; he was too busy sharing the sparkling wine of victory, pouring bottles from both hands. “Let’s at least relish a moment of victory today! We can have hope for the future, finally.”
She let him go, but her eyes remained troubled. She watched as his riders were toasted, and hoisted onto the shoulders of the castle’s men-at-arms, and in more than one instance hustled off into the stables by pretty girls for more personal rewards. The scene brought a reluctant smile to her face.
Meanwhile the young lord found himself borne into the keep’s great hall on a swelling tide of victorious Vingaard. Only when he was seated at the great table, still sharing drinks, waiting for the triumphal banquet to be prepared, was he reminded of a grim reality. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and looked up to see the red-robed figure of his-and his father’s-closest advisor.
“You’d better come with me, my lord,” said Red Wallace, his tone and demeanor sobering the other man’s excitement.
“What is it?” asked Blayne, rising and following the wizard out of the hall when Wallace made no move to reply. In silence they climbed the winding stairs within the keep’s tallest tower. The young lord’s stomach grew queasy. Even the spectacular leaded glass windows, whose beautiful panes were known throughout Solamnia, could not ease the growing heaviness in his heart.
When they were about halfway up the lofty tower, Wallace led Blayne out onto a small balcony, a walled perch on the side of the spire that offered an unimpeded view to the south. Already the emperor’s army was marching into view, great columns breaking off the road, forming camps along the ridge to the south of Apple Creek.
“That’s no surprise,” he informed Wallace confidently. “We knew they would come this far, and we’ll hold them at Stonebridge, if need be.”
“That’s not what I wanted you to see,” the red wizard declared grimly. He pointed to the west, where the road wound out of sight along the shallow valley of the creek.
Blayne saw it immediately: the long, trunklike shape rising from the bed of the wagon, trundled along by its team of eight massive oxen. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“One of the bombards survived?” he asked finally, his voice hollow.
“It would appear so,” Wallace replied.
“But… but we destroyed them all! All three! They were burning as we retreated!” Even as he blurted out those words, Blayne realized how foolish they were. He could see with his own eyes that one of the great weapons had survived. Wallace said nothing.
“What do we do now?” the younger man asked, after a long time.
“It seems we have little choice. He can attack and probably destroy the keep from the safety of the far side of the bridge. I think you must submit, throw yourself on his mercy. Send a courier!”
Word of the bombard’s appearance had spread to the great hall by the time Blayne and the wizard returned. The mood was somber and quiet, the crowd having thinned from hundreds to a few dozen loyal supporters. They listened with grim faces while the son of Lord Kerrigan dictated a note, specifying the castle’s surrender, and pleading for the emperor’s mercy. Within a few moments, a courier raced out of the gates, across the Stonebridge, and up to the army’s initial picket line.
Blayne made his way to the gatehouse, intending to wait there for the courier’s return. He was startled to see the man come galloping back, even before the young nobleman had made his way to the top of the wall. Hurrying back down the stone stairs, he accosted the rider as soon as the man dismounted.
“Did you speak to the emperor? What did he say?”
“He wouldn’t see me,” the courier replied flatly. “Instead, his guards told me to come back here, and to stay here. He said that our decision had been made, earlier in the day, when we chose to offer battle instead of acknowledge his right of rule.”
“That was his answer?” demanded Blayne, appalled.
In the next instant, a sound thrummed through the ground, a powerful crunch that could be felt in the ground even before Blayne heard it in the air. Immediately after, he heard another sound-something exploding overhead. Looking up, Blayne saw a gaping hole in the side of the keep’s loftiest tower. The colored glass, which he had been busy admiring just a few hours before, rained down from the shattered windows.
“I suspect,” Red Wallace said soberly, as they joined the rest of those in the courtyard in fleeing to the shelter of the nearby buildings. “That the emperor has just begun to make his reply.”
“Fire away. Keep blasting until dark, and then zero in on the fires, if there’s enough light to give you a target.”
“Aye, my lord,” replied Captain Trevor, the grizzled commander of artillery. If anyone had been more enraged than Jaymes by the loss of the two bombards, it was the gunnery officer. The emperor knew he would carry out his orders diligently and professionally.
The bombard was set up about a half mile south of the Stonebridge. From that distance, Trevor had calculated that the round stone balls fired by the gun could reach every part of Vingaard Keep, except the very tops of the high towers. And, as the gunnery captain had observed wryly, he didn’t need to strike the tops of the towers in order to bring them down.
Jaymes walked a short distance to his command post, which had been established in a travelers’ inn alongside the Apple Creek road. He passed through the main room, which, though filled with officers, was strangely silent. Jaymes did not desire the company of his men, not at that moment, so he made his way up the stairs. Several guards stood duty on the second floor, posted outside a suite of rooms where Lord Kerrigan’s two companions were imprisoned.
Jaymes continued up the stairs. A wide balcony ran the entire length of the third floor, and from there he could watch the bombardment. There were a few captains there, and they made way for him. None tried to initiate conversation as the emperor sat at a table and sent a serving maid down to the bar for a pitcher of ale. When she returned, Lord Templar trailed behind her, and when Jaymes gestured to a vacant chair, the young Clerist sat down.
“My lord,” he began, awkwardly. “The Vingaard messenger-the man you refused to see-brought an offer of surrender. Is it necessary to destroy the castle now?”
“I don’t intend to destroy the castle. I’ll be content with the destruction of
those three towers.”
“But those towers are Vingaard Keep, lord! They have stood for centuries-even through the great battles during the War of the Lance! They’re landmarks on the plains, known to every Solamnic-knights and citizens alike. Are you sure you want to bring these great edifices down? The rebels must surely have learned their lesson! I implore you, Excellency, consider carefully the lesson your own people will take from this action.”
Jaymes looked past the Clerist and caught a glimpse of General Dayr engaged in intense conversation with his son, Franz. The older man seemed to be pleading; the younger was rigid, pale, his hands clenched into fists. Finally the captain stalked off but not before casting a venomous glance at the emperor. Jaymes met the look coldly, and was mildly surprised when the young captain didn’t immediately turn away.
Instead, Franz glared mutely for several long heartbeats, before finally stomping through the door leading inside.
Jaymes turned back to the Clerist Knight, the man whose magic rain had doused the fires and allowed at least one bombard to survive the surprise attack. The emperor shook his head firmly.
“Perhaps the rebels in Vingaard have learned their lesson, but that’s beside the point.”
“But why? How?” protested the priest.
“Because I intend to send a message to everyone, across all of Solamnia. Only when the towers are destroyed, and all have heard the news, will the people understand my will is law. I will brook no opposition, no dissent-and I will crush even a whisper of rebellion!”
He turned to look back at the castle and watched as another ball crashed into the middle tower. Already much of the stonework, and all of the glass, had been destroyed. The spire wobbled like a tall tree that had suffered an almost fatal blow from a woodsman’s axe. He was vaguely aware that General Dayr was watching the tower too, that the army commander’s face was contorted in grief.
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