by David B. Coe
She related her conversation with the archminister, answering her uncle’s questions when he interrupted, and trying her best not to leave out any details.
“You tell me that he didn’t send you here,” the regent said, once she had finished, “but he did recommend that you speak to me about all of this, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But what, Kalyi?”
“But he told me not to tell you that he was the one who thought of all this. He said that you and he don’t always see eye-to-eye.”
Numar actually gave a small laugh, though he didn’t look at all happy. “That’s true enough.”
“Was I wrong to tell you?”
“No, not at all.” He stood and began to walk around the chamber. “Kalyi, do you remember the conversation you overheard between Pronjed and the master of arms?”
She would never forget it. They had been in one of the tower stairways, and though she had known that it was wrong to listen, she had been unable to help herself. Pronjed had spoken to the armsmaster as if he were a child, telling him what to think and how to behave. And Tradden Grontalle, the leader of Solkara’s army, one of the most powerful warriors in all the realm, had obeyed him without a word of protest. Kalyi guessed at the time that the archminister used magic to control Tradden’s mind, and her uncle had agreed that it was possible. “Of course I do, Uncle,” she said.
“And do you remember that we wondered at the time if the archminister might be a traitor?”
She nodded. This had occurred to her as well.
“Do you think it’s possible that he was saying all of this not to help you, but rather to hurt you, and House Solkara as well?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shivering. “Do you?”
“Yes, I suppose I do. House Solkara needs to be strong, and Aneira needs to fight this war when the leaders of our army tell us it’s time. If we do as the archminister suggests, and delay our attack, we could ruin everything.”
“But what about the houses that are against the war?”
“Tell me again, what Pronjed said about them.”
“He told me we should speak with the dukes of Dantrielle and Orvinti, that we should address their concerns.”
The regent nodded slowly. “I see,” he said, his voice low. “So the minister wants us to appease them.”
Kalyi wasn’t certain what “appease” meant, but she asked, “Is that what we’re going to do?”
“No, it’s not.” He had ceased his pacing and was standing near the window, gazing out over the castle ward. After a few moments he faced Kalyi again. “Your Highness, I believe the time has come to take a harder stance with those houses that would oppose your will. Only enemies of the realm would want to keep Solkara weak. So I would suggest that we do all that we can to demonstrate how strong your house can be. What do you think?”
She still didn’t understand all that was happening, but she knew that Pronjed scared her, and that when her uncle spoke of strengthening House Solkara it seemed to make a good deal of sense. “I think you’re right,” she said, drawing a smile from the regent. “If the other houses really want Aneira to be strong, then they should listen to us, and go to war when we tell them to.”
Numar fairly beamed, making the queen blush. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Your Highness.”
Chapter
Eight
Dantrielle, Aneira
t had been a dangerous endeavor from the beginning. Tebeo, duke of Dantrielle, had drawn upon all his powers of persuasion to convince Brall of Orvinti to join his cause, and even that would not have been enough had it not been for their close friendship. By trying to convince the dukes of Aneira’s other southern houses to stand together in resisting Solkara’s push toward an alliance with the Braedon empire and war with Eibithar, they risked being branded as traitors to the realm. But both men believed that this war was a mistake, that the realm’s true enemy was not their neighbor to the north, but rather the Qirsi conspiracy. So, early in the planning, they had decided to ride to the other houses and speak of rebellion with their fellow dukes.
In the end, Brall and Tebeo determined that they were best off traveling separately, Brall speaking with the new dukes in Bistari and Tounstrel and Tebeo riding to Kett and then to Noltierre. Even before word reached them of Numar’s rush to muster new men into the royal army, they had known that their time was limited. By dividing their tasks and pushing their mounts, the two dukes hoped to forge alliances with the four houses in question before the end of Amon’s Turn. With any luck, they thought, they might be able to dissuade the regent from this foolhardy war before his preparations had progressed too far.
Tebeo returned to his castle in Dantrielle more encouraged than he ever thought possible. His discussions with the dukes of Kett and Noltierre had gone perfectly. Due mostly to the untimely deaths of so many of the realm’s dukes during the past year, Ansis of Kett now ranked as one of Aneira’s oldest dukes, though he was quite a bit younger than both Tebeo and Brall. Like his father before him, Ansis had long been friendly with both men, and also with three of the late dukes—Chago of Bistari, Bertin the Elder of Noltierre, and Vidor of Tounstrel. Perhaps because the duke of Kett had always been the youngest of their group, Tebeo still found himself thinking of Ansis as a boy, a young noble so new to his power that he needed guidance from Tebeo and the others. Seeing the duke in his own castle, however, surrounded by his beautiful children and giving orders to his guards in their black-and-brown uniforms, Tebeo realized that he had been doing the man a disservice. Kett might have been no more than a middle-tier house, but her duke had grown wise with the years, and he was as brave as any man in the kingdom.
“You saved me the trouble of sending a messenger to Dantrielle,” the duke said, the night Tebeo arrived at his gates. “I had intended to deny Numar’s newest request for men, and I had thought to let you and Brall know, so that when the Solkarans marched on Kett, I might face them with more than just my army.”
Coming from another man, it might have sounded like an idle boast. But Tebeo had little doubt that Ansis meant what he said.
“Then you oppose this war as well,” he replied, hearing the relief in his own voice.
“Of course. I have no affection for the Eibitharians, but neither do I wish to find myself riding to battle with the emperor of Braedon. My father always thought Harel too vain and foolish to be an effective leader. I can only imagine what he would have said had Farrad or Tomaz suggested an alliance with the empire.”
“Will your men stand against the royal house if it comes to war?”
“Yes,” Ansis said. “The men of Kett would give their lives in defense of the realm, but they have little affection for the Solkarans. I’d rather avoid a civil war—I know you and Brall feel the same way—but we’ll fight beside you if we must.”
Eager to be on his way, his confidence bolstered by Ansis’s pledge of support, Tebeo left the following morning for Noltierre. Bertin the Elder, who led the southern house for nearly thirty years until dying a few turns before, a victim of Grigor of Renbrere’s poison, had been one of Tebeo’s closest friends. Indeed, with the exception of Brall, Tebeo trusted no other noble in the land as completely as he had the old duke of Noltierre. Judging from the welcome he received upon reaching the black walls of the city, it seemed that the new duke, Bertin the Younger, knew that his father had valued their friendship just as much. Most of the Noltierre army stood outside the city gate, swords raised in salute, as a herald played “The River’s Blood,” the Dantrielle war anthem. Bertin, the image of his father with a square face and dark eyes, broad shoulders and long legs, sat atop a white mount as Tebeo rode to the gates. The two men dismounted at the same time, and then, rather than embracing Tebeo as he would a brother, the younger duke dropped to one knee, bowing as he might have to his father. An instant later his soldiers did the same.
Tebeo would have preferred a more restrained welcome; he was plotting again
st the regent, and no doubt House Solkara had servants throughout the realm who would notice this spectacle. Still, he couldn’t help but be moved by Bertin the Younger’s greeting. There seemed no point in cutting short the formalities. Best to allow them to go on as if this were nothing more than a visit born of Dantrielle’s long-standing friendship with Noltierre, and the courtesy shown customarily to new dukes.
Eventually, when the introductions had been completed, Bertin and his first minister led Tebeo’s company through the gates and the narrow lanes of Noltierre, to the great castle with its soaring black towers. Once in the outer ward of the fortress, they went through a second set of introductions, so that the duke’s mother, Bertin the Elder’s widow, could greet Tebeo and his minister. From there they went directly to the duke’s great hall, where they partook of a grand feast prepared by Noltierre’s renowned kitchenmaster.
It was nearly dusk before Tebeo finally had the opportunity to speak with the young duke in private, and even then he had to ask his first minister, Evanthya ja Yispar, to request a private audience with her counterpart. Noltierre’s minister, who had served Bertin the Elder for more than a decade, was reluctant to leave the two dukes, but Bertin insisted. The young duke even went so far as to send his servants from the hall, so that at last, he and Tebeo were alone.
“What’s happened?” Bertin asked, once the servants had gone.
Tebeo smiled at the directness of the question. It was so like something the elder Bertin would have done.
“You think me rude for asking so bluntly.”
“Not at all. But I am reminded of your father.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I don’t mean to be impolite, my Lord Duke—I’m pleased to have you here. But I’m not so young as to believe that you came simply to wish me well or even to pay respects to my father.”
Tebeo had been raising his goblet to drink, but now he returned it to the table, taking a slow breath. Bertin the Elder would have leaped at any chance to oppose House Solkara, but Tebeo couldn’t be so certain about the young duke. This was a dangerous time for him; had it been Tebeo’s place to offer counsel, he certainly wouldn’t have advised the man to take up arms against the royal house. But he hadn’t come to give guidance.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve come to speak of the regent’s plans for war and his pursuit of an alliance with Braedon.”
“And are you here to speak on Numar’s behalf?”
Tebeo grimaced. “Hardly.”
“Good. Then I’m more than happy to listen.”
Truly his father’s son.
Bertin eagerly pledged all the resources of his house to Tebeo’s cause, even going so far as to offer to march with Tebeo back to Dantrielle three days hence.
“No,” Tebeo said. “For now you should see to the safety of your people. Numar will hear of my journeys to Kett and Noltierre, just as he’ll learn of Brall’s discussions with the dukes of Bistari and Tounstrel. And I’m certain he’ll know the reason for them soon enough, if he hasn’t divined our intentions already. I don’t know yet how he’ll respond, but he may choose to strike first at those who support us. Increase the guard on your city walls, and make certain the castle is provisioned for a siege.”
“What if Numar strikes instead at you and Lord Orvinti?”
“We’ll send word.” He smiled. “Along with a request for aid.”
The young duke merely nodded, grim-faced and earnest. “And you’ll have it.”
Back in Castle Dantrielle several days later, on the tenth morning of the waning, Tebeo still recalled how his gratitude for Bertin’s pledge of support had been tempered by his fear that he was leading the young man and his house to their doom.
Everything now depended on whether Brall had succeeded in convincing Silbron of Bistari and Vistaan of Tounstrel to join them as well. With the duke of Orvinti expected to arrive at his gates within the next few hours, Tebeo could barely keep himself still. He had guards posted on the southern ramparts, watching the road from Tounstrel for any sign of Brall’s company, but still he had climbed the tower three times that morning hoping to glimpse the riders himself, shielding his eyes from the sun and straining to spot any sign of Orvinti’s blue, white, and green banners.
He was on his way to the tower stairs to check the road yet again, when he heard the gate bells ringing in the city. At first he assumed that these were the midday bells, but when Evanthya appeared in the corridor, her cheeks flushed, and a small smile on her lips, he knew that Brall had arrived, and with him his first minister, Fetnalla ja Prandt. Tebeo had known for some time now that Fetnalla and Evanthya were lovers, and though another duke might have been troubled at the thought of his first minister sharing a bed with a Qirsi from another house, his close friendship with the duke of Orvinti allowed him to be somewhat more lenient.
“They’re on the road?” he asked before his first minister could speak. For once he was as eager for the arrival of Brall and his company as she.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Have an honor guard sent to greet them. Instruct the soldiers to ride forth from the gates before Brall reaches the city walls. They’re to accompany the duke to the east entrance so that he and the minister can enter the castle without crossing through the city. No doubt Numar has spies in the city, perhaps even in the castle, and I’d like them to see as little as possible.”
“What of the bells, my lord?”
“They can’t be helped. Anyone watching us would think it strange if they didn’t ring at the approach of so many riders.”
Evanthya nodded. “Yes, my lord.” She turned and hurried toward the stairway.
Tebeo returned to his presence chamber to await Brall’s arrival. It seemed but a matter of moments before Brall reached the chamber, accompanied by both Fetnalla and Evanthya. Orvinti’s duke looked as he always did, hale and tall, with broad, kind features and hair as white as a Qirsi’s. His clothes were travel-stained, his face ruddy from the sun and wind. He grinned as he strode across the chamber to grip Tebeo by the shoulders.
“How is it you convinced me to ride from Bistari to Tounstrel?” he asked. “And how is it we agreed to meet here rather than in Orvinti?”
“You miss your castle, my Lord Duke.”
“My castle, my bed, my wife. I’m road-weary. We’re too old for this nonsense, Tebeo.”
“Actually, I found my ride quite invigorating.”
Brall frowned. “You’re younger than I am.”
“Not by much.”
“By enough.”
Tebeo smiled again, but regarding him more closely, the duke could see that there was more to Brall’s complaints than mere jesting. His friend looked tired, and not just physically. It seemed his journeying had taken a toll.
“I know that it’s no substitute for your home, Brall, but whatever hospitality Pelgia and I have to offer is yours.”
“I’m grateful, my friend, and I hope you’ll thank the duchess for me. You and Pelgia have always made me feel welcome here. But I think I’ll stay only the one night. I’m ready to be back in Orvinti.”
Tebeo indicated a chair with an open hand. “Please sit.” He glanced at the ministers. “The two of you as well. We have much to discuss.” He turned to his servants. “Food and wine for the duke and his minister. In fact, for all of us. We’ll take the midday meal in here.”
Both servants bowed and left them.
“You spoke with Silbron and Vistaan?” Tebeo asked, facing Brall once more.
“I did.”
“And?”
“Vistaan is with us. He blames all the Solkarans for Vidor’s death, though he knows that only Grigor was responsible. He wants no part of Braedon’s war, and even if he did, I don’t think he’d allow his men to march with the royal army.”
“That’s good news.”
Brall gave a small shrug. “I suppose.”
“You have doubts?”
“Tounstrel is the weakest of Aneira’s houses to be
gin with, and I’m not convinced that Vistaan is ready to lead his army into war. He still grieves for his father.”
“I’d expect no less.”
“Of course. But in many ways he’s too much like Vidor for his own good. He’s younger than his years and stubborn to the point of foolishness. He’s bent on vengeance; it almost seems an obsession. I fear that he’ll do more harm than good as our ally in this cause.”
“Yet, we need him.”
“Yes, we do, even more than you know.”
Tebeo felt his stomach tighten. “Silbron?”
Brall shook his head. “He has no desire to oppose the regent.”
“Damn!” Tebeo looked away. He had never thought that he would be so avid for civil war, but after his successes in Kett and Noltierre he had come to believe that they could stop Numar’s war, that they might even be able to wrest the crown from Solkara if the regent refused to heed their calls for peace. “So it’s over, before it’s even begun.”
“Perhaps not,” Brall said. “He won’t oppose Numar, but neither will he stand with him against us. Lord Bistari intends to remain above the fray.”
“He told you that?”
“Those were his words. I believe he’s taken a lesson from the Thorald clan in Eibithar. As the second-strongest house in Aneira, Bistari has the power to tip the balance in this conflict one way or another. By remaining neutral, Silbron leaves the outcome of any civil war very much in doubt.”
“You think he seeks to prevent such a war?”
“Maybe. Or perhaps he expects we’ll fight anyway, and when we’ve destroyed each other, Bistari will be left as the realm’s preeminent house.”
“And the throne will be his.”
Brall shrugged a second time.
It made sense. Tebeo found himself surprised that the boy had managed to conceive such a plan on his own. His father, whom Tebeo had considered a good friend, had never been so clever when it came to matters of state.
“Do you think this was his idea?”
