by David B. Coe
“Thank you, Captain,” Kearney said. “Find something to eat. We’ll be riding shortly. You, too,” he added, looking at the guard.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the captain said.
When both men were gone, Kearney stood, regarding her with obvious concern. “You don’t look well. What’s happened?’
“I had a visit from the Weaver last night.”
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, ignoring the second question. “He was angry with me for not killing Cresenne, but he still needs me. Otherwise I’d probably be dead.”
“This is madness, Kez! It has to stop!”
“There’s no way to stop it except to see it through to the end.”
“But—”
“Please,” she said, fearing that she might cry at any moment. “Just let me finish. He told me that he intends to kill Cresenne himself. We have to get a message to her, quietly but quickly. She has to know what he plans to do.”
“All right. We’ll send someone today.”
“Thank you.” She took a breath, remembering once again the fire that had tortured her the night before. “There’s more. He gave me another task, another test of my loyalty to the movement. He wants me to kill you.”
Kearney actually smiled. “Is that why you’ve come?”
She laughed. How could she help it? There were tears in her eyes, but this man had always been able to make her laugh. “I’m to do it during the battle. I won’t, of course, but I thought you should know, because he may have others working for him who will make the attempt.”
“They won’t be alone, Kez. Half the men on that battlefield will be trying to kill me.”
“I know. But all the emperor’s men are nothing compared to this Weaver and his servants.” She swallowed. “I’m afraid for you,” she whispered.
Kearney took a step toward her, and, glancing at the tent flap to be certain no one was there, he took her hand. “And I am for you. I suppose somehow we’ll have to keep each other safe.”
For a moment that stretched to eternity they remained utterly still, their eyes locked. More than anything, Keziah wanted to kiss him; just this once, just so that she could taste his lips again and feel his arms around her. She sensed that he wanted this as well, and she knew that if they unleashed their passion for each other, even if only for one stolen kiss, they would never find the strength to quell it once more.
And so Keziah did the only thing she could, the only thing she dared. Pulling her hand free, she fled the tent.
Chapter
Eighteen
Kentigern, Eibithar
or some time now, Aindreas had been preparing the castle and city for a siege, making certain that the quartermaster had all the gold he needed to provision the castle, ordering his swordmaster, Villyd Temsten, to drill the men relentlessly in defensive tactics, and having the prelate and his adherents transform the castle’s cloister into a spacious surgeon’s chamber. There had been little doubt in his mind that the attack would come, and soon. He hadn’t needed his allies in the Qirsi movement to tell him that much. But until this very morning, he hadn’t been certain whether the first assault would come from the Aneirans or from the army of Eibithar’s king.
Villyd’s scouts had been telling him for nearly a turn that the army of Mertesse, just across the river in northern Aneira, was more active than at any time since the siege a year before. And considering all that Aindreas knew of the conspiracy and the recent movements of Braedon’s fleet in the waters off northern Eibithar, he fully expected that the renegade Qirsi would do all they could to spark a war along the Tarbin. Why else would they have been pushing him to break with Kearney? United, Eibithar could hold off attacks from both the north and south. Such a war would exact a high price, to be sure, but Aindreas had little doubt that the invaders could be defeated. Divided, however, the realm had a far less certain future.
Aindreas felt certain that had it not been for the presence of Braedon’s fleet in the waters off Galdasten, Kearney would already have laid siege to Kentigern Castle. As matters stood, however, the Aneirans were the first to attack the tor. Just after dawn this morning, under cover of a sudden mist no doubt conjured for them by their sorcerers, the soldiers of Mertesse crossed the Tarbin into Eibithar and began building siege engines. Even now, sitting in his presence chamber, drinking his wine, Aindreas could hear the distant beat of axes and hammers on wood and the singing of the Aneiran army. He had stood on the ramparts for a time after Villyd first came to him with word of the mist and the crossing of the river, but the Aneirans remained beyond the reach of Kentigern’s archers. There was nothing for any of them to do but watch and wait. A year ago perhaps Aindreas would have stayed with his men. Now all he wished to do was drink his wine and listen in solitude to the sounds of the coming siege.
“Let the Aneirans cross,” the Qirsi woman had said. “We want this war.”
Yes, but was he to let them have the castle, too? Should he and his men simply lay down their arms, or did his Qirsi masters want him to defend the fortress? In the end Aindreas decided that he didn’t care what they expected of him. Kentigern would not fall without a fight. Mertesse could have the rest of the realm for all he cared, but the tor was his. The Tarbin gate, which had failed during the last siege after being weakened by Shurik jal Marcine, his traitorous first minister, had been rebuilt, and though it had not yet been tested in battle, he thought it strong enough to withstand Mertesse’s assault. These walls, built and defended by his forebears, would not fail him a second time.
He heard the door creak, and saw Ennis peeking into the chamber. Placing his goblet on the writing table, he rose and stepped around so as to block the cup and flagon from the boy’s view.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the cloister?” he asked.
Ennis gave a small shrug. “Father Crasthem says I was in the way.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s in the cloister with the prelate and the surgeon.”
This pleased the duke, though it gave him little choice but to let the boy stay. Ioanna continued to show improvement. No matter what happened to him, Ennis and his remaining sister would have their mother to care for them.
“And Affery?” the duke asked, more out of curiosity than any intention to send the boy to her.
“She’s helping the kitchenmaster.”
“So you’ve nothing to do.”
Ennis shrugged again, looking so much like Aindreas himself that the duke nearly laughed. “I wanted to go up on the walls, but Mother told me I couldn’t.”
“She was right. It’s not safe right now.”
“Because of the Aneirans?”
Aindreas sat in a large chair next to his empty hearth, motioning for the boy to climb onto his lap. “Are you frightened?” he asked.
“Not too much. I wouldn’t be at all if they hadn’t broken the gate the last time.”
The boy was clever, a worthy heir to a proud house.
A house you ‘ve shamed. You’ll leave him nothing but your disgrace.
“You know why they broke the gate last time,” Aindreas said, trying to ignore the voice in his mind. “I’ve explained it to you.”
“The Qirsi, you mean. The man who used his magic on the por . . . the por . . .”
“The portcullises. Yes. The gates won’t fail this time.”
“How do you know that he didn’t do it again?”
“Because I have men watching the gates night and day. If the Aneirans want to get into the castle, they’ll have to break the portcullises themselves.” Unless they have a shaper with them. Aindreas shuddered at the thought.
“I heard two of your soldiers talking. They said that the king won’t help us. We’ll have to beat the Aneirans alone.”
Damn them for letting the boy hear such a thing. “You shouldn’t be listening to conversations that don’t concern you.”
“Yes, Father.” A pause, and then,
“Is it true?”
Aindreas exhaled heavily. “I really don’t know what Kearney will do. I suppose it’s possible.”
Ennis twisted his mouth briefly, as if wishing his father had answered differently. “But we can still win, right?”
“Of course we can.” The duke made himself smile. “This castle has stood against the Aneirans for centuries, and if it wasn’t for the traitor, it would have held last time, too. We don’t need Kearney.”
For several moments the boy said nothing, leaning back against Aindreas’s chest. Then he tipped his head back to look up at his father’s face. “Can I see your dagger again?”
Aindreas grinned, without effort this time. Pulling his blade free, he handed it to the boy, hilt first. “Be careful.”
“I know.”
He held the dagger reverently, as if it were made of glass, turning it over in his hands, examining the steel with a critical eye and testing its heft in one hand and then the other.
“Why are the Aneirans our enemies?” Ennis asked after some time, still playing with the blade.
“They have been for hundreds of years now. The clans of the north have been fighting the southern families since before the Qirsi Wars and the establishment of the seven realms.”
“But why?”
“It started with disputes over land. Now it’s mostly about control of the river. The Aneirans used to say that the land between the Tarbin and Kentigern Wood should belong to them.”
Ennis looked up again. “You mean they think that the tor is theirs?”
“They used to, yes.”
“Is it?”
“No, of course not. It might have belonged to the southern clans once, but when the Forelands were divided into the seven, Eibithar was given all the land south to the river. The Aneirans didn’t like it, and they tried to take this land a number of times. But they never succeeded, and every other realm recognized our claim to it.”
“But they still think it’s theirs.”
Aindreas frowned. “Not really. They no longer claim the land as their own, but they still think of us as their enemy. And I suppose we think of them that way, too. The Tarbin is an important river. During the snows and well into the planting, merchants can sail its waters all the way to the base of the steppe. Eibithar and Aneira share control of the river, and most of the time we trust one another to allow ships from all realms to complete their journeys. But every now and then, we get into fights over who can and can’t sail its waters. And occasionally one king or another gets it in his head to imagine what it would be like to control the land on both sides of the river, so that we wouldn’t have to share.”
Ennis made a face. “That seems dumb.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. Kings aren’t always as smart as they should be.”
“Like Kearney?”
Aindreas looked away. “Kearney’s plenty smart.” But the Qirsi are smarter. “He’s a victim of this, too.”
“Of what?”
He hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud.
“Nothing. Perhaps we should go find your mother. I’d like to see how preparations are going in the Cloister.”
“Do we have to?”
The duke hesitated. She’d smell the wine on his breath.
“Not yet. Soon, though.”
They sat a while longer, Aindreas gazing toward the window and listening to the hammers and the singing, Ennis intent on the dagger. After a time, the hammering ceased. Aindreas knew what that meant, and so he wasn’t surprised by the sharp knock at his door a few moments later.
“Enter,” he called.
Ennis had stopped toying with the blade, though he made no move to leave the safety of the duke’s lap.
Villyd stepped into the chamber, an avid look in his eyes, as if he were ready to fight the Aneiran army right there. “They’re on the move, my lord.”
Aindreas nodded. “Very well.” He lifted the boy off his lap and turned him around. “You need to go find your mother now. Tell her that the Aneirans are nearing the castle walls.”
Ennis gaped at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “Where are you going?”
“Up to the ramparts.”
“But you said it wasn’t safe.”
He cupped the boy’s chin in his hand. “It’s not safe for a boy, but it’s where I belong.”
Ennis handed him the dagger, his face as solemn as a prior’s. Aindreas sheathed the blade, then gathered the boy in his arms. “We’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Take care of your mother and sister for me, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go.” He gave the boy a gentle push toward the door and watched him go. Only when the door had closed behind him did Aindreas stand and turn to the swordmaster.
“Can you tell how many?”
“Not yet, my lord. They’re still hiding in the mist. The latest reports we had from the Tarbin put the number near three thousand, most of them from Mertesse, a few from Solkara.”
“That’s not much of a force.”
“The reports were a few days old. They may have more now.”
Villyd started to say more, then seemed to stop himself.
“Out with it, swordmaster,” the duke said at last. “What’s on your mind?”
“It may be nothing, my lord. But we’re all aware of the fighting in the north. It seems likely that the emperor and the Aneirans are working together. In which case Mertesse’s attack may not be aimed at Kentigern.”
“They’re preparing siege engines, Villyd. I could hear them building the damned things from my chamber.”
“Yes, my lord. But what if the siege is meant only to keep your army occupied, and their true intent is to drive into the heart of the realm?”
Aindreas felt his stomach tightening. “They haven’t enough men to try such a thing.”
“As I said, my lord, the reports were several days old. They may have more than three thousand by now. And even if they don’t, they could commit a thousand soldiers to the siege, leaving two thousand to march inland.”
‘Two thousand men—”
“Is not many. But when combined with the army of Braedon, it’s far more formidable. Certainly it’s enough to flank the king’s army.”
Under most circumstances Aindreas wouldn’t have tolerated the interruption, but then again, usually Villyd wouldn’t have thought to speak to him so. The swordmaster raised an interesting point. Mertesse had little to gain from another siege, even if it succeeded. But as a diversion from Aneira’s larger aims, the siege made a great deal of sense.
The two men left the chamber and began to make their way through the corridors toward the south towers.
“Have you seen any sign that part of their army is trying to slip past us?” the duke asked as they walked.
“No, my lord. But with the sorcerers’ mist still covering them, we have no idea how many men are approaching. The rest may already be past us; they may have crossed the Tarbin farther east. Or they may be waiting until the siege is under way and our forces committed to the defense of the city and castle.”
Aindreas was barely listening. The more he considered the matter, the more convinced he was that Villyd was right. The siege was secondary; the war in the north would decide Eibithar’s fate. The Aneirans had to be stopped here. Aindreas was quite certain, however, that the Qirsi wanted the soldiers of Mertesse to slip past Kentigern. Jastanne would tell him to guard his castle but to make no attempt at stopping the Aneiran advance. You have doomed your realm, and for nothing—misplaced vengeance and false justice. He glanced at Villyd, only to find Brienne walking on the far side of the swordmaster, her golden hair shimmering like Panya’s Falls at twilight. She stared back at him, her face so grave that it made Aindreas’s breath catch in his throat. After a moment, she shook her head, and looked away. She hadn’t haunted him since his visit to Bian’s Sanctuary, and he had dared hope that she might leave him alone from now on. He should have known better. He had promised her that he would en
d this alliance with the Qirsi, and he knew that she would hold him to his word.
“What can I do?” he whispered. “There’s no way out of this.”
“My lord?”
The duke covered his eyes briefly, then looked again. The apparition had vanished.
“Are you all right, my lord?”
Relief and sorrow warred within him. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“We were speaking of the Aneirans, my lord. Of the purpose—”
“I know what we were discussing. What would you have me do, swordmaster?”
They entered one of the tower stairways, making their way down to the ward so that they might cross to the castle’s outer defenses.
“Send some of your men north, my lord. Send them to Galdasten now, before the siege begins and they can’t leave.”
Listen to him! Brienne’s voice shouted in his mind. It’s not too late to make right again all that you ‘ve destroyed! But while he heard his daughter’s voice, it was Jastanne’s face that loomed before him, waiflike, yet forbidding. Whatever his uncertainties about the expectations of the conspiracy, he knew how they would respond to any sign that he was breaking his oath to them. Jastanne would expose him as a traitor to the realm, offering as proof the document he had penned for her only a few turns before. There had to be a way out of this, a way to free himself of the conspiracy without disgracing himself and his house. He had no choice but to believe that. But he had yet to find it, and until he did, he could not risk angering the Qirsi.
They entered the south watch tower of the outer wall and started up the stairway to the ramparts. “We haven’t enough men to spare, Villyd. It doesn’t matter if the Aneirans actually hope to take the tor, or only wish to distract us from their true purpose. Either way, this siege threatens the survival of our house. I’ll not weaken our army by chasing phantoms to Galdasten.”
“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but we don’t need two thousand men to repel a siege. We can guard the castle and city with half that number.”
“The last time I left Kentigern to be guarded by so few, the castle fell.”
