The Blood Knight

by Greg Keyes

  That was followed by a feminine laugh that was not Anne’s but that Neil nevertheless recognized immediately.

  Neil sighed and rose from concealment. His joy at finding Anne alive and apparently unharmed did not entirely put his new suspicion to rest, but there was no point he could see to hiding anymore.

  “Your Majesty,” he called. “It’s myself, Neil MeqVren.”

  All heads turned toward him, and he heard bows creak.

  “No,” Anne said, her voice commanding. “This is my man. Sir Neil, you are well?”

  “I am, Majesty.”

  “And the rest?” She smiled uncertainly, then lifted a hand. “Tio video, Cazio.”

  Neil followed her gaze and saw that Cazio also had stepped from cover. He shouted something at Anne in Vitellian that sounded as Neil felt: relieved and overjoyed.

  “What about Austra?” Anne called then. “Have you seen Austra?”

  But Austra was already running toward Anne, and forgetting all dignity, the heir to the throne of Crotheny leapt from her horse and met her friend in a fierce embrace. Instantly they were both weeping and talking very quickly, but Neil could not hear what they were saying, nor did he try.

  “Sir Neil,” purred the voice that went with the familiar laugh. “What excellent fortune to see you again.”

  Neil followed that throaty music to the lady who produced it. Indigo eyes teased him, and her small mouth bowed in a mischievous smile. For an instant he was taken to another day, a day when his soul hadn’t seemed quite so heavy and some of the boy in him was still alive.

  “Duchess,” he said, bowing. “It’s a pleasure to see you, as well, and in good health.”

  “My health is passing fair,” she sniffed. “I daresay this ride in the cold is doing nothing to improve it.” But her smile broadened. “So many heroes of Cal Azroth here,” she said. “Aspar White and Winna Rufoote, I believe.”

  “Your ladyship,” the two chorused.

  “Are we in danger here, Sir Neil?” Anne asked, looking up from Austra’s shoulder. Again, Neil was struck by the command in her, something he had not seen in the young woman just a few months before.

  “I know of no immediate threat, milady, but I consider this forest unsafe,” he answered. “Most of the men who accompanied us from Dunmrogh have gone beyond the wood in the west. What you see here is all I know who remain alive.”

  “Where is Frete Stephen?”

  Neil glanced at Aspar.

  “He was taken by the slinders,” the holter said stiffly. “He and Ehawk.”

  Anne gazed off into the forest as if searching for the two men, then returned her gaze to the holter.

  “Do you believe that they are dead?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Neither do I,” Anne said. “Holter White, a word with you in private, if you don’t mind.”

  Neil watched in mild frustration as his charge and the holter stepped away from the rest. He found it difficult not to watch them, and so he turned his attention back to the duchess.

  “Glenchest is well?” he asked.

  “Glenchest is as beautiful as ever,” she replied.

  “And untouched by the present conflict?”

  “Untouched, no. Nothing is untouched by my brother’s rash actions. But I do not think he has ever considered me a threat.”

  “Should he?” Neil asked.

  The duchess smiled sweetly. “Some publish that I am a threat to virtue,” she replied. “And I do hope that I am the enemy of boredom and ennui, wherever I find them. But my brother knows I have not the faintest design on the throne and all the ridiculous tedium that goes with it. I am content merely to be left to my own amusements.”

  “Then you don’t favor one claimant over another?”

  The duchess put one hand up to stifle a yawn. “I had forgotten, Sir Neil, that being beautiful and young does not prevent you from being—at times—something of a bore.”

  “My apologies, Highness,” Neil said, recognizing full well that she hadn’t answered his question. That might be a good sign; the duchess was very clearly in control of the situation. She could afford to let him know her intentions even if he wouldn’t like them.

  Glancing over, he saw that Anne’s conversation with the holter had ended, and Aspar White was now approaching.

  “Duchess,” Aspar said, affecting a rather crude bow.

  “Holter. How are you and your young creature?”

  “Well enough, y’r grace. And you?”

  “I have a bit of an appetite,” she murmured, “for wild game. I don’t suppose there’s any convenient, is there?”

  “Ah—” Aspar said.

  “I generally prefer something tender and milk-fed,” she added, “or at least not long off the teat. But sometimes one wants something that’s been well seasoned, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t—with the slinders and all, most game has—ah, your grace—”

  “Aunt Elyoner,” Anne said, “leave the poor man be. There’s no use to torture him that way. He has to go now. He’s just trying to make his farewells.”

  “Is that true?” Neil asked the holter. “Then you convinced her?”

  Clearly relieved to take the conversation in a different direction, Aspar scratched his jaw and returned his regard to Neil.

  “Well, no, not exactly,” he said. “Her Highness thinks it best if Winna and I go after Stephen.”

  “I wish I’d had a word or two in that,” Neil said flatly.

  The holter’s expression darkened, but Anne broke in before he could reply.

  “He didn’t convince me of anything, Sir Neil,” Anne said. “I’ve my own reasons for sending him after Frete Stephen.” So saying, she went back to her mount.

  Neil straightened, feeling suddenly out of his depth again. Queen Muriele had often put him at a disadvantage by not telling him enough. Now, it seemed, Anne was to be the same sort of mistress.

  “I’m sorry,” he told Aspar. “I’ve not known you long, but I do know you better than that. I’m not fighting on the terrain I favor, Aspar White. It makes me edgy.”

  “I understand,” Aspar said. “But you’re more suited to this sort of thing than I am. I know nothing of courts, or coups, or fighting with armies. I’m of no use to you when it comes to putting her on the throne. Grim, I don’t even understand everything that’s going on out here in the forest, but I do know that it’s my place. Her Majesty canns that, too, I reckon.”

  Neil nodded and took his arm. “You’re a good man, holter. It was a pleasure to fight at your side. I hope to see you again.”

  “Yah,” Aspar said.

  “Nere deaf leyent teuf leme,” he told the holter in his native tongue.

  “May the saints not weaken your hand.”

  “And you keep your eyes open,” Aspar returned.

  The slinders’ lack of interest in eating them apparently extended to their mounts, as well, because while they were talking, Ogre quietly led the other horses to the gathering.

  Aspar stroked Ogre’s muzzle while the duchess’s men resupplied them, an expression curiously akin to relief on his face. When that was done, he and Winna mounted up. Leading Stephen’s horse, Angel, they departed along the somewhat obvious trail, leaving Neil feeling more unprotected than ever.

  As soon as the holter was on his way, the balance of the party started toward Glenchest.

  Neil listened in mounting horror as Anne explained what had happened to her: her abduction, her escape, and her second capture in Sevoyne.

  “After Wist helped me escape,” she concluded, “we set off on the road to Glenchest, but we ran into Aunt Elyoner straightaway.”

  “That certainly was fortunate,” Neil said. “The Faiths must have been watching over you.”

  “Don’t give the Faiths more than their due.” Elyoner, who was riding well within earshot, joined the discussion. “Loiyes is my province, and I grew up in this country. There are few places where I have no eyes or ea
rs.

  “I had received reports of the men who attacked you. They rode in from the east, pretending to be a company of soldiers detached from service to my cousin Artwair. I also had a report of a girl with red hair and a highborn accent who entered Sevoyne and then mysteriously vanished. I decided that was worth my personal attention.”

  She yawned.

  “Besides, I’ve had a frightful time entertaining myself lately. No one interesting has come to see me in an age, and I’m not particularly taken with the present court in Eslen.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Although I’m told there was a rather interesting musical performance there during Yule.”

  “You have current news from the court?” Neil asked eagerly, hoping she had more useful information, as well.

  “Silly thing,” Elyoner replied. “Of course I do.”

  Neil waited, but that seemed to be all the duchess was intending to offer.

  “It’s a long ride to Glenchest, Aunt Elyoner,” Anne said finally. “You could fill him in.”

  “But dear, I’ve just gone through all of that with you,” Elyoner complained. “You don’t want me to gain a reputation for repeating myself, do you?”

  “I could stand to hear it again myself,” Anne replied. “I’m far more awake now.”

  “More sober, you mean.”

  “Yes, about that,” Neil said. “This Wist fellow. What became of him?”

  “We beheaded him, of course,” the duchess said gaily.

  “Oh,” Neil replied. “You questioned him first, I hope?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” the duchess asked.

  “She’s joking with you again, Sir Neil,” Anne said. “He’s just there, under guard—you see?”

  Neil looked back and saw a sullen-looking fellow sitting on a dun mare, closely attended by soldiers.

  “Ah,” Neil said.

  “And now, shall I bore you with the state of the court?” Elyoner asked.

  “Please do, metreine.”

  She sighed.

  “Well, black is the color, they say. Ostensibly because the court is in mourning, but it’s odd that it wasn’t actually observed until Prince Robert reappeared, and him being one of the ones they were mourning for! No, really, I think it’s because the prince wears black. Although I suppose I ought to call him the emperor now.”

  “‘Usurper’ will do,” Anne said.

  “And Queen Muriele?” Neil asked, trying to keep his voice from straining, afraid to know the answer. “How is my lady? Have you any news of the queen?”

  “Muriele?” Elyoner said. “Why, she’s locked in a tower, like that onion girl in the phay story.”

  Neil felt his heart slow. “But she lives?”

  Elyoner patted his arm. “My reports are a few days old, but no execution has been carried out, nor has one been scheduled. That would be a bad move on Robert’s part. No, I’m certain he has other intentions.”

  “How did this happen, exactly? How did the queen lose her grip?”

  “Well, how did she not?” Elyoner said. “With the emperor murdered, Muriele had few allies she could count on. Charles was on the throne, of course, but while Charles is a sweet lad, the entire kingdom knows that he is, well, saint-touched.”

  Neil nodded. The true heir to the throne possessed the form of a man but the mind of a child.

  “That left Muriele as the power behind the king. But there were plenty of others who wanted to fill that role: Praifec Hespero, any number of nobles from the Comven, princes from Hansa, Liery, and Virgenya. Then there was Lady Gramme, who has her own claimant to the crown.”

  “My half brother,” Anne muttered.

  “Illegitimate but nevertheless of Dare blood,” Elyoner replied. “In any event, Muriele might have kept Charles on the throne, but she made more than a few mistakes. She replaced her bodyguard with warriors from Liery, under the command of her uncle, who is a baron there.”

  “I know Sir Fail,” Neil said. “He is my benefactor.”

  “Almost a father, I’m told,” Elyoner said. “You’ll want to know that he, too, is alive—and safe.”

  Neil felt more of his muscles loosen. “Thank you,” he said. He missed Sir Fail more than he could ever say. He had never felt the need for the old man’s advice as much as he had these last few months.

  “Anyway,” Elyoner went on, “that was seen as a sign that she had decided to hand the throne over to her Lierish relatives across the sea. Then her men attacked a ball at the mansion of Lady Gramme. Those who had gathered there were mostly landwaerden, not nobles, but—”

  “Landwaerden?” Neil asked.

  The duchess blinked at him. “Yes? What about them?”

  “I’ve, ah, no idea who they are.”

  “Ah, my duckling,” Elyoner said. “Noble lines rule, you know: the king the country, the archgrefts the greffys, the dukes and duchesses the dukedoms, and so on. That’s how it is in most countries, and most places in Crotheny.

  “But in the province of Newland, where Eslen is, things are a bit different. It’s below the level of the sea, you know. The malends that pump the water out must always be functioning; the dikes must be kept in good repair. For centuries the crown has granted land to those who showed themselves able to keep things running smoothly. Those people are the landwaerden. Many of them are wealthier than the nobility, they command troops, and they usually enjoy the loyalty of the people who live on and work their land. They are, in short, a power to be reckoned with, but they have been treated with indifference by the court for more than a century. Lady Gramme was courting them, trying to convince them to back her claim to the throne, so Muriele drew their anger when she attacked Gramme’s party.

  “And then my poor dead brother Robert made his appearance—not so dead as was commonly thought. By that time Muriele had no clear friends save her Lierish guard; the nobles all supported Robert instead of Charles, and so did the Church. The only other living heir was Anne, and none of us knew where she was. Muriele was quite secretive about where she had sent her. I think Fastia knew.”

  Her features softened, and Neil guessed that he had let something show in his face.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” Elyoner said, her sympathy sounding, for once, quite genuine. “I should not have mentioned her.”

  “Why is that?” Anne asked abruptly.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Neil glanced away, trying to sort out something to say from the chaos of his thoughts.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Elyoner said. “No more talk of those who have passed for the moment.”

  “No, never mind. I think I see,” Anne said. Her tone was flat, but whether she was angry, Neil couldn’t tell.

  “In any event,” the duchess went on, “Muriele understood the situation well enough to send Charles away with Sir Fail and her Lierish guard, and the Craftsmen, too, who despite her treatment of them still appear to be loyal. Sir Fail took Charles to Liery, where he is for the moment safe.”

  “And what of the Craftsmen?” Neil asked.

  Elyoner’s right eyebrow went up. “Why, look around you, Sir Neil.”

  Neil did so. He had noticed vaguely familiar faces among Elyoner’s men from the start but reckoned it was because he had met her guard. Now he realized that some of them, indeed, were men he had first seen in Eslen.

  “They don’t wear their livery,” he remarked.

  “They are outlawed,” Elyoner said. “It seemed premature for them to make themselves targets until they had something to fight and someone to lead them.”

  Neil nodded. He had traveled without standard himself, in Vitellio.

  “The queen left herself defenseless, then.”

  “Exactly. She must have known she hadn’t a chance of successfully fighting the coup, so she sent her men away to where they would do the most good: outside the walls. Anyway, that’s when Robert put her in the tower. He pulls her out and parades her around now and then to show that she is still alive.”

  “
If the queen is become so unpopular, why should he care whether the people know that?”

  Elyoner smiled faintly. “Because a most peculiar thing occurred. The performance of some sort of musical stage-play—I mentioned it earlier.

  “Somehow it swayed many of the landwaerden back toward Muriele and her children. In part because a daughter of one of the landwaerden families was involved and was arrested by Robert on the charge of treason. She was also condemned by the praifec, for heresy and shinecraft, along with the composer of the piece, a man who was already a popular hero of Newland. Robert is apt, I’m afraid, to act more from rage than from reason at times. Now he finds the landwaerden do not really care for him, after all.”

  “Then we have a chance,” Neil said. “How many troops do these landwaerden control?”

  “Their combined militias number near eight thousand, I’m told,” Elyoner said. “Robert can muster perhaps twelve thousand from the nobles who remain loyal to him. The nobles in the east and along the forest are too busy fighting slinders—and stranger things—to spare troops to help either Robert or those who oppose him.”

  “What about Hornladh and the Midenlands?”

  “I think Anne might be able to raise a host to match that which defends Eslen,” Elyoner said. “We shall hear more of that directly.”

  “Well,” Neil mused. “Then we can make a fight of it.”

  “Only if you do it very soon,” Elyoner replied.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Muriele is to marry the heir of Hansa, Prince Berimund. It’s all been announced. Once that union takes place, Hansa will be able to send troops without courting the prejudice of the Church. Indeed, Robert has already agreed to let z’Irbina station fifty knights of the Church—and their guards—in Eslen to support any ruling that comes down from Fratrex Prismo. They are on the march as we speak. You cannot fight Robert, Hansa, and the Church.”

  “And you, Duchess? What part will you play in all of this?” Neil asked. “You seem awfully keen on the small details of this conflict for someone who shan’t take sides.”

  Elyoner chuckled. It was an odd sound, both childlike and world-weary.