With a premonition of the scorn with which Branwilde would treat his reply, he picked up his pen and wrote his reply. In it he offered to send a force composed of mounted knights, men at arms and a contingent of archers, all under the command of his grandfather. He informed his fellow duke that he would remain in Langstraad, directing the defense of its borders and keeping the Earl of the Inner Ward from attacking Branwilde's army from the rear. Finally, he offered his suggestion that Branwilde wait and lure Niall's army into Creon, where he could set up an ambush for him in the mountains. Setting his seal to this, Ian rang for Alaric in order to see that his reply was sent immediately to Gwenth. Then he prepared another letter to his grandfather, informing him of these decisions.
Chapter 19
Dressed in black and red, Niall Alcuin de Brennin, Duke of Mirvanovir and self-proclaimed High King of the Pentarchy, rode forth with Lord Oswith, his commanding general, to review the army and to see for himself the amount of damage inflicted on the city by his men. After the initial pillaging, mostly consisting of randomly breaking into and looting houses and shops and abusing the few citizens that were unlucky enough to be caught, most of the soldiers had wandered back out of the city to the encampment that had been set up in the fields that surrounded the city. Private boats, animals and stores of food had been summarily commandeered by the invaders. Broken and battered stonework, the uprooting of gardens and a general accumulation of trash littered the streets. The officers in charge had detailed soldiers into work groups to return to and clean the mess that they had made, so that the city was beginning to gain a semblance of normalcy. Even some of the citizens, those that saw ways to refill their own pockets with some of what had been stolen from them, began cautiously to return.
Niall was perturbed about the amount of destruction that had been done to his city, but Oswith assured him that not only had no irreparable harm been done, but that the damage was quite light in comparison to other cities that he had seen plundered. "After all, your grace, only the public sector was misused; the palace and its environs were completely untouched."
Once the men returned to it, the camp had been set up in an orderly fashion. Everywhere banners displaying the black swan of Mirvanovir and the red stag of Tuenth fluttered in the least vestige of a breeze. Niall stopped to watch a group of mounted cavalry drilling in a large field, the horses stopping, wheeling and charging in formation. As he rode through the camp he was greeted with cries of adulation. A victorious army loves its commander.
"Well, Oswith," he said to the man riding at his side, "are we ready to take the war into Creon?"
"The army is ready to march at a word from you," his general replied deferentially. "Frankly, your grace, the sooner we march the better it will be for the men."
Niall tried to ignore Oswith's use of his old title in preference to his recently claimed one of “majesty;” he could not afford to alienate his Lord General at this crucial juncture. Oswith went on, "It would be best for us to meet whatever army Creon is going to send against us, either in the Silvarluin Valley or on the plains of Carmathon within Creon's borders. The one thing we should avoid is fighting our way through the mountains to get to them."
Niall agreed with this opinion. "Our sources say that Branwilde is assembling an army of his own people together with troops from Langstraad. I have not heard from Aidan of Thurin, but I suspect that he will join with Branwilde; his wife is from Derwan and sister to Creon's duchess." He drew his brows together in concentration. "Brescom should have launched his effort into Morna four days ago, which will turn Langstraad's attention to the north. They will not be adding too greatly to Branwilde's forces with war coming to call upon their own borders. I want our army to be ready to march by the end of the week." He looked inquiringly at Oswith, who replied with a sharp nod. "Good. Lord Blaise and his troops will remain here until the end of the following week and then march west into Langstraad. There he will meet up with Brescom's troops and together they will take Castle Lir."
"And Pentarin?"
"My duchess will be left in command here," Niall answered. "We will leave sufficient troops to ensure the peace, but she has other means at her disposal to defend the city should our plans go awry and an attack on the city be attempted." If Niall noticed the tightened lips and clenched hands on the reins of his general's horse he said nothing, but he did smile to himself. This brusque military man would attack and kill without remorse or fear, but the mere mention of Arcana filled him with superstitious dread. It was Rashara's idea to emphasize her arcane powers to the army so that her authority with them while he was away would be strengthened. He was not entirely comfortable with her argument. Perhaps it was about time to find out just how potent a personal weapon his own House Power could be, he reflected grimly.
Only this morning Rashara had been questioning him about House Powers and their uses. He was reluctant to tell her much; partly it was vanity and the feeling of exclusivity that he harboured about the subject and partly it was simply that he did not know that much about his own powers. House Powers were arcane and hereditary and each of the four Great Houses was elementally aligned: Mirvanovir to water, Creon to air, Tuenth to earth and Langstraad to fire. Exactly what the Royal House of Sandovar was aligned to or how the individual House Powers worked, he did not know. He only partially understood the nature of the power residing within himself, despite having had gone through the ceremony that keyed him to House Mirvanovir when he became duke. When Rashara started asking questions that he did not know the answers to, he always became touchy. Even now he was irritated by the persistence of her most recent bout of questioning and the exposure of his limited knowledge in contrast to hers in matters arcane.
He turned his horse and began to ride back towards the city. Well satisfied with the condition of his men, he was looking forward to the next stage in his campaign. He did not fool himself that defeating Branwilde was going to be an easy task, but he did not think that it was beyond his capabilities or his army's. If Branwilde's forces were not beaten by his own here in Sandovar, then Niall would push them back into Creon where his troops would be joined by those under his son, Galen, and his general, Lord Raney, coming north from Challis, as well as the troops of the Earl of the Inner Ward and the new Duke of Tuenth coming south after subduing Langstraad. In the end Branwilde would be defeated, Niall’s claim to the High Kingship would be confirmed, and the Pentarchy would be his. Filled with a sensation of his own puissance, Niall rode cheerfully through the gates and into the palace courtyard.
Niall, riding at the head of his army, had only just disappeared from sight when Rashara received a visit from Blaise in her private apartments. Their behaviour since the duchess' arrival in Pentarin had been most circumspect, above suspicion of any kind. Rashara made certain that she and Blaise were never alone together and treated him with the cool friendliness with which she treated all of Niall's friends. For his part, Blaise remained courteous but distant to her, even going so far as to mention fictitious current liaisons to Niall to avert mistrust. Their careful maneuvering had paid off as an unsuspecting Niall took leave of his devoted wife and loyal confederate.
After assuring herself that they would be undisturbed for the remainder of the afternoon, Rashara took him into her bed where they proceeded to renew their intimate acquaintance. Somewhat later and in very good humour, they lay and talked of those subjects that had been strictly taboo in Niall's company.
As Blaise detailed his successful bid for his father's dukedom, Rashara listened in apparent admiration. He told of enlisting the active support of those barons he could sway and the gradual extinction of those opposed to him. His only failure in that regard was in not finding and killing his brother, Hywell. Rashara agreed that Hywell needed to be destroyed, but thought that it was a matter that could wait until the rest of the Pentarchy had been subdued.
Lazily her hand moved over the firm, youthful muscles of his chest, comparing it to Niall's aging skin and greying hairs. He
r pleasure in Blaise made her own body soft and pliant in response, but the mind behind her beautiful face remained hard and bright. She had worked industriously, in her own way, for the luxury of being able to lie here now, for all intents Queen of Pentarin Palace, and she was not about to trade Niall's dominance for Blaise's. She was almost finished with Niall. Once he defeated Branwilde and his allies, he would have outlived his usefulness to her. Tired of his pettiness, his temper, his conceit and his age, Rashara had plans of her own to hatch.
Blaise began to stroke her again, arousing her to vent the passions accumulated in the boredom of Niall's bed. If for no other reason than this, Rashara considered letting Blaise survive once Niall was gone. He was handsome and he was young, two of her prime considerations in a lover, but Blaise had much more than that to offer her. When he lay exhausted at her side again, she let him sleep while she stared dreamily at the ceiling. When she had told Niall not to look to the mage masters for help, she neglected to add that she still had fairly regular contact with at least one of the powerful members of that arcane hierarchy. Over the years, she and her former mentor had exchanged information on an infrequent but relatively consistent basis. Interested in, among other esoteric subjects, the powers of the Great Houses, her former mentor had been one of the prime reasons that she had continued to question her husband about his powers, in spite of the fact that it provoked him and had led to friction between them in the past. Raising herself up on one naked arm, she thoughtfully scrutinized her sleeping lover's face. He was an ap Halberstad, son of Tuenth's late duke, who had been head of a Great House and, presumably, had wielded that same sort of arcane power that Niall did. The question was whether this very handsome and willing young man possessed those powers himself. If he did and she could keep him bound to her, then there was an opportunity for her to not only use those powers through him but to perhaps barter the knowledge with her former mentor for his aid as well. Pleased with the possibilities that she saw before her, she decided to let Blaise sleep a little longer while she worked on the details of her plan.
"What do you know about the House Powers?" she asked Blaise casually while dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. They were both dressed again, and sat at a table in her rooms on which a lavish dinner had been laid.
Blaise, apparently ravenous after his exertions of the afternoon, took a long drink of red wine and speared a tender chunk of meat with the point of his knife before looking up at her. "Little, except that Tuenth's Power is in the earth and that my father made scant reference to it, at least in my hearing." He neatly deposited the meat in his mouth and began to chew.
"I believe that it's usually held by the ruling duke or duchess of a Great House," she persisted in a silken voice.
He swallowed and drank more wine. "True. However there is some sort of ceremony that has to be performed in order to use the power. Hywell was the one designated with the potential. Why do you ask?" He stopped eating and regarded her with his attractive eyes. Like a cat, she noted dryly to herself, only she was no mouse.
She took her time, sipping her wine speculatively. "I'm curious as to why, having assumed the title and office of Duke of Tuenth, you did not go on to perform this ceremony and confirm yourself as ruler of House Tuenth?"
"Because Hywell is still alive." A spasm of exasperation crossed his face. "I told you that he was the designated heir. I can't take on the power of House Tuenth until he is dead. That's one reason your husband was more than a little put out when I told him that Hywell was still walking about with his head on his shoulders."
"Over the past few years, I've made something of a study of the House Powers and, from what I have deduced, all members of the direct family line have the potential to assume or use the House Power. It seems, that being so, then more than one person might be able to use these powers at a time." She watched him carefully as she delivered this little speech. He was not slow and she saw that he immediately caught the import of what she was saying.
"If you are right, I could wield the powers of House Tuenth even if Hywell is still alive."
"Yes, it would seem so."
"How certain are you?" He was staring at her with the beginnings of a smile creasing the corners of his mouth.
"Nothing, my dear young man, is a certainty." She laughed and finished the contents of her glass. "However, I would not suggest this possibility if I did not have good grounds to do so."
"But," he said with a groan, "the instructions are locked up in Rengard Castle and I have to leave for Langstraad at the end of next week."
"What if I told you that I think I have discovered a way to trigger the potential to those powers?" She paused as he reached across the table and gripped her hand in his.
"You can teach me how to use Tuenth's power?" He asked his question bluntly and his eyes held a luminous green glitter of excitement.
She hid her smile. "Yes, I believe that I can. There might be some risk involved..."
He shrugged her disclaimer off. "When do we begin?"
"Tonight." Now that she had hooked him, she was decisive. "I told you that I think I know how the power is keyed, however I do not know the specific ritual that is used by your House. We will be experimenting for the most part, but if you are not afraid..." He shook his head emphatically. "Then we can start some of the preliminary work tonight. Do you know how to affect an arcane trance? No? Well, we will have to start there then. Eat well, we will be up very late tonight," she warned gently.
From the battlements of their small castle, Lady Idris ap Morna watched her army retreating from the advance to the north. She peered out of the archer's sight-hole, trying to glimpse the green and yellow standard with the blue chevrons, the insignia of Morna and the colours under which her husband, Alwyn, now fought.
The attack had come when they expected it, but the invading army was far larger than anticipated. Their own advance troops had been thrown back within a few hours of commencing battle and from that time on it had been a slow but continuous retreat on their side. Alwyn had insisted on riding out and fighting with his men in spite of Idris' plea to stay behind the castle walls. "You are the ruling lady of this domain and I am your consort. It is for me to go forth and fight for your rights. Besides which, I cannot order men to go out to their deaths without risking my own; that would be the act of a coward." And so, she had watched him mount his charger and ride out through the portcullis with his standard bearer beside him.
All day Idris stood and watched the fighting as it came closer and closer to the walls of the castle. Archers were now able to fire on the enemy from behind the battlements, but still the enemy came nearer. She sent the children with their nurse into hiding, deep within the keep, but she could not retire there herself while those defending her died and Alwyn remained somewhere out there in the darkening light. Making her way along the defensive catwalks, she spoke encouragingly to the men she encountered. By nightfall though, she saw that the end was drawing near and that the enemy would be victorious. Alwyn did not return when the last defenders withdrew into the castle.
In the hazy light of the morning, those within the castle could see the enemy camped about them and saw no possibility of escape or reprieve. A messenger beneath the flag of parley came within bowshot of the castle walls to announce the death of Lord Alwyn to his lady and demand her surrender of the castle.
With a bleak face, Idris called her few commanders to her and asked for their advice. She was told that while they might withstand a short siege, unless another force could arrive to relieve them, they would eventually have to surrender. Hoping against hope, it was agreed to wait for a day or two before giving the castle over. Their defense indeed proved short as the soldiers of the Inner Ward, in strength, attacked with siege-machines and battering rams until the portcullis and its great doors were broken.
Unwilling to be captured while trembling in a hiding hole, Lady Idris came forth as Lord Larth Brescom rode through the rubble his men had made of the doors and, without te
ars, surrendered her castle and submitted to being his prisoner, asking only that those under her charge within the castle be spared. Brusquely he agreed to her request, ordering all of her men to relinquish their weapons and the lady to be confined with her children, under guard.
The port-city of Dacara was an anomaly within the Pentarchy. While technically a city of the Pentarchy, paying its revenues to the Duchy of Sandovar and obeying the laws of the Pentarchy, it was also home to the Scholastium Arcana. Here dwelt the mage masters, possessors and teachers of the arcane arts. To the Scholastium came men and women of certain abilities to learn the ways of magic. Many of those who came to be tested were from lands as far distant as Sklaar and the Kassorian Empire, but only a very few were permitted to stay and study with the masters. Those who were accepted as students became arcane adepts, skilled practitioners of an esoteric art. The mage masters were nine in number and they, and their school, were beyond the pale of politics. They existed to explore their own hidden realms and cared little for everyday life outside their own halls. At their center was the archmage. Reputed to be deepest in learning and wisdom, the archmage directed the energies of the masters and their adepts and followed no counsel save for his own.
The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups Page 30
