“I’m to blame,” whispered Alexander, so softly, Roderic wasn’t sure he had spoken at all.
“I fell for his trap,” said Roderic. He got to his feet and paced to the window. He stood, with thumbs hooked in his sword belt, beside Alexander. Fog was rolling in off the sea, reaching out with misty tentacles to blanket the camp. He was tired of the everlasting rain, the moist salt air, the lonely cries of the gulls which only made him think of the nights he had spent in Annandale’s arms. Nights which seemed all too few, and very long ago. “Amanander knew I’d want to preserve our relationship—he knew I’d leave Ahga. He did this deliberately, and I walked right into his hands.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Roderic,” said Brand. “We don’t have the time to waste. We’ve got to get back—Phineas has contacted the nearby garrisons. Hopefully, we’ll be able to raise enough troops—“
“Minnis has never been besieged,” said Roderic. “Maybe it’s not quite so impregnable as everyone thinks.”
“It has an independent water supply, arable land in its center, and foodstores to last the entire garrison for years.” Brand shook his head. “Dad must have been planning for another Armageddon.”
“Something like that,” agreed Roderic. “We can try to tunnel beneath the walls.”
“The walls are thirty feet thick. And Minnis is built on rock. We could try to starve them out—” began Brand, and stopped.
It was Roderic’s turn to swear softly beneath his breath. The presence of the women and children of the court meant that such tactics were out of the question. “It’s not a question of we,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I need you to take at least one division and go south. We’ll send messengers on to the garrisons in Arkan—in the Pulatchians. But someone has to relieve Atland, and who else is there to do it?”
“You want me to go to Atland?” Brand asked.
“Who else?”
Brand shot a glance at Alexander. In the silence, Alexander looked from one brother to the other and spread his hands, a hopeless, old man’s gesture. “This is all my fault. I should go.”
Roderic shook his head. “Out of the question. You’re only just beginning to recover, Alex. And besides, you still know Amanander better than any of the rest of us. I need you to help me at Minnis.”
“Unless you’re still not sure you can raise your hand against your brother,” added Brand.
Alexander paled and flinched as though he’d been struck. “I deserved that, perhaps. I should have done whatever I could to find Amanander. Brea M’Callaster should have been my wife, and the One only knows what he did to her. But I never dreamt—“
“None of us did,” interrupted Roderic. “But there is something else we haven’t even considered. Vere said Amanander is able to use the Magic. And he said that the Magic was dangerous, uncontrollable, unless one had an empath to guide it. And with Annandale, Amanander has an empath.”
Brand got to his feet and paced to the opposite end of the table. “Surely you don’t believe all that? Surely you don’t for a moment think—“
“I know what she is.”
Brand stared at Roderic, as though at a stranger. “Now what are you talking about?”
“The day we met her—the day Barran broke his leg? It was broken, but she healed it. Tavia—Annandale healed her, too. And me—when I fell off my horse and hit my head, she saved me from bleeding to death or worse. Whether you choose to believe it or not, Brand, the Magic is real, empaths are real, and we can’t afford not to believe in it, or in Amanander’s ability.”
Brand looked as though he had aged ten years in ten minutes. “How are we to fight this thing?”
“We’ll have to hope,” said Roderic grimly, “that Vere is successful in persuading the Mutens to come and help.”
“You’d bring the Mutens into this?” Brand frowned.
“Amanander learned the Magic from a Muten. I’d say they were in it already,” Roderic said as Alexander nodded.
There was a long silence. “And in the meantime,” Roderic said, “you’ll go to Ithan, and Alexander and I’ll think of some way to try to get into Minnis.”
The hour was late and the candles had burned away to waxy nubs when Roderic dismissed his weary scribe. “Seal those dispatches, Henrode, see that the Captain of the messengers has them, and then go to bed. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow.”
“As you say, Lord Prince,” murmured the scribe as he bowed his way out of the room, his arms full of writing supplies and parchment dispatches. As the door closed after him, there was a loud curse and a clatter. Roderic had just time to stand up behind the makeshift desk when the door swung open again and Deirdre strode into the room. Despite the late hour, her step was as energetic as usual and her eyes met his with their customary fire. Inwardly Roderic groaned. Surely her appearance could only mean one thing. The delicate peace, just four days old, had collapsed.
“Good evening, Prince.” She dragged a three-legged stool over to the desk and sat down opposite Roderic. “You don’t look as though you’re glad to see me.”
“I shall only be glad, lady, when I know that my lady is safe.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s the M’Clure again, isn’t it?”
She looked puzzled for a moment, then shook her head as understanding dawned. She reached for the flagon of wine and poured the remains of the wine into his goblet. “Not at all, Prince. The peace will hold, I guarantee it.”
“Then—” Roderic hesitated. He had no wish to insult her, but he was very tired. The siege of Minnis would demand all he had.
“Why am I here?” She drank, and arched an eyebrow over the rim of the cup. “It occurred to me, Prince, that you’re marching into a situation no less ticklish than this one.”
Roderic sighed and sat down. There was no use lying to Deirdre, or to himself. His only chance against Amanander at this point was to muster enough men to attempt to storm the walls of Minnis—the walls Abelard himself had boasted were unbreakable. But the lines were stretched thin: the losses over the winter had been heavy; the garrisons in Atland and Dlas and Arkan demanded full complements. Brand needed men to take to Atland. His dispatches were to Senadors like Norda Coda and Phillip in Nourk, and he prayed that he could trust these old allies of the King. He hoped that Obayana would muster enough to make up for their losses in the Settle Islands, but in his heart, he doubted that Obayana would be able to meet such a demand. And without enough men, without the troops to overwhelm the fortress of Minnis and take it by sheer force, his only other alternative would be to starve Amanander out. And Amanander was likely to start killing hostages long before that. “You’re right,” he said after a long silence.
“I’ve come to offer you help.”
“Help?”
“I will come with you when you leave on the morrow, and I will bring six thousand fresh troops with me.”
“What?” He was so tired he could scarcely believe what he heard.
“Two full divisions.” She nodded. “At a price, of course.”
“Of course.” He had learned a lot about the Settle Islanders during the last months. There was always a price. But then, he thought, wasn’t there always? with everyone? in every dealing? At least the Chiefs were open about it. “What do you want?”
She drank again and set the goblet down deliberately. Her eyes were dark in the guttering light. The silence lengthened, until Roderic heard the slither of the sand in the hourglass beside his elbow. “I want an heir.”
He raised one brow.
“I know you’ve sworn a vow to your wife. But this is what I want. When your heir is born, or named, and you are released from that vow, I want—“
“There’re no guarantees I could father a child on you.”
“That’s what I want, in exchange.”
“Why? Why my child?”
“Because I believe that my kinsmen will make trouble after my death. If I name an heir, I believe they will tr
y to make him fight for the title, just as I did. I don’t want that to happen. If the child is believed to be your son, then you will ensure that his inheritance is secure, and perhaps they will think before challenging his right to rule.”
“So even if the child is not mine, you expect me to claim him as my own?”
“Only if there is the possibility that he could be your own.”
She waited, and she did not take her eyes off Roderic’s face. The room seemed to grow very warm, and his eyes ranged from her heavy coils of hair down her lean throat, as strong and corded as any youth’s. He remembered suddenly that it had been a very long time since he had lain with Annandale. “Very well.”
“Then swear the blood-oath.”
He sat back as she pulled a curved dagger from her belt and slashed it across her palm. As the blood bloomed in a red curve, she gestured with the blade. He took his own dagger and did likewise. He held out his bleeding hand. With a grip as firm and sure as his own, she clasped their hands together, and he felt her hot hand tremble as he pressed her flesh. “You swear, then, to give me an heir?” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes bright sparks in the shadow.
“You swear to aid me in this campaign?”
“I do.”
“Then I swear.” Their fingers knit together as their blood mingled, her palm as smoothly callused as his own. And he thought of the feel of the hand on his body, and abruptly, he pulled away, unnerved.
She smiled and got to her feet. “Then, together, we ride on the morrow, Lord Prince. Sleep well.”
He was not surprised when his dreams were troubled by visions of her body, naked and demanding, pressed against his own. And somehow in the dream, he knew that Annandale was lost to him forever.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Twilight came, a hot, dry hour in that hot, dry season, bringing no relief, no cooling breeze. The trees drooped in the arid air, their leaves parched and curling at the edges. Roderic leaned against the trunk of the tree and stared at the gray stone walls of the fortress rising inexorably before him.
Tomorrow was his birthday—his and Annandale’s. They would both be twenty. In all those years, he had never thought of Minnis as anything but a place of respite and ease. Until now. Sweat trickled down his neck in the unrelenting heat, and he stared fixedly at the black shapes of the guards upon the walls. They kept to the shadows for the most part, though whether because of the heat, or for some darker reason, he didn’t like to speculate.
He closed his eyes, wondering, hoping, praying that Amanander treated her kindly. He thought of the gardens of Minnis, seeing Annandale walking the wide, even paths, her hand touching the red roses and the pale purple delvynes, her face dappled by sunlight amid the branches of the drooping silver willows. What a fool he had been last summer, he thought, cursing himself. What time he had wasted. He should have listened to the dictates of his body and his heart and taken her to his bed as soon as she’d arrived. Now the thought of losing her cut through him like a white-hot blade. Who knew what that monster did to her? Who knew what devious tortures he devised?
Tavia had told him in great length how Amanander’s guard had seen them safely to Ahga and the hapless guard had reluctantly revealed the proof Amanander would have required that the deed was done. Roderic shuddered.
“Lord Prince, the council awaits.”
He waved a dismissal to the serving boy and turned away. Late yesterday the great army had arrived at the threshold of Minnis, and now it was time to plan the assault. There was only one course of action, and they all knew it. He missed Brand, missed his older brother’s counsel and advice. Brand had parted company long before they had reached Minnis, riding south through what remained of the Forest of Koralane, which still smoked and smoldered. Alexander was still too sick, too riddled with guilt to offer advice, and only Deirdre listened with the same look of concentration he had seen her wear in negotiations. He realized with a start that he had come to rely on her very quickly.
Roderic walked down the low rise, where a path had been beaten down in less than twenty-four hours. A small city of tents and wagons and hastily constructed fences lay before him, and already the engineers had begun the construction of the massive siege towers, which would gain them access to the high walls. Others were engaged in reinforcing the defensive earthworks before the castle. Pennants flew above the tents, barely visible through the trees, the colors of the Chiefs of the Settle Islands, Norda Coda, and Kora-lado. His footprints raised little puffs of dust.
At the entrance of the command tent, he gave orders for food and drink to be brought to them. The group gathered around the table looked at him as he entered. Phineas lay on his litter, near the head of the table, and ranged down the sides were Deirdre, Alexander, and the Captains of the divisions.
The soldiers came to attention and saluted. He acknowledged them all and took his place at the head of the table. “I apologize for being late,” he began. “Captain Ulrich, can you tell us what the scouts have discovered?”
The Captain shook his head and spread his hands. “Damn little we don’t know already, Lord Prince. It appears the Lady Tavia was correct. Amanander doesn’t seem to have a large force behind those walls. Guards are sparse and appear to rotate seldom. The guard duty is rotated but once every twenty-four hours—“
“Once?” Deirdre interrupted. “That’s impossible, man. Surely your spies slept—“
“Lady, my men are reliable—“
At the testy edge in the soldier’s voice, Roderic sat forward. It would never do to have emotions roused, or have his forces pitted against each other. “There is no doubt of that, Captain. But to rotate only once every twenty-four hours—that sounds unbelievable, you will agree?”
The Captain subsided, scowling.
Phineas leaned forward, his litter creaking as his weight shifted. “Then that tells us one thing for certain. Amanander may not have many men, but those he has have inhuman abilities.”
Deirdre shook her head. “With all due respect to you, Lord Phineas, and to you, Captain, you don’t know how many men he has. Lady Tavia never got an opportunity to see how many troops are there. And even if what the scouts say is true, we have no way of knowing what the strength of Amanander’s forces are. He could be putting fewer guards on the walls to trick us.”
Roderic nodded, running his fingers through his hair as she spoke. “I know. I’ve thought of that.”
“Then have we committed, Lord Prince?” asked the other Captain, the Captain of the engineers, who sat beside the other, sweat plastering his tunic to his burly shoulders. The smell of freshly cut wood mixed with the salty smell of sweat. “Are we committed to storming the walls?”
“What other choice have we?” asked Roderic. “It doesn’t matter how many men Amanander has, nor how they fight. We cannot starve them out—there is only one chance that we get over the walls, and take the castle—“
A stir outside the tent interrupted him. He looked up in annoyance, but the expression on his face changed when he saw who it was whom the guards escorted. “Vere!” He pushed back his stool and stood up in surprise. “At last.”
Vere stood a moment, his face grave, the blue and green swirls of color on his face ghastly in the dim light. He seemed to be taking in the occupants, and he nodded to each of them in turn.
“Gentlemen, M’Callaster, my brother, Vere.”
Phineas hissed with surprise, and Vere coughed softly. “Greetings, Captain Phineas. I understand you have been well rewarded for your loyalty to the King.”
Deirdre pushed away from the table and leaned back, eyeing Vere speculatively. “I mean no disrespect, Lord Prince, but would this family reunion not be better held after we have determined our course of action and have made our battle plan accordingly?”
Roderic smiled at Deirdre’s impatience. “I hope my brother brings us news which may aid our planning. Come, sit, Vere. Tell us. Were you successful?” said Roderic eagerly.
Vere drew a deep breath as
he reached for a camp stool and sat at the opposite end of the table. “I’m sorry, Roderic. I did the best I could. The council has decided to put all resources available to them to fight Ferad. They refused to send any help at all to you.”
“It’s Atland, isn’t it?”
Vere would not meet his eyes. “They did not say that.”
“But that’s what they meant, isn’t it?”
Roderic felt as if the air had punched from his lungs. Vere shook his head.
“I am sorry, Roderic. Believe me, I did the best I could. I tried to explain how dangerous Amanander is—how he has the empath—“
“And what did they say to that?”
“They refused to believe that he would have the ability to work much Magic, and that if he did, at least the empath would prevent him from doing much damage.”
“What are we up against?” asked Deirdre with narrowed eyes. She flicked the end of her braid off her shoulder. “What are we talking about?”
“I’ve told you about my brother and his interest in the Magic,” answered Roderic. “The scouts confirm that his men have some sort of inhuman power. So what can we do now, Vere?”
Vere wet his lips. “I am sorry. They did not want me to come back—they ordered me, in fact, back to the College—but I broke my vow to come to you. I understand what’s happening here. But the Elders are faced with problems of their own. They have discovered that the traitors who call themselves the Brotherhood are more pervasive among them than they ever thought.”
“By the One,” Alexander swore softly. “This is my fault.”
“Fault or not, it matters nothing now,” said Phineas. “The responsibility for this doesn’t rest on you alone, Alexander. The guilt is spread thin, believe me. But now—can you help us, Vere?”
Vere looked down at his lap. “There may be one more option.”
“What’s that?” asked Alexander, with the air of a condemned man.
“Nydia. Nydia Farhallen.”
Children of Enchantment Page 30
