Cobalt’s mounted honor guard was waiting at the base of the hill, where they had kept people from interrupting the memorial. They maneuvered their horses into a hexagon around him and Matthew, and they all rode back to the camp. He wondered at the origins of that formation. Why a hexagon? Mel said it was an influence from Aronsdale, but that didn’t tell him much, it just made him wonder about Aronsdale. Mages and shapes. He had to learn more about them if he was to understand his wife. But not now. He needed time. With his father’s death, Cobalt was not only in charge of the army, he also ruled Shazire and Blueshire. He had to establish the Escar presence here.
Hundreds of tents were scattered throughout meadows north of the Azure Fields. Last night most of the remaining sixteen hundred men in the Shazire army had sworn allegiance to the House of Escar. Of the four hundred spearmen from Jazid, over three hundred had survived. Cobalt wasn’t certain what to do with them. They had fought for Shazire, but they owed allegiance to Jazid, whose sultan hadn’t surrendered to anyone.
With or without its spearmen, Jazid had a big army, three thousand strong. Cobalt’s now numbered nearly seven thousand, but he knew the history of Jazid and Taka Mal too well to harbor any illusions. They had long been allies, and Taka Mal claimed an army of at least three thousand. If its queen united with the sultan of Jazid, together they would wield a formidable force.
Cobalt shifted Mel in his arms as they rode. Her presence calmed his agitation and helped him think. If he sent back the spearmen, it was a gesture of conciliation. Was that what he wanted? He and Varqelle had intended to ride on Jazid and Taka Mal, but he was no longer certain. Grief weighed on him too much to make such a decision.
They were passing the first campfire of the camp. A group of men and women, support personnel for the army, were seated on logs around it eating. They glanced up idly, then quickly rose to their feet when they saw the riders. Beyond them, a cluster of soldiers turned. When they saw Cobalt and his retinue, they too came to attention. Cobalt nodded to them and rode on—and everyone they passed also stood to face him. The soldiers saluted him. He wasn’t certain if they were honoring Varqelle, Mel, or himself, but their tribute spread like a wave through the camp.
Mel spoke in a low voice. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Nor I,” Cobalt said.
“At least they don’t hate us.”
“Apparently not.”
“Cobalt?”
Whenever she said his name that way, he worried. “Yes?”
“What will you do with Prince Zerod?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Send him to Jazid with the spearmen.”
“It will make me look weak.”
“It will make you look compassionate.”
She was a dreamer. “I am not compassionate.”
Mel leaned back against him. “You are wrong.”
He frowned. “If I send him there, he will petition the sultan of Jazid for an army to defeat mine.” As Varqelle had asked Stonebreaker.
“How is that different from what would happen anyway?”
Cobalt recalled when he had asked Varqelle exactly the same question. “It changes Jazid’s stance from defense to offense.”
“Why does it matter?” she asked. “Either way you are going to invade them, aren’t you?”
Cobalt squinted at the top of her head. “You ask too many questions.”
She went very still in his arms. “Does that mean you might not move against them?”
He didn’t have an answer for her.
“If you execute Zerod,” she said, “you will earn the enmity of the Shazire men. He is much admired by them.”
“I already have their enmity.”
She answered softly. “Look, Cobalt. Look around. They are all standing. They don’t sit again until you’ve passed. Even the men from Shazire. This is not enmity.”
“They honor you. And Varqelle.”
“Then why are they looking at you? And saluting you?”
It was true. He didn’t know why they were doing it, but he wished Stonebreaker could see such respect given to the grandson he claimed was worthless. He wanted to lean his forehead on the top of her head, but he couldn’t with so many people watching.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said. “I need time.”
“Come home with me.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
He answered wryly. “Mel, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I have acquired a kingdom.” It was, he realized, why the doctor had called him “Majesty.” Then he added, “And you are my queen.”
She said nothing for a while, absorbing that. After they had ridden beyond all the campfires, Cobalt looked back, but they were far enough away now that much of the camp blurred. He took out his spectacles and settled them on his nose. Then he could see that his people had resumed their activities, breaking their fast, tending weapons and horses, preparing to ride.
“Cobalt?” Mel asked.
There it was, his name again. Turning forward, he spoke warily. “Yes?”
“Now that you have a kingdom, what will you do with it?”
“Check the tax structure first, I would guess.”
“For saints’ sake,” she said. “What about the people?”
“What about them?”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Nothing.” He knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer, and would interrogate him until he put together many sentences. So he added, “The only real change is that they will pay their taxes to me rather than Zerod or Lightstone. Their armies will combine with mine. I will replace Zerod’s top people with my people, both in the government and the military. But most people won’t notice much change.”
“‘Not much change’ doesn’t equal ‘no rebellion.’”
He rubbed his hands along her arms. “We will take things as they come. Perhaps the people will rebel. I don’t know. But they were once part of the Misted Cliffs. Their history is part of me. I know this country in a way Zerod never could. That will make a difference.”
Some of her stiffness eased. “I hope so.”
He thought back to the scrolls he had pored over in the libraries at the Castle of Clouds and the Diamond Palace. He had never liked most of the studies his mother insisted he do, but history was the exception. He had inherited her passion for it. “The reign of the House of Zerod stagnated. They haven’t badly misused the people or the land, but they haven’t done a lot to help, either. I see much that could be improved.”
“Irrigation,” Mel said.
“Yes! You know this country?”
“To some extent.” After a moment, she said, “Actually, rather well.”
“Good.” She would be a valuable adviser. He waited, but she asked no more. Relieved, he lapsed into silence.
After a while, she said, “And Zerod?”
Saints! He did not know what he was going to do with Zerod. “You ask too many questions.”
She sighed, but she let it go.
They soon reached the tents where he had located his headquarters. He dismounted, then reached up for Mel, worried for her health. Although she let him catch her as she slid down, but she stepped away and stood on her own as soon as she was on the ground. Her face was somber when she looked up at him, but then she suddenly broke into a smile.
Cobalt blinked. “What?”
She reached up and touched his eye—except his blasted spectacles stopped her finger.
“So different,” she murmured.
Mortified, Cobalt quickly removed the glasses and stowed them in his hidden pocket. He had crushed more than one pair that way, forgetting he had put them there.
“It is no shame to wear them,” Mel said.
“I don’t really need them,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want her to think his strength less because of them.
Her smile shifted into something gentler. “To need help i
sn’t a weakness.” She put her palm against his chest. “The part of you that isn’t a fighter is no less valuable than the warlord.”
Cobalt took her hand and held it against his chest. He didn’t know how to say thank you, beyond just the words, which by themselves didn’t mean enough to express what she made him feel. And he feared to sound foolish. He squeezed her hand and her smile returned, so sweet he almost broke inside.
Matthew came up to them, leading his chestnut horse. “I can look after Admiral while you’re inside.”
Cobalt handed him the reins. “My thanks.” It was so much easier to say those words to Matthew. He turned awkwardly back to Mel, uncertain what she would think of him, but she didn’t seem put off by anything, neither his taciturn nature nor having seen him in spectacles. She continued to watch him with those luminous eyes of hers. It rattled him as much as it had the first time he met her, but he would gladly spend a lifetime perturbed in such a manner.
“Ready?” he asked her.
She bit her lip, but then she nodded. They entered the tent, Cobalt ducking his head to fit through the opening. As he straightened, the people waiting inside rose with a clink of armor and mail, and the scrape of chairs on the heavy rugs that covered the floor. Cobalt supposed he could have come in with more flourish, preceded by his honor guard. But he had never liked pomp. He preferred things simple.
Colonel Tumbler and several of Cobalt’s other top officers were standing around a square table, impressive in their white over-tunics emblazoned with the Chamberlight sphere, their mail showing at the sleeves and neck. Each wore blue trousers tucked into boots and a finely tooled sword belt inlaid with sapphires, for they served the Sapphire Throne. Cobalt wore a similar outfit when he rode as a Chamberlight prince. Today, however, he had chosen black. All black, from his boots to his trousers to his tunic to his cape. For the House of Escar. For his father.
One other man was at the table: Zerod. Gone were his plumed helmet and bronzed armor. No sword hung at his side. His clothes were clean and well made, a russet shirt and darker trousers given to him by one of Cobalt’s men, but it was the garb of a gentleman, not royalty.
Zerod inclined his head stiffly to Cobalt. His face showed no expression. If he was afraid, he hid it well behind his carefully composed features.
Cobalt went to the table with Mel at his side. They had only left one chair, for him, but Tumbler immediately brought another for Mel. No one dared question her presence. Zerod stood, his palms on the tabletop, his fingers tensed into claws, a man facing the specter of his execution.
Cobalt spoke to Zerod without preamble. “I have three hundred and forty-two spearmen from Jazid who served in your army. I cannot send them back to Jazid.”
The emir waited.
“My men took Alzire this morning,” Cobalt added.
Zerod went rigid, his strained muscles pulling his shirt. “And the palace?”
Cobalt knew what the emir was asking. “Your wife and son are in our custody. They have not been harmed.”
Zerod’s grip on the table eased but his shoulders remained tensed. “What will you do with them?”
A good question. Varqelle had planned to execute the entire family. Cobalt was painfully aware of Mel standing at his side.
“King Jarid let my father live,” Cobalt said. “My mother and I were in the Misted Cliffs, so we also survived.” Quietly he said, “You see the result.”
“Let them go,” Zerod said, his voice urgent, “and I will have them swear never to move against you.”
Cobalt exhaled. “I know only too well how much—or how little—such a vow means to a son robbed of his father.”
“I beg you.” Zerod spoke with simple eloquence. “Let them live. Take my life. But not theirs.”
Cobalt could feel Mel at his side. He remembered her words: You live on the edge between your own darkness and light. What will drive you as you sweep across these lands? Will you become a tyrant?
Cobalt spoke slowly. “I set you a task, Zerod of Shazire.”
“A task?” Zerod asked, wary.
“Deliver this message to the sultan of Jazid,” Cobalt said. “His spearmen are prisoners of war. They have two choices: go to my dungeons or swear allegiance to my army.”
“I understand,” Zerod said. Something flickered in his gaze, an emotion that went by almost too fast to read. Hope? Until now, Cobalt had given him no reason to believe the House of Escar wouldn’t wipe out the House of Zerod.
By using Zerod as his messenger, Cobalt also hoped to send Jazid an unspoken message: the Midnight Prince had stripped the potentate of his title. Cobalt the Dark had such great power, he feared no one, not even a sovereign he had deposed. Cobalt did actually fear Zerod, but a plan was forming in his mind.
Letting Zerod live and travel freely implied Cobalt offered conciliation to Jazid, less than if he returned the spearmen but enough to suggest he might wish neutral relations rather than conquest. Cobalt no longer felt certain what he intended. Within one generation, his House would rule the Misted Cliffs, Harsdown, Blueshire, and Shazire, two-thirds of the settled lands, an empire larger than any single realm in known history. Jazid and Taka Mal had tried to achieve a similar goal two-hundred and six years ago, when they had attacked the Misted Cliffs, but they had failed. Now some of the damage of that conflict had been set right for the Misted Cliffs. It wasn’t the empire Cobalt and Varqelle had envisioned—but perhaps it was enough. He needed time to think and to recover from his losses.
He spoke to Zerod. “You will also give him a document that you and I have signed together. In it, you will swear to leave Jazid after you deliver your message and never seek their help in bringing an army against me.”
Zerod’s expression became guarded. “Very well.”
Cobalt didn’t believe him for one moment. Had he been in Zerod’s position, he would have said whatever was necessary to ensure the survival of his family and himself.
“To make certain that you abide by this vow,” Cobalt added, “your wife and son will remain here as hostages, under guard at the palace.” That had been Jarid Dawnfield’s mistake; he had left the son free and the father in prison. Cobalt wondered if his father would have come for him if the reverse had been true. Had it been Stonebreaker, he didn’t think so. But Varqelle? Yes, he would have, even if it took him years to raise an army.
Zerod spoke carefully. “I understand.”
Cobalt could have stopped there, but he surprised himself. “If you abide by this agreement,” he continued, “then in two years you may go into exile with your wife and son.” By that time, his business with Jazid and Taka Mal would be done. Either they would have signed a treaty or he would have conquered them. He supposed it was also possible they might depose and execute him, but that wasn’t an alternative he chose to entertain.
Zerod’s shoulders visibly lowered. “Will you put that in writing about my family?” he asked. “Also your guarantee to grant me free passage to Jazid?”
Cobalt shifted his weight. “If I do that, it is a promise I will not attack Jazid while you take my message to them.”
Zerod raised an eyebrow. “You intend otherwise?”
Cobalt frowned. The Shazire prince wanted him to sign a promise that, although temporary, could have long-term consequences. It amounted to the offer of a treaty he wasn’t certain he wanted to make. He had little idea what the next years would bring.
He glanced at Mel. She met his gaze, and he knew what she would say: Do this, and he will be more likely not to seek an army against you. No guarantees existed, but Zerod was reputed to be a man of honor. Cobalt wished to be one as well.
He considered the emir. “I will sign a statement to this end, effective for one year, with the condition that I will abide by it only as long as Jazid makes no move against my lands. After one year, the agreement will have to be renegotiated, with no guarantee of continuance except in the pledge that you may rejoin your family in two years.”
Zerod incl
ined his head. “I will carry this message to Jazid.”
They wrote and signed documents that afternoon. Cobalt assigned Zerod an honor guard to accompany him to Jazid. When the honor guard returned to Shazire, they would escort back any families of the spearmen who chose to come here.
For now, Jazid and Taka Mal were safe.
22
The King's Brother
Part of Harsdown’s southern border lay along the northwestern border of Shazire, with Blueshire on the easternmost edge. Mel knew the moment their party passed from Shazire into Harsdown. Nothing delineated the border, but these lands were so familiar, she could draw that ephemeral line without a compass or guide. She and Cobalt were traveling with one hundred men from his army. In gentler times, she would have sung with delight, but today her happiness was muted. To the east lay the fields, stripped and trampled, where the Chamberlight and Dawnfield armies had passed only a few weeks ago. The countryside was already recovering, though. Spring had taken over the land and the fragrance of sweet-grasses filled the air.
They could visit her home only for a short time. The process of setting up a new government in Shazire might have little effect on everyday life there, but it certainly affected Cobalt. Patient work and constant diplomacy to avoid flare-ups wasn’t part of his personality; he wanted to be out traveling, training, pitting himself against the world. Administration and negotiation wearied him until he paced the halls of the Alzire Palace like a caged wildcat.
So they had come to Harsdown to get Dancer.
Mel didn’t wait until the horses went to the stables. As soon as the farmhouse came into view, she jumped off Smoke and thrust the reins at Cobalt, who was still on Admiral. Then she ran toward the front porch.
With one hundred men, their arrival was hardly unannounced. The company had spread itself out over the land and would set up their camp under the wary eye of the Dawnfield forces stationed here. Chime burst out of the front door before Mel even reached the porch. Her mother ran down the steps, and Mel barreled into her. They hugged hard, crying and laughing, and Mel felt as if she was taking a full breath of air for the first time in months.
The Misted Cliffs Page 28
