The Sworn

by Gail Z. Martin

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t know how you get used to just riding up to the castle gates as if you owned the place.” Rhistiart rode alongside Cam. It was market day in the palace city, and down the long road that led to Aberponte, vendors cajoled and bargained with passersby to purchase all types of foods, housewares, and jewelry. Cam and Rhistiart maneuvered their horses carefully through the throng as children ran across their path and shoppers bumped and jostled their way through the crowd.

  “Every now and then, I wonder at it myself,” Cam admitted. “You’ve seen Brunnfen. It’s hardly the center of the aristocratic world in Isencroft. ‘Backwater’ doesn’t seem to quite cover it. That used to stick in Alvior’s craw. The few times he went to court with Father, he came home fuming because he wasn’t dressed properly and he was ashamed. That didn’t go over well with Father. He was more practical. It didn’t matter to him whether he had the latest fashions or not. That’s probably one reason he and Donelan got on so well.”

  They rode in silence the rest of the way. Cam kept trying to imagine just how he would break the enormity of Alvior’s betrayal to Donelan, and he hoped the king would maintain his usual practicality in his response. After all the blows he’d taken from his older brother over the years, Cam had no desire to bear the brunt of the king’s wrath for Alvior’s treachery. Rhistiart seemed to sense Cam’s mood and, for once, kept his songs and stories to himself.

  They passed the lower guards with a cheerful greeting from the soldiers who recognized Cam and welcomed him back. Stable hands ran to take their reins as they reached the courtyard. Cam headed for the broad palace steps, and turned to see Rhistiart standing still.

  “I thought I’d see to our bags,” Rhistiart said nervously.

  Cam glanced around the bustling courtyard. “There are servants for that.”

  Rhistiart swallowed nervously. “What are squires for?”

  Cam sighed and grabbed the reluctant silversmith by the arm. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re an eyewitness to what we found at Brunnfen. I want someone to back me up. I’d rather Isencroft not prepare for war on my word alone.”

  “War? Nobody said anything about war,” Rhistiart protested as Cam prodded him toward the steps. “This isn’t really what I had in mind.”

  “You wanted an adventure. Well, we’re right in the middle of one, and from what we saw at Brunnfen, it’s a lot scarier than Leather John and his Divisionists. If Alvior really does come back across the Northern Sea, I guarantee you he’ll have more than a few dozen malcontents with him.”

  Cam strode off through Aberponte’s corridors, greeted and waved on by the guards and servants who recognized him. Rhistiart ran behind him, making halfhearted objections that Cam ignored. Cam finally stopped at the entrance to the king’s private chambers. Rhistiart hung back as Cam spoke quietly to the two guards at the doors. One of them disappeared inside, and Cam waited, drawing a deep breath to ready himself.

  The double doors flew open. “Cam! You’re back! Thank Chenne. You look well. Come in, come in. How’s that leg doing?” King Donelan stood in the doorway. Though he was not dressed for formal court, one glance would have told anyone who wondered that this was Isencroft’s king. Donelan was a bear of a man, tall, broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested. He’d earned a reputation for reckless courage on the battlefield as a young man, and for a bottomless zeal for life as he aged that included a love of fine brandy and good hunting. The brocade doublet in rich tones of brown and gold accentuated hair that showed few signs of gray though Donelan was well into his fifth decade. His grin was genuine, as was the energy with which he embraced Cam like a long-absent son.

  Cam smiled and motioned for Rhistiart to follow him into the king’s chambers, paying no heed as Rhistiart looked around himself, wide-eyed. “Leg’s much improved, thanks to Carina. I’ve got a thick letter in my bags for you. She made me promise to give it to you right away. And of course, she sends her love.” Cam chuckled. “I hope she delivers those twins on time, because she’s already as big as a house with two more months to go. But everything you’ve heard about how her healing magic has grown is true. She healed the rift in the Flow, and she can mind heal. Oh, and she can also reduce the pain of injuries to vayash moru and vyrkin.”

  Donelan shook his head in amazement. “Truly? I thought such tales grew in the telling. And what of Jonmarc?”

  “Up to his ass in trouble of one sort or another, as usual. If it’s not an uprising among rogue vayash moru, it’s undead refugees afraid of retribution for the plague or the mortal residents who are cranky about all the new vayash moru and vyrkin.”

  Donelan uncorked a decanter of brandy and poured a generous amount for Cam. Rhistiart had stepped back to stand along the wall, for once as still and silent as the paintings. “I’ve got Allestyr working on a banquet in your honor,” Donelan continued, pausing to take a drink from his glass and give a sigh of contentment at the fine liquor. “Would have done it before this, but you were too banged up to enjoy it.” He gave Cam a knowing look. “I took the liberty of having him contact the head of the Brewers Guild. Your last letter indicated that you and that spitfire of a girl—”

  “Rhosyn.”

  Donelan made a gesture as if he recognized the name, and then went on. “Yes, yes. So you’re still planning on marrying the girl?”

  Cam swallowed wrong and began to cough, startled at the turn of conversation. “Yes, we are. I mean, I am.”

  “Good, good. I’ll do the honors myself. We can do it right before the banquet, give you two things to celebrate.”

  Cam could only nod. Behind him, Rhistiart was chuckling from the shadows. “Oh, you’ve brought the silversmith back with you?” Donelan said, casting a glance to where Rhistiart was doing his best to be inconspicuous. “Good for you. He can help Allestyr pull the whole thing together. How did he like Brunnfen?”

  Cam was used to Donelan’s abrupt changes in direction, but he was certain that the rapidly switching subjects were making Rhistiart’s head spin. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons I brought Rhistiart with me to the palace today. I have some more bad news for you from Brunnfen.”

  Donelan frowned. “Renn’s well? They’re far enough north that the plague hasn’t reached them, I hope.”

  Cam shook his head. “No, no. But I’m afraid there’s evidence that Alvior’s treason goes further than we first thought.” He paused. “We’ve seen evidence that I think shows Alvior means to return with an invasion fleet.”

  Donelan’s mood changed as quickly as his topics of conversation. “Then we’d best have a few other people hear this,” he said, all joviality gone from his voice. He leaned outside the door and spoke to the guards. When he returned, his face was serious. “I’d like the head of the Veigonn in on this, as well as General Vinian. If war’s coming, they need to know.”

  Cam felt nearly as nervous as Rhistiart looked as they waited. But before long, both Wilym, the head of the elite Veigonn, Donelan’s private guard, and General Vinian arrived. Donelan motioned for them to join him in chairs near the fireplace, where a banked fire kept the chill away. Donelan insisted that Rhistiart also step forward to assist in the telling of the tale, and he forced a generous portion of brandy into Rhistiart’s hand, which was visibly shaking.

  Donelan, Wilym, and Vinian listened in silence as Cam recounted what they had found at Brunnfen. Rhistiart corroborated Cam’s story, as well as vouching for Renn’s ignorance of Alvior’s betrayal and Cam’s brother’s willingness to do anything to help capture Alvior and prevent his return to Brunnfen. Throughout the telling, Donelan’s expression grew dark and his eyes flashed with anger. When Cam and Rhistiart finished their tale, Donelan sprang from his chair.

  “By the Whore! If Alvior wants war, then he’ll find it here.” He glanced at Wilym. “I’ll write to Tris Drayke in Margolan, to Staden in Principality and Kalcen in Eastmark. Their kingdoms border on the Northern Sea. They’d best know what’s brewing. We have no idea whether thi
s invasion of Alvior’s would just target Isencroft, or whether it’s the entire coastline that’s at risk. I want riders ready at dawn to ride as hard as they can with the letters. The others need to be warned.”

  General Vinian looked to Cam. “You have no idea of Alvior’s timetable?”

  “If he intends to bring ships into Brunnfen’s harbor, then he’ll have to come before winter. What I gathered from Father’s ghost gave me to think it would be sometime in the fall.”

  Vinian looked to Wilym. “That doesn’t leave us much time, especially if we’re to field an army and ready ourselves for an invasion fleet.”

  “I’ve always been one to keep my feet solidly on dry ground,” Cam said. “But what of Isencroft’s navy? Can it hold off an invasion?”

  Vinian shrugged. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had cause to worry. The kingdoms on the far side of the Northern Sea have kept to themselves for over a hundred years. Long ago, Eristan the explorer brought back ships with silver, gems, and furs from Temnotta, the Midnight Land. There were a few attempts to exchange ambassadors, but the king of Temnotta grew suspicious. He was afraid that Eristan would return with warships to take Temnotta’s riches. So the king closed the borders, and for generations, foreign ships have been refused entry.” Vinian rubbed his chin as he thought.

  “Of course, that king would be long dead. We’ve had little information from Temnotta, and most of it can’t be verified. But what we’ve heard from traders who were allowed entry and from vayash moru who have come through Temnotta is that the succession was uncertain and that there was tension between rival aristocratic families. Several of the men in line for the throne died under suspicious circumstances. There’s very little known about the new king except that he’s fairly young—perhaps thirty summers at most—and that he comes from a noble family with strong ties to the military. We don’t even have a name.”

  “What of the Northern Raiders? Where do they come in?” Cam asked, accepting a second drink when Donelan offered the decanter.

  “The Northern Raiders have been at odds with Temnotta more than they’ve been aligned,” Wilym replied, swirling the dark brandy in his glass. “The Raiders hold the outer islands, and to the best of our knowledge, they owe fealty to no king. They’re a loose alliance of warlords who are just as likely to be fighting each other as anyone else, and they’ve usually been more interested in looting and carrying off prisoners than they have been in conquering territory.”

  “I’d heard it said that the raids came more often long ago, before Isencroft was a kingdom,” Cam mused. “And that in those days, the Raiders sometimes stayed behind to trade or farm. There are rumors, in the coastal towns at least, that many a family had mixed blood with Raiders who traded more than trinkets and fur.”

  Wilym nodded. “And the rumors are probably true. But the Raiders alone wouldn’t pose a threat to Isencroft, not without a navy behind them. Or at least they wouldn’t be a challenge to the king, but they might make a mess of the villages and rural areas, until we could get soldiers out to take care of it.”

  Cam sighed. “At least we’re rid of the Divisionists.”

  Wilym and Vinian exchanged a glance that made Cam’s heart sink. “Not totally,” Wilym said. “You took out the head of their organization, but there’s still anger among the rabble about Kiara’s marriage to Martris Drayke, and now that their child’s been born, it makes the idea of a joint throne even more ominous. We think the Divisionists have gone underground. We’re not counting them out yet.”

  “Do you think they’ve still got ties to Alvior’s treason?”

  Vinian shrugged. “Who knows? We’ve had years of poor harvests, and now, the plague. People are angry, and they blame the king. They don’t think about whether or not he could fix what ails them, but he’s in charge, so to their thinking, it must be his fault. I think Alvior was always using the Divisionists as pawns. They were just to draw off the army’s attention from the real threat. If Alvior really was in league with Temnotta, then he was never worried about the joint throne. He had plans all along to be Temnotta’s puppet king himself.”

  “Was either group said to use magic? What we found at Brunnfen was a workshop for a mage.”

  To Cam’s surprise, Wilym nodded, and his expression was solemn. “The legends say that Temnotta had many powerful mages, the Volshe. It was rumored that the kings of Temnotta ruled at the pleasure of the Volshe, and that it was the Volshe, not the kings, that cut off trade with the Winter Kingdoms, for fear their secrets might be stolen.”

  “Do the legends say what kind of mages the Volshe were?”

  Again, Wilym nodded. “The legends talk about blood magic, and about mages that could create horrors to punish their enemies. That’s consistent with the few stories we’ve gotten from the vayash moru, and what little our agents have been able to confirm.”

  Cam finished his drink. It did little to calm him. “So the idea of a dark summoner coming from across the Northern Sea isn’t unthinkable.”

  “No,” Vinian answered. “Unfortunately, it’s not unthinkable at all.”

  By ninth bells, the fear of war was replaced by a very different kind of fear. Cam shifted from foot to foot as Rhistiart fussed over Cam’s uniform jacket and adjusted the new medal pinned there to let it hang straight. “Stand still! Sweet Chenne, if you’ve got nerves like a cat, how do you manage going to battle?”

  Cam could feel himself beginning to sweat, although the night was cool. “Battle is one thing. This is my wedding. There’s no comparison.”

  Rhistiart chuckled. “I wouldn’t know myself, but I’ve heard it said that both are forms of warfare.”

  They waited in a small parlor just off Donelan’s private quarters. It was a room Cam had visited many times when he and the king had spent pleasant evenings playing dice or swapping tall tales over a bottle of brandy. Cam tried to remember a time when he’d felt quite as nervous and couldn’t think of one. “I imagine there’s a back door if you’ve changed your mind,” Rhistiart said with a grin.

  “No, no. Rhosyn’s everything I ever wanted in a woman,” Cam replied, aware that his voice was not entirely steady. “I love her hair. I love her curves. I love her laugh.”

  “And you love my daddy’s ale.” They turned to see Rhosyn in the doorway. Rhosyn’s unruly red hair was swept up and secured by a golden mesh. Her gown was in Isencroft’s traditional colors of flame, sacred to the Warrior Aspect, Chenne. Red silk, edged with a border of orange, made Rhosyn’s pale skin glow. The silk hugged her ample curves and Cam swallowed hard as he felt his body react appreciatively.

  “Yes, I love your daddy’s ale, but that’s beside the point,” Cam said, moving to take Rhosyn’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop on the way to the palace. I had news for Donelan that couldn’t wait.”

  Rhosyn sighed. “Always business.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Since it was for the king, I guess I can forgive you.” She grinned as Cam drew her close for a kiss. When they moved apart, she gave an appraising look to Cam’s newly healed leg. “How did it heal?”

  In answer, Cam walked from one side of the room to the other. The limp was noticeable, but not pronounced. “Do I meet your approval? After all, no one buys a horse without checking to see if it’s lame.”

  Rhosyn shook her head, as if she guessed that Cam’s humor hid a very real fear that she might reject him. “Cam of Cairnrach! You know I’d have you even if you were gimping along with a wooden peg. And here I was, hoping that your sister might knock some sense into that thick head of yours!”

  Cam laughed. “Carina’s been trying to do that for years. If you ever figure out how, you’ll have to promise to let her know.”

  Rhosyn took Cam’s hand, and beneath the banter he could see nervousness in her eyes. She smoothed her skirts with her free hand. “You should have seen the look on Father’s face when a messenger came from the palace with an invitation from the king. Father’d been thinking all along that we’d have the we
dding down at the tavern. After all,” she said with a sly smile, “it’s one of your favorite spots. He’d already insisted that I spend a small fortune on the dress and he’d had his jacket made special for the occasion. He didn’t want it said you were marrying below your station.”

  Cam frowned. “You know I’m not concerned with things like that.”

  “Some are. Father didn’t want to embarrass you. But he never expected that the king himself would marry us.”

  “You’ve met Donelan before, when I was sick. Is he that fearsome?”

  Rhosyn’s eyes were wide. “He’s the king, isn’t he? That’s plenty fearsome.”

  Cam squeezed her hand. “I’m glad it didn’t scare you off.”

  Rhosyn tossed her head. “Takes more than the king to scare me away from you, Cam of Cairnrach. I’m made of sterner stuff than that!”

  Just then, the door opened and Donelan swept into the room. Despite her protestations a moment before, Rhosyn paled enough that Cam feared she might swoon. Donelan seemed oblivious. Behind Donelan trailed Allestyr, the seneschal. Rhistiart stepped back, and Cam knew that the silversmith probably would have found an excuse to bolt from the room had Cam not expressly asked that he stay as a witness.

  “We’ve got a roomful of guests ready for a banquet downstairs,” Donelan said. “Let’s get you two married so there’s even more reason to celebrate.” He peered at Rhosyn as if it were the first time he had looked closely at her. “Let me see you, girl.” Rhosyn was trembling, but she put on a good face and stepped forward. Donelan stroked his chin.

  “I assume that you’ve seen this great ox when he’s well into his cups,” Donelan said. “I’d hate to think you didn’t know what you were getting into.”

  Rhosyn drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve helped him stagger into the guest room to sleep off many a feast night, and on occasion, I’ve heard him sing and lived to tell about it. There’s no one who’ll do but him.”