by Fire
“You have, your Grace, or else you would not be telling me this.” And suddenly, as if someone had turned a light on in a darkened room, Powl knew. “It’s Rown, isn’t it? That is why you have let him supplant me as the queen’s confessor.”
Northam said nothing.
“But why?” Powl insisted. “Why did Usharna stop you from nominating me?”
“She never properly explained,” Northam said, and Powl saw he was telling the truth. “She did not like you. She did not trust you. She never said why.”
Powl slumped in his chair, and Northam hated to see it. “You have great honor in the church,” he said consolingly. “And you are a member of the queen’s council. I will see to it that you do not lose the seat. The church needs hard working, dedicated, and intelligent men like you to help guide its way in the world. I hope you will believe me when I say that I wish it could be you who succeeds me. It had been my fervent wish. I want you to continue as my secretary, and... and I would like to resume our friendship.”
Powl made no answer; he did not even look at the primate.
“If you think that might be possible,” Northam added sadly.
Areava made time for Olio after her time with Hansen Beresard. He had specifically asked to be alone with her, the only one in the kingdom other than her husband who had the right to ask it, and she had granted it. He walked up and down her chamber nervously, wringing his hands.
“There is something wrong,” Areava said.
Olio looked at her. “There is?”
She shrugged. “Why else are you pacing like a great bear with a burr up its behind?”
He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing wrong.” He stopped. “Actually, that’s not true. There is something wrong. I’m to be general of the army you’re sending north in the spring.”
Areava blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong with that? You’re a Rosetheme. I cannot go. Someone must lead it.”
“I’m not the b-b-best choice.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of course I’m afraid,” he said, not even offended by the question. “But that isn’t why I don’t want to be your general.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not the m-m-most qualified, Areava. I am not a soldier. I am at m-m-most adequate with a b-b-blade. I haven’t an angry b-b-bone in my b-b-body. You don’t want someone like m—m-me to lead the attack against Salokan.”
“Then who do I want?”
Olio looked at her squarely. “You want someone like Sendarus.”
“No,” she said curtly.
“B-b—but Areava, look at the differences between us—”
“No.”
Olio sighed and started pacing again.
“That is why you asked to see me?” she asked him.
“Yes. I don’t think it’s a good idea for m-m—me to lead the army. I think it does your cause m-m-more harm than good.”
“The council doesn’t think so.”
“The council wouldn’t know,” Olio countered. “How m-m-many of them were on our m-m-mother’s council during the Slaver War?”
“Umm, Orkid and the primate.”
“Exactly. Only two, and neither of them soldiers. M-m-most of them know less about war and strategy than m-m-my tailor. Who was it who actually suggested I be general?”
Areava had to think about that. “Father Powl,” she said at last.
“Your confessor?”
Areava nodded.
“You m-m-made your decision b—b—based on the advice of your confessor?”
“His advice seemed sound to everyone there.”
“They did not want to put you in any danger.”
“That only left you,” she said reasonably.
“Not any m-m-more. There is now Sendarus.”
Areava opened her mouth to say no again, but closed it before she could say the word. She realized Olio was right. Sendarus was the best man to lead the army, not her brother.
“Sendarus would not understand—” she began.
“Of course he would,” Olio interrupted her. “He would leap at the chance to demonstrate his loyalty to the kingdom. M-m-more importantly, he would leap at the chance to p-p-perform some b-b-brave service for you.”
“And you would not?”
Olio snorted. “I would die for you, if necessary. Not as willingly as your b-b-beloved, I grant, b-b-but I would rather that than see you harmed.”
Areava smiled at her brother’s words; she knew they were true. If she took the generalship from his shoulders and gave it to Sendarus, some would suggest it was because Olio was a coward, but the two of them would know better.
“Your idea has merit,” she said.
Olio stopped in front of her. “Then you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that. But I will think about it.”
Olio’s shoulders drooped in relief. “It would b—b-be b-b-best.”
“It is a great risk. What if the army should lose? They would blame my husband.”
“Under Sendarus the army will not lose; he is no fool. Under m-m-me, it could, and then the p-p-people would b-b-blame you.”
* * *
Father Powl wondered about the name of God. He wondered how many letters it had, and whether or not it had more than one syllable, and if it had more than one syllable where the stress was placed. He wondered most of all whether or not Primate Northam had written it down somewhere, had written down that most sacred word in case he forgot it. Or in case he died before his time.
Knowing what was to come, Powl was unable to sleep. His apprehension grew and grew until it was almost intolerable; when at last the flood came, it started with the hurried footsteps of Northam’s attendant, a novitiate of some promise but little initiative. Although Powl knew where the attendant would go first, when the door rattled with the knocking, he flinched in surprise. Powl answered it, dressed only in a nightshirt, rubbing pretend sleep from his eyes.
“Brother Anticus. What time is it?”
“Early, Father.” The novitiate looked at Powl with wild eyes.
“Brother, what is wrong?”
“It is Primate Northam.”
Powl frowned. “Something is wrong with his grace?”
Anticus grabbed for Powl’s hand, but Powl moved it out of the way. “Brother, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“You have to come see, Father. You have to come see.” Powl let Anticus take his hand this time, and let himself be led barefoot along the cold stone passageway to Northam’s chambers.
Northam was lying in his bed, his eyes staring straight up, wide open and slightly extruded, as if he had received a sudden vision of God. Powl went to the body and placed a finger just under the neck. There was no pulse. The flesh was quite cool, but not yet cold.
“Brother Anticus, I want you to get Father Rown. Tell no one else what you have seen, but get Father Rown now.”
Brother Anticus scurried off, his breath already coming in jerking sobs. While he waited, Powl made the primate decent—pulling his nightshirt straight, closing his eyelids, placing his hands across his chest. He did not know how much time he had, so he did only a cursory search of the room. When he heard two sets of approaching footsteps, he straightened and bowed his head in prayer.
“Oh, God, no,” said Father Rown’s voice behind him.
“Come in,” Powl said, waving for the priest and Anticus to enter the room. “Close the door behind you,” he ordered, and Anticus did.
Father Rown also felt for a pulse. When he felt none he turned, aghast, to Powl. “Do you ... do you ...”
“Do I what, Father?” Powl asked, holding his breath.
“Do you know who ...” Powl frowned at him. “... I mean, do you know what the word is?”
“The word?”
“Did Primate Northam pass on to you the—”
“Ah, the name of God,” Powl finished for him, and started breathing again.
“Yes, yes,” Rown said, his face
taut with tension.
“Of course he did,” Powl said. “Did you think Northam would forget that?”
Rown sighed with relief. His round face seemed to fall into its normal shape, and his generous figure, released from tension, visibly relaxed.
“You must wake our brethren,” Powl told Anticus. “Do not give them the news. Tell them to gather in the royal chapel.”
Anticus opened the door and hurried out.
“You will give them the news?” Rown asked.
“No, Father, you will.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because as Primate Northam’s successor my first duty is to inform the queen and her chancellor. I will do that now.
And it is also my duty to select a new secretary to replace me. I select you. Father Rown. Now go and do your duty.“
Father Rown bowed in thanks, and in recognition of Powl’s ascension into higher office. When he looked up again, he wore half a smile. “I will do my duty.”
“I know it. Now I must do mine.”
“You have been talking with my brother.”
Orkid looked up from his desk to see the queen standing in the doorway to his office. She was looking particularly imperious and stern. He stood up so quickly he scattered piles of paper on to the floor.
“Your Majesty! I was not expecting you—”
“Was it yesterday, Chancellor? Or the day before.”
Orkid was trying to pick up papers and figure out exactly what the queen was getting at. Two secretaries were on hands and knees picking up papers as well, handing them in fistfuls to the chancellor.
“I wonder how you approached the subject? Perhaps something about how cold Hume was at this time of year?”
And Orkid understood. He stood erect, his secretaries still scrambling around his feet. “You are angry with me.”
“Of course I’m angry with you,” she said without any ire at all. “This is something you should first have raised with me.”
“You would have said no.”
“My prerogative. You would have argued me around.”
“Eventually, perhaps. But this way was quicker.”
“It was wrong of you.”
Orkid spread his hands. “My duty is to give you my best advice, and to ensure that your wishes are carried out. Approaching Olio so he could convince you himself was a shortcut I took to achieve both ends.”
Areava turned on her heel and left. Orkid was not sure if he should follow or stay where he was. He looked at the mess on the floor, and decided he could do more good away from his office.
“Your Majesty!” he called after Areava. She slowed but did not stop for him. “Your Majesty, I am sorry if you feel that I have manipulated you—”
“You always manipulate me, Orkid. I’m used to that. What I am not used to is being manipulated behind my back.”
Orkid nodded. “It will not happen again.”
“Good.”
They strode on, courtiers and visitors making a path for them. Royal Guards snapped to attention when they went past.
“There is something else,” Orkid said eventually.
Areava breathed deeply. “There is always something else with you.”
“It concerns Sendarus.”
“Go on.”
“If you are going to assign him as general—”
“You know I am going to assign him as general. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it?”
Orkid swallowed. “Yes, your Majesty. If I may finish. When you make him general, it might be wise to ensure his authority is respected among your officers.”
“They will respect him or answer to me,” she said curtly.
“Easier to enforce his authority in the first place.”
Areava stopped suddenly, forcing Orkid to overshoot. He backtracked and met the queen’s gaze.
“How, exactly, do you propose I do that?”
Orkid pointed to the Keys of Power hanging in plain view over her chest. “Give him the Key of the Sword.”
Areava blinked. At least, Orkid thought, she did not say “no” outright.
“The Key of the Sword?”
“Yes, your Majesty. As ruler, you only need the Key of the Scepter. Sendarus will be leading your army north against Haxus, in defense of the kingdom. Surely the Key of the Sword would be the perfect symbol of your royal authority and your trust in your consort.”
Areava nodded slowly. “I like this idea.” She resumed walking, Orkid in tow. “I like this idea a lot. Do you think the council would accept it?” Her expression became downcast. “With Primate Northam’s passing, it is weighted toward the Twenty Houses.”
Orkid shrugged. “Even so, if theidea has your blessing, I don’t see why not.”
“The Twenty Houses would be against it,” she said slowly.
Orkid did not even have to think about how to answer that. “True, your Majesty. Another point in its favor.”
Chapter 18
Within two days of each other, three armed forces moved out of camp and toward enemy territory.
The first to move was Rendle’s raiding party, nearly four thousand strong. Divided into three columns, they rode single file along one of the three passes his scouts had discovered toward the end of winter. They moved quickly, perhaps dangerously, but carried only the limited supplies needed to reach the Oceans of Grass as soon as possible.
The next day Salokan started his invasion of Grenda Lear. His force was several times larger than Rendle’s and took considerably longer to cover a similar distance, even though the ground was level and mostly clear of snow or mud. Hume’s border posts were swept out of the way like solitary trees before an avalanche.
The same day, and before news of Salokan’s invasion could reach his ears, Jes Prado had moved out his own force, heading straight for the Algonka Pass.
There were eagles overhead. Rendle cursed them, then turned his attention to the column struggling up the defile. He looked west, saw that the largest part of his force was now over the pass’s highest point and descending to the Oceans of Grass, still a good two days away. The eagles were waiting for accidents to happen, as some—inevitably—would. A hoof slipping on loose scree would send rider and mount into a long, uncontrolled fall, ending in broken limbs and maybe necks. He could not afford to leave anyone behind to care for the injured.
But almost all of us will get through as long as the snow holds off, Rendle told himself. He feared the cold more than anything else.
General Thewor, as he had since the invasion began, stayed close to Rendle, just waiting for him to make a mistake. Rendle could feel him, like bad luck, hovering behind him, but paid him scant attention.
“We have been lucky,” the general said.
Rendle knew that, but was not going to let the comment go that easily. “We made our own luck, General. We moved when the time was right.”
The general snorted but said nothing more. He knew he should have had command of this expedition—his cavalry made up more than half the riders!—but understood why Salokan had given it to this aging, petty mercenary. As long as they intended to ride through Chett territory, Rendle was still necessary; but the moment Lynan was in their hands and they were safely back in Haxus, or that part of Hume controlled by Salokan, Thewor himself would personally supervise Rendle’s execution.
“Your men are slowing us down,” Rendle said, pointing to a gaggle of uniformed riders who were trailing at the end of the column.
“They are not used to the cold,” Thewor said defensively.
“The truth is they are not used to such hard work,” Rendle said. “There is a great deal of difference between parade ground riding and real campaigning.”
Thewor tried unsuccessfully not to blush. He shouted an order and an adjutant rode back to the stragglers to hurry them along.
“Two more days, General. Keep them together for just two more days, then we hit the Oceans of Grass.”
“They will get there.”
Rendle grunted, but did not argue. He spurred his horse to catch up with the main column, and Thewor stayed as close behind as his shadow.
For a moment Salokan’s eyes brimmed with tears. He thought it was caused by the majesty of the event, the serried ranks of his spearmen—dressed so finely in their sky blue tunics—marching in attack column across the border with Hume. There was no one there to attack, of course—his cavalry was four leagues away sweeping up any resistance and screening the movement of his army—but it was a great morale builder for the rest of the army waiting their turn to invade Grenda Lear. An hour later the colonels and majors would shout the command for the regiments to fall into marching order and the spears would be raised, the column spread out, and the rate slowed down to sixty paces a minute.
Salokan, for all his emotions, was far more pragmatic than most of his opponents gave him credit for. Except Rendle, he remembered. Rendle understood him the way the a frog understands the kingfisher: with respect, true knowledge, and a little fear. He wiped away the tears, knowing he would spill none for those who would die or be wounded over the next few weeks, and tried not to feel hypocritical about it.
We are all instruments of the state, he silently told the soldiers. We all have our part to play for the good of Haxus, to wipe away with a brilliant victory the disgrace of our fathers ‘ defeat at the hands of Grenda Lear.
Soldiers with darker blue tunics were now marching past him. They were conscripts largely, and would not last long if Grenda Lear had a chance to put its regulars into the field. But they were good for holding a line or digging and then occupying a siege trench; and if they were lucky, most of them would survive long enough to become veterans.
Twenty regiments of spear marched by him that morning, then ten of sword and shield, and finally his cavalry, full panoplied in fancy gear none of the troopers would ever think of using in real combat. And another five thousand light infantry had already fanned ahead to secure bridges and fords. Nearly thirty thousand soldiers in all. Not a bad-sized force with which to start an invasion of a kingdom several times bigger than his own.
