by DAVID B. COE
“Exactly!” Ewan said, sitting forward so suddenly that he nearly propelled himself out of his chair.
“We always knew that I would have to strike a fine balance,” the duke said. “Els- The duchess merely wishes to make certain that we succeed.”
“If I may, my lord,” Pillad said. “Such considerations ought to be secondary. Your people are suffering. The city of your forebears is overrun with the emperor’s soldiers. You should strike at them, drive them back to their ships. If you take the crown, so be it. But the time has come to act like a king.”
As soon as he spoke the words, Pillad feared that he had gone too far. But Renald merely sighed, running a hand through his fiery hair.
“You’re right, of course. But the duchess-”
The door opened.
“What about me?” She stood in the doorway, wearing a gown of red that nearly matched the duke’s hair, her dark eyes flitting from Renald to Ewan to Pillad, and then back to the duke. She stepped into the chamber and closed the door. “Well? What were you saying about me, Renald?”
The duke stood. Pillad could see his hands trembling, but the duke still held himself straight. “I was saying that you still wish to wait before sending the army south. And I was going to add that I think you’re mistaken, and that I intend to strike at the emperor’s men come morning.”
“I knew it,” she said, her voice heavy with contempt. She turned to glare at Pillad. “I knew that you’d turn him against me at the first opportunity.”
Ewan stood as well. “Actually, my lady, I was the one who began this discussion. The first minister came in later and only added to what I had been saying all along.”
“Then you’re all fools. And my husband is the biggest fool of all, for listening to you.”
“Oh, Elspeth, be quiet.”
Her cheeks colored as if he had slapped her, but after only a moment, she smiled. Clearly it was forced, a mask for her rage and humiliation, but it seemed as natural on her features as any smile Pillad had ever seen there. “Fine, Renald. If you wish to strengthen Glyndwr’s hold on the throne, and destroy any hope we might have had of ending the Rules of Ascension, so be it. I’ll not have any more to do with you.”
The duke gave a curt nod. “Very well. As you pass the guards on your way out, please tell them that we’re not to be disturbed. We have preparations to make.”
She glowered at them all, the muscles in her jaw clenched. Then she whirled away from them, flung the door open, and stormed from the chamber, saying nothing to the soldiers as she strode past them.
For several seconds, none of the men spoke. They didn’t even move. Pillad and Ewan were both watching the duke, wondering whether he would go after her. But at last, he merely stepped to the door, closed it quietly, and turned to face them. He still appeared to be shaking, but he looked pleased with himself, as if he had just come through a sword fight unscathed.
“We have a great deal to discuss,” he said. “I want Braedon’s men out of my city, but I don’t wish to spend too much time driving them off, and we can’t afford to lose many men. Suggestions?”
Ewan was grinning now-it almost seemed that he, too, had won a battle of sorts. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “I’ve given this a good deal of thought.”
Pillad had no doubt that this was so.
* * *
Renald knew that he would pay a price for what he had done this day. One did not spurn Elspeth, lady of Prindyr, duchess of Galdasten, as he had done, without inviting her wrath. For a time, she would refuse to speak to him at all, and after that she would take to insults, small barbs cast at him in front of his soldiers, his advisors, noble guests of the castle. The affections she had shown him in recent days were now forfeit. She would not share his bed again for some time, if ever. She might even seek to turn their sons against him, telling the boys that his cowardice and folly had cost them their chance to sit on the Oaken Throne. Elspeth had always been a proud woman, and today Renald had dealt her pride a blow. She would be slow to forgive; she would never forget.
The duke, however, didn’t care. He would not go so far as to blame his wife for the humiliation of Galdasten’s people or the damage to the realm done by his own timidity. She had urged this course of action, but he was duke, and he had made the decision not to oppose Braedon’s invasion. She had preyed on his ambition, as well as on his fear of her, and he had allowed her to have her way. Ashamed as he was of what he had become, Renald would accept responsibility for it, not only in his own mind, but also when it came time to face Kearney. The hour was late, but at last he was ready to comport himself as befitted a duke.
And it pleased him to do so. Merely sitting in his presence chamber, speaking with Ewan and Pillad of military tactics, he felt more like the leader of a great house than he had in many turns. Yes, he feared death. He would be as scared riding to this war as any boy newly enlisted in the Galdasten army. But there was some satisfaction to be found in that fear. Even the most frightened soldier marching to war was less a coward than the man who did nothing while his realm burned. Renald would endure Elspeth’s contempt, he would explain to his sons that ambition and duty to one’s realm were not always compatible, that honor should mean more to a man than should power. He didn’t want the crown-not this way. As to the rest, he thought with some chagrin, he would have to get used once more to bedding serving girls and ladies of the court.
It became clear from the very start of their discussion that the swordmaster had spent days thinking of how they might break Braedon’s hold on Galdasten City. Ewan believed that under cover of a fierce assault from Galdasten’s archers, several large raiding parties could leave the castle by way of the sally ports and strike at the Braedony soldiers who were camped outside its gates. Once they were defeated-and the swordmaster didn’t believe that would take long-Renald could send the full force of his army into the city to drive the invaders back to their ships.
Ewan actually believed that the duke’s reluctance to act before now would work to their advantage.
“They’ve grown lax, my lord. They don’t expect you to do anything.”
The irony wasn’t lost on any of them.
“No doubt generations from now, my descendants will celebrate the brilliance of our strategy.”
Pillad grinned. “No doubt, my lord.”
“Prepare your soldiers, swordmaster.”
“My lord, I would suggest that we wait until dawn. If we do it in the middle of the day, Braedon’s men will have little trouble spotting the soldiers leaving the castle by way of the sally ports.”
“What about dusk? The light will be more favorable then.”
“Aye, my lord, dusk might be better for the initial assault. But if we wait until dawn-”
“I don’t want to wait another night. We’ll strike at dusk. Ready your men, swordmaster.”
Ewan frowned, but stood. “Yes, my lord. I’ll begin preparations immediately.”
“Very good. Keep me informed of your progress.”
Ewan bowed and hurried from the chamber, leaving Renald alone with his first minister. Renald had convinced himself that Pillad served him loyally, seeing Elspeth’s suspicions of the man as another of her ploys. The minister advocated going to war, and so she accused him of treason hoping that this would keep Renald from heeding his counsel. Yet, though certain of this, he couldn’t help but feel discomfited being alone with the Qirsi. He tried to tell himself that it had always been this way, that the white-hairs were strange, their powers unfathomable. Who among the Eandi enjoyed being around them? But he knew that there was more to his uneasiness. Try as he might to put the doubts out of his mind, he could not help but wonder if the man had betrayed him.
“Perhaps I should leave you, my lord.”
Could he read Renald’s mind? Did Qirsi magic run that deep?
“As you wish, First Minister,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We have much to do in the next few hours.”
“Yes, my lord.” He pu
shed himself out of his chair.
“Do any of the other Qirsi in the castle have mists and winds?”
“I’m not sure, my lord. I would doubt it. It’s one of the deeper magics and not terribly common.”
“Ah, well. I was merely curious. I take it you’ll be helping the healers.”
“As you wish, my lord. Though I had thought that I would stay with you. You may wish for my counsel when the fighting begins.”
“Yes, of course. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll be joining the fighting when it comes time to take back the city.”
“Even then, my lord, I’m willing to go into battle with you.” He smiled. “I’m not much of a swordsman, but I ride well, and I might be of some use in a fight.”
Renald forced a smile in return. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, First Minister. I’ll let you know what I decide to do myself, and what I expect of you.”
The Qirsi’s pale eyes narrowed for just a moment, his smile fading. Then he nodded. “Of course, my lord. I think I understand.” He started toward the door.
The duke knew that he should let the man go, that he should end this awkwardness before one of them said something foolish. But he couldn’t stop himself. “What is it you think you understand, Pillad?”
The minister halted just a step or two from the door. He kept his back to the duke, taking a long breath. “Forgive me, my lord. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.”
Pillad turned at that. “Yes, I did. I sense that you still don’t trust me entirely. I wonder if you don’t want me riding to battle with you because you fear I might make an attempt on your life.”
“The conspiracy has disturbed us all a great deal, First Minister. The death of the tavern keeper only served to heighten our fears. I find it hard to believe that he was the only traitor in Galdasten, which would mean that there are still Qirsi in this city, perhaps in this castle, who wish to do me harm.”
“I’m certain that you’re right, my lord. But to my mind that makes those of us you know you can trust all the more valuable.”
“That may be so, but it also makes the task of distinguishing loyal Qirsi from traitorous ones that much more daunting. Surely you can appreciate that.”
“Yes, my lord. As always I’ll serve as you see fit. If that means remaining with the healers, so be it. I’ll await word of your decision.” With that, he bowed and let himself out of the chamber.
Renald didn’t know what to think. For just an instant he considered going after the minister, and saying that he wanted to ride with him into battle. But he couldn’t help wondering if that was just what Pillad wanted him to do, if the Qirsi’s words and bearing had been intended to produce just such a response. What scared the duke most was that in the past he had relied on Elspeth to help him make such judgments.
Unable to find any humor at all in this irony, the duke left his chamber and went in search of Ewan. Better to help the swordmaster with his preparations than sit alone in his chamber with his doubts and fears.
* * *
By the time the prior’s bells began to toll in the city, Renald’s archers were ready. They remained in the castle wards, where the enemy soldiers couldn’t see them. Only when the sunlight began to fail would they climb the towers to the ramparts. Standing together in the courtyards, their quivers full, many of them testing the tension of the bows for the tenth time, they reminded the duke of boys awaiting the start of their first battle tournament. Clearly they had been hoping for this moment, eager for a chance to strike at the invaders who had taken their city. Renald heard more laughter in those hours before dusk than he had in the last turn and a half. It lightened his spirit, gave him hope that they might really succeed in breaking the empire’s hold on Galdasten.
At one point, gazing up at the windows overlooking the upper ward, he thought he saw Elspeth. But when he looked again, no one was there, and he was left to wonder if he had only imagined her face in the late-day sun.
When at last the sky began to darken, Ewan ordered the archers onto the walls, imploring them to take their positions with as little noise as possible. He also sent his raiding parties to the castle’s sally ports, instructing them to wait just inside the hidden gates until they heard the bells ringing in the cloister tower. That would be their signal to attack.
Convinced that all was ready, Renald and the swordmaster climbed the nearest of the stairways to the turret atop one of the towers, where they could watch the battle unfold without getting in the way of Ewan’s bowmen.
The sky above the tower had deepened to a dark velvet blue, and the western horizon glowed brightly, the thin clouds over the North Wood touched with yellow and orange and pink. There was still enough light to see-Renald could make out the soldiers standing at the base of the castle, leaning against siege engines that had seen little use in the past half turn. From the beginning, it had seemed that Braedon’s men had known Galdasten wouldn’t oppose them. They had prepared for an assault on the gates, but had done nothing more, as if believing that the mere threat of attack would be enough to keep Renald from fighting back.
And for too long it had worked.
“Give the order, swordmaster. I grow tired of seeing the emperor’s men on my soil.”
Ewan grinned. “With pleasure, my lord.”
He took a torch from a bracket on the stone wall beside them, raised it over his head, then brought it down in a chopping motion. Immediately, two hundred archers stepped forward to the outer wall, arrows already nocked in their bows, and let their darts fly, the thrum of their bowstrings echoing off the castle walls like the roar of some great strange beast from the Underrealm. Screams rose from below, cries of alarm and rage filled the lanes surrounding the castle. Ewan raised and lowered his torch again, and the archers loosed a second volley.
More shouts reached them from the streets, repeated now farther off, as word of what was happening spread toward the piers. Ewan turned toward the cloister tower and swept his torch back and forth. A moment later the bells began to toll, and an instant after that, a different kind of cry arose from the soldiers around the castle. In just a few seconds Renald heard the clash of steel on steel, the urgent calls of men doing battle.
His eyes were adjusting to the evening light, but the shadows at the base of the castle walls were deepening. He couldn’t tell who had the upper hand. In just a few moments, however, he saw men retreating down the lanes that led to the port, and he knew that the invaders had been driven off. The men below gave a ragged cheer that was repeated by Ewan’s archers.
“Well done, swordmaster!” Renald said over the din, clapping the man on the shoulder.
It was not something the duke would normally have done, and Ewan gave him a strange look. “This is only a small victory, my lord. Braedon’s men gave up too quickly. No doubt they’ve simply gone to join their comrades in the city. They haven’t been beaten yet. Far from it.”
“I know that,” the duke said, forcing a smile so the swordmaster wouldn’t see how much the words had sobered him. “Still, I’m pleased. Surely this is a good beginning.”
“Yes, my lord, I believe it is.” He looked down at the city again, seeming to mark the progress of the retreating soldiers. “We have to choose now, my lord. Do we wait until morning to attack their strongholds in the city, or do we pursue them immediately?”
Renald stared at him a moment, suddenly out of his depth. “I’m … I’m not certain. What would you do?”
“Well, on the one hand, we would do well to attack before they have a chance to marshal their defenses. On the other hand, they’re already entrenched in the city, and with night falling, they have the advantage of being able to conceal themselves more easily. If we attack, our men may be rushing headlong into a trap.”
The duke felt his face coloring. He had pushed to begin all this sooner. Had he been willing to wait for daybreak, there would be no question as to what they should do.
“Our men know the city
, swordmaster,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Braedon’s soldiers may be established there now, but the city has been home to many of our warriors since they were children. I believe we can pursue them now without placing the men in too much danger.”
“Very well, my lord.” He nodded once-it took Renald a moment to recognize it as a bow-and started to walk away.
Is that what you would have done? he wanted to ask. Am I doing the right thing? But he didn’t dare show the man how uncertain he was, how ill-equipped to be leading this army to war. And then a thought came to him, one that turned his innards to water and nearly made his knees buckle. He would be leading this charge into the city. How could he not? He almost ran after the swordmaster to tell him that he had changed his mind, that they would wait for daybreak. But did he really want to lead a charge into an ordered defense, one that the emperor’s captains had all night to plan?
Ean have pity, what have I done?
“Are you well, my lord?”
Renald turned so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. Pillad was standing just beside him, having snuck up on him like a cat stalking prey.
“Yes, I’m fine,” the duke said, a bit too quickly.
“You look pale, my lord.”
“A trick of the light, no doubt. As I said, I’m fine.” He had no desire to be anywhere near this man just now. “We ride into battle within the hour. We’ll be attacking the Braedony strongholds in the city. I want you with the healers. I’m sure they’re already tending to the men who were wounded in our first assault. You should find them now.”
“But, my lord-”
“You’ll have an opportunity to ride with me when we go south to the Moorlands. Right now I want you with the healers. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, my lord.” The Qirsi bowed, his expression revealing little. He looked like he might say more, but instead he withdrew, descending the tower stairs.
Renald intended to go that same way, but he waited until he was certain that Pillad had reached the bottom of the winding stairway. He could feel some of the archers watching him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the city. When he finally left the ramparts, he welcomed the solitude of the tower stairs as he would rain on a sweltering day. He had to resist an urge to leave the stairs at the castle’s second level and take to his quarters until the fighting was over. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stepped into the ward and was greeted by a sight that did little to calm his nerves.
