Perhaps that was her role, to force Wierstoke and Roisen to cooperate in this matter. Her mistake had been that she included the whole of court. To do this, she would have to return to court, but first, she needed to establish what the villagers needed. Her focus had been on Colmire and Dunstone, but there were also other villages, and she had no idea how they were faring. Tondoke, the old, ravaged capital of Solmna from before Raufasger’s time, had to be the same.
At this point, she wasn't sure if anyone knew. What Niesen Woord was up to, she had no idea. Was he still gathering information, or had he stopped? This was another reason to return to court. Perhaps she would have to do the job of a ruler while the ambitious fought over the right to rule. With the guard on her side, she could muster enough power to force action.
Looking down on her daughter, she knew she had to leave. Her work was not done. As before, she couldn't ignore the world and simply be here. Too many would suffer. Yet again, she had to sacrifice in order to protect her children and the world they existed in. With Torunn's death, these hard things now fell to her, and she hated it.
Would he have made the same decisions as her? She hoped so, but she didn't know. Surely, he would not have been ambitious enough to seek to be ruler himself? He wouldn't have married her if his ambition had run so deep. Other things had been important to him—their love for one. A scarce treasure in this world.
Chapter 5
QUIET AND LARGE eyes in pale faces told Roisen something had happened. What disturbed him more was that he hadn't found out about it before now. The lines of communications had been destroyed and it was something he needed to re-establish if he was going to win this war. His spies were all off surveying his enemies' estates, seeing what men and resources they were gathering for this war. The picture of Wierstoke's capabilities was being filled in every day.
But this, whatever the people here were worried about, had not reached his ears and that was an oversight he needed to address. He needed to know these things before they happened.
Fiedra approached him, her skirts swaying. With all that has happened, she still made an effort with her appearance, conveying power with silks and jewels. Perhaps because she didn't know what else to do.
"Roenbaum got himself murdered," she stated.
Roisen didn't respond, not wanting to display that this was news to him. As much as Fiedra was an ally, he couldn't entirely trust her. Weakness could not be shown to anyone. It was a mantra so ingrained, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to shake it. Trust no one. "So I understand."
Searching eyes surveyed him. More than a few suspected he had done it. A bit too underhanded for his tastes. No, his course was set. There was to be war. Saying that, Roenbaum was one of Wierstoke's most ardent supporters, and all the work Roisen had done to win him over had been for naught.
Question was. Did he want these people to think he had murdered Roenbaum? Would it serve his interests that these people feared him? Would it show strength? Not that he would claim something he didn't do, but he might not spend much effort correcting any misconceptions.
"The court is becoming a dangerous place," Fiedra said, "if we cannot trust our own safety walking down the corridors around here."
"Nowhere is safe at the moment. You need to have guards with you at all times. It is not only the throne at play here, but any grudge anyone has accumulated. There is no discouragement to anyone pushing their agenda in terms of removing enemies."
Fiedra shuddered and looked around the room with renewed suspicion. "More people are leaving," she said.
"So they should. Perhaps you should consider retreating to your estate."
"Are we really any safer there?"
"It will be easier to see your enemies coming."
"Perhaps the citadel will become a ghost town where no one trusts themselves to be."
"It is likely."
Wierstoke appeared, a silk waistcoat stretched over his protruding belly. In terms of strength and litheness, he did not appear a great enemy, but true strength in this contest was not related to personal prowess. The army he was accumulating was sizeable. Roenbaum's death would throw some questions into consistency.
If someone on his side did this without his knowledge, Roisen was going to be very angry. Unilateral decisions by his allies could not be tolerated right now. Roenbaum's murder had implications that were indeterminable just now. On the surface, it seemed a good thing, but it wasn't if Roenbaum had eventually chosen to defect. One means of influencing the outcome of this contest was now lost.
"You've always been envious," someone accused across the room. "Your whole life, you have coveted what I have. Don't deny it."
"As if I would be envious of you. Have you lost your mind?" the receiving party countered.
"If you come anywhere me or mine, I will kill you."
And that was how easily things deteriorated. This war had to commence or there would be no court left to rule. This war had to start. The time for preparation was over. Besides, the disruption that Roenbaum's death caused would only be to Roisen's benefit.
"I think it is time to leave these gatherings behind," Roisen said and Fiedra turned back to him. "It is time for this war to start."
"Have you spoken to the captain of the guard?" she asked.
"Yes, he insists on being non-committal."
"That is disappointing. I suppose they must submit to whoever wins in battle."
"He said something to that effect. They are willing to accept the victor as the next ruler, which is something." The guard would be a pain and a big problem if they did not accept the outcome of this contest, so perhaps it would be prudent to not push them. Besides, they were utterly distracted by quelling revolts around the land, which was necessary through this period.
It was time to send Wierstoke an invitation to meet. It was time to declare war, and it was a task that didn't need an audience.
"You should return to your apartments this evening, and I urge you to return to your estate."
"I am capable of protecting myself," Fiedra said tartly. "People have a habit of underestimating me."
With a tight smile, Roisen realized that she was armed as they spoke. No, perhaps he ought to not underestimate her. She was a creature of this court, a creature of politics and intrigue. Hopefully this war would never reach her, and her skills would be enough to protect her.
With a nod, Roisen turned his back and left. There was nothing to be gained in these ballrooms now. Anyone who had refused to voice their allegiance now would have to do so in a hurry or proceed without allegiance. It would be a choice Roisen would remember once victory was his. One such dissenter sat like an aching discrepancy in his mind. It hurt him that Ashra had not sided with him and continued to defy him. Their alliance was logical in every way, but yet she thwarted him with her silence and her absence. The absence he could understand, but her silence, her rejection of his protection stung.
Returning to his apartments, he wrote a note and asked for it to be delivered to Wierstoke. Again, he looked over the plans for battle he had made, the battalions that would be under his direction and the commanders that would lead them. Everything had been carefully considered, including the movement of troops and supplies. The only thing left to decide was where the battle was to be.
There was something to be said for having it on land he knew, but the devastation was not something he wanted to bring to his own estates. Wierstoke would probably feel the same. So who would bear the burden of this battle? The Greve estate came into mind. It would serve her right for refusing to engage. Still, he refused to answer the question. He didn't want to be the one to decide that her estate would be the scene of war.
*
Early in the morning, Roisen stood at the edge of the courtyard he had chosen as the meeting place. The wind buffeted over the ledge that overlooked the valley beyond the citadel. Iciness bit with the wind, stinging the skin of his face. It was getting colder than it had been and this courtyard was high, picking up the ic
y wind that came over the snow-capped mountains in the distance.
A noise behind him told him that others had joined them. Turning he saw Wierstoke, standing with his men. Neither did Roisen trust his enemy enough to come entirely unguarded.
"The time has come," Roisen said as Wierstoke approached him.
"Seems Lady Greve hasn't come to the party," Wierstoke said with an annoyingly pleased countenance.
"She has children to care for, including my heir." Actually, having the battle on the Greve estate might not be something he could support.
"Weakens you," Wierstoke continued.
"Do you think so? You will have to find out the hard way."
"It would be a pleasure. I think it is time to end this uncertainty."
It would be nice to think that Wierstoke would adhere to the outcomes of this battle, but Roisen knew better than to think one battle would solve things. It would simply be a measure of strength. There would be more than one battle and it would be the war that needed to be won.
"So where do we do this?" Roisen asked.
"Why not here?" Wierstoke said, indicating to the valley below.
It was neutral ground. A fight by the very throne itself. "Fine," Roisen agreed. "One week and we meet at dawn."
"So melodramatic," Wierstoke complained, "but you always were."
Roisen felt the tug of annoyance, while at the same time, he knew full well that Wierstoke was having a parting shot at him. "Save your insults for the battlefield. You are going to need them."
Chapter 6
IT WASN'T FAR PAST dawn when Ashra set off for Colmire, accompanied by an armed guard. From what the driver of her grain shipments said, having an armed escort was absolutely essential, and not even that guaranteed safety.
This dire warning did have her nervous, but it would take a full-scale revolt to subdue her guard. From inside her carriage, she watched as the landscape slowly passed by. Nothing looked untoward, but then she hadn't really seen much away from her own lands.
At one point, further along down the road, two of the citadel guards passed her at speed, riding their horses as if they were in the utmost hurry. Seeing the guard on the road gave her some semblance of comfort. It couldn't be complete chaos if the guard were still out and about.
It was a long ride to Colmire, and Ashra had spent too much time alone with her own thoughts, a place she didn't want to be right now, as there were too many worries, hurts and concerns that pressed on her heart.
The village was still there. She initially saw it from a distance, and they slowly crept closer. The grain carriage trundled behind her, and she had the heavy task of telling them that she had to reduce the amount she shipped, quite dramatically.
Instead, she would promise to make a case to the crown to ensure the village had sufficient grain coming. There was no doubt she had to go to court to do so, to make such a nuisance of herself that the administration which still ran things in a liege's absence performed its duty to the people of this land.
The first thing she noticed was that it wasn't quite as muddy as it had been last time and she didn't quite know what to make of that. Until it occurred to her that it was a lack of traffic that made the streets seem more serene. There were no horses and carriages coming through here.
There had been hunger here the last time she'd come, but she saw no one now. The shops were shut. The toymaker's shop was dark and locked. Where had they gone? Was the village deserted? No, it couldn't be. People came for the grain.
As they pulled up, it was quiet for a while, no movement until people slowly started to emerge, their bowls in hand waiting for the grain shipment. Because she was there, they were more tentative in approaching—worried to see her. Perhaps they should be as she came with bad news, perhaps devastating news.
There was silence as they tentatively approached the grain cart, taking their share and removing themselves as quickly as they could, as if they feared someone appearing. Maybe it wasn't her they feared, but someone else.
Ashra tried to smile at anyone who looked at her. How could she stop the grain carts? These people were utterly dependent on them—but her stocks were running low and eventually, she would run out, and thereby put her entire estate in a weakened position.
Children looked utterly ragged and hungry, some having no shoes on their feet, standing on the cold ground with their tiny, bare feet. No one could afford the shoemaker, it seemed, hence the shoemaker shut up shop. Or they'd sold their shoes out of sheer desperation.
The tavern was where the leaders of the village, such as they were, had been the last time she'd come here. They'd been surly and threatening and she expected even more anger now. Perhaps the people were too hungry to be angry.
"Come with me," she said to a couple of her guards, and started walking into the village toward where the tavern was.
It still had light inside and it had warm, wood burning in the fire. As she looked at it, she saw it was either part of an old cart or furniture. The village was consuming itself.
As before, everyone stopped as she entered, stared at her in her warm, fine clothes. "I've come to inquire about the state of the village," she said and no one spoke. Eyes simply stared at her.
"We're starving," a man finally said.
Ashra didn't know what to say. Her shipments were crucial. "Are there any grain carts other than mine?"
"No," another man said. "They stopped, in place of payment for recruitment."
"Recruitment?" Lorcan, the bastard, must have stopped the carts. And now he was recruiting men.
"There is to be a war. Haven't you heard? Payment for anyone who enlists."
"My stocks are not endless. They will run out," she admitted, to get nothing but silence. "Who manages these lands around the village?"
"It's crown land."
"And why does it not support you?"
"The field hands left. The horses were taken. There is no one to manage it. Even if we grew something, it would be taken away," the barman said, crossing his arms.
"This land must be used to feed this village," Ashra said and a man snorted. "Do you have a better suggestion?" she challenged.
"We could get rid of people like you," a man said. Ashra recognized him. It was the same man that had challenged her and made her uncomfortable last time.
"She's the one feeding us," another said to him. "Without her, we'd have nothing."
Getting up, the man snorted. "They are the cause of our misery," he said sharply, his words aimed at everyone in the tavern. "Paltry charity doesn’t make up for it. They did this. They took everything and now they're starting a war, where we are the ones that are going to die. Half of us starve, the other half fodder for their fucking armies."
"He's right," Ashra admitted, silence descending on the room, "but I do not have the power to change that. Right now, however, food is the primary concern, and I am going to try. There is land here—farm it."
"They will simply take our crops."
"I will get dispensation."
"You’re a dreamer."
"I will get you assurance from Captain Burgess himself." Everyone knew who Captain Burgess was. He was feared uniformly across the land, but he was respected and a signed letter from him, they would take as truth. "Pigs and sheep, rear as many as you can for your own purposes. Sow the fields."
"And when the war comes?" the challenger said, turning to her. He was young, about her age. Light brown eyes and long brown hair that could use a wash. "Then what?"
"It is not your war. Stay out of their way."
"We have nowhere to go, lady." He used her title like an insult.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could solve every problem, but I can't. I tried, but they are more interested in war than they are anything else. Let them exhaust themselves. This will end eventually."
"For you, perhaps," he said, stepping closer.
Ashra refused to be intimidated. "Triage. It's a necessary concept. It means to fight the battles you can win."
"I know what it means," he said with derision. He wasn't stupid. There was intelligence in his eyes.
"Then lead your village through these hard times. Find a way to feed and protect them," Ashra said sharply.
"I thought you were going to do that."
"I will do what I can," she said, running out of patience. "Do what is necessary. It's useless to lament how unfair it all is. It is undeniably unfair. No one is arguing that. It's shit, but it's the cards that have been dealt. So take them and make the best use of them. I will try the best I can, but no one is watching out for you other than you. Don't expect assistance. Your anger is not going to feed this village."
She'd had enough of arguing with him. If he refused to be practical, there was nothing she could do for him. There was no point lamenting how unjust it was. They were well beyond any notion of justice here. Didn't he understand that?
Taking one last look around, she left, her skirt sweeping the doorway as she did. The cold was sharp away from the warmth of the tavern, where most of the village seemed to congregate. In a sense, she was both angry and disappointed. The anger they had was undermining them. But in a sense, he was right too. The crown could easily see it as within its right to take any crop they grew. Wierstoke or Lorcan would happily loot anything the village had to feed their armies, which they were both growing, seeing their needs before anyone else—their own selfish versions of triage.
The times were darkening, and it was impossible to sell these people any hope, because the situation was increasingly hopeless. It wasn't just this village suffering. All others must be as well, except Colmire was better off in that she had been spending her stores to support them.
The only way forward that she could see was to twist the arm of the administration until they let the village use the land around them for their own purposes—especially now that no one was farming it and the hands and horses were gone, as they had stated. With no help, they couldn't produce much of a crop, but perhaps enough to feed themselves.
She would have to go to the citadel, make another attempt to get them to see reason. Even as she said it, she knew it was wrong. Lorcan and Wierstoke probably wouldn't sit down and talk about anything. They were both preparing for war. And Niesen Woord was useless in all regards. The only thing she could do was get assurance from Captain Burgess that he would not interfere with the villagers growing crop to feed themselves. It would be Niesen who would seek to confiscate it—unfortunately, probably from a village in worse need than this one.
Dark Court: The Final Hour Page 3
