by David Hair
The family rose and turned and Lyra let out a small sigh of relief: another House pledged, although she’d not have trusted her life to any of them if she’d been left alone in the room.
Then the young son surprised her by turning back and kneeling again. This time he lifted his empty scabbard in both hands, as if in offering. ‘Kore bless you, Majesty,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Let me serve you.’
Lyra saw the rest of his family rolling their eyes, but the young man either didn’t notice or didn’t care. ‘Sir . . .’ Lyra asked.
‘I am Sir Argus Misen,’ the young man cried, his shining eyes fixed on her.
Oh dear, another admirer. ‘Sir Argus, I’m sure you’d be welcome in the Royal Guard,’ she started, but his father was glaring.
‘A Misen does not serve with guardsmen or common soldiers,’ Tybor Misen sniffed. ‘No son of mine—’
‘My Queen,’ his son interrupted, ‘let me serve you – and your republic – as a knight.’
‘But—’
Lyra stopped when Dirklan bent and whispered in her ear, ‘You’ve not inaugurated any new knightly orders – this is an excellent chance, and will perhaps get us some badly needed support.’
‘How?’ she whispered.
‘Just decree it – you have the right. Servants of the Realm, paragons of virtue, protectors of virgins, that sort of nonsense. Who knows, it might channel the young bravos’ energy into something useful.’
She gave her father a reproving look, then turned back to the earnest young knight. ‘Sir Argus, I am moved,’ she told him, making his face glow. ‘Our republic does indeed have need of brave and virtuous men, pledged to protect the traditions of knightly honour, loyal service and . . . um . . . protecting virgins,’ she blurted – damn you Father, for putting those words in my head – then trying to recover by adding, ‘and of course, all women, from harm.’
Even queens. Especially queens.
‘You shall be the Order of Misencourt. Your patron shall be Saint Nara.’ There really was a Saint Nara, a martyr to Kore in the early Rimoni Empire. ‘Your head shall be Sir Exilium Excelsior, a paragon of virtue and proud servant of the realm. All mage-knights of the Blood are invited to join.’
She turned her head and looking up at Exilium, said quietly, ‘I really don’t need two bodyguards.’ Seeing the uncertainty on his face, as if he feared his service had been rejected, she announced to the hall, ‘Sir Exilium Excelsior, will you become my First Sword of Rondelmar?’
He swelled up, then burst out with, ‘Praise you, my Queen—’ and came racing around to kneel at her feet and kiss her hand. ‘The Knights of Misencourt will become famed for our piety and our loyalty: we shall be the strength of your arms.’ He stood and drew his sword, walked to the still kneeling Sir Argus Misen and touched the young man’s shoulders with the naked blade. ‘You will be my second, Sir Argus.’ He glared around the court. ‘Who here has the courage to join us?’
For a moment Lyra feared the answer would be no one – then a knot of young men standing among the Corani loyalists looked at each other, all youngest sons living meagrely, sniffing opportunity. Traditionally, knightly orders provided equipment, lodgings and a stipend, which was more than a provincial lord gave.
Someone called out, ‘I will join.’
When he strode forward, his friends followed suit and within minutes, the Order of Misencourt numbered almost fifty mage-knights – mostly, Lyra realised, at the cost of the Great Houses’ private warbands.
Dirklan winked at her, but she could see dissatisfied faces among the mage-lords.
She walked to Lord Misen and smiled at him. ‘Lord Tybor, as honorary patron of the Order that bears your name, you will need to see the Treasurer about assistance in extending your halls.’
Lord Tybor’s face, which had gone through annoyance to rising anger, suddenly cleared. ‘Misencourt is honoured, my Queen,’ he proclaimed, striding forward and placing a proud hand on the shoulder of his illegitimate son for possibly the first time, judging by how awkward it looked for both. ‘Long live Rondelmar!’
As the court echoed his shout, Lyra smiled wryly. With your son a part of my first knightly order, you have no choice but to be firmly on our side now.
She took up the heavy sceptre and raised her voice. ‘Let the badge of the Knights of Misencourt be the Winter Tree, the Vereinen emblem. Let your colour be red, for the rose of the republic. May Kore bless and keep you.’
She told Exilium to stay with his new men. ‘Take command of them, marshal them and make arrangements for them – you’ll need to quarter them in the Bastion for now, until the halls of Misencourt can be readied.’
Misencourt is miles away, somewhere south of the river, she remembered. Her new knights wouldn’t be going there any time soon, not when she needed them right here.
She stood, which meant everyone else but Dominius had to kneel, and swept from the room, feeling like she’d just won a minor victory.
Taking Basia, she headed for the council rooms, her counsellors and Ari Frankel trailing after them. Servants poured wine, then withdrew. It had been a long, tense day and Lyra sipped her glass gratefully.
‘Gentlemen,’ she began, ‘that seemed to go well. Forty-seven of the sixty Pallacian Houses took the oath – and we formed a new knightly order, which stole fifty men from those Houses. A good day’s work.’
‘They’re mostly half-blood bastards,’ Dominius put in.
‘But many will be better warriors than their pure-blood kindred,’ Oryn commented. ‘The pure-blood heirs tend to spend more time with quills and coins then blade or periapt. It was well done, Milady.’
Lyra was warmed by the praise. ‘Credit goes to Dirklan, who saw the opportunity before I did.’
‘What of the absent Houses?’ Calan asked.
Dirklan’s good eye glinted. ‘Six of them were planning to aid either Takwyth or the Sacrecours. We raided them separately last night and arrested the key plotters.’ He glanced at Calan. ‘If the treachery is proven, their treasuries are yours.’
‘Every coin is a drop of blood in our veins,’ Calan said – a quote from one of his own speeches, if Lyra recalled correctly. He tapped his pile of papers. ‘And we have the signatures of five of the six major banks. Loans are forthcoming. We are, technically, solvent.’
‘Through some of the most dastardly tactics of financial malfeasance known,’ Dominius rumbled. He’d found out about the State Bank legislation that morning and had deduced the rest: but it was a fait accompli and as they’d left him no time to get his money out, all he could do was mutter about it.
‘Is that reproval or envy I hear?’ Calan smirked.
‘Dread.’ Dominius sniffed. ‘Is nothing is safe from your predatory avarice?’
‘I do hope not.’
Lyra’s spirits lifted to hear these implacable rivals bantering, after all they’d done to each other. She turned to her Knight-Commander. ‘Oryn, how is the recruitment going?’
‘Latest reports are good,’ he said. ‘This morning the recruiting stations were inundated with volunteers. Many have never fought before, though: we’re trying to separate out the veterans so we can arm and assign them first.’
‘Mix the new men with the old,’ Dirklan advised. ‘Let them learn by example.’
Ari Frankel raised a hand. ‘Spirits are high, Majesty, and the city was quiet last night.’
‘But what about Lazar?’ Dirklan wanted to know. ‘And Tad Kaden and his gang?’
Ari shifted uncomfortably on his seat. ‘Tad helped me reach her Majesty. I saw him two days ago, and he told me he would be leaving the city as soon as his sister is freed.’
Lyra had granted Braeda’s pardon, but she would not release her until this crisis was over. Kaden might resent that, but for once she held the upper hand.
‘Where will they go afterwards – to join our enemies?’ Dominius growled.
‘I know not,’ Ari replied. ‘As for Lazar . . . perhaps a pardon, or an amnesty
. . .?’
‘No,’ Lyra said firmly. ‘I will not reward violence.’
‘He would say that nothing would have been achieved without his actions,’ Ari argued.
‘I agree with her Majesty,’ Dirklan put in. ‘It’s too soon. His sort are never satisfied unless they are burning or killing. Reform was their excuse – trust me, they’ll quickly find another.’
Oryn put in, ‘I’m reassigning one of the two legions who’ve been penning the Mob in the dockland to the walls. The other needs to stay in place, I think, until the two armies arrive.’
‘It would be a show of faith to withdraw both,’ Ari put in.
‘But Lazar’s still out there,’ Oryn retorted. ‘What do you know about military planning anyway, scribe?’
‘I know what the people think,’ Ari replied, not at all intimidated. ‘The City Guard were sufficient before, yes? So let them return and the legions go and fight.’
Lyra looked at Dirklan, who nodded faintly.
‘I take your point, Oryn, but I’m inclined to agree with Master Frankel: we need a visible show of faith,’ she decided, which made Oryn scowl. ‘Let us demonstrate our belief in the unity of the city. At the moment Lazar has no pretext to act against us, so let’s not furnish him with one.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Moving on. The secession?’
‘Same as yesterday, but more so,’ Dirklan responded. ‘Argundy, Estellayne and Lantris have publicly declared their own sovereignty, while informally their ambassadors thank her Majesty and express the desire to keep diplomatic channels – and trade links – open.’
‘What of military alliance?’ Oryn asked.
‘Too soon, but we’ll get there – as long as we survive Solon and Garod.’ Dirklan produced a piece of parchment. ‘This is a letter from Duke Salinas of Aquillea, reaffirming his commitment to Rondelmar, but proposing new terms: a halfway house position giving them favourable treatment in return for supporting the throne – but he’s careful not to specify who is sitting on that throne.’
‘Worm,’ Dominius sniffed.
‘It’s what I’d do,’ Calan objected.
‘Like I said.’
‘Gentlemen,’ Lyra reproved. ‘What about the South?’
‘Midrea, Noros and Bricia are silent,’ Dirklan replied. ‘Midrea have Imperial Armies shielding them from the Shihad just now and don’t want to upset us; Noros is occupied by the Shihad and Bricia’s most powerful man is Seth Korion, who’s penned up in Norostein. Don’t expect responses from them anytime soon. Hollenia is disintegrating into factions, as is Brevis. And Andressea is scared they’ll get no protection if Schlessen raiders emerge from the forests. They’ll want to stay allied with us, at the very least.’
It was about as good as they could expect: no one was going to help them; but there was enough doubt about the outcome that few were siding with Garod Sacrecour or Solon Takwyth either.
Lyra looked down the table, thinking, I’ll miss this. Four of these five men could still betray me before this crisis is over, but I do like them. She rose. ‘I believe the rest is logistics, and I’ve had a long day. Lord Setallius, please attend on me.’
She made a point of thanking each man personally for their support, even though Dominius and Calan had both acted against her at times and Oryn and Ari still might. It’s the end of an era – if six years can count as an era.
‘Gentlemen, I’ve decided in the coming days it would be better for me to remain in the background. Father has convinced me that I’m too important to risk myself needlessly, so we’re turning the Royal Suite into even more of a fortress. Pass all messages through Basia de Sirou, if you would. Oh, and our Lord Spymaster has been assigned a special mission, so he too may not be as visible as usual.’
‘He’s not usually visible at all,’ Oryn muttered.
‘That’s my job,’ Dirklan told him.
‘It’s sensible, Majesty,’ Calan told her.
‘Unusually so,’ Dominius agreed suspiciously.
Lyra smiled. ‘Quite. Good luck, gentlemen.’ We’re going to need it.
She left the council room, clutching her father’s arm and praying for the strength to do what must be done.
23
Three Armies
The Ill-Omened Number
In Rondian culture, three is the unluckiest number. While two people can be in harmony, add a third and that harmony will be destroyed. There is no place for three bodies in a bed, or three armies on a battlefield.
DARUN TRINHURST, DIARIST, PALLAS 881
Pallas, Rondelmar
Martrois 936
Basia de Sirou felt like all her life had been preparation for this moment. For years she’d been champing at the bit to show Dirklan what she could do. Now the enormity of it left her breathless.
Dear Kore, I’m effectively the Commander of the Volsai.
Dirklan always said controlling spies was like herding snakes: the deadly men and women tended to lash out when cornered. But he’d worked hard to instil camaraderie into his people, and a feeling of family. She hoped they saw her in that way too.
Right now her eyes were spread right through the city, hunting down leads on Sacrecour spies and Corani traitors. There was something being planned by men loyal to Solon Takwyth and her agents were closing in, but Takwyth was only a few days away now, and the Sacrecours were even closer. They’d be outside the walls the day after tomorrow.
On the plus side, the priests, dissidents and street-preachers were finally singing from the same hymn-sheet: Kore protect the Queen and the Republic. The news from the wider empire was encouraging and the Sacrecour cause felt isolated; none of the newly ceded states wanted their return. The royal legions were integrating the veterans among Frankel’s dissidents as swiftly as could be hoped, and Exilium’s new ‘Knights of Misencourt’ were drilling hard in mounted combat.
Leaving the Royal Suite in Brigeda’s hands, Basia went to the central stairs to intercept Exilium, who was armoured up and heading for the stables and another day’s training with his new unit. He was limping and his really rather gorgeous face was marred with fresh bruises.
‘What happened?’ She tsked, stroking his cheek, then blushed as she realised what she’d done.
His face took on the confused state it usually had around her. ‘There are some good fighters among the knights.’
‘Did someone beat you?’ she asked archly.
‘No,’ he said, his quietly dismissive voice saying more than boasting, ‘all three of them are in far worse state than I. But they’ll recover, I’m told.’
Holy Kore. She knew he was good, but three men at once? ‘Try to leave some standing for the battle.’
‘I shall,’ he said earnestly, then he asked, ‘Is there news?’
‘Of course – we Volsai know everything first.’ She leaned closer and dropped her voice. ‘Takwyth’s Corani are three days away on the north road, while Garod Sacrecour’s men are a day closer, thanks to their river-barges.’
They both knew the numbers: Takwyth had four of his own legions and two of Hollenian mercenaries. Garod had nine. Lyra had seven, now that the dissidents had joined them, some 35,000 men. Ordinarily, fortifications were meant to count for double in military reckoning, but the outer walls of Pallas were poor. The empire had been at peace for centuries, and walls an expense that successive emperors had felt they could forego.
Once the armies get inside, they’ll run amok, fellow Rondians or not. She shuddered, remembering 909 and the Hel that had cost both her legs – remembering Ril . . . and above all, Brylion Fasterius. It was a rare night that the stink of his alcohol-breath and the weight of his body on her back didn’t rip her from sleep, leaving her crying aloud from remembered pain and terror. With difficulty, she thrust the image aside and clapped Exilium’s arm. ‘On the bright side, Rolven Sulpeter is marching north with six Corani legions—’
‘—and on the dark side, we don’t know whose side he’s on,’ Exilium finished for her.
�
�Ours, I hope,’ she replied, but she doubted that; the old lord would despise Lyra’s new res publica and in any case, his son marched with Takwyth. ‘He’s making his way to the Siber to take barges north. He should reach Pallas a day after Takwyth.’
‘Then what will we do?’ Exilium asked.
‘That’s what’s about to be decided,’ she told him. ‘I’m heading for an army meeting now.’
Exilium made the Sign of Corineus over his chest. ‘We have the blessing of his Holiness, and our Sacred Queen as our banner. We will prevail, for Kore will light our path to victory.’
I won’t burst his bubble. ‘Get your men ready,’ she told him. ‘I’ll see you later.’
They met each other’s eyes briefly. He means well and he’s a decent man, she thought. She suspected that he was seeing her with fonder eyes now too, but his faith was still a barrier between them. She’d never met a man more fervent about his religion, even among the priesthood.
‘Kore go with you,’ he said as they parted.
She entered the council room to find Oryn Levis already there, standing with a mix of Pallacian and Corani legion commanders. They’d all been appointed by Lyra and were loyal up to a point – except that they’d all served Solon Takwyth first. None of them looked pleased to see a Volsai interrupting their discussions.
‘Lady Basia,’ Oryn Levis greeted her. ‘Do you have fresh intelligence?’
‘I do,’ she replied. Unlike the stale intellects I see here. She quickly outlined the latest reports from Volsai overflying the armies converging on Pallas. She finished by saying, ‘Garod Sacrecour has brought siege-engines on his barges – including catapults. Those could cause great destruction inside the walls.’
‘The housing is close-packed in Esdale and the eastern parts of the city,’ Legate Cornelius, a Corani veteran, noted. ‘If he sets the place alight, we could lose half the city.’
‘The walls will be taken in half a day,’ Oryn Levis predicted gloomily. ‘Better we don’t rely on them at all. We should march out and choose the field of battle. There is high ground east of the city we could defend.’
