Conquests and Crowns

by S E Meliers

  She appeared from some secretive recess to one side of him, pushing back her hood as she approached as she knew he preferred to see her face. ‘My Prince,’ she bowed low.

  ‘Do not,’ he said sitting heavily on the bed. ‘I am not in the mood. You, at least, can treat me with respect and leave the politicking at the door.’

  ‘I am sorry, Cinder,’ she crawled up on the bed behind him and rubbed his shoulders. He groaned letting his head loll back as she hit a sore spot with her strong fingers. They sat in silence for long minutes as she eased him, understanding and long association sitting easy with the platonic touch and allowing him the space to sort out his thoughts at his own pace and without pressure.

  ‘There was a dead Hallow found near the EAerymen’s room,’ he murmured.

  ‘I am unsurprised as I left him there,’ she replied with a final squeeze, swinging her long legs off the bed. ‘He saw me leaving the EAerymen’s room.’

  ‘And what were you doing in the EAerymen’s room?’ he asked; then sneered in realisation. ‘Really, Spider? I am surprised…’ he shook his head disgruntled with the mental image of her with the EAerymen. ‘You could at least have disposed of the body a little more discretely.’

  She shrugged, indifferent. ‘It cannot be traced back to me,’ she said, ‘and causes confusion. So why bother?’ she walked over to his writing table and began flicking through his papers idly. ‘How goes it?’ she asked picking up a field report. ‘I warrant you itch to be back in the saddle with a sword at your hip and blood on your hands.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he went over to the wash table and pulled off his shirt to splash cold water on his face, hair and torso. He dried himself on the cloth hanging there for that purpose. ‘I am leaving Amori tomorrow. Truen has been under siege for too long. They will either surrender in the next few days, or we will have to take more aggressive measures. If the latter is to occur, I will be there to oversee it.’

  She grinned. ‘This is not just an excuse to escape courtly life and the Shoethalian ladies who arrived yesterday eve?’ she teased him.

  He grinned back, recapturing the flippancy of youth in the moment. ‘Perhaps, a little,’ he admitted without repentance. ‘You know I’ve never had a talent with such things.’

  ‘What things,’ she batted her eyes coyly. ‘Copulation?’

  He laughed. ‘In that, I’ve never had any complaints,’ he assured her with pride. ‘I am a man of action, not of words and wooing,’ he explained even though he knew it to be unnecessary. Spider knew him as well, if not better, than he knew himself. He shrugged. ‘Any way, I am off to Truen, which means…’

  ‘I understand,’ she nodded. ‘And the Lady Patience?’ she asked holding his gaze with her green-grass eyes.

  He sighed. ‘I would take her with me, if I could,’ he said rubbing at his neck, uncomfortable with the sentiment he felt regarding the Lady. ‘But she must remain at Amori as her youngest child is still reliant on her, and it is not a journey on which one should take such a young child. I do not think she would be willing to leave, anyway. She is determined to secure Amori for her boy, and to protect the other children of its citizens. If she left, no doubt Gallant would interfere with what she had done thus far.’

  ‘The school is a very clever idea,’ Spider acknowledged, her expression not exhibiting the sentiment he knew she would feel about such a project. ‘Merciful. And you have to give her credit for her devotion to her children. Do you think Gallant will leave her alone in your absence?’

  Cinder scowled; the Priest was like a bad tooth – now that he was aware of the problem, the discomfort it caused was increased. ‘No, I would not put it past him to interfere with her in one way or another,’ he clenched his hands. ‘I need you, Spider-’

  ‘Do you not always,’ she smiled coyly.

  He laughed. ‘I need you to look after the Lady Patience in my absence.’

  ‘And by look after you mean?’

  ‘Keep her safe from Gallant’s machinations,’ Cinder hesitated, ‘and keep her safe from any machinations she might become involved in, in my absence.’

  ‘You suspect the Lady will try to retake Amori?’ Spider was amused by the idea.

  ‘Nooooo,’ he didn’t think she’d be so brash. ‘But Gallant may try to lure her into something in the hopes of trapping her. If she steps astray…’

  ‘I understand,’ she nodded. ‘You are fond of the Lady, are you not?’ the smile did not reach eyes that saw too much, future and present.

  He touched her cheek, traced a thumb over her lips. ‘I could be, I think,’ he admitted. ‘She is exactly what I would need in a queen. She has many admirable qualities.’

  ‘I am sure,’ she raised an eyebrow suggestively, with misleading levity.

  ‘Not as admirable as yours, of course,’ he kissed her lips lightly, wistfully. She kissed him back in a moment of sweetness. There was a heartbeat where the kiss could have become something more, but it passed and he released her with sadness. She smiled, laid the palm of her hand against his cheek in a caress, and then stepped back and pulled the hood of her cloak up.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked, once again the Hallow.

  ‘Yes,’ there were a hundred things unsaid that must remain unsaid, but that had long been the case. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Hmph,’ she walked to the door, paused there. ‘Be careful out on the field, Cinder,’ she said. ‘Stay behind the line of fire or it will be the death of you.’

  He smiled; amused by the fact she felt he needed warning for a mistake only the rawest recruits made. ‘I am always careful.’

  Shade

  The walled city was in chaos with refugees from the outlying villages. They came with their herds of cattle, goats, sheep, chickens, even geese, in wagons loaded with possessions and kin, or by foot carrying heavy bundles. The lucky ones had kin in the city with whom they could stay; most however were left with no choice but to clutter the streets and squares. The streets were thick with refuse of both the animal and human kind, unavoidable but also a harbinger of disease; and panic and discord was thick in the air.

  Through this cacophony, armed soldiers controlled the delivery of the early harvest into the special caves deep below the castle that lay permanently partially stocked for this purpose. Watching, Shade knew, and suspected most of those people below whose lives would depend on that food knew, that there was not enough to feed everyone for long, and that if the fields were destroyed either by Lyendar or by the invading Shoethalians, these people would soon suffer from famine.

  Sadly, their best hope was for the Shoethalians to overpower Lyendar swiftly, to massacre a good number of their population, thus reducing the mouths to feed and allowing the remainder of the people to return swiftly to gathering for winter. Sieges only benefited the nobility – they would always be fed and it was their reign they sought to protect. The poor always lost out.

  It was why he was glad not to be poor.

  Lyendar, like most of the eastern holdings, was designed for siege. The walled city surrounded the castle, providing the first bastion of defence. The castle itself was an island within a water moat, and contained two baileys, three curtain walls and twelve round towers, with battlements. The invaders would need, therefore, to breach four curtain walls (including that about the city itself) and three baileys, each manned with crossbowmen, mangonels, and machicolations, and a moat, to end the siege. However, the invaders were of incredible number, well-armed with their own mangonels and siege engines, and had the advantage of time with which to prepare and supply their army, whereas Lyendar was poorly supplied and overcrowded. Time was Lyendar’s enemy.

  Shade considered the balcony on which he stood. The sparse balconies were one of the few decorative features of the castle; the sort of viewpoints from which a Queen and her attendants would stand vigil for the return of her crusading King, eyes fixed on the horizon. Out of the way of the battlements, far enough back from any vantage point of attack or defence, whilst in clear s
ight of those vantage points, and this particular balcony led into a comfortably, though not luxuriously, appointed room.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked Song, who stood at his side, resplendent in unadorned red velvet cut a little low at the bodice. Her glossy dark hair was precisely dressed in thick sausages of ringlets that framed her face charmingly. He wondered who did her hair as he had never hired a maid servant for her; then shrugged the thought away. It was one of the many mysteries of Song that enchanted him. ‘Do you think you could stand it?’ he asked. She looked around and smiled, which he took as acceptance. ‘Very well then, make it happen.’

  She touched his elbow in a gentle caress and left the balcony, disappearing into the room. He knew that within the afternoon, their possessions would be redistributed around their new abode. He leaned against the parapet. The city spread out below like a map, with the people ants upon it. Beyond the curtain wall surrounding the city, marring the pretty fields and meadows, the Shoethalian army was a blight upon the land, flattening crops beneath many feet, smashing cottages into kindling for their fires, butchering any cattle left in the field to roast upon those fires. They controlled the roads in and out of Lyendar, and had set to work in chopping down the nearby forests to supply wood for their war machines. Already the framework of several mobile assault towers could be seen.

  Inside the curtain walls, the soldiers of Lyendar were busy with their defences, checking weapon stocks, setting up large pots on the braziers to boil water and oil for throwing down on invaders through the machicolation grills, and stockpiling rocks and other projectiles for the mangonels. Drawbridges were drawn and portcullises dropped into place on the outer wall.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Honesty joined him on the balcony.

  ‘That some people need to learn to knock,’ Shade scowled but without true ire.

  Honesty shrugged indifferently; the exchange had been ongoing throughout the length of their association and friendship. ‘It is not your room yet,’ he reminded the necromancer, just to needle him into a retort.

  ‘I am in the process of claiming it.’

  ‘I come with wine,’ Honesty smiled charmingly, changing tact as the necromancer was in a mood, displaying the wine skin. ‘Even your doxy could not source a better vintage then this. It is the last of my grandfather’s stock. I figured,’ he sobered taking in the view. ‘That we might as well open it now.’

  ‘You are not confident of success?’ Shade knew that there was very little chance of outlasting the forces they were up against, that much was becoming blatantly obvious with every passing day. Their only hope was that Guarn or the King would send reinforcements. Honesty gave him a look that clearly expressed his opinion of the question. ‘Well, it seemed heartless to just assume defeat,’ Shade shrugged. ‘I thought I would at least sound optimistic.’

  ‘They have superior forces and supplies. All our allies have already fallen to them. Our only hope of salvation is with Guarn who are just as likely to abolish us,’ Honesty laughed dryly. ‘So the only success I am optimistic about is to get through my grandfather’s best vintages before I am beheaded. Care to join me?’

  ‘Unfortunately I have to remain clear headed if I am to have any chance of winning this battle for you, my Lord,’ Shade took the wineskin and sniffed at its mouth. ‘Well, maybe just a little,’ he took a swig and then another, before handing back the skin. ‘A remarkable wine,’ he cleared his throat. ‘And it looks like our friends have begun their assault on the outer wall.’ He watched as mangonels at certain points around the curtain wall let loose their projectiles. They were promptly answered with a volley of arrows from the crossbowmen guarding the battlements.

  ‘They aim to take the city, flooding the castle with refugees. We will not be able to hold siege long with those sorts of numbers,’ Honesty murmured.

  ‘Bar the castle gates,’ Shade suggested.

  ‘Deny my people refuge?’ Honesty shook his head in sharp denial.

  ‘They will not be your people if the castle folds to the Shoethalians,’ Shade reminded him. ‘The castle controls the food supply, and has its own water source. It can operate independently of the city.’ They both winced as another volley struck the curtain wall. ‘The curtain wall is strong, but not as strong as those surrounding the castle. It will not hold. When it appears evident it will fail, bar the gates to prevent an onslaught of refuges. The Shoethalians should have no real interest in peasants. They will hopefully let most of them go back to the fields in the hope of saving the harvest for when the castle does fall. If you can hold out, this harvest can also save your people from starvation.’

  ‘And how many will die?’ Honesty continued to shake his head. ‘It is dishonourable.’ ‘No more will die than if they slowly starve or die of disease within the sieged castle,’ Shade insisted, advocating a stance he personally found repugnant, because it had to be suggested. ‘It is not dishonourable. It is practical.’

  ‘My people will see it as dishonourable, and will rise against me,’ Honesty protested even as he considered and stored the idea for further contemplation.

  ‘At least you will still have a head. You can settle revolts, with a head,’ Shade took another mouthful of wine to wash the foulness of his words away. ‘A head is a very useful thing for a man to have.’

  ‘You are telling me,’ Honesty muttered.

  ‘Well, you had best ride out into the city, let your people see their Lord, and all those honourable things,’ Shade walked into the room. Song had been busy; their possessions were in trunks around the room, and she was occupied with unpacking them. ‘I have things to do, people to kill… Ah, here comes my skellies now.’ The skeletons carried between them a young man, who called out for mercy upon seeing his Lord in the Necromancer’s chamber.

  ‘Yes, my servants told me they are continually cleaning bloody gore from your chambers,’ Honesty said with distaste. ‘I meant to address this with you. You cannot go around killing my people wantonly.’

  ‘Not wantonly,’ Shade dismissed the accusation. ‘Necessarily. And I am truly doing you a service, my friend. These people are the lowest of the lowest denominator: rapists, murders; thugs. I am removing them from your streets before they can continue their heinous crimes.’

  ‘How do you know that they are guilty of these crimes?’ Honesty was intrigued. ‘Do you get them from the dungeons, then?’

  ‘No, those wretches are half dead anyway and hardly yield any power,’ Shade flicked his fingers dismissively. ‘No, I can tell a man’s crimes from the shadows on his spirit, his soul, if you will.’

  ‘Really?’ Honesty’s eyebrows raised into his hairline. ‘What does my soul look like?’

  Shade rolled his eyes, but answered: ‘The colour of tea, my Lord. You are not guilty of major crime, but have made many choices that have caused harm to others.’

  Honesty considered this, diverted by the concept. ‘The same could be said for any Lord, I guess,’ he said accepting the diagnosis complacently.

  ‘Indeed, more for some than for others. Yours is really not worthy of mention,’ Shade shrugged.

  ‘What about your soul?’ Honesty was hooked.

  Shade sighed and wondered if he would be trotted out to perform for Honesty’s guest at the Lord’s next soiree like a dancing girl. ‘I cannot see my own, but I imagine it to be a wonderful array of rainbow colours,’ he answered sardonically.

  ‘And his?’ the Lord pointed to Shade’s victim.

  Shade examined the man with more interest than the conversation. ‘Tainted and sickly green.’

  ‘What crimes would he have done to earn such a colour?’ Honesty asked.

  ‘Let me see… sometimes the souls of the dead linger near their killer,’ Shade took the man’s head between his hands. The wretch whimpered. ‘Ahhh. He is a pimp of the most disgraceful type. He took the eye of one of his whores when he believed her to have shorted him – which she had, incidentally – on the night’s takings, and the wound became in
fected, resulting in her death. An indirect murder. There’s also a dead infant; drowned perhaps? That one is harder to see because it doesn’t truly understand what became of its brief life. Truly,’ he thrust the man away from him. ‘A worthy citizen, and one you want roaming your streets.’

  ‘What about her,’ Honesty dropped his voice and nodded to Song, busily sorting through the crates.

  ‘Song’s spirit is a radiant glow without mar,’ Shade replied blandly. ‘Your infatuation with the object of my affection is disturbing, Honesty, truly, truly disturbing. Have we had enough of the parlour tricks, now, my Lord? We do happen to be under attack, and, as you can see, I am in the middle of something.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Honesty blinked, and then grinned irrepressibly. ‘For inconveniencing you, not for lusting after your leman,’ he added with cheek. ‘I will be off, then,’ he clapped Shade on the shoulder before striding to the door.

  ‘Your impudence will piss the wrong person off one day,’ Shade warned with an amused snort as Honesty waved loftily without pausing. Shaking his head, Shade returned to the matter at hand, eying up the terrified pimp who let loose with a stream of harsh smelling urine which soaked promptly into the rug. ‘Ergh,’ Shade grimaced, ‘Song will not be pleased with that – I am supposed to avoid soiling the rugs,’ he sighed and drew his athame. ‘Too late now, I guess.’

  Chapter Four

  Patience

  Patience was miserably sick with a cold and, because of it, found that she was pleased that Cinder was away from Amori. She did not want him to see her with a red streaming nose and pallid skin. It mattered, she realised, how he saw her. When had she begun to think of him as a beau and not as the enemy? She wasn’t even out of mourning for her husband, she berated herself, and here she was worrying her appearance to his murderer. Indirect, she mitigated, his indirect murderer; he didn’t push Charity off the cliff, after all… and did that even make a difference, whether it was indirect or directly, wouldn’t Cinder have killed him anyway had the opportunity presented itself? It made her head hurt to think of these things.