Children of Enchantment (40 page)

She got to her feet, pulling Peregrine up with her, and, wrapping an arm around the other woman’s waist, turned on her heel,
leaving both Amanander and Gartred staring after them in the falling dark.

R
oderic stared in dismay across what served him as a council table, twisting the little pearl ring between his fingers, as
though it offered reassurance. Less than an hour had gone by since the messenger’s arrival, who, between bites of food and
long gulps of water, told a story Roderic did not want to hear. At the far end of the table, Brand listened with a grave expression,
his arms folded across his chest, and Alexander stood by the window, his eyes closed as he listened. His face was creased
as though he were in pain, but Roderic had no thoughts to spare for what Alexander might be feeling.

“How long has Amanander held Minnis?”

The messenger shook his head as he bit into a chicken leg. “At least a month. Your lady has been there three weeks.”

“But Tavia escaped?” Roderic clutched the little pearl ring tightly.

“He allowed Lady Tavia to leave with your daughter, supposedly as a gesture of good will to the women. But he sent a guard
with them, who had instructions to kill them once they got deep in the woods. Luckily, that guard changed his mind. Instead,
he helped them get to Ahga.” The messenger gulped his food, drinking as he swallowed, and wine ran out the corner of his mouth
and down his chin.

Brand frowned in disgust. “All right, messenger. Get some rest. Doubtless we’ll have a dispatch for you to take back soon
enough.” The messenger grabbed plate and goblet and bowed his way awkwardly out of the room. As the door swung softly shut,
Brand swore beneath his breath, a soldier’s oath so uncharacteristically coarse that even Roderic was surprised.

Alexander closed his eyes and pressed his face against his windowpane.

“He has my wife, too,” Brand said.

Roderic leaned back in his chair, knotted his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “And that’s not all—even if
it is the worst. Phineas says that the Senador of Atland’s second son has raised an army against his father. If we can’t get
some kind of reinforcements to him, and Atland falls, we will lose more than an ally.”

Brand was silent, tracing patterns on the table with the tip of one index finger. He shot a glance at Alexander, who had not
moved.

“I’m to blame,” whispered Alexander, so softly, Roderic wasn’t sure he had spoken at all.

“I fell for his trap,” said Roderic. He got to his feet and paced to the window. He stood, with thumbs hooked in his sword
belt, beside Alexander. Fog was rolling in off the sea, reaching out with misty tentacles to blanket the camp. He was tired
of the everlasting rain, the moist salt air, the lonely cries of the gulls which only made him think of the nights he had
spent in Annandale’s arms. Nights which seemed all too few, and very long ago. “Amanander knew I’d want to preserve our relationship—he
knew I’d leave Ahga. He did this deliberately, and I walked right into his hands.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Roderic,” said Brand. “We don’t have the time to waste. We’ve got to get back—Phineas has contacted
the nearby garrisons. Hopefully, we’ll be able to raise enough troops—“

“Minnis has never been besieged,” said Roderic. “Maybe it’s not quite so impregnable as everyone thinks.”

“It has an independent water supply, arable land in its center, and foodstores to last the entire garrison for years.” Brand
shook his head. “Dad must have been planning for another Armageddon.”

“Something like that,” agreed Roderic. “We can try to tunnel beneath the walls.”

“The walls are thirty feet thick. And Minnis is built on rock. We could try to starve them out—” began Brand, and stopped.

It was Roderic’s turn to swear softly beneath his breath. The presence of the women and children of the court meant that such
tactics were out of the question. “It’s not a question of
we,”
he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to take at least one division and go south. We’ll send messengers on to the garrisons in Arkan—in the Pulatchians.
But someone has to relieve Atland, and who else is there to do it?”

“You want me to go to Atland?” Brand asked.

“Who else?”

Brand shot a glance at Alexander. In the silence, Alexander looked from one brother to the other and spread his hands, a hopeless,
old man’s gesture. “This is all my fault. I should go.”

Roderic shook his head. “Out of the question. You’re only just beginning to recover, Alex. And besides, you still know Amanander
better than any of the rest of us. I need you to help me at Minnis.”

“Unless you’re still not sure you can raise your hand against your brother,” added Brand.

Alexander paled and flinched as though he’d been struck. “I deserved that, perhaps. I should have done whatever I could to
find Amanander. Brea M’Callaster should have been my wife, and the One only knows what he did to her. But I never dreamt—“

“None of us did,” interrupted Roderic. “But there is something else we haven’t even considered. Vere said Amanander is able
to use the Magic. And he said that the Magic was dangerous, uncontrollable, unless one had an empath to guide it. And with
Annandale, Amanander has an empath.”

Brand got to his feet and paced to the opposite end of the table. “Surely you don’t believe all that? Surely you don’t for
a moment think—“

“I know what she is.”

Brand stared at Roderic, as though at a stranger. “Now what are you talking about?”

“The day we met her—the day Barran broke his leg? It was broken, but she healed it. Tavia—Annandale healed her, too. And me—when
I fell off my horse and hit my head, she saved me from bleeding to death or worse. Whether you choose to believe it or not,
Brand, the Magic is real, empaths are real, and we can’t afford not to believe in it, or in Amanander’s ability.”

Brand looked as though he had aged ten years in ten minutes. “How are we to fight this thing?”

“We’ll have to hope,” said Roderic grimly, “that Vere is successful in persuading the Mutens to come and help.”

“You’d bring the Mutens into this?” Brand frowned.

“Amanander learned the Magic from a Muten. I’d say they were in it already,” Roderic said as Alexander nodded.

There was a long silence. “And in the meantime,” Roderic said, “you’ll go to Ithan, and Alexander and I’ll think of some way
to try to get into Minnis.”

The hour was late and the candles had burned away to waxy nubs when Roderic dismissed his weary scribe. “Seal those dispatches,
Henrode, see that the Captain of the messengers has them, and then go to bed. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow.”

“As you say, Lord Prince,” murmured the scribe as he bowed his way out of the room, his arms full of writing supplies and
parchment dispatches. As the door closed after him, there was a loud curse and a clatter. Roderic had just time to stand up
behind the makeshift desk when the door swung open again and Deirdre strode into the room. Despite the late hour, her step
was as energetic as usual and her eyes met his with their customary fire. Inwardly Roderic groaned. Surely her appearance
could only mean one thing. The delicate peace, just four days old, had collapsed.

“Good evening, Prince.” She dragged a three-legged stool over to the desk and sat down opposite Roderic. “You don’t look as
though you’re glad to see me.”

“I shall only be glad, lady, when I know that my lady is safe.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s the M’Clure again,
isn’t it?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, then shook her head as understanding dawned. She reached for the flagon of wine and poured
the remains of the wine into his goblet. “Not at all, Prince. The peace will hold, I guarantee it.”

“Then—” Roderic hesitated. He had no wish to insult her, but he was very tired. The siege of Minnis would demand all he had.

“Why am I here?” She drank, and arched an eyebrow over the rim of the cup. “It occurred to me, Prince, that you’re marching
into a situation no less ticklish than this one.”

Roderic sighed and sat down. There was no use lying to Deirdre, or to himself. His only chance against Amanander at this point
was to muster enough men to attempt to storm the walls of Minnis—the walls Abelard himself had boasted were unbreakable. But
the lines were stretched thin: the losses over the winter had been heavy; the garrisons in Atland and Dlas and Arkan demanded
full complements. Brand needed men to take to Atland. His dispatches were to Senadors like Norda Coda and Phillip in Nourk,
and he prayed that he could trust these old allies of the King. He hoped that Obayana would muster enough to make up for their
losses in the Settle Islands, but in his heart, he doubted that Obayana would be able to meet such a demand. And without enough
men, without the troops to overwhelm the fortress of Minnis and take it by sheer force, his only other alternative would be
to starve Amanander out. And Amanander was likely to start killing hostages long before that. “You’re right,” he said after
a long silence.

“I’ve come to offer you help.”

“Help?”

“I will come with you when you leave on the morrow, and I will bring six thousand fresh troops with me.”

“What?” He was so tired he could scarcely believe what he heard.

“Two full divisions.” She nodded. “At a price, of course.”

“Of course.” He had learned a lot about the Settle Islanders during the last months. There was always a price. But then, he
thought, wasn’t there always? with everyone? in every dealing? At least the Chiefs were open about it. “What do you want?”

She drank again and set the goblet down deliberately. Her eyes were dark in the guttering light. The silence lengthened, until
Roderic heard the slither of the sand in the hourglass beside his elbow. “I want an heir.”

He raised one brow.

“I know you’ve sworn a vow to your wife. But this is what I want. When your heir is born, or named, and you are released from
that vow, I want—“

“There’re no guarantees I could father a child on you.”

“That’s what I want, in exchange.”

“Why? Why my child?”

“Because I believe that my kinsmen will make trouble after my death. If I name an heir, I believe they will try to make him
fight for the title, just as I did. I don’t want that to happen. If the child is believed to be your son, then you will ensure
that his inheritance is secure, and perhaps they will think before challenging his right to rule.”

“So even if the child is not mine, you expect me to claim him as my own?”

“Only if there is the possibility that he could be your own.”

She waited, and she did not take her eyes off Roderic’s face. The room seemed to grow very warm, and his eyes ranged from
her heavy coils of hair down her lean throat, as strong and corded as any youth’s. He remembered suddenly that it had been
a very long time since he had lain with Annandale. “Very well.”

“Then swear the blood-oath.”

He sat back as she pulled a curved dagger from her belt and slashed it across her palm. As the blood bloomed in a red curve,
she gestured with the blade. He took his own dagger and did likewise. He held out his bleeding hand. With a grip as firm and
sure as his own, she clasped their hands together, and he felt her hot hand tremble as he pressed her flesh. “You swear, then,
to give me an heir?” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes bright sparks in the shadow.

“You swear to aid me in this campaign?”

“I do.”

“Then I swear.” Their fingers knit together as their blood mingled, her palm as smoothly callused as his own. And he thought
of the feel of the hand on his body, and abruptly, he pulled away, unnerved.

She smiled and got to her feet. “Then, together, we ride on the morrow, Lord Prince. Sleep well.”

He was not surprised when his dreams were troubled by visions of her body, naked and demanding, pressed against his own. And
somehow in the dream, he knew that Annandale was lost to him forever.