Closer to the Heart (12 page)

“Now,” the King said, when they had somewhat caught their breaths and looked as if they were beginning to recover.
“What in the names of all the gods brought you posthaste to us?”

The Ambassador took a deep breath, and looked up at the King, soberly.

“War, your Majesty,” he said.

It was a good thing that the Court had been cleared, because that would almost certainly have caused a panic, and sent rumor flying out the door with some of the courtiers. The King merely furrowed his brows. “Explain, please.”

“You know that our King is only ten years of age, Majesty,” the Ambassador said. “There are those who are taking advantage of this, raising rebellion in the north of our land.” He nodded at one of his men, who brought up a bundle. It looked heavy. The man laid it down on the floor before the King, untied it and opened it, showing that it was a bundle of weapons; bows, arrows, two or three swords. “These weapons were captured from the rebels, Majesty,” the Ambassador said heavily. “They were supplied by persons unknown from outside of our Kingdom. But as you can see for yourself if you examine them . . .” He paused. “. . . they were made in Valdemar. They all bear makers' marks, and all those marks are from well known armories within the borders of your land. And this is no fluke. There are thousands more like them, not just arms, but armor. If Valdemar does not put a stop to this . . . it will mean war.”

• • •

The Ambassador had been escorted to his quarters, and now, presumably was sleeping as well as a man in his current situation could. The King had called together an emergency Council. It consisted only of his Inner Council, his most trusted advisors—about half the size of the full Council.

Unlike the full Council, the only merchant or Guild Master
here was Lydia's uncle, Master Soren. Amily was not certain why Soren would be useful in a session where the discussion was imminent war and perhaps how to prevent it, but the King wanted him here, so here he sat. Prince Sedric and Princess Lydia were at the King's right, as was Amily. As the rest of the Council members took their seats, the King leaned over to Amily. “I know you don't have that sort of Gift,” he whispered, “But what do you
think
is the Ambassador's state of mind?”

“I don't think that he personally believes that the Valdemaran Throne is behind funneling the weapons to the rebels,” Amily whispered back. “But the Menmellith Council, or at least enough of it to make up a majority, does.”

The King's expression didn't change by much, just a slight tightening of the lips. “If he'll come talk to me alone, I'd like you to arrange that.”

Amily only had time to nod before all the rest were seated. The King rapped on the table to get their attention. “I am fairly certain no rumors have escaped about the purpose of the Menmellith Ambassador turning up, but I am sure you all know he did, that he clearly came in haste, and that therefore what brought him must have been urgent. And by the mere fact that I called an emergency Council session, you deduced that it must be extremely urgent. This is true. It appears we are on the brink of war with Menmellith.” While they were still speechless, he continued. “Their King is a child of ten, and the Council rules until he comes of age. Unsurprisingly, given such circumstances, a rebellion has broken out, led by one of the King's cousins.
Someone
has smuggled arms in apparently significant numbers to the rebels; those arms all have makers' marks of armories in the south of Valdemar. The Menmellith Council has jumped to the reasonable conclusion that Valdemar is supporting the rebellion, and evidently are debating war with us.”

Ebon Aleric, the Lord Martial, who attained his position entirely on merit and experience rather than wealth and connections, cleared his throat.

“Yes Lord Aleric?” the King prompted.

“They are scarcely in a position to prosecute such a war, your Highness,” Ebon pointed out. “'Tis folly to fight a war on two fronts.”

“Ordinarily I would agree with you,” the King replied. “But they must have some strategy in mind even to contemplate it. The Council of Menmellith is not composed of dotards, or armchair fighters. I think we should assume they must have some idea of how they could manage such a feat in mind, and make our plans from there.”

“Obviously, we
aren't
supplying weapons,” put in Master Soren. Who then paused, and added doubtfully, “Are we?”

“If anyone is, it is without the knowledge of anyone here in this room,” the Seneschal said firmly, before the King could speak. “What's more, I have seen no expenditure out of the Treasury sufficient to account for enough weaponry to cause the Menmellith Council to assume we are.”

“You couldn't sneak enough out of the Treasury to buy a good hunting dog without Lord Barethias noticing,” Prince Sedric observed, making a couple of the Council members laugh nervously.

The King tapped on the table to get their attention. “So, what we need to do, and quickly, is to find out
who
is supplying these weapons,
why
they are doing so, and
how
they are getting them over the Border.”

“And how they are buying them in the first place without anyone making note of it,” Amily pointed out.

“And
quietly,”
the King added. “Whoever is doing this does not want attention, and probably is unaware that Menmellith has discovered what is going on. I'm exceedingly disturbed by all of this, because I can think of many possible sources and
reasons for someone to be funneling weapons into another Kingdom, and I am not happy about any of them.” He looked around the table. “You are all here because I know you can be trusted. Assume no one outside of this room can be.”

Into the silence, Amily said the one thing everyone was thinking, but no one dared say. “Does that include the Heralds?”

“Yes,” said the King, the Prince, and her father, all at the same time. All three looked at each other, and the King gestured to Nikolas to explain.

“While I am completely certain that no Herald would countenance such a thing, we can't know who every Herald trusts, and if the rest of the Heraldic Circle knows what is going on, someone might innocently alert the guilty party.” Nikolas shrugged. “We're only human. Our Gifts are many and varied and not all of them are useful in alerting us to people we shouldn't trust. Some of us trust the wrong people.”

“So this stays in this room,” the King continued, “Because what goes for the Heralds goes doubly for the rest of the people in
your
lives. No talking to spouse, best friend, trusted counselor, priest, or second-in-command.
No one.
I am going to get more details, if I can, out of the Ambassador. We will reconvene here after dinner. In the meantime, I would like you to think of ways in which we might be able to discover the
who, how,
and
why
of this.” He nodded at them all. “We need to get to the bottom of this, and we need to do so quickly.”

• • •

Amily tapped on the door of the Crown Princess's suite. Lydia herself cautiously cracked the door.

“Would he come?” she whispered.

“He's right here,” Amily whispered back, moving aside a little so Lydia could see the exhausted face of the Ambassador.
He had gotten food, more wine, and a good hot bath and change of clothing, but no real rest. Still, he had been willing to come with Amily for a private meeting with the King. That spoke volumes for him, so far as Amily was concerned. He couldn't have assassinated a pocket pie in his current state of exhaustion, and he very well knew it. So his only reason for agreeing to a private meeting must be exactly what King Kyril hoped; he did not believe that Valdemar was supplying the rebellion, and he was going to tell everything he knew.

“Come in, quickly.” Lydia opened the door and the two of them slipped inside. They had gotten this far without anyone noticing only because Amily had taken all the servants' corridors. Growing up in the Palace as she had, Amily knew every inch of the servants' corridors. Most of the Heralds here in residence generally did too; it was the best way to get around if you didn't want anyone highborn to know where you were going.

The solar of Lydia's suite was quite empty—except for the King, who waited for the Ambassador before the fire. In fact, the entire suite was empty; Lydia had sent away all her servants and her ladies, pleading a headache. The solar was a corner room that got light most of the day during the winter and was shaded during the summer. Lydia encouraged her ladies to be productive, so aside from the usual embroidery frames and fancywork projects there were many books that had been laid aside, and a musical instrument or two. There were window seats in all the windows, but at the moment the only seats occupied were the ones at the hearth, heavily padded and comfortable.

“Thank you for coming, Ambassador,” the King said. “And please sit down immediately. You and I have known each other for a very long time. Let's not have any ceremony; there is a problem here we must get to the bottom of.”

All of the tension drained away from the Ambassador's
body, and he took a seat across from the King, easing himself down into the cushions as if he ached. He probably did. Riding as long and hard as he had was no joke, even for a young and seasoned rider. “We grew up together in a sense, my lord King,” he said reaching for the goblet of wine the King handed him. “I was esquire to my father, the former Ambassador, when you were serving in the train of your own Father as Crown Prince, and I recall many weeks of the two of us amusing each other while we waited out meetings on the Border. And of course, we have had many dealings since you became King. I had hoped you had not suddenly changed into a man I no longer recognized. I am unspeakably relieved to discover I was correct.”

The King spread his hands. “Tell me what you know. The people I trust are completely in the dark, and my Seneschal tells me there is no discrepancy in the Treasury to account for the mass purchase of weapons.”

The Ambassador sipped his wine, carefully choosing his words. A good habit in a diplomat, Amily thought. “The King's cousin, Astanifandal, made no secret of the fact that he felt he should have been named Regent, or at least Lord Protector, when the little King's parents died of that fever that swept the country last summer. When winter arrived, he decided to act on that discontent and raise an army.” The Ambassador paused, and then drank half the wine, and the King poured him more, as it was obvious he needed it. “Winter is not as bad a season for making war as it is in Valdemar,” he continued. “The roads are firm, the weather generally is—I'm maundering.”

“You're exhausted,” the King pointed out. “I'm surprised you can still string words together in any coherent fashion. I'm very certain I couldn't, after a flat-out ride from Menmellith to here.”

The Ambassador shrugged, as if his own exhaustion didn't
matter. “The point is, he formed an army from his stronghold; the northwest corner of the country, where his lands are and where the nearest landed men loyal to him dwell. He put together quite an alliance, and managed to raise enough money for a mercenary army as well as his own sworn fighters. And he's been fighting a shrewd campaign. He doesn't pillage the countryside, he moves slowly, but surely, and he leaves behind him people who are convinced that a strong, adult man is a better King than a boy with a Council.”

King Kyril frowned. “Given that . . . if I were faced with such a persuasive argument, and the fellow that was in charge of the armies had kept his men from looting my property, I'd find it hard to disagree with him,” he replied.

The Ambassador groaned a little. “Honestly, I feel the same. I wish that the old King had named a Regent, just in case something happened, rather than leaving things in chaos. I think that the boy will make a very good King one day, but having a child on the throne is like setting out a feast in front of the starving and expecting them not to touch it.” He shook his head sadly. “Rethwellan has a sword that chooses the proper King. At least, I think it's a sword. You lot have your horses. I wish we had something, something that gave a definitive answer so ambitious cousins would just have to swallow their bile and deal with it. But wishes buy nothing; the boy
is
my King and I swore my fealty to him. And the Council thinks they can make a bargain with Rethwellan to crush his forces between ours and theirs—then move north with their help and take some of Valdemar to teach you a lesson.”

A less temperate man than Kyril would probably have shouted, or burst into a bout of swearing, or flung the wine in the Ambassador's face. Kyril just tapped the rim of his goblet against his lower lip. “They could do that,” he said, finally. “We have treaties with Rethwellan, certainly, but if we really
were
supplying the rebels with weapons, I believe they could
reasonably say they assume we'd violate the treaties we have with them as well. We have no other ties binding us than those treaties, not even marriages with highborn across our borders. I have not got the faintest idea
why
Rethwellan would want stony hills fit only for pasturing sheep and goats and hill ponies. . . .” Then he shook his head. “Forgive me, I am trying to be humorous in the light of a serious situation. How
likely
is the Council to decide this, and how long do you think it will take them?”

“I left on my own recognizance when I realized how near to it they were.” The Ambassador turned the goblet around and around in his hands. “I left others whom I trust to try and persuade them into some sense, while I came north to warn you. But all it will take is one or two more significant victories to tilt the balance against you. As for how long?” He shrugged. “It's Spring. That is in your favor. Astanifandal cannot start riding his men roughshod over newly planted fields and through herds with lambs and calves without losing everything he has gained by treating the common folk well. Moreover,
his
men who are not mercenaries must return to their own lands if he is to be able to feed and support his forces. That means the best that the mercenaries can do is hold what he has already taken. So . . . you have a moon, perhaps two.”