Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (52 page)

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Authors: David B. Coe

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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“Aylyn is dead,” the duchess said at last, “and so Javan should be king.” She still looked frightened, as she had in the ward. But there was a look of resolve in her eyes as well. “I can’t be certain what the duke would tell me to do under these circumstances. But I do know this: he would never abdicate, at least not without a fight.” She faced the minister. “I hope you will forgive me, Danior, but I have to do this. Yes, I fear for my husband and my boy, but that’s not why I’m doing this. It’s Javan’s way. It’s the Curgh way. Surely you must see that.”
“I do see it, my lady, though I’m not certain that the Curgh way, as you put it, is the wisest course. You realize, of course, that by marching on Kentigern you risk your husband’s life.” The Qirsi cast a look Hagan’s way. “And your son’s as well.”
She nodded once. “I know that. I plan to make Aindreas understand that if he kills the duke, Curgh’s army will destroy all of Kentigern.” She turned to Hagan. “Can we leave at once?”
“No, my lady. I had a word with the quartermaster before I came here. We may be forced to lay siege to Kentigern’s castle. In which case we’ll need more men to build engines. The quartermaster will need a few hours more to add provisions to those he’s already gathered. I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until daybreak to leave.”
“So you knew that I would take the army to Kentigern?”
He felt the second minister’s eyes on him, but he refused to look at the man. “I had faith that you would choose the wisest path.”
“I see,” she said, sounding grateful. “Very well, we’ll leave in the morning.”
“I must say, my lady, that while I feel you’ve made the right decision, I don’t believe you should be part of this journey. The dangers to you—”
She held up a hand, stopping him. “This is my war, Hagan, if it’s to be a war. Would you tell Javan to remain here while his army marched to battle?”
He grinned. “Every time, my lady. But he wouldn’t listen either.”
“My lady,” the minister said, “I must tell you one last time, I think you’re making a grave mistake.”
“I understand that, Danior. You and your ministers are free to go. I appreciate your counsel. It may not seem that way to you, but it’s true nevertheless. I’ll expect you to ride with us. You have the power of mists, don’t you?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good. We may need that before this is over.” She faced Hagan again, as if dismissing the Qirsi.
Danior looked over at the other ministers, appearing unsure of what to do. After a moment they all stood and filed out of the chamber. The second minister hesitated at the door, as if intending to say more. But instead he merely shook his head and left.
“That was well done, my lady,” Hagan said, standing as well.
“Thank you. I suppose you think that I’ve learned well from my husband.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to do so, my lady.”
“Must a woman be taught such things by her man? Did it never occur to you that I might have come to our joining already possessing an aptitude for statecraft?”
He had to smile. It was something Daria would have said. “Of course it did. I don’t think Javan could have loved you so much if you hadn’t.”
She smiled as well, though sadly. “Perhaps not.”
They stood for some time, neither of them speaking, until finally the swordmaster cleared his throat and glanced toward the door.
“I should inform the men of what’s been decided here. As it is, they’ll be awake much of the night preparing and saying their goodbyes.”
Shonah nodded, and he started toward the door.
“Hagan.”
The swordmaster stopped, waiting.
“Are we about to start a civil war? Is that where all of this is leading?”
“This may bring us to war,” he said, his voice hardening. “But we didn’t start anything. Nor did Aindreas. Whoever killed Lady Brienne bears the blame for all of this. But Kentigern has imprisoned our duke, and now he holds our king. What kind of people would we be if we remained here doing nothing?”
Kentigern, Eibithar, Adriel’s Moon waning
G
rey light from the windows seeped across the chamber like a river fog, illuminating the parchment on Aindreas’s table, but casting no shadows. Raindrops tapped softly on the castle roof and darkened the wooden shutters. The duke’s midday meal sat before him, untouched and still warm. The flask of Sanbiri red was nearly empty.
Ioanna would have told him that it was too early to be drinking. She would have said that a man who was about to lead an army to war needed to be sober, that he needed to think clearly and be able to make decisions in an instant. Had she known this was his second flask, she would have been deeply disappointed. She might even have been ashamed. Had she known. Had she cared about anything anymore.
The Curgh boy had not only taken his daughter, but also his wife. Ean knew Aindreas hadn’t been the best of husbands. He had taken pleasure in more than his share of serving girls over the years and had done a damned poor job of keeping it from Ioanna. But he had never taken a mistress, or loved any woman other than his duchess. He still remembered how beautiful she looked the night he met her at her father’s castle, her golden hair falling to her waist, her dark eyes sparkling with candlelight. She had been like a gem, so exquisite he was almost afraid to approach her. Brienne had looked the same way the night she died. Brilliant as a jewel, more dear to him than all the riches in his treasury. The boy had taken everything from him. Or so it seemed. He had to remind himself at times that
he still had Affery and Ennis, that they were suffering even more than he, for they had lost a sister to murder and their parents to grief. He should have been with them. In spite of the war that loomed before him, he should have been comforting them, assuring them that they were still loved. But he could no more give up his wine than Ioanna could give up her bed and the solitude in which she had taken refuge since Brienne’s death.
Instead, he pushed aside the plates of food, drained his glass, and poured the rest of the wine. Then he picked up the scrolls that lay before him. The first had come a few days ago, the same day that the messenger arrived from Audun’s Castle bearing news of the king’s death. Aindreas would never have believed that any letter could compete with such tidings for his attention. Yet this one had. It was from Kearney, the duke of Glyndwr, and it announced his intention to ride to Kentigern as some sort of peacemaker.
Kearney was a decent man. His father and Aindreas’s had been friends and allies, and for that reason alone Aindreas had a certain affection for the man. But perhaps owing to the remoteness of his dukedom and the low station of his house, Kearney remained younger than his years. He clung to ideals that had no place in the real world and he was prone to making grand, foolish gestures, as his letter made all too clear. His army, though reputed to be well trained, was small. Even if he left just a token force to guard his castle, he couldn’t have been bringing more than seven or eight hundred men. How could a force of that size hope to keep the armies of Kentigern and Curgh from going to war? Aindreas had every reason to ignore the message. Glyndwr was powerless to stop this war and he had no business trying.
Still, the letter remained on his table, and though Aindreas had not allowed it to stay his hand, neither had he been able to put Kearney’s plea for restraint out of his mind. Maybe it was because the letter and word of Aylyn’s passing had come on the same day, as if the gods themselves were warning him away from this war. Perhaps Aindreas had been moved by the sheer folly of what the man was doing. Surely Kearney and his renowned swordmaster knew that they were no match for the two armies. But they hadn’t allowed this to deter them.
Aindreas couldn’t say for certain why he kept the letter, or why he found himself reading it again and again. There was little to it
really. He and Leilia were deeply saddened by the news of Brienne’s death, he would be leading a contingent of soldiers to Kentigern immediately, and he hoped that Aindreas would do nothing to bring the kingdom any closer to civil war. That was all. Even the language was rather plain. Save for the ending.
Brienne’s death is a tragedy for the entire land. They will sing of her beauty and strength long after you and I are gone. Let us not allow those songs to become dirges for the young men of Kentigern and Curgh. Let us not allow her memory to be darkened by the shadow of civil war.
Aindreas had intended to go to the prison tower the night Aylyn died, to tell Javan once more that he would never allow him to take the throne, that notwithstanding the Order of Ascension, he would spend the rest of his life making certain that no man of Curgh ever wore Audun’s crown. After reading Kearney’s message, however, he went to the cloister instead, and spent the evening chanting for the king. He hadn’t been to the prison tower since. No doubt Javan had heard the bells tolling and the people crying in the castle wards and city lanes. Curgh knew that Aylyn was dead and that the throne should be his. That was enough to satisfy Aindreas; at least it had been until this morning.
He should have expected this second message, the one that had arrived just a few hours before. The only thing surprising about it was that it hadn’t come sooner. But still it had caught him unaware. Aindreas was furious with himself. He had allowed Kearney’s maudlin sentiments to cloud his judgment and distract him from what he should have been doing, readying his men and his castle for battle.
According to this paper, which was written the day before he received word of the king’s death and signed by one of his agents in the north, Javan’s army had left Curgh Castle four days ago, led by Hagan MarCullet and the duchess. Aindreas had always been fond of Shonah; he didn’t relish the idea of facing her in battle. But she had left him little choice. He had only five or six days to prepare, and he could hardly afford to waste any time worrying about her. Hagan would have his men battle-ready—no doubt he had been working them like plow horses since he first heard that Tavis had killed Brienne.
Aindreas could only hope that Villyd, his own swordmaster, had been doing the same. He muttered a curse, knowing that he should have seen to it himself days ago.
There was a knock at his door. Shurik, at last.
“Enter!” he called.
The Qirsi walked in, looking like a living corpse in the silver light. “You called for me, my lord?”
“Just after the midmorning bells,” the duke said acidly. “Where have you been?”
“My apologies, my lord. I was observing the swordmaster as he trained the men. And after that I went to check on our guests from Curgh. I got here just as your meal arrived and I assumed you’d want to dine alone.”
Aindreas waved a hand, dismissing the man’s excuses. “Fine, fine. You’re here now.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“How’s Villyd doing with the men?”
“Sir Temsten has them performing quite well, my lord. I know little of swordplay, but they look most impressive to me.”
“Good. It seems we’ll be sending them to war before too long.”
“My lord?”
Aindreas handed him the parchment. The Qirsi took a moment to read it, an eyebrow going up as he did. Then he placed it on the table once more.
“Do you think Curgh’s men will fight for their duchess as they would for their duke?”
“Hagan will see to it that they do,” Aindreas said. “And they won’t be fighting for their duke or their duchess. They’ll be fighting for their king. Curgh’s army is not to be taken lightly.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
Aindreas glanced at his wineglass. He dearly wanted to empty it and have the cellarmaster bring him another flask. But he thought it wise to wait until the first minister had gone.
“I want you to go back to Villyd. Tell him that he and his men are to see to the castle’s defenses. Then go to the quartermaster and tell him to make preparations for a siege. I want this castle ready to withstand Curgh’s assault in four days. That should leave us a bit of time before Hagan and his men arrive.”
“You’ll pardon me, my lord, but I don’t think that would be our wisest course.”
Aindreas stared at the man, wondering if he had heard him correctly. “What? Why not?”
“It’s been nearly a full year since the harvest, my lord. The season’s crops will be bountiful, but they’re not ready yet and our stores are low. The castle is ill prepared to withstand a siege.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! This is Kentigern Castle you’re speaking of! This house has withstood sieges from the most powerful armies of the Forelands. It’s not going to fall to Curgh!”
“I would hope not, my lord. But the fact remains that our stores of food are rather low and unless you’re ready to turn away the people of the city, or at least let Javan and his men starve in the prison tower, we have too many people to feed.”
“So you’re saying the castle would fall?” Aindreas asked, still not willing to believe what the man was telling him.
“I’m saying it might.”
“Impossible,” the duke said. But he had to admit that it had been several turns since he had checked on the stores. He rubbed his brow, thirsting for that wine more than ever. “How long could we hold out?”
The Qirsi shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, my lord. I can find out for you.”
It wasn’t likely to matter much. Aindreas had never endured a siege as duke, but he had read accounts of them written by his ancestors and he knew that even the threat of starvation could break the spirit of a defending army.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, his stomach feeling empty and hard.
“The castle might not be fit to hold off a siege,” the Qirsi said, a grin spreading across his face. “But the army is more than ready to go to war. Take the battle to Curgh, my lord. The duchess and her swordmaster are expecting you to wait for them atop the tor. But if you can beat them to the northern fringe of the wood, you can force them to fight with the Heneagh River at their backs.”
This was the last thing Aindreas had expected him to say. It was a bold idea, one that hadn’t even occurred to him. Perhaps it was time the duke put his wine flasks away and took up his sword again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his head. The north edge of Kentigern Wood was just under twelve leagues from the castle. If they left that day and used the light of the moons to march by night, they could be there within three days. Then again, if this weather
held, their progress would come slower, and they would have a harder time marching at night.
“How quickly can the quartermaster be ready?” Aindreas asked.
“I’ll have to ask him, my lord. But the men won’t be going far and we’ll need only a half turn’s supplies. Besides, he’s been preparing already. It’s no secret that you’ve been threatening Lord Curgh with war. It should take him less than a day to prepare.”
“What if we don’t reach the edge of the wood before they’re across the river? What if we have to fight them in the forest?”
“We know the wood better than they do, my lord. I believe the swordmaster has trained the men to fight among its trees and hollows. There isn’t a wood of any size within twenty leagues of Curgh. Javan’s men may be ready to wage a war on the Moorlands, but in the wood the advantage is ours. And don’t forget, Kentigern’s army will be led by its duke. The men of Curgh will be led by a woman.”
Aindreas nodded, but said nothing. He turned in his chair to look out the window. The rain was falling harder now, though the sky near the horizon appeared somewhat brighter than it had a short time before. He felt the minister watching him, yellow eyes fixed on the back of his head, but all he could do was sit there, wishing for a sip of wine and wondering what his father would have done. This castle, and the tor on which it sat, had always been the foundation of his house’s strength. It seemed folly to leave it now. But with the stores low and Curgh’s army commanded by its duchess, Shurik’s counsel made a great deal of sense.
“Perhaps I’ve overstepped,” the Qirsi said, seeming to misinterpret Aindreas’s silence. “Forgive me, my lord. In all likelihood the castle can endure a siege. We may have to limit meals at the end, but chances are we will prevail. As you say, this is Kentigern Castle. Marching to the river carries risks. We’d be foolish to try something so daring.”
The duke glanced back at him for a moment before turning his gaze to the rain once more. He had never considered himself a cautious man. Javan was cautious. Aylyn had been cautious. But not he. Living so close to the Tarbin, the men of Kentigern had to be fearless and venturesome. The Aneirans regarded caution as a sign of weakness. None of the other Eibitharian dukes understood that, because
none of them lived each day under the threat of war. The other houses saw him as reckless, just as they had his father before him.
Aindreas didn’t recognize himself. Curgh’s army was being led to Kentigern by a woman, and he was content to sit in his castle and await a siege? That might have been how they did things in Wethyrn or Caerisse, but not in Eibithar, and certainly not on the tor. Aindreas was ashamed that it had taken the words of a Qirsi to remind him of this.
“Are you well, my lord?”
“I’m fine,” the duke said, facing the minister again. “Go to Villyd and the quartermaster. Tell them we march with the prior’s bells. If the quartermaster isn’t ready by then, so be it. He and his men will have their carts. They’ll catch up with us when we stop to make camp.”

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