The Crimson Crown (41 page)

Dancer hesitated. Maybe Crow wasn’t telling the whole truth, but he seemed genuinely distraught. Still, even if he wanted to go after Han, how could he hope to get into Aerie House? Assuming he managed to avoid the two armies in the way.

As if Crow had heard Dancer’s thoughts, he said, “I can help you get into Aerie House.”

“Just like you helped Hunts Alone?” Dancer couldn’t help saying.

Crow flinched as if taking a direct hit. “Look,” he said, “I beg you to do this. Alister…he’s all I have to show for a life that otherwise ended in disaster. He’s all that’s left of what I had with…with Hanalea. To see him…” Crow’s voice trailed away. “I have no flash of my own. All I can offer is knowledge. I’ll teach you anything you want to know about magic. Nothing is off the table.”

Dancer shook his head. “I don’t need to make a trade to help my friends. The difficult part is deciding whether to trust you.” He sighed. “How do I get into Aerie House?”

“You can enter the tunnels near Marisa Pines,” Crow said eagerly. “They will take you across the Vale to Gray Lady. But…” Here he faltered and shifted his eyes away. “There are many tricks and traps along the way. You’ll have a hard time getting through safely without help.”

“Meaning?” Dancer said, a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

“Meaning I can help you, but you would have to agree to—”

“No,” Dancer said. “I’m not removing the talisman. I won’t allow you to possess me.”

“I don’t want to possess you,” Crow said quickly. “Just be present in your head, and speak to you. To be a…a kind of guide.”

Dancer shook his head. “No. Risk is one thing, foolhardiness is another.”

Crow paced back and forth. “It’s a dangerous path, and I’m the one who laid it down. There is no way you could remember it all, and you cannot carry notes from Aediion to the real world.” He swung around, facing Dancer, tears streaming down his face. “Please. I’ve been helping him, giving him some relief, and I don’t know how long he’ll last on his own.”

“
Helping him?
What do you mean?”

“By possessing him, I am able to stand in for him and give him some relief from pain,” Crow said, hollow-eyed and haunted. “It’s not much, but—”

“You…stand in for him,” Dancer repeated.

“Imagine that you are in a dungeon, the captive of your enemies, knowing no one will come to your aid,” Crow said. “I didn’t want to leave him, but I took this chance, hoping I would find you here, and you could help him. Now I can’t get back.”

This man, Dancer thought, would know what it was like. This man, of anyone, would want me to succeed in rescuing Hunts Alone.

“All right,” he said. “You can come along as my guide. On one condition.”

“The Maker save me from upland traders,” Crow murmured. “What is your condition?”

“I want to bring a friend along,” Dancer said.

For days after the siege began, there was plenty to do: secure the perimeter, inventory supplies, organize work teams, and establish duty schedules. Raisa convened strategy meetings with those on her council who were on the inside. Her uncle, Lassiter Hakkam, seemed to have forgotten that he’d ever championed a marriage between Raisa and Gerard Montaigne. He was understandably nervous about his luxurious manor house outside the walls. He couldn’t understand why that issue had not been part of the negotiations.

They sent birds to Gray Lady, with no response. Birds arrived from Demonai Camp to say that Montaigne’s army had made it through the pass but the Demonai were doing their best to stall them in the mountains. There was no mention of Han.

Char Dunedain was a general without much of an army—only those few highlanders who happened to be inside the close at the time of the attack. She gathered up all able-bodied men and women within the close and went about turning them into effective defenders. She established a fletchery and a weapons foundry in the bailey. Those who weren’t standing patrol or sleeping were set to melting down cookware and tools for arrow points. Children gathered feathers for the fletchery and worked in the kitchens to free up their elders for training. Dunedain and Amon were the kind of military team that Raisa had wished for. Too bad their first challenge had to be this.

Nightwalker and the other Demonai worked hard, too, reinforcing their reputations as tireless fighters. Nightwalker, especially, lived up to his name. He never seemed to sleep.

Fortunately, the striper army had little in the way of siege equipment on-site, having seen no need to break into strongholds. At one point, they began building a crude siege tower, but gave up on that when the Demonai fired flaming arrows into it and it burned to the dirt. However, Raisa suspected that Gerard Montaigne’s flatland army would be better equipped for this kind of warfare once they arrived.

Over Amon’s objections, Raisa insisted on standing shifts on the walls. “I’m good with a bow,” she said. “Besides, it’s encouraging for my people to see me up there.”

“Can you keep out of sight of the enemy, at least?” Amon said. “It would be
dis
couraging to your people if you ended up dead.”

“Klemath wants to take me alive, remember?” Raisa said. “I’m likely safer up there than anyone else.”

“If they recognize you,” he grumbled. “If they don’t suddenly change their minds. If some soldier doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kill a northern queen.”

So she wore her Gray Wolf armor on the walls, and the brilliant cape that Willo had made for her. If they killed her, they’d have to do it on purpose. And aim very carefully.

Raisa ordered concerts in the rooftop garden for all who cared to come. Amon’s fiancée, Annamaya Dubai, organized the events and scheduled the musicians, including Cat Tyburn. Even those on duty could hear the music floating down around them as they stood watch on the walls or worked in the foundries. Raisa held contests with prizes for the best patriotic songs and stories. Many still focused on Hanalea the Warrior, but a few hastily composed songs featured Raisa
ana
’Marianna, the Warrior Queen.

The entries also included a delightfully profane ballad about how General Klemath sired his sons, which involved his mistaking a barn for a brothel. Raisa found herself humming it at random times during the day. She tried to maintain a cheerful optimism, but her eyes kept turning to the south as she watched for the arrival of Montaigne’s army.

The journey from the capital to Gray Lady took Micah Bayar three days of twists and turns and detours and backtracking.

The old road was no longer safe to travel—not even for a wizard. Away from the capital, farmsteads and keeps lay in smoking ruins. Bodies dangled from trees, twisting slowly in the blistering breeze. Several times, Micah was forced to circle around Ardenine camps, and once he all but collided with a southern scouting party. They jangled past, a young wizard riding in their midst, a heavy silver collar around his neck.

It reminded Micah of Arden during the civil war, and Tamron after the invasion. Now it was their turn. Except their situation was even more hopeless than it had been in the south.

Everyone out here is an enemy, Micah thought, because we have no army of our own. Arden can march straight to the capital. How did we let this happen?

Behind him lay Fellsmarch Castle, surrounded by soldiers in their familiar striper scarves. Bought and paid for by Arden. Raisa was trapped inside, and Micah had no way to get to her. His heart thrummed painfully. He needed help, and he meant to get it.

He rode cross-country in the dark, taking game trails and grown-over tracks, giving Breaker his head over the broken ground. He kept one hand on his amulet, his eyes on the forest around him. He had no intention of being recruited as one of Montaigne’s collared mages.

On his way up Gray Lady, he was challenged by retainers from three different wizard houses before he’d ridden a mile. It was slow going because he had to disable magical barriers every few hundred yards. He passed the smashed remains of Darnleigh House and Kinley Manor on the lower slopes. It was no wonder the wizard aristocracy was on edge. He was grateful his Bayar ancestors had chosen to build higher.

The Bayar compound was well fortified with layers of magic, and protected by scores of men-at-arms in the Stooping Falcon colors.

“Where’s my father?” Micah asked Riverton, the steward, who greeted him in the Great Hall.

“He and the young Lady Bayar are in the solar,” Riverton said. The steward usually looked as sleek and well fed as a granary cat, but now he seemed jittery, almost queasy.

“Don’t worry,” Micah said, awkwardly patting Riverton on the shoulder. “It will all work out.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, my lord,” Riverton said, looking worried. “I have complete confidence and trust in your lord father.”

I wish I could say the same, Micah thought.

When Micah entered the solar, still covered in road dirt and sweat, he found his father and Fiona sitting at a small table, their heads together like coconspirators. He didn’t like that. He liked it even less when they spotted him and abruptly ceased their murmured conversation.

“Micah,” his father said, with a curt nod. “Good that you are back safely. Your mother has been in near hysterics for days.”

“You’re
filthy
,” Fiona said, stretching out her long legs. “Should I have Albert draw a bath?” She was wearing pristine red silk and black leathers, her hair caught into a shining braid.

“That will keep,” Micah said. “We need to talk now.” Pouring from the flagon on the sideboard, he took a long swallow of courage. Then crossed and sat down at the table, cradling his glass between his hands.

“All kinds of rumors are flying,” Lord Bayar said. “What
is
going on?”

That’s the question, Micah thought, studying the two of them. Fiona looked like a cat with a mouthful of feathers, and his father looked almost triumphant. No. Definitely triumphant.

Micah licked his lips. “The short of it is…General Klemath has turned traitor and laid siege to Fellsmarch Castle. Meanwhile, Gerard Montaigne has bought up the mercenary contracts and is on his way there with a southern army, capturing or killing wizards and Valefolk all along the way. Some of the houses on the lower slopes of Gray Lady have been destroyed.”

“So we hear.” Lord Bayar tilted his head back as if this were interesting news from some faraway country. “If the army has turned, then who is protecting the castle?”

“A handful of loyalists, as far as I can tell,” Micah said. “I wasn’t able to get close.”

“Are there any gifted in the city?” Fiona asked.

Micah shook his head. “If there are, they’re in hiding. I haven’t been able to make contact with any. And there is no sign of magical defenses on Fellsmarch Castle.”

“We’ve heard about the burnings,” Fiona said, with a delicate shiver. “That’s horrible.”

“They don’t burn the gifted if they agree to take the collar,” Micah said. “The saving grace is that there aren’t enough amulets to go around, so they can’t use all the wizards they have.”

Lord Bayar slid a look at Fiona. “Then it’s important that they not gain control of any more wizards
or
flashpieces.”

There was something in the way his father said this that set Micah’s teeth on edge. But he couldn’t worry about it just now. Time was wasting.

“How many council members are here on Gray Lady?” Micah asked, his mind churning with plans. “How soon could we convene and discuss a strategy for breaking the siege?”

His father’s frosted blue eyes rested on him, a long look of appraisal. “I’m not in any hurry to do that,” he said.

Blindsided, Micah looked from his father to Fiona and back. What didn’t they understand?

“We have to act
now
,” he said, pressing his palms into the tabletop so the wrought iron cut into his skin. “The southern army will be there within days. If we can disperse the stripers before Montaigne’s army gets into position, we can free the queen and divide their targets.”

“Why would I want to free the queen?” Lord Bayar asked, polishing his amulet on his sleeve.

“What are you saying, Father?” Micah’s fingers melted tiny puddles in the metal table before he regained control. “You would welcome the southern butchers to the Fells?”

“Of course not,” Lord Bayar said. “I’m saying that freeing the queen is not necessarily in our best interest.”

“Perhaps—” Micah stopped and took a breath, struggling to keep his voice steady, to keep the rage off his face. “Perhaps you could explain your reasoning.”

“Ever since the Breaking, we’ve been trying to find a way to work with the bloody Gray Wolf queens,” Lord Bayar said. “We’ve been supplicants, seeking forgiveness for something that happened a thousand years ago. We’ve begged to climb into their beds, while the copperheads stand watch like abbesses in the temple garden. Well, I’m done with that.”

Micah shifted his gaze to Fiona, who was trying to maintain a neutral expression, but not quite succeeding.

“Was this your idea?” he asked her.

“No, but I agree with him,” Fiona said.

“I hardly need your sister to tutor me in politics.” Lord Bayar smiled a thin smile. “The landscape has changed dramatically while you’ve been down in the Vale.”

“That’s exactly why we have to move quickly,” Micah growled.

“We’re not talking about the situation in the capital,” Fiona said. “We’re talking about the Armory of the Gifted Kings.”

Micah sat back in his chair, gripping the arms to either side, frustration building. “What about it? That tired threat would be a lot more potent if we knew where it was.”

“That’s just it,” his father said, putting a hand on Fiona’s arm. “We do.”

Fiona’s eyes widened a fraction, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, and then closed it again. Most wouldn’t have noticed it, but Micah knew his sister very well.

Had they meant to keep this secret from him? He straightened a bit in his chair, wary. “Go on,” he said.