The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) (25 page)

38

Jordan

The armor was a gift from her father. Supple chainmail
polished mirror-bright, a dove-gray surcoat with Navarre’s emblem embroidered
in rich colors across the chest, and a new shield emblazoned with red and blue
checks surmounted by a white sea eagle with wings spread wide. Everything fit
perfectly. Jordan belted on her sword of good Castlegard steel and then twirled
her checkered cloak around her shoulders, both gifts from Stewart. She stared
in the mirror and a warrior maiden stared back. A smile flickered across her
face but her eyes remained solemn, her dreams and her destiny entwined.

Taking a last look at her childhood
bedroom, she went to bid farewell to the king. She found him in the throne
room, sitting alone on the Driftwood throne. Sunlight streamed through the
stained glass, casting waves of blue light across the chamber, as if he sat
beneath the sea. Grief had aged her father, his blond hair faded to
silver-white, his eyes sagging with sadness, yet he sat on the throne with
quiet dignity. Jordan ached to see him so. Crossing the lapis floor, she knelt
before him. “Father, I ask for your blessing.”

A smile creased his face, a glimmer
of light in his sea-blue eyes. “My daughter of the sword,” standing, he pulled
her to her feet and embraced her. “You are a vision!”

“Thank you for the armor.”

“Your Wayfaring gift. Your mother
embroidered the surcoat herself.” His voice turned gruff with emotion.

Jordan struggled to swallow her own
pain. Caressing the exquisite embroidery, made dearer by her mother’s own hand,
she said, “I’ll cherish it always. I wish…” her voice broke.

Her father pulled her close. “I
know. So do we all.” For a hundred heartbeats, he held her close, and then he
stepped away, a determined look on his face. “You ride to war…and to glory.”

Jordan hugged his words close. To
have a father who not only saw her for who she truly was but valued her for
it…that was a gift beyond compare. “Thank you, father. I will do my best for Navarre.”

“I know you will.” He turned and
lifted a silver half-helm from the side table. “This is for you.” The helm
flashed bright in the sunlight, a sea eagle sculpted on the crest, but what
caught her gaze was the crown. A delicate gold crown circled the helm, cresting
waves interspersed with rosebuds. “I had the crown added at the last minute,
rosebuds for Lanverness and waves for Navarre.” He offered it to her. “For my
warrior daughter who will be the next queen of Lanverness. You make me proud,
daughter, so very proud.”

“Thank you, father.” Cradling the
helm in the crook of her arm, she stared at him, struggling to hold back the
tears. “Keep safe, father.”

“And you.”

There was one more thing she needed
to say, her words laden with worry. “I’ve kept watch from the tower tops,
hoping to spy Juliana’s sails.” Jordan fervently prayed she hadn’t sent her
sister on a death quest. “When Juliana comes, and I pray she comes soon, tell
her I’m sorry to have missed her.”

“She’ll understand.”

Jordan gave her father one last
kiss and then stepped back. Saluting the king, she walked from the throne room.
Down the tower stairs and through the castle hallways, she saw none of it,
acutely aware that she was leaving her childhood home behind. A pair of guards
rushed to open the outer doors. Jordan strode from shadowed grief into blazing
sunshine. Blinking at the brightness, she found the others waiting in the
courtyard, her companions from the Southern Mountains. Thaddeus caught her in a
bear-hug. “Keep safe, princess.”

“And you.” Jordan returned his warm embrace and then stepped away, growing weary of goodbyes. “Are you sure you
can’t?” Having come to rely on the Zwardmaster’s friendship and steady wisdom, Jordan knew she’d miss him more than she cared to say.

“Wish that we could, lass, but we
serve the Grand Master.”

Jordan already knew the answer, but
hearing it made her feel even more bereft, as if she’d become insignificant
with the loss of her visions.

Thaddeus leaned close, his voice a
low rumble. “Don’t think that way, lass. You heeded the gods’ call and now the
future is yours to decide.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Your dream
is also your destiny, that’s a rare thing in this life. Seize it and never let
go.” Stepping back, he gave her a jaunty smile. “You’ll make a difference with
your sword.”

The swarthy swordmaster had a knack
for knowing just what to say. “I’ll miss your wise counsel.”

He flashed a rogue’s smile, but she
could tell he was touched. “I know.”

“Keep safe.”

“And you.”

She bid her goodbyes to the rest of
the Zward and to the monk, Yarl, and then turned to Rafe. “Are you ready?”

Clad in plain brown leathers, the
young monk flashed an eager grin. “I’m ready.” Handing her the reins to an
eighteen-hand warhorse, Rafe swung into the saddle of a sturdy roan gelding. Jordan settled the crowned helm on her head and vaulted into the saddle. Her dappled
stallion pranced beneath her, spirited and proud, his silver-white coat
flashing bright as steel in the sunlight. A pair of guards opened the outer
gates, admitting a tangy breath of sea air. Saluting her friends, Jordan gave her stallion his head. The dappled silver leaped to a gallop. They burst
through the castle gates, clattering down the ramp and onto the causeway. The
tide was out, the turquoise sea retreated. Beds of mussels and bright green
anemones lay exposed on either side of the long causeway, the glittering
gardens of the sea. Like a magical road, the long causeway stood high and dry,
threading a straight path from the castle to the shore. Jordan urged her stallion to a full gallop. Flying across the causeway, she escaped the castle’s
grief. Reveling in the stallion’s speed, in the warmth of the sunshine, and the
beauty of the turquoise sea, she loosed a joyous laugh, realizing the
swordmaster had the truth of it; life was a destiny waiting to be seized.

She reached the end of the
causeway, galloping between the sentinel statues; two giant ospreys chiseled
from black basalt. Jordan steered her stallion along the north shore, throwing
up clods of wet sand. Slowing to a canter, she surveyed in the view, storing
the details in her memory like a keepsake. To the east, the capital city
gleamed white in the sunshine, limestone houses climbing the coastal hills.
Shaped like a crescent, the white city embraced the harbor, a jewel of
turquoise with Castle Seamount thrust up from a spit of land like a dark sword,
straight and proud. The beauty and tranquility pierced Jordan’s soul, a city worth fighting for.

Turning away from the sea, she rode
towards the tournament field. An army awaited her. Drawn up in ranks, their
battle banners rippled in the steady sea breeze. Two thousand well-trained
soldiers clad in blue and red checked tabards of Navarre stood in disciplined
columns. Half were pike men, the other half skilled archers. An additional
twelve hundred levies swelled the ranks. Clad in leathers and homespun browns,
they’d came from villages, towns and farms, answering their king’s call. An
undisciplined lot, they sprawled across the hillside, looking like a rag-tag
crew, but all of them carried longbows. Jordan smiled to see them, knowing
their bows would take a fierce bite from any foe.

A cluster of officers rode towards
her. Major Colson snapped a smart salute. “The army awaits your orders.”

“And the supply train?” A line of
wagons clogged the southern road.

“Ready to follow.”

Jordan cast one last look toward
the sea, hoping for sails on the northern horizon, but the ocean remained
stubbornly empty. Her gaze snapped back to her officers. “Then it’s time we
marched north. Give the orders.”

Officers cantered away, bellowing
commands. Wailing conch shells echoed against the hillside, prodding the army
to motion. Battle banners billowed and snapped in the wind as the army began to
move. Marching in unison, the pike men led the way, their twenty foot pikes
angled against their shoulders, steel spear tips glistening like a thicket
raised to the cloudless sky.

Roused by the sight, Jordan asked her stallion for a rear. Standing in the stirrups, she unsheathed her sword
and raised it to the heavens. “For Navarre and the Light!”

“
Navarre
and the Light!”
The
men roared her war cry.

Sheathing her sword, Jordan cantered the length of the column. Taking her place at the front, she slowed her
silver to a brisk walk, the solid tramp of boots following behind. A baritone
voice bellowed a sea chantey and the men took up the song, tramping to the
lively beat. In high spirits, they marched away from the sea, passing through the
city gates. Jordan grinned, feeling the tug of glory. She knew battle was a
grim business, full of death and dying, but war offered a noble glory to those
who fought for a worthy cause. If Darkness dared to invade, then she yearned to
make a difference with her sword…and she’d have Stewart by her side. An
irrepressible grin filled her face.
To battle and to glory,
she rode her
horse north to war.

39

Liandra

Liandra took the long way, deliberately letting the emissary
stew. Delay was a tactic of statecraft the queen had long perfected. When she
finally arrived at her solar, Sir Durnheart was already there, standing guard
by the doorway. A vision of knightly splendor, his great blue sword reared over
his shoulder, his armor burnished bright, he bowed his head towards her.
“Majesty.”

The emissary from Ur whirled, his
anger quickly subsumed beneath a diplomat’s smile. Tall and gangly, the
emissary towered a full head over Sir Durnheart. Tanned bronze by a southern
sun, his dark skin made the silver ring piercing his right nostril all the more
startling. A thin chain ran from his nose ring to a silver collar at his neck,
marking him as a chained servant of Ur. Clad in long silken robes of brilliant
purple trimmed in gold, he bowed towards her, an exotic stork wrapped in bright
plumage. “I greet thee in the name of my master, the Twelfth-fold prince of Ur.”

“Had we but known of your wish for
an audience, we would have been here to welcome you.”

“Your majesty is here, now.”
Flashing an enigmatic smile, the emissary gestured to the shadows. “We bring
you a gift from our master.” A small man in purple livery stepped forward
carrying an ornate box.

Another gift,
yet the queen
wondered if such lavish gifts implied friendship or a hidden threat.
“Your
master is generous with his gifts.”

“It is our way.”

At the queen’s gesture, Sir
Durnheart opened the door. The queen swept into her solar, leaving the others
to follow. A pine-scented fire crackled in the hearth, a bottle of red wine
breathing on the side table, proving Lady Sarah had set the tableau. The queen
took a seat in the throne chair, basking in the fire’s warmth. Offering a smile
to the emissary, she gestured to the opposite chair. “Please join us.”

The chained servant folded his
large frame into the straight-backed chair. Beneath his purple cloak, his
tanned chest was bare, a wide silver belt cinching a long skirt of pleated
white linen. Obviously suited to warmer climes, the queen found his fashion
both odd and unsettling. “You’re not bothered by the cold of the north?”

“Before one gains the chain of
service, one is inured to small discomforts such as heat or cold.”

She knew so little of Ur, all of their customs seemed strange and bizarre. “How long have you worn the chain of
service?”

“This one has been bound since his
thirteenth year.” Pride rode his voice, as if it was a great honor. “But I am
insignificant compared to the glory of my master, the twelfth-fold prince of Ur.” He gestured to his servant. “Please accept this gift in the name of my master.”

The servant stepped forward
proffering an elaborately carved wooden chest.

The queen gestured to a side table.
“Set it here.” Placing the box on the table, the servant withdrew. The queen’s
gaze flicked to Sir Durnheart. Hovering a sword’s length away, the knight made
a subtle hand sign indicating that he’d already examined the gift and found no
threat.

The queen examined the small chest.
Elaborately carved from rosewood, the box itself was a masterpiece. Knights and
wizards battled dragons and hellish beasts, a carved battle raging across the
top. Liandra ran her hands across the exquisite detail, wondering at the
message beneath the design. The top hinged on two opposite sides. Opening the
lid, she found a chessboard inside. Darkest ebony inlaid with squares of
polished abalone shell, the chessboard was stunning. Lifting the board into the
firelight, Liandra was ambushed by its rare beauty. The abalone squares rippled
with smoky colors, beautiful as muted rainbows, while the ebony anchored the
board with a pattern of darkest shadow. Smoky iridescent shell contrasted with
ebony’s deepest black created a breathtaking effect. Light against Dark, the
board shimmered in the firelight as if it held a wizard’s enchantment. “We have
never seen its like.”

The emissary smiled. “My master
will be pleased to learn of your pleasure,” he gestured to the box, “but more
awaits you.”

Setting the board aside, the queen
looked inside. Nestled in purple velvet sat a chess set unlike any she’d ever
seen, one worthy of the magnificent board. The black was carved of ebony,
winged dragons for the knights, a bearded wizard for the king, a sultry
sorcerous for the queen. Twisted gargoyles served as dark pawns. But the queen
was drawn the green figures. Carved of malachite, the green was even more
alluring. Armored knights rode rearing stallions, the king and the queen both
stately figures, the pawns carved as stalwart foot soldiers with twin roses
inlaid in their shields. Liandra reached for a knight, marveling at the detail.
Each figure was a hand span tall, exquisitely carved with small sapphires inset
for eyes. Cunningly wrought, and weighted on the bottom to keep them from
toppling, each piece begged to be played. “Stunning!”

The emissary nodded towards her.
“My master also plays chess. Having heard you are a player of some repute, he
wishes to meet you across the chessboard.”

“Your master is here? In our city?”

“Within a fortnight, he will
arrive.”

The emissary was full of surprises.
“We must prepare a royal welcome, a reception in the grand audience hall, a
royal feast, perhaps a dance.”

The emissary waved his hand like a
fluttering bird. “There is no need. My master wishes to meet the queen who
rules before he meets your court and your people.” He gestured to the box. “He
prefers to begin with a quiet dinner and a game of chess.”

Such an odd but interesting
request, Liandra felt her curiosity quicken. “Your master intrigues us.”

The emissary chuckled. “He
intrigues us all.” His face sobered. “May I tell him you will accede to his
request?”

“We will be delighted to meet him
across the chessboard.”

“Excellent.” The emissary stood.
Bowing toward her, he turned to leave.

Startled by his abrupt retreat, the
queen said, “Wait.”

The emissary turned.

“We wish to offer your master accommodations
within our castle.”

“There is no need. My master bid me
purchase a manse within your fair city. We have been preparing for his
arrival.” 

Feeling off balance, the queen
said, “Did you purchase a suitable manse?”

He nodded. “The former owner was a
Lord Nealy. The manse has a most impressive wine cellar.”

She knew the manse, a pretentious
and overly gaudy confection in the heart of the wealthy district. “Is wine
important to your master?”

The emissary shrugged. “I live to
serve.” He bowed again. “I will send word when my master arrives.” Gathering
his cloak, he strode towards the door, his servant on his heels.

At the queen’s gesture, Sir
Durnheart followed. She’d given orders for her shadowmen to trail the emissary.
The queen intended to keep a closer watch on the servants of Ur.

Lady Sarah emerged from the far
room. “Another gift?”

“It seems the prince is full of
them.”

“What does it mean?”

The queen considered the
chessboard. “That he likes chess, that he’s wealthy and gives exquisite gifts,
that he prefers private meetings to audience halls, in short, it means that the
prince is an intriguing mystery, a royal conundrum. And,” she fingered a
malachite knight, “he knows us too well.”

“You’re intrigued.”

“Intrigued, yes, but leavened with a
healthy dose of apprehension.”

“Yet you’ll play him.”

The queen flashed a predatory
smile. “Chess is an excellent way to plumb the mind of an opponent, be they
friend or foe.”

“Which is he?”

“We’ll hope for a friend and plan
for a foe.” Liandra set the chess piece aside. “Bring our jewel box.”

Lady Sarah crossed to the far room,
returning with the carved box.

The queen fingered the design,
depressing the secret lever. A hidden compartment opened. A skeleton key set on
a silver chain rested within, the key to Castle Tandroth’s hidden passageways.
Liandra set the slender chain around her neck, hiding the key within her
bodice. “Do you have yours?”

Lady Sarah delved into her bodice,
displaying a twin to the queen’s key.

Liandra nodded. “Keep it with you always,
for we fear Darkness draws near.”