Read Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands Online

Authors: David B. Coe

Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (43 page)

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

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“So how did you explain all this to him?”

The Qirsi stopped for a moment, eyeing Tavis as if looking for some sign that he was being difficult. “I told him that others got you out of the prison,” he finally said, resuming his work, “and that I was called to the sanctuary to help you leave Kentigern and find refuge elsewhere.”

“And he was satisfied with that?”

“Hewson doesn’t ask many questions, nor do I ask many of him. A man so adept at deceiving gate soldiers isn’t likely to want to discuss such matters.”

Tavis weighed this for a moment. “Well, thank you,” he said. “I’m glad to be away from Kentigern.”

“As you should be. I expect the journey to Tremain will go smoothly. You’ll have to hide again to enter the city, but that won’t be for several days.” He climbed down off the cart, carrying all the food he had found. “For now, Lord Tavis, you’re a free man. Enjoy it while you can.”

It was barely past time for dinner and still hours before the closing of the city gates, yet Kentigern Castle was already so quiet it might as well have been midnight. Soldiers spoke in hushed tones by the barbicans and guardhouses. Ioanna was still in bed, her ladies confined by propriety and custom to their chambers. The duke sat alone in his banquet hall, doing his best to empty the castle’s cellars of Sanbiri red. And his ministers, including Shurik, took their meals in their private chambers, dismissed for the day by Aindreas.

The evenings had been this way since Brienne’s death. Silent as a cloister, and somber as a funeral procession. Once, the castle had been a lively place, filled nearly every night with music and the smells of a feast. The duke drank his share of wine then as well, though usually in company and almost always with a grand meal. There was a reason he had grown so fat.

But those days were past. Shurik wondered if Kentigern would ever be like that again. Certainly he hoped it wouldn’t. In their current
state the castle’s inhabitants would have a far more difficult time enduring the coming siege.

Finishing his meal, the first minister called to his servants to remove the dirty plates and tell the stable workers to ready his mount. They bowed, murmuring, “Yes, First Minister,” until they were out in the corridor, then ran off to carry out his instructions. None of them asked him why he’d need a mount at this hour, or where he was going. They didn’t even ask him if he wished to inform the duke of his plans. It was all so easy he had to laugh.

He walked down to the ward, where the stableboy brought him his horse, explaining that he had brushed the beast just that day. The boy fairly beamed when Shurik commented on how fine the animal looked. The guards at the inner and outer gates bowed to him, wishing him a pleasant ride and a good night. The soldiers at the road gate went even further, promising him that even if he returned after the ringing of the bells for gate closing, they would assuredly admit him to the city. He was Shurik jal Marcine, first minister to the duke of Kentigern. And they were Eandi fools. How could any of them have done different?

Upon leaving the city, he rode straight toward the Tarbin, so that it would seem to the guards at the gate that he was riding to the encampment of Kentigern soldiers who kept watch on the river. Only when he was out of sight of the city walls did he veer off to the south, toward the edge of Harrier Fen, where the Tarbin grew shallower and easier to ford. With Panya in darkness for another night, and Ilias little more than a narrow blade of red on the eastern horizon, he didn’t fear being seen. He couldn’t see much himself, but he trusted his mount to follow the river and deliver him safely to the meeting place.

As he rode, his mind returned once more to his conversation with Curgh’s first minister the night before. He had been certain from the start that Tavis was freed from the dungeon by one or more Qirsi. It struck him as so obvious, he was shocked that even Aindreas hadn’t seen it. Astonishingly, though, it seemed clear to him that there had been a Weaver involved. There could be no mistaking the terror he had seen in Fotir’s eyes when he raised the possibility. Shurik knew what it was to work with a Weaver, to know that simply by associating with such a Qirsi one risked execution. He couldn’t blame Fotir for paling at the mere mention of the word, or for maintaining his deception even after it had been exposed.

But he needed to know if Fotir’s Weaver was also his Weaver.

It wouldn’t have surprised him. The man who was paying him had shown, time and again, a willingness to pit one of his hirelings against another. Given his goals in this instance—civil war, the weakening of Eibithar’s major houses, and war between Eibithar and Aneira—it certainly would have made sense to do so again.

Whether this was the case or not made little difference; either way Shurik would be expected to follow his orders. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but wonder if Tavis’s escape was yet another element of the Weaver’s plan, or an unforeseen reversal. Was it possible that he and Fotir were allies after all? Should he have been helping Aindreas recapture the boy or subverting the duke’s efforts?

Something—a momentary flicker of light—caught his attention. He slowed his mount, scanning the far side of the river. An instant later he saw it again: a small flame, no larger than that of a candle, appeared briefly, and then was gone. Yaella.

Shurik steered his mount down the shallow riverbank and into the frigid waters of the Tarbin.

They’ll say I’m another Carthach,
he thought, as the river soaked his breeches and splashed his face and hair.
They’ll look at me and see another Qirsi traitor
. It shouldn’t have bothered him. Why should he care what Aindreas and the others said of him? Besides, nothing could have been further from the truth. Carthach betrayed his people to save his own life and line his pockets with gold. Shurik might have been betraying an Eandi duke, and getting paid for it, but he was doing this for the glory of the Qirsi people. Indeed, he liked to think that what he wrought tonight might help undo, after all these centuries, the terrible wrong committed by Carthach by the banks of the Rassor.

But still, the thought stayed with him as he emerged from the Tarbin on the Aneiran side and rode toward the place where Yaella and her duke waited.
The traitor walks a lonely path.
It was an old saying, dating back much farther than Carthach’s treason. But Shurik couldn’t help thinking that it carried more than a grain of truth.

A few moments later he reined his mount to a halt just in front of them. They were barely visible in the darkness, two dark forms framed against the stars and the pale red light of Ilias. Like Shurik, both of them were on horseback, Yaella on the smaller beast looking tiny beside the Eandi noble.

“Shurik jal Marcine,” Yaella said, the words barely reaching him over the murmur of the river, “first minister of Kentigern, may I present Lord Rouel, duke of Mertesse.”

“I’m honored to meet you, my Lord Duke,” Shurik said, trying his best to sound like he meant it.

“Everything is ready?” the man asked, sounding impatient.

“Not yet, but it will be, provided I get my gold.”

A pause, then, “Pay him.”

A flame appeared, balanced like a juggler’s blade on a stone that rested in Yaella’s palm. With the other hand she held out a pouch that jingled invitingly.

“You can count it if you like,” the duke said as Shurik took the pouch from Yaella, his fingers gently brushing hers.

Shurik tucked the pouch into a pocket hidden within his riding cloak. “That won’t be necessary, my lord. I’m sure it’s all there.”

The duke frowned in the firelight. He was a large man, broad in the shoulders and chest, though not as fat as Aindreas. He had yellow hair and cold blue eyes that peered out from beneath a jutting brow.

“I was telling the duke as we rode here,” Yaella said, “that given recent events in Kentigern, we might be well served to wait for the moons before beginning the siege.”

Their eyes met and Shurik thought he saw the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I’d have to agree,” he said. “It’s quite possible that the houses of Kentigern and Curgh will be at war by then, which should make taking the tor far easier.”

“Is it true that the Curgh boy killed Aindreas’s daughter?” the duke asked.

“Ah, so you’ve heard. Yes, I’m afraid it’s true.”

“I’ve always said the Eibitharians are brutes. This merely proves it.”

Shurik grinned. “Strange that Brienne’s death should affect you so, my lord.”

The man glared at him. “My quarrel is with your king and your duke, not with innocent children.”

“Of course, my lord.”

A horse whinnied on the Aneiran bank behind Rouel and Yaella. Shurik started in his saddle, causing his mount to rear. It was all he could do to control the creature.

“Calm yourself, First Minister,” Rouel said, not bothering to
hide his amusement. “It’s just my men. I don’t venture this far from my castle unprotected.”

Shurik took a deep breath and patted his mount’s shoulder. He tried to smile, but knew that he failed. He suddenly felt vulnerable and he wished Yaella would let her flame die out.

“So then it’s agreed?” Yaella asked. “We’ll wait a bit longer?”

“Half a turn,” the duke said. “But that’s all. If the houses go to war before the Night of Two Moons, we’ll use that to our advantage. But I won’t wait past the third night of the waning. We need the moonlight to cross the river, and I don’t want too much of the night to pass before we begin.” He regarded Shurik briefly, a sour expression on his face. “You’ll send word if the houses go to war before then?”

“If I may, my lord,” Yaella said. “Perhaps we should just plan the attack for that night, the third of the waning. These meetings are dangerous for all of us. I’d rather not risk another.”

“Is that acceptable?” the duke asked Shurik.

He sensed a purpose behind Yaella’s suggestion, though he couldn’t guess what it was. Half a turn was more than enough time for him to make his preparations, but he didn’t know if the houses would be fighting so soon. “Yes, my lord,” he answered. “I believe it is.”

The duke nodded. “Good.” He turned his mount and started back up the riverbank. “Come, Yaella,” he called over his shoulder.

“Yes, my lord.” But she remained as she was for just an instant, her eyes fixed on Shurik’s.

“I can’t be certain that Aindreas and Javan will be at war by then,” he whispered to her.

She smiled, the look in her deep yellow eyes reminding him of nights they had spent together long ago. “I can,” she said, and extinguished her flame.

Chapter Twenty-one

Glyndwr, Eibithar

G
ershon finished reading what was scrawled on the parchment and placed it on the duke’s table, watching as it curled up once more, like dried leaves in a fire.

“I see what you mean,” he said, after a brief silence. “It’s almost as if Aindreas wants a war.”

“I can’t say that I blame him,” the duke said. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. When he and Javan were merely threatening each other, I could afford to wait and watch. But now …” He shrugged. “I’m still reluctant to ride to Kentigern, but I don’t know that I can just stay here and let them destroy the kingdom.”

“And you say the idea of going to Kentigern came from the first minister?” Gershon asked again, still not quite believing what his duke was saying.

Kearney nodded, a small smile on his face, as if he didn’t quite believe it either. “It surprised me as well. But she spoke rather forcefully on the matter, and she even suggested that I discuss it with you.”

The swordmaster considered this, shaking his head. The Qirsi were full of surprises, and he wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility that this was some sort of trick. It had always struck him as absurd that the sorcerer race, men and women who had first come to the Forelands as would-be conquerors, were now trusted as ministers in every court of every kingdom in the land. Hadn’t any of the Eandi nobles learned their history? Didn’t they know what Qirsi magic had done to the armies of the Forelands during the Qirsi Wars? Had they forgotten that the Qirsi themselves had been done in by a traitor?
They were dangerous and deceitful, yet it sometimes seemed to the swordmaster that he was the only person who realized it.

Perhaps, as Kearney often said, he was too much of a warrior. He didn’t fully trust the Caerissans either, though Caerisse and Eibithar had been allies for two centuries and hadn’t fought a war in four hundred years. Once an enemy, always an enemy. It was an old soldier’s credo, one Gershon’s father had taught him many years ago. He knew that it could be taken too far—during its history, Eibithar had fought wars with just about every kingdom in the Forelands, and he couldn’t expect the kingdom to stand alone, without allies. But neither would he expect any of Eibithar’s dukes or thanes to turn to the people of Wethyrn or Caerisse for counsel. Yet none of them thought twice about turning to the white-hairs.

Gershon thought his duke the most intelligent and honorable man he had ever known. He understood the world as it truly was, unlike some, who seemed incapable of seeing beyond what they thought the world should be. As commander of Glyndwr’s army, he appreciated the value of training and fine arms. As head of one of Eibithar’s major houses, he knew when to talk and when to use his soldiers. As a friend, he expressed his opinions with candor, and expected the same in return, even knowing that he might not like all he heard.

A man—a soldier—could ask for no more from his duke. To Gershon’s mind Kearney had but one flaw: his attachment to the first minister.

It was bad enough that he turned to her for advice at every turn. That he should love her as well seemed to the swordmaster uncharacteristically foolish. Gershon and Sulwen had befriended Kearney and his wife years ago, long before Kearney’s father died, making the young man duke. The swordmaster knew that Leilia could be difficult, even cold at times. He knew as well that it was not at all uncommon for a noble to take a mistress, or even several. But a mistress was one thing; a Qirsi mistress who also served as first minister was quite another. Never mind that their love was forbidden, that they risked disgracing themselves and the House of Glyndwr every night they spent together. How was he to judge the soundness of the advice she offered if he listened to her as a lover rather than as a noble? The Qirsi had shown time and again that they could not be trusted, and yet Kearney had let the woman into not only his court but also his bed.

Gershon found it easy to hate her, and easier still to question her motives and the soundness of her counsel. All of which made those rare instances when he found himself agreeing with her deeply disturbing.

“You’re very quiet, swordmaster.”

Gershon looked up. Kearney was eyeing him closely, that same smile on his lips.

“I take it you think this is a bad idea.”

The swordmaster cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m not certain what I think of it. It does sound like Kentigern and Curgh could be at each other’s throats, and soon. I’d put our army up against either of theirs without a second thought, but I’m not anxious to get between them.”

The duke looked puzzled. “So you do think we should stay out of it.”

“I don’t know that we can. She’s right about that. If we have even the smallest chance of preventing a civil war, particularly one so close to the Aneiran border, we have an obligation to do so.”

“We live in extraordinary times,” the duke said, laughing and shaking his head.

“My lord?”

“First Keziah suggests that I speak with you, and then you tell me that you agree with her. I wouldn’t be surprised if the king of Caerisse walked in here tomorrow and told me he’d signed a treaty with the Aneirans.”

“Ean forbid,” Gershon said with a frown.

There was a knock at the door, and the swordmaster felt his shoulders tightening.

“Are you certain you’re up to this?” the duke asked.

“Of course, my lord. We’re your most trusted advisors and you require counsel from both of us. That’s what you’ll have.”

The duke nodded, then faced the door. “Enter,” he called.

The door opened and the first minister walked in, her white hair and pallid skin making her look more like a wraith than a person.

Kearney rose from his chair and stepped around his table to greet her. “Good morning, First Minister.”

“My lord,” she said, giving a small bow, no doubt for Gershon’s benefit. “You sent for me?”

“Yes.” He indicated Gershon with an open hand. “We were just discussing your suggestion that I ride to Kentigern.”

The minister faced him, her expression unreadable. “Good morning, swordmaster.”

He nodded once, saying nothing.

“Did you decide anything, my lord?” she asked.

“Not yet, no. But you should know that I received another message this morning, this one indicating that Lord Tavis managed to escape from Kentigern’s dungeon and that Aindreas has imprisoned Javan, his first minister, and a small company of his men in the castle. It seems he intends to hold them until the boy can be recaptured.”

The woman rubbed her hands together anxiously. “Who sent the message, my lore?”

“That’s the odd thing. It’s not signed, and the messenger couldn’t say.”

“Perhaps it’s meant as a deception, a trick to get you to ride to Kentigern.”

“I thought you wanted him to go,” Gershon said.

She hesitated, and the swordmaster could see that she was struggling with something. There was more here than the duke knew.

“I want nothing one way or another,” she said at last. “If by going to Kentigern the duke can prevent a civil war, then by all means he should go. But only if the danger to him isn’t too great.” She gave a thin smile. “That’s why I told him to speak with you, swordmaster. Who better to decide what’s safe for him and what isn’t?”

“Do you think this message is a trick of some sort?” Kearney asked, forcing them both to look at him again.

“It bothers me that isn’t signed,” Gershon said. “But with all we know of what came before, and all we know of Javan and Aindreas, I believe what it says.”

The Qirsi woman crossed her arms over her chest. “So do I.”

Again, watching her speak, Gershon had the sense that she was holding something back.

The duke, however, did not seem to notice. “I believe it as well,” he said, “though I’m loath to admit it.” He walked slowly to the hearth and gazed into it, though no fire burned there. “Left to themselves, Javan and Aindreas will destroy each other, leaving all of southwestern Eibithar exposed to Aneira.” He faced them again. “That’s where both of you think this will lead, isn’t it? Unless I stop them.”

“No one else will stop them, my lord,” Gershon said, choosing
his words with care. “The king is said to be infirm, Tobbar carries little weight with the other houses, and the same can be said of the new leaders in Galdasten.”

He glanced at the first minister and found that she was watching him closely, as if seeing him for the first time. It made him uncomfortable to have her staring at him so.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked sourly.

“No,” she said. “Just the opposite. I was about to say much the same thing.” She smiled. “I’m not accustomed to agreeing with you so often.”

“Perhaps there’s hope for Javan and Aindreas after all,” Kearney said, grinning at them.

Gershon mustered a smile, but he remained uneasy.

“So,” the duke went on a moment later, “I have no choice but to intervene.”

“I don’t believe that’s what the swordmaster was saying, my lord. It may be that none of Eibithar’s houses should intervene. You may even want to consult with them before you act. But if you feel that something should be done, you’ll have to do it yourself. None of the others can.”

She understood him well enough, though Gershon didn’t like her speaking for him.

The duke looked at him, a question in his green eyes.

The swordmaster nodded. “She has it about right.”

“I don’t think we have time to consult with the other houses,” Kearney said. “As it is we may not get to Kentigern soon enough to prevent a war.” He returned to his table, pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer, and began to write. “How long will it take you to prepare the men?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

Gershon didn’t hesitate. “We can be ready two mornings from now, my lord. How many men do you want to take?”

“As many as we can without leaving Glyndwr vulnerable.”

Gershon thought for a few moments. He would leave three hundred archers and two hundred swordsmen to keep the city and castle safe. Fewer men might suffice, but he tended to be cautious in such matters. See first to defending yourself, for a victory in the field means nothing if home is lost. It was yet another of his father’s sayings, and perhaps the most sensible of them all.

“I would take seven hundred, my lord. Two hundred bowmen and the rest swordsmen.”

“That sounds fine.” The duke looked up from his writing. “You’ll see to their provisions?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“So you’ve decided,” the minister said.

“Yes. Given what I’ve been hearing from the two of you, I don’t feel that I have any other choice.”

“What is it you’re writing?”

“A message to Aindreas informing him of my intention to ride to Kentigern and asking him not to do anything that might endanger the peace before I arrive.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Gershon said quietly.

Kearney glanced at him, smiling once more.

“You’re certain this is wise, my lord?” the Qirsi asked.

“No,” he said, still grinning.

The minister didn’t respond, and Kearney’s smile faded.

“I know it carries risks. But I believe it’s the right thing to do.”

She stood there for several seconds, looking as if she wanted to say more. Instead she turned and started toward the door. “Then I’ll leave the planning to the two of you. I’m not very good with soldiers and supplies.”

“Kez, wait.” Kearney was on his feet again, stepping out from behind his table. “I must say, I’m as confused as Gershon was before. First you tell me I have to go to Kentigern, and then, when I make up my mind to do so, you act like I’ve just disappointed you terribly.”

The Qirsi stopped at the door, but didn’t face him again. “I don’t mean to, my lord. I agree that you’re doing the right thing. I … I’ll pray to the gods for your safety.”

“Our safety, Kez. You have to come with me.”

She did turn then. “I’m no warrior.”

Gershon had to keep himself from voicing his agreement. She wasn’t a warrior, and she had no place in the company that would ride from the highlands to the tor.

“No, but you’re my first minister. Gershon is a warrior and we may need him before all of this is over. But I have to stop a war, and I need to have someone with me who’s as skilled in mediation as the swordmaster is in soldiering.”

The look in her yellow eyes brightened. “Yes, my lord,” she said. Neither of them had moved—half the room lay between them. Yet, looking from one of them to the other, seeing the way they gazed at
each other, Gershon had to turn away. He could never approve of their love, but neither could he deny its power.

“I’ll leave you, my lord,” she said again, the words coming out as no more than a whisper.

“Very well. We’ll speak again later in the day.”

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

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