Crown of Vengeance (Dragon Prophecy) (68 page)

—Arilcarion War-Maker,
Of the Sword Road

“It took you long enough to get here,” Rithdeliel said.

“I thought we should see something of the countryside, since we’d come all this way,” Gunedwaen answered, and Rithdeliel laughed.

It was a full sennight since the disastrous battle in the storm. The great manor houses they had passed on their way to the keep had been utterly deserted, as destitute as if they had been sacked, and so Gunedwaen had dared to hope other parts of the High King’s army had escaped the enemy’s trap. But he had not truly believed until he saw Lord Rithdeliel riding toward him on his great grey destrier, two tailles of
komen
behind him.

“Come and see the castel instead, old friend! If we are crowded there—and we are—we are at least well fed!” He gestured to the knight-herald beside him. The knight-herald raised his horn and sounded a call, and Gunedwaen gestured to his own knight-herald.

That damned rascal’s lucky we still have a herald and a warhorn with us—but that’s a Caerthalien-bred Warlord for you: always sure the world will run as he wishes, and not as it wills …
Gunedwaen thought sourly. Every Swordmaster was a cynic and pessimist; good fortune only made them suspicious.

As his knight-herald’s call echoed Rithdeliel’s, the
komen
behind Gunedwaen began to cheer. The sound grew louder as it was taken up by more and more of them, the impulse of it rolling backward through the ordered ranks in their formations, dipping as komen paused for breath, swelling anew as they shouted in loud fierce joy.

But Rithdeliel’s boast of triumph was—much as Gunedwaen had suspected—a show for the
komentai’a
. Once he was behind closed doors with Rithdeliel and the majority of the surviving War Princes—sour luck indeed to find so many of them here; if it had been left to Gunedwaen he would have dropped them all into Great Sea Ocean and called it a good day’s work—he heard a different tale.

Vieliessar High King was still missing.

“What do you mean you don’t know where she is?” Gunedwaen demanded. “It’s been more than a sennight since the Alliance proved it could fight—they could have executed her by now!”

“They would have gotten around to mentioning it,” Lord Thoromarth said. “If you think Nilkaran Jaeglenhend doesn’t know where we are, you’re mistaken—Lord Rithdeliel threw his court out of the keep when we took it.”

From his seat by the window, Rithdeliel bowed ironically, not getting to his feet. “We kept the Heir-Prince,” he said. “And his extremely annoying sister. I believe they’re in the dungeons.”

“So Nilkaran knows you have his keep and his heir,” Gunedwaen said. “And you think—what? He’d ask the Alliance to trade Lord Vieliessar for them?”

“I
think
the Alliance would know where to send its knights-herald to show us her severed head and invite us to surrender,” Thoromarth answered caustically. “But they’re chasing their tails. Aradreleg Lightsister and the rest of our Green Robes escaped the Alliance and reached us yesterday morning. Aradreleg said the Alliance Lightborn lifted the storm so they could try to track Lord Vieliessar—so of course their wagons are now mired in mud. She’s got a plan to get our equipment back, too—if you don’t mind a little fighting.”

“You’ve got half the Lightborn of the West here,” Gunedwaen said. “Why don’t you just…?” He waved his hand wordlessly.

“Apparently Magery isn’t that useful unless you want to either strike somebody with a bolt of lightning or freeze them to death in a blizzard,” Kalides Brabamant said, sounding irritable. “I’ve seen Alasneh Lightsister Call my lady’s gloves across the castel dozens of times. But several thousand Lightborn cannot do the same for a few carts.”

Gunedwaen knew better than most Lightless what the limitations of the Light truly were. Even if the Lightborn could Call the contents of every baggage wagon to them—a thing by no means certain—all the living things would be left behind. “I’ve never objected to a fight,” he said mildly. “What is this plan?”

*   *   *

For nearly a two sennights since their capture, the surviving commons of the High King’s baggage train had followed the enemy army. They had no choice. Any who ran was cut down by
komen
on horseback or dragged back to the encampment to suffer a more lingering death. The escape of the Lightborn had been the only triumph they could claim, and it was little enough to warm shivering, ill-clad bodies or fill stomachs pinched with hunger.

But now the enemy had brought them to Jaeglenhend Great Keep.

Too far!
Tunonil thought.
We are still too far distant!
It was almost a league from where the wagons stood to the castel walls—and the protection of the High King’s army. If the commonfolk tried to reach it afoot, they would surely be cut down as they ran. Nor could they bring with them the precious sumpter wagons. Those stood unmoving, their wheels spoked, for the Light’s Chosen of the High King had been Calling since dawn, and already their flocks of sheep and goats, horses and cattle, had headed the Call. Only the oxen and mules remained behind, shackled to their unmoving wagons, but even that was a victory for the High King, for it was not merely her wagons which must be held immobile, but all of them.

When Tunonil and all the rest had first been captured, the oxherds and muleteers had seized the best of their draft animals for their own wagons and carts, and now those beasts who could be Called were scattered throughout the combined baggage train. So the wagons stood motionless, and the
komen
armed themselves, and the War Princes shouted and argued over what was to be done and how.

The clamor of the war drums could be heard in the distance, and the warhorns sounded. The knights were calling for their destriers to be saddled and their weapons to be brought. Soon the two armies would clash.

At last the army rode forth. Even though these were the warriors of the enemy, sworn foes of the High King, they were a splendid sight to see, for every horse and rider wore bright silk and the armor of the
komen
was as bright as butterfly wings. Behind the warhorses and the wearers of bright armor and silks came a second army of servants. Their palfreys were laden with baskets of food and drink, for the great lords went to war as to a festival, and among the servants rode the Light’s Chosen who served the enemy.

“You! Get down from there! This wagon isn’t going anywhere, so get to work, you lazy brute!”

The speaker was no great lord, but he carried a whip, and no Landbond’s life was held dear by any but themselves. Tunonil climbed down from the wagon bench. The carts were being unloaded and their contents laid upon the ground, and he could see that other prisoners were already carrying baskets, boxes, rugs, and chairs to the place where the servants meant to set their masters’ encampment. Even the paddocks and the horselines were being prepared for their masters’ return, though there was not now a single horse in the whole of the camp, for most had fled candlemarks ago and the rest had been ridden to war.

The work was hard, though Tunonil was used to hard work and there were many hands to help. But they had all been days with scant food and little water. Burdens he had carried lightly and eagerly in the High King’s service were now nearly too heavy to lift. And those servants of the enemy ordered to labor beside them rejoiced in making their tasks harder, pushing and tripping them just to see them fall. Tunonil was only glad matters were no worse, and he was surprised to find—when he returned to the carts for another load—that great barrels of beer and cider and water had been taken down and opened, and they were not stopped from drinking their fill. Cider was sweet indeed to the starved and the thirsty, and if the servants of the enemy jealously claimed all the beer for their own, what did that matter?

In the distance there was a sudden great upswelling of sound, as warriors shouted, drums boomed, and warhorns cried. The ground—even this far away from the charging destriers—trembled.

The battle had begun.

It was on his third return to the carts that Tunonil saw Light’s Chosen going among the wagons, with servants behind them. At each wagon they paused, and laid a hand upon the brow of the beasts yoked there. If the Light’s Chosen nodded, the servants would unhitch the animal. If they shook their heads, it was left in its traces. At first it seemed their work was random, but as he watched he saw that each one they uncoupled or unyoked moved eagerly toward the Great Keep.

It seemed madness and rebellion, but after a few moments Tunonil understood what was happening. The Light’s Chosen meant to drive the carts to the battlefield, to bear away the wounded for Healing as they had always done. For that reason, they separated the High King’s beasts from their own to be sure of driving teams that answered to no one but their masters.

By now the lesser servants reeled with drunkenness and beer, singing and shouting gaily to one another, for the kegs of strong ale had been many, intended for twice the number who drank of them, and to be thinned with water besides. Some worked, some idled, some crept off to sleep. It was then that Tunonil saw the shape of what the High King’s people must do to win their freedom. No one would trust the High King’s people to do the work of preparing pavilion, kitchen, or larder, so once the pavilions had been set, their labor was finished. They could not make their escape unnoticed or unseen. But they could go at a time when no one who saw them would dare to follow. All the lords had ridden forth, and there was no one remaining with the authority to rule over the servants of every House.

In murmured half-sentences, Tunonil passed the plan to as many as he dared, for it was important for them all to remain together. He was soon glad he had done so, for the enemy was not one army, but many. The servants of
this
House treated them as enemies, while the servants of
that
House said that if they would pledge themselves to obedience once more, they would be fed and clothed and nothing would be said of their flight. And the servants of yet another House asked no promise of submission, but said food would be found for the children if they would bring them once the kitchens were ready. To all who spoke, the prisoners returned words that were soft and meaningless, and when the servants of the enemy became occupied with their tasks, the High King’s people slipped away.

For the first time, Tunonil could see the battlefield clearly, and when the wind shifted, he could smell the blood.

The fighting had spread out across the field in front of the Great Keep, and eastward as well. There was a great earthwork surrounding the castel—new, for Tunonil could see the raw earth of it—and it divided each army into two forces, fighting on either side of it. Riderless destriers galloped through the battle, and here and there he saw flashes of bright purple light. The castel’s battlements were lined with Light’s Chosen, and now and again the front wall of the castel flickered with the same light. Tunonil could not tell who was winning.

The refugees did not walk directly toward the Great Keep, for that would be to walk into the battle. But a little distance from the western wall of the Great Keep was a stand of trees, and some of the oxen that had been freed from the wagons could be seen moving toward them with steady deliberation. Tunonil knew both armies would avoid that place—the enemy, because he feared it held the High King’s archers; the High King’s warriors because it did not. It was there that the High King’s people would wait.

If they reached it alive.

“At least no one is calling down storm or lightning,” a woman walking beside him said. “It is why the War Princes are not holding back their reserves—see?”

She had to put her mouth close beside his ear to be heard, for the sound of the battle was like the bellowing of an ox and the clanging of a smith’s hammer and the roar of a stormwind all commingled and magnified a thousandfold.

“Such knowing is not for mere Landbonds,” Tunonil said ungraciously. The woman was not someone he knew, but more than a few of the enemy’s servants had seized upon this chance for freedom.

“Fool!” the woman said. “Do you think I was born in silk and silver? I was born a Landbond, just as—”

She broke off as a knight galloped toward them. There was barely a mile between them and the edges of the battle, and as soon as they’d seen the enemy knight he was almost upon them. Many screamed and ran—as if that might save them—but just as the knight drew his sword, the purple light appeared before him. Horse and rider struck it as if they struck a wall, and fell to the ground, both dead. A cheer went up from the people at the sight, and Tunonil’s heart filled with joy.

“You see the High King has not forgotten us, even in the heat of battle,” he said to the woman beside him. “Can you say such of your great lord?”

“Are you disordered in your wits?” she demanded. “I spit on Aramenthiali! Do you suppose I could return to the encampment and take up my life again? How long before Heart-Seeing was set upon the servants of Lord Manderechiel’s tent and it was discovered I lied when I said I had his order from Lord Malanant to prepare the tents?” She spoke loudly enough now that those nearest could hear.

Wide-eyed, Tuonil said, “That was you?” Truly, this was a deed worth remembering, and telling over so that the tale could be passed on forever.

“Think you I acted alone?” the woman of Aramenthiali demanded. She made a sweeping gesture that took in the plodding thousands ahead of them. “I would swear to you that a hundred—a thousand—more—of those here served the High Houses this morning! How think you so many kegs of ale came to be set out? Or you found yourselves excused from your labors so conveniently? Even the Lightborn … I do not say they have joined your cause, but tell me, you who know all—from what noble families do the Lightborn come?”

“From none,” another woman answered. “All know the Light favors the commons. It is our recompense for lives of labor and hardship.”

“And so some of them were willing to say they believed my words, and if the camp were to be set, why should they not prepare to bring the wounded for Healing? Easy enough to bring back fleeing beasts once the battle was won,” the woman said.