Lescari Revolution 03: Banners In The Wind (13 page)

Conscious of them all watching, Branca unlocked the travelling chest tucked behind the door. She removed the plaited straw baskets fitted into the topmost tray, then flipped the wooden tray over and pressed the dowels that released the bottom panel. Emperor Tadriol's letter was secured inside with a blob of soft wax. She twisted it free and silently handed it over.

He made no move to crack its three solid seals, looking at Charoleia. 'I take it you know what this says?'

Charoleia nodded. 'You demanded that we surrender Duchess Aphanie and her daughters. I'm afraid we have no say in where Her Grace might choose to go. Naturally if she wishes to accept your hospitality, we'll see her on the road with every comfort and protection.'

The Emperor swept back his black coat to stick the unopened letter in the pocket of his breeches. 'You'll be glad to be rid of her so no one can rally to her cause?'

'That's hardly likely.' Charoleia covered a faint laugh with an apologetic hand. 'We'd rather Duchess Aphanie helped us build a peaceful future for Lescar. We sincerely hope Duke Secaris and Duke Ferdain of Marlier will prefer that option to exile.'

'That's the choice you're offering?' Tadriol looked sceptical.

Charoleia shrugged. 'We've received encouraging letters from both dukedoms.'

Branca relocked the travel chest, glad that her back was turned to the Emperor. Though Charoleia wasn't telling outright lies - letters were going back and forth across Draximal and Marlier. Just not to the dukes. Charoleia had persuaded Aremil not to approach either of them until she had done all she could to turn lesser nobles, guildsmen and yeomen against their erstwhile liege lords.

'Duchess Aphanie must do as she thinks best,' Charoleia continued, 'for herself, for her daughters, and for the orphaned daughters of Carluse in her care. We all agreed that was for the best.'

Branca was reluctantly amused. Charoleia made it sound as if Duchess Aphanie had been consulted, rather than simply presented with the distraught children. Soothing their hysterics should keep Her Grace out of mischief, she recalled Charoleia saying at the time.

Making sure her face was expressionless, she went to stand by the window, every measure the dutiful maidservant. The Emperor's man stood just as silent by the door.

Charoleia raised a finger as Tadriol opened his mouth to speak. 'As for Litasse, we have no idea where Her Grace of Triolle might be. We are as anxious as you to know that she's safe.'

'Don't you want Duke Iruvain's head on a gatehouse spike?' Tadriol asked sardonically.

Charoleia met the Emperor's sarcasm with chilly calm. 'You cannot imagine our regret that the Soluran's army didn't reach Parnilesse before Duke Orlin's own people punished his crimes with death.'

Tadriol twisted the heirloom rings that were his only jewellery. 'The Convocation of Princes demands that the leaders of this rebellion answer for the deaths of the dukes of Sharlac, Carluse and Parnilesse and their murdered families.'

'So your letter said.' Charoleia gazed at Tadriol. 'What's the legal basis for that demand? What jurisdiction do Tormalin courts claim over Lescari affairs? What authority does the Convocation assert over mercenary soldiers and citizens of Ensaimin's towns and fiefdoms? And Captain-General Evord Fal Breven? What would King Solquen of Solura say if Tormalin's legions seize him so far outside Tormalin's borders?'

'The Convocation will not stand for a Soluran as the ruler of Lescar,' Tadriol warned. 'Nor can I stand idly by while this chaos in Parnilesse spills across the Asilor.'

Charoleia swept the gauzy scarf from her head, revealing her ugly burns. The youthful Esquire Den Dalderin winced.

'You don't think the people of Parnilesse were justified in removing their overlord? He sanctioned such viciousness and worse, against anyone protesting at his abuses. Lord Geferin was there in Adel Castle while I was being tortured. My maid Trissa was murdered because she knew nothing of sufficient value to save her life.'

While Branca turned away, unable to hide her distress, she still couldn't help admiring Charoleia's carefully chosen words. Lord Geferin had been at Adel Castle but Branca would swear he'd had no notion who was imprisoned in the lake-swept keep's garrets, much less that they were being tortured.

'If Parnilesse's troubles encroach on Tormalin peace--' Charoleia broke off, a wicked smile fleeting across her face like a glimpse of sunshine through cloud. 'Forgive me. If it is in Tormalin's best interest to send your legions across the river, far be it from me to stop you.'

Tadriol raised his eyebrows. 'Because that will serve your purpose?'

Charoleia relaxed against her cushions. 'Few things will prompt Lescari unity faster than a Tormalin incursion.'

'You're as ready with your answers as ever.' Tadriol was torn between admiration and exasperation. His tone hardened. 'Will you threaten me this time as well? Or my betrothed?'

'No, and I should ask your forgiveness for being so ill-mannered at our last meeting.' Pensive, Charoleia twisted the scarf in her hands. 'Let me make amends by offering a warning. The man who murdered my maid, who tormented me, he was a wizard.'

She looked up at Tadriol, her eyes hollow. 'Some Lescari might accept Tormalin legions marching in to force a peace. But I cannot think any would accept you supporting the restoration of Iruvain of Triolle, or establishing any new duke in Parnilesse. They were both guilty of suborning sorcery.'

'A renegade mage? Is this true?' The Emperor startled Branca by turning to the young Den Dalderin.

'I cannot say,' he stammered.

'Contact the Sieur D'Alsennin,' Charoleia advised the youth. 'I know your father relies on his discretion when he wishes to contact the Archmage. Planir has an inquiry agent of his own, a magewoman called Jilseth, who will swear to that renegade's crimes. His name was Minelas and he was already pursued for murders committed in Caladhria.' For the first time, her voice trembled. 'Believe me, your Imperial Highness - you don't want to come within a hundred leagues of being associated with that monster.'

Branca couldn't help it. Sinking onto a chair, she buried her face in her hands. She heard the Emperor and his escort stride across the room.

'Forgive me. You're tired and unwell. I will read your letter and consider my response.'

The door hastily opened and closed.

Branca rubbed her throbbing temples, not sure if she was going to faint or vomit on the expensive carpet.

'Well done.' Charoleia was amused. 'Few men can cope with a weeping girl.'

Anger flared amid Branca's turmoil. 'You think this is some pretence--?'

'No,' Charoleia said swiftly. 'You suffered terribly too, only no one can see your scars. But you must stop tormenting yourself because you couldn't save Trissa.'

'Because--' No. Branca couldn't admit her far graver offence.

'Because that old woman died, after you pushed her away on the stair?'

Branca stared at Charoleia, aghast. 'How--?'

Charoleia's own eyes sparkled with tears. 'When I was lying in Carluse Castle, under Master Welgren's care, I realised I hadn't been dreaming. I remembered Sorgrad and Gren's tales of the
sheltya
in the Mountains. So I wasn't dreaming of walking in Vanam's Physic Garden with you and Trissa. You were wrapping us in an illusion, to protect us from that bastard wizard. If you couldn't save our bodies, you could at least save our sanity.'

Though tears spilled down her bruised cheeks, Charoleia's voice remained firm. 'It seems Artifice cuts both ways. I saw the duchess's maid die and I know you didn't mean to kill her, just to push her away. You simply wanted her to forget that she had seen you.'

'Truly, I didn't mean--' Branca didn't know who she wept for - Trissa or the dead old woman.

'You're no murderer, but don't expect me to grieve for her death. If she had lived, you'd have been captured and then we'd all have died. Now, where's that white brandy?' Charoleia wiped her face with the creased scarf. 'We have letters to write if we're to enlist advocates in Toremal's law courts.'

'What?' Branca struggled to follow her.

'Tadriol is sincerely concerned with the fates of Lescar's ducal families. He doesn't want to see more deaths.' Charoleia tugged on the silken bell-pull to summon an inn servant. 'But sure as the shine on Tormalin gold, he doesn't agree with the Princes' Convocation. He won't want Tormalin's legions imposing peace on Lescar.'

'How do you know?' Branca wondered.

Charoleia smiled thinly. 'Because he came to see us here in private. If we had travelled all the way to Toremal to deliver that letter as planned, this whole matter of Lescar would be the talk of the capital. Every noble household advising the Imperial Court would voice their opinion and His Imperial Highness's choices would be so much more constrained.'

'So what do we do now?' At least this new puzzle was a distraction from everything else besetting Branca.

'For a start, let's be glad we're spared the journey to Toremal.' Charoleia tossed aside the soiled scarf. 'Let's consider where we shift our own pieces next. Tadriol had no answer when I challenged him on the legality of a Tormalin incursion. So we want bold and eloquent advocates schooled in the Empire's own jurisprudence arguing for Lescar's independence before the first legionary straps on his armour.'

She paused for a moment's thought. 'In the first instance, we'll write to Advocate Mistal Tathel. He has an impressive tally of successes to balance his inclination to controversy and his loyalty to the Emperor cannot be doubted.

She might have been playing a game of white raven; the board set with carved wooden trees and bushes and painted bird figurines, to see if the fabled bird of prophecy could outwit its humbler forest brethren or be forced to flee their pecking beaks.

'A judgement in their law courts will stop Tormalin's princes marching?' Branca found that hard to believe.

'Not if enough noble sieurs see some advantage in going to war,' Charoleia admitted, 'but it may win enough time to agree a peace of sorts in Lescar, to cut the warmongers off at the knees.' She fixed Branca with a penetrating gaze. 'So tell Aremil we need a settlement with the remaining dukes. By all that's sacred and profane, tell him that no more disasters can befall Duchess Aphanie, her daughters or any of the rest of the ducal families. Otherwise Emperor Tadriol will surely send in his legions.'

Branca nodded and steeled herself to summon up the aetheric enchantments. After all, as long as she and Aremil had such complex and weighty matters to discuss there should be no danger of straying into more dangerous territory. He knew she had killed the old woman. There was nothing she could do about that. But she could not bear to see whatever condemnation lurked in his innermost thoughts.

Chapter Nine

Aremil

Satheron Manor, near Wellan,

in the Dukedom of Sharlac,

27th of For-Winter

'
Charoleia says we should receive an opinion from Advocate Tathel today or tomorrow at the latest.
'

Branca's voice rang around the lofty vaulting of the pillared hall.

'The Imperial Dispatch is admirably swift,' he commented. Those riders would have covered nearly twice the distance he had in these past eight days.

'
Thankfully it's not limited to His Imperial Highness's business.'
Amusement coloured Branca's tone. '
As long as one has the coin to buy the right seals.
'

Aremil allowed himself a twisted smile. 'What would we do without Charoleia?'

Sunlight momentarily strengthened the colours on the flagstone floor; distorted reflections of the patterns in the stained-glass windows.

Aremil was glad to see it. Whatever burdens Branca refused to share, they seemed to be lifting a little. For the moment, though, he was relieved she still kept her distance. That made it easier to conceal the cramps and nausea that assailed him.

Imperial Dispatch riders had the benefit of Tormalin's enviable roads and the finest horses. They didn't bump along rutted forest tracks from Carluse to Losand, because the highway running through Ashgil and then north to the Great West Road was still beset by renegade stragglers.

When they had finally reached this discreet manor inside Sharlac's borders, Aremil had been carried to his bed, wracked with pain. A cripple for all to gawp at.

'
Are you all right?'
Branca's concern darkened the windows.

'I'm tired.' Aremil forced his thoughts from that shameful arrival. 'Failla makes sure all my needs are met. It stops her fretting about Anilt and Tathrin.'

She was as ruthless as necessary with the hot compresses that went some way to relieving his aches. Gritting his teeth, Aremil made sure to thank her, and for making sure his bed was thoroughly warmed, and what little food he could stomach was easy to manage with his uncertain hands.

'
Have you heard from Lord Rousharn?'

'He and Lady Derenna should arrive around noon.' Aremil glanced towards the wall where a brass arrow slid down the long scale of a timepiece. Not long now.