Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (53 page)
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Authors: David B. Coe
BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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“But the prior’s bells, my lord. That’s but a few hours from now. If we wait for dawn, we should still have time to reach the river before the Curgh army.”
“Possibly. But if we leave today we’ll be certain of it.” He stood, grinning at the Qirsi. “You’ve roused me from my torpor, Shurik. This is no time to grow timid.”
The man gave a small smile. “No, my lord.”
“Go on then. See to it that the preparations go smoothly. Villyd doesn’t like to be rushed, even when he needs to be. So make certain he understands that I’ll be ready to go when the bells are rung. And have my horse brought to the duke’s tower. Let the men see that I intend to ride with them.”
“Very good, my lord,” the Qirsi said, turning to go.
“Shurik.”
The minister stopped and looked at him again, waiting.
“You understand that you’ll be coming as well.”
“Of course, my lord. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The Qirsi bowed to him and left the chamber. Aindreas pushed himself back from his table and stood, hesitating for a moment as he looked down at the dark wine in his glass. He shook his head once and walked to the center of the room. There, he pulled his sword from its jeweled scabbard and examined the blade. Even in the dull light of this grey day, it shone like Panya on a clear, cold night, drawing another smile from the duke. It had been too long since he last raised his weapon in battle. This was what he needed, more than
wine, more than finding Tavis. Kearney had sent his plea for restraint to the wrong castle. Curgh was marching against him, and though he had put off his vengeance longer than anyone could have expected, that time had now passed. They wanted war, and he was glad to give it, finally. He would strike a blow against all of Curgh, not from his chamber, but from his saddle, not as the defender against a siege, but as a warrior. It was perhaps the wisest counsel Shurik had ever given him.
wine, more than finding Tavis. Kearney had sent his plea for restraint to the wrong castle. Curgh was marching against him, and though he had put off his vengeance longer than anyone could have expected, that time had now passed. They wanted war, and he was glad to give it, finally. He would strike a blow against all of Curgh, not from his chamber, but from his saddle, not as the defender against a siege, but as a warrior. It was perhaps the wisest counsel Shurik had ever given him.
Xaver’s clothes reeked of sweat and felt stiff and filthy against his skin. His hair was matted and his head itched. Occasionally the guards brought them warm water with which to bathe, but their bedding hadn’t been changed since the morning they were brought to the prison tower, and the lone window in their small room did not allow in enough air to carry away the sour smells of their captivity.
It had gotten so bad that the previous night, Fotir had conjured a wind to stir the stale air in their chamber. Then he had sent a second wind across the narrow corridor to the duke’s room, drawing the ire of the two guards, who commanded him to stop. The minister ignored them at first, allowing the air to flow through the narrow grate at the top of the door, but when they threatened to withhold meals from all of them, including Javan, he let the wind die out.
They had been prisoners for nearly half a turn, though it seemed far longer to Xaver. They had heard no news of Tavis in that time, leading Xaver to hope that perhaps his friend had managed to escape the city. Certainly, if Aindreas had captured the young lord again, he would have come to gloat. But it had been days since they had seen either the duke of Kentigern or his first minister.
They knew the king was dead, having heard the bells ringing and the cries going up throughout the castle. A short time later a guard came to deliver the news to them, a small courtesy that stood in stark contrast to the treatment they had received before and since. Javan offered no response to the news of Aylyn’s death, other than to say that he had been a fine king. He kept his silence the rest of the day, not even bothering to come to his door to receive his evening meal. Usually when a king died, Fotir explained later that night, speaking in a whisper, the dukes of Eibithar’s major houses traveled to the City of Kings for his funeral and the investiture of the new
king. Clearly, though, Javan would not be going, and, he guessed, neither would Aindreas.
king. Clearly, though, Javan would not be going, and, he guessed, neither would Aindreas.
“The other dukes are about to find that they have no king,” the Qirsi said, candlelight flickering in his bright yellow eyes.
“And what will they do?”
“It’s hard to say. I find it hard to imagine any of them wanting to get between Curgh and Kentigern. If they act together, they might, but that’s even harder to imagine.”
Xaver shook his head. “You mean they’d let us go to war?”
“I’m not certain they’re capable of doing anything else.”
The next two days passed much as had the ones before Aylyn’s death. Guards came and went, sometimes bringing meals or fresh water. But neither Aindreas nor Shurik came to the tower, and no one acknowledged what seemed so obvious to Xaver: that Javan was now king, and that Aindreas, by continuing to imprison him, was guilty of treason.
The third day dawned grey and rainy, a welcome respite from the heat and sunshine of the previous several days. Otherwise, that morning was no different from those that had come before. But an hour or two after the midday bells, Xaver heard voices calling from the stairway and, soon after, footsteps on the stone stairs.
The two guards abruptly straightened, standing stiffly with their arms at their sides. A moment later, Aindreas stepped into the corridor. He wore gloves and riding boots and a cape of silver and blue that bore the Kentigern crest. His sword hung on his belt, and he carried a second, two-handed weapon in a baldric strapped to his back.
Despite his warrior’s dress, however, the duke looked terrible. His eyes were red and sunken, his face unnaturally flushed. Xaver wouldn’t have thought it possible for a man of Aindreas’s size, but the duke looked gaunt and sickly.
Xaver made room at the door for Fotir so that both of them could peer out through the grate. Javan stood at his door, staring at Aindreas as well, his mouth set in a thin line.
“Have you come to fight me, Aindreas?” the duke asked. “Or have you started a war with the Aneirans?”
Kentigern grinned in a way that made Xaver shudder.
“Neither, Javan. Though I am going to war. You were right about that much.” He stood there a moment, looking first at Javan and then at Xaver and the first minister. “Well?” he said at last. “Aren’t you going to ask who we’re to fight?”
Xaver didn’t have to ask. In that instant, none of them did.
“Who?” Javan finally said, his voice flat.
“Your army, of course. Word came this morning. They marched from Curgh four days ago.”
Four days ago. Most likely the same day the people of Curgh learned of Aylyn’s death. Xaver should have expected this, even before Aindreas came to them. His father would never allow Kentigern to deny Javan the throne. In many ways, Hagan had just as much pride as the men of Curgh. Add to that the MarCullet temper, and it was a wonder this hadn’t happened sooner.
“You shouldn’t be here, Aindreas,” the duke said. “You should be at the sanctuary, praying to Bian for kindness and mercy. If you’re going up against Hagan you’ll need it.”
Kentigern stepped so close to Xaver’s door that the boy could see the dark tiny veins of red in the man’s eyes. “Is that what you think, boy?” he said. “Is Daddy going to come and rescue you?”
“Leave him alone, Aindreas! He’s done nothing to you.”
The duke laughed, his breath stinking of wine. He turned and walked slowly to the duke of Curgh’s door. “Actually, Javan, Hagan isn’t commanding your army. He is with them,” he added, glancing over his shoulder, as if he was saying this for Xaver’s benefit. “But the army of Curgh is commanded by the duchess.”
Javan’s face blanched. “Impossible. Hagan wouldn’t allow it.”
Xaver knew better. His father would have been powerless to prevent it.
“Nevertheless, I’m told that she rides at the front of your army, just as a commander should. From what I hear, she’s even carrying a sword, which, if I’m not mistaken, gives me the right to kill her.”
“You bastard! You wouldn’t dare!”
“We both know what your son took from me. Why shouldn’t I take someone just as dear from you and him?”
“Bian damn you to the fires!”
“Come now, Javan,” Aindreas said with a grin. “This isn’t my fault. She chose to come. What kind of a soldier would I be if I didn’t meet her blade with my own?” He paused, a sly look on his face. “Of course, if you really want to save her, there is something you can do.”
The boy saw his duke waver, as though he knew he shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t keep himself from doing so.
“What can I do?”
“Give me Tavis,” Aindreas said quickly, moving as close to
Javan’s door as he had been to Xaver’s a moment before. “Tell me where I can find the boy and I’ll let you and your men go. This war will be over before it ever begins and Shonah will be safe.”
Javan’s door as he had been to Xaver’s a moment before. “Tell me where I can find the boy and I’ll let you and your men go. This war will be over before it ever begins and Shonah will be safe.”
Javan stared at him, shaking his head. “You want me to trade one of them for the other? You’re mad! I’d never do such a thing, and Shonah would never forgive me if I did.”
“Then I’ll take her from you,” Aindreas said, ice in his voice, “just as Brienne was taken from me.”
“You’ll die trying.”
“I don’t think so. I have considered, however, whether it might break the spirit of Curgh’s soldiers to see their duke’s head mounted on a pike and carried along with Kentigern’s colors before my army.”
Javan’s face stretched into a grin. “Let’s find out, shall we? I think you’ll find that it will do the opposite. They’ll fight like Bian’s demons, for you’ll not only have killed their duke, but also their king.”
“You’re no one’s king!” Aindreas said, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.
“Aren’t I? Didn’t I hear bells ringing in the streets of your city three days ago? Didn’t I hear your people crying for Aylyn?”
“That doesn’t make you king!”
“The Rules of Ascension say otherwise.”
“The Rules of Ascension be damned! They mean nothing without the consent of Eibithar’s dukes! And as long as I draw breath, I will not honor Curgh’s claim to the throne! You will never be king, Javan! I swear it to you before all the gods! I swear it to you on Brienne’s memory!”
“Tavis will be proven innocent,” Javan said. “And when he is, every house in the land will recognize me as their king. If you refuse to do the same, you will be branded a traitor and executed, and your house will be removed from the Order of Ascension for a hundred years. Think of it, Aindreas. You know the law. As things stand now, your boy might someday be king. Continue with this folly, however, and he will inherit nothing from you but a shamed house.”
“Don’t you dare to speak to me of shame! You continue to defend your son, though all the land knows him to be a drunkard, a murderer, and a coward! You shame the entire kingdom! And you doom your wife to a bloody death!”
He turned on his heel and started toward the stairs.
“Aindreas!” Javan called. “Don’t do this! You can still stop this wear!”
The duke paused at the top of the stairwell, but only for an instant. He didn’t even turn.
“Aindreas!” Javan cried again, as the large duke disappeared down the steps. “Aindreas!” Curgh’s duke closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the bars of his door. “Ean forgive me,” he whispered. “I’ve killed her.”
“No, my lord,” Fotir said. “The duchess leads the army by her own choice and, I’m certain, over the objections of Lord MarCullet. Your men will give their lives to guard her, just as she has chosen to risk hers to win your freedom. Take pride in her, my lord. She is an extraordinary woman. I expect the duke of Kentigern will find that she is a more formidable foe than he anticipates.”
“Perhaps,” the duke said. “She is extraordinary. But she’s no warrior. Leading the army to war is one thing, leading them into battle is quite another.”
“My father knows that, my lord,” Xaver said. “He won’t allow her to ride into the fighting.”
The duke managed a smile. “You’re still young, Master MarCullet, and so have yet to learn that women like the duchess, and your own mother for that matter, rarely ask permission to do anything. If my wife decides to lead the charge, there will be nothing your father can do about it. I just hope she has sense enough to stay back when the battles begin.”
“I find it strange that the duke is riding to battle at all,” Fotir said. “Why would he leave the castle when Kentigern is renowned for its ability to withstand any siege?”
“He must believe there’s an advantage to be gained by meeting the Curgh army,” Xaver said. “Perhaps he means to use the wood.”
The Qirsi nodded. “Or the Heneagh. If the Curgh army left only four days ago, he still has time to beat them to the river.”
Javan took a long breath. “That may be it,” he said. “It’s also possible that he’s so desperate to leave this castle that he’s making poor decisions.”
Fotir frowned. “My Lord?”
“He’s been searching for Tavis for half a turn, with no success. As much as he talks of killing me and denying me the crown, he can’t hurt me. It would appear that he was trying to win the throne
for himself. He’d risk war with all the other houses. This is his best chance to strike a blow against the House of Curgh. He may be so eager for war that his judgment is clouded.”
for himself. He’d risk war with all the other houses. This is his best chance to strike a blow against the House of Curgh. He may be so eager for war that his judgment is clouded.”
“Good,” Xaver said. “That should work to our advantage.”
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