Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (61 page)

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Authors: David B. Coe

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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“Yes, my lord,” Tavis said at last. “I offer my sword and my life to the defense of Kentigern.”
“Fine.” Aindreas turned away, but quickly faced the young lord a second time. “Just stay away from me, boy. If you come within reach of my blade, I swear I’ll kill you on the spot, Glyndwr’s asylum be damned.”
He swung his mount away and started back toward his men, not bothering to wait for a reply. Shurik and Villyd followed, saying nothing.
The duchess and the rest sat in uneasy silence and watched them go.
“I didn’t kill her,” Tavis said again. He was looking at Shonah, but she could tell that his words had been intended for all of them.
“I believe you, Tavis. I told you that already.”
He nodded, staring after Aindreas. “I know you did. But sometimes I think that I’ll be protesting my innocence until the day I die.”
“You’ve convinced the duke here,” Hagan said, nodding toward Kearney. “And this gleaner as well. That’s good enough for me.”
For the first time since being reunited with him, Shonah saw her son smile. “Thank you, Hagan,” he said. “You and Xaver have proven to be far better friends to me than I deserve.”
“It’s about time you realized it, boy,” the swordmaster said, his words softened a bit by a broad grin. He faced the duchess. “I’ll ready the men to march.”
“What about the dead?” the duchess asked, wiping the smile from his face. “Are we just going to leave them?”
“You offered Kentigern our aid, my lady. If we’re to be of any use to him, we have to march now.”
She nodded, knowing that he was right. “Very well. Prepare the men.” To herself she added,
May Orlagh forgive us.
Shonah turned to Tavis once more, favoring him with a smile. “Ride with me?”
“That wouldn’t be wise, my lady,” Grinsa said, before Tavis could answer. “He’s under Lord Glyndwr’s protection and so should ride under the duke’s banner. It would be presumptuous of him to ride at the head of the Curgh army. It might also be very dangerous.”
She felt the color drain from her face. She so wanted for all of this to be over. But even now, with the armies of Curgh and Kentigern preparing to fight side by side, there was no peace for any of them.
“It’s all right, Mother,” Tavis said, though she read the hurt in his dark eyes. “I’ll be fine riding with Lord Glyndwr and the gleaner.”
She made herself smile. “Of course you will.”
They remained there a moment longer, gazing at one another. Shonah wanted to put her arms around him again and hold him close as she had when he was young. She sensed that perhaps he wanted the same. But that time seemed impossibly far away.
“You’re welcome to ride with us, my lady,” Kearney said. “If you have no objection to riding under Glyndwr’s banner.”
“My thanks, Lord Glyndwr. I have no objection at all. I believe it would be appropriate for me to lead Curgh’s army from the battle plain. But once we’re under way, I’d be most honored to join you.”
Kearney smiled. “The honor will be ours, my lady.”
Shonah tipped her head in thanks. She glanced at her son one last time, searching for something to say. In the end, though, she merely turned away and followed Hagan and his men.
Smoke continued to darken the southern sky, and the fine haze that had drifted through the wood now covered the plain as well. Aindreas’s army had gathered near the edge of Kentigern Wood, while Hagan had assembled Curgh’s men on the near side of the bloodied field. Beyond them lay the dead, their bodies strewn on the grasses like the discarded playthings of some spoiled child. Already a pair of buzzards circled above them. Several crows had landed a short distance away and were hopping in ever-closing circles around the bodies, as if summoning the courage to begin their feast.
These men deserved better, and yet the fires burning beyond the wood demanded that they be left there. Javan might have been fighting for his life at that very moment. Or he might already have been dead. They couldn’t afford to linger here, not for a moment.
“Be kind to them, Bian,” she whispered, turning her back to the battle plain. “Kinder than we’ve been.”
Kentigern, Eibithar
X
aver was asleep when the first cry of warning went up from the westernmost towers of Kentigern’s outer wall. At first he thought that he was dreaming once again of the night they found Brienne’s body in Tavis’s bed, when the voices of Kentigern’s guards and their pounding on the young lord’s door roused him from his slumber. As the shouting continued, though, he forced his eyes open to find his chamber being brightened by ward fires burning atop the castle’s towers. For an instant he feared that Aindreas had returned already, and that he had found Tavis.
“The castle’s under attack.”
He turned toward Fotir, thinking the minister had spoken. But the Qirsi was looking toward the door.
“Did you say something, my lord?” Fotir called.
“Yes,” the duke answered.
Fotir rose from his bed and stepped to the door, as did Xaver.
Javan was already up, peering into the corridor through the small barred window near the top of his door, his eyes gleaming with torchlight. “I said that the castle is under attack.”
“You don’t know that,” one of the guards said, sounding frightened and terribly young.
“Listen to the cries of your comrades, man! Look at the ward fires! What else could it be?”
“The duke went to stop Curgh’s advance! He wouldn’t have failed, and even if he had, your army couldn’t be here already.”
Javan closed his eyes briefly, as if fighting an urge to rail at the man. “It’s not Curgh attacking, it’s the Aneirans, probably Mertesse.”
“Impossible!” But the guard didn’t sound as if he believed his own denials.
“Maybe I should check,” the man’s companion said in a low voice.
The guard eyed Javan warily, but after a moment he nodded.
“If you’re right, my lord,” Fotir said, “and Mertesse finds you here, he’ll execute you. As far as the Aneirans know, you’re Eibithar’s king.”
The duke gave a slight shrug. “That may be so. But this is Kentigern Castle, First Minister. Even with Aindreas away and much of his army with him, the siege is likely to fail.”
“So what should we do?” Xaver asked.
“We can’t do much of anything, Master MarCullet. That is, unless our friend here would like to free us from these cells.”
The guard frowned, and looked away, drawing a smirk from the duke.
The second man returned a few minutes later, breathless and flushed. “He was right,” he said, nodding in the direction of Javan’s door. “It is the Aneirans. They’re by the river still, building their engines. But it seems they’re planning a siege.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
The man gestured at the two rooms. “Stay here and guard them, at least for now.”
For what seemed an eternity, they all just waited, listening for any sound that would tell them what was happening beyond the castle walls. After a time, Xaver returned to the window and looked down on the castle’s outer ward. Kentigern’s soldiers were running in every direction, no doubt trying to prepare the fortress for the coming assault. But Xaver had little sense of what they were doing. He saw no sign at all of the Aneirans. Eventually, he crossed to the doorway again.
“The danger lies mostly in Aindreas’s absence,” Javan said abruptly, as if continuing a conversation that had been going on for some time. “It doesn’t take many men to defend a castle like this one. In fact too many soldiers can cause a good deal of confusion during a siege. But without a seasoned commander, soldiers tend to make
mistakes. If the castle falls, that will be the reason.” He glanced at the guards. “Who’s in command right now?”
The two men exchanged a look, appearing uncertain as to whether or not they should answer.
“The night captain,” one of them finally said.
Javan shook his head. “No, I mean who’s in charge of the castle’s defenses. Not who’s overseeing tonight’s watch.”
“The night captain,” the man repeated. “He not only commands the night watch, he’s second captain of the guard.” The man glanced at his friend again, swallowing nervously. “He’s a good soldier and skilled swordsman.”
The duke started to respond, but in that instant, another cry went up from the west. A few moments later the shout came again, and then it repeated a third time.
“The master bowman,” Javan said. “Mertesse must be approaching the west gate.”
Xaver rubbed his hands together, hoping the first minister wouldn’t see how they shook. Despite the duke’s faith in the strength of Kentigern Castle, he didn’t like being locked helpless in the prison tower during a siege.
“You’re sure we’re supposed to stay here?” one of the guards asked.
The other nodded, but kept his silence.
The rhythmic cries of the master bowman continued, to be joined a short time after by additional shouting. Xaver peered across the corridor, trying to see from the duke’s expression if he was alarmed by what they were hearing. Javan seemed intent on the noises of the fight, but he didn’t look concerned.
At least not until the castle suddenly shuddered with a blow that seemed to come from the earth itself. The next moment brought a second crash and then another and another.
Javan’s brow furrowed. “That’s a ram. They’re probably trying to bring down the drawbridge.”
A moment later a different kind of crash rattled the castle, not as heavy as the ram, but sharper. Several more followed, and with them came screams of anguish.
“Hurling arms?” Fotir asked.
Javan nodded. “Perhaps. Mertesse is sparing no effort.”
Again they lapsed into silence, waiting for the next stones to
strike the walls, the next blows to hammer at the drawbridge. Dark, bitter smoke floated into the chamber, carrying with it the ragged desperate wails of the wounded. Men were dying beyond the castle walls, and Xaver wondered how long it would be before the fighting breached the gates.
They knew immediately when the bridge failed. The castle shook one last time and an enormous cheer rose from the Aneiran army. Xaver took a long ragged breath, clamping his mouth shut against a wave of nausea.
“Courage, Master MarCullet,” said the duke. “The bridge is but the first barrier they have to defeat, and by far the weakest. The Tarbin gate of Kentigern Castle has several portcullises and a door that could stop Orlagh herself.”
“Yes, my lord,” he said weakly. “Forgive me. This is my first siege.”
“You’ve no need to apologize. I’ve seen far more seasoned men than you lose their nerve under similar circumstances.” He eyed the guards for a moment. “In fact, I don’t think you’re the only one worrying. These two—”
The castle shook again, even more violently than before.
Javan shook his head, frowning. “That didn’t sound good.”
Another jolt, and more cheers from the Aneirans.
“Impossible!” the duke breathed. “Something’s not right. That door should have held for hours, if not longer.”
A few moments later, three more blows made the castle heave and quake. And once more the men of Mertesse roared their approval.
“This makes no sense,” Javan said.
The guards had grown pale, and with this last shout from the Aneirans, one of them left, saying that he would find out what was happening.
The assault on the gates went on, the castle seeming to groan under the pounding of the ram, and Mertesse’s army letting out more cheers.
The guard returned a short while later, his face a mask of utter despair.
“The gates are failing!” he said. “All of them!”
“How can that be?” Javan asked, sounding truly frightened.
“Magic.”
They all looked at Fotir.
“Mertesse may have a shaper with him,” the minister went on. “A Qirsi wouldn’t have to destroy the gates. Just weakening them would be enough.”
The duke shook his head again. “But surely Aindreas’s bowmen know enough to kill any Qirsi who tries to approach the gates. A shaper wouldn’t have time to do all this.”
“Then maybe it was done before,” the Qirsi said. “But that’s the only explanation that makes any sense. No ordinary ram could do this.”
“If you’re right,” Javan said, “it won’t be long before the outer gate is breached and the Aneirans lay siege to the inner walls.”
As if in answer, the castle trembled again and yet another cry echoed through the ward.
“You have to free me and all the men of Curgh you hold in this tower,” Javan told the guards. “With the gates failing, you’re going to need every able-bodied man you can find.”
One of the men shook his head, though he didn’t look very sure of himself. “You’re prisoners of the duke. We can’t free you without him saying so.”
“I assure you, your duke would want you to do everything in your power to guard his castle. That’s what I’d want from my men. You know who I am. You know that I’m to be king. Who do you think will do a better job leading the defense of this castle: your night captain or me?”
The guards just stared at him. They were ill suited to make a decision of this magnitude and both of them seemed to realize it. Again the castle rocked, like a ship buffeted by storm winds.
“Wouldn’t another Qirsi help you against the Aneirans? Wouldn’t forty-three more swords?”
“You want us to give a sword to the boy?”
Javan pointed at Xaver. “That boy happens to be the son of Hagan MarCullet, of whom I’m certain you’ve heard a great deal. He may be young, but I’d wager a hundred qinde that he could best half the men in your army.”
In spite of everything, the heavy fear that had settled in his stomach and the racing of his pulse, Xaver couldn’t help but smile at the duke’s praise. For all he knew, Javan was just trying to get the guards to release them, but it was rare indeed to have one’s duke—one’s king?—say such things.
Once more the walls rose and fell, as if from a land tremor. And
this time, the shouts that followed took on a chilling urgency. Voices filled the outer ward below their tower. Hurrying back to the window, Xaver saw soldiers streaming into the castle, most of them wearing the black and gold of Mertesse.
“The last of the gates has failed, my lord!” he called over his shoulder. “The Aneirans are in the castle.”
“Do you hear that?” the duke said. “We can’t wait any longer! Release us now, before it’s too late!”
Still the men said nothing. Xaver lingered at the window a moment longer, watching the men of Mertesse swarm through the ward, his heart in his throat. Over the last turn, he had come to hate the duke of Kentigern and his castle. But seeing the famed walls of Kentigern fail now, he felt as a child might learning for the first time that his father was mortal and flawed. If this castle could fall, no fortress in all of Eibithar was safe.
“If you don’t release us,” Xaver heard Fotir say, “I’ll destroy the locks on these doors. I’m a shaper myself, and that’s well within my power.
The boy turned at that and returned to the door.
The guards were staring at the Qirsi as if he were some fearsome wraith from the Underrealm.
“I think you’re lying,” one of them said, in a voice that held little conviction. “If you can do that, why haven’t you before now?”
“Because I told him not to,” Javan answered. “Nothing good would have come of it. Even if he defeated the locks and shattered your swords, there were always more guards waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Eventually he would have tired, and then, chances are, all of us would have been killed.”
“But—”
“Enough!” the duke said. “Mertesse is in your castle! The siege has moved to the inner walls and you’ve less than half your army here to defend against it. Now free us, or stand aside while we free ourselves!”
The guards glanced at one another again, each appearing to wish that the other would make the decision.
“Well?” demanded the duke.
“All right,” one of them said at last, fumbling for his keys.
Javan nodded as the guard approached his door. “Good man. Your duke would approve. I’m certain of it.”
Xaver felt far less certain of this, but he wasn’t about to say so to his duke or the soldiers.
After trying one or two keys, the man opened the duke’s door, eyeing Javan with just a touch of fear, as if he expected the duke to attack him immediately.
“We’ll need our weapons as well,” Javan said, stepping into the corridor.
The guard opened the door to Fotir and Xaver’s chamber before facing the duke again. “I don’t know where they are, my lord,” he said.
“Then any weapons will do.”
The guard hesitated.
“Demons and fire, man! What’s the sense of releasing us if you’re not going to let us fight?”
“There are pikes and swords in the arms chamber at the base of the tower,” the man said, sounding defeated.

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