The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (31 page)

At
his first storming step toward the door she jumped back, away from him.
“Lanokas!” she called. She could not tell which held more power, her hurt or
her fear, a fear that all her memories of him would now be fouled by this ugly
encounter. “Lan….”

He
whirled back to face her, barely avoiding a snarl.

“I’m
not your fellow soldier now. I’m Rexson. I’m the king. It’ll fall upon my
conscience and no one else’s when they slip a noose around your neck for high
treason.”

Kora
stammered, “You need my help. My sons, you said you need my sons, didn’t you?”

“I
won’t have to kill your sons if the enemy so much as guesses at their names.”

“Linstrom
would have to do more than guess my name to….”

“Go
home, Kora. You’ve done your part. We know Linstrom’s change of plans. You need
to go home.” With that, the king stormed from the room. He slammed the door behind
him so that it shook.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Preparing Oakdowns

Vane
found Lottie pacing her floral-themed parlor in a near hysteria. She had not
changed clothes since last they spoke, and turned with wild eyes to stare at
him when she sensed he’d appeared. He nearly dove to the floor, to avoid any
spells she might instinctively send at him. She took note, though, of his
identity and let out a sigh, more of discomfort than relief.

Lottie’s
voice tumbled from her lips, one explanation following another. Vane’s head
ached as he tried to keep pace with her.

“He
interrupted me. When I was going through those plans you mentioned were in his
office. I got out but had to leave them in plain view.”

“I
know.”

“You
told me I could see the proof for myself. That’s all I was doing. I didn’t mean
to call his attention, didn’t betray my word to you….”

“I
know,” Vane repeated. There lay the source of her panic: she thought he might
view her rotten luck as an attempt to warn Linstrom.

“He’ll
know someone was there. Know the king’s on to him.”

“That’s
why I’m here this early.”

“How
could you possibly have known all that? I suspected you might, Your Grace. You
knew so much that was private when you came to me last night, but how? What
kind of magic…?”

She
had ventured into that topic before with Vane, and he made certain she gained
as little for her efforts this time as she had previously. He ignored her
prompt. “Linstrom will act rashly now. He suspects I was behind your raid, and
he’ll attack me at Oakdowns with the bulk of his supporters. Tonight. The king
needs you to aid our stand there.”

Reluctance
was written plain on Lottie’s brow, but Vane could imagine how she weighed her
options. Oakdowns, she judged, had not a chance to withstand Linstrom’s
onslaught. Lottie could die fighting the man who had abused her heart and used
her for her magic, or she could die of disgrace within prison walls. She
assured the Duke of Ingleton, “His Majesty has my aid.”

“We’ll
go to the manor now. Linstrom will notice you’re gone, but that won’t dissuade
him from his plans or convince him to rush them. This evening will arrive soon
enough: too soon, I’d say. His men have studied in the Hall’s library, Lottie,
and you with them. You’ll have to brief us on what to expect.”

The
faintest note of hope was in Lottie’s voice. “And who is
us
?” she asked.

“More
sorcerers than you’d expect. The king’s guard, and probably his general with
them. Rexson Phinnean’s not leaving us to fend for ourselves.”

“His
offer of amnesty stands?” she pressed. “If we defeat Linstrom, I’ll be free to
make what life I can for myself?”

“You’ll
be free to do what you will,” Vane told her. He thought to add, “As long as
that doesn’t include any mention of how close Linstrom came to attacking the
Central Plaza. You understand why the public mustn’t learn of that?”

Lottie
qualified, “I understand why you’d keep the truth hidden. That might not be up
to us, Your Grace. If Oakdowns falls, there’s no stopping him. He could go
straight to that Plaza or continue destroying Podrar this very night. There’d
be next to no one to resist him, not with his band of sorcerers.”

“We’ll
stop him,” Vane said. “We will, Lottie. We must.”

Lottie
seemed far from convinced of success, but she allowed Vane to transport her to
Oakdowns. That, at least, was something to appreciate. He couldn’t say how he
would have responded, had she refused to leave with him.

He
took her to a pebbled walk that led to a back entrance from the gardens. There
would be no transporting into Oakdowns again. That thought was a strange one,
and Vane’s feelings about the matter were conflicted; for years he had
transported in and out of the manor at will.

Vane
directed his new ally to the main parlor, where his parents’ portrait had hung;
August had already seen it removed. He had Lottie walk before him through his
spacious and carpeted halls, for he still did not trust her enough to expose
his back. He expected a small gathering in the room, but was shocked at how
quickly the king had amassed his forces. He must have utilized Zacry’s magic.

Zacry
and the king were there. A scowl marred Rexson’s face as he and the sorcerer
held a conversation as privately as possible near a far wall. Zacry, too,
seemed put out about something, and was shaking his head.

Wilhem
and Walten were speaking with three other youths, some three or four years older
than they were. Jane Trand’s students. One young woman, with a frame decidedly
feminine but an angular face and strong jaw, seemed interested in whatever
Walten was telling her. Her hair was a muddy brown, but she had braided it in a
single plait all the way to the small of her back. Her eyes looked somewhat
sunken.

Her
old classmates were twins. Vane remembered their applications to the Carphead
Academy, for they were the school’s only set. Mick and Mart Wolding had eyes of
sapphire blue, distinct from the pale shade Vane’s children bore. Their noses
were broad, and they wore their stringy black hair clipped above their ears and
close to their heads. Their deep olive complexion spoke to Traiglandian blood,
though that blood was not pure, for their sorcery could only come from roots in
Herezoth. They were taller than Kora’s sons and the girl, and a bulk to their
arms, one reminiscent of Kora’s husband, made Vane guess they might be smiths.

Lottie
was unimpressed by the youths. The girl with the plaited hair and the beardless
Wilhem, in particular, evoked an expression of mixed dismissal and pity when
she looked at them. Vane admitted, “I can’t speak for that young woman, but I
know the boy. You shouldn’t underestimate him, or any of that group.”

“Tell
me they’re sorcerers,” Lottie whispered. Vane said they were.

The
woman the Magic Council had hired to give sorcery lessons at its Academy sat on
the settee across from the hearth, with a spellbook in her lap. She seemed
oblivious to the chatter that surrounded her. Jane Trand had forty or so years
behind her and grooves on her face to mark them: crow’s feet much more
prominent than Kora’s and a wrinkle in her brow that Kora lacked. Her skin was
pale, and her hair, the color of straw, likely shared straw’s texture too. She
was small in body—compact, even—but no one could look at her and
confuse that lack of bulk with weakness. She had boundless energy, and her eyes
shone with a feverish ferocity; she moved a finger along the page as she read.

Behind
Jane Trand, to the right of the fireplace, a stocky, uniformed Gratton wore a
gray military cap to match his hair and uniform. His sword swung at his side,
and if he still felt as uneasy about magic as in years past, he kept his
reluctance to battle sorcerers to himself. He spoke with Rexson’s general.

Vane
had met Gerr Bruan before. A soldier’s soldier, his movements were controlled
and his body well conditioned for a man of forty-five, despite his balding. A
cratered scar that ran from his left ear to above his left eye ruined his face,
and was rumored to be the result of an altercation with fellow soldiers in his
youth. Though his dark eyes were pensive, they lacked true coldness. An air of
command was strong about him; Vane would gladly cede the details of Oakdowns’s
defense to the man.

When
the king saw that Vane had entered, and with whom, he extricated himself from
conversation with Zacry. The dourness left his expression, which remained every
bit as solemn as before as he carved a path to the doorway. Rexson wore no robe
of office, so Vane whispered to Lottie, “That’s the king,” and she sunk into a
jerky, graceless bow when Rexson stood before her.

 
Rexson’s tone was gruff, but Vane suspected he
meant a kindness when he told Lottie, “That’s not needed,” and added, “I appreciate
your help.”

Lottie
rose stiffly and said, “I appreciate you reaching out to me. You needn’t have.”

“You’re
not to attend Linstrom’s gathering tonight, at the Hall. That’s too dangerous.
Let him suspect what he will in regards to your absence. It shouldn’t change
his decision to attack here.”

Something
smoldered within Lottie’s face, tinting her thick cheeks rosy. She demanded,
though quietly, “How do you know he intends this attack, Your Majesty?”

Rexson
replied, “That’s my concern. Lottie, you’re to stay within sight of Zacry
Porteg at all times.” He pointed the man out for her. “You’ll spend the day
assisting him, because Ingleton will be too busy to watch over you. It’s not
that I don’t trust you, but….”

“You
don’t trust me.”

“I
won’t wager lives upon your loyalty, not before it’s proven. If we’re going to
stop Linstrom, he can’t know we’re privy to his plans. That we expect him.”

Lottie’s
tone held such repulsion Vane imagined it would have raised the hackles on
Hune’s hounds, had they been present. “I no more want that man moving on from
this place to attack civilians than you do, Your Majesty.”

Whether
she directed her contempt at the king or at Linstrom, Vane couldn’t say.
Perhaps at both. At any rate, the king gave her spite no reaction. He responded
to nothing more than the meaning of her words.

“You’ll
make sure, then, that we have some idea of what to expect from his sorcerers.
What kinds of spells you studied at the Hall with them.”

To
hold the king’s gaze required a visible effort from Lottie, but she assented,
“Yes, Your Majesty. Ingleton had mentioned that.”

The
king called everyone to order and explained their task of protecting Oakdowns.
He warned what their failure would cost others, as a way to motivate them. He
said Bruan would provide as many soldiers as they wished, but none could be
visible on the grounds; the sight would provoke Linstrom to choose a more
public and less guarded target. That was the last thing anyone wanted.

Then
Rexson explained that Lottie, as a spy, could inform them of Linstrom’s army.
Of that army’s magic. At that, Jane Trand’s wrinkles diminished as she
unfurrowed her brow, and her female student stopped fingering her long plait of
hair. They seemed reassured, but Wilhem—the youngest in the room—turned
gray at the king’s words. Kora’s son would prefer not to know what was coming.
Vane could sympathize, and was glad to see Walten give his brother a supportive
jab on the shoulder. The king noticed as well, and guilt shone in his eyes as
he turned to Vane.

“You
know Oakdowns better than anyone. Have you anything to say? Anything we should
know?”

“My
wife’s taken the objects we feel any attachment to. In God’s name, use whatever
you can find to aid you. I don’t care what’s destroyed. Use settees for
defense, tables as barricades. Launch vases or chairs as projectiles without a
thought of the condition you leave them in. General, I can show you the plans
for the manor, so you have a better idea of what we’re working with.”

 
The general nodded. His voice held a gravelly
quality that lent his words an authoritative edge. “I know you’ve protected
your home with magic. It’s just as well, for this place wasn’t built to be a
fortress. Made of simple brick. Stone would be better, Ingleton. As things
stand, every window’s a point of entry. You have no towers or parapets to repel
a siege.”

Vane
reminded him, “We can’t attack them on the grounds. They can transport away
from there. We’ll need to lure them in, and once we do, keep them here. If we
can guard the exits, they’re ours.”

Bruan
observed, “That means we’ll need soldiers near every ground floor window.
Preferably with a sorcerer.”

Walten
and Wilhem shared an uncomfortable glance. The tall, dark-skinned twins stared
at Vane with a respect and a trust that turned the duke’s stomach, while the
girl with the angular face took up her braid again. He had to admit—for
he couldn’t expose Kora—“Every sorcerer to our name is in this room.”

They
numbered nine. Only nine: Zacry, Lottie, Vane himself, Kora’s two sons, and
Jane and her three students. They were half what Linstrom possessed in terms of
sorcerers, and if Linstrom brought all his followers…. Two hundred, each with
some power. Vane could only hope Bruan’s soldiers might offset Oakdowns’s
disadvantage.

Vane
was contemplating the army’s skill when the parlor doors swung wide and Hune
Phinnean tromped in with five hounds in tow. He held a bow, a good, sturdy one,
and had slung a quiver of arrows to lie at an angle across his back. To begin,
he addressed his father and his father alone.

“Valkin
says a sorcerer came for General Bruan and Gratton. At your orders. I know
what’s going on, and I’m helping. I won’t have it said we left Oakdowns for
Vane and the army to defend while we went on without a care in the Palace.
Valkin must run your kingdom. He needs Neslan. Their place is elsewhere, and
not for reasons of cowardice. That means mine is among your troops. I’m more
than a fair outdoorsman, and a trained archer. As for these dogs, they’ve been
bred from generations of the most apt and able hounds in Podrar. They’ll defend
me and those with me better than any man could.”