The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) (13 page)

Eleanor felt nervous as the two began to circle each other. Danth was solid and strong, his size a rarity among Aemogen men. Wil, also strong, was leaner, quicker, and more graceful. They began their initial sparing. Relying on his strength, Danth tried to overpower Wil with the sword, but Wil’s quickness and agility allowed him to deflect Danth’s robust blows without getting trapped. Then Wil cut under Danth’s attack and rolled behind, kicking the back of Danth’s knees, without so much as a shout. Danth fell to the ground. It was, Eleanor remembered, the same tactic Wil had used his first time in combat with Crispin. Wil backed away, allowing Danth time to get himself up.

“Arbast,” Danth muttered as he set himself in the ready position. A glint of anger touched Eleanor as Danth repeated the insult, but Wil ignored him and fought on, so she let it pass. Again, Danth seemed to gain the advantage, when Wil cut his sword up towards Danth with great force in one swift move, causing him to turn around and stumble backward.

Wil stood steady and verbally illustrated his defense move for the men watching as if he were bored. When he finished, he asked if there was another volunteer. Danth cursed and yelled that he was still fighting. He stepped back into the circle, egging Wil on for another go.

Wil relaxed his stance and stood up straight. This caught Danth off guard, so he straightened up as well. Eleanor looked toward Crispin, who also watched Wil with suspicion in his face. Placing his sword on the ground, Wil motioned for Danth to do the same.

“Are you ready for the next part of your training?” Wil asked.

Hesitating for a moment, Danth finally lowered his weapon to the ground and looked back up in question as Wil stepped towards him. Wil punched Danth in the face with a force Eleanor had never seen. Danth stumbled backward and fell. Adams frowned, but he didn’t move save to glance toward Eleanor. Shouts went up, and Danth’s sister rushed towards her brother, helping to staunch the bleeding from, what Eleanor thought, was a well-deserved bloody nose.

“The most important lesson is to remember this:” Wil said to the stunned crowd, “regardless of your training, you should hinder your opponent in any way you can.” Wil picked up his sword, sliding it into its sheath, and walked towards Eleanor, Gaulter Alden, and Adams. “This portion of training has been most effective, Your Majesty” Wil reported. “I believe it’s now time for Aedon to lead the archery, and Crispin can organize the final exercises of the evening. I’m finished for the day.”

“I would have supposed you had more discipline than that, Wil,” Eleanor responded.

“I do,” Wil said, his face tense. “I just don’t have the humility. If you’ll excuse me now, Your Majesty, Sir, My Lord.” Then Wil walked towards the road that led to the outlying fields.

Eleanor turned again towards the crowd, whom Crispin and Aedon were trying to quiet, a hint of sanction in her eyes.

***

Later that night, after a brief council meeting, Wil disappeared from the fen hall with a blanket to sleep in the fields. Eleanor had taken exception to this, remarking to Crispin that it seemed strange Wil would go off on his own, away from the entire company.

“Is he so determined to isolate himself?” she asked.

Crispin gave Eleanor a hesitant look and shrugged. “There were some nights, in the travelers’ house, that I could hear him scream in his sleep. I don’t think rest is peaceful for Wil, Eleanor. This might be a possible reason he seeks to be alone.”

Eleanor did not respond. She turned away and entered the fen hall, where an upstairs room had been prepared for her use. Miya, Eleanor’s long-suffering maid, helped ready Eleanor for bed. Once she withdrew, Eleanor retreated into the small bed in the corner and thought over the day.

It had been taxing to watch the men awkwardly handling their weapons, looking longingly into their newly planted fields. If the entire summer was to be this way, it would require everything Eleanor had. Her head burned and her muscles ached from sitting so tense. And then there was Wil. Opening her eyes in the darkness, Eleanor turned onto her back. What did Wil dream about to make him scream in his sleep? Was it terror? Was it pain? She couldn’t guess.

***

The three days at Common Field ended with mixed results. The war council understood better how to organize the training, most of the ideas coming from Wil’s experience, and the men had, in the end, responded well. They would continue to practice and train throughout the summer as Eleanor and her company moved on. The council had also met to discuss skills and deficiencies of the plowmen turned soldiers. Most of the criticism also came from Wil, whose opinions did not reassure Eleanor.

Now, on the final evening in the fen, they prepared a bonfire for the dance. This was another tradition of Aemogen: everything ended with dance. The entire fen seemed to find energy they did not know they still had for their preparations, and Eleanor watched them from the window as she and Aedon reviewed numbers.

The dancing began soon after dark. Food was had; refreshment, spread around. Danth, who had made a stubborn peace with Wil, even brought Wil a drink. Eleanor clapped with the music and smiled, relieved with their Aemogen ability to set aside concerns and be happy in each other’s company.

***

They moved on the next morning, the company stretching itself across the northern hills to the High Field fen, the smallest in Aemogen. There were fewer than one hundred and fifty people in total and far fewer men. Still, they did as they had done before, meeting with the leaders, organizing the training, and working for several days to teach techniques and drills.

Eleanor split her time between watching these proceedings and joining with the women in their work, hoping to hear their thoughts and opinions about the decision to fight. They were not so easily convinced as the men.

“It’s just, Your Majesty,” Claira, wife of the fen lord, said hesitantly to Eleanor when they were alone. “We understand the need to fight, of preservation. But, we would rather be subservient than have our husbands and sons dead. It would be a high price for tradition, would it not?”

“So, you would not have us fight,” Eleanor stated.

“Oh, I don’t know—” Claira said, her head bent over her sewing as she spoke. “Won’t the land be stripped and our culture changed, the Imirillian terms leaving us a nation destitute? I’m loath to send my son to war, and I’m loath to see him starve for not having enough food to pay tribute and feed my family.”

The days were quick, for the men of High Field were willing to listen and learn, despite their quiet demeanor. Their determination, Eleanor observed to Aedon, seemed bred from generations of winters in the northern mountains. Even Wil seemed pleased with what he saw.

“Fifty,” Crispin said to Eleanor, watching the dancers around the bonfire on their final night in High Field. “Aedon said there are possibly fifty men, if we take the youth who are thirteen and fourteen.”

Eleanor closed her eyes. “Thirteen? How can we possibly decide to fight if it means our young men, boys really, must go to war? They won’t make it out.”

She and Crispin stood in conference, away from the gathering, their heads together. They had been discussing what they’d seen in the exercises that day.

The entire fen had come out to dance and had built a single, large bonfire for the small community. Wil was also standing back, watching, and, occasionally, speaking with a member of the guard. He had not spoken to Eleanor, beyond in council meetings. But, during the dancing, he glanced towards her several times. She was aware of his attention now, and it seemed that he began to move towards her, only to be accosted by a young lady, whose admiration he’d caught.

“Without Wil,” Crispin conceded, following Eleanor’s eyes, “we would be at a severe disadvantage.”

“So it appears,” Eleanor said, creasing her brow. “I don’t love his art of war. It’s so—”

“Lethal?” Crispin filled in.

“Ruthless,” Eleanor said passionately. “I can hardly bear to watch.”

“Ruthlessness, sadly, is a great asset in this game,” Crispin answered.

***

Leaving High Field, the company set off towards Large Wood fen. Their journey would take two days if they kept a good pace. Eleanor repeated words of encouragement to Thrift, knowing they were really for herself. She disliked traveling by horse for great lengths of time. Fortunately, their journey took them through the northern fields of Aemogen, where woodlands spilled down from the imposing mountains, tripping into old fields, marked with walls of stone.

The day was quiet, and Eleanor spent time discussing with Gaulter Alden, Crispin, and Aedon. Wil appeared content to keep to himself. Eleanor told herself that she welcomed this respite from the cutting aspects of his conversation, so available in their council meetings.

They stopped in a picturesque field on high ground. It was covered with rich, late-spring grass as it was used for grazing. Camp was set up, and dinner was had. Then, discussion and stories were shared over the fire. Eleanor spent a few hours studying in her tent by candlelight. When she finished, finally setting her volume down, she was tired yet restless. She left her tent, telling Hastian she would walk the perimeter of the camp and that he might remain at his position.

“I’ve a whole camp of my own men,” she said. “No need to follow—or worry.” She knew Hastian would worry.

The moon was full, and night accepted its light, draping the trees and fields in silver. The perimeter guards saluted as she passed, but they left Eleanor to her own thoughts. As Eleanor passed the southern line of camp, she noticed a figure sitting alone on the long stone wall of a lower field. She walked down through the grass towards the solitary watchman. As she came closer, he turned. It was Wil. He pulled himself off the wall and scrutinized Eleanor like he was unsure where to place her. After a moment, he bowed.

“Your Majesty.”

“Wil.”

“Join me,” he motioned towards the wall, “if you wish.”

Eleanor looked down at the moonlit valley, her heart responding to this quiet country. “I will, for a moment,” she said. “Thank you.” She accepted his hand—it was the first time she’d touched him—as she settled onto the stone. Wil sat a few feet away, his feet swinging without touching the ground.

“Did someone drag you into serving as a perimeter guard?” Eleanor asked.

Wil shook his head. “No. I’ve come to sit, think. Watch the moon.”

“I’ll not deny it’s a beautiful moon,” Eleanor said. Late spring blossoms were giving way to the full leaf of early summer, and the scent of leaves as they unfurled slowly was heavy in the night air. The grass stood still, moonlight sliding down the delicate stems towards the shadows and rustlings of the field mice.

“She captivates me,” Wil said, as much to himself as to Eleanor. His speech had turned soft and young. “I have always felt a love for moonlight. The sun burns your eyes, but the moon allows you full wonder, full inclusion. The sun may be a mighty force, but she is a companion, a compass, a messenger.”

“She?” Eleanor asked, looking earnestly upwards, feeling more child than queen.

“Ah.” Wil looked at Eleanor somewhat pleased. “The consummate scholar has not read the Fifth of the Seven Scrolls.”

“They are the holy cannon of
your
religion,” Eleanor reminded him, in defense. “No, I have not studied it yet, as I only possess the First and the Second. But, I plan to read them all, at some point,” she explained. “What does the Fifth scroll say about the moon?”

“The text goes like this,” Wil began slowly, reciting it from memory in a lyrical tone:

“Seraagh, the declaring angel of the Illuminating God, served in holiness and might before Him. She spent her days in the services required. But, after a time, she forgot her obligations, for she began to love the sun, which was set up in the sky to guide the mortals in their journeys. The Illuminating God chastened Seraagh and set her again on her task. For many years, Seraagh pleased Him, but she could not forget the warmth and beauty of the sun. One evening, as the sun was setting in glorious flame, Seraagh cried out, ‘O, that I might not be separated from what I love.’ She followed the sun and left her work undone, diminishing her love for the Illuminating God. When He saw that she had neglected the charge which she had been given and that it had caused pain for His mortal children, He was displeased with Seraagh.

“The Illuminating God sent down judgment on Seraagh and banished her into the night, where she would become a constant guide for the mortals of the earth. Her post was then given to another. Seraagh lamented greatly, for she loved the Illuminating God even more than the sun of the day, and she wept bitterly. Her tears fell about her in the sky.”

Wil broke his narration, briefly, a thought passing across his face as he stared at the stars. He then continued. “But, the Illuminating God loved Seraagh, and, after a month’s time of serving, He sanctified her repentance and made it holy. The tears she had wept were filled with light and cast about the darkness around her, and Seraagh was no longer alone. The Illuminating God spoke with Seraagh, calling her
choice
in her service unto Him and unto the mortals of the earth. He promised that once in every month’s calling on the earth, she could leave the night sky and serve Him. This pleased Seraagh, and she was glad. The Illuminating God also promised Seraagh that, when the earth had given herself completely, and the mortals were taken home unto Him, she would be with the sun forever and never again be sent into the night.”