The Queen's Gambit (29 page)

In the far distance, the bells of the cathedral began to ring, calling to the palace for help.

“This is dreadful,” the queen said. “Some accident, a fire allowed to spill from its hearth. An overturned kettle of hot oil—”

“Nay, I think not, majesty.”

She turned to stare at him. In the moonlight, wearing only a voluminous bedgown and her hair hanging over her shoulder in a long braid, she looked like a little girl, vulnerable with surprise and innocence. It made him ache to look at her, but he had long ago taught himself to shut away that part of himself, deadening it to all feeling. He deadened it again now.

“What mean you, Sir Talmor?” she asked. “What say you?”

“Trouble comes. I know not what kind, but it could be . . . boat raiders.”

“Vvordsmen?” she whispered, her hand stealing to her throat. “Sweet Tomias, I pray you are wrong.”

“I think I am not.”

“Have you knowledge? Certainty? Have you sensed something?”

She gave him no chance to answer, but swung around and shouted to summon her servants. In moments, lamps were lit and sleepy women appeared. “My clothes!” she ordered, cutting across their queries. “I will dress at once.”

“But, your majesty, the ladies of the wardrobe are not assembled—”

“Thod take the wardrobe!” she shouted, stamping her foot. “The city is on fire, and I have no time for protocol. You, Verine, summon the duty captain to me.”

As the servants scattered to obey her, Pheresa turned back to Talmor. “I will send the guards to defend the town.”

“The palace guards may be needed here,” he said grimly.

She gasped. “You don't think they would dare attack the palace?”

“Aye, I think it.”

“But this far inland?”

“Majesty, we are less than a league from the town harbor. The harbor defenses have obviously been breached, or they would not be sacking the town as we speak.”

“I pray you are wrong, sir, and 'tis only a fire gone out of control.”

He understood that she wanted reassurance, but Talmor was not a man who believed in denying problems.

He tried to be patient as he said, “Majesty, consider that every raid this year has ventured farther south. What navy have we to repel them from our shores or to protect the richest, most desirable port city in the realm?”

“But they—”

“The coast is gentle here, with many beaches and places to land. They need not confine themselves to the town. Your majesty's palace offers them the greatest loot of all.”

“Savroix attacked,” she said in disbelief, heading for her dressing room. “ 'Tis impossible.”

Talmor stopped arguing with her. He feared her ministers and officers would probably maintain the same foolish view. A small, well-fortified hold could be defended, even sieged, but Savroix sprawled forever. Its walls were mighty, but there were gates everywhere, even ground-level doors in the turrets. The guards were trained to keep order within the palace complex, not defend the palace against the attack of a large force.

That was the job of Mandria's standing army, an army now scattered to points east and west to support the beleaguered border holds.

A perfect campaign,
Talmor thought bitterly,
obviously planned by a master strategist. Small, vicious strikes intended to lure the army farther and farther away from Savroix, which no doubt had always been the main target.

And at Savroix's center was its queen. He felt a terrible sense of fear and foreboding squeeze his heart. On no account must she be taken hostage.

A furious pounding on the door made him whirl with his hand on his weapon. Pheresa emerged from her dressing room in the hauberk made for her as monarch. She wore it over a long tunic that was split for riding. A servant followed her, carrying her boots, while another opened the door.

The duty captain, accompanied by two sergeants and Lord Nejel, trooped inside, boots thudding on the wooden floor. They saluted the queen.

“Majesty,” Lord Nejel said, “I bring grave news.”

“You may report it, my lord.”

“The town is under attack. The older sections have been torched. There is looting and pillaging going on, although the town constabulary have been mustered.”

“Can they repel such an attack?”

The duty captain frowned, and his gaze flashed to Talmor's for a moment. Lord Nejel never took his gaze from the queen's. “Nay, majesty.”

Pheresa's chin came up. “Dispatch a force of fighting men immediately to assist them.”

Talmor frowned, knowing she had just sent those squadrons to probable death in a futile waste of limited manpower.

“Aye, majesty.” Bowing, Lord Nejel glanced at the duty captain, who saluted smartly and strode out. The sergeants followed him, but Nejel remained behind. “I have ordered extra guards stationed at your majesty's door for protection.”

She nodded. “And extra guards for my consort?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, my lord. I rely on you and your men. Whatever the town needs, it must have.”

He bowed and left her, and Pheresa slowly rubbed her forehead a moment before she turned around and met Talmor's gaze.

Her cheeks grew pink. “You think my gesture is futile.”

“ 'Tis not for me to question your majesty's orders.”

“Damne!” She stamped her foot. “Give me no courtier's answer, sir!”

“A muster of guardsmen against a barbarian horde?” he retorted. “What chance have they?”

“My guards are superb fighters. They—”

“There's a chance they can harry the attackers enough to let some townspeople escape death or capture. That is the only gain possible.”

“You sound very sure, sir. Do you foretell the future as well?”

“I have met Vvordsmen in battle, majesty,” he replied grimly.

“Aye, so I have heard. But how can you stand here making dire predictions and gloomy pronouncements when you know not how large a force they have? Unless you go out there, to stand and observe their numbers and their movements, how can you say what they will do or how victorious they will be?”

He crossed his arms. “I am a fighting man, majesty. I know that no warrior, wherever he comes from, would dare attack Mandria's heart without a sizable force.”

“But 'tis the dead of night!” she cried out. “What infamous behavior, what calumny do they practice, to ignore all—”

“Your majesty has heard the reports of other raids. Vvordsmen attack, day or night, whenever conditions favor them.”

She flung out her hands. “By all accounts these boat raiders are monsters, savages without mercy, and vicious killers. They destroy all they touch.” She turned her gaze to the window. “They are destroying my city now . . . and perhaps . . . my palace next?”

“Not if a stalwart defense can be put in place,” Talmor said in a bracing voice. He wanted the queen to face the danger, but not be overwhelmed by it. “There's time enough, if quick action is taken. Foremost, there is your majesty's safety to consider. We—”

“I must summon my council,” she said. Courage returned to her brown eyes, and her voice sounded stronger now. “They will advise me. In the meantime, messengers must be sent to my marechals.”

While she issued a string of orders, the alarm bells of the
palace began to peal, rousing everyone. Talmor was thinking fast and hard.

Burning the town was a stroke of genius, for it would panic the populace and render them helpless before the marauders. But more importantly, it was obviously a lure for the palace's defense forces, for if the queen's tender heart incited her to send too many of her guardsmen to defend the town, Savroix itself would be left at the mercy of a second strike force, which had probably landed elsewhere.

No report had as yet come of such a tactic, but Talmor felt certain that was the strategy. He knew that were he the attacking commander, he would divide his forces in such a manner. From which direction would the raiders strike Savroix? And how could he best get the queen to safety? He knew she must not remain here.

Pheresa was now hurrying for the door. Talmor strode after her, determined to stick close. He had more than invaders to worry about. Any potential assassin lurking within the palace might choose tonight to strike her down, taking cover in the chaos. Worried and alert, Talmor closed in on her heels, nearly treading the hem of her tunic, and never took his hand off his sword hilt. With her escort of guards, she swept through the private passageway between her private quarters and the privy chamber.

Her council—groggy-eyed, haphazardly dressed, and deeply alarmed—assembled themselves within minutes. Chancellor Salba, limping heavily, arrived just after the queen.

“The army is too far away to reach in time,” he said without preamble.

Her face turned white as his announcement sank in.

“We are exposed and vulnerable,” he continued, “and the enemy knows it.”

Pheresa did not sit down. Instead, she paced back and forth before her throne. Her military garments emphasized her pregnancy, and her hauberk—worn previously twice to inspect the palace guards—had not been laced tightly. The changes in her body had affected her stance and gait as well.
She was not as graceful as before, not as postured. Tonight, in her ill-fitting clothes and her hair haphazardly braided, she looked like an ordinary woman, tired and frightened, her customary serenity in ruins. As she paced, her slender hands kept touching the mound of her belly as though for reassurance.

Talmor's sense of impending danger grew, and he saw little need to stand about and discuss the matter. He felt convinced that the longer the queen stayed here, the greater her danger became. And she, burdened with child and at her most physically vulnerable, did not seem to understand that it was too late to meet now to develop a strategy. The entire palace defense was structured on having an army nearby. Without the army, they had nothing, and this meeting was futile.

He noticed the other men's worry. Some of them, at least, had the wit to realize they were wasting time. But had any of them the courage to so inform the queen?

Duc Lervan breezed in tardily with his usual self-confidence. Garbed in hauberk and leather leggings, still knuckling sleep from his eyes, he bowed to the queen with a flourish.

Her whole face lit up. Uttering a glad cry, she held out her hands to him. Watching him press his fingers to her cheek and murmur to her, Talmor glowered. He loathed Lervan, heart and soul, and despised the man for his hypocrisy, lying, and infidelity. Each time the queen grew angry with her husband, Talmor rejoiced inwardly. Of late, she had looked strained each time she found herself in Lervan's company, and Talmor hoped she would banish him from court.

But now, tonight, she was smiling up at the scoundrel for comfort, still as bound to him emotionally as ever. The sight of it made Talmor boil.

He checked his temper, putting it into that dead place inside him as he had done for the past two years. He was not permitted to judge or express his opinion. He remained in the background of Pheresa's life, and he never forgot his place. But tonight, he had never found it harder to stay in control of himself, to curb his tongue, or to keep himself from shoving Lervan away from her. The blackguard was not fit to grovel at
her feet, and what effect did he think he achieved, appearing in battle garb like a theatrical mummer, strutting about and mouthing brave words that only wasted the air?

Clearly relieved by Lervan's presence, the queen now asked her husband's advice. Talmor retreated to the side of the room where the other protectors stood, and took his place beside Sir Maltric. The older man glanced at him and grunted an acknowledgement. Talmor nodded in reply. They were not friends, not even allies, save in their common purpose of protecting the royal couple.

While the council debated and discussed the best measures to take, Talmor leaned toward Maltric.

“We've got to get them away,” he murmured.

Maltric's eyes, wise with experience, met his. “We'll do as they decide.”

Talmor's hands curled into fists. His heart was racing with the need to take action. Thod's bones, but he could not bear to stand here while talk wasted the precious time left to them. She was listening to Lervan, full of theory and bravado, and drinking in everything he said. Annoyed by the consort's pomposity on matters he did not understand, Talmor scowled at the floor. He was tempted to break into the discussion and start issuing orders that would do some good, but such a flaunting of his duties was impossible. If he was dismissed from the queen's service for interrupting, who would protect her majesty?

News came, none of it good. The town continued to burn out of control. A guardsman arrived, accompanied by his sergeant. Soot-stained and bloody, his green cloak in tatters, the guardsman announced that four squadrons had engaged the enemy but were forced to fall back.

The council roared in outrage, and Lervan was loudest in condemning such cowardice.