10
" Rumor has it your war is intended to protect the Covenant, but the King insists it was you who was going to break it. Rumor also has it you and your brother said you were going to war for the betterment of Remalna.”
“It’s true, I assure you,” I said. “I mean, about our going to war for the Covenant. The King intends to break it--we have proof of that. And we do want to help the kingdom.”
“Perhaps it is true.” The mother gave me a serious look. “But you must consider our position. Too many of us remember what life was like on the coast during the Pirate Wars. No matter who holds a port, or a point, it is our lands, and houses, that get burned, our food taken for supplies, our youths killed. And sometimes not just the youths. We could have a better king, but not at the cost of our towns and farms being laid waste by contending armies.”
These words, so quietly spoken, astounded me. I thought of my entire life, devoted to the future, in which I would fight for the freedom of just such people as these. Would it all be a waste?
“And if he does raise the taxes again? I know he has four times in the last ten years.”
“Then we will manage somehow.” The man shook his head. “And mayhap the day will come when war is necessary, but we want to put that day off as long as we can; for when it does come, it will not be so lightly recovered from. Can you see that?”
I thought of the fighting so far. Who had died while trying to rescue me? Those people would never see the sun set again.
“Yes. I do see it.” I looked up and saw them both watching me anxiously.
The woman leaned forward and patted my hand. “As he says, we do not speak for everyone.”
But the message was clear enough. And I could see the justice of it. For had I not taken these people’s mare without a thought to the consequences? Just so could I envision an army trampling Ara’s garden, their minds filled with thoughts of victory, their hearts certain they were in the right.
“Then how do we address the wrongs?” I asked, and was ashamed at the quiver in my voice.
“That I do not know,” the man said. “I concern myself with what is mine, and I try to help my neighbors. The greater questions--justice, law, and the rights and obligations of power--those seem to be the domain of you nobles. You have the money, and the training, and the centuries of authority.”
Unbidden, Shevraeth’s voice returned to mind, that last conversation before the journey to Remalna, You might contemplate during your measures of leisure what the purpose of a permanent court serves…And consider this: The only reason you and your brother have not been in Athanarel all along is because the King considered you too harmless to bother keeping an eye on.
I sighed. “And at least three of the said aristocrats are busy looking for me. Maybe it’s time I was on my way.”
There was no mistaking the relief in their faces. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
11
" I looked around for the tunic so I could leave the room; not for worlds would I go out dressed thus into the midst of a lot of staring Renselaeus warriors.
Unless Galdran has won! The terrible thought froze me for a moment, but then I looked down at that fire and realized that if Galdran had beaten us, I’d hardly be in such comfortable surroundings again. More likely I’d have woken in some dungeon somewhere, with clanking chains attached to every limb.
I held my head in my hands, trying to get the strength to stand; then my door opened, thrust by an impatient hand. Branaric stood there, grinning in surprise.
“You’re awake! Healer said you’d likely sleep out the day.”
I nodded slowly, eyeing his flushed cheeks and overbright eyes. His right arm rested in a sling. “You are also sick,” I observed.
“Merrily so,” he agreed, “but I cannot for the life of me keep still. Burn it! Truth to tell, I never thought I’d live to see this day.”
“What day?” I asked, and then, narrowly, “We’re not prisoners, are we? Where is Galdran?”
“Ash,” Bran said with a laugh.
I gaped. “Dead?”
“Dead and burned, though no one shed a tear at his funeral fire. And you should have seen his minions scatter beforehand! The rest couldn’t surrender fast enough!” He laughed again, then, “Ulp! Forgot. Want tea?”
“Oh yes,” I said with enthusiasm. “I was just looking for my tunic. Or rather, the one I was wearing.”
“Mud,” he said succinctly. “Galdran smacked you off your horse and you landed flat in a mud puddle. Hold there!”
I sat down on the bunk again, questions swarming through my mind like angry bees.
Branaric was back in a moment, carefully carrying a brimming mug in his one good hand, and some folded cloth and a plain brown citizen’s hat tucked under his arm. “Here ye are, sister,” he said cheerily. “Let’s celebrate.”
I took the mug, and as he toasted me with a pretend one, I lifted mine to him and drank deeply. The listerblossom infusion flooded me from head to heels with soothing warmth. I sighed with relief, then said, “Now, tell me everything.”
He chuckled and leaned against the door. “That’s a comprehensive command! Where to begin? "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
12
" Loss of prestige? In what way?” I asked.
He sat back, his eyes glinting with amusement. “First there was the matter of a--very--public announcement of a pending execution, following which the intended victim escapes. Then…didn’t you stop to consider that the countryside folk who endured many long days of constant martial interference in the form of searches, curfews, and threats might have a few questions about the justice of said threats--or the efficacy of all these armed and mounted soldiery tramping through their fields and farms unsuccessfully trying to flush a single unarmed, rather unprepossessing individual? Especially when said individual took great care not to endanger anyone beyond the first--anonymous--family to give her succor, to whom she promised there would be no civil war?”
I gasped. “I never promised that. How could I? I promised that Bran and I wouldn’t carry our fight into their territory.”
Shevraeth’s smile was wry. “But you must know how gossip gets distorted when it burns across the countryside, faster than a summer hayfire. And you had given the word of a countess. You have to remember that a good part of our…influence…is vouchsafed in our status, after the manner of centuries of habit. It is a strength and a weakness, a good and an evil.”
I winced, thinking of Ara, who knew more about history than I did.
“Though you seem to be completely unaware of it, you have become a heroine to the entire kingdom. What is probably more important to you is that your cause is now on everyone’s lips, even if--so far--it’s only being whispered about. With the best will in the world, Galdran’s spies could only find out what was being said, but not by whom. Imagine, if you can, the effect.”
I tried. Too tired to actually think of much beyond when I might lay my head down, and where, I looked across the room at that bed--then away quickly--and said as stoutly as I could, “I hope it skewered him good.”
“He’s angry enough to be on his way to face us, but we shall discuss it later. Permit me to suggest that you avail yourself of the room next to your brother’s, which was hastily excavated last night. We’ll be using this place as our command post for the next day or so.”
I wavered to my feet, swayed, leaned against the wall. “Yes. Well.” I tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing came to mind.
So I walked out and found my way to the room, unlatched the door. A tiny corner hearth radiated a friendly heat from a fire. A fire--they used a Fire Stick just for me. Was there a family somewhere doing without? Or did the Hill Folk know--somehow--of the Marquis’s cause, and had they tendered their approval by giving his people extras? I shook my head, beyond comprehending anything. Near the fireplace was a campbed, nicely set up, with a bedroll all stretched out and waiting, and a folded cloak for a pillow.
Somehow I got my muddy, soggy clothes off and slid the wallet with Debegri’s letter under the folded-cloak pillow. Then I climbed into that bed, and I don’t remember putting my head down. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
13
" I don’t know how long I had been sniffing and snorting there on my broken bunk (and I didn’t care who heard me) when I became aware of furtive little sounds from the corridor. Nothing loud--no more than a slight scrape--then a soft grunt of surprise.
I looked up, saw nothing in the darkness.
A voice whispered, “Countess?”
A voice I recognized. “Azmus!”
“It is I,” he whispered. “Quickly--before they figure out about the doors.”
“What?”
“I’ve been shadowing this place for two days, trying to figure a way in,” he said as he eased the door open. “There must be something going on. The outer door wasn’t locked tonight, and neither is this one.”
“Shevraeth,” I croaked.
“What?”
“Marquis of Shevraeth. Was here gloating at me. The guard must have expected him to lock it, since the grand Marquis sent the fellow away,” I muttered as I got shakily to my feet. “And he--being an aristocrat, and above mundane things--probably assumed the guard would lock it. Uh! Sorry, I just can’t walk--“
At once Azmus sprang to my side. Together we moved out of the corridor, me hating myself for not even thinking of trying the door--except, how could I have gotten anywhere on my own?
At the end of the corridor a long shape lay still on the ground. Unconscious or dead, I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to check. I just hoped it wasn’t one of the nice guards.
Outside it was raining in earnest, which made visibility difficult for our enemies as well as for us. Azmus took a good grip on me, breathing into my ear: “Brace up--we’ll have to move fast.”
The trip across the courtyard was probably fifty paces or so, but it seemed fifty days’ travel to me. Every step was a misery, but I managed, heartened by the reflection that each step took me farther from that dungeon and--I hoped fervently--from the fate in store if Galdran got his claws into me again. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
14
" The traffic increased when I reached the village, and when I walked into the market square I saw a large crowd gathered at one end. For a few moments I stood uncertainly, wondering whether I ought to leave or find out what the crowd was gathered for.
Suddenly they parted, and without warning two soldiers in brown and green rode side by side straight at me. Dropping my gaze to my dusty feet, I pressed back with the rest of the people on the road near me, and listened with intense relief as their horses cantered by without pausing.
The decision as to whether I should try to find out what was going on was settled for me when the crowd around me surged forward, and a man somewhere behind me called, “Hi, there! Molk! What’s toward?”
“Search,” a tall, bearded man said, turning. Around me people muttered questions and comments as he added, “That Countess causing all the problems up-mountain. Milord Commander Debegri has taken over the search, and he thinks she might end up this far south.”
“Reward?” a woman’s shrill voice called from somewhere to the left.
“Promised sixty in pure gold.”
“Where from?” someone else yelled. “If it’s Debegri, I wouldn’t count no gold ‘less I had it in hand, and then I’d test it.”
This caused a brief, loud uproar of reaction, then the bearded man bellowed, “The King! Sixty for information that proves true. Double that for a body. Preferably alive, though they don’t say by how much.”
Some laughed, but there was an undertone of shock from others.
Then: “What’s she look like, and is she with anyone?”
“Might be on a brown mare. Filthy clothes, looks like a human rat, apparently. No hat. Dressed like a dockside beggar.”
“That’s some help.” Another woman laughed. “I take it we look for whiskers and a long tail?”
“Short, scrawny, brown hair, long--very long. Blue eyes. Bandaged left leg, got caught in a steel trap. Probably limping if not mounted.”
Limping. I looked down, wondering if any of the people pressed around me had been watching me walk.
Time to move on. Now, I thought, and I took a step sideways, then backward, easing my way out of the crowd. I didn’t hear all of the next shouted question, but the answer was clear enough: “Commander Debegri said that if anyone is caught harboring or aiding the fugitive, it means death.”
One step, two: I turned and walked away, forcing myself to keep an even pace, as my heart thumped like a drum right under my ears. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
15
" We’re to have no communication with anyone outside of our own people,” she said.
My first reaction was disbelief. Then I thought of that letter of thanks I’d planned on writing, and even though I had not told anyone, humiliation burned through me, followed by anger all the more bright for the sense of betrayal that underlay it all. Why betrayal? Shevraeth had never pretended to be on my side. Therefore he had saved my life purely for his own ends. Worse, my brother was somehow involved with his plans; I remembered Nessaren’s subtle reaction to his mention, and I wondered if there had been some sort of reference to Bran in that letter Nessaren had just received. What else could this mean but that I was again to be used to force my brother to surrender?
Fury had withered all my good feelings, but I was determined not to show any of it, and I sat with my gaze on my hands, which were gripped in my lap, until I felt that I had my emotions under control again.
When I realized that the silence had grown protracted, I looked up and forced a polite smile. “I don’t suppose you know where your Marquis is?” I asked, striving for a tone of nonchalance.
A quick exchange of looks, then Nessaren said, “I cannot tell you exactly, for I do not know, but he said that if you were to ask, I was to tender his compliments and regrets, but say events required him to move quickly.”
And we’re not? I thought about us waiting out the rain, and those nice picnics, and realized that Nessaren had been watching me pretty carefully. It was no accident that we’d stopped for rests, then; Nessaren had very accurately gauged my strength. A fast run would have meant riding through rain and through nights, stopping only to change horses. We hadn’t even had to do that.
Once again my emotions took a spin. I had had a taste of the way prisoners could be conveyed when the Baron had me thrown over a saddle for the trip to Chovilun. Nessaren and her riding had made certain that my journey so far was as pleasant as they could make it.
Is this, I wondered acidly, possibly an attempt to win me to Shevraeth’s side in whatever game he’s playing with the King and the Baron? Just the thought made me wild to face their Marquis once again and give him the benefit of my opinions.
But none of this could be shown now, I told myself. My quarrel was not with Nessaren and the equerries, who were just following orders. It was with their leader.
I glanced up, saw that they seemed to be waiting. For a reaction?
“Anyone know a good song?” I asked. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
16
" When I did come to again, it was to the slow recognition of patterned movement. Next I realized that I was more or less upright, kept in place by the uncompromising grip of an arm. And at last I saw that I was on horseback and someone was with me.
“Bran?” I murmured hopefully.
The arm did not slacken its grip as its owner hesitated, then said, “It desolates me to disappoint you, but your brother is not here. Despite two really praiseworthy attempts at rescue.” I recognized that drawling voice: the interrogator’s.
The hint of amusement irritated me, and sick and hurt as I was, I simply had to retort something. “Glad…at least…you’re desolated.”
As a crack it was pretty weak, but the amusement deepened in the light voice above my ear as he added, “I must add, when your hill rebels get truly riled, they do fight well. We didn’t catch any of ‘em. Several dead, but they’re of no use to anyone. And they accounted for rather more of us than they ought to have.”
“Haha,” I gloated.
The voice continued, polite but utterly devoid of any emotion save that hint of amusement: “Your hat disappeared somewhere the other night, and it did not seem appropriate under the circumstances to request someone in our army to surrender a replacement.”
“It’s of no consequence--“I began loftily, then I grunted with pain as the horse made a misstep and veered around some obstruction in the road.
And a new fact registered: He knows who I am.
Which means we must be on the way to Remalna-city--and Galdran.
A sick feeling of terror seized my insides, and I was glad the man holding me could not see my face. My head was tucked against his shoulder, with my left leg as straight as possible across the horse’s withers, my right dangling. I thought immediately of struggling, trying to fight free, except I remembered what had happened when I had tried to take a step.
Well, then, somehow I have to escape--and take the horse, I told myself. There’s almost a three-day journey ahead. Anything can happen if I am on the watch. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
17
" Beyond those to another hall, with four doors--not woven doors, but real colorwood ones--redwood, bluewood, goldwood, greenwood--beautifully carved and obviously ancient.
The servants opened one and bowed me into a round-walled room that meant we were in a tower; windows on three sides looked out over the valley. The room was flooded with light, so much that I was dazzled for a moment and had to blink. Shading my eyes, I had a swift impression of a finely carved and gilded redwood table surrounded by blue satin cushions. Then I saw that the room was occupied.
Standing between two of the windows, almost hidden by slanting rays of sun, was a tall figure with pale blond hair.
The Marquis was looking down at the valley, hands clasped behind him. At the sound of the door closing behind me he looked up and came forward, and for a moment was a silhouette in the strong sunlight.
I stood with my back to the door. We were alone.
“Welcome to Renselaeus, Lady Meliara.” And when I did not answer, he pointed to a side table. “Would you like anything to drink? To eat?”
“Why am I here?” I asked in a surly voice, suddenly and acutely aware of how ridiculous I must look dressed in his livery. “You may as well get the threats out at once. All this politeness seems about as false as…” As a courtier’s word, I thought, but speech wouldn’t come and I just shook my head.
He returned no immediate answer; instead seemed absorbed in pouring wine from a fine silver decanter into two jewel-chased goblets. One he held out silently to me.
I wanted to refuse, but I needed somewhere to look and something to do with my hands, and I thought hazily that maybe the wine would clear my head. All of the emotions of the past days seemed to be fighting for prominence in me, making rational thought impossible.
He raised his cup in salute and took a drink. “Would you like to sit down?” He indicated the table. The light fell on the side of his face, and, like on that first morning after we came down from the mountain, I saw the marks of fatigue under his eyes.
“No,” I said, and gulped some wine to fortify myself. “Why aren’t you getting on with the sinister speeches?” I had started off with plenty of bravado, but then a terrible thought occurred, and I squawked, “Bran--”
“No harm has come to your brother,” he said, looking up quickly. “I am endeavoring to find the best way to express--”
Having finished the wine, I slammed the goblet down onto a side table, and to hide my sudden fear--for I didn’t believe him--I said as truculently as possible, “If you’re capable of simple truth, just spit it out.”
“Your brother has agreed to a truce,” the Marquis started.
“Truce? What do you mean, a ‘truce’?” I snarled. “He wouldn’t surrender, he wouldn’t, unless you forced him by threats to me--”
“I have issued no threats. It was only necessary to inform him that you were on your way here. He agreed to join us, for purposes of negotiation--”
A sun seemed to explode behind my eyes. “You’ve got Bran? You used me to get my brother?”
“He’s here,” the Marquis said, but he didn’t get any further.
Giving a wail of sheer rage, I plucked a heavy silver candleholder and flung it straight at his head. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
18
" Oria and I walked into the kitchen to find Julen staring at a handsome young man with curly black hair and fine new livery in Astiar colors.
His chin was up, and he swept a cool glance over us all as he said, “My errand is with my lady, the Countess of Tlanth.”
“I am she.” I stepped forward.
He gave me one incredulous look, then hastily smoothed his face as he bowed low. In the background, Julen clucked rather audibly. Next to me Oria had her arms crossed, her face stony. The young man looked about with the air of one who knows himself in unfriendly territory, and I reflected that for all his airs my brother had hired him or he wouldn’t be here, and he deserved a chance to present himself fair.
“Surely you’ll have been warned that we are very informal here,” I said, and gave him a big smile.
And for some reason he flushed right up to his fine hairline. Bowing again, he said courteously, “My lady, I was to give this directly to you.”
I held out one hand, noticed the dirt smudges, and hastily wiped it on my clothes before putting it out again. When I glanced up at the equerry, I saw in his eyes just a hint of answering amusement at the absurdity of the situation, though his face was strictly schooled when he handed me the letter.
“Welcome among us. What is your name?” I said.
“Jerrol, as it pleases you, my lady.” And again the bow.
“Well, it’s your name if it pleases me or not,” I said, sitting on the edge of the great slate prep table.
Julen clucked again, but softly, and I looked to the side, saw the preparations for tarts lying at the ready, and hastily jumped down again.
“Tell me, Jerrol,” I said, “if a great Court lady mislikes the name of a new equerry, will she rename him or her?”
“Like…Frogface or Stenchbelly?” Calaub asked from the open window, and beyond him three or four urchins snickered.
Jerrol glanced about him, his face quite blank, but only for a moment. He then swept me a truly magnificent bow--so flourishing that no one could miss the irony--and he said, “An my lady pleases to address me as Stenchbelly, I shall count myself honored.” He pronounced it all with awful elegance.
And everyone laughed! I said, “I think you’ll do, Jerrol, for all your clothes are better than any of us have seen for years. But you will have heard something of our affairs, I daresay, and I wonder how my brother managed to hire you, and fit you out this splendidly, in our colors?”
“Wager on it yon letter will explain,” Julen said grimly, turning to plunge her hands into her flour.
“Oh!” I had forgotten Jerrol’s original purpose for arriving, and looked down at the letter with my name scrawled above the seal in Branaric’s careless hand. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
19
" He pulled one of his brands out of the fire and stepped toward me, raising it. The sharp smell of red-hot metal made me sneeze--and when I looked up, the man’s mouth was open with surprise.
My gaze dropped to the knife embedded squarely in his chest, which seemed to have sprouted there. But knives don’t sprout, even in dungeons, I thought hazily, as the torturer fell heavily at my feet. I turned my head, half rising from the chair--
And saw the Marquis of Shevraeth standing framed in the doorway. At his back were four of his liveried equerries, with swords drawn and ready.
The Marquis strolled forward, indicated the knife with a neatly gloved hand, and gave me a faint smile. “I trust the timing was more or less advantageous?”
“More or less,” I managed to say before the rushing in my ears washed over me, and I passed out cold right on top of the late torturer. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
20
" Wondering how I would make it through a hand-to-hand duel, I glanced around--and just then I saw one of Galdran’s equerries fall from his saddle, his banner-spear spinning through the air toward me. Instinctively my free hand reached up and I caught the spear by the shaft. Ignoring the sting in my hand, I jammed my sword into its sheath and started whirling the spear round and round, making the banner snap and stream as my prancing, sidling horse circled round my brother. Horses turned their heads and backed away; no one was able to edge up and get in a good blow at Bran, who swayed in his saddle, his bad arm hanging limp. The warriors fell back, and no one swung at me.
Dimly I became aware of an ugly, harsh voice shouting over the crash and thuds of battle. Keeping the banner whirling, I guided my horse with my knees and risked a glance back over my shoulder--and looked straight into Galdran’s rage-darkened face. He said something, spittle flying from his mouth, as he pointed straight at me.
A moment later a flicker of movement on my immediate left caused me to glance round. Shevraeth was there, next to me. “Fall back,” he ordered, his voice sharp.
“No. Got to protect Bran--”
There was no time for more. The Marquis was beset by furious attackers as the King shouted orders from a short distance away. Then more riders appeared from somewhere, and for a moment everything was too chaotic to follow. I found myself suddenly on the edge of the battle; there were too many fighters on both sides between my brother and me. Too many fighters in the liveries of the Baron and the King. Despair burned through me, cold as winter ice.
We were losing.
Then my horse plunged aside, I shifted in the saddle, and I found myself face-to-face with Galdran. He glared at me with hatred; I had this sudden, strange feeling that if we had both been small children facing each other in a village squabble he would have screamed at me, It’s all your fault!
His lips drew back from his teeth. “You, I will kill myself,” he snarled, and he raised his great, flat-bladed sword.
I cast away the flimsy spear and drew my sword just a scarce moment before Galdran struck. The first blow nearly knocked me out off the horse. I parried it--just barely--pain shooting up my arm into my back. My arm was numb, so I used both hands to raise my blade against the expected next blow.
But as Galdran’s sword came down toward my head, it was met by a ringing strike that sent sparks arcing through the air. I looked--saw the Marquis, hair flying, horse dancing, circling round Galdran and forcing his attention away. Then the two were fighting desperately, the King falling back. I watched in fascination until two of the King’s guards rode to Galdran’s aid, and Shevraeth was suddenly fighting against three.
It seemed that the Marquis was going to lose, and I realized I couldn’t watch. Remembering my brother I forced my mount round so I could ride to his aid. But when I spotted him in the chaos of lunging horses and crashing weapons, he was staring past my shoulder, his eyes distended.
“Meliara!” he yelled, trying to ride toward me.
I turned my head, saw the Marquis now fighting against three guards; and once again the King was coming directly at me, sword swinging in a blur. I flung my sword at him and ducked. A blow caught me painfully across the back of my helm, and darkness rushed up to swallow me. "
― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)
