Hangman's Gate (War of the Archons 2)

by R. S. Ford

  The ride back was mercifully swift, but as Harlaw saw the fortress-city of Northold in the distance he suddenly wished it had been longer. Now he had to report yet more ill news to King Stellan. It seemed of late that was the only news the beleaguered king ever received.

  * * *

  The throne room sat at the heart of the palace. It had once been a place of revelry and mirth during the days of King Harald but now it was little more than a sepulchre. The golden lion banners of the Canbrian kings hung all around, but even their majesty did little to lighten the air.

  But then what could Harlaw expect? As well as being a nation riven by war it had also recently lost its queen, and her husband now had to rule alone. Harlaw would have sympathised had his own marriage been more than one of convenience.

  King Stellan stood, tall and straight, his hands clasped behind his back. The armour of his office made him look like a giant.

  ‘My liege,’ said Harlaw as he entered.

  Stellan turned from the window, a trace of a smile crossing his face as he saw his faithful duke, but it was gone as soon as it came. Clearly the king was expecting bad news. He would not be disappointed.

  Harlaw dropped to one knee, bowing his head. ‘My apologies. I made the offer as best I could. It was not well received.’

  There was a pause. Harlaw wondered if this would be the news to finally spark Stellan’s ire but the king merely said, ‘Stand, my friend.’

  Harlaw rose to his feet, looking at the king’s impassive face. It seemed he was unmoved by the news. More than likely he had simply been anticipating the worst.

  ‘So, it is war?’ asked the King.

  ‘Ozric and Banedon know we want peace. They will naturally assume we are weak and seeking amnesty because of it. We will prove them wrong. And quickly.’

  ‘How?’ Stellan asked.

  ‘Our troops are battle-fatigued, but the right offensive in the right place will make Canbria at least appear a force still to be reckoned with. I have already made plans for our next attack.’

  ‘Then make it so, Duke Harlaw.’ Stellan clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You would trust me with this after I have so recently failed you, my liege?’

  This time Stellan’s smile remained on his face. ‘You took it upon yourself to perform an impossible task, my friend, and yet you still carried it out as best you could. Of course I trust you, Harlaw. You were my father’s man, and now you are mine, are you not?’

  Harlaw bowed his head. ‘Now and forever, my liege.’

  ‘Good,’ said the king. ‘Because we have a battle to plan.’

  II

  AS Harlaw rode through Ravensbrooke, past the hedgerows and rolling hills, he could only feel a certain sense of guilt at how untouched it was by the vagaries of war. This place was an oasis among the carnage. But that was none of his doing. Harlaw didn’t choose the battlefields of the War of Three Crowns. He could only fight on them.

  And fight on them he had.

  The past year had been the hardest of his life. He had seen many victories but suffered nearly as many losses. It had been a year of slaughter, and for what? Another stalemate. The three kings at an impasse once more. For all his guilt that his own lands had been spared from the war, Harlaw knew he had more than earned this brief respite from the long campaign.

  He and his men rode into the grounds of Ravensbrooke manor and the old statues greeted them with their proud indifference. Harlaw jumped down from his steed, a smile crossing his face as Donal and the stable boy came rushing out to greet him.

  ‘It is good to see you, my lord,’ Donal said, taking the reins. The stable boy stood, eyes down, wringing his skullcap in his fists. Harlaw made a mental note to learn his name at some point.

  ‘It’s good to be back, Donal. Is the duchess inside?’

  The old man nodded. ‘She is, my lord,’ he replied. Donal fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable that she had not come out to greet Harlaw on his return home, but it wasn’t necessary. Selene had made her feelings clear long before now. Her disdain for him was Harlaw’s fault and no one else’s.

  ‘Well, draw me a bath and make sure the men are taken care of. It’s been a long ride.’

  ‘The maids are already boiling the water, my lord.’

  Harlaw squeezed Donal’s shoulder in gratitude. Of course they were; the old man had seen to Harlaw’s needs for thirty years. He knew what his duke needed even before it was asked.

  Harlaw walked the empty corridors to his chamber, the familiarity of the place doing little to raise his spirits. A bath was already waiting, and Harlaw wasted no time in stripping off his road-battered attire and slipping into it. The warm water relieved the aching in his body but his mind was still alive with recent memories of what he and his knights had suffered. For every hard-won victory there had been a defeat lurking in wait. Every report of enemy casualties came with news of his own losses. Friends and allies he had made now gone. It reminded Harlaw that with every new battle he was more alone than the last.

  When he was washed and dried Donal came, asking if he should organise a welcome feast for him and his men. Harlaw thought on it for a moment. It would do his men good, but there were more pressing matters.

  ‘I will dine alone with the duchess tonight,’ he replied.

  Donal nodded, dutifully heading off to arrange the dining hall and pass on the news to Selene. He could imagine her shrewish response, and he felt somewhat sorry for Donal taking the brunt of her ire, but she would not refuse. She never refused a request from her duke, though she would make her displeasure clear for all to know it.

  Harlaw dressed in his finery. Blue doublet embroidered in red, black boots polished to a mirror sheen. He even trimmed the silver beard that had grown into a mass of tangles over the past weeks. The figure who stared back at him from the mirror looked every part the noble duke, though he felt like a battle-weary old man.

  Then he waited. Dinner would be served at sundown but Harlaw stayed in his candlelit room for as long as he could before making his way to the dining hall. It was the same game every time – who would keep the other waiting the longest? He wasn’t surprised to find he had lost again. Selene was nowhere in sight, but he took his seat at the head of the table regardless.

  A fire roared in the hearth, the only life to fill the room. It should have been filled with Harlaw’s heirs, should have been echoing with conversation and laughter, but this was the life he had whittled out for himself and now he was forced to live it – a hollow carving indeed.

  Donal entered, leading servants who carried trays of quail and trout, spiced eggs and roasted beets. It was fare fit for nobility, but the feast only added to Harlaw’s guilt. These were lean times and here he was living like a king. He would be sure the servants dined well on leftovers tonight.

  Harlaw sat and waited while the food went cold. He stared at the fire, the crackling of wood the only conversation, before the door to the chamber opened and she walked in.

  Selene did not look at him as she sat, treating him as though he didn’t even exist. Still she took his breath away as she had the first time he laid eyes on her. A marriage of convenience they had called it. A union of two duchies to rival any in Canbria. If only they had known the way he really felt. If only they had seen into Harlaw’s heart at how much he loved this woman. But he had known from the beginning that his affection would never be reciprocated, and so he had chosen to hide it. Her eventual betrayal had been inevitable.

  They both sat in the dark room, fire blazing, food left untouched. Harlaw had not seen his wife for months yet there was still no notion of a greeting. But what did he expect? It had been years since he had ordered the death of her lover. Few knew that Harlaw suffered as much pain as she did over that. Josten Cade had been his friend. A man he trusted with his life. A man he trusted to take care of his bride. Josten had taken that duty far too literally.

  ‘You have been well?’ Harlaw asked, finally sick of the silence.

&nbs
p; Selene turned her gaze to the fire as though she had not heard him. Harlaw cursed himself for being the first to surrender to the discomfort, and her silence cut him to the core. Nevertheless, he persevered, for what other choice did he have now?

  ‘It was a hard winter. I trust you were not troubled too much by the cold?’

  She wasn’t troubled by the cold. More likely the cold was troubled by her.

  Selene continued to stare into the fire. It seemed to ignite the green of her eyes and Harlaw noticed how she wore no jewels. It was as though she were in mourning…

  Josten Cade was not dead. He had murdered one of Harlaw’s most trusted knights and fled into the dark. He had carved out a name for himself in the mercenary companies fighting in Arethusa. Very much alive by all accounts, but as far as Selene was concerned he was dead and buried.

  ‘I haven’t seen that dress before.’ His tedious attempts at conversation were starting to sound pathetic, but Harlaw had always been a stubborn man. ‘Where did you—’

  ‘The king is visiting with us tomorrow,’ Selene said before he could bore either of them further.

  ‘Stellan? Here? But why?’

  Selene averted her gaze back to the fire. If she knew the reason she was in no mood to tell, and Harlaw was in no mood to beg. He would learn soon enough.

  Donal led his servants back into the dining hall to clear their untouched plates. Suddenly all Harlaw’s appetite had fled him. Before he could at least offer his wife some wine, she stood. Harlaw stood too, and she paused, turning to him.

  ‘Goodbye, Ermund,’ she said, before leaving him alone by the fire.

  He had always hated that name and she knew it. She used it like a barb to prick him with whenever she pleased.

  Harlaw stared at the wine on the table, and it tried to entice him just as Selene used to. It had been a long time since he’d drunk anything more than boiled water, but with the prospect of a visit from his king it wouldn’t do to indulge now. With nothing to keep him, he returned to his chamber and slept.

  * * *

  The sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard woke Harlaw from a deep sleep. He swung his legs from his bed, feeling every ache in his back and neck. As he stood, there was pain in his knees and ankles from months of battle manoeuvres. Another reminder that he was not getting any younger.

  From the window of his chamber he saw men in red livery being greeted by Donal. Stellan was among them, his armour making him seem more regal than ever. He must have set off from Northold in the dead of night to arrive at Ravensbrooke so early.

  Harlaw had no time to don his armour of office. It would not do to keep his king waiting. With difficulty he pulled on the clothes he had worn the night before and made his way down to greet the new arrivals.

  Stellan was already waiting in the main hall, knights in red and gold surrounding him. Harlaw thought it curious that he should come so closely guarded.

  ‘My liege,’ said Harlaw, bowing as low as his stiff back would allow.

  ‘Duke Harlaw. It is good to see you well.’

  Harlaw stood, trying not to look puzzled. Stellan had seen him not more than a tenday earlier in Northold.

  ‘What brings you to Ravensbrooke?’ Harlaw asked.

  ‘Walk with me,’ the king said.

  Harlaw obeyed, following his king’s huge frame from the entrance hall of the manor and out into the gardens. Stellan’s knights followed closely, and for an instant Harlaw wondered where his own men were. It was a fleeting thought, but one that lingered in the back of his head.

  ‘You have served me well these past months,’ said the king.

  ‘As I served your father before you,’ Harlaw replied. ‘It is both a duty and an honour, my liege.’

  Stellan nodded. ‘I know. That is why this is so difficult.’ He looked out to the fields surrounding the manor. ‘I’m sorry, my friend, but I require your wife.’

  Harlaw stopped walking, suddenly ever more conscious of the nearness of the king’s bodyguard.

  ‘I– I don’t understand,’ said Harlaw.

  ‘Selene’s family controls two duchies. With the loss of Queen Eurelia I need a new union to reinforce my hold on the crown.’

  Harlaw could barely comprehend what the king was saying. His manner was as though he’d just announced he was buying a horse at market.

  ‘My liege… she is my wife.’ Harlaw could think of nothing better to say.

  Stellan shook his head. ‘The marriage has already been declared invalid. I have the letters of annulment. You have no heirs, there is no evidence of consummation. The legal writs were simple enough to obtain.’

  ‘I have signed no such—’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said the king. He was staring right at Harlaw now, his matter-of-fact manner gone, replaced with one of steely determination. ‘You have also rescinded your rights to the Duchy of Ravensbrooke and bequeathed your holdings to me.’

  Harlaw bristled, but in his periphery Stellan’s guard had their hands on their weapons.

  ‘This will not stand,’ Harlaw said, his mind focused now as he tried to contain his temper. ‘The knights of Ravensbrooke—’

  ‘Are now mine,’ said Stellan. ‘Look around, Harlaw. Do you see them here? The knights of Ravensbrooke are now bannermen of the crown. Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. You have your life, I owe you that much. Take a horse, ride north, or wherever you wish. A resourceful man like you will make his mark somewhere.’

  Harlaw looked out at the knights arrayed against him. He had no weapon. He had no men. No allies. His home loomed large against the morning sky but it was his no longer. Was Selene watching him from somewhere within? He could only hope she was satisfied with her vengeance.

  ‘Why not just kill me?’ he asked.

  ‘Harlaw, my friend,’ said the king, a wide smile crossing his face. ‘You have been a loyal servant. And I am no monster. Consider this a gift. No more fighting. No longer having to share your bed with a woman who hates you. What better reward could I give a man who has served me so faithfully?’

  The king was almost convincing. If Stellan truly considered Harlaw a friend, he could only wonder how he must treat his enemies.

  With little choice, Harlaw made his way back to the manor to pack for the road. He was sure it would be a long one.

  III

  HARLAW ran his fingers through a tangle of white beard. His horse, Mestilus, needed rest and water, but there was nothing that passed for an inn for miles as far as he could see. He had ridden hard to clear the Canbrian border, but even though he was deep within the Arethusan countryside he still didn’t feel safe.

  What was it Stellan had said? He was no monster? There was no way Harlaw could rely on that being true. A king who would so easily betray one of his loyal followers could just as easily change his mind on a whim. Mercy could turn into murder quicker than Harlaw could pack his bags.

  Harlaw could not dwell on the vagaries of kings. He had to work out what to do, and fast. As he skirted a thick wood the rain started to pour, hard and straight, soaking him through. He would have thought it yet another sign of his poor luck had he not immediately seen an inn up ahead.

  It was a sorry building, but intact at least. He could only hope it would be dry enough inside. After tying Mestilus beneath an awning, he entered and was hit by the welcome smell of wood smoke and ale. Harlaw began to feel a little relief from his worries. At least he had enough coin for bed and board for the night, best worry on the gods being set against him later.

  A few coppers and he found a warm place by the fire, a stable boy taking care of Mestilus, and a bed awaiting him when he was ready. Memories of the hard road fled as he ate a hearty broth, and he even accepted the offer of ale. What did it matter now if he drank? What else could the fates do to him if he was in his cups?

  Someone took a chair at his table.

  Harlaw realised he’d never have time to pull the blade at his side if whoever it was decided to stick a knif
e in his throat. As he looked up at the newcomer and her smiling face, he still had no idea if that was exactly what she’d do.

  ‘You’re either very brave or very stupid coming in here,’ said Maud Levar. She raised a hand and scratched at the stubble covering one of her head tattoos.

  ‘Where would you suggest I go?’ Harlaw replied. ‘Stellan has—’

  ‘I heard,’ said Maud. ‘And after all you did for him too. That betrayal must have stung like a bastard.’

  It did sting. More than Harlaw would ever admit. ‘So you know I’ve got little choice about where I go and who I fight for.’

  ‘Who you fight for? Are you thinking of pledging your blade to another king? Or joining one of the companies? Because I doubt either option would be a good one.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  Maud shook her head. ‘You’ve really got no idea the trouble you’ve caused, have you, Harlaw? Ozric wants you dead after you led Stellan’s forces to so many victories against him.’

  ‘I would have thought that’s the perfect reason for him to accept my allegiance.’

  ‘Know your enemy, Harlaw. Ozric is as treacherous as Stellan. And twice as vengeful. He’d rather see you hung from his city gates than leading his armies. Banedon is much the same, only more vicious. With all three kings after your blood that makes you poison for any mercenary company.’

  Harlaw suddenly felt his troubles worsen. He glanced behind Maud and saw men waiting casually in the background. Clearly she wasn’t here alone.

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked.

  ‘Same goes for me. If Ozric even knew I was talking to you there’s every chance he would end our contract and have me branded a traitor. I’d love to have a man like you in my company, Harlaw, but mercenaries only trust their own. You’re no mercenary. You’re a duke. And one with a big fucking target on his back.’

  ‘I’m a duke no longer,’ Harlaw said. ‘And I hold no loyalty to anyone.’

  ‘And there’s your problem. You no longer have friends in the Suderfeld. It’s widely known you wanted an end to this war. What was it you said? There will be no unity while three kings rule. And for that, everyone wants you gone.’