by A. M. Manay
If the ploy succeeded, they aspired to get most of the way to the City before the crown realized that something was amiss.
She heard a scratch on the flap over the entrance. “It is I, Your Grace,” came Silas’s familiar voice. He was staying in his own tent, which Shiloh found silly but which court propriety demanded.
She sat up. “Come in,” she replied.
He crossed the tent and sat upon her bed.
“Well, my queen, I do believe that Lord Blackmine’s sons are willing to cooperate,” he informed her. “Their father is livid, naturally, though I suspect that is part of the appeal for the boys, to be honest.”
Shiloh smiled. “You mean they don’t adore him? I can’t imagine why not.”
“Speaking of old Blackmine, he’s given us some interesting information,” Silas continued. Shiloh blanched, and he hastened to add, “I didn’t hurt him. I just had his guards get him drunk. He’s known for talking too much when he is in his cups. At any rate, he confirmed that Speckley is in Westan’s pocket, but Penfield has nothing but contempt for the man, which is reassuring. Waterton will go wherever the money is. The biggest threat, besides Fenroh, is probably Lord Vorren, the one to whom the crown gave the Frontier. He was a mercenary in Vreeland, evidently, when they invaded Dessica some years ago. He knows killing.”
“What of Westan himself? Will he run, or will he fight? I don’t relish battling across the City,” Shiloh worried aloud.
Silas grinned. “Westan isn’t too popular in the City, evidently. He’s afraid to leave the palace. Angry mobs keep showing up at the foot of Greenhill, throwing rotten vegetables at the palace wards.”
“And Fenroh?” she asked, voice full of dread.
“Best we can tell, he’s holed up in his monastery in the Claw. The problem with him is that he has a hundred ready-made hostages in the form of those children he’s recruiting to his new order. If he doesn’t choose to run, we could be in for a long, bloody siege,” Silas admitted. “Our best hope there is that those in the compound with him turn against him as a body.”
Shiloh shook her head. “That does not fill me with confidence.”
He laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “I know. But we will cross that bridge when we come to it. We should get some rest.”
She nodded. “We’re going to need it.”
Shiloh fell in next to Jerr, who sat upon his horse with a book balanced against the pommel of his saddle. The pace was slow, with the bulk of the men marching ahead of them, and Shiloh smiled to see him take the opportunity to read.
“May I ask what you are reading, my lord?” she inquired.
Startled, the lad nearly dropped his book. Recovering, he managed to reply, “It’s a book on engineering, Your Grace. It’s about the construction of the Gate.”
“That sounds interesting,” she said.
Emboldened, Jerr smiled. “Oh, it is, Your Grace.”
“Do you aspire to be a great builder?” she asked. “Like Lord Elton?”
Jerr looked down shyly. “I would like to be, if the opportunity presented itself, even if he was a heretic. My father is not so keen on the idea. He wants me to focus on managing the mines so we can pull more ore out of the mountains. He said I need to learn curses to keep the Teethtrash in line and stop wasting my time with fancy.” He shrugged apologetically.
“It seems your father and I agree on little. What is the point of pulling out more ore if you don’t have anything good to do with it?” Shiloh asked.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to say!” he confessed, animated now. “And wouldn’t the people be more motivated if they knew they were digging iron to build bridges and tunnels and aqueducts instead of mining for gold that they will never see spent to their benefit?”
“Indeed, I believe they would,” Shiloh agreed. “I hope you’ll keep reading about building, my lord. I have a feeling we’re going to need men like you.”
She looked ahead to where Zenn rode. “What about your brother? What interests him?”
Jerr smiled. “You mean besides girls and drink? He is not such a big reader of books. But he is brave. He can climb any tree, any cliff. He can swim in the Bay and not even shiver.”
“Everyone has their gifts,” Shiloh observed. “And Lord Robben?”
“He is intelligent but not terribly curious,” Jerr confided. “He works hard. He doesn’t drink much. He is good with numbers and animals. He is a proper gentleman. He would be a good lord, Your Grace, if I may be so bold, if that is your intention.” He glanced at her uncertainly.
“That is most reassuring, my lord,” she answered, “as that is, indeed, my intention. What are his interests?”
“He loves maps, Your Grace, and sailing.” Jerr paused. “Your Grace, what are you going to do with my father?” he ventured to ask.
“Nothing, I hope. Once Westan is dealt with, he can go home. No one is going to harm him unless he does something foolish,” Shiloh told him. “But I do not think I could ever trust him to govern under my rule. Do you?”
Jerr swallowed heavily. “Probably not, Your Grace. He . . . he does not have an open turn of mind. Robben is practical. He can adjust when the wind changes its direction, tack one way and then another. Our lord father is set in his ways and very old fashioned.”
“I appreciate your candor, my lord. I will remember it,” she told him with a smile.
He managed a tentative smile in return. “Your Grace? May I ask you something? Did you really heal all the Deadlands?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“Did you really kill the Patriarch?”
“I did,” she said. “And there will never be another because I killed the Vestals, too. I tried to spare them, but I am afraid they did not take me seriously. Does that trouble you?”
He looked down. “Not really. My parents love the Patriarch, but I found the Purification rather horrifying. There was this girl in Blackmine Village, she was a little daft, but sweet and harmless . . . They did terrible things to her because they said she was a heretic.” He looked up through the trees. “I don’t think Robben, nor Zenn, care much one way or the other about religion or how the church is governed. So, you don’t have that to trouble you.”
Shiloh grinned. “I’ll cross that one off the list, then, with thanks.”
Silas watched Shiloh conversing with Blackmine’s middle boy, who smiled at her, then looked away shyly. She’s got a knack for this, doesn’t she? It was strange to see her dressed as a boy. Hana had chopped Shiloh’s hair short once again and colored it brown with a spell. Hana had assured Silas that it wouldn’t wear off for at least a fortnight. Perhaps it was overkill, but Silas wanted to take no chances on giving anything away to anyone observing the downhill march of the army. The more they could catch Fenroh and Westan off their guard, the better.
And there would be onlookers. It had been many years since an army had been seen in the Teeth, and curiosity might bring out the villagers in droves. Silas hoped they wouldn’t lose too many men as they passed through their hometowns. They couldn’t afford the reduction in strength nor the rumors they would begin to spread about Shiloh’s victory. He had the officers keeping a hawkish eye for deserters and spies, and for anyone seeking to victimize the residents. At least there was somewhat less likelihood of such behavior here in their own land, or so he hoped.
Robben beckoned him from up ahead, and Silas hastened to his side.
“There’s a large farm a few miles off, in a valley. Should be enough room to make camp tonight,” the new Earl of Blackmine informed Silas. “We used it on the march up. Good water, plenty of fuel. My scouts have directed the supply wagons to wait for us there.”
“Very good, my lord,” Silas agreed. “Any word from the king or Fenroh?”
“Don’t you mean the Reverend Father?” Robben asked with a snort of derision. “No, not yet. I sent a bird with a letter about our imaginary victory, but it won’t have arrived yet, I expect.”
“Not a
n admirer of our Grand Purifier, I take it?” Silas asked.
Robben shook his head. “Only met him once, as a boy, but he turned my stomach even then.”
Silas smiled. “Then I applaud your good judgment, my lord. Any sign of trouble brewing in the Range?”
Robben shook his head. “I think we’re too far south for them to give us much trouble even if they figure out we’ve turned coats. Most of his guard are at Speckley Castle. The Gernish are stationed in the Fist and the Claw primarily. They have no interest in cows or hot weather. It’s the weather that will hurt us in the Range and the Flats. These are mountain men. The heat of summer might lay them out if we aren’t careful.”
“We should march at night,” Silas suggested. “Have them rest in the shade during the worst heat of the day. It’s tiring, the lack of sleep, but they won’t be prostrate with sunstroke. That’s how we did it during the last war, anyway. And we must take care to supply them with ample water.”
Robben nodded. “Right,” he said. The boy glanced at Silas. “I’m glad you’re here, my lord. I was only a baby during the war, and my father was abroad, ambassador to Gerne. Quite frankly, we had no idea what we were doing marching into that battle with the Feralfolk. I have little idea walking into the next one.”
Silas swallowed a flippant reply in favor of a more politic answer. “Everyone has a first battle, my lord. I don’t know if having so many behind me makes me lucky or cursed, but I am glad if the experience proves valuable.”
“Do you think Westan will stand and fight? Or will he flee to Gerne?” Robben asked.
“I don’t know the man except by reputation,” Silas admitted. “Rumor has it that he is vain and greedy, with a very high opinion of himself. That would argue for a fight. On the other hand, I think him a coward. If he sees that he might lose, he will flee lest he be introduced to the sight of his own blood.
“The more troubling question, to my mind, is what Fenroh will do. Because that man is capable of just about anything.”
“It’s strange, travelling amidst so many people,” Shiloh observed a week later. “I’m rather accustomed to sneaking about with only a few companions.”
Silas laughed. “It does seem like we’ve done that rather a lot in the last couple of years.”
“I like listening to the men, though,” she admitted. “I like hearing their songs and their stories as they make camp and cook.”
“You’ve done a good job making yourself visible to them,” he commended her. “They’ll fight harder for a queen they’ve seen.”
Shiloh sighed. “They’ll die just the same, though.”
“Some will. Most won’t. You can’t personalize it too much, little bird. It is too painful that way,” he advised.
“I know. But it’s going to take me time to get used to this,” she countered.
“That’s true even for people who spend their whole lives knowing they are heir to a throne,” Silas assured her. “You didn’t even have that time to prepare.”
“What happens if Westan dies?” Shiloh asked.
“His uncle inherits the throne of Gerne. Hollon is his name. He has been acting as regent in Parona Palace while Westan has graced Bryn with his august presence.”
“Do you know anything about him?” Shiloh asked, nibbling at her food. It was so hot that, even half dressed in the shade of her tent, she had little appetite. She had no love for the Range in summer.
“He’s about fifty years old. Widower, handful of unremarkable children. Has a taste for young women but treats them decently after he is through with them. Good to his bastards, which I like in a man. Capable governor, some military experience. Lost a fair bit of money speculating in the Estan markets in the last few years, so there’s a chink in his armor.”
“Any love between him and Westan?” Shiloh asked, thinking ahead to what might happen in the aftermath of a fatal defeat for the young king.
Silas grinned. “I really rather doubt it. He’d regret the loss of income from Brynish taxes, but I think that would be the extent of his mourning.”
“Is it worth initiating contact with him?” Shiloh asked. “Pointing out that sustaining supply lines for Westan all the way from the border to the City might be, shall we say, prohibitively difficult?”
Silas’s grin broadened. “And pointing out that I may know some good sources of credit for him, should he assume the throne?” he proposed.
“By the time the letter gets there, it will be too late for him to warn his nephew,” Shiloh pointed out.
“Unless the messenger gets captured on the way,” Silas countered.
“We could send it with Barr,” she suggested. “He can fly it, if he’s willing.”
Silas nodded. “Though we would lose his help with surveillance for a week at what might be a critical time. I’ll start working on the draft, Your Grace, while we consider the timing and method of its delivery.”
“Being queen is complicated.”
Silas smiled sadly. “Little bird, you have no idea.”
At last, they were within sight of Fountain Bluff. Their scouts had already reported that Daved and Mosspeak’s men had control of the castle and that all were in high spirits, save the imprisoned Gernish soldiers. Shiloh looked forward to hearing the story of the victory when they arrived. She also looked forward to a bath.
Lord Mosspeak met them at the castle’s gates, and soon Shiloh was sitting in a tub full of hot water in a lovely suite of rooms at the top of the main tower. By the time she descended for dinner, she almost felt human again.
She sat between Silas and Daved at the head table and listened with a smile as Daved regaled her with the tale of the march and their easy victory, Mosspeak interrupting to provide added detail.
“I can’t believe the tunnel was still open after all that rain we had last winter,” Shiloh marveled.
“A testament to its builder,” Mosspeak asserted, raising his goblet in her direction.
“I can’t believe no one found the piles of dirt in the woods to wonder where it all came from,” Silas replied, shaking his head.
“Well, no one ever said Gernish soldiers are intelligent,” Daved laughed. “Anyway, sneaking the men in was easy. Getting to the gates from there without raising the alarm was the hard part. Lord Mosspeak went with them, since he knows every nook and cranny.”
“It was very cloak and dagger,” Mosspeak bragged. “I did have to kill a man sleeping in Keelie’s old bed. We don’t need to tell her about that.”
“What about the people we left behind, the ones in disguise?” Shiloh asked, brow creased in concern.
“They were fine and dandy, thank the Gods. After a few months, when they were certain we were well away, they simply stopped wearing the costumes. Then they went out and told the soldiers we had escaped. The Gernish were so pleased with them for reporting it that they kept the staff on, and they’ve been spying and sabotaging every since. They handed me a great stack of correspondence once we took the castle!” Mosspeak laughed. “We’ll keep Silas busy reading letters all the way to the City!”
Shiloh smiled. “So Daved led the charge on the gates, then?”
“I did,” Daved replied, with a half bow. “Lost very few men, thank the Gods. So far, we haven’t had too much trouble keeping them in order, either.”
“Well, I hope they’re ready for another march,” Silas replied. “The sooner we can get to the City, the better chance we have of catching them flat-footed.”
“I have to imagine someone has slipped away by now to warn them,” Shiloh replied. “Brown hair or no.”
“Very likely,” Silas acknowledged. “Which is why we ride tomorrow.”
Shiloh heaved a sigh. “Only one night in a proper bed.”
“Look on the bright side, Your Grace,” Daved suggested. “Your hair is starting to turn back pink.”
“Thank the Gods for small favors,” she snorted.
A Queen Worth Fighting For
Young Silas stood wait
ing outside King Rischar’s study. He had been summoned to give a report about some financial audits and patiently awaited his turn.
“Silas Hatch. My, my,” came a familiar voice behind him. Silas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before turning around.
“Honored brother. It is good to see you looking so well,” Silas lied.
“I’d heard you were abroad,” Fenroh said.
“Yes, I returned just a few months ago. His Grace was kind enough to offer me a position,” Silas confirmed.
“Well, you certainly earned it with your work for them during the war. Is it true that you killed the Usurper with your own hands?” Fenroh asked, smiling widely.
“It is,” Silas replied. He tried not to allow his hatred and revulsion to show in his face.
Fenroh leaned in and whispered, “Well, I, for one, don’t trust you, Hatch. I think you were playing both sides the whole time and only chose Rischar’s when it became clear that Alissa was doomed. And I haven’t forgotten your knocking me into that ditch.”
Silas gave him an icy smile. “And I haven’t forgotten your murdering hundreds of innocent women and children. So I guess we’ll just have to agree to distrust one another, honored brother.”
Fenroh stood up straight. “I must get to the queen,” he announced. “I’m her confessor, you know.”
“Try not to commit any atrocities on the way,” Silas urged cheerfully. And why don’t you ask her about her murdered hexborn baby while you’re at it?
“Hatch, you’re up,” a guard called.
Silas buttoned his jacket, squared his shoulders, and fixed his face.