Sanctuary

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  ‘I don’t think there are spikes above the gate,’ Pataxo said.

  ‘Then fix some in place. You’d think the Wyrds would have gate spikes.’ Even as he said this, Eskarnor offered her more wine.

  Jaraile gulped a mouthful. Heat raced all the way down to her toes and up again. She pushed the goblet aside. ‘My s-son, are you certain the Wyrds killed him?’

  Eskarnor wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to distress you. Not when you’re in a delicate condition.’

  He adjusted her on his lap and cut off slivers of meat to tempt her.

  Meanwhile the puddles of blood where the heads had sat congealed. It felt as if she was fifteen again, at the mercy of King Charald. Eskarnor was every bit as much a monster as the king was.

  But she suspected he was smarter.

  SORNE WOKE WITH a sword to his throat. Blinking, he made out Baron Kerminzto’s features in the pale light of dawn. He sat up slowly as he tried to work out what was going on. They were less than a day’s ride from the Celestial City and his dozen king’s guard were surrounded by at least forty of the baron’s men.

  ‘Your sentries need to be more alert,’ Jaraile’s kinsman told Sorne. At Kerminzto’s signal, the two sentries were sent to join the rest of the king’s palace guard and one of Kerminzto’s men built up the fire.

  The baron sat opposite Sorne, perching on a fallen tree trunk. The sword tip did not waver. ‘I’m going to ask some questions and I want honest answers, Warrior’s-voice, or whatever you’re calling yourself now.’

  ‘Sorne will do.’

  ‘Sorne, then.’

  Kerminzto was around forty years of age, and he had come to the barony within the last two years, when Jaraile’s father dropped dead unexpectedly. Sorne didn’t know much about him. During the Wyrd Campaign, Kerminzto had kept quiet, not drinking to excess and not presuming on his relationship to the queen to claim favours. He’d struck Sorne as a sensible man. It was precisely because he did not presume on his relationship with the queen that Sorne had recommended Charald name him one of the five people to guide Prince Cedon in the event of the king’s death or, as appeared more likely now, if the king became incapable of ruling.

  ‘Are you King Charald’s unwanted halfblood son?’ Kerminzto asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was the king born with a halfblood twin?’

  ‘So his enemies claim. I can’t vouch for the truth of it.’

  ‘Is Prince Cedon dead?’

  ‘No. The Wyrds returned him with his club foot healed. He’s fit to take the throne.’

  ‘Has King Charald lost his mind?’

  Sorne hesitated.

  The sword tip dug into his throat.

  ‘His wits come and go. When his piss turns the colour of port-wine, he raves.’

  Kerminzto nodded. ‘Can the saw-bones –’

  ‘He refuses to see one, and the apothecaries offer cures based on arsenic, purges and blood-letting, all of which leave his pockets lighter and him worse off than when they started.’ Sorne thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in the baron’s grey-blue eyes. ‘Why –’

  ‘I ask the questions, halfblood. What are you doing on the road to the Wyrd city?’

  ‘Nitzane sent me to summon the barons in King Charald’s name. He’s leading a strike against Eskarnor’s estate…’

  Kerminzto laughed bitterly. ‘You’re too late. Eskarnor didn’t ride north to his estate. He took Jaraile to the Wyrd city. He invited all the barons to a feast and killed off any who would not give their oath of allegiance.’

  ‘How many joined him?’

  ‘How would I know? I was fighting for my life.’ Kerminzto spat in disgust. ‘I imagine that by now Eskarnor will have given our men-at-arms a choice – swear loyalty to him or die. I’m expecting many will desert, when they get the chance.’

  ‘How many escaped?’

  ‘Again, I can only speak for myself. I’d sent the majority of my men home to bring in the harvest.’ Kerminzto gestured to himself and his men. ‘There’s us, and I have several watching the road. I only escaped with this many because we left the city via my palace’s lake gate and swam for it. A few of my men couldn’t swim. They’ll be spying for me, if they get the chance to send word of Eskarnor’s movements.’

  Sorne’s head spun. ‘Do you know his plans?’

  ‘I know his plans for me.’ Kerminzto gave another bitter laugh. ‘There’s a spike on the causeway gate waiting for my head. And Jaraile believes her son is dead.’

  ‘Poor Jaraile.’ Sorne had promised the queen Prince Cedon would be returned whole and healthy. Now she’d think he’d failed her. Which he had. Sorne should have anticipated that Eskarnor would take her. ‘But Eskarnor won’t hurt her as long as she’s useful –’

  ‘Oh, she’s useful, all right. She carries his child. But I know Jaraile, she’s a good girl. She’d never let Eskarnor into her bed.’

  ‘She didn’t, not willingly.’ Sorne winced, recalling Nitzane’s furious, tearful confession. The baron had failed to protect her, and it was eating away at him. Sorne didn’t know how Eskarnor could use a woman’s body as a battlefield for the crown, but Charald had been the same, seeing his queens as fields to be ploughed so he could reap sons. ‘I need you to send one of your men to let Jaraile know her boy lives. She must hold onto hope.’

  ‘Very well.’ Kerminzto sheathed his sword.

  Sorne opened his travelling kit and wrote a short note for Jaraile, signing it with an S.

  Kerminzto accepted the message. ‘But I don’t know if my man will be able to get near her. Likely Eskarnor will have her locked up in his palace. And there’s more important things at stake than Jaraile’s soft heart. There’ll be no throne for Prince Cedon if we don’t quash this rebellion and execute Eskarnor. How did it get to this point? Last time I saw King Charald, he was hale and hearty, and he’d taken Nitzane and Eskarnor to the port with him to keep an eye on them.’

  ‘Nitzane’s loyal –’

  ‘Nitzane’s a fool.’

  ‘He means no harm and he has a kind heart.’

  ‘Then he’s useless against Eskarnor.’ Kerminzto spat again.

  ‘Eskarnor could shut the gates of the Wyrd city and sit tight, but that would put him in the same position as the Wyrds were. His estate and the estates of his loyal barons would be vulnerable.’

  Kerminzto grimaced. ‘I won’t sanction the killing of innocent women and children.’

  Which was a relief for Sorne, but… ‘I doubt Eskarnor has such scruples. Three nights ago, I saw him cut the throat of a four-year-old boy to make his point.’

  ‘Are you saying we should use Eskarnor’s own tactics against him?’

  ‘It would be a mistake. If a man has no hope, he’ll fight to the death. If he has hope, he’ll reconsider his allegiances. We need to hold the rebel barons’ families hostage.’

  ‘Hold them where?’ Kerminzto gestured around him. ‘Eskarnor has thousands of men. We have around fifty between us.’

  ‘Eskarnor must kill the king and his heir if he is to win the throne, and they’re both in Port Mirror-on-Sea. Eskarnor doesn’t own a fleet. He can’t blockade the harbour.’

  ‘We can hold the port,’ Kerminzto agreed. ‘But what does that benefit us if we lose the kingdom? We need an army.’

  ‘None of Eskarnor’s barons will be at full force. Charald ordered the barons to maintain a skeleton army on the siege, and send their men-at-arms home to bring in the harvest. The rebel barons will have kept their most trusted men with them, those who served them down south, and sent the rest back to their estates. As far as the men on the estates know, they still owe their loyalty to King Charald, and those men are Chalcedonians whose real loyalty lies with King Charald, not a southern baron who has lorded it over them these last four years. If we ride to the rebel barons’ estates and summon the men-at-arms in the name of King Charald, they’ll come.’

  Kerminzto’s deep-set eyes
gleamed. ‘I always said you were a canny one.’

  Sorne pulled a stick from the woodheap and sketched a map of Chalcedonia. ‘Here’s the Wyrd city and here’s the port, due west. A fast rider can make it to port in three days. The Wyrds took eight days, due to the state of the roads and the weight of the wagons. It’s been a wet autumn, wagons get bogged and churn up the roads. The more men Eskarnor has, the more supplies he needs to bring with him and the slower he’ll travel.’ Sorne knew from bitter experience what was involved in moving men, supplies and machines of war. But then so did Eskarnor. They’d both served under King Charald.

  ‘You’re saying we have a few days up our sleeves?’

  Sorne nodded. ‘The commander who acts swiftly and decisively will win the campaign for Chalcedonia. We’re headed into winter. Once the snows settle in, north of us nothing will move. Even in the south, travel will be problematic.’ Sorne gestured. ‘Two thirds of Chalcedonia lies north of us, but it’s barren and less populated, especially to the west. I’ll take the south, where most of the Chalcedonian barons live. You take the north. We’ll ride into the barons’ estates and demand as many men-at-arms as they can muster in the name of King Charald.’

  ‘That’ll work for the southern rebel barons and the barons who’ve stayed loyal to King Charald, but what of the Chalcedonian barons who have sworn fealty to Eskarnor? Their men will desert us when they learn that their barons have chosen the rebel side.’

  ‘That’s if any of the Chalcedonian barons turned coat.’ Sorne frowned. ‘We need to know which of them, if any, swore loyalty to Eskarnor. Civil war is a messy thing.’

  ‘And what of the rebel barons’ families?’ Kerminzto prodded. ‘Their wives may know of their husbands’ plans to unite behind Eskarnor. I don’t want to be dragging weeping women and children across Chalcedonia with me. They’ll escape the first chance they get and betray the real state of affairs.’

  ‘That’s tricky. Most of the rebel barons’ wives are Chalcedonian, and were forced to marry to legitimise the southern barons’ claims on their estates. Even if the wives are loyal to their husbands, they won’t know that Eskarnor has made his move. Tell them King Charald plans to celebrate the safe return of his heir in Port Mirror-on-Sea and all the nobility are expected to attend. It’s what he planned.’ Sorne shrugged. ‘If the estates are within a couple of days’ ride, send the barons’ wives and families straight to the palace. Otherwise, send them to one of these harbours.’ Sorne marked the four harbours north of the Port Mirror-on-Sea. ‘I’ll ride for Shifting-sands Bay, here.’ He marked a spot south of Port Mirror-on-Sea. ‘Nitzane runs a small fleet of merchant ships. I’ll send one of his ships to the northern harbours with orders to pick up the barons’ families and deliver them to Port Mirror-on-Sea. I’ll collect the Chalcedonian barons’ families and send them to port, while gathering their men-at-arms.

  ‘If we can delay Eskarnor’s attack until spring, we can prepare the kingdom by securing the rebel barons’ families as hostages and gather an army.’

  ‘And if we can’t?’

  ‘Then Eskarnor has the advantage. His men are already at the Wyrd city. All he has to do is prepare to march. If he does take the bait and besiege the king in port, then he’ll have to protect his back. We can strike his camp and disappear into the countryside.’

  ‘My family’s estate lies to the west,’ Kerminzto said. ‘I was about to turn off the port road and skirt the lake when we spotted your camp. I’m going to my estate first. Collect my family and men-at-arms.’

  ‘Send your family to Shifting-sands Bay. They can sail up the coast so there is no chance of them running into Eskarnor on the way to port.’

  ‘You seem pretty certain he will make for the king.’

  ‘He has to. As long as there is a viable ruler, his claim will not be legitimate. Once Charald and Prince Cedon are dead –’

  ‘There’s still Nitzane’s son.’

  ‘Good point.’ Sorne had forgotten young Martzane. Baron Nitzane had said he didn’t want to claim the throne for his son. But if his son was the only heir left, and the boy’s continued survival depended on killing Eskarnor, then Nitzane would pursue the crown on his son’s behalf. ‘I’ll send a message to the King of Navarone. The boy is being fostered with his uncle.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Kerminzto said. ‘Once I get my men, I’ll ride north.’

  ‘Nitzane’s ridden to collect the men from two of his estates on the road north and attack Eskarnor.’

  ‘If I run into Nitzane, I’ll tell him the plan. Hopefully, we’ll have all the rebel barons’ families as hostages and a sizeable army back here before the snows make travel impossible.’

  ‘If you make Port Mirror-on-Sea before I do, hold the port. I’ll coordinate the harassment of Eskarnor’s besieging army.’ Sorne stood up and used his boot to smear the map. ‘Information is the most important thing. We need to know who’s turned coat to support Eskarnor, and who he murdered. Fast horses could win this war.’

  ‘And loose tongues could lose it.’

  Sorne nodded. ‘King Charald named five advisors to guide the prince until he’s old enough to rule. I recommended you.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Kerminzto rubbed his jaw, his fingers rasping across a day’s growth. ‘Well, don’t expect me to thank you.’

  Sorne laughed. He’d been right; Kerminzto was a sensible man. ‘I hope Prince Cedon takes after you.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t have Charald’s rages. Jaraile’s nature with some smarts and some spine would be good.’

  ‘Oh, I think you’ve all underestimated Queen Jaraile.’

  Luckily for them, one of Kerminzto’s men arrived before they parted, with news from the Wyrd city. Of the Chalcedonian barons, only Barons Unaki and Ikor had turned against King Charald. The rest were dead, which meant their sons, cousins and younger brothers had assumed the titles.

  Chapter Seven

  SORNE REACHED BARON Aingeru’s estate mid-afternoon. Originally from the southern kingdom of Maygharia, Aingeru’s loyalty was to Baron Eskarnor. But Aingeru was still in the captured Wyrd city with his band of ex-mercenaries. As far as the people of Aingeru’s estate knew, their baron was loyal to King Charald. The estate’s workers had lived here for hundreds of years, and if put to the test, Sorne suspected their loyalty would be to the land, not the baron.

  So he rode across the late autumn countryside into an enemy baron’s estate, accompanied by only two of the king’s guard in full dress uniform, trusting that he was ahead of Eskarnor’s news. By the way the people in the fields waved and turned back to work, it looked like he was right.

  Although winter’s cusp was not far off, the day was fine and warm. It was a busy time of year. Herds had to be culled so the best stock could be nursed through the winter. The meat would have to be preserved. Some fields had already been harvested while others were covered in people cutting and threshing.

  Clearly, the call to bear arms would not be welcome.

  Come to think of it, there was a good chance the war for the Chalcedonian throne could be fought on the fields of this estate. A day’s fast ride from the Wyrd city and two from the port, it would be right in the path of the opposing armies.

  One of which he was in the process of gathering.

  He had sent the rest of the king’s guard to the estates of Barons Dekaitz, Ikor, Rantzo and Dittor, all of whom belonged to the old aristocracy of Chalcedonia. Ikor had turned against King Charald, but his people did not know it. The families of these four barons were to ride to Nitzane’s stronghold at Shifting-sands Bay and sail up the coast to Port Mirror-on-Sea. They would be safest in port and would be told the true state of affairs, but he could not tell Aingeru’s wife. She was loyal to her husband, and he was loyal to Eskarnor.

  Baroness Aingeru would have to be lured to the port. Once she and the children were hostages, there was a good chance Aingeru would reconsider his allegiance. He was respected and led a company of well-disciplined Maygharian ex-merc
enaries. If he could be turned, other rebel barons might also reconsider their allegiance.

  Meanwhile, the Chalcedonian barons’ men-at-arms, under the leadership of the guards, would head straight to Nitzane’s other south Chalcedonian estate at Riverbend, and Sorne would meet them there.

  Sorne had given the oldest and most experienced of the king’s guard these tasks, leaving him with two seventeen-year-old youths. He turned in the saddle to speak to Vighir and Lazandor. ‘We will be treated as honoured guests. As far as Baroness Aingeru knows, her husband is still loyal to King Charald. Only we three know the true state of affairs. Watch what you say. Tomorrow morning, I want the baron’s wife to ride out of here with her children, unaware that Eskarnor has made his move.’

  They nodded. Sorne beckoned the man supervising the threshing and leant forward in the saddle, elbows resting on the pommel. ‘Where’s the baroness?’

  ‘Over in the orchard.’

  Sorne nodded his thanks and headed that way.

  Before he reached the orchard, he found Aingeru’s wife and children picking blackberries in high spirits.

  Zaria’s long black hair tumbled down her back as she crawled out of a blackberry bush with a laugh. ‘I have it!’

  She displayed the berry and dropped it in the basket.

  ‘Strangers, Ma,’ one of the twins reported.

  Zaria straightened and shaded her eyes to study them as they walked their horses towards her. She had been a camp follower, a poor thirteen-year-old plucked from a street corner in Khitan because of her pretty face and swept along with the army. But she’d been lucky. Aingeru had taken a fancy to her, married her and got himself twin boys within a year. That had been nearly ten years ago.

  Aingeru could have put his camp-wife aside when he was made a baron, but he’d kept her by him. Sorne believed Aingeru loved her.

  A little girl of five ran over and hid behind her mother’s skirts. A boy of about three promptly sat in the grass and helped himself to his sister’s basket of berries, stuffing them into a mouth already stained with juice. Meanwhile the twins studied Sorne and his two companions. The boys were about nine and identical, with the olive skin and flashing black eyes of southerners.