Allegiance

by Cayla Kluver

  “Perhaps I should go with her,” Tiersia said to Warrick, her brow creased with worry, but her brother-in-law shook his head.

  “You should enjoy your wedding.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and I had the impression he was going to accompany his wife himself.

  It was at that moment that Galen and Steldor exchanged a cunning look, and a warning flashed through my mind.

  “Congratulations on your wife’s pregnancy,” Steldor said. “You’re about to become a proud father.”

  Warrick gave him a quick nod, accompanied by a scowl, as though he resented receiving the King’s good wishes. Still, he was intent on departing, at least until Galen entered the conversation.

  “How many months is she now?” he asked, apparently unable to recall when his wife’s sister had married.

  “Five,” Warrick said, somewhat warily. “As you know, the wedding was in June.”

  “Only five?” Galen not-so-innocently inquired.

  There had been gossip, of course—Lady Fiara was far larger than she should have been considering the date of her wedding—but no member of the nobility would publicly make such an inappropriate observation. Except, it seemed, for the wine-emboldened scoundrels before us.

  “Either she is expecting twins or you have your dates confused, cousin,” my husband remarked.

  “I don’t know what you mean to imply—”

  “Oh, I don’t mean to imply anything. But originally you were to have a fall wedding, am I not correct? So I can’t help but wonder which came first, the marriage or the pregnancy?”

  Tiersia and I froze, caught between embarrassment and fascination. Warrick laughed in disbelief at Steldor’s audacity, ultimately waving off the question with a snide remark.

  “Come now, I know what this is about. You’re bitter because I serviced my wife in a matter of days and you’ve been married, what now—six months? Need a little help?”

  The temper sparked to life so quickly no one saw it coming, least of all Warrick. But he felt it, for Steldor cocked his fist and struck him hard across the jaw, knocking him off his feet. Tiersia gasped, and I took a step backward in light of the manic glint in the King’s eyes as he repaid his cousin’s insolence in exactly the same manner the Sergeant at Arms had repaid his not long ago. Galen hastily separated the two men, inhibiting Steldor with an arm across the chest.

  “Let it go,” Galen muttered. “Just let it go, he’s not worth it.”

  Steldor was not struggling, but neither did he respond to Galen. Casimir, who stood nearby, had tensed, ready to intervene. Thankfully, we were somewhat removed from the throng of guests, and only a few heads had turned. I hoped my husband would glower and have done with it so that the celebration would not be ruined. At last, as Warrick recovered from the blow and came to his feet, Steldor shrugged Galen off and started to move toward me, earning a pat on the back from his best friend. But at Warrick’s sneer, I knew this was not over.

  “Struck a nerve, eh?” the father-to-be taunted, capturing Steldor’s attention once more like a glutton for punishment. Warrick wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand but stood his ground. I swallowed tightly, knowing a storm was about to break. “What is it then—are you inept, or have you not yet dropped the royal drawers?”

  I stood in stunned silence, my hands clasped over my heart, for I had never been subjected to such an insult in my life. Warrick had only meant to provoke Steldor, but I was nonetheless appalled and offended, and for once wished that my hot-blooded husband would do something rash. Steldor did not disappoint me, but when he leapt at his cousin, Galen grabbed him and yanked him back. To my astonishment, the Sergeant at Arms had not done so to prevent a fight, but rather to get the King out of his own way. Galen shoved his friend behind him and jumped on Warrick with fist raised, and in no time at all, the groom and his new brother-in-law were brawling on the ballroom floor.

  It was hard to say whether or not Steldor would have joined the fray, but Casimir pulled him aside and reinforcements arrived in the form of Cannan, Baelic and Destari, who had returned from escorting Lady Fiara. Other guards swarmed the area as well, keeping gawking guests at bay, but despite all the attention, the two young men showed no sign of letting up. Galen had taken a few good hits, but was once again on top and appeared to be gaining the upper hand, when Cannan and my bodyguard grasped his upper arms and hauled him to his feet. He struggled ferociously against them and even managed to land one more swift kick to his opponent’s side before Baelic and the Baron Rapheth, Tiersia’s father, dragged Warrick back, breaking up the quarrel.

  Warrick was panting, blood running from a cut above his eye that had been caused by the betrothal ring Galen wore on his right hand, and he seemed battered and bruised enough to let the fight be over. But the young Sergeant at Arms was not so easily deterred.

  “Get off me!” he yelled, still trying to break free of Cannan and Destari. “I wasn’t done killing him!”

  “Stand down, Sergeant!” The captain’s stern command reverberated through the room, seeming to pass through the ears of every shocked spectator before finally penetrating Galen’s senses. “You won’t be killing him today.”

  Galen stopped straining against the hands that held him, though he maintained a fearsome glower, while guards continued to shuffle about, creating a commotion of their own. Cannan was at last able to release him and take up position between the two clashing soldiers, his livid but controlled expression enough to make me tremble where I stood on the sidelines. Destari kept his grip on Galen’s arm, not quite trusting that he had sufficiently calmed.

  “Now you had better explain to me,” Cannan said dangerously, addressing Galen, “why my Sergeant at Arms is starting fistfights—and this had better be good.”

  Galen’s eyes flicked to Warrick before resting belligerently on the captain.

  “With all due respect, sir, he deserved it. Just ask him what he said.”

  “I have no doubt it should not be repeated, but I am not interested in his conduct. I am interested in yours.”

  Behind the captain, Warrick snickered, prompting both Galen and Steldor to lurch for him. Casimir and another guard restrained Steldor, who relented with a scowl and began to pace in annoyance beyond the barrier they presented. Destari wrapped an arm around Galen’s chest in a bear hug of sorts, a tactic that worked only because of the Elite Guard’s fortuitous size.

  Cannan turned his glare on Warrick, who had fared the worst in the fight, then motioned for Baelic to remove him. After Baelic had taken their nephew into the corridor, the captain again focused on Galen.

  “You have placed yourself in a poor position, son,” he said, his voice low and tight, making it hard for the gathered onlookers to overhear. “That’s twice now in six months you’ve dishonored yourself and the rank you hold. I cannot have an undisciplined Sergeant at Arms, Galen, and that means your behavior must be above reproach at all times, in all contexts, so that you can sustain the respect of your men and of the people. If you are unable to handle that expectation, then perhaps you are not yet the right man for the post.”

  Galen’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue.

  “Your wedding is not the appropriate place for me to deal with this, so for now you are free to go. But you will report to my office tomorrow afternoon.”

  Cannan turned and strode out the ballroom doors, probably to deal with Warrick, who did not have the excuse of being a groom to temporarily save him. Destari released Galen, who was rubbing his bruised and bleeding knuckles, and Steldor pushed past Casimir to come to his best friend’s side. Taking in Galen’s blood-smeared shirt, Steldor led him through the crowd toward the stage and the Dignitary’s Room, from whence they could access the King’s and Queen’s quarters for a change of clothes.

  The excitement over, I noticed Tiersia standing next to the wall, her soft eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth, freezing the moment when the fight had begun.

  “Do you need to sit down?�
� I asked, for her upbringing had been sheltered, and I doubted she had ever seen conduct of this sort before.

  “Oh—oh, no,” she stammered. “I’m fine. It’s just…” She gave a short, strained laugh.

  “Yes?”

  “I—I already married him.”

  She looked at me, then began to laugh in earnest out of shock and relief. I laughed along with her, for her statement summed up all of my feelings, as well.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE END AT LAST

  IT WAS TWO WEEKS LATER THAT I AGAIN smelled smoke on the wind, and when night fell, the glass in my bedroom window glowed red. Flames ripped across the countryside to the northeast, like the jaws of hell coming to devour us. The barricade built by our soldiers that extended west from the river, then turned north, had been set on fire. Cannan’s orders had been for our troops to drench the wood with pitch and light it from behind the enemy, trapping as many of them as possible, if the fighting went sour. Most of the Cokyrians would burn; others would drown; a few would escape. The thought of the fates of the enemy soldiers turned my stomach, and I was glad I could hear no screams above the whiplike cracking of the fire.

  The conflagration burned itself out in the night, aided in part by cold drizzle, and our troops formed ranks beyond the charred ground, waiting for the inevitable next wave of Cokyrians. In order to concentrate our troops, Cannan had also burned the bridge to the south and pulled our men back—archers to the city, cavalry and foot soldiers to the northeast. At some point, all troops would retreat behind the stone walls where our final stand would be made.

  Cannan did not want to provide aid or comfort to the Cokyrian soldiers in any way, and crops that we had not been able to harvest were burned, wells in the villages were poisoned and animals were slaughtered. The land beyond our city walls looked like death itself—all was barren; all was stagnant.

  The city, in contrast, throbbed with activity in the first few weeks of December. Churches, meeting halls, livery stables, schools—any defensible structures—were made ready to shield citizens should the Cokyrians bring down the walls. The palace’s first-floor windows and balcony doors were boarded over so there would be no easy access to its interior, whether by arrows or soldiers. Glass in upper windows would be knocked out when the time came, to give our archers a vantage point from which to shoot. Weapons, medical supplies, firewood and food stocks were being doled out to each potential stronghold.

  The first sign of our troops’ imminent withdrawal into the city was a noticeable increase in the number of wounded. Widows with children would show up at the palace in staggering numbers, begging for assistance and shelter from the King. Steldor had asked that I attend him in the Throne Room in the afternoons when such petitions were heard, and I came to a new understanding of how stressful his life had become, for there were no words of consolation that could be offered, only a willing ear and a few coins. I once again felt as though I were seeing my husband through new eyes, for the compassion and patience he showed were astounding. And then, just before Christmas, I was told that our citizens would no longer be permitted entry into the palace.

  Steldor was in the Throne Room when I sought an explanation from him, for even Destari declined to tell me what was happening. Cannan, Galen and Casimir were with him, along with the usual arc of Elite Guards, but they did not react to my entrance, almost as though they were expecting me. Steldor stood and came down the steps of the dais to meet me, taking my hands in his, which was enough to tell me something was terribly wrong.

  “Alera,” he said, with a glance toward his father, “we’ve pulled our men back into the city and are preparing to defend the walls. Unlike last winter, Cokyri will not attempt to starve us out. Our surrender has already been demanded, and a full-scale assault will soon commence.”

  “Have we given thought to surrender?” I asked, my blood thudding in my temples. It was the captain who answered.

  “No. Frankly, we would rather die fighting than risk death by execution. If the time comes for surrender, we will negotiate the best terms for our people, knowing that the Overlord will not be merciful and that the best they will be able to hope for is a life of slavery.”

  Seeing the horror upon my face, Steldor led me onto the dais, and I slowly took my place on the Queen’s throne, but he did not sit, continuing to stand beside me.

  “And the closing of the palace?” I asked.

  “Certain factions within our own people may pose a danger to us now. One of the buildings at the Military Academy has been set up to handle distraught citizens so they do not feel deserted by their rulers, but I can no longer allow access to the King.” Weariness lurked at the edges of Cannan’s composed tone.

  “For the same reason, you must stay within the palace at all times,” Steldor stressed. “Do not even go into the garden or the courtyard. And you should know that my mother and Tiersia have been granted refuge within these walls. They are now housed on the third floor.”

  I took in Galen’s ashen face, realizing that only his wife had been given this privilege, leaving his mother and sisters to fend for themselves.

  “What about Lania?” I whispered, and the distress on Steldor’s face would have been answer enough, but Cannan addressed my question nonetheless.

  “I talked with Baelic, but we feel it is best not to make such a move at this time. We fear panic—we fear that our own people will storm the palace if they become aware that we are taking such measures. I have guards watching out for my brother’s family, however, and when Cokyri breaks through the walls of the city, they will be brought here.”

  “When?” My voice was almost inaudible, the finality in that one word chilling beyond anything else.

  “Yes,” the captain said, his eyes sympathetic, and Steldor put his hands on my shoulders. “It is only a matter of time. I tell you this because I believe you have the fortitude to handle it and because you have the right to know the truth. As long as Narian leads their troops, our defeat is at hand. Cokyri’s weapons and resources have long outmatched ours, and he will blow the wall to pieces with exploding powder. I also expect he will set most of the city on fire—he seems to have that ability, with or without flaming arrows.”

  He paused, shaking his head out of either an effort to understand or explain.

  “He has tremendous power, Alera—sorcery. We’ve long known of the pain and destruction the Overlord can cause, but Narian’s power is unlike anything we’ve ever seen. You are not privy to what happens on the battlefield, but you were there when he conjured the fire at Koranis’s estate—the nature and reach of his power is beyond what we expected, and we do not know how to defend against it.”

  “So the legend is true after all?”

  “It might well be.”

  Everyone in the room fell silent, and I stiffly rose, shaking off Steldor’s hands. To my surprise, I did not feel like crying; instead, I felt a firm resolve to face fate in the manner of our brave men.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice steady. “I will see to Tiersia and offer what assistance I can. And I will ask my mother to take charge of Faramay. The least I can do is prevent her from assailing you, as well.”

  While I did not intend the statement to be humorous, everyone smiled, needing a break from the mounting tension, no matter how short-lived it might be.

  The Cokyrian troops that were poised just outside our city were prepared to attack, and yet the assault did not begin. Instead, a surprising tranquility reigned. At first, this made no sense; then with a rush of gratitude, I understood. Narian would not attack on Christmas. Despite the fact that he did not celebrate the holiday, he knew we did and was granting us this stay of execution out of respect. Although I did not leave the palace, I could see men and women in the city coming out onto the main thoroughfare to greet each other in the spirit of the season. I knew they would likewise be filling the churches and chapels to honor the day, although I couldn’t help but question the value of prayer. Still, the momentary reprieve
from the noise and stress of the war felt like a heaven-sent gift, and I relished it, for it might be the last peace we would experience in a very long time.

  The attack on the city began on the first day of the new year. Under cover of darkness, the Cokyrians began to tunnel under our walls at several points simultaneously, presumably with the intent of using explosive powder to crumble the stone and make an entry point for their soldiers. Cannan had ordered the placement of pots of water in each of the towers, and those with rippling surfaces gave us an idea of where the tunneling was taking place so that countermeasures could be launched. The Cokyrians were bombarded with arrows, scalding water and stones, and as morning approached, the diggers retreated. Our soldiers did their best to collapse the tunnels, knowing that each succeeding night the enemy would get a little farther until they inevitably brought down our walls.

  To the north, enemy soldiers were felling trees in the forest and using the trunks as battering rams; to the east, they were bombarding us with newly constructed catapults, using boulders hauled from the foothills and the river. The ongoing barrage sounded like rhythmic thunder.

  The Cokyrians also shot flaming arrows over our walls, simply to keep men occupied dousing fires. Our archers, from their higher and better protected vantage points, did their best to interfere with the enemy’s efforts, but we were thinly spread at best.

  The explosions that brought down sections of the walls finally came in mid-January and were sufficient to make the floor vibrate and the chandeliers shake. Tiersia was with me in my parlor, and the terror I felt was reflected in her eyes. Destari stepped into the room to tell us what had happened, but the worry in his voice prevented him from allaying my fear. I scooped Kitten into my lap while tears ran down Tiersia’s tense and colorless face. We leaned toward each other, linking arms, then sat in silence for a time, for I had no words to soothe her.