by Sandell Wall
Remus raised the gauntlet and stepped forward to stand before Brax. If this was going to work, now was the time to find out.
“If you can hear me, Brax, take off the circlet.”
Chapter 11
SIR IGNATIUS’S QUESTION HUNG unanswered in the tense silence. Around the throne room, the champions of House Ramath looked on with bored disinterest. Aventine searched her mind for an answer. If she tried to keep up the deception that they were messengers from Lome, Sir Ignatius would surely see through the ruse, but she did not know how he would respond if she told the truth.
Better to speak the truth in a lie than to lie outright.
“We did not come from Sir Lorent,” Aventine said.
“Explain,” Sir Ignatius said.
“I present Lady Saffrin of Umgragon, wife to Governor Wranger,” Aventine said, gesturing toward Saffrin. “Sir Lorent visited Umgragon and extended an invitation to join his uprising. The governor turned him down, but Sir Lorent said to seek him out if he changed his mind. In light of Emperor Pontius’s failings, and to survive the havoc sweeping through the empire, Umgragon has decided to stand with House Lome. The lady has journeyed across the mountains to seal the alliance. We are her bodyguards.”
Sir Ignatius watched and listened. When Aventine had made her case, he spoke, his voice as hard as runeforged steel. “I detest deception.” He turned his gaze toward Saffrin. “Is this true?”
“Deception brought us here,” Aventine said, her temper overcoming her awe of the lord praetor. “We might have revealed our identities sooner if your warriors had been forthright.”
In response to her defiance, Aventine felt rune-power surge through the throne room. The bears on Sir Ignatius’s shoulders snarled, eyes smoldering, but Saffrin stepped forward. “Peace, Aventine,” she said. “It is true. My apologies, Lord Praetor Ignatius. My mission has depended upon secrecy, but I see now that we are to be allies.”
For a few terrible heartbeats Sir Ignatius glared down at Aventine. Anger gave her the strength to meet the challenge in his eyes. She would lie if her duty demanded it, but she would not cower before a hypocrite, nor a traitor.
Then Sir Ignatius smiled at Saffrin and subsided, softening his grim expression. “The Lady of Umgragon is as diplomatic as ever. I confess surprise that Governor Wranger has elected to throw in his lot in with House Lome, but it is well that you have come to me. When Sir Lorent’s messengers do arrive, we will march to the imperial palace. You may accompany us. I can safeguard you through the war-torn countryside.”
“Your graciousness is appreciated,” Saffrin said with a smile. “But what of the conflict? Does the emperor still live? Will the empire survive? We know precious little on the other side of the mountains.”
Sir Ignatius’s smile disappeared. “Emperor Pontius still lives. He retreated to his ancestral fortress city of Amalt. Only one great house, House Drackon, and a few minor families followed him. However, behind Amalt’s white walls, they are almost unassailable. For the past few weeks, Sir Lorent has been marshaling his forces for an assault on the emperor’s stronghold.
“As for the state of the empire, I must express my shame and regret. I was ignorant of the corruption that House Lome embraced to defy the emperor. To gain powerful allies, they have supported every treacherous inclination and villainous whim. Neighbor has turned against neighbor, seeing the collapse of government as an opportunity to settle old feuds, or extend their holdings. Rather than promoting peace, House Lome is tearing the empire apart.”
“Forgive me if I overstep my bounds, but if House Lome is an enemy of the empire, why do you stand with them?” Saffrin said.
“Because Pontius fled,” Sir Ignatius said, his voice grim. “For twenty years I have championed his causes and killed in his name. I was his hammer and his anvil. The peace we have enjoyed for the past decade was because of my efforts. Yet in his hour of need, who did he call to his side? Who did he deem worthy of his confidence?”
Sir Ignatius leaned forward, his gaze as unyielding as granite. His voice thundered, “I’ll tell you who he trusted, who he welcomed into the hallowed halls of Amalt. Not House Ramath! He knew of the coming revolt, and he let it happen. He was gone from the palace long before our troops filled the plains beneath it. Did he include me in his plans? Did he call upon his champion for aid?”
Sir Ignatius clenched the massive war-gauntlet on his left hand into a fist and brought it crashing down on the wooden arm of the throne.
“He did not!”
Aventine flinched. In any other man, she would have been disgusted by the unabashed display of hubris, but in Sir Ignatius, the pride was a part of his legend. He embodied the ethos of a praetor. He was the best, and she understood his wounded pride. Though arrogance was no excuse to abandon duty, she wondered for the hundredth why the emperor had turned his back on his protectors.
Sir Ignatius leaned back. “I never intended to turn against the emperor, but he abandoned the throne. He will answer for his cowardice.”
He looked around abruptly as if realizing the room had gone silent at his outburst. “Forgive me, you are my guests. Let me show you the hospitality due the Lady of the Black Citadel.”
Saffrin bowed. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
Sir Ignatius beckoned Reginaldus forward. “Show them to the queen’s royal suite, next to my rooms. Her guards can sleep in the servant quarters of the suite.”
“As you command, m’lord,” Reginaldus said with a salute. She turned smartly toward Aventine, Holmgrim, and Saffrin. “If you will come with me.”
They followed Reginaldus from the throne room. Holmgrim exchanged a glance with Aventine, his eyebrows raised. Aventine gave him a little shrug and nodded at Saffrin. The two of them fell into step behind Saffrin.
Reginaldus’s stiff formality never wavered. She accepted them because Sir Ignatius ordered her to do so, but she did not speak. As they walked through the halls of the small fortress, Aventine saw signs of war everywhere. Every room had been turned into a barracks, cots hammered together into crude bunk beds. Unused armor rested in the corners, and the hilts of weapons poked out of barrels. She estimated Ramath had at least three hundred soldiers housed in the castle.
To her surprise, the royal suites looked untouched. Rich tapestries, matching those in the throne room, muted the harshness of the stone walls. Beautiful windows of perfectly clear glass looked out onto city and countryside. The rich wood of the floor and furniture was polished so that it almost glowed.
Reginaldus escorted them into the suite and then turned on her heel and left without a word.
“She reminds me of another young lady,” Holmgrim said, not hiding his amusement.
Aventine gave him a look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.”
The three of them stood in the middle of the huge room. Saffrin was accustomed to such luxury, but Aventine felt out of place. She had grown up with her father, a noble warrior of House Morn, but he had raised her as a soldier, not a lady of perfume and lace.
Aventine looked at her companions. “I don’t know if I’ve made things better or worse, but I don’t think Sir Ignatius would have believed we were soldiers of Lome.”
“You did the right thing,” Saffrin said. “He would have seen through that lie in an instant.”
“So we find ourselves in the belly of the beast,” Holmgrim said. “What do we do now?”
Aventine paced back and forth. “We can’t escape. There’s no way we would make it out of the province with House Ramath hunting us. I think we’ve no choice but to go along with the lie that I told. We will make better time traveling with Sir Ignatius, and we’ll be safer.”
“And when he delivers us into Sir Lorent’s hands?” Holmgrim asked.
Aventine frowned. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
Saffrin nodded. “We must make the best of the opportunities that fate gives us,” she said.
“The immediate opportunity that I see is a giant feather bed.” She spoke her next words like a condescending noblewoman although she had a twinkle in her eye. “So if you two will leave me, I shall retire for a spell. I’m dreadfully weary from the road.”
Holmgrim snorted. “The lady hath dismissed her servants,” he said with mock seriousness. “Come, young one. Let us leave her to her privacy so that she may recline as a goddess upon the clouds.”
Saffrin blushed.
Aventine rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving.”
Holmgrim followed Aventine from the room. She was inclined to explore, but he refused to leave Saffrin alone. Holmgrim stayed in the servant’s quarters next to the queen’s suite while Aventine wandered the castle. She found stairs that climbed to the walls and was soon looking out over the countryside. Walking along the battlements, her heart hurt as she surveyed the devastation surrounding the fort. It would take years to repair the damage to the city, and longer still to regrow the orchards and vineyards that had been destroyed.
Aventine turned the corner and stopped short. Ahead of her, Reginaldus stood with her forearms resting on the fortifications. The other woman was lost in thought, staring out across the ruined city. Aventine approached from behind and joined Reginaldus looking out over the wall.
“So much devastation,” Aventine said.
“We have only ourselves to blame,” Reginaldus said. “If we were stronger, more prepared, none of this would have happened.”
“I thought the same, once. Now, I’m not so sure. Fate makes fools of even the strongest and most vigilant.”
Reginaldus did not respond. They stood in silence for a while longer, and just as Aventine was about to turn and leave, Reginaldus spoke again.
“Do you think me a fool?” Reginaldus blurted.
“What?” Aventine asked, taken aback by the question.
“I’ve devoted my life to House Ramath. Every waking minute I spend training, trying to hone my abilities to live up to Sir Ignatius’s expectations. I follow his orders without question, without hesitation, and for my efforts I am mocked. Ridiculed. Called a fool behind my back. So I ask again, do you think I’m a fool?”
Aventine paused to consider the question. She looked out over the ruined buildings as she thought about how to answer.
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Aventine said carefully. “I don’t know much about you, but I saw how Sir Ignatius trusted you. There’s nothing foolish about devoting your life to serving a cause greater than yourself. Perhaps you’re mocked for other reasons?”
Reginaldus bristled. “There is right and there is wrong. I do what is right. I have little time for anything else.”
By the gods, she’s rigid. Was I like this? Am I like this?
“You can’t be right all the time,” Aventine said quietly. “And if you try to be, you’ll only frustrate yourself and others.”
“I’ve no time for idle talk,” Reginaldus said, standing up straight. “Forget I said anything.”
Aventine watched the other woman stalk away. She felt sorry for Reginaldus, but at the same time she was grateful for the guidance of mentors like Brax and Holmgrim. Six months ago, she had been just like the severe and proud Reginaldus.
Worse, she realized she had been just like Sir Ignatius. It had been all about her. Now, she knew she was insignificant, but in that insignificance, Aventine found strength. She did not matter—the empire did. Not the emperor himself, but the idea of a government that protected and cared for its people. All of its people, not just those noble houses who held the majority of the power. She would live for that idea, kill for it, and if she must, die for it.
Gods grant me the wisdom to know what’s right for the empire, and the strength to see it realized.
Enthusiasm dampened by her brief conversation with Reginaldus, Aventine returned to the queen’s suite. When she opened the door to the servant’s quarters, she found Holmgrim napping in a chair, leaning back against the far wall. He opened his eyes and looked up, furtively raising a finger to his lips. Curious, Aventine tip-toed into the room.
Saffrin was curled up on one of the two cots, sound asleep. Aventine smiled inwardly. She raised her eyebrows at Holmgrim, who looked embarrassed, and only shrugged in response. Content to be back in the company of her companions, Aventine laid down on the cot opposite Saffrin and closed her eyes.
——
For three days, Aventine, Holmgrim, and Saffrin waited. They ate in the royal suite, avoiding interaction with the soldiers and officials of House Ramath as much as possible. Holmgrim spent the time repairing their equipment and scrounging further supplies from the castle stores. Saffrin rested, recovering from the ordeal in the mountains. Aventine slept during the day and wandered the fortress at night. She could appreciate the brief and much-needed respite they were enjoying, but she was restless and ready to move on.
On the fourth day, the messengers from Sir Lorent arrived. The three of them were finishing breaking their fast when someone knocked sharply on the door to the hallway. Aventine swung the door open to reveal Reginaldus. Like Aventine, she never seemed to take her armor off.
“Messengers from House Lome have arrived,” Reginaldus said stiffly. “Sir Ignatius requests the Lady Saffrin’s presence in the throne room.” Reginaldus had gone out of her way to avoid Aventine since their meeting on the walls. On the rare occasion that Reginaldus had no choice but to speak to Aventine, she was cold and distant. She spun on her heel and marched away down the hall without waiting for an answer.
Aventine, Holmgrim, and Saffrin soon traced Reginaldus’s steps to the throne room. When they entered, Aventine sensed that the room was on the edge of violence. Three dirty warriors bearing the red lion crest of House Lome stood before the throne. Sir Ignatius, fully armored and with weapons in hand, regarded them with cool disdain. Around the room, the champions of House Ramath were alert and focused on the exchange of words between their lord praetor and the messengers from Sir Lorent.
Saffrin tried to stay near the door where they would avoid notice, but Sir Ignatius saw them enter and beckoned her forward. Aventine and Holmgrim followed.
“Come, my lady,” Sir Ignatius said. “Let me show you the manner of your would-be allies.”
Saffrin crossed the room slowly, each step calculated, her head held high in a stunning display of poise and grace. She took a seat in the smaller throne on Sir Ignatius’s right. Aventine and Holmgrim and took up positions behind her. The warriors of Lome watched this interruption with undisguised annoyance.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the center Lome warrior said. “We’ve delivered your orders. Sir Lorent demands obedience, and obedience requires action.”
The petulant words matched the man’s face. He had dark, hooded eyes and his lips looked like they were twisted in a perpetual sneer. Aventine disliked him immediately.
Sir Ignatius pretended not to notice the man’s words, instead exchanging brief pleasantries with Saffrin.
“Has House Ramath become soft?” the Lome warrior asked, louder than before. He seemed incredulous that he was being ignored. “Does the Golden Bear dote upon ladies now, shrinking like a coward from his duty?”
Aventine heard a collective gasp at the insult. On the edge of the room, a sword scraped out of a scabbard. “You dare!” a soldier said, stepping forward.
Sir Ignatius held up a hand. “Stand down.”
“But, my lord,” the soldier said. “This worm called you a coward!”
“I said, stand down.”
“Yes, m’lord,” the soldier said, hurt in his voice. He sheathed his weapon and stepped back.
The Lome warrior smirked and started to say something. Sir Ignatius cut him off. The praetor did not raise his voice, but the threat behind his words was unmistakable. “Do not speak.”
Sir Ignatius turned to Saffrin. “Do you see? This is the way of Sir Lorent and House Lome. They march in here, demand that I heel to their master’s call, and when my
instant response is not complete obedience, they treat me like the cur they must think me to be.”
The praetor placed a gentle, pleading hand on Saffrin’s arm. “Tell me lady,” he said. “Do you think me a cur?”
Aventine saw Saffrin tense. Sir Ignatius was playing some sort of game here, but only he knew where it was going.
“Surely not, my lord,” Saffrin said.
“You’re too kind,” Sir Ignatius said. “I’ve thought about why you’ve come here, and I have a proposal to make. I find that I tire of Sir Lorent and his foolishness. If it’s true that Umgragon seeks allies, let them make an alliance with House Ramath. Together, we can put an end to this idiotic revolt and restore peace to the empire. House Lome has done enough damage.”
Aventine listened to Sir Ignatius, but she watched the Lome warriors. As the Lord of House Ramath spoke, their expressions changed from anger to fear.
“You speak of treachery!” the sullen-looking warrior shouted.
The instant the first word left the warrior’s mouth, Sir Ignatius leapt from his throne. In one smooth motion, he hurled his war pick. After three perfect revolutions, the spike of the pick punched a hole in the Lome warrior’s forehead with a gruesome crunch. Dead on his feet, the man swayed for a heartbeat before toppling backward.
“I told him not to speak,” Sir Ignatius said.
Terrified, the remaining two Lome warriors backed away, trying to face every side of the room at the same time.
“Go to your master,” Sir Ignatius said. “Tell him that the Golden Bear of Ramath is not his dog to be called and dismissed when he pleases. Tell him that he can lay down his weapons and join House Ramath and Umgragon in restoring peace to the empire, or he can suffer my wrath.”
As he talked, Sir Ignatius walked to where his war pick was embedded in the dead man’s skull. He reached down and ripped the weapon out of bone.
When they saw the war pick back in the praetor’s hand, the Lome warriors stumbled over themselves to escape the throne room and flee the castle.