The general slapped his thigh, a twisted grin on his face. “Easy pickings. We’ll take the city in less than a day.”
The general’s confidence proved contagious. “When will you attack?”
General Caylib surveyed the city, his warhorse pawing the ground as if eager to charge. “We’ll set up camp in the nearest woods.” He pointed to a hill crowned with forest, a vantage point overlooking the city. “We’ll give the mercenaries a day to rest and then we’ll spend a day building ladders and battering rams. On the third day we’ll attack.”
Three days, Steffan could wait that long. “Good.”
The general gave him a piercing stare. “Will you send heralds to offer terms?”
“Terms?” Steffan sneered. “The Spider Queen forfeited terms when she tricked me with the treasury caravan.”
“Good,” the word was little more than a grunt. The general turned his stallion, flashing a wicked grin. “After all this marching the men deserve some bloodshed and rape.”
“So does the queen.”
The general barked a rude laugh. “I like you counselor. Despite your fancy clothes, you’re a barbarian at heart.” He spurred his horse forward, galloping towards the vanguard.
Steffan lingered on the hilltop, staring down at the queen’s city. In three days it would be his. A deep hunger gnawed at him, one lifetime was not enough.
78
Liandra
Once more the queen donned armor. Greaves and gorget, breastplate and bucklers, Liandra assumed the silvered trappings of war. “Armor is fast becoming the fashion of our court.”
Lady Sarah adjusted a buckler. “You wear it so well.”
“Who would have thought? But we much prefer silks and velvets. Peace becomes us more than war.” She studied herself in the mirror, sunlight reflecting off of silvered steel, lending her an aura of invincibility. “Yet it does have its own appeal. There is a certain power to it, a grand glory. Perhaps that’s why men love it so.” Noticing the grave faces of her women, the queen dared a quip. “It looks good, but it’s devilishly difficult in the water closet.”
Her women forced a laugh, but nothing could lighten the grim mood. Word of the approaching army had swept through her city like a plague. Her courtiers came calling, some pleading for surrender while others begged for protection. She summoned her officers but they gave little hope. Liandra decided she needed to see the enemy for herself. Clad in silver armor, a sword belted to her side, she became the warrior queen once more, a symbol to her people.
Lady Sarah fastened the emerald cloak at her shoulders, “Be careful, majesty.”
Behind her, Master Raddock fretted. “Must you take the risk?”
“Yes, we must.” The queen took a final look in the mirror and then swept out of her solar and down the stairs to the outer courtyard. A troop of mounted knights waited in the yard, serious warriors bristling with weapons, another sign that peace had fled her kingdom. The knights saluted, a brisk snap of mailed fists to armored breastplates. The queen acknowledged them with a regal nod. Sir Durnheart knelt to give her a leg up. Liandra mounted her white warhorse, struggling against the armor’s weight. Taking up the reins, she arranged her emerald cloak and then gestured for the castle gates to be opened. With a slight press of her knees, she led her knights out into the city streets, sunlight glinting on armor.
Liandra rode forth from the castle without fanfare. No blaring of trumpets, or snapping of battle banners, just a small escort of knights, everyone else needed for the outer walls. Hoof beats clattered on cobblestones, her people scattered to get out of the way; gaping when they realized the queen rode among them. Doffing their hats, their stares followed her, their faces lined with worry. The queen rode past without a gesture or a wave. She wanted no lies between herself and her people. Instead of false hope she gave them steely determination. Liandra prayed it would be enough.
She reached the outer walls and found Major Ranoth waiting. He held her stallion while she dismounted, but they did not speak. The chill of his gaze told her more than enough. Steeling herself against the truth, she climbed the rickety stair to the rooftop that served as a gatehouse tower. Such a pitiful defense, but she kept her face a mask of stone.
Emerald-cloaked knights and officers awaited her on the rooftop. They bowed low, their faces grim. She stared past them, beyond her city, to the forested hilltop known as Crown Hill, a royal hunting preserve overrun by the enemy. Even from a distance, the plague of pea-green tabards and flame-red surcoats glared among the winter-naked trees. The enemy infested the wood, an army of evil come to claim her city.
In the stillness of the late afternoon, she heard a distant pounding. It sounded like a death knell. As she watched, a massive oak toppled, felled by the enemy’s axes.
Beside her, Major Ranoth said, “Ladders. They’re building ladders and battering rams. With such pitiful defenses, they won’t need more.”
Spoken aloud, the truth deepened the chill in the winter air. The queen gripped her sword hilt, finding a strange reassurance in the strength of steel. “When will they come?”
“Most likely on the morrow.”
On the morrow, such a short amount of time. “Not at night?”
Major Ranoth shook his head. “They don’t need the cloak of darkness. When the ladders and rams are built, they’ll come calling.”
“Do they only hold the wood, or do they surround our city as well?”
“Just the wood. If I were the enemy, I’d use all my forces to punch through a single gate and then forge a path straight to the caste. Just one gate is all they need and the city is lost, but the castle is the true prize. They’ll have a tougher time with the castle.”
Liandra nodded, feeling like a chess piece about to be toppled. Staring at the enemy, she hardened her resolve. “Then we’ll meet their attack with all of our might. Save for a small skeleton force, pull every soldier from the other gates and station them here.”
Major Ranoth hesitated, his voice a low whisper. “But majesty, to deplete the other gates is very risky. I could be wrong.”
She gave him a steely glare. “Risk is all we have left. Give the orders.”
“As you wish.”
“And open Castle Tandroth to our people. Anyone who wants refuge shall be welcome. We’ll take them all, even if we have to cram the hallways with them.”
“But majesty, if it comes to a siege, it will be a strain to feed so many people.”
Resolve filled her voice. “We are queen of all the people. We will have it no other way.”
He gave her a deep bow. “Yes, majesty.”
Liandra stared at the plague-infested wood. Time had nearly caught her. One more day and the enemy would be pounding on her gates, the hell of war loosed on her city. In her mind’s eye, she saw a chessboard crowded with enemies, a lone queen backed into the corner. Liandra wracked her mind for a way to gain a stalemate. She’d long since played most of her gambits, but she still had a few slender tricks saved for the endgame. She wondered if they would be enough.
Movement caught her eye. A handful of riders galloped towards Pellanor as if chased by demons. Cloaks flapping in the wind, they presented a wild riot of colors. Red and brown and emerald, they wore the trappings of scavengers, yet something about the lead rider held her gaze. Riding low in the saddle, he urged his horse to a breakneck gallop, the man melded to the beast yet clearly the master. Her heart knew him, Robert!
The riders passed beneath the crown of forest, too near the enemy.
The wood broiled like a kicked anthill. A horn blared and a dozen red-cloaked riders galloped to the chase.
“Protect them!” Her heart clenched in fear. “Open the gates!”
Major Ranoth shouted orders. “Archers draw bows! Soldiers open the gates!”
Emerald-clad archers scrambled to the rooftops, bows bent with tension. Below the ironclad gates slowly swung open.
The queen watched from the rooftop, her fists clenched, her words a h
arried whisper. “Hurry, Robert, hurry!”
Lathered with sweat, the lead horse stumbled and nearly fell, but somehow her shadowmaster rallied the horse, coaxing more speed from the foam-flecked beast.
Beside her, Major Ranoth said, “He’s killing the horses.”
Her heart lurched. “They won’t make it. Loose the arrows!”
Major Ranoth shook his head. “Still too far.”
Red riders gained on the ragged few.
“Send out the guard!” Even as she issued the command, Robert’s horse floundered, stumbling to its knees. Horrified, she watched as he leaped from the saddle. Tumbling across the ground, he came to rest facedown, sprawled in the road. The others thundered passed, yet he did not move. Terrified, she stared at him, willing him to rise. “Get up!” The gods must have heard her prayer, for he staggered to his feet.
Swords flashing, the red-cloaked riders galloped for the kill.
“Protect him!” but her words made no difference.
Unsheathing a sword and a dagger, he dropped to a fighting stance. The enemy attacked. Red-cloaked soldiers swarmed around him. Liandra stared in mute horror, unable to watch, unable to look away, wondering if her love would be killed before her very eyes.
Two of the brown-cloaked riders turned their horses, galloping back towards the skirmish, their swords raised to the attack.
“Kill them, kill them all!” The words whispered from her lips, sending a desperate plea to all the gods.
More riders burst from the gates, her escort of knights galloping to the rescue. Lances lowered, they charged into the fray. Liandra thought she’d never seen a finer sight.
More horns sounded from the distant hilltop, but Liandra’s gaze was fixed on the fight beyond her gates. She strained for a glimpse of Robert, unable to tell if he still lived.
Lances couched, her knights struck. The power of their charge drove the enemy backwards, leaving her spymaster standing in the dust-choked road. He lives! He lives! The thought thundered through her mind like a paean to the gods.
More enemies poured from the wood, a larger force, spurring their mounts to vengeance.
Major Ranoth issued an order. “Sound the retreat!”
Trumpets blared along the city’s makeshift walls.
Out on the field, her knights regrouped turning back toward the gate. Liandra watched just long enough to see her spymaster swing up behind a mounted knight. Consumed with longing, she raced across the rooftop and down the rickety stairs. Her heart pounding beneath the armor’s weight, she reached the ground just as the gates clanged shut.
A thousand stares fell upon her. Liandra slowed to a walk, desperate to still her racing heart.
Her gaze sought his.
He swung down from the horse and strode towards her, a raggedy scarecrow in dust-strewn clothes. Gaunt and weary but otherwise unharmed, her heart swelled to see him safe.
“My queen!” He knelt and she offered her ringed hand.
With one touch, he sent a current of need spiking through her. Capturing her hand, he kissed her ring, much more fervent than mere duty. She struggled for composure, feeling the weight of so many stares.
As if he understood, he gave her a wolf’s grin full of promise and then stepped away.
She felt bereft, but duty claimed her.
Another man knelt before her, a big broad-shouldered stranger with a thatch of wild red hair. “My queen, I beg your forgiveness and offer you my sword.” Unsheathing his sword, he laid it at her feet.
She sent a questioning glance to Robert.
He gave her the smallest of nods.
“Your name?”
“Leonard Vengar of Lingard.”
Liandra wondered at his story, but now was not the time. She touched the stranger’s shoulder. “Your sword is accepted in our service.”
The big man sighed, as if a great burden eased from his soul. “You’ll not regret it.”
“You have already earned our gratitude, for you were one of the riders who turned to fight when our shadowmaster was beleaguered.” She raised her voice, addressing the knights and soldiers crowding the gate. “On this day, you have all earned the gratitude of your queen. By your bravery you snatched victory from the enemy’s grasp! You have proven that Pellanor has teeth. Our lances are sharp and our swords are strong. What we do here this day, we shall do again!”
A cheer thundered through the men, their eyes glistening with pride.
A soldier knelt by her stallion and she accepted the leg up. With a flourish, she drew her sword and brandished it toward her soldiers, gaining a second cheer. A thousand stares followed her, but one man’s gaze smoldered through her armor. Her face reddened. She turned her stallion, and asked for a trot. For the sake of image, she kept her white steed to a stately prance, but in her heart she longed to gallop, to reach the castle and be alone with Robert.
79
Liandra
“Take it off!” Liandra struggled against her armor. It suddenly seemed like a cage, a steel sheath strangling the breath from her body. “Hurry!” Her women swarmed around, releasing straps and buckles. Sculpted steel fell to the floor, like shedding an outer skin. Finally divested of the silvered armor, Liandra dismissed her women, all save Lady Sarah.
Her visit to the outer gate had proved that time was a desperate commodity. Liandra refused to waste a nonce. “Bring us the ivory nightgown, the one with the slender straps.” She’d worn it before, on her first night with Robert. Shimmering in the candlelight, the silky softness was enticing. Liandra slipped into luxury. Silk was so different from armor, so richly feminine. Like a cool caress across her skin, she ran her hands down the silky sheath, smoothing every curve. Despite the loss of the child, she’d regained her figure, a lush hourglass beneath the ivory silk.
Lady Sarah brushed the queen’s raven-black hair, a dark contrast to the ivory. Their gazes met in the mirror. “When will the attack come?”
“Most likely on the morrow. That’s why we are going to him.”
Lady Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Going to him?”
“Yes, for once we shall put off our crown and go to him.” Liandra closed her eyes, remembering his desperate ride toward the gates. “We almost lost him today. He could have died before our very eyes.” Liandra shivered in horror. “We shall not waste this last night.” Impatient to be gone, the queen gestured towards a small cedar box on her bedside table. “Bring us our jewel box.”
Taking the box in her hands, the queen pressed the subtle depression on the carved rose petals. A secret panel opened on the side. Reaching within, she removed two iron skeleton keys, both set on delicate chains of silver. She placed one around her neck, settling the key in her cleavage, a twinge of cold against her bare skin. The other she pressed into Lady Sarah’s hands. “We entrust you with the key to the castle’s hidden passages. We ordered two copies made in secret. Robert has one, and this is for you.” Liandra clasped her friend’s hands tight between hers. “If the castle falls, take our loyal women, and as many others as you can gather, and hide in the secret passages. You’ll find food and water and weapons stored within, enough to endure a secret siege. Wait for rescue or a chance to escape.”
Lady Sarah’s eyes grew flinty with protest. “But majesty, not without you!”
“Rest assured, we shall do our best to join you. Taking the city is one thing, but if the Flame captures the queen, the game is over.” Steel laced her voice. “We shall not surrender the board so easily.”
Lady Sarah turned pale. “Then you expect the castle to fall?”
“We hope for the best and plan for the worst.” The queen gave her a wry smile. “Pellanor has grown too fond of luxury, but Castle Tandroth has its secrets. We may yet win a checkmate from this game.” The queen stood. “Now bring us our ermine cloak, we grow anxious for the night.”
Lady Sarah wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, a warm shield against the winter chill. Pulling the robe close, Liandra took a lighted taper from a wall s
conce, and then opened the secret door, releasing a breath of cold mustiness. The queen hesitated at the threshold, suddenly mistrustful of the dark. “Bring us the dagger by our bedside.”
Lady Sarah returned with the jeweled dagger.
Unsheathing the blade, the queen gripped it in her right hand, the lighted candle in the other. “Wait for us. Let no one enter our bedroom. We will return before first light.”
Lady Sarah smiled. “The blessings of Eros be upon you.”
Anxious to be away, the queen entered the secret passage, the stone door whispering shut behind her. So cold and musty, the dark labyrinth entwined her castle like a secret web, a legacy from her ancestors. As a young child, she’d memorized the rhymes of passage. A single candle lit her way, her memory her only guide. Darkness lurked beyond the frail circle of candlelight, like a beast waiting to pounce. Chiding herself, Liandra gripped the dagger, studying the details as she walked. Stone faces stared back at her, all with onyx eyes, some with keyholes in their mouths. Twice she took the wrong turn, but eventually she found the visage she sought, a bearded man smoking a pipe, a look of contentment on his stone face. Liandra caressed the carving, hesitating at the onyx eye-plugs. She’d come to be with Robert, not to spy on him. Juggling the candle and the knife, she inserted the iron skeleton key, relieved when secret door whispered open.
She stepped from darkness into light.
Robert stood with his back to her, naked from the waist up, washing at a basin.
She’d entered without a sound, yet he whirled, a pair of daggers sprung to his hands.
His eyes grew wide in surprise. Straightening from a fighting crouch, his voice was a fervent whisper. “My queen!”
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 48