by Jeff Wheeler
The queen kept her composure. “Thank you, Lord Hastings. Prepare the battlements. If my husband loses, we are all that protects the prince.”
Tears streamed down Hasting’s face. “Aye, my lady.”
Fear overwhelmed the inhabitants of the castle. Servants were crying openly, whispering about what would happen to the queen, to her children. Ankarette was walking upright, but she felt something wrong in her core, a faint queasiness that would never leave. Could it be the lingering effects of Hux’s poison?
Within the hour, another rider was seen. It was Bryce, one of the Espion, and he rushed into the palace, his tunic stained with grime from the battle—and yet the look on his face said everything . . . His smile broke through the clouds of despair and filled the great hall with radiant sunshine.
“It is finished,” he said breathlessly to the queen. He lifted his head in triumph, and his enthusiasm crushed the dying embers of their fear. “Your husband prevailed. Warrewik is dead.”
The queen bowed her head solemnly. When she opened her eyes again, she looked relieved yet maintained her poise. “You bring good tidings, messenger,” she said with gratitude.
“By the stars!” he exulted.
“What happened, man!” Lord Hastings bellowed. “How can this be?”
Bryce turned and bowed his head to the nobleman. “The mist and confusion wreaked havoc on both armies, Lord Hastings. You were flanked, but so was Warrewik. The Duke of Glosstyr commanded the right and he met no opposition. He attacked with all the viciousness of a . . . of a boar!” He laughed in jubilation. “He tore through Warrewik’s army. The king and Dunsdworth met the rest in the middle. And then lo! Soldiers arrived carrying the banner of the North. It was Duke Horwath and his frostbitten men. They had put the Atabyrions to flight and then marched day and night to reinforce us. We were more than a match for Warrewik. He was struck down whilst trying to flee the battle. I saw his corpse myself.”
“How many notables did we lose? How bad was the carnage?” the queen asked hopefully.
“We gave worse than we got, Your Majesty,” Bryce said with iron in his voice. “But many of our men gave their lives for their king. The most notable was Mortimer. He died on the field this day. Sir Thomas, bless his soul, died fighting for his king.”
Ankarette’s world began to tilt and sway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Premonition
Ankarette’s stallion plunged down the road that was full of soldiers hobbling toward Kingfountain. Some hung their heads in defeat and humiliation. Some held heads high in triumph. But all were aching, bloodied, and exhausted. The Battle of Borehamwood had tested their mettle. These were warriors of Ceredigion. The men tilted their heads to look up at her, a cloaked apparition riding a pale stallion toward the carnage they had left behind.
Her heart thrummed with suppressed pain. She was still achingly weak from her fight with Hux. But nothing could stop her from coming. The news could not be true. It must not be true. She would not believe it unless she saw Thomas’s shattered body on a pallet with her own eyes. Just the thought of it unloosed grief unlike any she had experienced. But she clenched her jaw, held the tears at bay with sheer force of will, and rode like thunder toward the battlefield.
Her mother had warned her that the most dangerous kind of childbirth was the expectation of twins. A mother, exhausted by the ordeal of childbirth, would still have to deliver the second babe. As she neared the chaos of the camp, she saw that the pangs of the second birth had already begun. The soldiers she had seen trudging to Kingfountain were the ones deemed too injured to fight. Those who remained at the battlefield were now preparing to face Morvared’s army. The ousted queen knew this was her final opportunity to seize the throne for her son. Her army was fresh, and Eredur’s was battered. Though Warrewik was dead, the crisis was not over.
Reaching the picket lines on her lathered stallion, she was halted by sentries wearing the stained tunics of the Sun and Rose.
“This is no place for a lass,” one of them said, holding out his hand and grimacing darkly.
She met his gaze with ferocious intensity and showed him her Espion ring.
One of the sentries nudged the man stalling her. “I know her,” he muttered. “She’s the Queen’s Poisoner. Let her through.”
The soldiers backed away and she kicked the horse forward. The smell of battle hung in the air. The road was mired, and makeshift tents had been thrown up everywhere. Everywhere there were signs of the cost of battle. A pile of ripped Bear and Ragged Staff tunics had been discarded in a ditch. Their duke had fallen, and his symbol was no more. Now that she had reached Borehamwood, her resolve began to wilt. There were so many dead . . . The scene defied belief. If Ankarette had not already been hardened to blood, she would have fainted.
The roads were clogged with people, everyone begrimed and with the same haunted look in their eyes. There was little order in the ranks, and she felt out of her ken.
“Ankarette!”
She recognized the voice and whirled in the saddle. The tall, flaxen-haired Espion named Bennet was shoving through the crowd toward her. “This way!”
She tugged at the reins and pressed through the crowd, which parted around her steed like water, and followed him. The day was waning quickly. Finally, she caught sight of the command pavilions at the center of the maelstrom. The king’s banner fluttered above the main one, and she saw the standard of Duke Horwath as well, the lion with an arrow piercing its mouth. Some men stood at guard with pikes, while others rushed to and fro doing the king’s bidding.
Ankarette slid out of the saddle.
“He’s in that one,” Bennet said, taking the reins from her and pointing to one of the smaller tents.
Ankarette nodded her gratitude and mustered her courage. Every step caused her heart to throb with agony. What would she do when she saw his corpse? Was there a way someone who was Fountain-blessed could revive the dead? She didn’t know. She only knew that she would willingly give her life to save Thomas.
Unable to bear the suspense, she rushed into the tent. It was darker inside, and for a moment she could not see. A body in armor lay on a pallet on the floor, cold and still. She could sense the absence of life, the void of breath.
As her heart began to break, she heard a familiar voice from the shadows.
“Ankarette? Is that you?”
She looked up in shock, and there he was—Sir Thomas. Her Sir Thomas. He gave her a baffled look and then his mouth melted into a delicious smile as he walked forward.
In an instant, she understood. It was a mistake. Thomas’s older brother, the Earl of Mortimer, had died in battle. In the confusion of the moment, people had confused the matter and assumed the dead man was Eredur’s friend. She nearly staggered.
Overcome with relief, she rushed to him and hugged him close, pressing her nose against the links of his chain hauberk. She squeezed him tightly, relishing the feeling of his arms around her.
“You’re alive,” she gasped. “You’re alive!”
She looked into his dirty face, his exhausted brow. Then she lifted onto the tips of her toes and kissed him on the mouth, kissing him as she had always wanted to, surrendering her heart and her feelings to this man she loved so dearly. He seemed startled by her show of affection, but then he kissed her back with equal intensity. The world was spinning. The world didn’t matter to her. She clung to him, feeling a thousand different things all at once. There was a strange ache inside her stomach, a reminder of the poison that lingered within her. She had not felt herself since taking the antidote—the one that delayed the poison’s effects. She had brought the vial with her, not knowing when she would need another sip from it.
Thomas’s hands touched her cheeks, and she realized he was brushing away her tears.
“Ankarette,” he breathed, a weak smile on his mouth. He kissed her nose, then her brow. “I hadn’t expected you to come, not when you’re so weak. You rode all the way here?”
“Of course I did,” she said, shaking her head, trying not to cry. “Bryce told us you had died in the battle. I couldn’t believe it, not until I had seen you for myself.”
He grunted. “You’re not the only one. Everyone who sees me thinks I am a spirit,” he joked. “No, it was my elder brother, Stillman, who fell. I’m heartsick over it, truly. So many died.” He rubbed his forehead and she longed to soothe and comfort him.
“But I am grateful that you came,” he continued. “Eredur ordered me to round up a hundred knights and half the Espion and flank Morvared’s army. We’re going to ride to Beestone castle to cut off their retreat and warn Kiskaddon that we won the day. She’s trapped between both of our armies right now and doesn’t realize it. Once she does, she’ll try to flee.”
“Or fight,” Ankarette said.
Thomas shook his head. “No, she’s a mother. She’ll protect her son first, even if he’s eager to fight. I had wished there was time to go by Kingfountain and get you and see that you were well, but here you are. You’re coming with me if you’re up to it.”
Her eyes brightened. “I’ll go anywhere with you.” The relief was so immense her strength was draining.
He took her chin gently and then lowered his mouth to hers again.
It was a delicious kiss. She wanted more.
“I’ll tell Eredur you’re here. He’s meeting with Dunsdworth, Horwath, and Severn. The Espion couriers tell us the queen is a day’s march away. If she had reached Warrewik in time, things would have ended very differently.”
“How many men do you have now?” she asked with concern.
Thomas smiled wryly. “The king offered a pardon to all of Warrewik’s men who will fight with him, come what may. Most of them have torn up their tunics and willingly joined the king’s ranks. Our army has swelled considerably and we have the advantage of momentum on our side. The king has never lost a battle. He doesn’t intend to lose this one either. Come, lass. Get your horse and let’s ride out together.”
He gazed down at his dead brother, his look darkening. “I’ll see you in the Deep Fathoms, Brother,” he murmured.
Ankarette had never been to Beestone castle before, the royal castle in the region of Westmarch. Thomas had convinced the castellan that Warrewik was dead at Borehamwood, leaving Eredur in power once more. The castellan, genuinely relieved by the news, had opened the gates to let them in.
She wandered the inner courtyard now, watching the wind whip the banners, which would soon be changed to the Sun and Rose. Her stomach was growing queasier, so she perched on the edge of the well in the middle of the courtyard. She rubbed her hand on the smooth stone and listened to the gurgle of water far below. Her Fountain magic was still coming back and her reserves were low, but she sensed something special about the place where she sat. A premonition that made the place seem familiar despite the fact that she’d never been there. She cast her eyes around, trying to understand the source of her feelings, but there were no clues. Only men walking around and soldiers talking animatedly about the battle they’d fought and won.
She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the ripple of the waters. Was the Fountain trying to communicate something to her? She couldn’t hear it above the din of voices and steps. Perhaps the well led to a cistern like the one she and the queen had used to escape Kingfountain? That made sense because Beestone was built on a hill.
The sounds of someone approaching brought her attention back to the present. Thomas strode up to her, looking quite pleased with himself.
“I just sent someone to Tatton Hall,” he said, “with a message to Kiskaddon that Beestone castle is ours. We’ll need him to bring all his force to face the queen.”
“Won’t that leave his lands unprotected?” she asked.
Thomas shrugged with unconcern. “If Lewis is foolish enough to invade Ceredigion with his own army on the heels of two decisive victories for Eredur, I’d be surprised. He doesn’t have anyone close enough to help him, and Eredur promised that if the Occitanians encroach on Westmarch, the entire Ceredigion army will come to defend it and then march on Pree itself. King Lewis is cunning. Not stupid.”
Ankarette smiled at his words. She rose from the edge of the fountain. “I’m glad the castellan opened the gates. A hundred men might not have been enough to take the castle.”
Thomas laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t worried. Even if he had said no, this castle is riddled with secret passages. There’s an inn at the base of the hill that has a tunnel leading to this very spot, actually.” He gestured surreptitiously to the well. “There’s a fountain down there where the water is stored. ’Tis an Espion secret. No, we would have taken Beestone either way. I just learned that the queen’s army has turned northward after hearing about Warrewik’s defeat. They know Kiskaddon is blocking the way back and Eredur is closing in. Now that the message has been sent to Kiskaddon, we’ll use the garrison horses and ride in pursuit. ”
“Do you think they’ll go for Blackpool?” Ankarette asked. “It’s on the coast.”
He tapped his nose. “We think alike, you and I. Yes, that’s where she will go. She’ll abandon her army if she must. If we ride all night and refresh our mounts, I think we will get there first.”
Ankarette agreed.
He gave her a curious expression. “How are you feeling? Do you want to rest here a while longer?”
“We should not delay,” she said emphatically.
They approached Blackpool from the southwest. They rode without torches, knowing they were in enemy country now, and outriders went ahead to ensure they wouldn’t unknowingly stumble upon Morvared’s army. As they neared the coast, she could smell the scent of the sea in the air.
The journey had indeed wearied Ankarette, and she feared she might topple from the saddle. Although she was exhausted—they all were—they continued to hasten forward, carried by the wish to see this through. They did not want to miss the final battle and their share of glory.
As the sky began to brighten, they reached a hill overlooking Blackpool and the sea. The waters stretched off into the horizon, filling her with a sense of wonder. The trees rustled and swayed and the ruckus of the sea birds overcame the snorting and stamping of the horses. Thomas rode to the front and she followed.
“One of the Espion just got back from Blackpool,” he told her, his voice pitched low. “Morvared hasn’t reached the town yet. Word has it their army is camped less than a league from here. The king sent Severn ahead to hold the town and prevent her from taking it. There will be battle today right in the plains yonder.” He knifed his hand in the air. “Morvared’s army is betwixt ours and Eredur’s. If we keep riding, we can probably make it around before the action starts.” He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully.
Ankarette summoned her Fountain magic, trying to sense for the presence of danger or unseen trouble. Just smelling the sea made the magic come more easily to her. It was quiet and peaceful. Her eyes fixed on a grove of trees.
“What if we position ourselves there?” she suggested. “Neither side would see us. Morvared might try to send soldiers through it to attack the flank. We’d be waiting for them if they try. If they don’t, we can use the same tactic on them.”
Thomas’s eyebrows raised. “Ankarette, that is bloody brilliant. Are you going to don armor and sword as well? Are you the Maid incarnate?” He grinned at her and rubbed his hands together. “The trees are certainly dense enough to conceal us and our horses. Either way, it benefits the king. We can watch the battle progress and intervene when the moment is right.” His smile filled her with pride. “Good thinking, lass.”
“Do you have an extra sword?” she asked with a wry, joking smile.
He laughed and shook his head. “I was only teasing. I’ll lead the men there to wait and watch.”
“And I will find the queen’s hostages. Lady Isybelle and Nanette.” She knew Morvared to be excessively cruel and was anxious to find them.
“Their father may be dead, but Eredur does
not hold them accountable for his actions. Severn cares for the youngest daughter. And if you find the former queen too, I wouldn’t object to you capturing her.”
He gave her a knowing smile.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Revenge
When Ankarette Tryneowy was a child growing up in Yuork, her father had often described the scenes of battle to her, and she had always been entranced by them. As she stood atop a small hillock, surrounded by a group of mounted Espion, and watched the Battle of Hawk Moor unfold, she felt sick and ashamed of the brutality of Ceredigion. But the courage the soldiers demonstrated also inspired her. The view also gave her the perfect vantage point to search the enemy’s movements and to try to discern where Morvared was skulking.
Queen Morvared’s army, trapped on all sides, did not surrender. They fought. From Ankarette’s vantage point, the size of the forces were pretty much balanced. Eredur’s men were weakened from their previous fight. Morvared’s were fatigued from the hasty march to escape. It was a battle of wills.
During the thickest part of the fight, it was not clear which side would win. She gripped the reins of her stallion, occasionally glancing at the wooded glen where Thomas’s soldiers lingered, holding back. She was grateful he was not in the midst of the bloodbath on the fields below. Strangely, the sounds from the battle ghosted in and out of her hearing.
“The king is in the thick of it,” Bennet said with respect shading his voice. “No one can stop him. It’s as if the spirit of King Andrew is with him today.”
He was visible amidst the flurry of banners bearing the Sun and Rose. Many of the banners were spattered with mud, some stained with crimson. She watched and she hoped and she prayed that the Fountain would yield victory.