The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  Thanking Alaric when he reached the door to his own rooms, Ian then asked him to convey a message to the swordmaster, inviting him to join them for dinner that night so that all of their tales might be told at one sitting.

  Inside his own rooms, Ian unbuckled his swordbelt and hung it negligently over the arm of a chair. The rooms were empty as he wandered through them. He had no doubt that Edwinna would send word to Evan of his master's return. While waiting for his manservant, Ian sat down in a chair and put his feet on a nearby stool, groaning with relief. Leaning against the cushions, he was asleep in minutes only to be awakened a short while later when he heard Evan's footsteps in the room.

  "I beg your pardon, my lord," his man-servant apologized. "I was just informed of your return. I came to see if you needed anything. I did not mean to wake you."

  "That's all right, Evan; I did not mean to drift off," Ian muttered. "Please have hot water brought up from the kitchens now; I want to take a bath." As Evan went to do as bid, Ian slowly heaved himself out of the chair and peeled his grimy clothes off. His body felt stiff and sore from the unaccustomed exertions of the night.

  Once in the metal tub filled with hot water made fragrant by an infusement of herbs, he let the heat unknot his muscles. Afterwards, he had Evan pour several pitchers of very cold water over him before he dried himself off. Feeling himself clean, presentable and somewhat revived, Ian surprised Evan by donning clean clothing, evidently preparing to leave his rooms again.

  "Shall I expect your lordship to be back soon?" Evan inquired gingerly.

  "I don't think so," Ian replied, flashing him a grin as he pulled on his soft, indoor boots and stood up.

  Leaving his quarters, Ian quickly traveled through the castle to where Angharad's rooms were located. The events of the last twelve hours were pushed to the back of his mind as he absently greeted and responded to those whom he met in the hallways. He told himself that he was not entirely convinced by Owain as to Angharad's condition, and by the time he reached the outer door of her rooms, he almost believed himself. Knocking on the outer door, he was flooded with a variety of hopes and fears. Moira granted him access but was restrained by Ian from announcing his arrival to her lady, as he preferred to announce himself.

  The door opened quietly at his hand and he entered. The afternoon sun had been denied full access and the room was immersed in a soft half-light. A window was open behind the curtains, which billowed inwards admitting a fresh breeze. Stealing quietly across the floor, in case she should be asleep, he was surprised to hear her voice hail him: "Welcome home, my lord! Am I to take it then that your expedition was successful?"

  Coming to the side of the bed he looked down to where she lay against the pillows. "Yes, we were successful. Idris and her children are now within the castle's walls," he replied. "And what of you? Alaric told me that you fainted on the tower and had to be carried back. Is this true?"

  Angharad felt herself stirred by the worry evident in his voice and eyes. "I grew tired. Drimnor gave me some more of his concoctions and I feel fine now." After their parting last night, Ian had been a constant presence in her mind. For the past hour or more she had been fretfully awaiting his return. Now that he was here beside her, she was uncertain about what she should do.

  Ian was also unsure of how to approach her, a novel situation for him. Her restraint affected his intentions, making him hesitate. She smiled tentatively at him and he began to tell her of the night's adventures. Moving forward to sit on the edge of her bed, he talked while she listened attentively. Soon it was clear to both that their real conversation had nothing to do with the words that were being spoken. When there was nothing left to say, they sat looking at one another.

  "Angharad?" Ian finally broke the silence. The cool, light voice was betrayed by the warmth she saw in his eyes.

  "Yes, Ian," was all she could say. She watched in shy anticipation as he removed his clothes and slipped into the bed beside her.

  "Come," he whispered, "we have both waited long enough."

  The debris of a violent outburst of temper littered the Duke of Tuenth's tent. Having found no trace of the hostages, only signs that they had effectively escaped, Blaise retired to his tent and vented his wrath on the furnishings within. The men who were assigned to guard the hostages had been ordered hung and now the angry young duke sulked in his tent.

  Brescom had gone off to see that the camp was being properly reorganized and the confusion wrought by the night's storm cleared up. He had been against hanging the guards but understood and sympathized with Blaise's anger. They had been dealt three swift blows in a very short amount of time and were no nearer to capturing the castle. Niall had given them a month to take Lir and that month was now long past. They were expected to march south and join with their supreme commander, but with Lir untaken they had to stay where they were.

  The earl walked back through the camp feeling in the air the chill of autumn giving way to winter. He had no wish to still be found sitting on Lir's doorstep in another two month's time, when winter would lie cold and snow-laden upon them. Mentally he cursed the situation, but his stolid face remained fixed. If Blaise had not demanded a trade, if the witch were not behind the castle walls, if the castle itself weren't so damn well built, if, if, if...

  "My lord, a message has arrived from the Duke of Mirvanovir." An orderly approached his commanding officer deferentially.

  Narrowing his eyes, Brescom asked, "Is the message addressed solely to me, or to Lord Blaise as well?"

  "I believe it is for both of you, sir," was the reply.

  "Very well, bring it to the duke's tent." Brescom stomped off to his fellow commander's tent in a sour frame of mind.

  The message, when delivered and read, was just what Larth Brescom had feared. Niall wanted to know when they would have the castle secured and be able to march south. According to the letter, Niall's southernmost army, led by Lord Raney and Niall's son, Lord Galen, were to begin the invasion of Pentarell at the end of the week and Niall hoped that they would be joining him in Creon in a few week's time. Niall's army had been halted on the eastern side of mountains between the Duchy of Sandovar and the Duchy of Creon, where the Duke of Mirvanovir had elected to take his army over the mountains and down through the Earldom of Thurin to Creon. To do this he needed to use the access of the Martyn Pass, and at present it was being held by Lord Aidan of Thurin and his army. Niall was hoping to win through the pass shortly, and thus to lure Branwilde's army to the southern plains of Carmathon. He was expecting the combined northern army of the Inner Ward and Tuenth to take Gwenth, Creon's capital, while Branwilde was away from it. Then they were to continue marching south, cutting off Branwilde's chances for a northern retreat.

  Blaise looked up in disgust after rereading the letter. "Haven't you sent him word of what is happening here?"

  "Of course I've sent dispatches to him. I don't think Lord Niall understands how difficult taking this castle is," Brescom remarked irritably. Looking around at the evidence of Blaise's temper, he pursed his lips in distaste.

  "Well, what are we going to do?" the younger man asked. "Can we leave enough men to ensure that those inside the castle stay bottled up in there and march to Gwenth as he demands?"

  The earl shook his head. "If the bulk of the army leaves, Lord Ian won't stay in the castle for long. We have simply marched through the duchy so far; the countryside around us is neither conquered nor secured. The majority of citizens are biding their time, laying low and in hiding. The only way that Langstraad can be held is by taking and holding its heart: Lir."

  Blaise sighed. It had been a damnable night and it seemed that their ill-luck had not yet run its course. He ran a hand through his uncombed hair in frustration. "Then we had better figure a way to take this bloody castle, and take it soon!"

  Brescom looked dour. "We shall have to return to conventional strategy it seems, and there is no such thing as a quick siege. I'll draft out a letter to Lord Niall, giving him a fu
ller picture of our situation here. He'll just have to give us more time."

  Blaise shrugged in acceptance. "So it seems."

  While Brescom left to find and consult with the general staff, Blaise sat brooding in his tent. Rashara might or might not have any suggestions or solutions for him, but, since Brescom was writing to Niall, he might as well let her know of their situation. Calling for men to come and restore order to his tent, Blaise composed a letter to his mistress and mentor.

  They had wakened in the dusk to make love again before rising and dressing for dinner. In the dancing light of torch and candle their eyes brightened and sparkled as they looked out over the heads of those dining in the main hall. At the head table they sat together with Idris and her children, along with Griswold and Owain, Edwinna and Alaric. The men who had accompanied Ian on the rescue mission sat at the first table below the head table; however, the huntsman Arain had been asked to join them at the head table. He sat at the end, next to Owain, looking ill at ease.

  The mood was one of rejoicing for the rescue of the lady and her children, but it was tempered, both by the very real fact that the castle was still under siege and by the recent death of Lord Alwyn, Idris' husband. The food was good, if not overly plentiful, with roasted meats, fresh bread and cheese, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. Edwinna looked as if each bite taken was an assessment of the state of affairs in the kitchen, and as such, a reflection on her personally.

  Still wan as she recovered from her ordeal, Idris sat at Ian's side. Edwinna had found her more suitable attire then the plain homespun traveling clothing she had been rescued in. Ian recognized one of Holly's gowns; a silvery-green chemise with trailing sleeve-cuffs under a dark green overdress of velvet. Far from begrudging her the dress, Ian was impressed by how admirably it suited Idris. From his position at the end of the table, Arain continued to surreptitiously observe the lady. Her children were chatting noisily, happy to be once again in an atmosphere that they knew and in which they felt safe. The two youngest sat between their mother and Edwinna, but the eldest, Donal, had managed to find himself a place next to Griswold and was wide-eyed, listening to the talk between the masters of sword and horse. Beneath the table Ian held Angharad's hand and tried not to look too foolishly happy.

  Talk centered on the rescue and each person's part in it. Griswold was interested in anything that Idris might have observed while she was captive that he could use to their advantage. Arain, when questioned, gave answers that were modest and to the point. Idris was very interested in Angharad's arcane abilities. She asked numerous questions and Ian noticed that she looked troubled by the answers she received.

  "What is it that bothers you?" Ian whispered to Idris when everyone's attention had shifted to Griswold's end of the table.

  "The use of a House Gift by Angharad," she replied softly. "I think that I should talk to both of you, preferably alone and tonight."

  Ian let his eyes range over the guests at his table. "After dinner in Angharad's rooms?" he asked.

  "I will come after putting my children to bed." At that point, Edwinna had a question and the matter between them was dropped.

  When dinner ended, everyone disbursed to their beds or to their various posts. Idris and Edwinna shepherded the children off to their rooms and Griswold and Owain left together to check the night watch. Arain waited until Lady Idris had left the hall before discreetly rejoining the other huntsmen.

  Hand in hand, Ian and Angharad strolled back to her rooms. As they walked he informed her that Idris was anxious to speak with them and would come to Angharad's rooms shortly. Surprised, Angharad asked what Lady Idris could possibly have to say to them.

  "I'm not certain exactly why, but she was agitated when you were recounting your part in using your arcane powers," Ian said thoughtfully. "I am not as well acquainted with Idris as I should like. Actually, my first real conversations with her were on the ride back from Gwenth after our wedding." He shot a sidewise glance at her and received a faintly abashed smile in return.

  Lifting her hand to his lips as they continued to walk, he went on: "She was very good friends with Holly's sister Gwyneira, who was fostered at Morna. About the time that Gwyneira died, Idris was married to Alwyn Glendark, nephew to the old Earl of Gresha. Anyway, she and her husband used to regularly attend Hollin's court and I know that my cousin both liked and admired her."

  Upon reaching her rooms, Angharad opened a door to the left of the front anteroom and led Ian into a small sitting room. He recognized it as the room where he had last dined alone with Holly, though it had been completely refurbished since then. Crossing to the window, he gazed out wrapped in memory, not hearing Angharad's movements behind him. Shedding the wool shawl she had draped over her shoulders while perambulating the chilly castle corridors, Angharad rang a small bell to summon Moira and alert her to the fact that Lady Idris was expected and was to be brought in directly when she arrived. Only after Moira left did she turn and call Ian's name gently. It brought him out of his reverie and he quickly came away from the window where he had been standing and took her in his arms.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked anxiously.

  He nodded; a bemused expression in his eyes. "Oddly enough, everything really is fine."

  A few minutes later a tactful knock was heard at the door, and Idris entered. Sitting in the chair that Ian ushered her to, Idris fixed the two of them with her steady, serious eyes . "I feel it necessary to talk with you both this evening," she said without preamble, "because I am alarmed by what you have told me about Angharad's recent manifestation of arcane ability."

  Angharad looked in bewilderment at Ian and then back to Idris. "Have I done something wrong? I was only trying to help deter Lord Brescom."

  "You used the House Gift of Creon?"

  "Yes, I am a d'Aurilac," she added with a touch of defiance.

  Looking down at her hands, Idris asked, "Were you ever properly keyed to the House Gift?"

  Angharad grew more uncertain. "Keyed?"

  "Yes, the ceremony that binds you to the House Gift and protects you from it."

  "I never..." the girl's voice faltered. "No, I did not go through the ceremony."

  Ian cut in smoothly. "Angharad was able to find the House Gift within herself and made use of it to protect Lir."

  Idris' disquieted gaze grew more agitated. "Oh dear, that's what I was afraid you had done! Please tell me, what did you do? And how did you do it?"

  Responding to Idris' patent distress, Angharad told her the brief history of her power wielding and, with prompting, the after-effects of that experience. When she had finished her recitation, Idris sat back with a sigh, a relieved expression finally settling on her face. "You have been very fortunate, but I warn you, you must not use the House Gift again."

  "Why ever not?" Angharad asked in perplexity.

  "Because it will kill you." At their horrified expressions, Idris continued more mildly, "Remember, not only was my late uncle, Lord Percamber, an arcane adept, I was also a close friend of both your late duchess, Hollin, and her sister. What I know about the House Gift comes largely from what I learned over the years I knew them.

  "First, in order to use the House Gifts, not only must you be a direct descendant of one of the Great Houses, you must have inherited the potential to assume the House Gift. Not everyone born into a Great House has the potential. Secondly, you must be keyed to the House Gift during a strictly observed ritual. This is vitally important because if you are not properly keyed, the House Gift drains your own life-force. This is why you were so debilitated after using the power. I have also heard that without the shielding that keying provides, the House Gift can turn and destroy you as well." Blindly Angharad reached out and Ian took her hand.

  "What about Blaise?" Ian inquired after quieting Angharad's fears with a reassuring look.

  "Blaise?" It was Idris' turn to look confused. Ian enlightened her about Blaise's newly tried powers and their results. Idris' brow cloud
ed, "I knew nothing of this while I was being held captive. If it is true, then I assume that he went through the ritual in Tuenth after his father and brother died."

  "You seem to know much about the House Gift. Do you know what the ritual is to key me to the House Gift, so that I might safely use my powers?" Angharad asked hopefully.

  Idris shook her head discouragingly. "My knowledge is very limited really. I know that the ritual is very specific and that it is different for each of the Great Houses. The ritual is also a closely guarded secret, usually known only by one or two of the senior House members. No, Lady Angharad, though I am impressed that you were able to use the House Gift, as it is normally only wielded by the Head of a House and it bespeaks a strong and innate talent with yourself. I cannot do more than to give you warning to use your House Gift again only at your own peril!" With a resigned nod Angharad fell silent.

  "Thank you, Idris," Ian said. "We will heed your warning. You have had a very trying time of it the past few weeks and I see that you are fatigued. May I escort you back to your rooms?"

  With a weary smile, Idris pushed herself out of the chair in which she sat. "Thank you Ian, but my rooms are very close. I will bid you both a good-night for I am, as you have noticed, very tired."

  When they were alone once again, Ian yawned and, leaning back against the door, favoured Angharad with a long look. "Well, my lady?"

  Agreeably unsettled by his unspoken question, Angharad nodded shyly. Earlier she had wondered what would happen when they reached this point. Would he leave or stay? She wanted very much for him to stay.

  Amused by her confusion, he said, "Could you tell your Lady Moira to inform my manservant Evan that I will be needing a fresh change of clothing brought here in the morning?" He crossed the room to where Angharad had risen and encircled her with his arms. "I hope that you don't mind, but I intend to make a nuisance of myself."