by Joseph Lallo
He finished composing the letters, and then laboriously re-copied them in his best hand. Kinnon hadn’t arrived by the time he finished, so he read through the king’s letter, before progressing to the second one…
—I hope this finds you in good health. Jessica was very pleased with your gift and treasures it. I’m sure that you’ll receive her thanks before long, but this isn’t the time for happy news I’m afraid.
Jessica and Farran had long been friends, but it couldn’t hurt to remind him. Besides, Jessica truly did enjoy his poetry. The Holy Father had been something of a scholar before ascending his throne. He still wrote when he had time, but spare time was rare for those in positions of authority. How well he knew that. He’d taken the liberty of having Farran’s little book of poems copied for the library. Unlike Jessica’s original, the cover was plain and undecorated, but at least the work could be enjoyed by those who preferred to read within the fortress. It was well written and very popular in the women’s quarter.
He scanned the next page of his letter…
—We have many dead here, and I commend their souls to Him. Lord bishop Jymis is of the opinion that I fail in my duty to the Church by sheltering the girl. I’m afraid he will no doubt contact you with his request. I must strongly urge you not to do this thing. Julia is our salvation, without her we are lost.
The girl is no witch, on my honour she is not! Without her, my losses would be far greater than they are, but even with her aid, I am informed of more deaths among the wounded with each candlemark that passes...
That painted a grim picture indeed, and it was exactly what he wanted. The worse he made it seem, the more dire Julia’s removal would be.
—Darius is gone to the God. Gone from me with all my mages except Mathius and Julia...
Marcus advises precipitant action, but I have his oath to proceed no further with this. Jymis will no doubt inform you of a threat to his life. I swear to you this will not happen. He’s safe within my fortress for as long as we’re safe from the sorcerers, how long that will be I don’t know.
That should work against Jymis. He was bound to report Marcus’ words in the worst possible light, but with luck, the letter would cut off that line of attack.
Julia can be an infuriating girl. She is but a child, but still her tongue can flay the hide off of Moriz!
He chuckled at that part. Julia was fiery. Getting close to her would be a bad mistake to make. She would burn him without the aid of magic!
The men call her THE Lady as if there could be no other. They are in awe of her and regard her presence here as a miracle. The God help me, I do too. She took a war arrow through the shoulder, and didn’t cry until they pulled it out. I would have been screaming long before.
A slight exaggeration there at the end, but he wished to paint her as a brave girl, relying on Farran for protection, which wasn’t far from the truth.
I dare to predict that you’ll like Julia. With the God’s blessing, we may come through this so that you may meet her and judge for yourself her innocence.
Please know that I bare you all friendship and goodwill,
Your friend and servant,
Keverin, Lord of Athione,
Lord Protector of the Western Marches
He sealed both letters, and impressed his seal into the hot wax. He blew over the crossed fists of Athione to harden it quicker, and then stood to see what was keeping Marcus and Kinnon. He found Marcus outside the citadel, looking furious, but there was no sign of Kinnon.
“I think he went over the wall, m’lord.”
That was a way of saying Kinnon had left his post without permission. “His family all live in East Town do they not?”
Marcus brightened and nodded. “I’ll visit them and—”
“Leave them to their grief. I want to see Galen.”
Marcus nodded, and together they rounded the citadel to enter the east courtyard. There was no sign of anyone. The stamping of hooves in the stables, and an occasional voice speaking to calm the brutes broke the quiet. They had lost a great many horses in the attack, but it was a grim fact that although the west stables were completely destroyed, he had lost more men than horses. He wished it otherwise, but at least his remaining men wouldn’t be afoot when a charge became possible again. If it ever did.
The east gates were Galen’s only responsibility. He should be at his post within the left tower. Keverin entered and blinked trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness. He found Galen whittling a doll’s head.
“Have you seen Kinnon today?”
Galen gasped and shot to his feet already saluting.
“Relax man,” he said, but Galen remained at attention. “I’m looking for Kinnon. Have you let anyone out today?”
“I let the bishop and them pretty-boys out a while back, but I ain’t seen Kinnon, m’lord.”
The term pretty-boys was a common and disparaging name for Church soldiers. They did look pretty in their red uniforms, but they were useless for real work. Even a half decent guardsman could chop them into dog meat.
“I need him for something. Any ideas?”
“I heard tell his little brother died, m’lord. He’s probably praying in the chapel.”
“Good thought,” he said and turned to leave, but then stopped as an idea came to him. He wouldn’t put anything beyond Jymis now. Best be safe. “Keep the gates locked, and don’t open them for anyone. Send someone to either Marcus or myself. Clear?”
“Yes, m’lord, but what if them pretty-boys come back?”
“This is for them especially. Them and the bishop.”
“I’ll take care of it, m’lord.”
He nodded and left Galen to his whittling. “Did you check the chapel?”
“I didn’t think of it,” Marcus admitted.
He led the way and found Kinnon as Galen had suspected, praying in the chapel. He dismissed Marcus to his duties, and entered to speak with the scout alone.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said.
Kinnon stood. “I swapped duty with Danil, m’lord.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t come about that.” He sat on the front bench directly below the statue of the God, and a moment later, Kinnon joined him.
“Ged was my only brother,” Kinnon said, staring up at the towering sculpture.
“I know. I’m sorry this happened.”
“The Lady tried for candlemarks to wake him from his swoon. I sat with her, holding his hand, but he slipped away without waking. The Lady was so tired after, we had to carry her to bed.”
Keverin squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to see the scene but it was no good. He could easily imagine Julia working in the great hall. He’d seen her there just a short while ago. That she’d worked herself to exhaustion worried him. What if the sorcerers attacked again? He felt guilty thinking that way, but someone had to. He should order her to rest.
“I need you, Kinnon.”
“M’lord?”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but Julia is in danger.”
“What danger?” Kinnon asked sharply.
Keverin calmed him with a hand on his shoulder. “Peace, she’s safe for now. What I tell you must remain between us.”
“I swear to tell no one, m’lord.”
“The lord bishop visited with me earlier. He accuses Julia of witchcraft, and would put her on trial for heresy.”
“She’s no witch! She saved me. She saved all of us!”
“I know. I need you to take these to Devarr,” he said, showing Kinnon the letters. “This one is for the king or his chancellor, but this one is the more important of the two. I want you to give it to Patriarch Dugan. He’ll see it safely into the Holy Father’s hands.”
“I can do that, but so could many. If I may ask?”
“Why you?”
Kinnon nodded.
“It’s because I don’t trust the bishop.”
Kinnon grinned. “All know
it, m’lord!”
“I need the letters delivered as soon as possible, but I want you safe. I’m not saying the bishop would try to stop you, but...” he shrugged, leaving his fear unsaid. “The letters are vital, but I value you as I valued your brother. I don’t want you taking risks with your life. You must reach the king and the patriarch, before Jymis can poison them against me. You know what will happen if they take Julia from us.”
“That won’t happen,” Kinnon growled, and accepted the letters into his keeping.
“Let’s go down and find you a pair of fast horses. I want you away from here as soon as possible. I expect the bishop will be sending his own letters before long.”
“I know all the trails, m’lord. I’ll not take the roads. They won’t get there ahead of me, that I swear.”
They made their way to the stables and Keverin watched as two horses were brought out. Marcus had foreseen the need for supplies, and had arranged for them to be waiting. Kinnon mounted up and rode out the gate with his remount on a lead rein.
“Lock her up tight,” Keverin ordered, and the gates boomed shut.
Bang... clunk!
The sound echoed with finality as the locking bars drove home.
* * *
26 ~ Julia
The clouds were slate grey over the mountains, and it promised to be cooler than previous days, but rain didn’t seem likely to her. The clouds were running before the wind; it hadn’t rained once since she’d arrived. Mathius said the season was the driest for more than six years.
She stood before the window in her sitting room, sipping wine and watching the people outside going through their daily routine. How could they do that? How could they ignore the situation just beyond the barricade? There were people less than half a mile away intent upon killing them, and others even closer, literally dying to build a bridge to reach them. She shook her head in admiration. Devans were a brave people. She supposed they had had other things to do, while she was free to worry. Idle hands and mischief came to mind. She needed something to take her mind away from the future, and especially the army in the pass.
She craned her neck to scan the sky. It wouldn’t rain again today. She could go out. There was walled garden that Jessica had shown her; it was in bloom and a pleasant place to walk. The gardeners were spending a lot of their time right now keeping it watered. She frowned, wondering if Mathius knew of a spell to help with that. His father had dug wells and performed weather magic. That could be important soon. Crops would be in danger if the drought continued too long, but no one seemed bothered by the possibility. Keverin had hoarded many times the usual amount of grain and other supplies below the citadel. There was more than enough to see them through this year and the next if necessary.
She scowled. Thoughts of Keverin she did not want, but they kept intruding whether she wanted them to or not—and it was not, definitely not! He hadn’t spoken two civil words to her since the day that she’d healed him. Whenever they met, he always hurried away. No smile, no small talk—nothing.
“I’m not going to ask him what his problem is,” she muttered. “He can soak his head in barrel of beer for all I care!”
She grinned as she imagined him doing that. Moriz had used the expression within her hearing once. He’d been talking with Halbert—his best friend and shadow—about the Over-captain. Marcus had been injured during the fighting and hadn’t asked for her help. Well, she’d dealt with that despite his protests.
She finished her wine and put her empty glass aside.
She wished Deneen would hurry and finish his work on her gym. Her healing magic wasn’t needed any longer—all the injured were back on duty, and her lessons with Mathius weren’t enough to occupy her time. She spent most evenings with Jessica reading by firelight. Brian had his duty to perform, and Mathius had his studies. What did she have? Maybe she could walk the walls like a guardsman, or help in the kitchens. She smirked at the image of Keverin having kittens.
“No, he wouldn’t like that,” she muttered, but then scowled. Why did she care what he wouldn’t like? “That settles it!” She stormed out of her rooms, heading for the west courtyard.
Everyone in the citadel were keeping busy. Invasion or no, the fight against dust and grime never ceased. She knew how that was from her own experience, but cleaning a four bedroomed house only seemed to take forever. Cleaning the citadel literally did. When she emerged into the west entry hall, men and women were mopping the floor in a line extending from one wall to the other. They performed the ritual every morning, and it took almost two dozen people. The servants worked side-by-side, chatting away with their neighbours, and laughing at each other’s jokes. She envied them.
She watched a couple of strong looking men lower the chandeliers, muscles straining on the ropes to prevent them crashing to the floor. The younger girls were ready with rags piled at their feet for polishing the crystals, and new candles to replace the old ones. She hadn’t seen them do that before, but she realised why it was necessary. Her magic was hard to restrict to the trickle needed to light candles, and she’d wasted the wax too often. It took a lot of work to replace them. She vowed to be more careful in future.
She left the citadel and stepped into the courtyard, but how on Earth would she reach the battlement with the towers gone? The Founders would have built more than one way up, she was sure, but she didn’t know where it was. She frowned at the barricade. It wouldn’t help her, but maybe she could ask someone stationed there. The wreckage from the stables and curtain wall had been used to build a barricade for archers. Those men were the bane of the Hasian bridge builders, and the cause of all their losses. She hated it, and wished they would give up, but Purcell said they couldn’t; the sorcerers wouldn’t let them. They led through fear, and going by the damage they’d caused with a single spell, they were unbelievably strong mages. She remembered the citadel shaking and groaning. It had felt like an earthquake. It didn’t surprise her that their soldiers were too scared to rebel against them.
She took a last look, and walked on.
Whatever the sorcerers had done, it had worked well from their point of view. Having such a large hole in Athione’s defences, meant their soldiers could attack with greater numbers over a wider area, or they could if not for the crevasse. The sorcerers hadn’t thrown a single spell since its creation. She wondered why not. Were they waiting for reinforcements? She shivered at the thought of a spell that needed more than fifty sorcerers to cast. How many black-robed men would ride into their camp over the weeks ahead, and how would Keverin oppose them?
She scowled. Why did everything turn on what Keverin did or said? Then again, why did her thoughts keep dwelling upon someone so ungrateful? Someone who didn’t even like, or maybe worse, hated her? She was sorry his friend had died; she was, truly she was, but Darius had brought it on himself. When she’d tried to explain that, Keverin had become even more distant. It was obvious to her, and others she’d spoken with, that Darius knew before he cast the spell that he would die casting it.
Clang-clang!
Clang-clang!
Sksssssssssss!
She walked by the smithy, her steps unconsciously matching the rhythm of the smith’s hammer, and stopped to watch Hermund—the master of kennels—and his son, feed the hounds. She winced at the barking and fuss that breakfast caused. She wouldn’t go near the brutes. They were huge mastiffs, though they seemed reasonably affectionate with Hermund. She wouldn’t chance them not liking her. She continued on when her presence threatened to distract him from his task.
She reached the north wall a few minutes later and paused to take stock.
Athione’s north and south facing walls weren’t truly walls at all. They were the cliffs left behind by the Founders after they cut the stone they needed to build the fortress. She eyed the stairway they’d cut into the rock. It led up to a road everyone called the north link. There was a road just like it cut into the southern cliff. Both were
ruler straight, and wide, used in emergencies to reinforce the east or west walls. She eyed the stairs doubtfully. The road was a long way up and there was no concession to safety; not even a handrail. Her skirts were a nuisance for climbing, but she’d had to learn the knack to negotiate the tower steps in the citadel. She raised her skirts, and was soon at the top.
The road wasn’t as smooth as it looked from her room. Its surface had wriggly lines carved diagonally into it, so that no one would slip in the rain. She wouldn’t want to try it in winter though. She peered over the edge at the cobbles far below, and felt a thrill of danger, but quickly stepped back when someone noticed her and pointed.
The citadel looked amazing from this vantage. She was very high up, but the citadel towered hundreds of feet higher still. She craned her neck, trying to make out the banners flying above the towers. They looked tiny from here, but with the distance in mind, she realised they must be three times the size of her bed sheets! Above each of the citadel’s six towers, the crescent moon on black of Deva flew, and below each one, Athione’s crossed fists on green circle snapped proudly in the wind.
The towers were cylindrical. She could only see half of each one from here, but she knew the shape continued on the inside. She’d lost count of the times she’d climbed them to reach the maze-like corridors each level boasted. The complex floor plans were meant to confuse the enemy in wartime, but they confused her all the time.
The ground floor of the citadel had no windows for obvious reasons, but the other levels boasted many leaded windowpanes. The design still surprised her. Had the citadel been built that way, or did a previous lord succumb to decadence? Keverin would never have reduced the citadel’s strength by making arrow slits wider. She didn’t believe any of Keverin’s family would be so foolish. It must have been by design. The Founders were probably confident using their magic to defend Athione, and had allowed themselves a little comfort. All those windows did let in lots of natural light.