Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  Deyneth didn't seem to be affected by the girl's charms as most in the castle were. She had trained the girl's brother in the way of swords, and she would train this girl in the art of music and court. "I want you to try again. You must get this part right."

  "I don't want to," Alyssa Parnell said, "I'm tired of practicing. I want to go play."

  "You can go play when you get this part right," Deyneth told the princess. She was only eight, not nearly old enough to dictate her own activities. "You will be playing for your father soon. Don't you wish to make him happy with what you've learned?"

  Alyssa frowned again. "What's the point? I'll never be as good as you. You could play for him, you know."

  "Well I could," Deyneth said, "But he hasn't requested that I play." She tried to suppress her smile. It was true that she was an excellent piano player -- she had been heralded as one of the best in court when she was not much older than the princess. Deyneth had practiced though, long and hard, every day and every night.

  That was her way. She didn't like to learn something partially or become only adept at it. She was a Bishop in the Chapel after all, and a such a position meant she needed to put her full efforts into things. She constantly struggled to become perfect at whatever her latest task was.

  "Try again, Alyssa."

  Alyssa sighed and put her fingers back atop the piano. No sooner had she started than Deyneth stopped her.

  "You must focus," Deyneth told her. "I want you to focus on the music, Alyssa. Don't think of anything else. Let it overwhelm you."

  "I don't know how," Alyssa complained. "I don't know how to focus on it. I can't keep my mind from wandering. I can't, it's too difficult."

  Deyneth shook her head, "It's not that difficult," she told her. "It just takes practice. Your mother told me you did not practice last night, nor the day before. Why?"

  Alyssa shrugged. Her face was drawn in sullenly. It wasn't a look that suited her well at all. Deyneth knew her to be a happy child, full of warmth and laughter. She had a way of brightening the rooms she walked into, causing smiles where there were none before. Right now, though, she reminded Deyneth more of a raincloud than a ray of sunshine.

  "What is it?" Deyneth asked her. She turned to face Alyssa, taking her hands in her own, "What is it, child? What bothers you so?"

  "They say..." Alyssa paused and then burst out, "They say my brother is dead. Is it true? Is he dead?"

  Deyneth sat silently for a few seconds. She had often wondered the same thing herself. It had been a year or more since they'd last seen the prince, and more than six months since they'd heard word of him. They'd known he was a captive of King Sullivan's, but all at once, word had stopped coming from him.

  "I don't know," Deyneth said. She saw Alyssa's eyes fill with tears, but she had no reason to lie to the child. She was not above such measures, but only when she felt them necessary. This was not a time she felt called for a lie; children were often stronger than parents believed.

  "That doesn't mean he's dead though," Deyneth said, "You know that King Sullivan wanted to trade him to your father for peace. If he killed Will, then there would be nothing to trade. There is a good chance that he kept him alive, so he has a bargaining chip."

  Alyssa's lip quivered but in the girl's defense, she did not cry. She blinked back the tears instead and gave a small nod, "It's not fair though. Will didn't do anything. He didn't start this war. Sullivan did. Why would he want my brother?"

  "Your brother chose to go fight with the men," Deyneth reminded her, "He picked his place on the battlefield, Alyssa."

  "I want to go fight," Alyssa said, "I bet I wouldn't get kidnapped. I would be brave."

  Deyneth smiled. Alyssa was much like she was when she'd been younger. There was a strength to her that most people were able to ignore because of her quick smile and warm laugh. "I'm certain you will someday," she told the girl, "But for now, you're too young to join the Guard."

  "So was Will," Alyssa reminded her. "He was two years too young, at least. My father said so, but he let him go fight anyway."

  "He was still older than you are now," Deyneth said, "You are much too young to learn the ways of the battlefield, Alyssa, but if you wish, we could put away the piano and pick up a sword. Will that be your way? Will you learn to fight, and learn the tactics of a commander -- maybe even a battle-master?"

  Alyssa stared at the piano, thinking. Deyneth knew it would disappoint Queen Sara if her only daughter chose to fight instead of becoming the lady she dreamt of, but it was Alyssa's decision. If she wanted to learn, Deyneth would teach her.

  Deyneth had learned to fight at young age, and she'd learned strategy even younger. Her father had been a wonderfully tactical man, and he'd passed on most of his knowledge to his daughter. He'd had a son too, but Deyneth's brother had no interest in learning how to lead an army. He'd gone off to bake bread instead, marrying a girl of no proper descent, and fathering many children. Some of his children, though, had come back to learn.

  Some had already paid the price for the knowledge with their lives. The Amaris boys. They'd died before they'd really lived. Deyneth had lit candles in their honor when she'd heard. Such a tragedy.

  "I'd like to learn," Alyssa said, drawing Deyneth out of her thoughts, "I'd like to learn to lead, like you do. But maybe I could learn the piano too. My father and mother love music. I want to be able to make them smile by playing for them."

  Deyneth nodded towards the keys, "Then you must practice, Alyssa. It's not going to come easily to you, and if you can't learn to play a simple song, then tactics may be beyond you."

  Alyssa turned back to the piano, her cheeks a bright red. Deyneth knew the girl would try harder now. She put her fingers back to the keys and began to play. This time, she did not miss the third note. She played the entire song without err.

  When she'd finished, there was a clapping in the back. Deyneth turned to see who'd entered the room.

  "Battle-Master Rafinnel," she said, standing, "What a pleasure."

  Rafinnel nodded to her and then the princess. "A good song, my lady. Very elegant."

  "Thank you," Alyssa said, standing up. She sketched a curtsey, as was proper.

  "I need to speak with you," Rafinnel said to Deyneth, "It is imperative, Warlord."

  Deyneth nodded. She smoothed her skirts and looked back to the princess, "You will continue practicing, Alyssa. I will also send you instructors to begin training you in the way of the sword."

  "Can't you teach me?" Alyssa asked, "You taught Will."

  "The Warlord is a very busy woman," Rafinnel said, "I'm quite certain that whomever she sends will do a fine job." He cut his eyes back to Deyneth, waiting.

  Deyneth nodded. It was true: she was a very busy woman. As the warlord in the Arinford Guard, she held the highest position available, just below the King. She was his right hand man, and led his men whenever he could not. She made many decisions that influenced the war.

  Still, she'd always made time for children, "I will help you train," she told Alyssa, "But you will have to work with others as well. There will be many that help to teach you and mold you, child, and you must learn to adapt."

  Alyssa didn't seem happy with the response but Deyneth had already turned to Rafinnel, "Have we more news?"

  Rafinnel was silent for a moment and then looked at the princess. She'd seated herself on the piano bench again and was preparing to play, "We must go see the King. He will tell you of the news."

  Deyneth raised her eyebrows and followed.

  Deyneth let Rafinnel lead her into the King's chambers, where she made graces to him and his wife. William and Sara were both seated, but they rose when Deyneth bowed down. Then William made a gesture for her to sit.

  There were others present, but none of the King's usual council. Deyneth found this odd but said nothing. It was not her place to question the King's decisions on who would sit on their meetings and who would not.

  Rafinnel let Deyneth take the se
at on the King's left and then seated himself opposite of her.

  Deyneth looked down the table. There was the royal family, and Rafinnel, but there was also a woman she knew as Alena Greywill and her brother, Luro Greywill. Then there were the dark-skinned guests that sat further down. Deyneth guessed from their color and clothing accessories that they came from Fairenthe. Fairenthe was a medium sized kingdom to the north of Arinford. They traded across the small expanse of sea that operated their tips. Fairenthe specialized in wool.

  "My warlord," William said, by way of introduction, "Deyneth Delanu."

  "Your warlord," one of the dark-skinned women tittered. "I wouldn't think this has much to do with her, Your Majesty. Forgive me for saying so, but this is not related to what your men do on the field."

  William bristled visibly, "Delanu is my right-hand man, and in more places than the battlefield. Whatever decisions I make will be with her council. This decision will affect my troops after all."

  Deyneth watched the way the woman slumped back in her seat. She didn't need to be told these people were important but William did not particularly like them. She couldn't blame him for that: Fairenthe people were amongst the most self-serving kingdoms in the Cartharia. They'd always maintained a fair trade with Arinford, but they'd been known to embargo trade and spike their prices with smaller kingdoms if the occasion made it more profitable for them.

  She turned her attention on the Greywills, "Alena, Luro. It has been a long time since I've seen either of you in the King's court. What do we owe the pleasure?"

  Alena and Luro exchanged looks. Deyneth noted this. It had been nearly a decade since she'd set eyes on either of them. She had no love for the Greywills: there were rumors the two of them were closer than siblings ought to be. That was none of Deyneth's concern. Her concern had been that their father, Luro the first, had sold information of the King's court.

  Deyneth had the man executed for his crimes, and his family had been banished from court, all titles stripped. They'd been allowed to keep their lands, but that was it. Deyneth knew it was unfair to judge the children of a traitor for his crimes, but Luro and Alena never seemed trustworthy to her, and she did not like seeing them sit in the King's inner chambers.

  Yet, here they were, and Deyneth was nothing if not polite.

  "The King invited us," Alena said. Deyneth saw the bitter way that Alena's face twisted despite her soft words, "We are his guests."

  Deyneth turned her attention to William. He gave her a small shrug, but it was easily readable. He needed them for something. That was why they'd been invited when others were not. She refrained from sighing. The King was a good man, and he understood politics to an extent, but there were some things he would never understand.

  They Greywills might give him what he needed, but they would want something in return. The price would likely be higher than the King would see. They hated him, and they hated Deyneth. It was a hate that had festered over the last ten years as they lived their lives without the luxury of court or ladies or jewels. It would be a hate that took generations to heal.

  She didn't sigh, as much as she wanted to. Her job was as the warlord; commanding men on the field of battle. She took it more seriously than the King realized. There were more kinds of battle than those that included swords and arrows.

  "We have many things to discuss today," William said, once everyone had been introduced, "We will start with the Greywills."

  Alena sat up a little higher.

  "Your family holds the lands that allow passage through the mountains to the north," William said, looking at Luro, "The expanse to the west of Culoro."

  "That is right," Luro said, "It has been in my family for at least nine generations."

  Deyneth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The Greywills put an unhealthy amount of pride in property. It had always been so. She hadn't enjoyed the company of the late Lord Greywill, even before his treason. He'd been a pompous man, and a dirty one. Deyneth particularly disliked the way he'd allowed his beard to grow as it would -- all over the place. His son was not much different in appearance.

  She wondered at the necessity of the shoreline. It was to the north. The fighting was to the south. Her eyes moved back to the dark-skinned Fairenthe people, lingering for a moment.

  "We will have need of that land in the near future," William said, "and I expect that you will allow my men to travel safely through."

  Deyneth frowned again. There was something she hadn't been told yet, and she detested being in the dark. She couldn't do her job properly without light. She made a mental note to discuss this with the king when they had a moment alone. She knew he was stressed, but he had to think with reason, not with emotion. She had to be kept informed.

  For now though, she put the irritation aside and looked back to Luro.

  "Yes," Luro said, "You said as much in your letter, Your Majesty. There is a small matter, however..."

  He looked at Alena.

  "If the Greywill family is willing to serve you in this," Alena said, "Surely you can see we've paid the price for our lord father did before us. We want to return to court, Your Majesty."

  Deyneth eyed the woman. She had teeth that were too large, and a belly that was too big. Her hair was lackluster and limp. More though, she was dirty. She hadn't washed properly before coming in and her clothing was old, and ripped. Deyneth understood that some were unable to afford new garb, but the clothing could have been easily repaired with a needle and a minute.

  "You want your titles back," William said musingly. He exchanged a glance with Sara.

  Alena nodded.

  "If we were once again members of the court," Luro said, "Then we would be able to ensure safe passage for any who passed. Of course, without proper titles, we might not be able to control our men. You know the trail, Your Majesty? It runs beneath our walls."

  Deyneth thought of the passage he spoke of. It was a thin trail at best and, as he'd said, it sat beneath their walls. That was why it was so easily held by the Greywill family. They could stand on their walls and shoot men down with arrows. It would be hard to take the passage without their cooperation.

  She could see the way that William's mouth tightened at the words. He didn't like the idea of bringing them back into his court upon threats of treason. He understood the way the trail was set up, though.

  "I will take it into consideration," William said, "You will stay in my castle tonight, as guests. Tomorrow, we will discuss this further. I must consult with my council on the matter."

  Deyneth nodded her approval.

  The Greywills didn't look particularly pleased at the idea of waiting a day, but they stood when the guards approached. "I look forward to your decision on the matter of titles," Alena said, as the guards led them from the room.

  The King had stood up to see them go, and once they were gone, he sat back down. He ran a weary hand over his face.

  Deyneth leaned into the king, "Have them arrested when we adjourn," she said in a low voice, "Send word back to their uncle, who holds the lands while they are here. Let him know they will be executed for treason should any men be refused access to that path."

  William looked at her for a moment, "They've committed no treason yet," he reminded her in a low voice.

  "Then best not give them an opportunity to," Deyneth said, "We cannot afford to risk looking weak now and bartering a position with the Greywills will certainly come across that way."

  William only had to consider a moment before speaking, "You are right. I will discuss it with the council beforehand."

  Deyneth considered the men and women that sat on the council, then shrugged. She had no need for any of their approval. She considered most of them to be pompous fools. The king would listen to her, as he always had.

  William turned back to the rest, "Now, we have the matter with the Fairenthe men."

  Deyneth saw Sara frown. The woman looked very unhappy. Deyneth understood the reasoning. Her eldest and only son ha
d been taken captive by the other side. Will could be dead or could be being tortured. Deyneth had no children of her own, but she'd come to care for the prince.

  It wasn't just grief in her expression though, Deyneth thought. She looked angry.

  The woman who'd tittered at Deyneth's arrival sat back up, "We can offer you seventy percent of our men," she told William. She had a deep, robust voice that rang across the room, "We cannot afford any more than that. We would be left undefended."

  William frowned at her, "The fighting comes from the south. You are only undefended should we lose Arinford, and if we lose Arinford, your men will not stand a chance anyway."

  Understanding dawned on Deyneth. The King was making a deal with these people, for their men. She considered the royal treasury for a moment and then dismissed it. There was not enough to pay Fairenthe. There might have been before the war but it had taken its toll on the kingdom's coffers.

  "We can offer seventy percent," the woman repeated.

  Deyneth eyed her for another moment and then realized who it was. Marinthel Sol. She was part of the royal family of Fairenthe. Not the queen. Even Fairenthe would not be reckless enough to send their leader to a desperate kingdom. It would be the queen's niece. She sat on her council. There were some that said Marinthel could see into a soul. Deyneth did not believe it.

  "How many men is that?" Deyneth asked, "Twenty-thousand?"

  "Sixty," Marinthel corrected. That was a surprise, "We have had a great many that have signed up to train in the last two years. I assume because of your southern war."

  Deyneth considered, "Sixty-thousand men would make a large improvement in our numbers," she said, "What else are you offering?"

  Marinthel looked at her, gauging her with bright white eyes.

  "She is my Warlord," William said sharply.

  "We will send long ships," Marinthel said, "fifty-five of them. You will have access to our coffers as well. Arinford need not go under financially."

  Sara sighed.

  Deyneth turned towards the queen and then to the King, and then back to Marinthel. They exchanged a long look.