by Jeff Wheeler
“Loyalty binds me,” Severn said firmly, his hand gripping the dagger hilt.
The king sauntered over to a small round wooden table held up by three rounded iron stays. Atop the table sat a chest with a curved handle. The king gazed down at the chest and grazed the top of it with his fingers. He glanced over at Tunmore, who stood imperiously to the side of the gathering, thurible chain still in hand, wisely saying nothing.
Eredur turned to face Severn. “While I value your counsel, Brother, and I truly do, sometimes a king must make decisions that will be misinterpreted or even misjudged.” He looked at his younger brother with intense eyes. “I could defeat the Spider King. The risks are great, but I have faced far worse! And with you at my side, Brothers, he would have no hope of defeating the might of Ceredigion. I have no doubt we’d be victorious. But at what cost? At what cost?” he added in an almost whisper. Then he shook his head. “Send word to my herald that we’ll meet Lewis on the bridge. Announce us.”
There was an audible gasp of delight and rapture from most of the other lords, including Dunsdworth, who cast a mocking glance at Severn. The Duke of Glosstyr stood there in his black garb, the badge of the white boar almost gleaming on his tunic. He stared at Eredur with smoldering anger, fists clenched.
“I’ll not be joining you,” Severn said angrily.
“So be it,” Eredur said. “Do you want your portion of the reward?”
Severn shook his head. “I’ll take none of the Spider King’s treasure. You take my share, Brother. Spend it as you will.” Then he whirled around and stormed out of the tent.
Eredur slowly shook his head in disappointment as he stared at the fluttering curtain of the tent.
“The man was weaned on spoiled milk, I daresay,” said Lord Rivers. “I’ll take his share if he doesn’t want it.”
“Don’t you dare speak of my lady mother in such a way!” the king snapped, freezing everyone with his sudden anger. Then the king smiled, breaking the tension. “Only I can.” A round of laughter graced his statement. Eredur knew how to charm when he wished to—there was no denying it. Only Duke Horwath didn’t participate. He was as stern and solemn as ever.
Dunsdworth came up and clapped Eredur on the back. “Shall we go, Brother? I can’t wait to see Lewis again.”
“Go on, my lords,” Eredur said. “I require a moment with the deconeus.”
“Another confession?” Hastings said with a laugh. “Have you sinned so soon, my lord, that you seek the Fountain’s blessing?”
Eredur narrowed his gaze at the other man, but said nothing. The lords quickly departed the spacious tent, some grabbing wafers and food from the half-eaten trays. Once their laughter and joviality started to fade into the distance, the king summoned Ankarette.
She stepped around the changing screen upon hearing her name.
The king was still staring at the chest. He rested his hand on it once more. The look he gave her was enigmatic. “Thank you, my dear,” he said genuinely. “Your service may have gone unnoticed by everyone except the deconeus and myself, but it is no less valuable to me. You have brought me a gift that is worth more than the ransom King Lewis is attempting to bribe me with. This gift,” he added, patting the chest. “Is worth more than a crown, though it cannot be used by any but the heirs to one. Do you know what it is?”
Ankarette shook her head. “I’ve not seen inside, my lord.”
He nodded sagely. “It is unlike any treasure you’ve seen. It is a blessing from the Fountain to Ceredigion. It speaks of hope and peace.” Tears suddenly moistened his eyes. “It whispers that King Andrew may yet return. From my seed.” He shook his head in wonderment. “When I sent you to Pree to seek the Maid’s sword, I didn’t think that what you’d find instead would be even more important. We still don’t know where her sword is. But I have a feeling the Fountain will reveal it in its own due time. And so we will wait.” He looked at her with an expression that was almost imploring, as if he wanted her to understand something he wasn’t permitted to reveal. “I am not surrendering my honor by agreeing to this truce,” he said. “Believe that, Ankarette Tryneowy. Regardless of what my brother has said or what the world thinks. When this scene on the bridge is over, I want you to return to Kingfountain at once and explain to my wife what happened. Tell her the story you told me.” He smirked. “She’ll be pleased to hear it, I think.”
“I will, my lord,” Ankarette said with a small bow.
He gave her a kindly smile, one that showed the depths of his appreciation for her rare and useful talents. “It’s time to begin the negotiations, per your strategy, Ankarette. Are you sure it is safe to go to the bridge?”
Ankarette smiled knowingly and said nothing.
Everyone in the camps on both sides of the river had their eyes fixed on the ruler of Kingfountain as he approached Montreux Bridge on foot with the nobles of his realm, all save his youngest brother, who was brooding in his tent. The small group was trailed by the Deconeus of Ely, who gently swung a smoking thurible, invoking the power and blessing of the Fountain on the proceedings.
Ankarette, her braided hair concealed in a cowl, waited amidst the soldiers near the shore of the river. As the soldiers shuffled forward to get a better view, Ankarette and the six heavily armed Espion with her mingled in their midst. The soldiers were the king’s guardsmen, but they were wearing the arrayment of common soldiers. A phalanx of pikemen formed a wall by the bridge, holding the crowd back.
The poisoner was close enough to hear the sound of boots as they tromped across the wooden slats of the bridge, held in place by stone girders. The bridge was not massive, probably only ten yards across, and—just as Alensson had forewarned her—two huge timber cages had been formed at either side to provide a physical barrier between the opponents. It was just as Alensson had forewarned. The illusion of safety.
The king wore his royal regalia and the hollow crown, and there was a sword belted to his girth. Beneath his robe, he wore his hauberk. Despite his age and a few bouts of ill health, he was still a formidable swordsman. The other lords looked oblivious to the danger they were facing, and Ankarette noticed the prideful smile on Dunsdworth’s face as he innocently walked toward what would have been his doom.
The deconeus came in behind them, swinging the thurible more gently, and then stood at the end of the gate as it was closed behind them.
There were voices up on the bridge, and Ankarette wished she were close enough to hear them. But she knew Tunmore would give her a full account later. With a gesture from one of the Espion, the phalanx of soldiers parted slightly, letting Ankarette and her men pass. Everyone’s attention was on the nobles assembled on the bridge, the King of Ceredigion and the King of Occitania meeting at last to arrange peace between their fractious lands.
The soldiers pivoted slightly, blocking the view as Ankarette and the Espion passed close to the edge of the river and started down the small embankment. She made a gesture and each of the Espion put a rag against his nose and mouth. She did the same.
They slipped beneath the bridge and moved amidst the reeds of the river. The Espion were equipped with long boots to endure the mud. One of them paused, examining the ground, then looked at her and nodded. Yes, he’d found boot prints in the mud revealing the trap laid for Eredur. A trap that was about to backfire.
The sound of muffled coughing came from the concealed wooden door at the base of the bridge. The men who had come to assassinate Eredur and his nobles were inside the hidden compartment. But Tunmore was standing on the trapdoor. And the poison from his thurible was sinking down into the hidden compartment with the incense smoke.
Ankarette motioned for the Espion to get ready.
The secret door shuddered open and men spilled out, their faces chalky and gray as they clawed at their throats, unable to breathe. Some fell face-first into the mud, twitching violently.
Another man came out, garbed all in black. Ankarette recognized him, looked into his panicked eyes as he struggled
to breathe through his constricted throat. This was the black knight who had killed Alensson.
He staggered to his knees in the mud, gazing piteously up at the queen’s poisoner. She gave him a knowing smile and watched him die.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Heir of La Marche
Ankarette longed to be back in the poisoner’s tower at Kingfountain palace. It was atop a winding stairwell in the highest spire. After hearing the story of the Maid of Donremy, she wanted to stitch a replica of the Maid’s banner, and while her deft fingers worked at needle and thread, she would ponder Alensson’s story and glean from it lessons that would help teach her wisdom. But before she could enjoy that peace, she had to report back to her queen.
The Queen of Ceredigion was a beautiful woman with a past so rich and secretive that few truly knew it. She was an adept practitioner of politics and had long learned that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. As Ankarette walked down the secret Espion tunnels hidden within the bowels of the palace, she thought of how time and chance made kings and queens of the most unlikely of people. The queen was the daughter of the Duke of Deford’s second wife. Some whispered that the queen was Fountain-blessed and had somehow used magic to seduce the king into loving her. It wasn’t true, of course. But not all power belonged to those who were Fountain-blessed.
The queen had given her husband a brood of handsome children. She would be pleased to learn that their eldest child, the girl Elyse, was now destined to be a queen herself—the Queen of Occitania. The treaty with Lewis would make Eredur and his queen perhaps the wealthiest monarchs in all the kingdoms. And yes, Ankarette had heard many mutterings about the shameful treaty and how it had blighted Eredur’s honor. But at least she knew the truth behind Eredur’s choice.
At the end of the corridor, the ceiling and walls pinched together into a dead-end, marking the secret entrance to the royal couple’s private bedchamber. She inspected the secret portal to make sure the queen was alone before she tapped on it and then triggered the release to open it.
“Ankarette!” the queen said with a delighted smile. She rose from her desk, where she had been answering correspondence. The two women embraced and the queen kissed her cheek. “Looks like you fought a rosebush, dearest,” the queen said. “I was worried about you.”
“You needn’t worry,” Ankarette said. “I am quite resourceful.”
“You are indeed,” the queen said, then took her by the arm and brought her to a wide bench where they could both sit. “I can tell you have news. I am eager to hear it! But you must tell me first. Did you have to kill the Duke of La Marche? I hope he didn’t cause these injuries.”
Ankarette shook her head. “No. He was kind and gentle, to be sure. These were incurred trying to help him escape. Unfortunately, he did not.”
The queen looked saddened. “I’ve always pitied him for some reason. Lewis should have executed him much earlier for all the treasons he committed, but he was one of the last nobles who truly believed in the principles of Virtus. He died childless. He had no heir. Did you know that?”
“I did, my lady,” Ankarette said. “You will be pleased to learn,” she said, holding back a smile, “before the herald arrives, that a treaty of peace was signed by your husband and King Lewis yesterday. There will not be a war.”
“Thank the Fountain!” the queen gushed in relief. “I’m sure Eredur is disappointed. He always loves a good duel to prove how strong he is. But to be honest, he is getting older. Our sons are so young; they need their father.”
“I agree, my lady.” Ankarette mentioned Severn’s reservations and recounted his admonition and warning.
The queen’s countenance darkened. “I fear that man,” she whispered. After a moment, her eyes brightened and she said, “Tell me about the duke. I’d like to hear his story.”
“I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
“You couldn’t find a more willing listener, Ankarette. Please, tell me all.” She clasped Ankarette’s hands and looked into her eyes. They were dear friends and had been for many years. Ankarette did not like to deny the queen, and she would have heeded her even if duty hadn’t demanded it. The solitude of the tower would have to be postponed.
And so Ankarette told her of her mission, but as she had done with Eredur, she held back some of the private details of Alensson’s life. It was as if she sensed the Fountain wanted her to keep them secret.
When she finally finished, Ankarette patted her hand. “Well, my lady. I am weary from the journey. I will leave you to your letters.”
“Yes, you may rest, but only for a little while,” the queen said, rising from the bench. “Speaking of letters, one came recently from the Duchess of Westmarch. Her pregnancy isn’t going very well.”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant again,” Ankarette said.
“She is,” the queen answered, returning to the table and searching for a letter amidst the heap. “Ah, here it is. Poor dear. She’s had several stillborn children already.”
The word struck Ankarette like a lightning bolt. She felt the Fountain’s magic start to stir inside her, coming unbidden. Her pulse raced unnaturally with a sort of giddiness.
“Yes, m-my lady?” Ankarette stammered, suddenly distraught.
“The babe is due this month. I’d like you to go to Tatton Hall, Ankarette. You are one of the best midwives in Ceredigion.”
“If you think so,” the poisoner said demurely.
“You are too modest. I would like you to go offer some comfort to the duchess. It may be another boy, after all, though they have two already. Their oldest will make a fine heir, but you can never guess at the future. I think it would ease her mind greatly if you were there to help in the birthing. Whatever is wrong, Ankarette? You look a little pale suddenly.”
“I’m just tired, my lady,” the queen’s poisoner said softly, thinking about the Maid’s prophecy.
The heir of La Marche would soon be born.
And Ankarette needed to be there.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
While I was in college studying medieval history, I read about the trial of Joan of Arc. That began my fascination with this episode of history. I later read a biography about her while writing The Blight of Muirwood, and was inspired by one of the characters in her story to create the Earl of Dieyre. I’ve since read Helen Castor’s excellent biography on Joan and watched her documentary about her as well as another excellent film done by BYUtv.
As I created the world of Kingfountain and wrote about its many Fountain-blessed individuals, I referenced the Maid of Donremy many times. This book is loosely based on the actual events of Joan of Arc’s life, some of which were so amazing and curious that it felt like reading fiction. She did jump out of the tower after first being imprisoned and landed in a dry moat. She directed people to uncover a sword in the monastery of Fierbois. But my favorite character is the Gentle Duke, whom I didn’t know about until reading Castor’s version Gentle Dukeof the events. So while The Maid’s War book is a work of fiction, many of the characters and details about the setting actually happened.
It was fun bringing Ankarette back as a character and tying this story in to The Queen’s Poisoner. I’ve also written this book to bridge the events between the first three books of the Kingfountain Series and the next three books. The story of Joan of Arc continues to inspire me, as it has for other authors and historians for centuries.
She is someone who helps us continue to believe in miracles.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photograph © Mica Sloan
Jeff took an early retirement from his career at Intel in 2014 to write full-time and is now a Wall Street Journal bestselling author. He is, most importantly, a husband and father, a devout member of his church, and is occasionally spotted roaming hills with oak trees and granite boulders in California or in any number of the state's majestic redwood groves. He is also the founder of Deep Magic: the E-zine of Clean Fantasy and Science Fiction (www.
deepmagic.co)