by Jeff Wheeler
A confident smile stretched across Richard’s face. “As you command. But what about you?”
“There may be mastons in Schuyler’s army. A few, probably. I will stay in case they try to silence the Leerings. I think we all know we will fail if we do not hold Ludgate.”
Richard shook his head in wonder. “I do not think the Medium will let us fail. There is a certain feeling . . . yes, I do not think we need worry about failure.”
She felt the shuddering of the cobblestones beneath their feet. The men milling around the gate yard felt it too, and everyone began to turn. Jon Tayt gave her a crooked smile and drew two of his throwing axes, one for each hand. He looked . . . frightening . . . in the armor, helm, buckler, and blades. Without another word to anyone, he marched back toward the gatehouse.
Maia looked up and saw the front ranks of Schuyler’s army of thousands as it began to march toward Ludgate.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Remorse
A rough hand suddenly gripped Maia’s arm, and she looked down to see the lord mayor’s eyes gazing up at her. “Back to the castle, Your Majesty. You are vulnerable here. We will face this rabble.”
Maia shook her head sternly. “They will fight harder if I am here. Patience, Justin. The battle begins.”
He shook his head worriedly. “It may take them several days to breach Ludgate.” The street was full of men who were hastily donning armor and weapons, as well as members of the city watch, who were already prepared for the coming battle. Archers lined the battlement walls, waiting for orders to fire down at the crowd. Beyond the gates, Schuyler’s army was assembling, filling the air with their chants and cheers. The air was fraught with anticipation.
“When it begins,” Justin said with emotion, “it cannot be controlled. There will be death and blood on both sides, my lady. Go back to the castle! Captain Carew, help me persuade her!”
Maia watched as the captain’s stallion nudged its way through the floodwaters of people. His eyes glinted with dark emotion as he stared at the army massing beyond the wall. “He is right, Lady Maia. The streets will be difficult to cross, especially if the men flee.”
Maia shook her head. “It is you who do not understand.” She wished Richard was still with her, but she had sent him to summon the other mastons. “A moment longer, please. You will see.”
“A moment longer,” Carew said, “and someone may throw a rock at you and knock you from your horse. You just unleashed all the prisoners in Ludgate. Many are violent men who may not have fancied your pretty speech.”
It was getting more difficult to hear his words above the shouting. The prisoners-turned-soldiers were up near the front of the gate, jeering and yelling at Schuyler’s troops on the other side. Jon Tayt was among them, trying to keep them in check, but the situation was growing more and more precarious. There was wisdom in the idea of retreating to safety, but she could not abandon her people. She had seen bloodshed before. While it sickened her, she did not think it would overwhelm her.
“Lady Maia, please!” Justin implored.
“No,” she stated firmly. “The gatehouse has more protections than you know. I am here to invoke them. How much of the army do you think has arrived?”
Someone jostled her horse accidentally and the animal snorted and stomped. She nearly slipped off the saddle before she managed to right herself and calm her horse.
“Only the first half,” Carew said, gazing from his perch over the heads of the men. “They will not need the full force to—”
“It is enough then,” Maia said, interrupting him. “I am going to invoke the Leerings on the gatehouse. They are waiting to help us. The Medium is on our side, gentlemen.”
She closed her eyes, trying to drown out the ruckus closing in on her and calm her thoughts and mind. She felt the Leerings embedded in the gatehouse thrum to life. It was as if a deep horn blew from the midst of a vast lake, sending ripples throughout the water. The horn was not a physical sound . . . it was something that echoed inside her heart and throbbed within her bones. She felt it to her core. With her will, she directed the force of that power outside the gates, thrusting the power at Schuyler and his army. When she finally looked at them, the eyes of the Leerings burned white-hot with heat and intensity.
The chanting and jeering subsided immediately, as if a clap of thunder had come from a clear sky. Maia could tell that even her own soldiers felt the power of the Leerings, although it was not directed at them. They stood at the gate in mute wonder, weapons held at the ready, as they watched the impact on their adversaries.
The Leerings blasted into the thoughts of the opposing army, filling their minds with dread, fear, and hopelessness. There was confusion on the other side. Then the army started to peel away, shrinking and shriveling before the mental blasts like children afraid of the dark. One by one, the soldiers who had been rushing against the gates began to fall back, their eyes white with terror.
The soldiers loyal to Maia began to stomp their boots in unison. It started with a few men and then spread to others. Maia shut her eyes once more and gripped the reins of her horse, feeling the weight of controlling so many Leerings at once. But they continued to respond to her, obeying her summons to defend the city.
The tempo of the stomping increased. Then a chant began, voices low and rough but growing in volume and energy.
“Long live Queen Maia. Long live Queen Maia. Long live the queen!”
Soon everyone in the street with her was echoing the chant. She opened her eyes, feeling the edges of her vision blur under the force of the power she was channeling. Pressure built in her skull. It felt as if a mountain were perched on her shoulders, but somehow she had the strength to keep it there.
She glanced down at her defenders, at their beards and scars, their crisp dark uniforms and tattered rags. It was a motley force, but she felt their willingness and enthusiasm.
There was shouting at the gates. The opposing force continued to melt away before their eyes, but the men who were trying to flee were blocked by the men arriving. It was a jumbled mess of limbs. Through it all, the Leerings from the gatehouse continued to blast their chords of fear into their minds.
The shouted words began to register, and Maia realized the speaker was Kord Schuyler himself, mounted on horseback. “It is only a trick!” he shouted at his soldiers with obvious fury. “Back, I say! Back to the gate! There is nothing to fear!”
Maia could barely make him out, but she could see well enough to know his army was disintegrating before his eyes. A sudden burst of hope swelled in her breast. They were outnumbered fifteen to one. Yet Schuyler’s army was fleeing before the first blows had even been struck. Perhaps it would be possible to weather this storm without blood pouring into the streets.
“Back, you cowards!” Schuyler screamed. “It is your minds that are weak! Fight! You must fight! Kranmir! Kranmir! Where are you! Do something!”
Maia felt a gentle push against her will. Another mind was trying to silence the Leerings. She felt the weight of the opposition, but that opposition could neither sway her, nor force her to release her dominion.
I will not yield, Ely Kranmir, Maia thought angrily. You must bend me. If you can.
She could sense slivers of Kranmir’s thoughts in the bursts of effort he sent toward the Leerings. But it was like a child pushing against an adult’s hands. Kranmir, with all his years and experience, could do nothing to make the Leerings obey. The Medium would not heed him. It would give him no notice whatsoever. She felt his heart quail with dread as he realized she was not forcing the Medium through a kystrel. She had submitted to its will, and it opposed Schuyler and his army. It opposed Kranmir. She felt his mind buckle under the terrible realization.
The pressure stopped abruptly as Kranmir yielded to the impulse to flee. In her mind, she could see him whipping his horse, nearly trampling the soldiers around him as he tried to escape.
Maia fixed her gaze on Schuyler through the gates. “Lord Mayor!�
�� she called out in a booming voice. “Order the watch to open the gates. After them! Do not let the leaders escape!”
Justin’s eyes blazed with triumph. He could feel the victory in the air, even though a single blow had not been struck. With a whoop of delight, he shouted to his captain to fulfill the order. A hurrah broke through the chanting, and the hinges and chains of the portcullis began to groan. The men strained with impatience, especially the newly released prisoners.
Maia watched Kord Schuyler wheel his horse around as the gates opened. As soon as the jagged teeth of the portcullis had lifted enough to provide them with an exit, a flood of prisoners and watchmen spilled into the street.
Schuyler slapped his stallion’s flanks and joined the ranks of his fleeing men.
Before the day was done, the people had named it the Battle of Ludgate. Stories spread through the city like wildfire, each telling more exaggerated than the first. Maia had to wonder what the wise Maderos would write in his tome about it—she herself had already heard a half dozen conflicting tales. She sat in the same main audience hall in the castle—the very same cavernous space where she had sat restlessly through her coronation dinner not long before. A constant influx of soldiers and guests arrived at the hall throughout the day to pay homage and respect to her as their queen.
By midafternoon, Dodd arrived with his army, having pressed them hard enough to cover ground faster than the wind. They reached Comoros just in time to see Schuyler’s army disperse and to capture the opposing force’s fleeing leaders. Dodd found himself surrounded by men once loyal to his father, who begged him to pardon their offenses and accept their undying loyalty. His army tripled in size amidst the chaos.
Maia set down her goblet and watched as Suzenne and Dodd, seated to one side of her, stole a lingering kiss. Though she was happy to see her friends reunited, their simple display of affection loosed a twinge of bitterness in her heart. She would never be able to kiss Collier that way. Her curse prevented it.
The city was ebullient with the unexpectedly quick and relatively bloodless victory, which was unprecedented in the kingdom. Only eighty men had died in the melee, seventy-five of them from Schuyler’s side . . . and a third of those slain by Jon Tayt alone. The freed prisoners had followed Jon Tayt into the thickest ranks of their foes and bludgeoned the fleeing soldiers into submission. The city watch had used their knowledge of the streets to hem in the escaping men. Soldiers had quickly stripped away their tunics and tried to disguise themselves, but the locals all knew each other, so the defecting soldiers found no shelter amid the populace.
Kord Schuyler had been found with a bruise on his head, wandering aimlessly in a nearby street outside a brewery. He had been brought in chains to Pent Tower. The leaders had all been seized—not a single one had escaped into the woods. The enemy soldiers, upon hearing Maia’s orders to seize the ringleaders, had turned on their masters and voluntarily brought them to the watch.
Aldermaston Kranmir had been caught as well and suffered a similar fate, and though Maia intended to let her grandmother devise his punishment, she asked that he be brought to her.
Sitting in her audience chamber, on the throne, Maia watched as Kranmir was delivered in chains. His gray cassock was smeared with mud, and without his mushroom-shaped hat, his dark hair was disheveled. There was a puffiness around his eyes, a pallor to his cheeks, but his lips still quivered with defiance and hatred as he gazed up at her. One of the soldiers who escorted him looked affronted that he did not kneel, and nudged the back of his legs with a poleaxe.
“Do not force him,” Maia said, giving the soldier a subtle shake of her head. She fixed her eyes on Ely Kranmir and waited for him to speak.
Richard approached the throne from the nearby bench, arms clasped behind his back. He looked stern but not angry. He positioned himself close to Maia, as if he were ready to personally defend her from an attack.
“What would you have me say?” Kranmir asked in a challenging tone.
“Only the truth,” Maia answered. She could sense the conversation would not go well. She had hoped to find him repentant.
“The truth,” Kranmir said with a half chuckle. “Oh, I speak the truth. I am an Aldermaston after all. And I wear chains.” He rattled them mockingly. “You have authority, Lady Maia, but you are not my queen.”
Richard took a step forward. “Do you intend to continue speaking out against Her Majesty’s right to the throne?” he asked in a formal, neutral tone. There was no hint of anger or resentment at all in his countenance. “I have had reports already that you have not been silent about your perceived injustices.”
“Perceived, Richard? Perceived? My domain has been stripped from me. I have been hunted by the royal wolves and treated with indignities unbecoming of my station. But so suffered the martyrs of the past as well. Yes, Richard. I am an Aldermaston, and I will continue to speak the truth about what this girl really is. I will tell the world what I have seen with my own eyes! You are the imposter, Richard. You are her pawn. I pity you. There will come a day when everyone will know that Comoros’s queen is nothing but a—”
“Be silent,” Richard commanded in a firm, powerful voice. “By the Medium, I revoke your power of speech. I strike you with palsy in your hands. You will neither utter nor write another word until your heart is sufficiently humbled. You have forsaken the ways of the Medium, Ely. Her Majesty has decided that the true High Seer will oversee your punishment. Take him away.” He gestured to the guards.
Maia watched as Kranmir’s eyes widened with shock and terror. His jaw moved, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. A rattling noise followed, and she watched his hands begin to tremble uncontrollably. She turned to Richard, whose face was firm and unyielding, yet free of any rage. He gestured for the guards, and one of them grabbed Kranmir by the arm and escorted him from the audience hall.
“Richard,” Maia whispered in awe.
He looked at her mildly and shook his head. “It was not my will, Your Majesty. Even the Medium grew weary of his disrespect.”
Later that evening, Maia rubbed her finger along the rim of her goblet, feeling a sense of peace and wonder. Another disaster had been averted. Another danger faced and met. As she watched her friends and supporters mingle in the hall, she thought of the armada that was even now on its way to Comoros. Knowing about Ludgate’s defenses had helped her preserve the city. But she knew she could not count on them against the Dochte Mandar. Even with all her strength, she knew she could not overcome the combined will of so many men empowered with kystrels. While those around her were celebrating her triumph over her foes, she could only brood about the worse danger that was still coming.
Suzenne touched her arm. She had not seen her friend approach. “Look, Maia,” she whispered.
Maia turned and gazed at the men who approached her seat. Richard Syon was escorting the Earl of Caspur, whose head was hung low with apparent shame. His hands were worrying each other and were not in chains, which surprised her. Each of the others had been brought forward in shackles before being escorted to the dungeons of Pent Tower. She noticed the difference and gave Richard a curious look. Rather than reply, Richard gestured for Caspur to speak.
Never had she seen him appear so pitiful. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what he could have to say. Dodd coughed into his fist and leaned forward for a better look.
Caspur struggled to find his voice. She could see the wretchedness on his face, the misery. The humiliation. She waited patiently.
“Your . . . Your Majesty,” Caspur said chokingly. He struggled to master himself. Menacing and hateful looks narrowed in on him from around the room. He was a proud man, and his arrogance had alienated many. His courage quailed, but he persisted. “I . . . I know you will not . . . likely believe me. And if you send me to Pent Tower . . . I will accept it. But I wanted you . . . nay . . . I needed you to know that although I disobeyed you”—he paused again, struggling to contain his surging emotions—“I am not a traito
r . . . as you may suppose me to be.” His hands formed into fists, the knuckles white, the tendons straining.
“Tell me why not,” Maia said calmly, giving him an encouraging look and a gesture to continue.
He glanced at her, seeming to be stung by her open look, and lowered his gaze again. His hands were all knotted up. “I disobeyed you. I thought . . . I thought your decision foolish and . . . too risky. I wanted to prove myself to you. I wanted . . . desperately . . . for you to value me and my counsel. I . . . my lady . . . I went to face Kord Schuyler to defeat him, not to join him.” His voice gathered strength. “When our armies were nigh each other . . . his captains seduced mine. He offered them rewards I could not match, and the men defected against my orders. I fled to warn you, but I was captured. When you routed them this . . . this very morning . . . I was able to escape and make my way back to the city. I met with your lady . . . Lady Suzenne . . . at the gate. She heard me plead my case and sent for the chancellor.”
With trembling knees, the Earl of Caspur knelt before her chair. “I beg your forgiveness for my pride.” Tears trickled down his wrinkled cheeks. “I deserve your punishment. I submit to it with no conditions. My actions can clearly be construed as treason. I swear to you . . . on the soul of my father . . . that I never intended to betray you. I disobeyed you, for which I am truly and deeply sorrowful. Had I heeded you, there would not have been such a panic . . . in your household . . . and I regret that most ardently. I await your judgment and beg your compassion.” He bowed his head before her.
Maia’s heart was moved at his speech. Could he be dissembling? Possibly. But he looked so beaten down, so humiliated, so sincere. She surmised that Richard trusted his repentance was genuine, else the earl would have been brought before her in chains. Suzenne had not forewarned her of this, for whatever reason. She glanced at her friend, and from the look of sympathy on her face, Maia could tell that she too believed Caspur’s tale.