The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1)

by Beth Brower

  “Have you traveled?” Wil asked, surprised. He ran his eyes over Haide again. “Most don’t leave their fen, let alone Aemogen.”

  Haide raised his eyebrows in agreement. “I’m a cobbler, a shoemaker,” he said. “To you, it sounds simple, I see. But, I am good at what I do. You might even say that my wares are popular. I travel the fens every year, twice going into Marion. As a younger man, unmarried with the world before me, I traveled all the countries of the West before settling home again.”

  “And you chose Aemogen?”

  Haide grinned. “I chose Aurrey. Aemogen came with her.”

  Wil laughed. As if on cue, Aurrey came in through the doorway. “The children are off down playing games,” she said. “They’ll be a fright come bedtime. What are you both grinning at?” she asked, glaring at Haide.

  “My reason for staying,” Haide replied.

  “I’ll be your reason for going if you don’t stay in line.” She gathered some mending from a basket and settled down near her husband. “Tell us of the battle run, Wil. I’ve collected all the stories to be found in Ainsley,” she explained. “But my, is what they say of South Mountain fen true? Tell us from your own eyes.”

  Wil told the tale, and as he spoke of Thistle Black, finally giving his allegiance, she laughed.

  “Never met the man,” she said, “but, he seems to be filled with his own self, now doesn’t he?”

  “Queen Eleanor did well,” Haide approved. “But, it’s wise she does not treat the other fens so.”

  “Why ever not?” Wil asked as he glanced out the open doorway. It was full dark, and the sounds of children could be heard down the street.

  “I’ll say it this way,” Haide said, gesturing with his hands. “My mother—”

  “Oh!” Aurrey rolled her eyes. “Why we have to talk about your mother, I’ll never know.”

  Haide chuckled. “When my mother comes by the house, she calls Aurrey out on things fast, and Aurrey bristles. But, sometimes when she comes and praises Aurrey for what she’s done, my wife is suddenly glad that I’ve a mother, and before the day’s out, is asking her for advice.”

  “True enough,” Aurrey conceded.

  “That is the nature of the Aemogen people,” Haide continued. “It always has been. We don’t do well with forced criticism, or by having someone impose themselves on us. But, if given the space, we will choose loyalty and be grateful too. Our monarchs have done well because they understand our temperament.”

  “What is she like?” Aurrey asked, interrupting Haide.

  “Who? The queen?” Wil frowned.

  Aurrey blushed. “It’s only that people are saying the two of you are familiar,” she said. “And, I’ve never spoken with her myself.”

  It was uncomfortable for Wil to answer this question. Or, perhaps, it was the implication of the question. He looked again towards the door then back at the floor.

  “The man doesn’t want to answer the question, Aurrey,” Haide said. “Let him be.”

  “I don’t mind telling what I think the queen to be like.” Wil pulled his mouth to the side for just a moment before continuing. “I find her very thoughtful, determined, patient, and more intense than one would think, but she controls it so well that one would hardly know. Though, I believe I have learned something of her here, tonight, I had not understood previously.”

  To Wil’s relief, Haide picked up the question. “Last year, I was traveling between fens and found myself on the same road with Councillor Aedon. I asked him about the queen and what she was like. He thought awhile and said, ‘She carries ten thoughts in her head at all times but will only give you two of them. The rest you must discover.’”

  Wil smiled.

  The evening soon ended, with Aurrey gathering her children in for bed and Haide offering to make Wil a new pair of boots.

  “The front of my shop lets out on the street behind,” Haide explained. “Come by anytime you can. I don’t know how long I will keep it open if it’s come to war.”

  They parted with a handshake and friendly words before Wil stepped into the darkness. He thought about what Haide had said, about the people and their relationship with Eleanor. Wil liked Haide: a sound man, articulate in his opinion whether Wil agreed with him or not.

  For a moment, as Wil walked up towards Ainsley Rise in the dark, he envisioned Haide, sword in hand, being swallowed up by the Imirillian army that waited at the pass and left for dead. The young prince leaned in the shadows against a wall, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, his hands shaking. I must distance myself from these people, he thought. All of them.

  ***

  Torches lit the south Ainsley stairs, and Wil took them two at a time, slipping into the castle gates, just before they were to close for the night. He was turning left, towards the travelers’ house, when one of Crispin’s solders grabbed his arm.

  “Have you heard, Wil?” the soldier said.

  Wil flinched. “What?” he asked as he took a step back.

  “The meetings between the queen and the fen lords are over,” he said. “It’s come to an end.”

  “And what have they decided?” Wil asked.

  “Aemogen fights.”

  Wil swore and, without taking his leave, changed the course of his direction and went straight into the castle. Fen lords were walking down the corridors, greeting Wil, discussing amongst themselves, but they weren’t coming from the direction of the throne room.

  “Miya!” Wil grabbed the maid’s arm as she passed him in the crowded hall. “The queen and the others, did they not meet in the throne room?”

  “No,” she said as she shook her head. “This evening, they met in the library.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Wil took the flight of stairs that led to the east wing of the second floor, passing Thayne with scarcely more than a nod as he hurried by. The door was ajar, so Wil pushed it open.

  “Wil!” Crispin said. He and Aedon were standing just inside the door, talking, and Wil had almost knocked them over.

  “Crispin,” Wil nodded, just out of breath. “Aedon, is Eleanor here?”

  “Yes,” Aedon answered.

  They stepped aside, and Wil saw Eleanor, sitting at the end of the long table, speaking in low tones with Gaulter Alden and Sean. Doughlas and Briant were talking with one another at the other end of the table. Eleanor looked towards the door, and her eyes locked on Wil’s.

  “They said you’re going to fight,” he said, his voice loud enough that all sound in the room stopped.

  Eleanor continued to stare at Wil, unblinking.

  He took a step towards her, his hands spread out, baffled. “Your only chance of survival is immediate surrender,” he said. “You know there aren’t enough men in Aemogen to battle! What did you tell them, the fen lords, to make them think this was possible? Eleanor?”

  There was no audible response from anyone; quiet filled the room. Aedon closed the door behind Wil and followed Crispin back to the table, where they sat down with the rest of the war council. Doughlas and Crispin exchanged a look, seeming uncomfortable, but Eleanor remained still, a thought lingering behind her eyes that Wil couldn’t decipher.

  “You don’t have enough men to sustain a position of any kind against the Imirillian army,” he said. “There will be thousands of soldiers down that mountain pass. Aedon is right when he estimates that Aemogen has, perhaps, three thousand men. And what, with only two hundred of them trained soldiers? Your best chance is one man against two, and each of those Imirillians will be a battle-hardened professional. They are neither farmers nor merchants nor miners. Accept the terms of surrender, and save your people!” Wil pled with the council.

  “We will not surrender our sovereignty,” Eleanor replied. “I am afraid that I cannot give on that point. So, we must find ways to increase our chances of fending off the Imirillian forces.”

  “Eleanor, it’s impossible,” Wil said desperately. “Don’t you see?”

  “We will not surrender,” Ga
ulter Alden said, sounding steady and sure. “We will work with the resources we have. Our men are far more ready than they ever have been and will be even more so after they have spent a few more weeks in Ainsley before marching to the pass.”

  “Aemogen can still exist as an independent nation, Wil,” Aedon said next. “We simply have to make that happen.”

  Wil wanted to pull his hair out. He settled, instead, for pacing, crossing his arms over his chest, biting nervously at his thumbnail, and muttering. “This is madness,” he said as he turned, almost laughing from frustration. “Do you hear yourselves? You’re delusional, all of you! You cannot win! Every man that you send to war will die, and then, so will you, Eleanor.” Wil turned towards her, his voice growing strained. “They will kill you as an example to the people,” he explained. “You will die. Is there nothing that I can say to make you understand? I have seen wars all over the North. What waits at your door is like nothing you in Aemogen have ever imagined.”

  “The Imirillian army will march up the pass in a month’s time,” Wil continued, walking forward and leaning against the table, his hands spread out. He stared at the face of every person sitting silently at the table, before pleading again with Eleanor. “And, unless you can bring down the very mountains to block the pass, nothing will stop them!” Wil hit the table with his fist and stepped back, perspiring.

  Eleanor looked to Gaulter Alden and then to Aedon. Crispin cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the table. Sean scratched the scruff on his chin and whispered something to Doughlas.

  “What?” Wil said, his question sounding flat as he stood with his hands on his hips. “I can see that all of you have something that you’re not telling me.” Suddenly, Wil registered a thought, an impossibly wild and improbable thought. He looked at Eleanor, who stared at him evenly, looking unapologetic.

  “You are going to bring down the mountain,” he said.

  ***

  Eleanor watched Wil as he almost stumbled back, stunned. His eyes traveled around the war council, all of who knew of Eleanor’s plan—all but Wil. Eleanor rubbed her finger against the wood of the table as he continued speaking.

  “You’re going to bring down the mountain,” he said again. “That is your plan? You have a way to close off the pass so that the damned could not enter, let alone the Imirillians.” Wil laughed, but it did not sound entirely sane, and his voice broke. “The battle run was more of a ruse than anything. I have been agonizing all summer, almost sick, to think of your people slain—” He laughed again, harsher. “And you have been planning on bringing down the mountain all along.”

  “The battle run was not a ruse, Wil,” Eleanor said, quietly. “We needed to know how many men we had, to train them, and to prepare them for any eventuality. It may not work, despite our careful planning. And, the idea only came to me when we were in Rye Field fen,” she explained. “From one of the texts we had translated, actually, the one about being unable to fight against the mountains.”

  Wil laughed again as Eleanor continued. “There are old mines, riddling the mountains above the pass,” she said. “But, significant repair work has been needed—”

  “Please.” Wil held up his hands. “Don’t tell me anymore.” He seemed shaken, but his eyes were less haunted when he finally looked at Eleanor again. “I’m greatly relieved that you have a means of defending yourself. But, please, spare me talk of any details. It’s something that I do not desire to know. Please, excuse me, Eleanor.” Wil took another step back before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wil spent the following morning training with Hastian. The Queen’s Own had sought Wil out, asking for individual training, and Wil was happy to oblige the quiet soldier.

  Frustrated and relieved from the evening before, Wil was relentless in his aggression. Hastian tried his best, but he could not fend off Wil’s attacks. Only after Hastian held up his hand, begging for breath, did Wil allow the soldier time to regroup.

  “You are the last defense between any threat and the queen,” Wil said, sounding impatient even to his own ears. “I cannot be soft with you.”

  Hastian breathed in deeply, kneeling on one knee, looking at the ground. Wil’s thoughts turned to the meeting of the night before, wondering if their scheme was truly even possible.

  “I’m ready, Wil,” he said.

  “Alright, then.” Wil did not come at Hastian again in straight combat. Rather, he took time to work with the soldier on small details that would improve his efficacy. “Hold your sword like this if someone is coming straight at you,” Wil said, demonstrating. “It will allow you to cut both under and above as needed. Here, like this.”

  Wil stopped their spar to arrange Hastian’s hands. “I know it doesn’t feel like much, but it will make a difference when using this particular attack. Ready?” Wil swung his sword in a steady rhythm, counting out loud, reminding Hastian of the best ways to defend his skilled blows. They worked through the exercise several times, before Wil began to build up speed and let himself fight more forcefully. To his surprise, Hastian not only kept up but also improvised, which showed he had been practicing what he had observed during the battle run.

  A brief flicker of Eleanor’s determined words from the night before split Wil’s attention, and, suddenly, Wil found himself on the ground, dazed, looking up at a triumphant Hastian.

  Cheers and good-natured insults came from the men watching nearby. It was the first time that he had been knocked down in Aemogen. As Wil sucked the air back into his lungs, Hastian offered him his hand and pulled Wil up from the ground. Wil took another breath and clapped Hastian on the shoulder.

  “You caught me completely unaware,” he admitted. “Bravo.”

  “To be honest with you,” Hastian said, indulging in a modest smile, “I could see that your mind was elsewhere and figured that I would take advantage of the only time I could get you to the ground.”

  “Quite right. As you should have.” Wil brushed the dust from his clothes. “Enough for today, I think, Hastian. We’ll do more training tomorrow.” Wil sheathed his sword. “No doubt, I’ll be a bit stiff.”

  Hastian met Wil’s eyes, the modest, self-congratulatory satisfaction still in his face, before he turned away, accepting the praise of the castle guard. A messenger boy came running to Wil as he was leaving the training ground, a note in his hands. Wil took the folded paper, rubbing it almost absentmindedly between his fingers. Once he was alone, leaning against the wall of a supply shed, he opened it between two of his fingers, staring at the words before him.

  She had written in Imirillian.

  “All the sands of Imirillia—” he breathed out. It was not in the formal Imirillian, used for philosophical and scholarly texts, with its stiff articles and rules, but rather the personal form, which is only used between friends or family or in a few conversations inside the Seven Scrolls. It moved him in that cursed way, where someone touches the center of your heart, not even knowing quite what they have done.

  The note said that Eleanor wanted him to speak with Edythe, and her request was accompanied by a brief explanation and then by these words: “I realize you would prefer that I did not ask this of you, but I believe it would be of help. Thank you, Wil. Ever, Eleanor.”

  He disappeared into the travelers’ house, where he washed, changed his clothing, and reread Eleanor’s note, moving his thumb over her name, before leaving the note lying on the bedside table.

  ***

  “My sister said that you were the one who found Blaike’s body,” Edythe said pleasantly, as if she were asking about something Wil had found at a fair.

  Wil sat on a chair, facing Edythe. He held both her hands in his, her knuckles white for how hard she held onto him. He had found her in the records hall, as he knew he would. Sunlight streamed throughout the hall, playing off the colors of the stained glass. The smells of paper and leather permeated the air. And her hands reminded him of Eleanor’s.

&n
bsp; “Yes.” Wil gave an empty nod. “I did find his body.”

  Hesitating only a moment, Edythe responded. “Tell me what you saw, all the details. I want to know what I can of his death.”

  The image of Blaike’s ghost-like face, stilled and frozen, crowded into Wil’s mind. He looked reluctantly at Edythe.

  “Are you quite certain?” Wil asked.

  She nodded.

  “I found his body near the seed hold in the far field,” he said, continuing to hold Edythe’s hands between his, focusing on them and not looking at her face. “It appeared he had been run down by a horseman who’d had a sword or a scimitar,” he explained, pausing before continuing. “His stomach had been cut open, and then he had been stabbed through the ribs. I found him laying on his back, his hand covering his wounds, staring at the sky.”

  Edythe did not move for a long time, clasping Wil’s hands, her head bent. Enough time passed for the shadows to rearrange themselves in the room. When Edythe did finally speak, her voice was soft.

  “What was the look on his face?” she asked. “Was it only agony or was there any hope of peace?”

  “I don’t think he had much time for either,” Wil admitted. “The second strike would have made his a relatively quick death.” Then Wil changed the tone of his voice. “He spoke of you often, during the first time we arrived in Common Field. There was nothing he said that did not commend you in some respect: for your charm, your constancy, or your beauty. It was all I could do to not hear him continually say how much he wanted you to be his wife.”

  It was now that Edythe pulled back, as if her hands were stung by these words.

  “Thank you, Wil,” she said, “but, I do not wish to speak of what will never be.”

  ***

  Eleanor called all men to Ainsley, and the fen companies arrived within the week. They came somber and uncertain, thinking, she assumed, of their lands and families back home. Rumors of her plan had circulated, but only those directly involved were privy to the details.