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

by Beth Brower

  “They come with the hope they will never have to lift their swords, that Eleanor can save them,” she’d heard Aedon say to Wil as they watched the men of Aemogen arrive.

  If Wil had shown admirable leadership on the battle run, it was with even greater skill and direction that he now organized the camp. Eleanor received reports about Wil’s efforts. Spreading the camp across the Ainsley downs, he had guided Gaulter Alden and Crispin in the placement of arms, tents, and training grounds. The blacksmiths continued to work day and night, making weapons and armor and whatever horseshoes that Sean needed to prepare the cavalry.

  In between giving attention to Crispin’s exercises, Wil had worked with Aedon, training archers and overseeing the last of their arrow and bow production. She had noticed that their bond had solidified even stronger than Wil’s easy friendship with Crispin. As the days passed, Wil and Aedon were seldom without each other’s company, discussing, planning, and talking about life far beyond the threat of war. One night, a week before the march to the pass would begin, Eleanor called Aedon to her private quarters, and he sat next to her on the settee near the fire.

  “You and Wil have been much together these last weeks,” she said.

  “Yes.” Aedon played with a loose piece of braiding on the arm of the settee. “We have moved past our grudging friendship. In truth, I admire him immensely, and we’ve grown in confidence with each other.”

  Curious, Eleanor quizzed Aedon. “What is it you speak of?”

  Aedon lifted one shoulder and looked at Eleanor. “I suppose we speak mostly of our different experiences and of our views on life, philosophy, and the like,” he said. “He’s a good man, underneath all those edges and flares.”

  “Does he ever ask about our plan to bring down the pass?” she asked.

  “No,” Aedon said, sounding almost defensive on Wil’s behalf. “Quite the opposite. He eagerly avoids hearing anything of our plans. When a fen rider returns from the mines along the pass with a report, he disappears into camp.”

  Eleanor stood and began pacing the room. “I’m worried there’s something we haven’t considered in regards to bringing down the pass,” she said.

  “We’ve walked through our plan one hundred times over,” Aedon answered practically.

  “Then, indulge me once more,” Eleanor said, gesturing with her hand. “First, the old mines that run through the cliff walls above the pass are almost finished being cleared and prepared. And, ninety percent of all Aemogen’s powder has been moved to High Forest fen—”

  “Where it will be placed in the empty mines,” Aedon continued for her. “Within nine days, they will have finished placing the powder throughout the shafts.”

  “If everything goes well,” Eleanor nodded, “when we ignite the powder, it will cause the entire pass to crumble in on itself. It will be a full day before the Imirillians are set to invade.”

  “If everything goes well,” was all Aedon replied.

  “And Doughlas,” she added. “In his last report, he has assured me that the tunnel of Colun Tir is cleared and safe.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  The Colun Tir was an ancient Aemogen fortress on the west side of the mountain range that separated Aemogen and Marion. It was forgotten by most, for it had only been used to house supplies for the Aemogen guard, stationed at the pass a handful of miles away. What was not known by most was that during the last wars between Marion and Aemogen, one hundred years before, a tunnel had been constructed through the narrowest point of the mountain, leading from the Maragaide valley in Aemogen to the other side of the mountain, near the Colun Tir fortress, which looked over Marion.

  This tunnel had served to smuggle men, weapons, and supplies between Aemogen and Marion without being detected. Its creation had been a long and arduous endeavor, claiming the lives of many who had worked to build the structure. But, it had held firm and strong. Eleanor, like the monarchs before her, had kept its existence and location a secret, except from the few who were assigned to its maintenance, her most trusted councillors, and the fen riders.

  “We will go through the tunnel,” she reviewed aloud, “so that when the pass crumbles onto itself, we will be watching any movement of the Imirillian forces below the mountain, on the plain. Once we know that the Imirillians cannot come through, those of us at Colun Tir will return through the mountain tunnel, which will then be sealed off.”

  “If the tunnel should be sealed,” Aedon ventured.

  “Why would we keep it open?”

  “Our contacts in Marion,” he said.

  “I know, but—” she said, deciding to change the subject. “Your man supervising the preparations in the mines—Tomas is his name, I believe—should we review his report for the day?”

  Aedon looked at Eleanor with a funny expression. “We went over all of these details earlier today, Eleanor.”

  Taking exception to that comment, Eleanor responded tersely. “Are you accusing me of being too thorough? It’s a bit rich coming from you.”

  Aedon raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

  “I’m sorry,” Eleanor said, sitting down. “I’m sorry, Aedon. It’s just that—well, why couldn’t I have thought of it sooner? The pass could be down by now, with our men back at home, readying themselves for the harvest, and the Imirillians stuck on the other side of the mountains.”

  “It’s well you had the idea as early as you did,” he said. “Come.” He stood, catching Eleanor’s hand and leading her towards the door. “Enough with the din inside your head,” he added. “Our plan is well thought out. Lay your stress down for one hour while we go for a ride. You can see the encampment and fawn over Wil’s wartime brilliance.”

  “I have never fawned,” Eleanor disputed as he pushed her out the door.

  ***

  Their last week in Ainsley went by fast. The men claimed they were ready to fight, but Eleanor knew that all their hopes were for the success of her plan. As Aemogen’s tradition begged, they planned a large celebration—a dance—the night before the army would ride out to the pass. The thought of dancing did not bring Eleanor pleasure, but plans to gather marched forward regardless; her people believed in joy with their sorrow. Aside from the meetings of the council, where they did not discuss her plan, Eleanor had spoken with Wil only once during the week. She had come upon him in the Ainsley Gardens, now full of late summer color that only just hinted at an early fall.

  “The gardens are closed to visitors at present,” she said. She moved a basket, full of cut flowers, from one hand to her other as she stopped before him.

  Wil greeted her and then added, “I’d like to think the queen would offer me hospitality.”

  “Perhaps,” Eleanor said, looking up at his face. “I have not yet had a chance to thank you for speaking with Edythe. I don’t know what you said, but I believe it was helpful.”

  Wil didn’t look at Eleanor’s face. “It was an honor to help Edythe,” he responded. “And a pleasure to serve you while I still can.” When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed distant. “I must confess, I’ll miss Ainsley Rise. It’s a place that does have a sense of home about it, doesn’t it?”

  “As a small child, I was afraid of it,” Eleanor replied.

  “You supposed it was haunted with one of your Aemogen ghosts?” he guessed.

  “No.” Eleanor shook her head. “When I was younger I had nightmares the walls would fall and I would never be able to find my way back to my parents.”

  As if what she had said was curious, Wil stared a moment at Eleanor, looking like he wanted to speak but then thought better of the idea.

  “That was years ago,” Eleanor said, brushing it off lightly. “I’ve not had dreams of anything crumbling for some time. Now it is the dearest place in the world to me. I miss it terribly when I’m away.” She set her mouth in a line then asked, “And what of your home?”

  Wil’s eyes froze, his hand moving toward his heart before it turned into a fist
and dropped back to his side. “My relationships there are complicated, but—” Wil swallowed, “its beauty haunts nearly all my dreams, and waking is almost always a disappointment.”

  “Then, I hope you return again,” Eleanor said, after a pause.

  Wil would not look at her. “I should be getting back to the encampment.”

  “Yes.”

  He turned on his heel and left the garden. It was difficult for Eleanor to watch him, wondering if, when he left Aemogen altogether, he would be found in her dreams. Wondering if waking would be a disappointment.

  ***

  “Have you spoken much with Wil?” Edythe asked later.

  The question pulled Eleanor from her private thoughts, and she looked into the mirror, back at Edythe.

  “No,” Eleanor said. “We are both endlessly occupied in separate directions.” Edythe watched Eleanor with obvious concern. “What?” Eleanor asked.

  “Nothing,” Edythe said as she returned to the tuck she was altering in Eleanor’s gown for the dance. “The two of you have been so remote with each other, I was just wondering if you had quarreled.”

  Eleanor opened her mouth, but no words came out. She brought her hand up to her chest, where, beneath her dress, the golden pendant hung. “Of course we haven’t quarreled,” she said.

  “He watches you,” Edythe explained. “At every evening meal, when you’re busy speaking with those around you, he watches you.”

  “I, we—he doesn’t watch me,” Eleanor said, turning around in her chair to face Edythe. “He spends the entire time speaking with Aedon or you or Sean or whoever else is sitting beside him at the far end of the table.”

  “Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean—” Edythe began but stopped herself. “He looks at you,” Edythe insisted. Then she added more hesitantly, “The way Blaike watched me.”

  Eleanor felt struck. “Nobody has ever looked at anyone the way Blaike looked at you.”

  Her sister’s face paled, and Eleanor cursed herself for responding in such a way. Edythe pressed her pallid lips together and turned her attention back to Eleanor’s dress.

  In the silence, Eleanor looked at the ethereal white gown spread over her sisters lap.

  “I read,” Edythe had said a week ago, “that in the last battles, over one hundred years ago, the king rode out in all white as a symbol of his pure intent. And,” she had added, “so must you.” She had also insisted that Eleanor wear it at the dance.

  So, here they sat, in silence, while Edythe made a small adjustment, helping Eleanor dress for the night ahead.

  “I’m sorry, Edythe,” Eleanor said, moving her fingers along the chain that held Wil’s pendant.

  “No,” Edythe replied, pulling hard on the thread. “I only think at least one of us should have happiness.” She looked up. “Don’t you?”

  “And you think my happiness would be found with Wil?” Eleanor asked, not disbelieving her own words.

  “You would tell me that it’s a premature thought,” Edythe admitted as she gathered the dress in her hands and stood. “But, Eleanor, I know you as well as anyone, and he suits you so perfectly that I hardly thought it possible. Now, turn around, so I can help you into your dress.”

  Eleanor did as she was told, her cheeks so pink from embarrassment that Edythe actually laughed for the first time in weeks. Slipping her dress off, Edythe then helped Eleanor step into the white gown. If she noticed the chain Eleanor wore, she didn’t mention it. “You have complementary passions and humors,” Edythe continued, “different enough to balance one another—”

  “Or throttle one another.”

  “With—” Edythe continued, “enough similarities to understand where the other person is coming from.”

  “I don’t understand where he comes from at all,” Eleanor disagreed. “I know nothing of him. Well, that is not quite true, but your thought certainly is premature. And I, for one,” Eleanor added, taking a gold belt from Edythe and cinching it around the waist of the white gown, “have never entertained the idea—seriously. More importantly, he only committed himself for the battle run. He is not planning to stay in Aemogen.”

  “When is he leaving?” Edythe asked.

  Eleanor sat down, leaning her elbows against the dressing table before her, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. “I haven’t asked,” she admitted as Edythe began to pin Eleanor’s hair. “You think I should ask him to stay?” Eleanor looked at her sister’s reflection, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

  Edythe sat down beside Eleanor. “Do what you will,” she said. “But, ask yourself if, when he is gone, you’ll wish you had.”

  “I don’t know him, Edythe,” Eleanor said, voicing what she had thought multiple times. “Not who he really is. You can’t think I would ever put a foreigner on the throne without gaining the utmost confidence in his character and in his regard for Aemogen.”

  “Then, begin tonight.”

  ***

  It was a warm, almost humid late summer night, and Eleanor’s dress clung to her. She moved a strand of stray hair, which was stuck against her neck, back into place. Thayne appeared at her side. In just a few minutes, they would descend into the square.

  “It’s a heartbreak to see Edythe in black,” was all Thayne said.

  They’d all gathered: the people of Ainsley, the people of the northern most fens, and even many from the south. Thayne had returned again from Old Ainsley and would ride out with them in the morning. Eleanor asked if he would remain with her during the course of the evening. She amused him by claiming it was to keep her in line; she knew it was to underpin her courage.

  “I saw Wil Traveler today,” Thayne said, dropping his voice as he spoke, standing close to Eleanor. “He greeted me, but appeared extremely agitated.”

  “Did he?” Eleanor straightened the Battle Crown on her head, shifting it slightly for more comfort. “We’re all anxious for the coming days,” she said, giving a possible explanation.

  “Well,” Thayne said, looking up as the doors opened. “You look lovely, in any case.”

  Several layers of the ethereal fabric rested just above Eleanor’s feet, and the only adornments aside from the Battle Crown were the gold belt, tight about her waist, and Thayne’s diamond earrings, bright in the torchlight.

  The people were packed into Ceiliuradh. Night was hovering just outside the light of the square, and only a sliver of moon graced the dark sky. Musicians were tuning their instruments, torches were lit, banners lifted up. Sounding somber and hopeful, a cheer rushed towards Eleanor as they saw her on the stairs. She leaned on Thayne, her arm through his, and searched the faces below as they descended. Crispin stood, waiting at the bottom, ready to escort Eleanor to her makeshift throne, flanked with chairs for her council and the fen lords.

  He cleared the way before her. “They’ve all come, Eleanor, thousands of them,” Crispin yelled, over the noise, as he accompanied her to her throne. “Spilling down into the square in every direction,” he added. Eleanor stepped up and half turned, looking out at the endless mill of people before her. Crispin, when he saw Eleanor’s expression, rather unceremoniously kissed her on the cheek.

  “You know you’ve just started a legion of rumors.” Eleanor kissed Crispin in return before sending him out into the crowd. Thayne settled himself at Eleanor’s right, while Edythe sat still in the chair to her left.

  “Are you certain you want to lead out?” Eleanor asked her sister again.

  “Yes,” Edythe said. “I have my role to play, just as you have yours.”

  Eleanor swallowed and looked at the men and women taking their seats on the platform beside them—Gaulter Alden, Sean, Briant, and the fen lords—gathering and discussing. She caught Thistle Black’s eyes and gave him a somber nod.

  Aedon had just come down the stairs, documents in hand, of course, reviewing something and paying little attention to the scene around him. Eleanor smiled, and then her eyes rested on Danth, Adams’ son, the new fen
lord of Common Field. He was sweating and seemed nervous, pulling at his formal coat with uncertainty. Perhaps feeling her gaze, Danth glanced at Eleanor. She nodded, and he raised his eyebrows in return, shrugging and forcing an unhappy, half-hearted smile. Then Danth looked away, as if someone had called his name. A figure settled into the seat beside him, putting an arm around the young fen lord and bending in close to say something. It was Wil.

  He was wearing clothing Eleanor had not seen before, perhaps brought along in his saddlebags and never worn: black—always black—but it was a jacket with a high, stiff collar and buttons running up the front, perfectly tailored to his form. His breeches matched, and the boots he wore were also black, well treated, and crafted better than any leather Eleanor had seen before. He was beautiful. As Wil moved, responding to something Danth had said, Eleanor saw that the high collar was trimmed in patterns of gold.

  The music stopped, and the musicians, their instruments held at ready, turned to face Eleanor, waiting. Grabbing Edythe’s hand for just a moment, Eleanor stood, and the night was stripped of any noise.

  “A good evening to you all,” Eleanor said, speaking loudly, brushing her fingers along the wood of her chair’s arm for support. “As you know, tomorrow we will march down the pass in the hope our plan will succeed. We have prepared well, but I have also feared that we will not be enough on our own.” A ripple of voices went through the crowd.

  “I, as your queen, would call upon those ancestors who have lived in Aemogen, to be with us,” she continued. “I can only hope that they are aware. We also remember our fallen countrymen, our friends from Common Field,” Eleanor added, looking towards Danth. “And we dedicate our gathering this night to them.”

  She felt Thayne take her shaking hand in his as she looked out across the crowd of people. “I cannot say what the coming days will bring, but, I can tell you this: I have loved my service to you as your queen, and I continue to pledge my life to your well being. May we all return home to the safety of those we love. May we secure Aemogen.”

  Their voices called out with approbation, and Eleanor motioned towards the musicians.