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

by Beth Brower

  “You’ve tried it before, yes,” Thistle Black said. “But not with rope steeped in South Mountain pitch.” He looked around the circle. “We can string this rope far, and it will catch fire, running all the way up the damaged tunnels if we’re careful how we thread it through. We have a way to finish this job, we just need the time.”

  “We have the rest of the day,” Aedon said. “Then first light tomorrow morning, to use the daylight pouring naturally into the shafts.”

  “Is there no way to work through the night?” Crispin asked, who had sat silent with Eleanor and the other councillors.

  The miners all laughed darkly.

  “Only if you want to blow yourself up,” Thistle Black replied.

  “Then, let’s get this job done,” Tomas nodded confidently. “We’ll need all the willing men experienced with handling the powder,” he said then turned to Thistle Black. “We will follow your lead.”

  The war council left Tomas and the miners to their long day of work and rode back to the army camp between the pass and the Maragaide valley. The camp consisted of just over three thousand soldiers. Crispin apprised them of the situation, of their race against time, warning the men to be ready for battle if needs be. The atmosphere was heavy and sober, and the rain, although reduced to a drizzle, did not help the morale.

  Doughlas was waiting there for Eleanor with three of her riders. “I’ve pulled together the fen riders,” he reported seriously, “and given them posts. Some are at the head of the pass; others, throughout the valley. We four will come with you through the tunnel to Colun Tir, so you’ll be able to get a message through the mountain as fast as humanly possible.”

  “Good,” Eleanor said, and she put her hand on his shoulder.

  Gaulter Alden, Aedon, and Eleanor prepared to leave for the tunnel of Colun Tir, along with fifty mounted cavalry that Crispin had handpicked. Crispin would wait in the valley, with the Aemogen army, ready to lead the soldiers should Eleanor’s plan fail. When Eleanor said good-bye to Crispin, they gripped one another like siblings, not daring to make promises that all would be well.

  ***

  Eleanor and her company left just after midday. The entrance was in the high woods beyond the Maragaide valley, several miles from the encampment. The ride was uncomfortable and hot now that the rain had stopped, the clouds breaking to let the late summer sun through. Eleanor’s Battle Crown bit into her head, pinned securely in place. They were all quiet, especially Aedon, and only the steady beats of hooves against the earth and the clanging of metal against itself could be heard.

  Doughlas led the company to the tunnel’s entrance, hidden behind a large outcropping of rock and the dense foliage of the foothills. There, Gaulter Alden set up several guards and one fen rider to wait for their return or be ready for any messages from the Colun Tir.

  After resting their horses and giving them a long drink in a stream near the entrance, Doughlas led them into the tunnel. Eleanor turned and looked at the green of the Aemogen woods before she disappeared into the darkness. A fen rider was leading Hegleh and Hastian’s horse behind them, for Hastian walked beside Eleanor, carrying a torch, his hand on her arm.

  “They will bring it down.” He cleared his throat after he said the words.

  Eleanor almost didn’t recognize his voice, for she never expected to hear it. “I believe they will, if only they can have enough time.”

  “From what I know of the Aemogen miners, they will do as you have asked,” he said.

  Eleanor glanced at his face. He was so much younger than she remembered. Perhaps Aedon’s age? Or a year or two younger? Being with Hastian was akin to breathing for Eleanor: always there, always sustaining, but when does one ever stop to consider it? She knew his presence far better than his face.

  “My father,” Hastian continued in an effort to explain, “was a miner at Quickly.”

  “I did not—” Eleanor began, feeling embarrassed. “I had not remembered that you were from Quickly.”

  Hastian nodded and spoke no more.

  With torches lit, the company moved forward. Fifty feet into the tunnel, a solid reinforced door was built into the stone. Eleanor’s father had replaced the door’s lock and hinges during his reign. Doughlas had the key and stepped forward, opening it, leading the company into the tunnel.

  “It’s a fairly even go,” Crispin instructed. “There’s a little up and a little down, but we’ve cleared and reinforced the sore spots. Don’t leave your mount and don’t shout,” he added. “In a few hundred yards, there will be more space to ride most of the way through.”

  ***

  Eleanor felt as if it should have taken longer, this journey through the mountain. The stories told of the endless darkness and the waiting, but the day had burned away despite the blackness of the journey. They were making good time, and Doughlas had placed several strips of yellow cloth to mark the path.

  “There are ten strips, evenly spaced, along the way,” he told them. “Count them as you go, and we’ll soon be at Colun Tir.”

  Gaulter Alden rode without complaint, but Eleanor knew that he was not well. The battle run had taken any reserves his body had carried. He hunched, looking uncomfortable in his saddle, counting the strips of cloth religiously, as if forgetting to take note of even one might send him back to the beginning, when he was so doggedly determined to reach the end.

  Halfway through, the company dismounted in one of the larger caverns. Bread and cheese were rationed out, and Eleanor settled herself next to Gaulter Alden, who had managed to find himself a dry place to sit, against the wall. They ate in silence. But, after he had eaten a small portion of his meal, he turned his head to Eleanor.

  “I have always desired to die in a place where Elaine could find me,” he said. Eleanor felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she placed a hand over his.

  “Are you unwell, Pappe?” she asked. It was a nickname she had given him when she was a young child and had thought Gaulter Alden was her grandfather. His face lit up in recognition of the name, and he moved his other hand to cover hers.

  “I am too old to learn a new career,” he said. “A war leader who has never killed a man?” He looked up and chuckled. “You must promise me to end this warfare soon enough. I have not the strength to see it through much longer.”

  “I should have made you stay behind,” Eleanor admitted. “But I’m glad to have you with me.”

  “I am glad you made no such request,” he said. “I am not certain if I would have had the courage to say no.”

  ***

  The woods were enveloped in night when they reached the western door of the tunnel. Scouts were sent out into the darkness. They returned within the hour, reporting that all was clear. Eleanor followed Aedon and Doughlas, slipping out a door set inside the mountain crag, where it would remain unseen from the woods. Night air filled her lungs, and she breathed deeply, a relief after the hours in the cave.

  Quietly, without torches, they picked their way down to Colun Tir. It was a beautiful fortress, resting but a few miles away from the Aemogen guard post at the mouth of the pass. The soldiers lived in comfortable accommodations below and used Colun Tir as storage more than anything. An old, overgrown road was all that connected the two.

  The stables lay near the back, unkempt, but usable. Eleanor checked to see that Hegleh was being looked after, and then she entered the fortress. They still did not light any torches, which would have been seen for miles in the Marion valley below. Open windows of hewn stone allowed a sliver of moonlight to guide Eleanor and her company.

  She walked through the main hall—the scuttle of mice underlining the darkness of the rooms—and went up a set of stairs, until she came out onto the large tower on the front of Colun Tir. Doughlas, Aedon, and a few others already stood at the battlements. When Eleanor came up behind them, she gasped.

  There, across the valley, settled upon a rise, like glittering ornaments, were hundreds if not thousands of fires. Men could b
e seen moving about; the faint sounds of horses, heard settling themselves. The metallic rattle gave every indication that a great host was preparing for war. All of the men on the tower turned to look at Eleanor as she pressed her hands against the stone of the battlements.

  “This only confirms what we’ve already known,” Eleanor said once she had found her voice, digging into whatever confidence she found there. “The miners won’t fail.”

  She could not see Aedon’s face in the darkness, but the way he shifted on his feet was signal enough: he too wanted to believe the miners would see it through.

  A messenger was sent down to the guard at the pass, seeking reports of the army that lay far afield. Thousands of cavalry, archers, and well-trained soldiers waited, feeling anxious and, most likely, bored. Eleanor listened without speaking then watched the far-off fires for hours. The night wore on, and she tried to sleep atop a few blankets and bags of half-used provisions, but any sleep that came was sheared off by vivid dreams, leaving Eleanor sitting up, her heart racing.

  She returned to the tower. Hastian roused himself and followed. Fewer fires burned in the silence that now pervaded the valley. Eleanor wrapped her cloak close around her and sat on the cold floor, leaning her head against the crumbled stone on the inside of the embrasure, watching the fires in the distance.

  Instead of standing back, like a shadow, Hastian again settled himself near the queen, his back against the wall, looking up into the sky rather than at the Imirillian encampment.

  “Tomorrow at this hour, we will know our fate,” Eleanor said to the quiet guard. “We will be safe back in Aemogen.” She had hoped these words would feel like a prophecy, rolling over her lips. But they didn’t settle; they didn’t feel certain. Aedon had once explained that an archer could feel the integrity of his arrow when it was released from his bow. She did not feel that surety when she thought of what lay ahead.

  “May I ask you a question, Your Majesty?” Hastian’s words were almost unintelligible.

  “Yes,” Eleanor replied, turning her head towards him, staring at the shadows of his face.

  “Do you think about Wil Traveler. I mean, the Imirillian prince?” Hastian asked.

  Eleanor pulled her arms tighter around her.

  “It’s only this,” Hastian continued. “I can’t reconcile the man in my mind. I feel divided about who he truly is.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve had the same thoughts.”

  Hastian stood, the moonlight catching the uncertain set of his mouth, and withdrew to the shadow of a nearby archway. Eleanor closed her eyes and focused on her breath leaving her lungs. She did think about Wil. The first thought in her mind, after she had seen the breadth of the Imirillian army, was to wonder where he was.

  ***

  All morning, Aedon stood with his head bent and arms crossed, watching his boots. Gaulter Alden sat watching the army organize across the plain. The guard at the pass had been called up, bringing their horses and supplies with them, leaving nothing behind. Eleanor was pacing, alternating between looking west towards the Imirillian army and looking south towards the pass. No sound of explosion had yet been heard.

  The soldiers in Eleanor’s company stood ready and anxious. Scouts came back from the woods about Colun Tir, reporting no unusual activity. The Imirillians did not know that they were there. Still, Eleanor’s lungs tightened every time someone came back up the road. She still wore her white dress but had removed the Battle Crown for the night. It remained with her cloak on a barrel in the storeroom where she’d slept.

  “Something must have gone wrong,” Gaulter Alden said, at length. “They should have lit the powder by now.”

  “It has only been light for a few hours,” Aedon said. “Give the men time.”

  “Whatever time we have to give, I’ll give gladly,” Gaulter Alden replied with an edge. Aedon glanced at the old man but said no more. Eleanor walked past them to the battlements. The preparations of the Imirillian army had begun at first light: men gathering into companies, horses readied, soldiers dressed in black and red. The army stretched wide across the valley floor. But, up until this moment, no movement suggesting battle had been seen.

  Then the chilling sound of a trumpet split the morning air. It was distinct and clear, and it called forth a dread so strong that Eleanor began to shake. A large rumble of voices came from across the valley and crashed into the mountain. Those at Colun Tir were silent. The Imirillian army was marching.

  Aedon exchanged a grim look with Eleanor and shook his head. He sent a soldier to ready the queen’s horse. “Only as a precaution,” he said firmly, when Eleanor offered him a sour expression.

  The army began moving across the plain towards the pass.

  “How long will it take them to arrive at the mountain?” Eleanor asked aloud.

  “Two hours,” Aedon guessed. “Or less. Those miners had better see this through, or all hell will be upon us. What a godless sound it is,” he finished, watching the army marching.

  As the slow wave of Imirillians advanced, Eleanor and her company waited for the explosion.

  It did not come.

  The morning shadows shortened, clinging tighter to the rocks and trees, and the heat of the day began to rise. Time was passing faster than Eleanor thought possible.

  “We have to stall,” Aedon said, his fists clenched.

  “Any ideas on how we can do that?” Eleanor asked as she looked around.

  “Surrender?” Gaulter Alden replied.

  They both twisted, looking back to where Gaulter Alden sat. “If we do not bring down the mountain,” he explained. “I can see no other way. If it’s not too late—”

  “They will bring down the mountain!” Aedon said as he rounded on the old man, his face set in anger. “The miners will see it done. Our job is to give them time.”

  Eleanor reached her hand out, gripping Aedon’s arm while her heart jumped. “Let them think we’ve surrendered.” She took a breath and looked Aedon square in the eyes. “We will send a dispatch to plead surrender. They will hold the leaders of the Imirillian army long enough for the miners to bring down the mountain.”

  “That could work,” Aedon said, covering his face with his hands momentarily. He sighed and looked back to Eleanor. “That could work. We must decide what soldiers to send, for they will not make it out alive.”

  This reality hit Eleanor like a stone. She stared from Aedon to Gaulter Alden.

  “I don’t—” she said. Eleanor’s mouth opened again. “How can I—?”

  Gaulter Alden lifted his stiff body, a mournful expression on his face. “I am your war leader, Your Majesty, no matter how deficient. I will select the soldiers.” He disappeared into the tower.

  Eleanor’s heart thudded as she followed him with her mind, down the stairs, into the courtyard. There would be the selection of soldiers, an order to bring their mounts, a somber explanation of what their queen was asking of them.

  “What have I done?” she whispered.

  “You’ve thought of a way to save your people,” Aedon said. His sharp voice held little comfort.

  Eleanor was glad she could not look at the four young men who now mounted their horses and rode away from Colun Tir, for she knew that she could not take the risk of recognizing their faces.

  As the sound of the small company’s hoofbeats faded over more and more distance, Eleanor rested her hands on the battlement and leaned forward, feeling sick. “The mountain must come down,” she repeated, over and over, until she realized she was only muttering, her lips moving, her fingers gripping the stone, as she waited for the explosions.

  Nothing.

  ***

  “There they are,” Aedon said, and Eleanor’s head shot up, her eyes searching over what she could see of the plain. The four soldiers had just broken the edge of the woods, moving towards the Imirillian army. They had hoisted an empty grain sack onto a pole, and Eleanor brought her hand to her mouth, watching as the soldiers rode with full speed tow
ards the army amassed before them.

  The morning sun glinted off their armor, their banner flung about in the wind as if it wanted to hurl itself away from the soldiers. The leaders of the Imirillians made a motion and, to Eleanor’s dismay, archers began shooting at the Aemogen emissary.

  An arrow hit the horse of the lead rider, and it collapsed, throwing the Aemogen soldier to the ground before rolling over him. The soldier lay still, unmoving, as more arrows flew, and two more riders fell to the earth. Another horse went down, then the third. The fourth soldier had turned and was running his horse back towards the pass, when an arrow caught him in the back. He arched, throwing his hands up, as he fell from his horse and crumbled to the ground.

  Behind her, Eleanor heard Hastian’s sharp intake of breath.

  The army began to move forward once more.

  Aedon met her eyes and then waited as Eleanor looked away from the soldiers, starring at the vast army on the plain. She tried to ignore all emotion, forcing the valley below to become a chessboard, and Eleanor tallied her pieces, thinking through what she must do, unwilling to sacrifice all of Aemogen because her spine was too caught up in her heart. She had her entire army, just up the pass, and many others waiting, helpless in the fens across Aemogen.

  “We will send another emissary,” she said. “If we do not hear an explosion, we will send another emissary and try again.”

  Aedon nodded.

  Time passed, and still no sound came down from the mountain.

  “Do the miners have instructions to see it done, regardless of what else happens?” Eleanor asked Aedon.

  “They won’t stop,” Aedon answered. “They’ll see it done, unless the Imirillians stop them first.”

  When the army was past the midpoint of the valley, Eleanor ordered the second emissary, only to watch as they suffered the same results: each soldier killed by an arrow before he could reach the Imirillian line.

  “What will make them stop!” Eleanor pounded her fist against the stone. “What can we do, Aedon?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Something that will surprise them, catch them off their guard.” Aedon began to pace, biting his fingernails. “We have, including the guard from the pass, close to one hundred soldiers. Could we draw the army aside, into the woods?”