The Promised Lie

by Christopher Nuttall

  “That would be suitable, for the moment,” Lord Robin said. “However, we were hired to serve as scouts.”

  “Rest assured, you’ll have your chance,” Reginald told him. He looked at the woman. “I have a handful of magic-users in camp and some more on the way. Will you supervise them?”

  “If that is what you want,” the sorceress said. “Although we do have to discuss payment.”

  “Of course,” Reginald said. He smiled, thinly. “If we win, lands on the Summer Isle.”

  They haggled backwards and forwards for a long moment. Reginald found himself enjoying it, even though Lord Robin was clearly an experienced negotiator. He’d be loyal too, Reginald thought, as long as he was being paid. The promise of lands of his own – even lands on the Summer Isle – would be enough, at least for the moment. A natural-born son – and Reginald made a mental note to look up who’d fathered Lord Robin – would be set up for life.

  And being part of my household would put him at the top, when I take the throne, Reginald thought. He had no particular objection to working with a bastard. No doubt Lord William would complain, when he got over the shock of being a frog. But Reginald found it hard to care. As long as Robin remains loyal, I’ll support him.

  He cocked his head when the haggling finally came to an end. “Do you know anything about magic on the Summer Isle?”

  The woman’s face went blank, just for a moment. “Very little,” she said, finally. “I know of no magicians who came from the island. If there are magic-users over there, they’re keeping themselves well-hidden.”

  Reginald frowned. She knew something. Or at least she thought she knew something. But what?

  “We’ll find out soon,” he said. “My equerry will arrange rooms for you in the castle. You’ll both be invited to my councils, starting tomorrow.”

  “I have to see to my men,” Lord Robin said. “But afterwards, I will be at your disposal.”

  “Very good,” Reginald said. “I thank you.”

  He watched the odd couple leave, then turned to Lord William. “I trust that wasn’t too terrifying?”

  Lord William was still shaking. “That ... that ...”

  Reginald hid a smile. Giving Lord Robin – and his sorceress – a job had many advantages, not least that it would annoy the older man. It wasn’t the one he’d tell his father, if King Romulus asked, but it was definitely the one he’d keep foremost in his own mind. And besides, he’d be able to hold the whole frog episode over Lord William’s head for the rest of his life.

  “I’m sure she’ll work out fine,” he said. “Just think of how quickly meetings will go if she does that to everyone.”

  “She’ll feed you love potion,” Lord William managed. “Or something worse.”

  “I don’t think she’d need to bother,” Reginald said. “And besides, we need her.”

  “We don’t need him, Your Highness,” Lord William said. He sounded steadier now. “Why did you give him the liaison job?”

  A dozen answers ran through Reginald’s mind. “Because we need someone who can speak to mercenaries as one of their own,” he said, simply. It was a good reason. It just wasn’t the only one. “And because Gars has too much work to do.”

  And because I don’t want Gars getting too chummy with the mercenaries, he added, silently. He trusted Gars. But, at the same time, he didn’t want to put temptation in his way. Too many princes and kings had died because they’d trusted the wrong man. And the more my clients depend upon me, the harder it will be for them to betray me.

  Chapter Eight

  “Your Majesty,” Lord Havant said, as he stepped into the private audience chamber. His brother was seated on the throne. “You called for me.”

  “I did indeed,” King Rufus Hereford said. He smiled in welcome. “Please, take a seat. Emetine will be along in a moment.”

  Havant smiled back, even though he knew that far too many noblemen – and commoners – would be outraged at the thought of allowing a mere woman a chance to address the king. A woman was meant to do as she was told, first by her father and then by her husband; she was not supposed to have a life or interests of her own. And yet, Emetine had been part of the Hereford Family’s bid for power ever since their father had died. She had a different perspective on life.

  And no one thinks a mere woman can be dangerous, Havant thought. No one had connected Emetine to King Edwin’s death, not yet. It hadn’t occurred to them that she might have taken a sample of her husband’s blood and sneaked it out of the castle. They didn’t even think to search her bags when she left to visit her family.

  He sat down, smiling to himself. The long game of power wasn’t over yet – there was still the threat from Andalusia – but the family was closer than ever before to absolute power. Havant and his brother would have happily backed a nephew, if King Edwin had actually managed to sire a child, yet ... Edwin had been infertile. Or impotent. Or simply unwilling to take the risk of siring a child on Emetine Hereford. Who knew what her brothers might have done after there was a legitimate heir, one too young to wield power in his own right?

  Emetine entered and curtseyed to the king, then took the other chair. She was the youngest of the three siblings, at twenty-seven, but she looked older. Sleeping next to King Edwin had aged his sister, Havant considered, even though the king had barely touched her. Her widow’s blacks – her dress the same colour as her hair – made her look like a crow. And yet, there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. As the queen, she’d had almost no power; as the younger sister of Rufus and Havant, she wielded genuine power and influence. And she was still young enough to marry again.

  “Goldenrod is stalling,” Rufus said, without preamble. The siblings didn’t need titles, not amongst themselves. They’d grown up together in the shadow of their father, struggling to escape his notice. “He hasn’t given us any actual answer, so far, but that’s an answer in its own right.”

  “He isn’t convinced you’ll stay king,” Emetine said, flatly.

  Havant nodded in agreement. The combination of the Crown Lands and the Hereford Lands made King Rufus the most powerful man on the Summer Isle, but it would take time for him to translate that advantage into real power. Earl Goldenrod – and Earl Oxley – had time to forge a counter-alliance or, if they thought they couldn’t win in the long-term, sell out for the best terms they could get. Earl Goldenrod wouldn’t allow his daughter to marry Rufus until he believed it was in his own best interest.

  “What about Oxley’s daughters?” He asked. “One of them might be a better choice.”

  “The oldest girl is too old to have children,” Emetine said, curtly. There was a hint of resentment in her voice. She was the daughter of one of the most powerful men on the isle and sister to another, but she’d failed in the first duty of a wife. It would be hard to marry her off to someone else, whatever the short-term advantages. “The middle girl is already married. And the youngest girl is too young.”

  “A betrothal might help stabilise the situation,” Havant pointed out. “It would certainly bind Oxley to us.”

  “It would also push Goldenrod into opposition,” Rufus said. “And a betrothal is not a marriage.”

  Havant nodded. A betrothal could be broken at any time. Earl Oxley would use the promised marriage for leverage, using the threat of breaking the agreement to force Rufus and his family to comply. And besides, Goldenrod would see it as a threat. The alliance of Hereford, Oxley and the Crown Lands would be more than enough to bring him to heel and he knew it. He’d strike before Rufus could mass the force to destroy him utterly.

  “And we have the threat from the north to worry about,” Rufus added. “Goldenrod may be talking to the Cold King.”

  “Treason,” Havant said, dryly. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked to the Cold King, once upon a time. The ruler of the Northern Realm had every interest in keeping the Summer Isle divided into a morass of feuding noblemen. And who could blame him? The last time the south had invaded t
he north, they’d marched all the way to Cold Harbour and burnt it to the ground. “I assume we have no actual proof?”

  Rufus snorted. “Would it matter?”

  He tapped his armrest, firmly. “The north appears to be planning a large-scale raid into our lands,” he told them. “The family lands.”

  “I don’t like the timing,” Emetine said. “How long will it be until Prince Reginald sets sail?”

  “If he ever does,” Rufus said. “Getting a large army across the channel will be an utter nightmare.”

  Havant frowned. He’d hoped that King Romulus would accept Rufus’s ascension to the throne as a done deal. It wasn’t as if King Edwin had any right to promise his kingdom to King Romulus. And besides, Andalusia had border troubles of its own. But it looked as though Prince Reginald was serious about invading the Summer Isle. He was certainly wasting a great deal of money if all he wanted to do was posture threateningly before coming to terms with the Summer Isle’s new monarch.

  And yet ... Havant had sailed the waters around the Summer Isle. He knew, all too well, that the weather could change in an instant, that a fleet of proud ships might find itself scattered to the four winds. Even getting one ship across the channel was a nightmare, particularly if the crew wasn’t experienced. The currents and tides were enough to dishearten the stoutest of sailors. Prince Reginald would be gambling the fortunes of his entire house if he really wanted to invade the Summer Isle.

  But Emetine was right. The timing was suspicious. A threat from the north, one aimed at the Hereford Lands, could not be ignored. And yet, a threat from the south was developing at the same time. It was possible that it was a coincidence, he supposed, but it struck him as unlikely. There was no such thing as a coincidence when games of power were being played.

  “Prince Reginald has nailed his colours to the mast,” Rufus said. “You did read the ultimatum, didn’t you?”

  Emetine made a face. “He was very rude, wasn’t he?”

  Havant nodded. King Edwin, for all his faults, would never have spoken to one of his noblemen in such a manner. The Summer Isle’s noblemen were prideful. To be spoken to as if they were naughty children – or serfs – would have been utterly unacceptable. King Edwin would have been unseated – again – if he’d allowed his contempt to show so openly. None of his aristocrats would have stood for it. And no one would expect Rufus to bend the knee after receiving such an ultimatum. He couldn’t. It would make him look weak in front of his vassals.

  “I don’t think he expected you to surrender,” Emetine said. “I think he wants a fight.”

  “Perhaps,” Havant agreed. His sister had always been the most perceptive of the three. She was certainly better at diplomacy than either of her brothers. It was just a shame that her husband had never appreciated her. “He’s certainly made it impossible to come to terms.”

  He closed his eyes for a long moment, contemplating the situation. Prince Reginald could have demanded that Rufus pay homage to King Romulus, in exchange for ruling the Summer Isle. None of the siblings would have liked it, but the mere act of performing homage would have committed King Romulus to upholding Rufus’s grip on the throne. It would certainly have allowed them to secure their gains and prepare for the inevitable next round. Instead, Prince Reginald had demanded complete submission. Emetine was right. Prince Reginald was spoiling for a fight.

  Rufus cleared his throat. “We cannot allow the threat to our ancestral lands to go unanswered,” he said. “If we lose our power base ...”

  He didn’t need to finish. The siblings knew, all too well, what would happen if the Hereford Lands were devastated. Their power base would be gravely weakened, their clients would seek protection elsewhere, their serfs would rebel ... it could not be tolerated. King Edwin hadn’t managed to wield effective power because he hadn’t been able to build up an army without provoking a renewed civil war. King Rufus could not afford to be weakened in the same way. He lacked even the paper-thin legitimacy that had kept King Edwin on a powerless throne.

  “We shall act fast,” Rufus said. “Havant and I will take two-thirds of the army to the Narrows, where we’ll establish new defence lines. If the Cold King really does want a fight, we’ll give him one. Smashing his army will set off another round of civil wars in the north.”

  Havant smiled, nastily. The northern aristocracy made the southern noblemen look like sweet little kittens. If the Cold King took a beating, it wouldn’t be long before someone rose up against him or stuck a knife in his back. The north was littered with the bodies of kings – or would-be kings – who’d lost power ... and their lives, shortly afterwards. Rufus was right, he admitted coolly. A vigorous response to the threat might be enough to stop it in its tracks.

  And marching a powerful army so close to the Goldenrod Lands might be enough to convince Earl Goldenrod to join us, he thought. Or at least to agree to a truce long enough to keep Prince Reginald out.

  “Emetine will remain here, in charge,” Rufus added. “And I’ll dispatch a small force to Racal’s Bay. If Prince Reginald really does intend to land an army, there is nowhere else he can go.”

  “Except Georgetown,” Emetine said.

  Rufus shook his head. “The logistics would be an utter nightmare,” he said. “And he couldn’t claim the kingdom until he held Allenstown.”

  “Unless he plans to devastate our lands,” Havant said.

  “We’ll have our army nearby,” Rufus said. “But really, if he wants to land an army, it’s going to be tough enough landing at Racal’s Bay.”

  Havant nodded, slowly. He couldn’t disagree with his brother’s logic. No one in their right mind would try to sail a fleet to Georgetown. And yet, he had a bad feeling about the whole affair. The timing was really – really – bad.

  “I could go to Racal’s Bay,” he said. “What if I went there ...?”

  “I need you with the army,” Rufus said. “What happens if I die?”

  Havant frowned. Rufus was right. Someone would have to take command – immediately – if the king was killed, and Havant was his brother’s heir. Emetine couldn’t take command of an army. The senior officers would see her as a prize to be won, or seized, instead of a potential commander. But whoever they sent to Racal’s Bay had better be both competent and trustworthy. He was grimly aware that Prince Reginald could offer plenty of money to anyone willing to switch sides. The Prince would certainly need locals to help govern the Summer Isle after the fighting was over.

  Assuming he wins, Havant thought. If he loses, anyone who switched sides too soon will be in deep shit.

  “I’ll leave Lord Francis here, with you,” Rufus said, to Emetine. “I assume your ladies will be able to provide sufficient chaperonage?”

  Havant rolled his eyes. Lord Francis wasn’t interested in women. He was more interested in men. It wasn’t frowned upon, not amongst the nobility, but Emetine would still need a chaperone. Lord Francis might overcome his disdain for the female form long enough to force Emetine into marriage, if her brothers were killed. Whoever married the king’s sister – and the former king’s wife – would have a very strong claim to both the throne and the family’s lands.

  And if that happens, he might be the best person to rule, Havant conceded. At least Prince Reginald or Earl Goldenrod won’t take the throne without a fight.

  “We’ll depart tomorrow, once the army is ready,” Rufus said. “If we force-march, we should reach the Narrows within a week.”

  Havant made a face. The army was not going to be in a good state by the time it reached its destination. They’d planned to construct a proper road network, once they’d consolidated power, but ... but they’d just have to make do with the muddy tracks they had. King Edwin had managed to build a handful of roads, yet he’d run into stiff opposition when he’d tried to extend them northwards. None of the aristocrats wanted the king to be able to move forces around the kingdom at will.

  In hindsight, that might have been a mistake, Havant thought.
The roads would have been a double-edged sword for Edwin, during the last civil war.

  “I’ll speak to Lord Francis later today,” Emetine said. “And we’ll work on preparing the city for war.”

  “Very good,” Rufus said. He smiled, rather thinly. “Just don’t do too good a job of it.”

  Emetine made a show of rolling her eyes. Havant understood. As a woman, Emetine couldn’t take and hold power – let alone wield it – for herself. And, as an unmarried woman, she couldn’t even pass power to her husband. He had no doubt that Emetine had found the restrictions maddening, when she’d been younger. She’d certainly always revelled in the chance to wield even a scrap of power. If she’d been a man, she would have been fearsomely ambitious. Havant certainly wouldn’t have turned his back on her.

  But she can keep the city safe for us, with Lord Francis’s help, he told himself. Noblemen wouldn’t take orders from women, no matter how nobly born. They’d choose to pretend that Lord Francis was in charge. And if things go wrong, Lord Francis will be a convenient scapegoat.

  He rose, bowed to his brother and sister, then strode out of the chamber. A pair of guards in royal livery nodded to him as he left, careful not to bow so deeply they couldn’t grab their weapons. There were noblemen who would make a fuss over not being shown the proper respect from the guardsmen, but Havant knew better. A king had to be guarded against all threats, physical as well as magical. It was just a shame that they didn’t have anything like enough magicians to provide a proper set of magical defences.

  But we have something better, he told himself as he walked down the stairs. Don’t we?

  King Edwin had been a devotee of Primus, one of the greater gods in the pantheon. He’d even installed a private temple in Allenstown Castle, evicting all the other priests from the building without even bothering to make sure they were installed safely somewhere else. It had been one of the reasons the priesthood had supported Rufus when he’d claimed the throne. Now, the temple had been put to a far greater use.