***
Isabella crashed back into reality. She was on a horse ... she’d been on a horse. She had to grab the reins, a second before she slid out of the saddle and fell to the ground. It wouldn’t be the first time she had fallen off a horse, but it would have been humiliating to take a pratfall in front of Big Richard. She looked up, remembering that he was missing ... no, he was in front of her. He seemed to have been completely unaffected by the mists.
She tasted blood in her mouth. She spat it out, then looked from side to side as the mists faded away into nothingness. Lord Robin looked badly shaken, his face pale; Dolman was holding a dagger in one hand, as if he’d been on the verge of plunging it into his chest. No one, save for Big Richard, seemed to have been unaffected. She looked back at the army and saw an incoherent mess. The formation had come apart at the seams. Hundreds of men were on the ground or looking around with haunted eyes, tears dripping down their cheeks. A handful were even weeping helplessly. Normally, a man who showed weakness in public like that would be mocked relentlessly, but now ... now, she suspected no one would say a word. They’d all been tormented by the mists.
And if I saw my father – or a warped version of my father – what did they see? She doubted anyone would answer her, if she asked. We all saw nightmarish visions of the dead.
She shook her head, slowly, as Lord Robin began to bark orders, giving the squad something to do. Her father was dead ... it was odd, she supposed, that the thought had never crossed her mind while she’d been trapped in the illusion. She knew he was dead ... somehow, that had never occurred to her while she’d seen his ghost. Unless Alden had lied to her ... she dismissed the thought with all the contempt it deserved. Her elder brother had never had the imagination to lie.
“There’s something up ahead,” Big Richard called. He dug in his spurs, racing ahead of them. “Come on!”
Isabella followed him, even though she was still perplexed by his apparent immunity to the mists ... and whatever power had been woven into the mists. Surely, he would have seen Little Jim ... perhaps one of his amulets had protected him. She made a mental note to inspect them, just to see if one of them was more than it seemed. It was hard to believe, but Big Richard had been immune. She couldn’t believe that he could hide his feelings when Lord Robin and the others had been shaken so badly.
Big Richard stopped and peered down at a body lying on the ground. Isabella came up beside him and followed his gaze. The body was young, naked, female ... Isabella slipped off the horse and knelt down beside the corpse. Someone had drawn runes on the body in blood, then stabbed the victim in the heart. She was sure she’d seen similar runes in the temple, back at Racal’s Bay. They still meant nothing to her.
“Waste of a good body,” Big Richard sneered.
Isabella ignored him. The girl looked to have been in her late teens, although it was impossible to be sure. Commoners and peasants aged quickly. Her hands bore the telltale signs of someone who’d grown up on a farm, although the marks weren’t as extensive as Isabella would have expected. And it didn’t look as if she’d struggled ... Isabella wasn’t sure what that meant. Human sacrifice was banned, with good reason. It was amongst the darkest of dark arts.
And if the poor girl was a virgin, she thought, they could have gained more power from the sacrifice.
“Well?” Big Richard asked, as Lord Robin turned away. “What do you make of it?”
“I think they used her as a power source,” Isabella said, slowly. She stood and looked around. The mists were almost completely gone, but there was no one in sight apart from the army. Whoever had sacrificed the girl had retreated as soon as they’d cast the spell. Or done whatever they’d done to enchant the mist. “And I think she might have been a volunteer.”
“Silly bitch,” Big Richard said. “I could think of other uses for her.”
“I’m sure you could,” Isabella said, darkly.
Lord Robin jumped down beside her. “What do those runes mean?”
Isabella shook her head, helplessly. She didn’t want to confess ignorance, but ... she had no choice. Shouting echoed in the distance. Prince Reginald and his men were reforming the army. It wouldn’t be long before the prince started demanding answers too.
“I don’t know,” she said. She took her notebook out of her bag and started to sketch the runes. She’d send copies to Alden. Her brother could check to see if there were any relevant records in the Golden City. “But I think we’d better find out.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Reginald didn’t want to admit it, even to his closest friends and comrades, but he’d been starting to have doubts about the whole venture by the time the army entered the Allenstown valley. Racal’s Bay had promise, he supposed, but the rest of the countryside had seemed poor and worthless, inhabited by snivelling wretches and infested by strange and dangerous magics. It was a relief to discover, as his advance elements closed in on Allenstown, that the capital city was surrounded by a number of farms that clearly produced most of the region’s food. The farmers might have hidden themselves, but he doubted they’d hide for long. He’d make sure to send heralds round to inform them that it was safe to come out, once he’d taken the throne.
Allenstown itself was larger than he’d expected from the description. It was a big city, built of grey stone, surrounding a trio of castles. The river ran through the city, allowing boats to sail down to Racal and the Summer Bay. It would be a tricky city to defend, Reginald noted wryly. Indeed, it was clear that the defences were more impressive than substantial. The walls became bridges – complete with gatehouses – where the river flowed in and out of the city. But then, Allenstown had changed hands several times over the last few years. The defences were designed to stand off a raid, rather than protect the city from an army. He suspected he could take the walls even without a siege engine.
Caen rode up and saluted, smartly. “Your Highness, the forward pickets have just encountered a welcoming committee,” he said. “They request permission to approach.”
“Search them, then invite them forward,” Reginald said. He expected the locals to try to negotiate. The usurper was dead and his army scattered. Someone would try to pick up the pieces, sooner or later, but by then Reginald would be firmly in control. “And make sure the army continues to flank the city.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Reginald sat back on his horse and waited, nodding politely to Isabella and Lord Robin as they came up to join him. It was nearly twenty minutes before the welcoming committee arrived, escorted by a number of guardsmen. The committee members looked a little ruffled, but less affronted than he would have expected. None of them looked like professional military men. He guessed they were the city fathers, rather than the remnants of whatever administration the usurper had left in place when he’d ridden out to do battle. The latter wouldn’t want to face Reginald unless they had something very important to trade for their lives.
The leader stepped forward. He was a fat man, wearing a plain shirt and trousers that suggested he was of low birth. Reginald wondered, as the man stumbled through a bow, if he was the leader by right or if he’d simply been pushed into being the spokesman. But it didn’t really matter.
“Your Highness,” the man said. He couldn’t keep a quiver out of his voice. “I welcome you to Allenstown ...”
“Here are my terms,” Reginald said, cutting the man off. “First, you will open the gates to my men and allow them to occupy all defensive and administrative points within the city. All weapons stockpiles are to be handed over; all men with military or magical experience are to report to my people within the week. Second, you will warn your people to behave themselves as I establish my authority. I will not tolerate defiance or rebellion. Third, and finally, you escort me to the Gathering, where I will be proclaimed king of the Summer Isle.”
He paused, just long enough to allow his words to sink in. “The rights and properties of all inhabitants of this city will be respected,
as long as they behave themselves. Those who fail to show me the proper respect – or try to impede my operations – will be severely punished. I trust I make myself clear?”
The leader bowed, so deeply that he almost fell over. “Perfectly, Your Highness.”
“My troops will occupy the city now,” Reginald said. He allowed himself a moment of relief. Fighting his way into the city would have been costly, particularly with some of his men still recovering from the nightmares in the mist. “And then you will escort me to the Gathering.”
He forced himself to wait as Gars led the infantry down into the city. There was no resistance, according to the messengers, but many stockpiles of weapons seemed to have been removed. Reginald interrogated the city fathers, yet none of them seemed to know anything about the weapons. The only thing they could say was that Lord Francis – who’d vanished a few hours before the army came into view – had ordered a number of weapons destroyed. They didn’t know why.
They could have tried to sneak them out of the city, Reginald thought. Or even tried to turn them against us later on.
It was nearly two hours before Gars felt confident enough to proclaim that the city was under control. Reginald glanced at Isabella, then started to ride down towards the main gates. The rest of the party followed, watching carefully for archers hidden on the roofs. It would be the height of irony, Reginald thought, if he were killed by an arrow. The usurper had been hit by an arrow too. He looked around with interest as he rode through the gates, noting that Allenstown was definitely richer than Racal’s Bay. But the streets were just as deserted. A handful of men glanced at him as he passed, their blank faces revealing nothing of their feelings. There were no women on the streets at all.
Isabella rode up beside him. “There’s no magic at all, as far as I can sense,” she muttered, so quietly that no one else could hear. “But there are odd sensations near the temples.”
“We can investigate later,” Reginald said, as they approached the Gathering. “Stay with me.”
The Gathering was a smaller building, built of wood rather than stone. Reginald wondered, as he slipped off his horse, if the building was meant to be impermanent. His father had never liked calling parliaments and done it as infrequently as possible, even though it was a long-standing way of raising money. The MPs seemed to believe they deserved a say in how the kingdom was run. And as long as they refused to grant money, they got that say.
The Summer Isle isn’t as rich as Andalusia, Reginald reminded himself. And most of the men gathered here are nobles.
He slipped off his horse and landed neatly on the cobbled pavement, handing the reins to one of his bodyguards. Isabella stayed close to him as the city fathers led him into a large chamber, lined with row upon row of wooden seats. Each of them was marked with a single name; two-thirds of them were empty. He forced himself to recall what he’d learnt about the local aristocracy, then frowned as he realised what the absences meant. The missing noblemen were largely from the north.
Goldenrod must be biding his time, Reginald told himself. Their clients wouldn’t show themselves without permission from their master. And Hereford is in retreat.
He ignored the babbling from the city father and walked right to the throne at one end of the chamber. It was the only thing in the room that was not made of wood. Instead, it was made of cold stone. A genealogical chart hung from the wall behind the throne, showing countless candidates who’d taken the throne and been hailed as king. He was no expert – and the chart was more complex than any he’d seen back home – but it was clear that far too many of the candidates had taken the throne by force. The Gathering acclaimed whoever held them by the balls.
Assuming they have any balls, he thought. And, with my troops surrounding the building, anyone with balls would be wise to keep them hidden.
He turned, standing in front of the throne. The Gathering looked back at him, their nervousness hanging in the air like a cloud. They understood usurpers – men who took the throne by force – but he was something different. He was to be their king, yet he was son of another king across the waters. The balance of power had shifted sharply. They’d need time to grow accustomed to the new reality.
“I am Reginald of Andalusia, son of King Romulus of Andalusia,” he said. His voice echoed through the silent chamber. “By rights, my father is the lawful heir to the Summer Isle, a right he has passed down to me. Will you acclaim me as your monarch?”
“YES,” the crowd shouted.
Reginald kept his face expressionless. He’d never really doubted that he’d be acclaimed – if nothing else, he had an army to enforce his will – but it was always possible that something would put a spanner in the works. Technically, King Edwin’s legacy might not be legal; practically, anyone who stood in Reginald’s way would be taking his life in his hands. The only law that mattered, in the end, was the law of naked force. It was the strong who ruled – Reginald had learned that during the wars that followed the collapse of the Empire – and the weak who served. And he would always be the strongest ...
“I thank you,” he said. He sat on the stone throne. It felt cold and hard, utterly uncomfortable. “Let it be known that, from this moment forth, I am King of the Summer Isle.”
He paused. His father would now be able to claim the title of ‘King of Kings’ as well as his other titles – and it would actually be meaningful. But Reginald had no intention of allowing his father too much say in how the Summer Isle was run. It was Reginald’s conquest.
“We will hold a proper coronation as soon as possible,” he said, into the silence. The Summer Crown had vanished after the usurper’s death. He’d assumed one of his men had robbed the corpse, but an offered reward – and a search – hadn’t turned up the missing crown. Perhaps one of the usurper’s men had grabbed the crown before running for his life ... it didn’t matter. He’d simply have a new crown made before the ceremony. “Even so, I became your ruler as soon as King Edwin died. Those of you who serve me faithfully – who pledge themselves and their families to me – will have nothing to fear. Those of you who choose to take arms against me will be stripped of everything.”
He gave them a thin smile. He’d be astonished if most of the Gathering didn’t hurry to pledge its allegiance. Those who didn’t would have their lands confiscated to pay Reginald’s mercenaries. They’d bend the knee, at least as long as Reginald was the strongest man on the island. And he’d make sure they were so tightly bound to him that they couldn’t escape.
“I see many empty seats,” he said, hardening his voice. “Their occupants have two weeks to come and pledge their allegiance. Those who don’t will forfeit their ranks and titles, their land and possessions, and will have to work hard to earn them back. Let word be sent to every earldom and holding, every patchwork of entailed land. Those who do not stand beside me will not stand at all.”
Silence fell. Reginald took one last look around the room, then rose and walked towards the door. The Gathering looked stunned, as if he’d ordered their immediate execution. They weren’t used to such treatment, not from their weakling kings. Even the usurper – damn the man – had had to move gently. The massed resistance of the Gathering would have been enough to bring him to heel. But Reginald had a large and experienced army – and his father a bigger one, on the far side of the channel. He was far more powerful than any of his predecessors and the Gathering knew it.
His bodyguards fell in around him as he walked back into the cold air. “We’ll go straight to the castle,” he said. Gars and his men would have taken possession already, rounding up the servants and anyone else who’d served the usurper. The staff wouldn’t be in any real danger, but they would be interrogated before they were allowed to go back to work. “And then we’ll plan our next step.”
The city felt different, somehow, as he rode up to the castle. It was his city now. He had lands back on the mainland, of course, but they were gifts from his father. He certainly hadn’t taken them by force. Alle
nstown ... was his, captured in war. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to let go of the jewel in his new crown. And everyone who lived in the city was his too.
“There are no wards surrounding the castle,” Isabella said, slowly. They cantered over the drawbridge and into a large courtyard. “I can’t sense any magical protections at all.”
Reginald frowned. That was odd. There was no shortage of people willing to use magic to hex their opponents from a safe distance. The court wizard should have set up some basic protections before he’d been called to the Golden City, protections that should have remained in place until they were dismantled. Surely, the usurper wouldn’t have taken them down. That was utter madness, even on an island where there were few – if any – magicians. But he supposed it didn’t matter. Isabella could set up some wards before anyone had a chance to use magic against him.
Gars met him at the main entrance. “Your Highness,” he said. “Queen Emetine is waiting in the throne room.”
Reginald made a face. Queen Emetine? Technically, he supposed she still had the right to that title. The usurper had been unmarried. No one, not even Reginald, questioned King Edwin’s claim to the throne, nor Emetine’s right to call herself his wife. But she was no longer queen.
“I will speak with her,” he said. “Did you find any trace of Lord Francis?”
“He left, apparently,” Gars said. “We don’t know where he went.”
Reginald shrugged. Lord Francis had had plenty of time to flee north, if he wished. Or hide somewhere in the city ... he’d show himself sooner or later, if that was the case. Or someone would betray him. Reginald would offer a hefty reward, if Lord Francis didn’t come forward and bend the knee soon. Someone would want a half-share of Lord Francis’s former lands.
The Promised Lie Page 20