Cheers and curses drowned his voice. Grandfather raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Nevertheless, nothing in life brings more opportunity or peril than war, so it should only be entered with deliberation. We will hear from both Jandaria and the Empire, and then vote as a family. Belgorsk would also be welcome to speak, but Leax’s emissary has deferred to Princess Clarice.” He motioned to Helaena. “Jandaria will have the first word.”
Helaena stood and walked to the center of the room. Grandfather flashed an encouraging wink. “From the earliest days of the Covenant, the kingdoms of Jandaria and the Swans have been the bulwarks of our civilization — we stand against the ravages of the Vyr and you against Imperial encroachments. Time and again we have supported each other when these burdens became too great.” Her mind blanked for a terrifying moment and then she remembered. “When Sargyn the Cunning led his Great Host to the very gates of Chimkant, a Swan army turned the tide. And then during the Reunification Campaign, Jandari knights broke the Imperial vanguard, rescuing the Swans in turn.” She winced inwardly. It was the Reunification Crusade. How many times had she practiced this? And what to do with her hands? They were clasped at her middle as if she were about to sing a bloody ballad.
“Jandaria asks once more for your aid. A vast army besieges my very home. I pray it has not yet fallen and that my mother, a Swan by birth, remains whole. Thousands of others have not been so lucky. The March is aflame, farms laid waste, women the prey of mercenaries, husbands dead by the sword.”
Helaena took a breath and panned slowly over the crowd, trying to meet as many eyes as possible. “An alliance of Swans and Jandari can turn back this invasion and force Leax to terms. Patriarch Bertram, Prince Lyle Yates, and I propose a settlement to restrain Belgorsk from future aggression. The Swans will annex everything east of the Little Neck River, while Jandaria takes New Oster and its appended lands. This will grant our kingdoms defensible borders with Leax, as well as justice for his crimes.”
At the mention of land, the room suddenly buzzed like a hive of greedy bees. It encouraged and saddened Helaena at the same time. She spoke for several minutes longer, describing Belgorshan atrocities, pointing out that Imperial kingdoms would coil around the Swans like an amphiserpent should Jandaria fall, and ending with a plea for the Swans to either open a second front in the north, or swing south to unite with the Jandari army. The promise of land, however, seemed to have consumed her listeners, and she doubted they heard much of the rest.
Princess Clarice rose to speak, smiling serenely. Her long gown of Imperial viridian pooled on the floor. “Let me begin by conveying Emperor Dorian’s compassion to the suffering peasants of Jandaria. War is always a tragedy. The emperor has offered to mediate the conflict, but King Randolf refuses our aid.” Helaena admired how deftly Clarice managed just the right tone of regret and the way the princess used gestures to accent her words. She suddenly missed the simplicity of the field, where she could just put an arrow through the lying little bint.
“It is no secret the Empire is allied with Belgorsk, but we have remained out of this war for fear of spreading it. We ask only the same of the Swans. Help us maintain stability. If this becomes a regional war, the Swanlands will be at the very center of the maelstrom.” She paused, giving a long, sad glance around the room. “In the past two months, I have met most of you, even sojourned in your keeps. You know me well.
“Together we have achieved a level of friendship and understanding unknown since the fall of the Commonwealth. This will bring tremendous opportunities for trade and profit. Don’t throw it away for a few worthless leagues of Belgorshan forest. I thank you for your consideration.” Clarice gave the room a respectful curtsy and retook her seat.
“You have heard our supplicants,” Grandfather called out. “Now you may search them. The honor of the first question goes to the Black.”
Uncle Waldrich stood and turned to the Imperial princess. “You speak of friendship, Clarice, but you stand here, in our own hall, threatening us with invasion if we ignore your warnings. How is this different from the old Imperial bastardy, other than that it comes from your pretty mouth?”
Pressing a finger to her pretty mouth, Clarice paused before answering. “I appreciate your candor, and will grant you the same, though I ask that my words remain in this room. While many of you believe the emperor to be all-powerful, it is not so. My brother’s power comes from his supporters, many of them fanatical. The Zealots of Irmgaard, cults of the light faie, the Imperial Brotherhood. They serve the emperor, but also watch to see he is worthy of the title. If Belgorsk is attacked, they will pressure him to fulfill his treaty obligations.”
“And what of our vows?” a baroness called from the rear of the Black section. “I speak not to this merchant of lies, but to my fellow Swans. We have sworn a covenant with Jandaria. What honor remains if we abandon them?”
“Muriel, as much as I share your feelings, you speak out of turn,” Grandfather said, turning to the Reds. “Jost, what question do you have for our guests?”
“The Reds have already discussed this matter privately. We have only one question — why should any Swan die to save a kingdom of half-civilized foreigners? Just because the patriarch’s daughter climbed into bed with a Jandari doesn’t mean the rest of us should.”
With a bellow, Uncle Waldrich rose from his chair and charged the Red section, his fellow Blacks close behind. Clarice had to run for the opposite wall to avoid being caught in the surge. Loyalty winning out over good sense, Helaena followed her uncle into the fray. She skirted the crowd, looking for anyone in crimson. A wiry young man with a red capelet met her halfway. He hesitated for an instant, perhaps because she was one of the few women in the fight, or maybe that she wore no black or red. Either way, Helaena seized the opportunity, jabbing him in the nose and then burying her right fist just below the ribs. He doubled over. Helaena grabbed him by the capelet and kneed him in the face. He probably wasn’t going to vote for me, anyway, she thought, dancing aside as a stout fellow in red silks tried to tackle her.
He pivoted and charged Helaena again, and the two of them ended up on the ground, the Red holding her from behind. He began to snake an arm around her neck. Helaena instinctively tucked her chin, blocking just in time before the arm flexed into a choke. Worming in his grasp, she got a good piece of forearm between her teeth and bit down hard. With a yelp, he momentarily loosed the grip, long enough for her to curl forward and then catapult her head back into his face. The crunch of his breaking nose was unmistakable.
After that it was easy to turn the tables, twisting out of his grip and behind him, and locking her arm tight around his neck. Blood pouring from his nose made things slippery, but not enough to save him. Legs clamped on the Red’s middle and arm encircling his neck, she rode out his struggles until unconsciousness claimed him.
Fighting continued for several minutes more, before Grandfather and the elder members of the family restored order. Helaena ended with a blood -smeared dress a swelling lump on the side of the head, the latter courtesy of a chair leg someone had thrown into the melee. She crossed back to her stool, set it upright and took a seat.
The Princess stood by the barred double doors. Loud thunks resounded from the other side. “You may stop hacking at the door, Vidarr! Put away your sword-staff and remain where I told you.” The thunking stopped and Clarice returned to her seat. “That was invigorating, don’t you think?” She leaned toward Helaena, pitching her voice low. “It’s a lucky thing those Zealots didn’t break through – we’d have had a massacre. That would be bad for my cause!”
Helaena smiled, despite her loathing for Clarice and the pain in her head. By then, the Reds and Blacks were gathering up the injured and carrying them off to the infirmary. Helaena was cheered to see at least eight Reds leaving on their backs, with only three Black Swans doing the same. “That scrap just cost you five votes, Princess.”
For once, Helaena saw the cool mask slip from the woman’s face. “By
my reckoning, I won’t need them.”
“Then perhaps Imperial maths are different than ours.”
Meanwhile, the remaining Reds and Blacks shouted insults at each other. Grandfather stood and pounded his fist on the rostrum. “Quiet! Now who’s half-civilized? You’ve all embarrassed the family with this squabbling.” He turned to Helaena and Clarice. “I don’t think further questions are needed. Why don’t the two of you adjourn to the gardens while the family speaks privately?”
This left no room to argue, so Helaena and Clarice followed the injured Swans out of the hall. Addison and Lyle waited just outside. “We heard the fighting, but couldn’t get the doors to budge,” Lyle said. “You look pale. Is everything all right?”
Helaena rubbed the side of her head. “It feels like a pony kicked me, but I think I cost the Reds at least one vote.”
“Seems like a fair trade,” Addison said cheerily. “I heard the king sending us off to the gardens. Care to point the way?”
“Follow me. I’ll show you the genver tree we used to climb. It should be ripe this time of year.”
And it was. Addison and Lyle scaled the trunk and freed bunches of the egg-shaped fruit. They spent the next hour resting in the spreading genver’s shade, as Princess Clarice and her party strolled nearby. Addison related his adventure as a mercenary in Leax’s army, playing up the humor of his escape. They laughed loudly enough to draw a disapproving glance from the Imperial hagia.
“Brinley sounds like an entertaining fellow, Brother Addison. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to meet him,” Lyle said. “One good story deserves another. Helaena, what do you say we sing an orzari chant in duet? Addison could use a bit of Jandari culture.”
Helaena groaned. “No one can use an orzari chant.” On the other hand, at least it would occupy her mind. What was taking the Swans so long to decide? And was the wait a good sign, or a bad one? “How about The Maiden and the Gloamer?”
“I think I remember it.” The two of them harmonized, more or less, through the first few stanzas of the chant, sometimes solo as one or the other forgot a line. The gloamer had just entered the story when Uncle Waldrich began yelling from the portico.
“Little Kestrel! I have good news!”
All thoughts of decorum forgotten, Helaena stood and sprinted through the gardens to Uncle Waldrich. He opened his arms and she folded happily into the embrace. “You mean it? The Swans will help Jandaria?”
“Absolutely. The vote was close, but once the family speaks, no one dares challenge it openly. A few of the Reds might find an excuse to stay behind, but the army of the Swans is marching south.”
Helaena stepped back, beaming at her uncle. “Thank you. I know it was you who made this happen.”
“Don’t thank me, Kestrel. You made the arguments – I just backed you up.” He looked past her, to the Imperial party. “Clarice doesn’t seem happy at the news. Should we go take the piss?”
“God loves a merciful victor,” Helaena said, quoting the Third Augur. “Besides, I don’t think we could handle six Zealots and that hagia. She looks vicious.”
“Probably for the best.”
“How soon will the Swans march?”
Uncle Waldrich puffed out his cheeks and then sighed. “Not quickly enough, I fear. The Reds are likely to drag their feet, and it won’t be safe confronting Leax with anything less than our full strength.” He smiled apologetically. “You three will ride with us, I assume?”
Helaena shook her head. “Sorry, Uncle. Lyle and I are needed on the savanna.”
Something like concern crossed his features, but then he tousled her hair, just like he did when she was little. “I’d rather you stay with my army, where you’re safe, but you’ve always known your own mind. See you again, Little Kestrel, once we’ve made footstools of your enemies.”
CHAPTER 45
O utside the fortified manse serving as their headquarters, Selwyn ran a thumb over his practice blade’s edge, frowning as burrs and nicks pricked his skin. “You chewed up another one,” he told Reyhan. The two of them sat in the shade of an acacia tree after battering one another for the better part of an hour. It had been a good respite from the mental rigors of command. Somehow, the epics never mentioned breaking up squabbles among bannermen or the hours spent worrying about food and supplies.
“Good work today,” Reyhan said, holding his blade up to the light. “I’d say you gave four hits to my five.”
“It’s your damned reach advantage.” Selwyn laughed. “I still have another year of growing. Could be I’ll catch up to you.” Neither was given to empty words and they lapsed into a companionable silence. Selwyn took a small brass hammer from his satchel and carefully beat down out the flaws. “Do you think Helaena’s having any success with the Swans?”
All he got was a shrug. What was there to say? With no way to communicate with Swanthorpe, their first news of Swan reinforcements would be an army coming down the river.
He sprinkled a fine line of whetstone powder along the blade’s edge and worked it with a file. Just as he was ready to oil it, he heard riders approaching from the south. “Must be the Bone Riders returning.”
Reyhan nodded. “Hopefully with news.” They packed away their things and started for the keep.
Batuhan Switt was just passing his mount to a stabler when they arrived. He grinned fiercely. “We ambushed and slaughtered a mercenary company sent out to forage.”
“Any prisoners?”
“Yes, Your Grace. A knight by the name of Norval and a serjeant. The serjeant was Jandari, so we dealt with him the old way.” Switt patted the dagger at his side.
Selwyn nodded and congratulated him on the victory, but while he shared Switt’s hatred of traitors, he had no love for the traditional punishment: cutting the tendons of both the traitor and his mount and leaving them to the savanna’s predators. Under the Codex, a mercenary had no nation and enjoyed the same rights as other war prisoners. And while the Codex allowed executions, for only life could pay for life, it must be done quickly and mercifully. “What of the captured knight?”
“Wounded. Bone Riders are taking him to the clarks.”
When they reached the infirmary, a clark was cleaning a nasty, oozing wound on Sir Norval’s forearm. The knight gave Selwyn a hard look as he entered. “You must be the boy duke everyone’s talking about.”
Reyhan balled up fists and started forward, but Selwyn waved him off. “I am. Can’t say that I’ve heard of you.”
“Going to torture me like you did Ogurk?”
“Neh. That was a Jandari matter. Normally we’d ransom you, but Lord Switt tells me your people are all dead.” Selwyn took a knee by the pallet. “Right now, information is worth more to me than gold.”
“No company, no contract,” the knight said with a shrug. “I’m free to tell you anything you want. Can I keep my horse and armor?”
“So long as you ride east and keep riding. I’ll even provide you with a letter of safe conduct.”
“Sounds fair. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about Leax’s provisions. Is he running short?”
Sir Norval winced as the clark began stitching his wound with a bone needle. “Aye. We’ve been on half-rations for a while now. The Belgorshan nobles keep saying a supply convoy is coming, with enough to feed us for a month. New recruits and more cavalry, as well.”
Selwyn did a quick mental calculation. “A month’s supplies for sixty thousand souls. At least eighty to a hundred boats.”
“That’s as you say. I’m not much for figuring. What else can I tell you?”
“Leax has a prisoner, Lord Sehzad Wicke. We offered ransom several times, but the priest-king refused even to see my emissary. Do you know anything of Wicke’s condition?”
The knight’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. He’s deciding if the truth will make me angry enough to kill him, Selwyn realized with a sinking feeling. “Tell me.”
“It’s been awhile since you sent an emissary,
I guess? Lord Wicke is dead, Your Grace. A witch sacrificed him alongside some peasants. I had nothing to do with it — you have to believe me.”
Selwyn kept his voice and expression carefully level, holding back the tears that threatened to shame him. His men were watching. He must be a man. “I’ve given my word to you, Sir Norval. You’re in no danger. Now tell me about any problems with disease in the enemy camp.” For the next hour, Selwyn pushed aside the desire to weep, or rage, or bash in the yellowing teeth of the mercenary knight. Once he had pulled every shred of intelligence from Norval, he stood and turned to the clark. “Inform me when he’s ready to ride. I’ll go prepare the safe-passage letter. And Reyhan, send scouts north to watch for this convoy.”
Once inside his chamber, Selwyn sat at the writing desk and took up pen and parchment. He began to draft the letter, but the words swam in his vision. Tears spattered the ink into gibberish. A few minutes later, a knock sounded on the broken door. “It’s Reyhan.”
“I’m working on something. Can you come by later?”
Reyhan pushed inside. “That letter can wait.” He set a bottle of brandywine on the table and two pewter cups. “We need to drink to Lord Wicke.”
Selwyn rubbed a sleeve across his eyes, feeling childish. “We should.”
Reyhan dispensed three fingers of burned wine into each cup. He took a sip from each of them before handing one to Selwyn. “Wicke and I served together on the frontier, back when I was a fresh-minted knight. Did he ever tell you that?”
Not trusting his voice, Selwyn shook his head.
“It was about seven summers ago. I had just killed an aksu-kal and earned my spurs and we were both serving our forty days for the duke.” Reyhan drained the brandywine in a gulp and poured another. “Everyone knew the Vyr were due to blood a new warrior generation, but no one was quite sure when it would hit. Being young and dumb, I wanted it to happen during our forty.”
Heir to the Raven (The Pierced Veil, #1) Page 31