The men needed to be imprisoned, the leaders executed. Control would be re-established and his reign could start. It was unbelievable that Wierstoke had stopped seeing him as an enemy, especially as that was usually the best time to strike. Necessary co-operation didn’t make them allies. In fact, both of them being there had been a weakness. That was rectified now.
Giving his horse over to a stable boy, he walked up the flights of stairs to his apartments where Fiedra was waiting. She gracefully swayed into a deep curtsy. “My liege,” she said with a smile on her face. “That was inspired. Poor Wierstoke sank like a sack of potatoes. I am sure his horse was much relieved.” It seemed some had watched it intently from a safe distance.
Unbuckling his scabbard, he placed it on the table next to the spyglass she had obviously used. The messy and gory sword seemed out of place in the cleanliness of his apartment. So did he.
“We must celebrate this victory,” Fiedra said. “Perhaps a ball?”
“A dinner, I think,” Roisen said. Dancing might be beyond him that night.
“Of course. You must be exhausted. I will organize a dinner if you will permit me.”
“I would be honored,” Roisen said. “Now I must bathe and rest.”
“I never had any doubt,” she said and her skirt rustled as she turned to leave. Fiedra refused to acknowledge the threat that the peasants posed. Technically, he had claimed the throne, but he hadn’t eliminated the threat. That still needed to be done.
Walking to his private quarters, he let his valet assist him as he divested his bloody and filthy garments. War was not a clean business, but he didn’t feel uncomfortable with the gore until it started to dry. Then it grew distinctly uncomfortable and the smell became overpowering.
A bath waited for him, but he stood by and washed the worst of the filth from his body before stepping into the warm water. The noise of battle still rang in his ears in the silence of his bathroom, where only the occasional drip of water echoed off the wall.
Where was Ashra right now, he wondered. No doubt still walking the battlefield, surveying the damage. She would be devastated by it all, each death. It would prey on her mind and on her resolve. Her sense of justice had carried her this far, but he wasn’t sure it would hold through the carnage that lay on the battlefield.
“I need to speak to Niesen Woord,” he said to the valet, who quickly disappeared to perform his quest. Left on his own, he scrubbed his limbs and then rose to pull on his dressing gown. The filthy clothes were gone, but the scent of blood took longer to dissipate. Still wet, he padded out to the lounge and sat down close to the fire.
Niesen appeared at the door, looking drab and overcome as he always did. “My lord,” he said with a bow.
“The contest for the throne has been settled,” Roisen stated.
“I understand Lord Wierstoke has fallen.”
“There will be a dinner tonight to celebrate. Fiedra is organizing it. I need to reward the men,” he said. “The crown needs to reward the men.”
“Which men?” Niesen said with confusion.
“The men who fought today. They will need extra compensation for their loyalty and service.”
“My lord,” Niesen went to argue.
“I think you’ll have to address me as ‘my liege,’ now,” Roisen said coldly. “In a few days, those men will have to defend the crown against the peasants.”
“Is Lady Greve not a contestant—” Niesen started.
“Lady Greve seeks to destroy everything. Do not delude yourself into thinking she is a contestant for the throne. The matter of the throne has been settled. Now we must defend against the threat she poses, so you will open up those coffers and dole out reward to the men who will fight to defend our position. Do you understand, Mr. Woord?”
“Yes, my liege,” he said with a bow. “The coffers are not what they… ”
“I don’t see why every Naufren family in the land should not contribute to the defense of our way of life. Draft a requisition.”
“As you say.” Niesen bowed again and retreated. Perhaps it was time to get a better manager for the crown concerns. It least one less annoying.
*
Fiedra had picked a good hall for the supper—one of the mirrored halls. The lights of the candles were amplified through the mirrors, creating and endless sea of sparkle, and the table was elegantly laid out. It was almost like the old days, except Raufasger was gone and Roisen was now in his place.
He’d spent so much time trying to get here, he hadn’t had much chance to plan how he would be when he achieved this elevated position—even if getting here had never been in doubt.
Ashra was, of course, the thorn in his side. He didn’t want her dead—she was his child’s mother, after all, so it was a matter of bringing her back into the fold. Once her revolt was defeated, that would naturally happen. Her stance did require punishment. It wouldn’t do for any of the people here, as few as they presently were and all smiling at him now, to think that he was a lightweight and that challenges to him went unpunished. It did put him in a bit of a pickle.
The next time he and Ashra would face off, he would prevail. She had superior numbers and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that there were a few of his uniforms in her ranks. Things simply had to get tougher for her.
“Congratulations, Lord Lorcan,” Lukas Brieton said, dressed in his finest silk robes.
“Lukas. I didn’t know you were in residence.”
“I came as soon as I heard of your victory.”
Was that right? As one of Wierstoke’s strongest allies, he was now scrambling to position himself in the new court. In a way, Roisen wished he could get rid of the whole lot of them, but the old adage was true: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It was the underlying point of court: a way of keeping the people who could do you damage close and distracted. Raufasger had done it by having them all turn on each other.
Roisen wanted peace, or perhaps that was what Ashra wanted. A part of him wanted his new court to be tolerable to her and he’d be lying if he denied it. “It is good to see you healthy and well.”
Lukas bowed his head. “And an honor to be here celebrating with you.” Lukas Brieton normally never spoke to him so deferentially, but that was perhaps the new way of things. Along with himself and Ashra, Brieton was one of the more substantial landowners.
Fiedra’s hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. “Everyone who is in the citadel is here to honor you,” she said. “Their newfound respect is… admirable.” She had obviously observed the exchange between him and Brieton. “Word of your victory has spread, as one would expect. I suppose they will all come running now. But that woman will make a nuisance of herself until you finally sort her out.”
The problem was that everyone expected him to deal to Ashra. Fiedra for perhaps more personal reasons. Out of the people here, she was the one who understood he would have qualms about it. Fiedra had always understood him. It had been the basis of their friendship—such as it was. Although now she wanted more. Technically, she was still married, but that was a small impediment in her eyes. So yes, Fiedra wanted Ashra dealt with, ideally through a public execution.
There was an instinct in Fiedra to be ruthless with her rivals. That ruthlessness had been another thing they’d had in common. And he did understand where she was coming from. Ashra should be dealt with harshly—yet he was searching for an alternative.
Why did Ashra have to make this so hard? She had fought him every step of the way, in between periods when she didn’t fight him—when they toyed with each other and… loved. They could have done this together. She would be at his side now, but she chose not to be. The sting of the rejection hurt.
“Champagne,” Fiedra called. “We are here to celebrate our new liege, Lord Lorcan. Long let him rule.”
Everyone raised their glasses. A few were genuinely happy, finally putting to end the uncertainty. Others were wary, worried about what kind of ruler they would be under, a
nd for their position in the new hierarchy.
Champagne glasses were handed out and the toast was made. It was time to build his court and his sovereignty. The land would know peace and all the problems would be attended to. One in particular.
Chapter 20
THE ROOF OF HER TENT moved as Ashra woke up. The wind had picked up. Dragging herself out of its warm comfort, she faced the stark cold as she dressed. Her dreams had not been peaceful, but at the end of the night, she had found herself in Liesdal’s rooms, the executed wizard who had killed Raufasger, with the books, papers and things stacked up against the walls. It was all gone now, but she had felt safe there—able to hide from the clawing discomfort that threatened outside the door. It had brought her a modicum of peace in her sleep, but now it was time to face the day.
It was two days since the battle and they were starting to prepare for the next. The camp was very much subdued, but awake. The injured lay on stretchers over by the field hospital. Those gravely injured had already died, and left were those that would recuperate. The dead had already been carried away.
In battle, it was important to clear away the past and focus on the next one. Ashra tried to stick to that, or she would get lost in the suffering of the families, whose lost members were returning to them. Heaviness pressed down on her, but she couldn’t allow it to.
Higgins approached her. He was an elderly man who had led armies of old, left alone by Raufasger due to his age. There was so much knowledge locked inside his head, though, and Ashra garnered as much of it as she could. It served to fill in much of her inexperience. “A word,” he said.
“Of course,” Ashra said and returned inside her tent where their planning table was.
“A dozen carts of bread and meat have been attacked,” he said and Ashra bit her lips together as she considered how and why this had happened.
“Lorcan is attacking our supply lines,” she said.
“Yes. He seeks to weaken us. This will weaken us. We cannot fight on empty stomachs.”
Why hadn’t she foreseen this? It seemed logical now. “We must send troops to watch the supply lines.”
“Our troops need to rest, but yes, we need to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
Ashra sat down heavily in her chair, wondering if she could ask Captain Burgess to guard her supplies. Technically they were traveling on his roads, but she also knew his policy to stay clear of the challenge for the throne—or rather for the governance of this land.
Also, the uncomfortable truth was that her own stores were dangerously low. There was a risk that they would run out of food before this war was won. That would weaken them more than anything else. They might lose the fight for this country simply by lack of food. “Raid Wierstoke’s stores. Lorcan has taken his army, so it can’t be that well defended. Lorcan’s men might not lay in wait for a supply train coming from there.”
“As you wish,” Higgins said, walking away on his stiff knees.
In fact, two could play this game. The supply to the citadel could as easily be cut, but the citadel stores could keep them going for quite some while, but eventually they would run out. She could just cut the citadel off and wait until they succumbed.
They would battle again before that happened. Ideally, she never wanted to go through that again. The losses still weighed heavily on her, and always would. She took it worse than the men here. They believed in their mission; they fought for their very futures and families. It wasn’t for her to be squeamish. This wasn’t about her, after all. She was simply the leader they had chosen. She couldn’t forget that.
Lorcan was trying to weaken her, playing outside the rules. It wasn’t something he had exclusive ability to. She could do the same, but cutting off the supply lines to the citadel would take too long to be effective. Instead, she had to hit him where it hurt.
Leaning her head on her hand, she watched the camp outside. Bryce walked past, clapping a man on the shoulder before sitting down with them. He was a good man. He’d fought bravely. When it had come down to it, his passion and bluster had been more than hot wind. The men were also starting to listen to him more and more. In the past, he’d been dismissed, his rhetoric being seen as the unrealistic ranting of an idealistic dreamer—which was exactly what Lorcan had accused her of being.
“Bryce,” she called and he looked back at her. Putting his breakfast to side, he came over to her tent.
“I think we can make use of that passion of yours to undermine the Naufren, but it would be dangerous. Very dangerous.”
Tilting his head to the side, he regarded her. He didn’t entirely trust her, which wasn’t surprising as they had butted heads a lot. “What have you got in mind?”
“We’ve got a few defectors sneaking out of the citadel.”
“A fair few.”
“Most of the people facing us are fighting people from their own villages, their own families. I bet there is quite a number who could be convinced to defect given the chance to rile them up.”
“You want me to go do that? That would be inside the citadel.”
“It is up to you. If they catch you, they’ll hang you.”
“I’ll do it,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Are you sure? You can’t go in there raging. You have to be a bit more subtle.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to find a way in. We’ve got plenty of uniforms. I’ll see if some of the other want to go back in and help. They would know who to approach.”
“Be careful.”
“I’ll remind them all they’re fighting on the wrong side.”
“Be stealthy.”
“None of the people fighting for Lorcan actually want him to win. It’s his gold they’re fighting for, against their own brothers.”
“Yes,” Ashra said.
Jogging off, he could barely hide his excitement. His passion could be like an incendiary bomb inside Lorcan’s army, but it was risky sending him in there. There was a strong chance he would get caught and then she would always know that she had suggested this, and it had ended badly for him. Still, he was more than willing to do it. In winning this war, she couldn’t be squeamish, especially if this action would divert them from squaring off in another battle—or at least one where she was weak and he was strong. If he was going to attack her, she was going to attack him back.
It didn’t take long to gather a group to sneak into the citadel and cause trouble. Bryce could certainly inspire some to go on what could be a suicide mission. It was that very rhetoric that she was turning on Lorcan. Who could be proud of the gold in their pockets in face of Bryce’s passion for change? They were, in essence, fighting against the good of their own people.
A few hours later, Bryce returned. “We’re ready to go. We’re going in after dark. One of the men has a brother manning one of the gates. They should keep quiet about our entrance into the citadel.”
“I don’t need to tell you that the place is vast. And don’t approach Niesen Woord. He’s a Solmnite, but he’s too invested in the current structure. I think he actually believes the Naufren propaganda that Naufrens are natural rulers.”
“We’ll deliver some hard truths,” Bryce said with a smile.
“Oh, and maybe we should keep this brother on the gate for now, rather than out here, in case we need to get in again.”
“No problem,” Bryce said with a nod before he ran off, clearly excited about his new mission. Well, he’d been looking to do some damage to the Naufren. Here was his chance—something he could do better than anyone else. With a sigh, she hoped he didn’t do anything stupid. He wasn’t stupid—just very, very passionate. It blinded him sometimes, but now was the time to deploy that passion.
Was this madness? Maybe, but if he did it right, this could be devastating for Lorcan. They had the moral high ground, particularly when it came to the people they were actually facing on the battlefield, who couldn’t be fighting with much gusto. Who wanted to fight for the subjugation of their o
wn families? There were a few for whom gold would be more important, but there would be many who would grab the chance to defect if it were presented to them.
Well, they were presenting. It remained to be seen how many took the opportunity.
They rode eastward in the darkness. Ashra watched them through her spyglass. The moon was out, so they could be seen, but only if you knew they were there. A band of five men, all wearing Lorcan’s uniform.
From a distance, she watched them approach a gate, watched them mill for a while and then disappear inside the wall. For all she knew, they could be slaughtered that very moment, but she didn’t think so. It would be a cold heart that would kill someone’s brother in front of them. And the cold heart was probably up there in his apartment, dining and plotting. No doubt he’d made himself liege by now with Wierstoke out of the way.
If she had her way, they would not be facing each other again on the battlefield. It was perhaps unavoidable, but it wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. And in the thick of it, Roisen had gotten rid of one of his enemies. Now there was only one enemy left—her. She was the only thing that stood in his way. Would he be callous enough to send assassins? A shiver snaked up down her spine. She didn’t know how to answer that.
Chapter 21
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, Roisen snuck out of the citadel, two of his most skilled mercenaries with him. Frost had settled on the land as they walked in silence. The occasional screech from some nocturnal bird pierced the quiet around them.
It took a half-hour walk to reach the forest in which she was camped. All was quiet, with only the general noise of sleeping men and a few drunk stragglers moving around. No one would notice a few dark figures moving around. Only a marching army would rouse a response.
The dying embers from fires created a mellow glow to the tents of Ashra’s camp. “Go invite her to meet,” he said to one of the men. It was a risk coming here, but he wanted to speak to her.
Dark Court: The Final Hour Page 10