Two silver lamps cast a soft light over the simple furnishings in Angharad's bedchamber. Ian had time to take in the impression of a room lacking many of the amenities that he would have thought essential to a woman in her position. More suitable for a child than an adult, it was a feminine room nonetheless. A movement from the bed brought his attention to the reason for his being summoned. He came closer and, as a woman sitting beside the bed rose to curtsey to him, he glimpsed Angharad's face against the pillow. From the edge of the bed he saw that her skin was very pale, almost greyish in hue, and dark shadows ringed her closed eyes. Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she tossed her head back and forth so that a few strands of sweaty hair now clung to her cheeks and forehead. The woman who had risen at his entrance looked apprehensively at him, as if she might be thought guilty for her mistress' condition.
Lady Moira, who had brought him hence, now entered the room with a man wearing old-fashioned robes and carrying a large wooden box. Drimnor was not such a physician as could be found in Sandovar or the southern and eastern provinces, but he was well-versed in the medicinal as well as the culinary virtues of a wide assortment of plants. He had tended the hurts and illnesses of the residents of the castle and the surrounding villages for over thirty years with much success, and was well thought of despite his testy manner.
"Come in, Drimnor," Ian said impatiently as the man stopped to offer him a bow.
Drimnor straightened, shrugged and shuffled his way to the bedside. The box was handed to the woman standing beside the bed, who thereupon almost dropped its unexpected weight and earned a look of contempt from the healer. He bent over Angharad, laying his hand on her brow as he pulled her arm gently from under the bedclothes and sought her pulse with his fingertips. She stirred under his touch and tried to open her eyes. Her body became stiff and rigid when she had forced her eyes open and Ian could see that the irises were completely dilated. Those bright, inky pools did not seem to comprehend what was happening to her. Moira stepped forward, so that Angharad could see her, and murmured a few words of explanation. Though the expression in her eyes did not change much, she lay quietly now.
"You've overtired yourself, my lady, that much is easily seen. I'm going to give you something to drink that will help quiet your nerves and let you sleep." So saying, Drimnor turned and took a small glass vial out of his box. Moira brought a cup of water to him when so ordered, and into it Drimnor poured a small amount of the liquid from the vial. Supported by Moira, Angharad was raised and the cup set against her lips. A wrinkled nose indicated the less than appetizing smell of the draught, but she did not complain and drank it down. Moira and her fellow attendant fussed over Angharad for a moment, making sure that she was lying comfortably. Angharad slipped under the influence of the medication very quickly, and her eyelids grew heavy with sleep. One of the lamps was extinguished and Drimnor indicated that they should withdraw from the chamber.
"The girl looks as if she just spent a week without food or rest," Drimnor complained when the door to Angharad's room was closed. "What has she been doing to herself?" He glared at Ian and the two women.
"She has been working with arcane powers," Ian replied quietly as he motioned the two women to leave. The women withdrew towards a door at the other end of the antechamber and halted uncertainly.
Drimnor gave Ian a penetrating stare. "What kind of magic?" was his blunt query.
"The House Gift of Creon. Why do you ask? How ill is she?" Irritation laced through Ian's words.
"She doesn't seem ill exactly." Drimnor softened his tone, momentarily having forgotten Ian's rank. "She's completely exhausted. It could be from using magic; especially if she is unused to it. I've given her a narcotic to make her sleep very deeply and to act as a tonic on her nerves. I will come in the morning to check on her progress, but if she wakes in discomfort during the night, send for me." Ian nodded and Drimnor picked up his box and followed one of the women out of the complex of rooms designated for Angharad and her attending ladies' use.
Once more Moira approached Ian, her hands folded before her. "We shall keep careful watch and let your lordship know of any change," she said meekly.
"That won't be necessary," he replied, his eyes wandering back to the bedroom door. "I will stay with her ladyship myself." Ignoring Moira's open-mouthed amazement, Ian turned and disappeared into Angharad's room, closing the door behind him.
It was an hour or two past daylight, many miles to the east, on the road carved through the mountains forming a link between Castle Lir and the Gannerly Vale, that the soldiers, wearing the badge of the Red Stag, began slowly driving the soldiers of the Green Dragon back in the direction of the castle.
The battle had recommenced a little before dawn when a small band of Langstraad's men had crept unseen to the edge of Tuenth's camp and let fly with a volley of arrows. They quickly fell back, having done the damage they intended, and Tuenth's army assembled to begin that day's offensive. Marching in formation, they met with much resistance as they slogged up the road, forcing the slow retreat of the defenders.
Somewhat after the noon hour, Baron de Reunne worked his way back from the front ranks to where Blaise was riding to tell him that they were approaching that section of the pass that had been discussed the previous evening. Eagerly spurring his horse forward, his abrupt action making it difficult for his guard to stay abreast of him, Blaise rode forward through the ranks until he could see the area that had been spoken of. Standing in his stirrups he descried, a mile distant, the steep, heavily forested mountainsides converging and the straight but narrow road that fell between them.
Langstraad's forces were still spread out and attacking in a semi-circle at this point, many of the men weaving in and out of the trees to either side of Tuenth's army. Blaise sent the other commanding officers the order to fall back, so that Langstraad's men could make a run for the pass. Though still unsure of their lord's plan, his officers gave the order and Tuenth's army faltered in its push forward. Assuming that the pursuing army was suffering from fatigue, the commander of Langstraad's troops thought it an opportune time to rush his men through the tight pass and set up on the other side, effectively bottlenecking Tuenth's army and slowing them down even more.
At his word, the men of Langstraad pulled back out of the trees and began a fast retreat through the pass. The length was only about a half-mile and Blaise waited until as many men as possible were in the pass before he reached within his mind for the power that lay there. He heard many of his own men shout but they were overwhelmed by the roar of the earth as it opened up and the screams of hundreds of men as the chasm that had opened beneath them closed over their heads.
Shaking and sweating freely, Blaise managed to cling to his saddle as his horse swung around in fear, ready to run. His nearest adjutant leaped off his own horse and grabbed the bridle of Blaise's mount preventing it from running away. His face was etched with fear and respect, having just witnessed and understood what his duke had done. Tentatively the adjutant extended his hand should Blaise wish to dismount. Angry at showing the faintness the deed had cost him, Blaise pushed the offered hand away with the toe of his boot and ordered the army to advance on those men on this side of the pass who had not been destroyed in the chasm. Beginning with half-hearted shouts that grew as the men of Tuenth realized that the legendary power of the Great House they followed had turned the tide to their advantage, the soldiers of Tuenth fell on the still dazed men of Langstraad and slaughtered them in a frenzy of elation.
Chapter 22
The morning sun, finding a chink where the heavy draperies were pulled together, threw a bright beam of light across Angharad's face. Its pleasant warmth quickly became an irritant as it moved an inch to fall directly across her eyes. Angharad shifted her head out of its path but in doing so she roused herself out of the depths of sleep to lie drowsily with her eyes closed.
The events of the previous day flitted through her mind in disconnected wisps, half memory and hal
f dream. There was a tense, dark area associated with her use of the House Gift that she skirted, preferring the glow of accomplishment that her actions had brought about. For the first time in her life, she was aware of being in control of her own destiny, and basked in the security of that knowledge. In and out of her musings Ian's face and form were woven, drawing forth an unexpected surge of emotion. Her image of Daffyd had begun to fade somewhat over the past months, like a dreamy remembrance of some distant childhood event. Though still prey to conflicting currents of feeling, she found that she had passed the point where thoughts of Ian seemed a betrayal of her love for Daffyd. Unflinching, she faced up to the truth of her grandmother's words and admitted that she been guided more by her own need to make use of Daffyd's infatuation with her. It was not that she hadn't loved him, but overwhelming love had not been the only reason that she had run away with him and therein, she acknowledged, lay her fault.
The sound of breathing penetrated her thoughts, bringing her wide awake when she realized that it was not her breath making the sound. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and was astonished to see Ian, wrapped in a fur bed-robe, asleep in a large chair not five feet from where she lay. Keeping silent so as not to wake him, she took this opportunity to study him undetected. Up until now, when she had been in his company her vision had been affected by excess emotion or he had been in a state of animation. This was the first time that she had the leisure of really looking at him, and what she saw did not displease her. He lacked Daffyd's height and breadth, and she noted that the thin, sensitive features of his face, even in sleep, had a secretive quality.
As if her scrutiny reached out to nudge him, Ian's shoulder moved and his eyes opened, revealing a surprisingly alert expression. Finding himself observed, he wriggled into a more upright posture and offered her a circumspect look of his own in return. Finally, he asked, "Are you feeling better this morning? Your attending lady... I don't remember her name, came to my rooms last night when you became overly restless in your sleep." He went on to explain that the castle's healer had been summoned and had pronounced her condition to be the result of stress and fatigue. After she had been given a sleeping draught, he had decided to remain in case there was a reoccurrence of her malady.
"That was most kind of you," Angharad thanked him solemnly. "I do remember waking up and being given something to drink, but I did not know whether it was real or another dream." She pushed herself up on the pillows, propping herself into a more comfortable position. With a teasing lilt to her voice she said, "It seems that whenever we spend the night in the same room, you have the least comfortable accommodations."
Ian smiled and prepared to stand up. "Since you are recovered, I will leave you in peace. Drimnor, the healer, will be coming to check on you later this morning."
As he stood and began to fold the fur robe, he was checked by Angharad's voice calmly suggesting that he stay and break his fast with her. "After all, if you've spent the night here, what matters an hour more?"
"Are you sure?" He looked carefully into her face, trying to ascertain the genuineness of her offer.
"Of course I'm sure." Impishly she leaned over and pulled on the bellrope that hung down from the ceiling. "That is, if it won't cause too great a scandal. His lordship breakfasting in her ladyship's rooms, I mean."
Ian said nothing in response to that remark as he sat back down in his chair with a droll expression on his face. He contented himself with waiting and watching this evidence of her blossoming personality. He was uncertain as to how serious her teasing might be, whether it presaged further changes in their relationship or just that she was beginning to feel comfortable with him as a friend.
Moira entered the room followed by a kitchen maid carrying a tray. The tray held more food than Angharad was wont to consume, but not sufficient for two healthy appetites. In a calm, authoritative voice Angharad ordered more food to be brought up from the kitchens.
"Is there anything special you'd like?" she inquired of Ian.
He grinned, "No, just tell the cook that it's for me and they will know what to send."
Instructed by her mistress to bring a bed tray and shawl and to find a table for his lordship's use, Moira quickly fetched the requested items and then, again on Angharad's orders, left them alone to eat. The talk as they ate their meal together was remarkably relaxed and amiable. Angharad proved to have a sharp wit that complemented Ian's, as well as an unexpected gift for mimicry. Their talk was light and dwelt mostly on pleasant incidents from the past. Ian learned much of Angharad's upbringing at Creon's court and, in turn, he compared and contrasted it to his own childhood at Langstraad's court. Painful or unpleasant subjects were, by an unspoken agreement, avoided by both of them until the meal was over. Then Angharad brought them both back to the present by speculating that, after yesterday's defeat, Lord Brescom might now be willing to leave Langstraad in peace.
Ruefully Ian shook his head. "No, my lady, he will not quit these walls until they are somehow breached and he possesses the keep. It is my guess that Niall has promised him these lands for his betrayal of the Pentarchy." A stony look of defiance came over his face. "I have many accounts to settle with Lord Brescom when I get the chance." It was through his lands that Holly had ridden, and she had been killed just outside his borders. The foundation of a strong friendship with Lord Alwyn had also been sundered by Brescom. Many of Langstraad's people were even now dying for the earl's advantage. The accounts, as Ian saw them, would cost the Earl of the Inner Ward dearly.
"Well, since he outnumbers us, we will simply have to find a way to outwit him," Angharad said briskly, recalling Ian's thoughts.
He returned his attention to her with a smile. "You are quite right there, and it reminds me that I am due to tour the walls and review our position with Griswold this morning." He rose to take his leave. "I don't suppose you'd care to walk a couple of miles of rock this morning...?"
"And miss seeing how well my efforts of yesterday have taken the wind out of the earl's sails? I'll meet you on the main steps of the keep in an hour's time," she replied with a laugh. Impulsively she held out her hand to him.
Taking the hand, Ian raised it to his lips while keeping his eyes on her face. As his lips barely brushed her hand, he confirmed, "In an hour then, my lady." With a quick grin thrown over his shoulder as he reached the door, he departed.
Three days later, from Lir's walls, the red stag of Tuenth was seen flying above the enemy camp, supplanting the black tower of the Inner Ward. The Duke of Tuenth, followed by his army, had ridden into the encampment at noon. After the victory in the neck of the Gannerly Vale, in which the formidable power of their duke was revealed, Tuenth's army had marched almost unopposed up the road to Castle Lir. There had been one last desperate effort to stop their advance, but a sudden landslide thoroughly routed the opposition.
The manifestation of his power, which proved him to be Head of House Tuenth as well as its duke, was vastly satisfying to Blaise. He noticed that his men, common soldiers and officers alike, now exhibited both fear and admiration, responding to his commands with instant obedience. What he did not see was the misgiving by many of those same men that their duke's self-confidence was all too rapidly inflating to arrogance.
Setting up his pavilion close to Brescom's, after ordering the earl's vassal whose tent was originally on the spot to move, the Duke of Tuenth announced that he wanted all high-ranking officers to attend his ducal court in the field that afternoon. When everyone was present and seated in the largest room of his tent, Blaise coolly informed all those present that he, being the ranking nobleman, would be directing the siege from now on. Without waiting to gauge their reaction, he next required Lord Brescom and his general staff to explain why the offensive had progressed no further than it had.
Stiff with anger and affront, Lord Brescom explained in a tightly controlled voice how their major offensive had been foiled four days previously by arcane means. With a derisive laugh, Blaise told of us
ing his own arcane means to bring his army up the enemy-held road to Castle Lir. As he spoke many of his own men shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but confirmed that their duke had indeed made the earth move and given them the advantage.
"Yes, Brescom, I am now the power-wielder for House Tuenth," bragged Blaise. "And what is more, I intend to use my power to put an end to this stalemate situation."
"Very good, your grace," Brescom replied with more civility than he felt. He had not liked Blaise ap Halberstad from the beginning and had argued with Niall against letting the youngster into their plans. Despite his title of Head of a Minor House, the Earl of the Inner Ward had neither talent nor interest in arcane matters, and felt that they had no place on the battlefield. Furious at the use of arcane trickery from the castle's defenders in the destruction of his missile-throwing machines, to now be told by this young upstart that he was going to take over and use his brand of magic to break the siege galled the earl inexpressibly.
Blaise dismissed the general staff with the admonition to have their troops mounted and at the ready tomorrow morning when he would open up the castle. Asking the earl to remain a moment or two longer, he proceeded to keep him waiting impatiently while he called for his personal physician to prepare something to soothe his headache.
"Now, Larth," he began, using the earl's personal name without leave, a liberty that his rank but not his experience entitled him to, "why don't you sit down and tell me about your various adventures in getting to Lir?" Blaise sank back down into his chair, stretching his long, booted legs and leisurely crossing them at the ankle.
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