Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  “Does that mean you’ll grant his request?” Grinsa asked.

  Before the duke could answer, the city bells began to toll, the sound drifting among the castle towers and walls like the singing of sanctuary clerics on the Night of Two Moons.

  Kearney gave Lathrop a puzzled look.

  “I don’t understand it,” Tremain’s duke said, moving to stand beside him at the window. “The midday bells shouldn’t ring for hours yet.”

  The tolling continued and soon they could hear people shouting as well, the voices growing nearer by the moment. Grinsa felt his stomach turning to stone, and he strained his ears trying to make out what Tremain’s people were saying.

  “What could it be?” Evetta asked. “Is there war? Has the pestilence come?”

  No one answered. They were all listening, some with their eyes closed. Tavis appeared to be trembling, as though he thought that Kentigern’s men had come for him.

  It was Gershon who first heard, his face turning white as Keziah’s hair. “Ean save us all,” he breathed, looking at Kearney.

  “What is it, Gershon?”

  The man was crying, the tears running a crooked course down his face. “My lord,” he said, his voice trembling. “The king is dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Curgh, Eibithar

  Even before Shonah crossed through the inner gate to the city ward, she could hear Hagan barking commands at Javan’s men, his voice echoing off the castle walls. The swordmaster had been working the men far harder than usual for the past half turn. The duchess didn’t have to watch the training sessions to know that much. She had heard the guards talking in the corridors outside her chambers. She had seen how weary Hagan himself looked, and she was certain that if the swordmaster was that tired, his men had to be suffering far more.

  She had thought at first that Hagan was driving them so relentlessly out of frustration. Since word first came from Kentigern of all that had happened there, she had been terribly cross with her ladies and servants. She understood how difficult it was to keep from lashing out in fear and anger. It wasn’t Hagan’s boy who had been accused of murder, but he did have a son on the tor, just as she did. And if there was one man in the dukedom whose love for Javan could be said to run as deep as her own, it was Hagan. Who could blame the swordmaster for allowing his rage at Aindreas to affect him so?

  Only in the last few days, however, since the arrival in Curgh of a messenger bearing word of Tavis’s escape and Javan’s captivity, had it occurred to her how foolish she had been. Hagan, she understood abruptly, was working the men so hard because he expected to lead them to war.

  They hadn’t spoken of it. In truth, they hadn’t spoken at all since the arrival of the last message. Even before Daria’s death eight years ago, Hagan had seemed uncomfortable around women, the duchess in particular. In the years following his wife’s death he avoided her entirely. Perhaps she reminded him of Daria—many said that they looked alike. Or perhaps the pain of losing her had been such that he couldn’t bear to be near any woman. Whatever the reason, they never saw each other except at banquets and, occasionally, when their paths crossed in the castle corridors.

  Which was why on this day, at last, she had resolved to seek him out. With the duke and her son gone, she commanded the castle. The time had come for her to speak with the captain of the duke’s guard.

  Passing through the gate, she followed the stone path toward the south end of the city ward, where the men were training. They were paired off to practice their swordwork, not with wooden blades, she noted, but with steel, the ringing of their weapons filling the ward like Revel music. They even had on their mail and armor. Shonah shivered, despite the sun and the warm air blowing in off Amon’s Ocean.

  “Watch your footwork, you dullards!” Hagan shouted, as he walked among them. “Balance is everything!”

  As Shonah reached the men and continued past some of them toward Hagan, several of them stopped fighting to stare at her, as if she were one of Ean’s prelates entering a brothel.

  His ire drawn immediately to their silence, Hagan whirled toward them. “Sluggards! Who told you to—?” He stopped, following the line of their stares and seeing the duchess. “My lady!” he said, his expression quite similar to those of the soldiers.

  “Good day, swordmaster.” She regarded the men briefly. “I take it the training goes well.”

  “It does.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”

  “I’d like a word, yes,” she said.

  “Of course.” He glanced at his men, all of whom had stopped to listen and look at the duchess. “Train, you dolts!” he shouted. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  Shonah and the swordmaster walked off a short distance, stopping in the shadows of the south gate.

  Hagan faced her, his light curls ruffled by the breeze. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

  “You’ve heard nothing more?” she asked.

  His mouth twitched. “No. You?”

  In spite of everything, Aindreas appeared to be placing no limits on the number of messages Javan wrote, or Xaver, for that matter. Missives arrived from them both every few days. But though she knew Javan’s hand, she could not tell if the content of the letters was his as well. They were vague at best. Each one assured her that he was well, that he was not being mistreated by Aindreas or his men. But he never mentioned Tavis by name, and he offered no guidance as to what she should have been doing to help him. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect her, or if he was being told what he could and could not write. It seemed from Hagan’s expression that he had similar doubts.

  The duchess shook her head. “I don’t know how much longer we can wait to do something. But I do know that Javan wouldn’t have waited even this long.”

  His expression didn’t change, but after a moment he nodded. “I agree. I … I haven’t wanted to push you.” He gestured toward the soldiers. “In the duke’s absence, these men are yours to command. I’ve tried to see to it that they’re ready for whatever you decide to do with them.”

  “And what do you think that should be?”

  He looked away. “It’s not my place to say, my lady.”

  “Nonsense! If Javan were here, asking you the same question, you wouldn’t hesitate to give your counsel. I’m not asking any more of you than he would.”

  “Actually, my lady, you are,” he said, still not meeting her gaze. “The duke has the first minister to rely on as well as me. But the Qirsi isn’t here. And the duke also can draw on his own knowledge of military matters. You can’t. You’re asking me to make the decision for you, and I won’t do that.”

  She had to admit that there was some truth to what Hagan was saying. She would be relying in great part on what he told her. But the rest of it was rubbish, and it was time he learned something about her.

  “Hear me well, swordmaster,” she said, her tone forcing him to look her way. “I may be a woman, and I may never have ridden to battle, but that does not mean that I will cede command of these men to you!”

  “My lady!” he said, looking aghast. “That’s not wh—”

  “You may offer me what counsel you will, but I will decide what is to be done about Kentigern and his accusations against my son. And even if that means ordering you into a war of which you disapprove, I will expect you to follow my orders. If you feel you can’t do that, tell me now and I will have you relieved of your command until my husband returns.”

  Hagan stared at her for several moments, saying nothing. Then he began to nod, the hint of a smile alighting on his lips.

  “Your point is taken, my lady. My apologies.”

  She did her best to keep her expression grave. “None is necessary, Hagan. Now, please, answer my question. What do you think we ought to do?”

  He looked back at his men, as if appraising the progress of their training. “In all honesty, my lady, I’m not certain. It was one thing for Kentigern to accuse Lord Ta
vis as he did and put the boy in his dungeon. But it’s quite another to imprison the duke this way. It’s almost as if he wants a war.”

  She didn’t want to ask—she dreaded not his answer, which would be polite and vague, but the manner in which he offered it—but she had been grappling with the question alone for too long. “Do you think Tavis killed the girl?”

  His eyes flicked to her face for just an instant. “I’m no judge of such a thing, my lady.”

  Just as she expected, but she had asked and there was no turning from it now. “But you saw what he did to your son.”

  “Yes, I did.” He glanced at her again. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  “It’s all right. It’s nothing I haven’t thought on my own. You may not believe it, Hagan, but the boy’s no murderer. His attack on Xaver was unforgivable; I wouldn’t blame you if you hated him for it. Had Xaver done the same to Tavis I’d feel the same.”

  “If Xaver had done the same to Tavis,” the man said quietly, “he’d have been hanged by now.”

  She stared at him, feeling her color rise. There was no arguing the matter. The swordmaster was right.

  “For what it’s worth, my lady, Xaver argues as you do. The one time he mentioned Lord Tavis in a letter, he made it clear that he thinks the lord innocent. And if he still believes that, who am I to doubt it?”

  She smiled for just an instant. “Thank you, Hagan.” She stared at the guards, as the swordmaster had done a moment before. “Are the men ready if we … if I decide to send them to war?”

  This time he didn’t hesitate at all. “They’re ready, my lady. Kentigern’s men can’t stand against them. But with the duke held in the castle, I’d be reluctant to send them into battle. There’s no telling what Kentigern might do if the fighting goes badly for him.”

  Shonah exhaled, knowing a moment of profound relief. She had thought of this as well, but had been afraid that Hagan might see her as weak for worrying about it.

  “So that leaves us just where we were,” she said.

  He looked past her to the soldiers. “I suppose it does. So we’ll wait?”

  The man kept his tone even, but she read his disapproval in his dark eyes and the tightening of his jaw. Which was fine. She felt the same way.

  “I’m tired of waiting,” she said, drawing his gaze. “It may not be wise to start a war just yet, but perhaps a show of our resolve would help matters along.”

  “My lady?”

  “Prepare the men, Hagan. If we hear nothing in the next three days, we’ll ride to Kentigern. That should give the quartermaster time enough to prepare provisions for the journey.”

  “More than enough time, my lady.”

  Shonah nodded. “I know. But we’ll give Aindreas a few days more to relent. Perhaps Javan would be bolder, but I must do this as I know how.”

  “You might be wise to speak with the duke’s other advisors, my lady, to be sure you’re doing the right thing. The first minister may not be here, but the second minister is, as are the underministers.”

  She knew that she should. She knew as well how difficult it must have been for Hagan to suggest such a thing. He agreed with what she had decided to do, and there was a chance the ministers would not. But while Shonah had come to respect Fotir, even to like him, she did not feel the same way about the other Qirsi who advised Javan. She thought them arrogant and she could tell that they had little regard for her. She had no desire to ask them for their counsel. The duchess smiled to herself. It seemed that the Curgh pride for which her husband and his ancestors were so famous had found its way into her blood as well.

  “I’ll inform them of my intentions,” she said. “I see no need to trouble them beyond that.”

  Hagan raised an eyebrow, that small smile returning. “Are you certain, my lady?”

  The duchess nodded, as if she had convinced herself. “Yes I am. Please see to it that the quartermaster is given all he needs, Hagan,” she said, turning to walk away.

  “I will, my lady.”

  She started back toward her chambers, frightened by the decision she had made, but comforted by the knowledge that they were doing something at last. She had only taken a few steps, however, when the swordmaster called to her.

  “My lady!”

  She stopped and faced him again.

  “I think the duke would be pleased.”

  Shonah couldn’t keep the smile from springing to her lips. She was certain that Hagan was right.

  “Please keep me informed as you make your preparations,” she said, turning once more.

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Over the course of the next day it seemed to Shonah that the entire castle came to life, as if all the people who lived and worked there had been waiting for her to give them some purpose to which they could apply themselves. Perhaps she should have sensed this before—she felt certain that Javan would have—but she had been too absorbed with her own fears. Now, though, she felt their will, their mettle. The duke had spoken to her of the way a group of laborers with no common bond could come together if set to a task, or an army of men could find strength and courage in each other simply by readying themselves for war. But until now, she had not understood.

  Late the following day, just after the ringing of the prior’s bells, Hagan informed her that the quartermaster and his workers had readied the provisions.

  “All the carts are loaded, my lady,” the swordmaster said, as they walked slowly through the city ward, looking over the quartermaster’s work. “We can begin our journey whenever you choose.”

  Hagan’s men were training again, just beyond the last of the carts. It seemed to Shonah that there was a crispness to their movements that had been lacking just the day before. Even they were not immune to the excitement that had gripped the castle.

  “Please commend the quartermaster for me,” the duchess said, “and convey my thanks.”

  “I will, my lady.”

  They walked a short distance in silence. Then Hagan took a breath, as if readying himself to say something. Shonah knew what he would say before the words crossed his lips. They had both gotten messages that day, his from Xaver, hers from the duke. As always, the swordmaster was reluctant to ask her what the duke had said, as if Javan would be writing her love letters from Aindreas’s prison tower.

  “It’s all right, Hagan,” she said, suppressing a smile. “You can ask.”

  “Thank you, my lady. Did the duke write anything new?”

  “No, I’m afraid he didn’t.” It had been a short letter, as most of them were. He and Fotir were fine. He hadn’t seen the rest of his men, but he had no reason to believe they were being mistreated. He did mention Tavis by name, if only to say that there was no word on his whereabouts, but aside from that the letter contained nothing of note. “Did Xaver?”

  The man shook his head, looking, despite his great height and powerful build, like a small boy. “Nothing at all.”

  She took his arm. “Patience, swordmaster. Aindreas hasn’t done anything to harm them, and he’d have nothing to gain from doing so now.”

  He nodded, but kept his silence.

  They had walked among the quartermaster’s wagons and then completed a great circle around them. Returning to where they had started, Hagan stopped and the duchess released his arm.

  “If there’s nothing else, my lady, I should get back to training the men.”

  “You don’t fool me, Hagan MarCullet. You want to yell at someone, and you’re afraid to yell at me.”

  He grinned. “Yes, my lady.”

  She smiled as well. “Very well, Hagan. Go to your soldiers. But don’t be too cruel to them. They’ve a long journey coming.”

  The swordmaster opened his mouth to reply. But before he could speak, a bell began to toll from the far end of town.

  Shonah frowned. The prior’s bells had already been rung; the next bells weren’t to be struck until dusk.

  “What do you think—?”

  Hagan shook
his head and raised a hand, silencing her. An instant later more bells began to ring.

  “The first was the Moorlands gate,” he said, his voice low, his head cocked so as to hear better. “The stone gate and far gate just joined in.”

  The duchess could hear voices now. At the far end of the city a great many people were crying out. Hagan’s men had stopped their fighting with the first bells, and were now approaching Shonah and the swordmaster, their weapons ready.

  Shonah’s heart was pounding and she felt as if all the blood had left her body, leaving her cold and breathless.

  “What is it, Hagan?” she whispered. “Are we under attack?”

  The shouts were coming closer and bells were tolling at all the city gates.

  “We’re not being attacked,” the swordmaster said, a single tear rolling down his face. “Listen to the cries and you’ll understand.”

  It had happened only once before in his memory. Ailell of Thorald died when he was just a babe, too young to understand. But Hagan still remembered the death of the first Aylyn as clearly as he recalled the birth of his son and the death of his wife. He had been eight at the time, a mere boy in the court of his father, who was a thane in the Curgh countryside. His father’s castle now belonged to Hagan’s brother. As the secondborn, Hagan was given MarCullet Manor and the earldom that went with it. Daria’s tomb was on the manor’s grounds, and he rode to it several times each year, often with Xaver.

  Living most of the time in Curgh Castle, they both considered the manor little more than a large country home. Even MarCullet Castle seemed insignificant and run-down. Certainly it was no fortress. And though a part of Hagan’s heart belonged to the place, he was just as glad to live apart from it.

  But thirty-three years before, when the elder Aylyn died, the castle had seemed to him the grandest place in the world. His father’s servants and guards treated him as a prince, and he had spent his days pretending to be that and more. Until a man arrived on horseback, travel-stained and so weary he could barely stand, bearing the news of the king’s death. He stayed but a few moments, long enough to water his horse and eat a small meal himself, before continuing on to Curgh Castle. But in that short time—a matter of just minutes—Hagan MarCullet realized that beyond the walls of MarCullet Castle lay a far greater world, one of which he wanted desperately to be part.