None of the mounted fighters could maneuver very quickly now, hemmed in by the fighting foot soldiers all around them, and Aedan saw the emperor, perhaps ten yards away, hacking away like mad as he tried to reach Lord Arwyn. Arwyn, in turn, seemed intent on the same thing.
The two were separated by no more than twenty yards, and yet neither could reach the other. Aedan tried to fight his way closer. His breathing was becoming labored, and he felt the soreness in his sword arm as he swung away at his attackers. The standard was an impediment, but he could not let it fall. As Michael engaged a foot soldier who sought to slash his leg, Aedan saw a mounted knight coming up on his rear.
“Michael!” he called out. “Behind you!”
The emperor struck down the foot soldier and quickly turned his horse, barely in time to parry the sword stroke aimed at his head. For a moment, the two of them engaged in a flurry of blows, and then Michael’s sword caught the knight a blow upon his neck, and he went down.
Gylvain fought as well, dressed not in his robes, but for battle.
Magic was of little use in a melee, but Aedan noticed that no blade could reach him. As his attackers struck at him, their blades seemed to slide off the air around him, but Gylvain’s blows struck home. Then there was no time to notice Gylvain as a mounted knight bore down on Aedan. They exchanged several blows before two Anuirean foot soldiers leapt up and dragged him from his saddle.
On and on the battle went, furious and bloody, with neither side giving way. Aedan fought more from instinct than will, only dimly aware of the dampness of the sweat trickling down inside his armor, the taste of dust in his mouth, and the smell of bodies surging all around him.
From time to time, he caught a glimpse of Michael, and did his utmost to stay close to him, but it was all that he could do to fight for his own survival.
And then it happened. A momentary respite from the blades striking out at him, a brief island of calm within the storm, and Aedan saw Michael battling Arwyn, perhaps twenty yards away, their horses side to side as they engaged. In the area immediately around them, men actually stopped fighting so they
could watch. Aedan urged his mount forward, trying to get closer.
The old warlord against the young emperor. Both had unleashed their divine rage, and everyone around them watched, mesmerized, as the two combatants smashed away furiously at each other. They seemed evenly matched, and they were battering each other with such force that both their shields had buckled.
Then Arwyn struck a blow that sent Michael’s shield flying, and Aedan gasped as Michael seemed to lose his balance from the impact. He swayed in his saddle, and Arwyn raised his sword to finish him.
But in that moment, Michael suddenly leaned forward as he swayed and lunged sharply, driving his blade point first through Arwyn’s throat.
The momentum of his lunge carried Michael right out of the saddle, and as Arwyn fell back, Michael went with him, over his horse and to the ground. At once, Aedan and Sylvanna moved in to protect him, and then Gylvain was there, as well, and a group of foot soldiers who formed a ring around him. Michael got up. Arwyn never would.
Michael raised his sword with both hands and brought it down like an axe, severing the dead archduke’s head from his body. Then he raised it high and cried out, “Arwyn is dead! Lay down your arms!”
Immediately, the cry was taken up by all the troops.
It happened like a spreading ripple in a pool, moving out from where they were to the fringes of the battle. As the cry of “Arwyn’s dead!”
was echoed over and over, slowly, the fighting stopped. The THe IRON THBONE noise gradually died down, and the clash of blades diminished until everything was still. Men simply stopped fighting and stood where they were, dazed and exhausted, staring at one another, scarcely able to believe it was over.
As the dust began to settle and the only sounds upon the battlefield were the piteous moans and cries of the wounded and the dying, several mounted knights of the Army of Boeruine made their way toward where the emperor stood. Their horses came at a walk, and they held their swords by their sides.
One knight rode forward and gazed down for a long time at Arwyn’s decapitated body. Then he threw down his sword and reached up to remove his helm.
Eight long, hard years had passed since Aedan saw him last, but he immediately recognized Derwyn, Arwyn’s son, and Michael’s childhood playmate.
His face was a mask of misery. For a moment, his glance met Aedan’s, and he nodded. Aedan returned the gesture, and then Derwyn turned to Michael. For several moments, the two of them simply stared at one another as their men gathered around them. No one spoke. Derwyn held his head up high. Not in defiance, but in proud defeat.
“Derwyn . . .” Michael said, heavily He could not go on.
Derwyn swallowed hard, then raised his arm and cried out in a loud and steady voice, “Long live Emperor Roele!”
There was a moment’s hesitation and then the cry was taken up by the troops of both sides. “Long live Emperor Roele! Roele! Roele!
Roele!”
“Thank the gods,” said Aedan, wearily. “It is over at last. It is finished, Sylvanna.”
But as he turned toward her, she wasn’t there. He glanced all around him, frantically, but he could see no sign of her nor Gylvain. Nor of any of the other elves. It was as if they had melted away into …
“The air,” he murmured, as the wind blew north across the plain.
Booh in THE qORCboN
**chapter one**
Seaharrow was a dismal place in winter, cold and damp and drafty from the fierce winds and storms that constantly blew in off the sea, and Laera hated it. During the summer, the weather was more tolerable, even pleasant, and the society much improved, since the annual Summer Court at Seaharrow was resumed. However, with each summer the old and bitter memories returned in force, along with boiling frustration and resentment, as her brother, Michael, once again arrived at Seaharrow with Aedan Dosiere.
She had come full circle. This was where it had all started. It was the ultimate ignominy that she should wind up here. There wasn’t a place she could go within the castle that did not remind her of a secret tryst with Aedan. The hanging tapestry in the corridor, with the small niche behind it where she and Aedan had coupled passionately; the garden in the courtyard, where they had often met at night; the tower parapet where they had their first encounter; the stables … and the final insult, her own chambers, which had once been Aedan’s when he came to Seaharrow for Summer Court.
Her husband had insisted that she take that room, and nothing she could say would sway him. He must have known. Somehow, he must have learned her secret, though she could not imagine how. The bed she slept in every night was the very bed in which she’d lain with Aedan all those times. It was insufferable. Maddening. But at the same time, it fed her hatred and resentment and firmed her resolve to get revenge.
At first, she couldn’t understand why Derwyn had not denounced her.
When she learned of Michael’s victory over Arwyn, her first emotion had been bitter disappointment, for it meant her plans for Aedan and her own advancement had been thwarted. She cared nothing that Arwyn had been slain, but when she learned Derwyn had survived, panic seized her.
Except for Callador, who had disappeared after news of Arwyn’s defeat had reached Boeruine, Derwyn was the only one who knew of her betrayal.
When she found out Michael had spared him and Derwyn had declared his allegiance to the emperor, she was certain she was undone. Surely Derwyn would denounce her. She had almost fled right then.
But the years and her experience had taught her to be calculating, and after her initial bout of fear, she
had forced herself to settle down and think things through.
There was nothing to stop Derwyn from denouncing her to Michael, except he had no proof. It would have been his word against hers, and despite the fact that she and Michael were not close-they barely even spoke save for those times
when formality demanded it-she was still his sister and a princess of Anuire. Derwyn’s position was too precarious for him to risk making such an accusation. He had nothing to gain from it and a great deal to lose. And even if Michael believed him-and there was a possibility he would-he would still not thank him for putting him in the difficult position of having to execute his sister or, at the very least, send her into exile. Her disgrace would be the emperor’s disgrace, as well. It would indelibly tarnish the honor and the reputation of the royal house.
However, there was a chance Derwyn might not have realized that. She barely even knew him, so she had no real way to estimate his character or intellect.
It was possible that in an attempt to ingratiate himself with Michael, he might reveal her betrayal, thinking he was doing the emperor a great service. Or else he might do it to strike back at Michael for having killed his father. There had been no way to know for sure what he would do, but the more Laera thought about it, the more certain she felt that the situation, while it certainly posed potential danger for her, was not nearly as disastrous as it had seemed at first.
Derwyn would either denounce her or would not.
If he did not, then all was well. But if he did, it would still be his word against hers, and the accusation would seem meanspirited and spiteful. And
even if Michael did believe it, it would be to his disadvantage to act upon it. After due consideration, Laera had decided that while there was considerable risk in her position, the odds were still in her favor, so she would brazen it out. But she had not been prepared for what developed. Derwyn had surprised her.
In a ceremony on the parade ground of Anuire, where not only all the people of the city, but both armies had gathered, Michael had formally announced an end to the long civil war. The regions Arwyn had controlled would once more be taken back into the empire, and those who had taken up arms against him, so long as they swore allegiance to the empire, would not be penalized. The goblins of Thurazor, however, would suffer the wrath of Imperial Anuire at some point in the near future, which Michael did not specify. The armies had fought long enough, he said, and they deserved a respite from the trade of war.
This, of course, had brought him great acclaim as an enlightened and merciful ruler, but Michael’s next decree had been as surprising as it was controversial. He had elevated Derwyn to the rank of duke and confirmed his hereditary ascension to his father’s estate. This had drawn a reaction of absolute astonishment from the assembled multitude.
Arwyn of Boeruine had rebelled against the emperor, and as such, he was a traitor. By all laws and traditions of the empire, his entire family should have shared his disgrace. An order decreeing Derwyn’s formal execution would not have been unexpected, since like his father, he had taken up arms against the empire.
At the very least, everyone thought he would be exiled. For him to assume the title and lands of the Duke of Boeruine was shocking and unprecedented, but Michael had yet one more surprise in store.
“My lords and ladies, valiant comrades-in-arms, and people of Anuire,”
he had said, his voice carrying across the parade ground. “I know that many of you are no doubt shocked and dismayed by my raising of Lord Derwyn to a dukedom when his father had plunged our nation into a long and bloody civil war. Many of you would doubtless call for his exile or even death.”
At this, a loud chorus of assent was raised. Michael waited for a moment, then raised his hands for silence.
“Truly, either punishment would be in keeping with our laws and our traditions,” he said. “However, there has already been too much dying.
There are those among you, I am sure, who would want to see revenge exacted on Derwyn of Boeruine for the war that has long ravaged our country and taken so many lives. Yet I ask you to consider that the war was not of Derwyn’s making.
“It was Arwyn who had allowed his blind ambition to cloud his better judgment,” he continued. “It was Arwyn whose greed and lust for power led him into making an alliance with the goblin realm of Thurazor, and it was Arwyn who had used force of arms to induce Talinie, Taeghas, and Brosengae to join him in his rebellion. Arwyn has paid for his transgressions with his life. If I were likewise to punish Derwyn of Boeruine, would I not also need to punish Davan of Taeghas, Rurik of Talinie, and Lysander of Brosengae? And if, according to our past laws and traditions, these nobles were to forfeit
their lives or be exiled for joining Arwyn in taking arms against us, then according to those same traditions, their families would likewise share in their disgrace.
“Where is the justice? Davan of Taeghas has two young sons aged six and ten. What offense did they commit? Shall we punish the sons for the crimes of the fathers? If we were to take that course, then if a commoner were to steal a loaf of bread, would his son bear the punishment, as well? And what of wives and daughters? What of grandchildren?
Where do we draw the line? If, as Arwyn’s vassal, Count Davan should be condemned for doing his duty to his feudal lord, then should we not also condemn all those troops who followed him? And their families, as well?
If we were to proceed in such a manner, the empire would soon lack for a population.
“I say it is enough that Arwyn, who began the war, has paid for his mistake. There is no purpose to be served in further retribution.
Boeruine and Talinie must present a strong, united front to defend their borders against incursions from Thurazor and the Five Peaks.
Taeghas and Brosengae must now turn their efforts from the prosecution of the war to the pacification of the Seamist Mountains, for the ogres have grown ever bolder while we were in conflict and the dwarves can no longer contain them. Let us forget past differences and proceed with the task of rebuilding. Let us turn our efforts from planning strategy for war to the planting of crops and the raising of livestock.
“Henceforth, we shall be united. To strengthen that union, I propose to send permanent ambas 348 sadors from the Imperial Court to each barony and duchy. Each of those ambassadors shall take with him a staff with which to form an embassy that will communicate regularly and directly with the lord high chamberlain, so that the emperor shall have his personal representatives present at each holding.
“And to further cement the ties between us, I am pleased to formally announce on this day the betrothal of my sisters, the Princess Rhiannon to Lord Devan of Taeghas, the Princess Corielle to Lord Rowan of Talinie, the Princess Kristana to Lord Brom of Brosengae, and the Princess Laera to Lord Derwyn of Boeruine. Thus will those lands now be forever tied to our royal house by oath of fealty and bond of blood, and we shall quarrel no more. And in honor of these ties that shall reunite our empire, I hereby proclaim a festival that shall last for seven days and seven nights. Let the temple bells ring and let your voices raise in song and merriment. The war is ended! Let peace reign throughout Imperial Anuire!”
After the initial stunned reaction, the multitude broke out in wild cheering and, on cue, all the temple bells within the city began to toll. All present saw the wisdom and mercy of the emperor and all raised a chant to hail his name. “Roele! Roele!
Roele!”
Laera had listened to her brother’s final words with shock and amazement. It was the last thing she could have possibly expected.
Had Arwyn won the war, as she had been sure he would, she would have married Derwyn, retained her rank and eventually become the Empress of Anuire. Now, she was still going to marry Derwyn, only instead of standing to
inherit the title of empress, she would be diminished in rank from Princess of Anuire to Duchess of Boeruine. Her lot hadn’t changed at all from the days when she had been betrothed to Arwyn, only now instead of marrying the father, she would wed the son and live at Seaharrow, on the dreary, stormlashed coast of a distant province.
Fate was ironic, cruel, and fickle.
The one thing that had puzzled her was why Derwyn had agreed to the match. Perhaps Michael had given him no choice. He knew she had be
en a spy for Arwyn. Perhaps he believed it was because she had loved his father. Yes, she thought, that must be it, but she had soon discovered otherwise. After the Festival of Seven Days, which became an annual celebration, she had departed for Boeruine, where she had married Derwyn. And it was on their wedding night that she discovered his true feelings and motivations.
“Let us have no misunderstandings between us, my lady,” he had said, his posture stiff and his voice extremely formal. “I know exactly what sort of woman I have married-and do not think to protest your innocence to me. My father had possessed a vast network of informants, and through them, I now possess a wealth of lurid detail about your past.
You have changed lovers as a post rider changes mounts, and you have employed your wiles to destroy those whom you have seduced. Make no mistake, this marriage is nothing more than a political arrangement. I do not love you, and I never could.
“You may wonder why I did not denounce you to your brother as a spy,” he had continued coldly.
“Some of the reasons you have doubtless already 350 inferred, but here is the chief reason of them all. It is up to me to rebuild the tarnished reputation of my house. An alliance by marriage to the House of Roele will do much to increase the diminished standing of the House of Boeruine. Your duty as a wife is to give me sons to carry on my family name.
Two shall be sufficient, I should think. They shall be the issue of a union between our houses, and they shall once more raise the Duchy of Boeruine to its once preeminent status as first among all the nobility.
The bloodline will be strengthened, and our kinship with Roele, the champion of Deismaar, will be reaffirmed. Beyond that, I want nothing from you.
“You shall sleep in your own chambers. Save for the purposes of procreation, I have no desire to share my bed with you. You shall have ladies-in-waiting to keep you company. I have no wish to be troubled with it. You shall be kept cloistered and under constant watch to ensure your faithfulness. Once you have given me two sons, you shall be free to choose whatever lovers you may wish, subject to extreme discretion. Bed the stableboys, for all I care, but if so much as one whisper of gossip should ensue, I shall have you exiled to the farthest reaches of the empire to serve as a priestess in the Northern Temple of Haelyn in the province of Ice Haven on the rocky coast of Talinie, where you shall have your head shaved, dress in simple robes of coarse black wool, and spend your days in constant prayer and solitary meditation.
D&D - Birthright 01 Page 29