Fire And Ice (Book 1) (78 page)

             
She looked them over carefully but did not respond, then turned her gaze to the four men at Meneroe’s side.  “You are his sons?”

             
They nodded briefly.  “Do any of you have anything to say in your defense?”

             
The first spat in the dirt.  “I regret nothing.”

             
“Then you are a fool,” she told him and waited for the others to speak.  The next two ignored her defiantly, but the fourth, who was also the youngest, he had to be only a year or two older than Alys, opened his mouth to speak.               “I did not agree with my father’s actions, but I have no excuse for my participation.”  He swallowed.  “I only hope that you will allow me to fight in the coming battle.”

             
“Why?  For honor?” she replied in a mocking tone.  “House Meneroe has no honor.”

             
Alys leaned close to whisper in her ear.  “Stannis is telling the truth.  He did not like the way father behaved.  He was the only one who was ever nice to me.”  She finished and leaned away.

             
Katelyn considered their words.  It was time for judgment.  “Lord Meneroe.  You are stripped of your titles and lands.  They are now the property of the crown.”  His face darkened further by the word.  “You are also to be taken directly from here to the center of the camp.  There you will be hung for the traitor you are.”  There was no other choice for him. He had to die.

             
“Is that wise?”  Martin asked in a hushed voice.  “In front of the whole army?”

             
“They will know what happened soon enough,” she explained.  “Meneroe has not only betrayed me, but plotted to betray all of them as well.”  She turned to the sons.  “You are to be taken to Stockton to be dealt with by the headsmen.”  She regretted that, but had no illusions that they would not plot against her as well.  Because they were here gave her the right to execute them.  The men’s faces were long.  One started to cry.  She ignored it.  “Stannis.”  The youngest looked up into her face.  He had not cried.  “You will lead the guards of Meneroe in battle.  But I warn you now.  If you even think of betraying me I will see that Soros’ punishment is inforced upon you.”

             
Stannis’ face was white.  “I will not.”

             
“You should also know that Meneroe is no more.  If you fight it will not get you your lands back.”              

             
“I understand,” he replied.

             
Once again there was little choice.  “See that they are brought,” she ordered Martin.  She turned her horse around and booted its ribs.  The black quickened its pace and she was soon away from the area.  Alys came up beside her and she knew that Devon and the other three knights were following.

             
“You did what you had to do,” Alys told her.

             
“I know, but what about you?  That could not have been easy for you.”

             
“It was not,” she agreed.  “I wonder what I will do now that Meneroe is no more.”

             
“The House of Meneroe will be synonymous with treachery from now on.  That is why it cannot be allowed to stand,” Katelyn tried to explain.  Anyone bearing the name Meneroe would find themselves despised wherever they went.

             
“I understand that,” Alys replied.  “I feel bad for my brothers though, even knowing what they are.”   

             
“Well, if it makes you feel any better you are now my responsibility.”

             
“And what plans do you have for me?”

             
“I thought that until I find you a suitable husband,”  She glanced at Devon who coughed uncomfortably into his hand,  “you should join another house.”

             
“Another house?  How?”  Alys asked completely confused. 

             
“How?  I am the Queen that is how.”  Katelyn smiled.  “From now on you will be Alysaria Sundarrion.”

             
“Really?” the girl exclaimed.  “That is wonderful.”

             
“I was hoping that you would feel that way about it,” Katelyn said.  At least something good had come out of this day.              

Chapter 41

Converging Forces

              Katelyn’s head came up at the sound of horse’s hooves approaching in a hurry.  What made her so interested this time was that the sound was coming from the east instead of the west.  That meant it was a messenger at the least.  She set down the half empty cup of tea, pushed herself up off the cushions and went out to see who it was.

             
The sun was hidden by a large puffy cloud that cast a shadow over most of the camp.  The hoof beats had stopped and she spotted the messenger outside the large pavilion talking down to Roland.  She hurried over to them, her feet crunching on the frozen grass.  Coming closer she saw he wore the rearing lion of Taragosa. 

             
Roland turned his head towards her.  “Aemon has arrived.  His forces are setting up across the river.”

             
“The enemy?”

             
“They should arrive sometime tomorrow, Your Majesty,” the messenger informed her.

             
“So it will all be settled the day after tomorrow,” Roland mused.  “They will not seek battle the first day.  They will want their men to rest and to scout out our defenses before deciding how to attack.”

             
It would be nice to think that only the generals on her side knew how to plan a battle but she could not afford to be so optimistic.  “Will King Aemon be coming here?” she asked the messenger.

             
“Yes, Your Majesty.  As soon as he sees to the men.”

             
“Thank you.  You may tell King Aemon that I will be ready for him whenever it is convenient.”              

             
The messenger wheeled his horse and rode back the way he had come.  The horse’s hooves kicked up frozen clods of dirt as the rider guided the animal around short columns of soldiers forming up for drilling and inspection.

             
“What do you think?”  Roland asked her.

             
She was surveying the men watching her from their campsites.  When her eyes fell on them they glanced down at the ground or returned to whatever they had been  doing before she came out to greet the messenger.  “I think we should spread the word.  The day after tomorrow, battle begins.”  She walked back to her tent purposefully.

             
She only stayed long enough to belt on her sword and finish her tea in a too hasty gulp that let droplets escape her mouth to dribble down her chin.  The High Queen of Summerhall can’t even drink her tea without making a mess.  She wiped at her chin with a hand before going back outside.  She nodded to one of the two guards standing guard at her tent.  He fell in behind her as she began picking her way through the encampment.

             
She had no particular destination in mind, just let her feet pick her direction, weaving in between and around the tents belonging to the various  groups that made up her army at random.  This was not the first time she had made one of these forays.  Whenever she needed not to think she would walk among the men getting a look at the faces who were only numbers on the map she studied over until she could recite all of Roland’s little notations from memory.

             
If she wasn’t walking she was riding across the river to survey the land that would soon become a battle ground.  She rode back and forth and studied it from every angle until she knew where lay every rise and fold in the land, every copse of trees. The riding did not help her clear her mind like the walking did.

             
Here she could lose herself in the mosaic of horses and tents, carts and men.               

             
She did not worry about missing Aemon.  If he was going to be here soon he would have waited to send a message or let her know.  Seeing to his men would take some time.

             
The men she startled with her sudden appearance as she swept by them were engaged in the typical tasks that kept them busy when they were not on duty guarding the camp or out on patrol or training.  After so many days remaining idle those tasks which might be preferable to the endless training sessions were not enough to keep the men busy.  She passed soldiers polishing armor that was already immaculate or sharpening swords already sharp enough to shave with.  Those tending cook pots sat by their fires with bored looks on their faces, wooden spoons held negligibly and not even bothering to taste the bubbling stew.  They were bored and boredom could become infectious.  That was never good for morale.  Worse it could lead to fist fights of which there had already been dozens.  The leaders of the army assured her it was commonplace with so many men in one place but even they were concerned if it should become widespread.  She had been worrying about that of late but now it seemed such a foolish worry.  The word would soon reach them that the enemy was close. Once it did the brawling would end and cooking would not seem quite so boring anymore.

             
The larger encampment was broken down into smaller camp sites.  Each with its own cook fires.  Each sight was bordered by a score of tents.  Five men to a tent meant a hundred men to a sight.  Not all the sights were occupied.  Those where the men were off doing something else were eerily still.  Islands of silence.  In the occupied sights the men would see her and quickly scramble to their knees until she passed.  She tried to pass through quickly.

             
After nearly an hour she found herself at the northwest corner of the camp.  An area as wide as two streets separated the rest of the camp from this isolated corner.  Six tents were spaciously arranged around a center and a stone lined fire pit.  Each tent was as simple as those of  the soldiers but there were no clothes hanging from lines or pots left out in the open or belongings scattered about like the other camp sites. She would have thought the occupants had up and left days ago if not for the solitary man sitting cross-legged on the ground, a sword in one hand and a whetstone in the other as he brought an edge to the blade.  She knew him.  It explained why this area was afforded so much more space than the others.  Soldiers would naturally be leery of sleeping too close to wizards, not to mention being awake around them which might be worse for some.  However much they might be welcomed for what talents they could bring to bear people were still worried about things they didn’t understand.  And nobody but wizards understood magic.

             
Those who were healers had their own camp too but that was closer to the bridge.  Men did not avoid them as they did true wizards.  In fact it was common for the men to offer help to those who helped them with injuries and illnesses, bringing them food or water.     

             
“Terence, is it not?”  She remembered him saying his uncle was Onatel.  “Terence Onatel?” 

             
His unlined face turned up towards her without surprise.  He didn’t look to be much older than Coran but she guessed he might be more than that.  His eyes had that look that said he knew more than a man his age could know.  They did not hold the level of wisdom as Thalamus’ to be sure, and she thought Terence still had a trace of innocence in his gaze.

             
“Terence, yes. Onatel no.  Lord Onatel is my uncle on my mother’s side.  My family’s name is Orlew.”

             
She noted the competent way he slid the stone across the surface of the steel. And a fine sword it was, well crafted with a scrolled cross guard.   “I did not know wizards needed swords.  Not for protection anyway.”  She wiggled her fingers magically.              

             
He smiled with delight.  “Wiggling fingers aside you are correct.  For the most part.  There are those like healers who can sense Naturus and use it a bit to enhance their skills, like in fighting.  I even knew a bard once who could sense the winds.  That was why he became a bard.  He found he could use the winds to project his voice over a crowd.  He was quite good.  He could make you think an entire herd of horses was about to trample you over.”

             
She never thought of that, about the bard.  The fighting though. . . “Warrior-mages.  I have never met one before, not that I know of.  Is that why you carry a sword?”

             
“Me?  A warrior-mage?  Not exactly.  As Thalamus would tell me ‘I have gone beyond that’.  If anything I can be called a wizard.”  His smile faded slightly and he almost sighed.

             
“Do you not like being a wizard?”

             
He thought about that before answering.  “It is not that.  From what I have learned at Herrinhall I know I can help a great many people.  For me, my power came to me late, and too early.”  He saw her questioning frown.  “I come from a large family.  My father is a knight, my brothers are knights, my uncle and cousins are knights.  I was raised to be like them.  I was trained to be a warrior.  My other abilities manifested themselves in my seventeenth year.”  At the end of training and just before he would be made a knight.

             
She thought she understood what he had gone through.  She thought of Coran and how he was raised to be a knight and a lord.  From a young age he was instilled with a great sense of duty.  How would he have felt if when on the verge of achieving what his duty demanded he found it denied to him, perhaps forever.  She herself always knew she would one day be Queen and spent her life preparing for the event.  What if that had never came to pass? 

             
She worried a great deal about what kind of Queen she would be.  Worried that she would make mistakes that others would have to pay for.  She never thought she would ascend the throne  this soon or under such circumstances.  Despite all that she knew that if she was never to be crowned, never to fulfill her destiny, it would be like losing part of herself.  On the other hand she couldn't think of a better reason for it than the honor of being trained as a wizard.

             
“Did your family disapprove?”  If they were all knights it could have been a blow to their hopes.

             
“Dios, no!”  Terence exclaimed.  “They were thrilled with the idea.  I think the only one who was not was my uncle.  He was the one who always told me what a fine knight I would make.  Well, he was the only one besides myself.  The first thing I asked my father was why I could not be both wizard and knight.”  He smiled again, ruefully at his own past innocence with such a question.  “Of course I could not give an oath to serve and obey if I was leaving for Herrinhall.  I would never be able to live up to it and it could be a conflict of interest.

             
“I am afraid I was a very reluctant student for the first year or so.  Until Master Tenobius, the First Wizard, convinced me that I did not have to be a knight to serve others.  He said that a title was just a title.  It does not mean anything.  You can call someone wizard, knight, candle maker, or king, but it does not tell you what kind of person they are, whether they are good or bad, lazy or diligent, honest or a liar.  Put that way I think it more an honor to be called Terence than anything else.  His smile conveyed the confidence he now possessed in knowing he was the type of person he wanted to be.

             
“Wizard or knight I believe you are a good man, Terence.”

             
Terence surprised her then.  His smile changed slightly, and now amplified the innocence in his eyes until he reminded her of a young man who had just won first prize at festival.  He glanced down happily as he ran the stone the length of the blade.               

             
She had a question come to mind, one of many she would have liked to put to a wizard, and this was the first she had met who offered information without reservation.  She still had to be careful.  Just because he had opened up to her about some things did not change the fact he was a wizard.  The wrong question could make him as tight lipped as Gelarus.  The other reason she was reluctant to put to this man questions he might be unwilling to answer was that she liked being able to talk to him.  She liked the way he spoke so openly with her.  Deciding that she did not wish to risk that she asked something more innocuous. 

             
Squatting down she used her left hand to keep her sheath out of the dirt and her right she laid on her knee.  “What is Herrinhall like?  I have never been.  The only one I know who has is Gelarus and he is less than forthcoming about anything.”

             
Terence’s brow wrinkled in thought as he looked up from the blade.  “At first I did not like it.  It is so far north after all and cold.  All the men are taller than me and some of the women too.”  Katelyn understood what it was to be shorter than everyone around her.  If Terence felt that way around Northmen she would be like a flower to a forest.  “I eventually got used to it after a time.  To describe Herrinhall beyond that though is difficult.  The place is filled with contradictions.  Just about every man walks about armed and many of the women do as well, and I am not counting a simple belt knife.  Yet fights are rare there and killing forbidden.  Herrinhall is touted about as the home of the great wizards so you would normally expect to see robed men walking the streets routinely performing miracles.  At least I did when I arrived.  The truth is you can hardly distinguish a wizard from a baker unless you know what you are looking for.”