“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.
In most respects, Aylyn the First’s death did little to change the course of life in his home. But Hagan never again saw the place as he had before the messenger arrived. Suddenly it seemed too small, too quiet, too far from anything of importance. Later in his life he came to understand how fortunate he was that his father didn’t expect him to fulfill the duties of his earldom, for he would have gone mad had he been required to remain in the manor for all his life. As it was, the years leading to his Fating passed as slowly as a prison term. As he grew older, he also learned that the effect the king’s death had on his youth was not at all unusual. Almost everyone he knew who was old enough to remember that day, did so with extraordinary clarity. And a great number of them still pointed to that day as a portentous one in their lives.
No doubt there were children in Curgh on this day who would remember hearing of Aylyn the Second’s death until the end of their days.
Even before the messenger stepped into the castle to deliver his news to the duchess, cries of “The king is dead!” and “Bian spare our king!” reached the ward. Shonah’s tears flowed freely from her bright green eyes and her face had turned pale. She looked in that moment so much like Daria that Hagan found it difficult to breathe.
The soldiers had gathered around them, waiting for the messenger to arrive. But already the news of the king’s passing had left many of them too stunned to do more than just stand there, their arms hanging limp by their sides, the points of their swords resting on the ground. Hagan had rules about such things. Letting one’s weapon touch the ground usually meant a run through the towers. But not today. Most of these men had never known another king of Eibithar. Probably they couldn’t even imagine one. This was the worst possible time to send them to war. Yet Aylyn’s death made war all but inevitable.
There was a brief commotion from the barbican. No doubt a crowd had followed the messenger all the way from the Moorlands gate only to be stopped now by the castle guards. An instant later the
messenger stepped through the gate and entered the castle’s city ward. Hagan couldn’t help but stare at the man. It had been thirty-three years. The messenger who had told his father of Aylyn the First’s death was an old man now. But this man looked just like him.
He could barely stand. Most likely he had covered the thirty-five leagues that lay between the City of Kings and Curgh with only a few brief rests. He might have gotten a new horse in one of the towns on the Moorlands. Messengers from Audun’s Castle often did, knowing that anyone in his right mind would trade for a royal mount. But chances were the man hadn’t slept in more than a day. His clothes were stained with mud and his face was streaked with dirt and sweat. Behind him came one of the guards, leading the man’s mount to the castle’s stable. The beast walked slowly with its head held low. It had been pushed to its limits as well.
The messenger stopped in front of the duchess and managed a deep bow.
“My lady,” he said in a raw voice. “I come to you bearing heavy tidings. Our Lord Sovereign, King Aylyn the Second, has died.”
“When?”
“Two nights ago, my lady. His ministers sent us to the twelve houses the following dawn.”
Shonah’s eyes met Hagan’s. “They won’t know in Kentigern for another day.”
He had been thinking the same thing. “Were you told to speak with the duke?” he asked the messenger.
“No, my lord. They told me to find the lady.”
Hagan nodded. Apparently the king’s ministers knew of what had happened in Kentigern. That was something at least, though not much.
“Is there more to their message?” Shonah asked.
“No, my lady. Just that the king is dead.”
She and Hagan exchanged a look. The ministers knew enough to send the messenger to Shonah, but they had nothing more to offer. It seemed that whatever was to happen in Kentigern would unfold without the intervention of the King’s Guard.
“Very well,” the duchess said at last. She actually managed a smile for the man. “You must be hungry and tired.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She gestured for a pair of the soldiers to come forward. “The
two of you will take this man to the duke’s hall. Be sure that he is well fed, and then find him a room in which to sleep.”
The soldiers bowed to her and led the man away.
“Dismiss your men, swordmaster,” Shonah said, facing Hagan again. “We have much to discuss. I’ll be in the duke’s chambers with his ministers. Join us there.”
She was walking back toward the duke’s ward before Hagan could respond. It was so much like something Javan might have done that he had to grin.
“You heard her,” he called to the guards. “You’re dismissed. But don’t go far. I expect we’ll be leaving for Kentigern within the next day.”
Leaving his men, Hagan hurried to find the quartermaster. After a brief word with him, he continued to Javan’s chambers, where he found the duchess already discussing the death of the king with the duke’s Qirsi.
“Hagan, good,” Shonah said as he entered the room. She was standing behind Javan’s table looking discomfited, her color high.
The second minister appeared displeased as well, though as much by Hagan’s arrival as by anything that had come before.
“Is there a problem, my lady?” the swordmaster asked, taking his customary seat by the duke’s table.
“We’re disturbed by this talk of leading the army to Kentigern,” the second minister said before she could answer. “It’s reckless. The duke would not approve.”
Hagan had never been fond of the Qirsi. They were as arrogant as they were strange-looking. Perhaps he was too much a man of the sword, but he could not bring himself to trust their magic. There was something unnatural about it; such powers belonged with the gods, not with men and women of this earth. He had come to accept that the duke relied upon Fotir, but why Javan had ever seen fit to trust Danior jal Dania, the second minister, was beyond him. Given the choice between bold action and caution, he invariably chose the latter. Hagan had never heard him speak in favor of any use of the duke’s army. It was almost as if the man wished swords and bows didn’t exist.
“You believe you know better than the duchess or me what Javan would want?”
“The duchess, quite understandably, is concerned for her husband
and her son. I don’t believe she can consider this matter with a clear mind. And since you also have a son in Kentigern, I’m forced to question whether you can either.”
Hagan glared at him. “How dare you!”
“I intend no offense, swordmaster, but you must admit that you have more on your mind just now than the well-being of the House of Curgh.”
“Demons and fire, man! Shouldn’t we all? The duke is in line to take the throne. From this day on, every hour that we tarry is an hour that Eibithar stands without a sovereign against the Aneirans and the emperor of Braedor. We must act now, not for this house, but for the entire kingdom!”
Danior snorted. It took Hagan a moment to realize that he was laughing. “Spoken like a true warrior, swordmaster. We must go to war to keep our enemies from starting a war.”
“Better a warrior than a coward, you Qirsi bastard!”
“That’s enough!” Shonah said, standing and stepping to the window. Hagan had seen the duke do much the same thing a thousand times. “You were starting to say something else, before Hagan arrived,” she went on, glancing back at Danior. “What was it?”
“It was about the message, my lady. You said that the king’s ministers sent no word other than tidings of Aylyn’s death.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that should tell you something. If they thought that Curgh should march on Kentigern, they would have advised you to do so. They may even have offered to send the King’s Guard.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Hagan said. “They couldn’t do anything of the sort. They don’t advise the duke, nor can they expect to when he becomes king. He’ll take his own ministers to Audun’s Castle.”
Hopefully he’ll have sense enough to leave you here.
“They’d no sooner offer counsel to him than they would to Aindreas. And as to the King’s Guard, when Aylyn died he left them powerless to do anything with his army. The guard isn’t theirs to order about.”
“I believe you’re wrong on that point,” Danior said. “Until the new king is formally enthroned, Aylyn’s reign continues. His ministers can act on his behalf.”
Hagan frowned. “So the king dies, and suddenly all power in the land falls to his Qirsi? I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Believe what you will, swordmaster. The fact remains that the
king’s ministers could have sent word in support of the steps you’re advising the duchess to take. But they didn’t, and that should tell us something.”
For several moments, no one spoke and the chamber was silent save for the soft calls of a dove perched on the castle wall somewhere near the window. The underministers had said nothing at all, which was probably wise. No matter what counsel they offered, they were bound to offend someone. And every person in the chamber had the power to keep them from ever becoming more than underministers.