The Queen's Consort (19 page)

             
Finally, the manic cheering of the crowd filtered into his head. Eight of those men wore green surcoats. Ansel slapped hands with Hugh and the two Guard who rode with him. Sporadic fighting continued on the field but the battle had been won. Clairwyn’s people cheered for him.

             
Grinning like a loon, Ansel led the green warriors up the hill and snatched the red banner. They galloped together to present the banner to the Queen.

             
Clairwyn’s smile was as broad as his own as she leaned forward to accept the banner. Without a coherent thought or plan, Ansel looped his arm around her waist and dragged her across his saddle bows.

             
With a startled gasp she clutched his arm as he turned his horse. Spurred on by the cheers of the crowd, Renshaw galloped around the field as Clairwyn laughed and waved at her people.

             
Finally Ansel eased the warhorse back up to the platform. But, before he returned Clairwyn to a furiously scowling Tristam, Ansel tossed his helmet to the ground and kissed her soundly.

             
The crowd screamed itself hoarse in enthusiastic approval. Blushing furiously, she slipped away from him.

             
Hugh and the other Guard crowded forward, slapping him on the back. A heroically injured Goddard gave him a crisp, if slightly ironic, salute. Even Tristam, after tucking Clairwyn behind him, smiled ruefully.

             
Today—and, probably only for one day—everybody loved him.

Nineteen

             
From Wayside the road wound up through rolling hills, growing steeper as it drew closer to the towering Starlit Mountains. The Mountains loomed stark and tall, seeming to grow nearly straight out of the ground at their feet. For as far as could be seen, there was only one way through the mountains for every creature that didn't have a bird's wings or the sure feet of a mountain goat.

             
As the Queen's advance party approached the fiercely-guarded territory claimed by the Highlanders they occasionally saw herds of goats and sheep or the odd hunting party. The Highlanders were well-known for their fighting skills but they also had a proud tradition of hospitality. They welcomed the Queen and her party, warily but with respect, and helped speed her through their lands.

             
Ansel suspected the Highlanders were motivated more by their desire to not share their pastures and hunting lands than by hospitality, but he kept those suspicions to himself.

             
The fortified city of Renshaw guarded the far end of Sun Valley and straddled the best easternmost pass through the Starlit Mountains. This was the only pass for hundreds of miles that was open year-round, and it was the only route suitable for any large force.

             
Renshaw also boasted the only bridge across the Sheepkill River. Here, where the Sunlit Valley met the mountains, the river flowed straight and smooth. To the north it cascaded from rugged peaks; to the south the river carved a huge and jagged chasm out of the rock.

             
North of Renshaw and Sun Valley the tractless mountains soared thousands of feet, creating a natural barrier that would take a traveler weeks out of his way. Assuming, of course, that he survived the journey at all.

             
No, Ansel mused. If Beaumont attacked by land he would have to take Renshaw. The city was guarded by its location and natural fortifications as well as towering walls and reinforced gates. And Ansel knew that every sharp-eyed Highland man was a trained warrior—and most of the women were, like Clairwyn, very good with a bow.

             
Staring up at the soaring, beautiful city of stone and wood, Ansel came to the conclusion that it would be much easier to bribe the Highlanders to let them pass than to defeat them here at Renshaw.

             
But now, riding beside the Queen, the Highlanders threw open the gates of the city for him. The city climbed the mountains to the north in orderly rows of streets and buildings; an invader would have to take each building and every street, striving for every inch under a withering hail of arrows.

             
To the south limestone cliffs, pocketed with natural caves, looked out over the city. Ansel knew those caves could be used as cover to rain down destruction on an invading force.

             
The Highlanders were used to fighting each other. They thrived on it, in fact, and even seemed to enjoy it. But Ansel knew that nothing would unite them like an attack from Courchevel. They would pour down from their mountain hideaways and defend Renshaw to the last man and the last arrow.

             
Beaumont could lose his entire army before he left the Starlit Mountains.

             
Much better, Ansel thought, to take the port of Southern Reach first. Then he could attack Renshaw from the west and east simultaneously, cutting off reinforcements. It would still be a long, grim fight, but it had a much better chance of success.

             
Clairwyn smiled at him and Ansel put away his martial thoughts. The streets of Renshaw were broad and tree-lined, and the girls in Highland dress were beautiful. Not as beautiful as his Queen, of course, but they certainly made the ride very pleasant.

             
An eager crowd gathered to watch the Queen's party pass through the streets. Many called to her as she rode by. Ansel knew that she'd grown up here and realized that she probably knew many of the people on the street.

             
She waved and smiled as Tristam ground his teeth in helpless worry. Ansel kept his eyes peeled for anyone who looked like a threat to Clairwyn, but everyone seemed genuinely pleased to see her.

             
Of course, attacking her here meant a certain, bloody death. Anyone who raised a hand against the Highlander's Queen would be torn to pieces by the angry crowd.

             
The thought made Ansel relax until he remembered that he himself had been sent on a suicide mission to kill her. Then he wished that she'd just ride in the reinforced carriage like a good Queen. Surely her safety was more important than the goodwill of her people.

             
Clairwyn didn't agree, and she refused his repeated requests to ride in the carriage. “These are my people, Ansel,” she said. “As surely as they are mine, I belong to them.”

             
“That's a very nice sentiment,” Tristam grumbled.

             
“We'll carve it into her tomb wall,” Ansel agreed.

             
She laughed as if she hadn't a care in the world. “I ask for nothing else,” she told them.

             
Finally they reached Raven Manor, her family home. It was a towering castle on a south-facing cliff overlooking the western gate. Like Haverton, the Manor seemed to be carved from the living stone of the mountain itself.

             
To reach the Manor they had to ride up the exposed road and then down to the archway that housed the gate, which sat deep in the wall at an angle.

             
Ansel studied the unusual position and realized that the gate, when open, swung outward against the stone wall. They passed through the gate and rode upwards past a deep stone reservoir. If attacked, the gate could be closed and the water poured down, flooding the entrance completely.

             
“Very clever,” Ansel muttered. His armor-plated knights would drown before they took the gates, and siege engines would be useless in the winding streets that approached the Manor walls. In addition, he was sure that there were a dozen secret passages in and out of the Manor that could be used to ferret in supplies and reinforcements.

             
They rode into the main courtyard, which teemed with Highlanders wearing the mark of the Queen's house. Two dozen archers could defend these walls for months, and the manor could easily house ten times as many men for years.

             
Bribery was looking better and better.

             
Ansel swung down from his horse and tossed the reins at a young man, then strode forward to take Clairwyn's arm. “You've done a beautiful job with the gardens,” he heard her say to someone.

             
He glanced around and noticed colorful hanging baskets and big planters full of flowers. The planters were stone and, he saw, were well-positioned to provide cover if the gate was forced.

             
An older woman bolted down the stairs and flung herself into his arms. He was so surprised that he didn't even have time to palm one of his short swords.

             
“Oh, my boy!” the woman cried. She leaned back to wipe away a tear.

             
Ansel recognized Nanny Pella. She was older, of course, but the years had been kind to her. Laugh lines marked her face but, to him, it only made that face more dear. Despite his mixed feelings for her, he remembered how much he'd loved her.

             
“You've grown up so handsome,” Nanny Pella gushed. “I'm so glad to see you.” She twined her fingers through his. “I've been so looking forward to this day, I can't even tell you. Come on, now, the Queen can spare you for a few minutes.”

             
Helplessly, he glanced back over his shoulder as Nanny Pella tugged him forward. Clairwyn gave him an understanding smile and squeezed his hand, slipping a small package into it. He stopped resisting and followed Nanny Pella into the manor proper.

             
Ansel caught a glimpse of a large chamber and stone floors and a sweeping staircase as she hustled him into the depths of the manor.

             
“My rooms are back here,” she said, talking continuously as she hustled him past portraits and down halls. “I've stayed busy, of course, since I left Falsafe, as a midwife here in Renshaw. But I never stopped missing that dear, lonely boy who left me.” She paused to hug him again.

             
Ansel was starting to get used to being kept off-balance by Nanny Pella. As a child, he'd found her lively patter endearing. As a youth and adult, he'd never met anyone else like her.

             
She smiled tearfully up at him. “And now you're here! I'm so excited. I can't even tell you. Come now, dear, don't dawdle.”

             
Bemused, he trailed after her.

             
Nanny Pella had two large, bright rooms in the back of the manor. The walls were covered with tapestries and flowers at the large windows perfumed the air. The furniture was comfortable and colorful.

             
She'd always liked pretty things, Ansel remembered. Remembering that Clairwyn had slipped something into his palm, he opened his hand to reveal a small, wrapped parcel.

             
“For me?” Nanny Pella exclaimed. “Oh, you wonderful boy, just having you here is gift enough for me.” But she snatched the package out of his hand and opened it.

             
“Oh, Ansel,” she breathed. They both stared in wonder as she lifted a small, exquisitely crafted metal raven. “Emerald eyes,” she marveled. “The exact same color as yours, dear boy.”

             
Clairwyn had thought of everything, even including a length of line to suspend it from the wooden frame of the windows. Ansel tied the line so the raven dangled over the flowers. As the breeze touched the figure its tiny wings fluttered.

             
Nanny Pella was so obviously thrilled that Ansel felt sorry he hadn't thought of the gift himself. She dabbed at more tears and gave him another hug. For a moment, she couldn't even speak.

             
The moment passed quickly.

             
“Now,” she said, dashing away one last tear, “stop distracting me. I know you want to get back to our dear Queen.” She beamed at him.

             
Ansel didn't know how to respond, so he stayed silent.

             
She threw open the lid of a big chest. “You don't know this, dear, but I had to leave Falsafe in a hurry after your mother died.” She paused as fresh tears threatened. “My poor dear Melinda,” she sobbed.

             
Her tears alarmed Ansel.

             
Happily, Nanny Pella pulled herself together. “Twenty years and more have passed,” she said, pulling out a stack of leather-bound books, “but I still remember how sweet she was, how beautiful, how much she loved you, dear boy.”

             
She took a deep, calming breath. “Anyway, I told you that I left Falsafe in a hurry after Melinda died.” Her lip trembled but, Ansel was grateful to see, she stayed dry-eyed. “I had to. Because of Beaumont.”

             
The mention of his father changed her completely. Her back straightened, her eyes cleared, and her face firmed. Ansel had already read the reports; now he dreaded hearing what she would say.

             
Nanny Pella's lips tightened. “He's your father, though you're a much better son than he deserves.”

             
She couldn't possibly know that.

             
“And Melinda was far too good a wife for him, too.”

             
That was, apparently, the sad truth.

             
“After she died he ordered her portraits and journals destroyed.”

             
All of his mother's things had disappeared from Falsafe, but he'd had no idea that it was his father's doing. “Why would he do that?”

             
“Pictures of his dead wife would hardly please his new wife, my dear. And your mother’s journals tell the truth.” Nanny Pella obviously wanted to say more but she bit back the words. “Read them,” she said, closing his fingers around the journals. “Your mother's own hand will tell you all you need to know.”

             
Ansel tightened his hold on his mother's journals. Did he want to know? Was he strong enough? Could he accept the truth?

             
Nanny Pella gave him a moment, then spoke again. “I had to leave quickly, you see, in order to save her things for you.” Nanny Pella unrolled a length of canvas.

             
For the first time since he'd left home for training, Ansel looked on his mother's face. He stared at her now as avidly as a starving man craved food.