The Queen's Consort (25 page)

             
Supporting Beaumont's army had decimated the country. Beaumont had raped and pillaged his own people to support his ambition. It was wrong.

             
If Beaumont got his hands on Clairwyn, he'd break her into little pieces just for the thrill of hurting her.

             
Ansel's gut twisted. As long as Beaumont lived, she wasn't safe. Not in Haverton, not in Falsafe, not even wrapped in Ansel's arms.

             
His mind shied away from his only option. With Elric waiting in the wings, patricide had seemed possible. But what would happen now?

             
Very gently he slipped away from Clairwyn. He was too distressed to sleep. Thinking pained him. He had to act.

Twenty-Seven

              The fires started just after midnight. Ansel stood on the battlements with Perry, Carpenter, and Hugh. Hugh was there to represent the Guard. Tristam couldn't keep an eye on Ansel all the time.

             
Perry and Carpenter watched the fires on the horizon and discussed the implications.

             
“That's my neighbor, Durnham,” Ansel said. “Making sure there isn't even a blade of grass to feed our horses.”

             
Perry shrugged. “It just means we don't have to go door to door, rousting innocent peasants and worrying that we're leaving an enemy behind us.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ansel.

             
Ansel sighed impatiently. “None of my people are enemies to you or your Queen, Perry. They wish only to live in peace.”

             
“Sure, sure.” Perry couldn't believe that anyone would choose peace over a nice gory war.

             
Carpenter used an astrolabe to pinpoint the coordinates of a distant fire. Ansel watched impatiently. Daylight would reveal the destruction soon enough.

             
“There seems to be more than one fire,” Carpenter said. “Luckily, the winds favor us.”

             
Ansel twitched a little. If so much as an ash landed on his fields he'd personally gut Durnham alive and stake him for the crows to finish off.

             
“The bastard will retreat to his keep.” Ansel pulled a stub of a pencil out of his pocket. “The roads lead down, giving him a good view and an excellent field of fire.” He sketched a crude map on the battlements. “We should divide our forces and attack from all sides on foot and on horseback.”

             
Carpenter and Perry exchanged pained glances.

             
“That's a good strategy,” Carpenter said neutrally.

             
Ansel wondered briefly what was bothering them. Did they still not trust him? He set his teeth. “When last I visited, a shallow moat surrounded the keep. Durnham will have deepened it, no doubt, and added booby traps.”

             
“Yes, sir. Um—”

             
“I have hardwood forests here.” Determined, Ansel ignored them. “I've already deployed two squadrons to fight any fires that get close. We'll use that wood for siege engines.”

             
Perry started twitching in distress.

             
“After that we’ll employ standard siege tactics.” Ansel straightened. “We'll pummel the hells out of them with the engines, then get our crossbowmen close enough to soften them up even more. We'll mine under the walls, then go in by hand.”

             
“Yes, sir.” Carpenter broke in when Ansel took a breath. “But we already have our orders from the Queen.”

             
Ansel very carefully did not roll his eyes. “And what are those orders?” he asked.

             
Perry and Carpenter did not look at each other. They did not look at him. “We are to march directly to Durnham, via this road.” Perry pointed at the most direct route. “Then we camp and wait for the walls to fall.”

             
Ansel blinked rapidly. “We wait.”

             
“That's what she said. Sir.”

             
“We just wait and the walls will fall? We don't have to walk around the walls? Blow trumpets? Nothing?”

             
“No, sir. We wait. That's what she said to do.”

             
“Well.” Ansel chewed on that. Abruptly, he scratched out his map. “If that's what the Queen said, that's what we'll do.”

             
“Yes, sir.” Perry and Carpenter looked miserable.

             
“But we'll keep my plan as a backup. Just in case.”

             
Perry and Carpenter grinned at him. Hugh leaned against the wall and smiled grimly.

             
Ansel raised his brow at the Guard. Clairwyn had her woman's magic, and it was impressive. But this was a man's world of towering stone and sharp steel, and she had no training in this. At long last it was time for the men to take over.

*****

              In the morning Clairwyn surveyed the smoking fields and summoned Sayer. “Send messages to the warehouses at Hilltop and to my supply ships at Southern Reach,” she said. “There will be great hunger in Courchevel this winter if we don't move now.”

             
Sayer winked brazenly and then bowed politely. “Your word is law, my Queen.”

             
She swatted at him. “Just do it, cousin.”

             
If he wasn't sharing Clairwyn's tent Ansel might have been jealous. Instead the exchange just amused him. But he did feel compelled to remark on her orders. “If the war is not won by winter, Clairwyn,” he said, “you will only be feeding the enemy.”

             
Her eyes went silver as she looked at him. “The war will be decided by then, Ansel, as we all know.”

             
He shrugged. “Beaumont is a crafty enemy.”

             
“And he knows our weaknesses. Before the summer ends our farmers will be desperate to return to the harvest standing in their fields.”

             
Ansel nodded in agreement. He heard the staccato of galloping hooves and turned to see Cordy, still not quite comfortable on a horse, clatter up to them.

             
“My lord,” he gasped, “my Queen. Our scouts have found Elric's training camp. It's about twenty miles south of here.”

             
Sayer, who had waited when he saw Cordy approaching, raised a brow at Clairwyn.

             
“What else do your scouts have to say?” she asked.

             
“The camp seems but lightly guarded and mainly consists of raw recruits pressed into service. I bet most of Elric's men went on to meet you at Moth's Crossing, my Queen.”

             
“And, of course, none of them came back.” Sayer's grin was feral.

             
Clairwyn glanced at Ansel. “What do you advise, my prince?”

             
He struggled with what he should do and what he wanted to do. He wanted to stay with Clairwyn; he should go to that camp and liberate the serfs who had been shanghied into the army.

             
She waited, a little smile curving her lips. Again, he had the strange feeling that she could see his thoughts.

             
“I should go,” he said reluctantly. “With my flag I should be able to ride right into camp. We can take it without a fight and send those serfs home.”

             
“Or to where they will be safe,” Clairwyn said. “Falsafe, perhaps, can offer them refuge.”

             
Ansel nodded in agreement. Of course a woman would be concerned about the future plans of serfs that weren't even bound to her.

             
She turned to Sayer. “Round up the Highlanders,” she said. “Take what you think you'll need. Cavalry moves much faster than infantry.” Her gaze returned to Ansel. “I would like you back safe and as soon as possible.”

             
Sayer saluted again. “I'll have a riot if I try to leave any Highlander behind,” he said. “My men are tired of plodding along at a foot soldier's pace.”

             
“I want as little damage as possible,” Clairwyn admonished him. “Remember that these are serfs, not fighting men.”

             
“There's no honor or amusement to be had in killing peasants,” Sayer retorted, smiling to take away the sting.

             
She rolled her eyes. “Have a care, cousin. Strange as it is, I'm fond of you.”

             
“Oh, give me a break.” Sayer grinned. “You just don't want to tell my mother that I took a sword to the guts.”

             
“That, too,” she admitted.

             
He wheeled his horse around and galloped back to his Highlanders.

             
Ansel gave Cordy a significant look, to no avail. “Cordy,” he finally said, “draw back and give me a minute, will you?”

             
Cordy glanced from him to Clairwyn and blushed. Then he grinned hugely. “Yes, sir,” he said smartly. I'll, um, go back to my troops. Sadly, I don't think I'm a good enough rider to keep up with the—”

             
“Cordy. Go. Now.”

             
Cordy left.

             
Ansel crowded his horse closer to Clairwyn's and lowered his voice. “I have no desire to leave you.”

             
Her face was troubled. “I don't like it, either. Please be careful.” She placed her hand over his. “And come back to me, Ansel.”

             
“I will.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “I will always return to you, my Queen.”

*****

              Sayer was right. The Highlanders were eager to leave the army. Five full squadron of light cavalry, a thousand men in all, peeled off and galloped south.

             
The bad roads didn't slow their sturdy mountain horses. They were used to rough terrain, and they must have thought the rolling hills and fields of Courchevel were a stroll in the park in comparison. After days of the crawling pace of the army, the horses were as eager to stretch their legs as their riders were.

             
Lightly armed and armored, the Highlanders were highly trained and skilled with sword and bow. And a thousand of them, thundering through the countryside, scared away any resistance they might have encountered.

             
Miles short of their target they brought their winded mounts to a brisk walk and sent scouts ahead. It was past midday when the scouts reported back.

             
“Almost all green recruits,” they confirmed. “Probably two thousand or so. Maybe a hundred experienced fighters, near retirement age from the look of them, are putting the recruits through their paces, trying to train them.”

             
“Two to one.” Sayer grinned. “Not bad. Usually we figure four or five soldiers for each Highlander, but we'll take these odds.”

             
The scout shifted on his feet. “One more thing, sir. They've a bunch of women with them. Women who don't look like they want to be with them, if you get my meaning.”

             
Sadly, Ansel did. “How many?”

             
“Maybe twenty-five women, sir.”

             
“Where are they?”

             
“Bunched together, all convenient-like, at the edge of the camp.”

             
“All right.” Ansel looked at Sayer. “We time this so we reach camp at dusk. We fly my colors. Half your men go with me. You take the other half and circle the camp.”

             
Sayer nodded in agreement.

             
“With luck, we'll take the camp without firing a shot. If it comes to a fight, get the women out of danger first.”

             
“We like women,” Sayer said, “almost as much as we like a good fight.”

             
Ansel sighed. “After you've rescued the damsels,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “perhaps you could join the fight already in progress.”

             
“Women and a good fight. Let's hope it gets that exciting.”

             
“Tell your men to spare anyone who throws down their weapons and surrenders.”

             
“Very good. How will you let us know if we fight? A bugle call? A whistle?”

             
“Get close enough,” Ansel said dryly. “If you hear men screaming, come right in and join the party.”

             
Sayer grinned and put out his hand. “I didn't like you when I met you, Prince Ansel. I still don't like you. But I do like your style.”