The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy (35 page)

At last, his gaze fixed on the
bundle, Evergard said, “And what, sir, did you find?”

With a jerk that made many gasp,
Raugst tore off the ribbon that bound the short stack of letters. At their
gasps, he had to resist another smile. He had always had a flair for drama.

Triumphantly, he held up a letter. “This,
my good Lord Evergard, is a communiqué from Vrulug, the wolf-lord of infamy, to
our dear, beloved King Ulea.”

“Preposterous,” Evergard said. Nevertheless,
he took this opportunity to retake his seat. Perhaps his legs had gone weak.

Raugst passed the letter to Duke
Hored on his right. The Duke scanned the letter, shook his head and cursed
quietly, then passed it on.

“What does it say?” someone asked
him tensely.

Duke Hored, frowning, glanced from
Raugst to the questioner. “It’s as Lord Wesrain says. A letter from Vrulug to
the King. It congratulates Lord Ulea for having the sense to join the side of
Oslog and for turning to the One for guidance.” He took a deep breath, let it
out. “It bears Vrulug’s signature and seal.”

Many people at the table paled. They
glanced at each other nervously. Duke Evergard’s hands shook as he at last took
the letter and examined it. When he finished, his hands twitched as if he
wished to tear the letter apart. Instead, he grimaced and passed it on. He
lifted his gaze to Raugst’s, then dropped it. “Madness,” was all he could say.

Raugst said in a steady voice,
“These are grave times, my friends. Not even the ground is stable. Why should
people be? All the might of Oslog is poised to overwhelm us, and even our most
worthy individuals are pledging their loyalty to the
Beast
.” He sneered as he said this last word, making sure that his
guests knew how much he hated Gilgaroth even as he spoke treason against the
King. Sadly, he shook his head and added, “We cannot let this be. King Ulea
must
be dethroned, and his family
removed from any chance at the crown.”

“Why?” asked Duke Hored, looking
grieved beyond measure. Raugst was wryly amused. Duke Hored was a leading
member of the recent converts.

“Because these letters indicate
that King Ulea has passed his corrupt ways on to his family.” Raugst thumped
the remaining letters at his elbow. He passed them to the duke, who examined
them, grunted his acceptance, and passed them on.

“What are you saying, man?” Lord
Evergard demanded. “Are you implying that we should
overthrow the King
?”

Raugst leveled his eyes at
Evergard. “I am not implying it, good sir. I am
demanding
it. It is the only reasonable course of action. He is a
traitor to Felgrad who will deliver our kingdom to the Enemy.”

Evergard looked at him
suspiciously. “And I suppose you think we should install
you
on the throne in his stead.”

Again, Raugst resisted the urge to
smirk. Evergard was admitting his agreement that the King must be removed from
power. Now it was all a matter of bargaining for leverage.

“I do,” Raugst said calmly. “It was
I
that drove Vrulug away,
I
who have learned how to combat his
forces. And it is
I
who rule the
largest and most prosperous barony in the land. Who else could possibly be
better suited to the task? And, of course, you have my word to step down as
soon as the hostilities have ended, assuming a better candidate for the seat
has been found.”

Evergard said nothing, but that in
itself was a victory. There was much talking and debate after that, and Raugst
let it run its course, only interrupting at times. Meanwhile the recent
converts spread their support of Raugst’s plans, and it was not very long
before the gathering as a whole reluctantly agreed to his proposal. In fact,
they came to the conclusion that King Ulea should be dethroned even more
quickly than Raugst had anticipated.
Well
done, Raugst, old boy,
he congratulated himself.
And thank you for your letters, Vrulug.

Saria seemed proud, and her eyes
were adoring as they gazed upon him. Still, she did not completely trust him,
he noticed; she never ate or drank anything that he had not already sampled.

Watching the faces of his guests,
Raugst had to admit that he had truly enjoyed this performance. Now for the
distasteful part: following through.

“Very well, then, friends,” he
said, and at the sound of his voice the conspirators instantly quieted and
turned to him. “
We shall remove the
traitor from the throne
. Let us drink to victory!”

“Here! Here!”

Raugst lifted his glass in a toast
to regicide.

Three days after the feast, word reached Raugst that the
bridge over the Pit of Eresine had been rebuilt. Vrulug was leading his great
host northward, razing everything that was still standing in his path. Raugst
was hard pressed to find room and food for the new flood of refugees. More and
more turned to desperate acts to earn coin. People joked that there were more
whores in Thiersgald than soldiers, and more thieves than whores, and Raugst
was not sure they were wrong.

He was prepared. He and King Ulea
had long since established a dialogue. The King had offered to aid Fiarth some
weeks before, but Raugst had put him off. Originally, Raugst had done this
because he wanted Vrulug to prevail, but after Niara’s fateful kiss he had
stalled the King, telling him that Fiarth could look after its own. The truth
was that he needed more time to organize the conspiracy that would bring Lord
Ulea down.

That time was now. As soon as
Raugst heard word that Vrulug was marching over the Pit of Eresine, he sent
word to the King, and the King sent word to him. It all happened very quickly
after that. Raugst invited the King and his host to meet with him in
Thiersgald, where the battle with Vrulug would surely be joined, being as it
was the southernmost large city still standing, and King Ulea agreed. He was a
goodly man, so all said, and Raugst felt ill at the thought of destroying him. Yet
if that sacrifice saved Felgrad, it would be worth it. Surely even King Ulea would
agree should he know the truth of the matter.

So it was that in seven days after
news of Vrulug’s march reached Raugst’s ears, King Heril Ulea IV and his host
of twenty thousand arrived at Thiersgald. Raugst stood on the wall near the North
Gate, watching them steam over the gently rolling plain. King Ulea and the
troops of his region wore silver armor lined with gold, and they were an
impressive sight indeed, all bright and dazzling, sparkling under the sun like
a river of mercury against the green rolling hills. There were other companies,
as well, for the King had summoned every army from every barony and dukedom in
the country to him, but the King’s men rode in the fore.

The people of Thiersgald were
permitted to stand upon the wall alongside the soldiers and watch their saviors
pour in. There was much of cheering and joyful weeping.

Raugst ordered the Gate opened, and
King Ulea, at the head of his host, rode into Thiersgald atop his chestnut
stallion. Raugst climbed down from the wall, mounted his own black charger and
met the King in the city square known as Edrin’s Court.

King Ulea wore not silver armor
chased with gold as his soldiers did, but gold chased with silver, with a
golden helmet sporting a silver crest. The effect was breathtaking, as though
he were some golden god of war suddenly materialized in the city square. The
monarch smiled, his dark red beard parting to reveal thick, even white teeth,
and he and Raugst closed the distance and clasped wrists. Raugst saw more gray
in the man’s hair than he had expected, and pock marks above his beard, but for
all that the King’s grip was firm, and the way he stared Raugst in the eye made
Raugst sit up straighter. To his amusement, sweat actually began to bead his
brow.

“Well met, Lord King,” Raugst said.
“Though grim times bring you here, may your time in Thiersgald be joyful.”

The King nodded judiciously. “I’m
sure they shall be.” He regarded Raugst in silence a moment, frowning. Then, at
last, he nodded. “Yes, you will do fine, I think. Grieved I was to hear of Lord
Wesrain’s passing, and the passing of his sons nearly devastated me. But at
least Fiarth had you, waiting in the wings as it were, to take the throne when
needed.”

I’m
not done taking thrones yet
. Raugst bowed his head. “Your words honor me,
though I’m not sure I’m worthy.”

“Time will tell. Let us march.”

Raugst blew his horn, and his
knights flanked them. Next the King blew
his
horn, and the grand host of Felgrad began to march through the gates. What
followed was a fantastic parade, as Raugst and Lord Ulea rode side by side
through the main thoroughfares of the city and the silver and golden host
marched behind them, an endless stream of mounted knights in glittering armor,
their horses’ hooves making thunder on the cobbled streets. Girls flocked to
the balconies and tossed flower petals down on the riders, and musicians played
gaily in the city squares. The sun shone, hot and unmerciful, but a favorful
wind blew through the city and cooled Raugst’s sweaty brow.

He thought of the conspirators, most
of whom marched behind him, leading their own garrisons from their own baronies
and dukedoms that the King had gathered to him, and Raugst winced at the bloody
work that must soon be done. It was a bright and cloudless day, but as he
glanced sideways at the King it seemed something passed across the sun, and the
world grew dim and red.

At parade’s end, Raugst and King
Ulea led the host through the South Gates and out onto the undulating plain
that gave way to forests to the east and farmlands to the south and west. Here
upon the plain the soldiers would camp until Vrulug came, at which point the
soldiers would relocate within the walls. Many of the refugees then would be
forced to move from their makeshift homes and the city would be more cramped
and crowded than ever—which was why the soldiers would camp here for the nonce.
Meanwhile Raugst had been building up Thiersgald’s store of grain and supplies,
preparing for the coming siege. More supplies arrived each day.

Raugst stayed with the King as the
camp was erected, large green tents for the enlisted men and darker ones for
the officers. The King’s tent was a muted gold color—not ostentatious exactly,
but it did not hide the fact of whose tent it was, either.

The King breathed deeply as he
beheld the city wall and the gently rolling land leading away to the burnt
wheat farms that scarred the land to the south. Tall grass waved, and the wind
blew, and the sun sank to the west, turning red as it descended. “Yes,” he
said, “this is good country. Solid country. My grandfather died here, you know,
just a little way south of the gates, somewhere around that knoll right there. Odhen
Ulea the Second, a great man.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Lord Ulea nodded. “The Summer of
the Wolf, you’ve surely heard of that war. Vrulug launched his hosts against us
while my grandsire was visiting. His niece, Lady Erys, was marrying Dashen
Wesrain, and my grandfather had arrived early for the wedding. A mistake, as it
turned out. Borchstogs besieged the city. Dashen handed the army over to him,
as was only proper. Odhen led the army out, time and again, against Vrulug and
his hordes, but at last his company was surrounded and butchered. Vrulug
ordered Odhen to be taken alive, and my grandfather knew Vrulug meant to make a
spectacle of his death and demoralize the city.” He shook his head. “He slit
his own throat. Right there near that knoll, or so I’ve been told.” He smiled,
and it contained great pride, but also sadness.
“And he laughed in Vrulug’s face as he did it! He slit his throat
laughing!”
Just thinking about it, Ulea chuckled, too, and Raugst chuckled
along with him. “I hope I live up to him, someday,” Ulea said. “When my time
comes. I hope I achieve a death so fine.”

You
won’t
, Raugst thought.
You will die
asleep in bed.
“Are you certain you would not rather stay at the castle?” Even
then soldiers were finishing raising the golden tent. The sounds of hammering
and grunting and the stamping of hooves filled Raugst’s ears.

The King shook his head. “No. I’ll
stay here and camp with the men.”

On the one hand, Raugst approved of
this. On the other, he needed the King at the castle so that the sovereign
could be dealt with.

“Of course, my lord. I plan to camp
with my men, as well, when the fighting starts.”

“As it should be.”

“Until then, however, I plan to
stay at the castle. It’s quite comfortable there . . .” He let this offer hang
in the air for several long moments. The sun was sinking, but it was far from
darkfall yet. The King did not respond. Raugst sighed. “Well, at least dine
with me tonight. We will gather the nobles and have one last feast before the
war.”

The King allowed himself a smile. When
he smiled, his hard, broad face filled with wrinkles, and Raugst could see all
his scars and imperfections. Strangely it made him like the King all the more.

“Very well,” Lord Ulea said. “I
will dine with you tonight. I could do with a feast.”

Raugst shook his wrist. “I will be
honored to have you.”
Enjoy the feast, my
friend. It will be your last.

Darkness fell and the townsfolk came out to greet the
soldiers, as was the custom. Meat was laid over leaping bonfires and mugs of
ale shoved into strong hands. Unmarried girls went around giving kisses on the
cheek to smiling soldiers, and the whores gave them more than that. Musicians played,
wandering amongst the camp, and people danced, driving the darkness away.

It was a happy time, and King Ulea
seemed reluctant to leave it. Nevertheless, Raugst convinced him to come away
with him finally, and the other nobles, mostly Raugst’s fellow conspirators,
gathered, sharing significant looks as they mounted up. Atop his black charger,
Raugst led them through Thiersgald, past the huddled masses, and finally to
Castle Wesrain rising grim and forbidding into the night, a black hulk blotting
out the stars.