Crown of Vengeance

have the Unicorn Throne.

Oh, it would be only the object and not the vast empire it symbolized, but that would not matter. If she held it, the envoys of the War Princes would come to her there, to seek treaties or negotiate wars. Amrethion’s city would become her greatest weapon. The commons of every domain would seek out Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor to become her subjects. Without the farmers and farmworkers, the craftworkers, the servants, those who worked, the War Princes’ vast armies would collapse. They would be forced to surrender or starve.

There were a thousand reasons not to do it.

To reach Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor—to find Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor— she would have to lead her army through the lands of War Princes who owed fealty to War Princes of the Alliance. The lessons she had learned during War Season were clear: fear would cause them to support their ancient masters. She might hope for more, but the best she could expect was that they would merely ride to join her enemy instead of marshaling their forces immediately against her.

Or she might win.

But first she must find her destination.

When Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor fell, the Uradabhur was a primeval wilderness. The maps she had were the best available, but they were limited. Nothing beyond the borders of the domains was shown. Why should it be? Who could possibly need to know about it? All she had to aid her were the ghost-whispers of ancient memories. Amrethion’s lords hunted Pelashia’s children, and their children’s children, and they had fled west …

If she chose that course, it meant gambling her army on a chance out of legend and prophecy, instead of waging a conventional war she might actually win. And winning, lose—for all of them.

She had as little choice as she ever had.

Only let the day come when the magic of the Prophecy has done all Amrethion set it to do, when I can say I do nothing but by my own wish—and say, too, on that day: it is well.

* * *

“We will be received by a committee of welcome,” Rithdeliel said, gesturing toward the valley ahead.

The day was warm and bright, and a candlemark or two would see them out of the pass and within Jaeglenhend’s true borders. Nilkaran Jaeglenhend had come with all his army to meet them. His encampment was set upon a hilltop and his pavilion—striped in Jaeglenhend azure and white—was easily visible even from here. Her scouts had been reporting back for days that Nilkaran had gathered what was probably the whole of his army to meet her.

“Welcome does not disturb me,” Vieliessar commented dryly.

“They’re a few miles off, and Kenyman Scout saw no evidence they mean to attack. Today, at least,” Rithdeliel answered.

“Just as well.” Her whole force outnumbered Nilkaran’s at least ten to one—but her whole force would not be down the mountain for some days yet. “So let us make camp.”

“And give him a ’mark or two to brood before you do what you always do,” Rithdeliel said.

“‘What I always do’?” Vieliessar asked, turning to gaze at him. “And that would be…?”

Rithdeliel smiled. “Why, send an envoy to ask, most politely, that he surrender his armies and his lands and pledge fealty to you, of course.”

His comment startled her into laughter, for it was true. But she sobered quickly. Though it had worked often enough to gain her an army, there was an army following her that would not be so easily subdued.

* * *

There was a valley located only a few miles from the trailhead; Rithdeliel’s forces were soon joined there by Thoromarth and his warriors and then by Iardalaith and the Warhunt Mages. Vieliessar’s camp expanded slowly and inexorably. Lord Nilkaran’s scouts were obviously keeping as close a watch on it as she was on his. But he managed to do one thing to surprise her: he sent an emissary to her before she sent one to him.

Moraigre Lightbrother looked too young to be wearing the Green Robe, but he was obviously used to this work, for he displayed no sign of nervousness at being intercepted by pickets and conducted to Vieliessar’s pavilion. It had been the first structure set: orders must be given, decisions must be made, and her scarlet pavilion made a logical focal point for the engineers who must lay out the roads of the camp. Many campaigns ago she had resigned herself to going inside and staying there, no matter her inclinations: it was a waste of everyone’s time and energy to constantly have to seek her out. At least my commanders have the luxury of going where they wish and doing what needs doing, she thought rebelliously. Moraigre Lightbrother’s arrival was a welcome distraction.

“To Lord Vieliessar, War Prince of Oronviel, Lord Nilkaran, War Prince of Jaeglenhend, sends greetings,” Moraigre began, when the first formalities were over and he was ready to deliver his message.

“Lord Vieliessar is not Prince of Oronviel,” Aradreleg corrected calmly. “Lord Vieliessar is High King of all the land.”

“I, well, I have the message as it was given to me,” Moraigre said, smiling engagingly. “If its form does not please, I shall inform my lord.”

Vieliessar smiled in return. “Let us proceed to the message itself, if you would. What does Lord Nilkaran want?”

There was a pause as Moraigre skipped mentally over several long speeches of flattery, though Vieliessar’s True Speech let her hear them as a low mutter in his mind. She had long since given up feeling shame over her near-constant use of it to eavesdrop on all around her.

“He greets you, and wishes you well, and is prepared to offer your army safe conduct to the eastern border of his domain. Escorted by his army, of course,” the young Lightborn finished.

Aradreleg was too well schooled to laugh, and Komen Mathoriel was too well bred to. Vieliessar sat quietly, her face as smooth as new cream, delaying only to give Moraigre the impression she was considering his master’s words. The proposal Nilkaran made was both audacious and clever, for it did not force him to declare for her, nor did it shut the door to such a declaration in future. But if she accepted it, she would be left with an enemy at her back, and her enemies would receive haven.

“Your lord’s desire to avoid unnecessary battle does him credit,” she began simply. “And he knows as well as I that a great army pursues me closely, and when we meet, we must fight.”

She felt Moraigre relax, thinking she was going to accept Nilkaran’s offer.

“Yet this is an offer I must decline,” she continued. “I must and will have Jaeglenhend. I require Lord Nilkaran to swear fealty to me, to place all of Jaeglenhend beneath my rule, to deliver to me for my use all those of his meisne, and to provide me with such provisions and other materials as I may require.”

“I…” Moraigre was too experienced to show the full extent of his dismay, but he was obviously at a loss for words. Foremost in his mind was concern—not outright fear, but not far from it—at Nilkaran’s reaction when he delivered her message.

“It is only to be understood that Nilkaran Jaeglenhend will find my answer disappointing. And he will have many questions. I shall send a messenger of my own with you upon your return, so that he may have answers to all the questions he may wish to ask,” she said. At least those I intend to answer. She turned to the nearest servant. “Go and bring to me Iardalaith Lightbrother, if you please. I must send him to speak with Lord Nilkaran, and I have much to say to him before he goes.”

* * *

She sent four Lightborn back with Moraigre: Iardalaith, Rondithiel, whose gravitas should be enough to reassure the Lightborn of Jaeglenhend that she kept the Covenant, Harwing, who was an expert spy, and Isilla, whose Keystone Gift was Overshadowing. All were members of the Warhunt, able and willing to fight if they must.

They did not return to Vieliessar’s camp until late that night. Iardalaith said they had been forced to sneak from the Jaeglenhend camp under Cloakspell and steal their own horses back. Lord Nilkaran had not mistreated them in any fashion, but he had asked them to remain until he had an answer to send back with them.

“Had we done so, we would have grown old in his company,” Harwing Lightbrother said mockingly.

“He means to fight. I am almost certain of it,” Isilla said, and Rondithiel nodded in agreement.

Vieliessar glanced around the pavilion. Much of her army was still in the mountains, so not all her Senior