Crown of Vengeance

fingertips into the carpet’s pile. It was better to concentrate on the pain than to think of rising up and choking the life from his father.

Of course, his father was armed and he wasn’t. So if he did what he so longed to do, he might solve the problems of everyone in camp at a single blow. Not that they’d have any way of knowing it.

Three days ago they’d been on the verge of unconditional victory. Two days ago Runacarendalur had been stopped from delivering the decisive blow to Vieliessar, her army, and her mad ambitions when the Council of War Princes who ruled over the army—a council! was there a madder notion between Sword and Star?—had forced him to break off the fighting because the prisoners had set fire to the encampment. Today the Lightborn who’d sworn fealty to Vieliessar had vanished as if they’d dissolved into mist. Because of that, the army had covered so little distance they might as well not have struck the camp at all—and even that didn’t matter, because that self-same do-nothing Council could not decide whether to pursue Vieliessar or her army, and so pursued neither.

At last he ran his tongue over his split lip and pushed himself to his feet. “Tell me you’ll listen. Or I’ll go to Manderechiel and see if Aramenthiali will.”

“He will feed your liver to his dogs,” Lord Bolecthindial said, his words falling like slow and measured blows.

“Perhaps,” Runacarendalur said evenly. “Or perhaps he’ll pay heed. Aramenthiali is used to groveling. I’m sure Manderechiel isn’t nearly as annoyed to be here as you are.”

Lord Bolecthindial turned away and walked to a chair. He sat heavily, as if the need to sit were another enemy he wished to slay. Runacarendalur did not follow.

“My son. You are young yet. You do not understand what a labyrinth of promises and lies rulership is.” Bolecthindial was most unsettling when he attempted to be conciliatory. He did not do it well. “Caerthalien’s future hangs by the most fragile of threads. It is no secret.”

Because three of my brothers are dead and the fourth is Lightborn and I shall be dead before the springtide and who is left? Ivrulion could be Regent for Demi-Princess Mindolin, but she is a child, and the daughter of an elder son at that—and both her aunts must take the throne before her. And they are idiots, but neither is such an idiot as not to see that becoming War Prince would allow them to send Mother from the keep so they need not suffer her interference—and she is a serpent, but she’s smart.

“Oh, I see your plan at last!” Runacarendalur announced as if struck by sudden inspiration. “You have a bride in mind for me, and we will all sit here until she has presented me with an heir. An interesting strategy, but do you think the rest of the Alliance will endorse it?”

“Yap on,” Bolecthindial answered crushingly. “I am used to barking dogs.”

“Very well. Since you invite me to, I shall. Every moment we waste—and we have wasted three interminable days already—is another moment in which Vieliessar can hide herself and her army can regroup to attack us again. Rithdeliel Warlord rode north—do you think he won’t take Jaeglenhend Great Keep when he reaches it?”

“I think we have his supplies, and his servants, and his remounts, and half his army will be dead long before they see the walls of the keep,” Bolecthindial said. “Another sennight, and we’ll have every komen who can still sit a horse at the bounds of our encampment, begging for pardon. As for the keep—all it need do is shut its gates and wait.”

Runacarendalur drew a deep breath to keep himself from shouting. Again. They’d seen Vieliessar claim two dozen Less Houses in one War Season. The commons had risen up for her. The Lightborn had abandoned their homes. War Princes had willingly relinquished their domains to her. If the surviving Houses of the West had not banded together—If they had not moved to follow her with incredible speed—If Runacarendalur had not turned her own tactics against her to take her supply train …

… this so-called Alliance would be fighting for its life right now.

He was certain of it. What he was not certain of was that they’d seen Vieliessar fleeing from an army that had turned against her. If that were truly the case, why hadn’t its commanders tried to seek pardon? They’d had Lightborn with them. They could have sent envoys.

“And if you’re right, what then?” Runacarendalur said wearily. “True, we said we’d execute everyone who pledged to her. And true, perhaps they don’t believe it. But the War Princes? When we took Vieliessar’s baggage train we executed their entire households, and the Lightborn will bear them word of that—or do you, perhaps, think they have simply ridden off to the lost city of Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor? The War Princes won’t sue for pardon, and thanks to us, they have no lands to return to. What they do have is tailles, and grand-tailles, and entire meisnes that are still loyal to them.

“Did you think we had trouble with outlaws after the Scouring of Farcarinon? This will be a thousand times worse.” He walked over to the table beside his father’s chair and picked up a cup from the tray. Without asking permission, he poured it full of wine from the pitcher there and walked away again.

Lord Bolecthindial waved Runacarendalur’s comments away irritably. “I never thought you such an idealist. A War Prince without lands is just another landless knight. They can’t hold the loyalty of nobles they can’t reward— you’ll find that’s true when you come to rule. Their komen will desert them, if they haven’t already, and come begging for the scraps from our tables. We have their commons. We have their supplies. We have the Mangiralas bloodstock. We can declare them outlaw and let the Uradabhur deal with a pack of outlaws.”

“And that might work,” Runacarendalur said. I don’t think it will, but it might. “If we have Vieliessar too. They followed her because she claimed to be Amrethion High King’s anointed heir. Oh, and because she promised to free the Landbonds and kill all of us, but the important point is, her army will become a pack of landless outlaws without her. But while she’s alive—or they think she is—they’ll fight.” He drained his cup.

“They’ve already deserted her,” Bolecthindial said.

“They haven’t,” Runacarendalur countered. “If her cause were lost, her Lightborn wouldn’t have fled. Why should they? Of all who’ve defied us, they don’t need to fear punishment. But think whatever you like. I won’t convince you, and for the loyalty I bear Caerthalien I won’t try to convince anyone else—if you let me go after her.”

Bolecthindial got to his feet. “Think carefully, before I forget you are my heir and remember you are my vassal.” Bolecthindial’s voice was so quiet that it took as much courage as Runacarendalur had ever mustered to meet his eyes calmly. Bolecthindial in a shouting rage could be dealt with. Bolecthindial soft-voiced and unmoving was unpredictable and deadly.

“Lengiathion Warlord, Elrinonion Swordmaster, Lord Mordrogen—I could name a score of your vassals who would speak hard words to you for Caerthalien’s safety,” Runacarendalur said steadily. “While Vieliessar is free she is a danger. For who she is. For who the people will believe she is. For what their belief will make them do. If you will not hear these words from your son, Lord Bolecthindial, hear them from your vassal—” Runacarendalur crossed the space between them in three swift strides and knelt before his father, head bowed “—and ask yourself: would Serenthon Farcarinon have balked at a ruse upon the battlefield if it would gain him time to rally his komen?”

There was nothing but silence for long moments, but Runacarendalur did not dare raise his head. He had risked all on this last throw of the dice. If his father would not listen, he would have to seek out those who would. After that, he could never return to Caerthalien while his father lived.

It does not matter, he reminded himself. I shall never rule Caerthalien. My only gift to her next prince can be the death of that monster who wishes to destroy everything that is fine and noble in the Fortunate Lands.

Perhaps Vieliessar was right about the meaning of The Song of Amrethion. Perhaps some great doom was coming. He didn’t know. What he knew was that if it did come, it couldn’t be fought by Landbonds with reaping hooks. And the war against it couldn’t be led by anyone who thought it could.

“I do not say you are right,” Bolecthindial said at last, “but a small force set to hunt Lord Vieliessar down is no bad notion. Her execution will serve as a suitable display of strength to the remnants of her army, when we come upon them.” He rested his hand on the crown of Runacarendalur’s head for a moment, then withdrew it. “But come! Get up! It is unseemly for one born to rule to grovel at my feet as if he were—As if he were of