Crown of Vengeance

“They fought in her name, Prince Runacarendalur,” Hilgaril said. “But she did not take the field.”

That’s because she’s still somewhere in the southern Barrens, Runacarendalur thought wearily. We’re between her and her army. And not one member of this so-called War Council will believe that if we just cordon Jaeglenhend from the Tamabeths all the way to Sadrunath Dales, either she or her army will have to try something stupid to get past us. No. They think she’s going somewhere, and they want to stop her. Don’t they see that going somewhere isn’t the point?

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You’ve been very helpful.” Ivrulion looked at him suspiciously; Runacarendalur ignored him. “We ride now to rejoin the army.”

And prepare for the next honorless, graceless slaughter.

He no longer cared how Vieliessar had duped her vassal lords into mindless loyalty, nor cared that he’d become no more than his mad brother’s puppet. While he lived, he would fight. Vieliessar meant to destroy everything the Hundred Houses had spent a hundred centuries building.

And Runacarendalur meant to stop her.

* * *

Ten days after she left Oakstone Tower, Vieliessar reached Jaeglenhend Keep. She encountered the first pickets three leagues from its walls, and by the time she reached its gates, half the army had turned out to accompany her. They cheered her; komen tossing their swords in the air and making their destriers dance and rear, infantry and commons walking at the stirrups of those who had returned. It was as if the day had suddenly become Festival Fair. If this was devotion, Vieliessar wasn’t sure who—or what—its object was. All she knew was such fervor made her profoundly uneasy, even though she’d forged it into a tool to serve her ends.

“It’s all very well to ask people to die for you when you think you understand why they’re doing it, isn’t it?” Nadalforo said quietly.

“I’ve never asked anyone to die for me,” Vieliessar answered, keeping her voice equally soft. It was an effort.

“No,” Nadalforo agreed. “For your cause. For Amrethion’s Prophecy. You’ll find they don’t care about any of that. They’ll die for you, not for a dream.”

But that is all I am, Nadalforo. A dream.

It was the next afternoon before she could gather her commanders together in a formal meeting to hear what had happened in her absence and to give new orders, for the day and much of the night had been occupied with celebrations and processions. So many of her folk had wished to see her with their own eyes that she had spent candlemarks simply riding through the whole of the camp.

She’d thought to hold back the reason and the destination, but the army she had returned to was a very different thing from the army she’d left. In the beginning, she’d gathered the lords to her with the promise of freedom from High House oppression and the commons with the promise of justice—but now there was no lord who did not mourn murdered kin or vassal, no commonborn who had not suffered anew at the hands of the enemy. Vieliessar had cast aside the Codes of War that turned war from a tragedy into a sport, but she’d never thought about what would come of it. Once she had been all that held her army together. Now they would have fought even without her.

Without quarter, without mercy, and without regret.

So she told them their destination was a legend-place beyond the bounds of any map, knowing now that they would have followed if she’d told them it was the Huntsman’s castel in the winter stars.

It took them a sennight to ready themselves. As soon as they marched away from Jaeglenhend Keep, the Warhunt scattered across the land, bringing the word to every steading, croft, and Farmhold: Nilkaran is dead. The High King leads her army to freedom. Will you come?

They came.

What the commons could not carry with them, they burned. Those who were not willing to come because the Green Robes asked came because their cousins, their sisters, or their greatsires did.

Vieliessar’s army swept eastward.

She angled her line of march enough to the north that the Alliance force was in no position to either attack or block her. By the time they realized she meant to ignore them instead of engaging, she had drawn east of their position and was able to swing south again. The Alliance followed Vieliessar into Keindostibaent, where War Prince Annobeunna Keindostibaent was at war with Vithantael Consort-Prince. Annobeunna and most of her army joined Vieliessar, and in her absence, the Alliance proclaimed Vithantael War Prince of Keindostibaent.

In Keindostibaent, Vieliessar had stolen a few precious candlemarks to attempt to use what Thurion had taught her. But whether or not it was even possible, her Lightborn had already taken too much from the Flower Forests of this land for her Seeking spell to work, rushing to cast needed spells before the Alliance Lightborn crossed the border.

She did not find Celephriandullias-Tildorangelor.

By the beginning of Woods Moon the two armies had settled into a grim, slow chase. The Alliance followed too closely for Vieliessar’s force to risk stopping even for a day, but too far behind for them to close and fight.

And every day the gap between the two armies narrowed.

Soon enough we’ll have to fight, Vieliessar thought. With swords once more.

The two armies already fought a war of provision and resource. Vieliessar’s people scoured the countryside for anything they could use. In their wake, the Alliance found empty storehouses, empty granaries, empty barns and sheepfolds. If the Alliance wanted to provision itself, it would have to break off its pursuit, and once it did, no matter how far it ranged, it would discover afresh what she’d known from the first: no one domain held enough of anything to supply either of their armies. What the Alliance would demand would be impossible for any domain to give, and what wasn’t freely given, the Alliance would inevitably take. It would leave behind it an enemy instead of a subject Less House, and not gain enough of the thousand things an army must have. And any time the Alliance stopped to forage—or besiege—Vieliessar would gain precious time to widen the distance between them.

It wouldn’t be enough to allow her to escape without doing battle.

They crossed from Keindostibaent into Sarmiorion as Woods Moon became Hearth, and once more the needs of Vieliessar’s Lightborn lay heavily upon the Flower Forests. Magery could no longer be used for the homely comforts her princes had been used to. The power they could draw from the Flower Forests must be reserved to protect them from the enemy.

The weather had held for sennights—a minor miracle, with all the Weather Magery the Lightborn of both sides had worked—but now it turned at last, and neither side had the ability to stop it. The snow should have decreased the influx of refugees flocking to Vieliessar’s banner, but did not.

Ladyholder Varelotiel had joined her lord while the Alliance force was still in Jaeglenhend, bringing all of Sarmiorion’s Lords Komen and their whole meisne. Glasswall Free Company rested quietly upon its grant lands as its Ladyholder prepared to march. Captain Natrade told Varelotiel she had no interest in riding to war in winter and since Varelotiel hadn’t wanted to take the time required to persuade Glasswall’s commander to accept such a contract, she’d ridden west without them.

As soon as she’d left, Glasswall Free Company besieged and sacked Sarmiorion Great Keep before riding west as well. Those they left behind were helpless without their masters to keep order, easy prey for any who chose to set themselves in a position of rule—or those outlaws who saw the chaos in the Uradabhur as an opportunity to enrich themselves. The folk of Sarmiorion rallied to Vieliessar.

Sarmiorion’s outcast servants and abandoned laborers approached the Alliance army, begging for food, for shelter, for their War Prince and Ladyholder’s protection. They were driven away again and again, but the desperate persisted … and the truly desperate tried to steal. In the stillness of the night, screams from the Alliance camp would carry across the space that lay between the two encampments, going on for candlemarks until at last they became too faint to hear. Each night the screams would begin again.

It was worse, somehow, not to hear those screams because of the bespelling of her pavilion’s walls. Vieliessar found herself awakening in the night, straining her ears against the silence, knowing she’d hear nothing but the breathing of those sleeping around her. When the weather had turned, every pavilion had become a dormitory, for to sleep out of doors was to court death.