shrugged. “Oronviel shares no border with Farcarinon, at least. Tell Father to send some envoy to her, to see if she means to abide by Thoromarth’s treaty with us. If not—” He shrugged again. “War.”
“War indeed,” Ivrulion said, with a thin, cold smile. “Enjoy the day, brother.” He bowed slightly, then turned and strode away.
To win in the Challenge Circle was a skill entirely different from commanding an army, and if War Prince Vieliessar did not lead her own army—at least for a campaign or two—she would not hold Oronviel by next Harvest. The idea of going to war against such an innocent was appealing. Far less appealing was the specter of war within Caerthalien. Ladyholder Glorthiachiel had led armies, and her hatred of Serenthon Farcarinon had not diminished with his death. Such hatred had been known to ripen into warfare, and her first opponent must be Bolecthindial. A House, so weakened, would be easy prey for its enemies. Better Lord Bolecthindial know at once how his lady’s temper lay, and if he chose to do what best pleased her, then they would be at one, and Caerthalien the stronger for it.
Cheered by the pleasant prospect of the coming War Season, Runacarendalur went in search of Prince Domcariel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE HIGH KING’S ARMY
—Tunonil Landbond,
Before she had left on her strange autumnal Progress, Vieliessar had spoken to all those Lightborn who remained at Oronviel, telling them they were free to go or to stay, and that she would place no restriction upon their use of the Light so long as they remained faithful to Mosirinde’s Covenant.
Many had gone—if not out of Oronviel, then at least back to their families—and some of the castel nobles had complained bitterly, for there were so few Lightborn remaining that their spells were occupied on necessary tasks, not in finding a lost glove or keeping bathwater hot. Finding no ally in their new War Prince, some had summoned their own Lightborn from their estates, only to discover that the War Prince’s decree had gone before them, and those Lightborn who had not left their lands could not be spared.
Others had accepted the new rules with good humor, for if Vieliessar lightened the yoke of custom that weighted the necks of the commons, she lightened it for her nobles as well. No longer did her lords need to fear their horses, jewels, servants, or estates would be seized because their prince or one of her favorites desired it. No longer did they fear to be punished—or banished—for rumor or lies.
And most unbelievable of all, any who wished were free to depart Oronviel, taking with them all their possessions and any of their people who went with them freely. Generations of war, ransoms, and treaty marriages had left many of the noble families scattered across two or three domains, or five, and among such families, blood ties warred with fealty oaths.
It was slow work to spread her new truths across the land, but all who left Oronviel, noble or servile, spoke of them. The Lightborn spoke to their fellows in other domains, and the crofters who lived along the borders had closer ties with the next steading, whether it lay in Caerthalien, Aramenthiali, or Ivrithir, than they did with their distant lieges. The word of all they would gain when Vieliessar Oronviel became High King passed through Oronviel and then across her borders.
The other War Princes counted the taille of Oronviel’s knights and thought it the whole of her army.
Her army was the whole of the people of Oronviel.
“Here is where we begin.” Vieliessar rubbed the drawing-chalk between her fingers. Rithdeliel’s workroom in Oronviel Great Keep was a vast space. One wall was covered with tallyboards listing manor-knights and the number of knights-at-arms they could muster. The center of the room held three enormous tables. One could be covered in sand so that the deployment of forces could be tried before orders were passed to the Lords
Gazing down at the map before her, Vieliessar thought of the first time she had entered the Great Library of Arevethmonion. The path she had begun that day had led here. She traced her finger along Oronviel’s marked border. “How much of the border is disputed?”
Rithdeliel laughed. “All of it, Lord Vieliessar. It is the nature of borders.”
“And how far can we go across this … disputed border before we are noticed?”
Gunedwaen cleared his throat. “That depends on why we go.”
“To secure the land. Here is what is in my mind. My knights will ride through Oronviel as if on progress, each troop under its accustomed captain, and Lightborn will ride with them. They will come, if I do not ask them to prison themselves in the Great Keep once more, if I tell them I send them to Farmhold, croft, and steading to do what seems good to them. My knights will seek out every smallholding, and there the Lightborn will hear of taxes and tithes. They will go also to the Landbonds and hear their words, and such spellcraft as is needed, they will perform. They will discover the habitations of bandits and outlaws. My
She paused. Gunedwaen looked worried. Hanniach looked doubtful. Rithdeliel looked as if he was storing up objections. “In addition to these tasks, they will find for me every youth or maiden who seeks knightly arms, no matter their degree. These, too, they will bring to me here, so they may be instructed. These tasks they will perform throughout Oronviel.” She set the chalk to the map, redrawing Oronviel’s borders with a few swift strokes, and in moments she had doubled its size. “These are the borders of our domain. All within it shall know they may look to Oronviel for safety.”
“That is an … audacious … undertaking, my prince,” Hanniach said, dubiously.
“It can’t be done,” Princess Nothrediel said flatly.
“It can,” Vieliessar answered.
“To take territory without warfare … it is an interesting idea,” Rithdeliel said, measuring his words carefully.
