Crown of Vengeance

“All I know is if I commanded a Free Company and if I had seen the rest of the Free Companies slaughtered, I’d consider offering my services to the only War Prince who hadn’t been involved.”

“Don’t be foolish, ’Thia,” Thorogalas said. “They will fight for whoever pays them. They’re a Free Company.”

“And Oronviel’s coffers are fat,” Runacarendalur pointed out. He glanced at Elrinonion. “Surely Oronviel cannot keep everyone from entering and leaving, Lord Elrinonion?”

“Entering is one matter, Prince Runacarendalur. Leaving is another. And Ivrithir is a third. There I have been able to gain some information, but—as Lord Bolecthindial knows—it does not encourage.”

“I cannot believe Atholfol has made common cause with Oronviel!” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said. “How could he repay our care and kindness with such treachery?”

“Perhaps he thinks his taxes are too high,” Angiothiel suggested, and Runacarendalur kicked her under the table.

“There is still time for you to be married into Haldil or Bethros,” he told his sister. “I’m sure you would enjoy life in the Grand Windsward.”

Angiothiel tossed her head and did not reply.

“I did not summon you here to squabble, nor did I summon you to discuss matters,” Lord Bolecthindial said. “In two moonturns we ride against Ullilion. The challenges have been sent. The battlefields have been agreed on. To forfeit will mean paying penalties to Ullilion.” He paused, regarding Warlord Lengiathion balefully. “Your strategy requires Ivrithir and Oronviel to raid against Cirandeiron so Cirandeiron neither rides to Ullilion’s aid nor attacks us while our army is engaged elsewhere. When I sent that Lightborn to Oronviel last autumn to gauge the girl’s temper, you told me you were satisfied.”

“My lord, Thurion Lightbrother assured me Oronviel would abide by its traditional agreements,” Lengiathion said.

“And yet—oddly enough—Thurion Lightbrother is now nowhere to be found. And Sweethallow—your gift to him upon his return to us—stands empty,” Runacarendalur pointed out. He wished ’Rulion were back from the Sanctuary. The news would be fresh, and ’Rulion had always been clever enough to fit together a hundred scattered pieces of information to make a round tale of them.

As the others bickered around the table—save for Lengiathion and Elrinonion, who were being vilified for not doing the impossible—Runacarendalur sat lost in his own thoughts. He wished he’d paid more attention to the girl when she’d lived beneath their roof. He ticked off what he knew of her, hoping the facts would make a story. Took the Green Robe. Fled the Sanctuary and vanished beyond the Astromancer’s ability to find her. Defeated Oronviel’s Warlord—formerly Farcarinon’s Warlord—in single combat. Became War Prince, sparing the former War Prince. Declared she would become High King. Began seeking alliances, while at the same time making Oronviel a haven for outlaws. Convinced one of Caerthalien’s Lightborn to betray them and aid her cause. Talked Atholfol into sending his armies into Oronviel and allowing Oronviel’s armies to hold Ivrithir’s borders.

There is something more. Something I am missing. I know that, but I do not know what it may be.

“It is obvious to anyone that this plot is Thoromarth’s, not Vieliessar’s,” Gimragiel said sharply, summoning Runacarendalur’s attention back to the table. “This foolishness about her defeating Rithdeliel Warlord in combat— we all know that’s impossible! She’d been at the Sanctuary all her life—when would she have learned swordplay? It was done so we would spare our treaty hostages. I say we should send their bodies to Oronviel so Thoromarth knows his deception has been uncovered!”

“And what will that gain us?” Runacarendalur asked. “It will not put an end to any of the things Oronviel is doing.”

“Does no one find it odd that Thoromarth executed his dear lady Daustifalal the moment that ungrateful Farcarinon brat entered his domain?” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel demanded, her voice high with anger. “And now the Astromancer acts outside of custom—and the Oronviel Lightborn in training at the Sanctuary have vanished! She has beguiled both of them. Anyone may see it.”

Everyone knew Lady Daustifalal was of Aramenthiali, Caerthalien’s ancient enemy, yet today she was “dear lady Daustifalal” to Mother. Yet we were quick enough to make common cause with Aramenthiali against Farcarinon, Runacarendalur reminded himself. Not for the first time, he wondered why his mother hated Vieliessar so much—and if she did, why had she agreed to foster her? There’d been no advantage in it.

“This solves nothing,” he said abruptly, setting down his eating knife. “Whether Thoromarth rules in Oronviel or not—whether Vieliessar plots with Hamphuliadiel Astromancer or not—Oronviel cannot go on giving sanctuary to everyone who wishes to flee their rightful overlord. Betroth me to Princess Nanduil and I will take an army to Oronviel in her name.”

“So quick to surrender Caerthalien, brother?” Princess Ciliphirilir gibed. She had let her twin carry most of the conversation at the meal, but there was not one thought Princess Angiothiel had that Princess Ciliphirilir didn’t share.

“The betrothal can be broken as soon as Thoromarth and Vieliessar are dead and their army of rabble scattered,” Runacarendalur snapped. “Or would you rather I broke the Code of Battle instead?”

“Perhaps I may be allowed to rule my own domain for a while longer?” Lord Bolecthindial said acidly. “We all agree Oronviel must be dealt with. But let us not see the threat as greater than it is. Next season is soon enough. It has been the work of years to maneuver Ullilion onto the field without Lady Dendinirchiel squalling to Daroldan before time. I will not waste this chance.”

Runacarendalur did his best to curb his irritation. This was how warfare was conducted. It always had been. Ullilion was held in clientage by Cirandeiron, and so could ask her aid, but Cirandeiron’s aid came at the price of closer entanglement. Daroldan was another Less House: far enough distant it would not seek to take Ullilion from Cirandeiron, close enough it could ask Ullilion’s aid and give aid in return. But for the first time, the ponderous ritual dance that preceded War Season struck him as dangerous. Each War Season since the end of the Long Peace had brought another tiny change in their ancient customs. The Beastlings grew bolder, the Less Houses grew more impatient, the High Houses ruthlessly tightened their grip on their weaker neighbors. The Windsward Rebellion had been the first spark laid to tinder that smoldered still. Another such spark, and the Hundred would kindle into war —and such a war as would not respect treaties or the Code of Battle.

“You need not set aside your plans, Father,” Runacarendalur said. “A campaign against Oronviel would be brief, over before you are to meet Ullilion’s army. I would not even require the levy tailles—such meisnes as the knights of our own lands hold would be sufficient.”

“Three thousand horse against Oronviel?” Domcariel said dubiously. “Oronviel can put twice that into the field.”

“With time to call them up, yes,” Runacarendalur said. “But Lord Elrinonion says they are with Ivrithir. If we attack swiftly, Oronviel will have to take the field with Ivrithir’s horse—if they will follow Thoromarth at all—and perhaps a taille or two of mercenaries who will desert once they learn no quarter is to be offered. The thing can be done—if it is done swiftly.”

“Yes. Perhaps,” Lord Bolecthindial said slowly, in tones that Runacarendalur knew from bitter experience meant he intended to give the impression of fairness and consideration while not changing his views in the least. “But I think you are making the mistake of measuring your adversaries by your own abilities. The girl is a Green Robe who has not lived outside the Sanctuary since she was a child. Thoromarth is timid and unwilling to take the audacious risks that gain the greatest reward. I need no Swordmaster to gather gossip to tell me these things. The plan they have woven between them tells me all. They will dress up servants and farmers in bright armor and arm them with swords, thinking to mislead us. And when the time comes for battle—as it will—those mist-knights will vanish like mist in the sun, just as ‘Lord’ Vieliessar’s dreams of the Unicorn Throne will vanish. And Caerthalien will remain.”

“Caerthalien will remain a jest on the tongues of the Hundred Houses!” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel cried. “Husband! Speak all you wish of mist and sun and farmers! Oronviel has become a den of wolves!”

“And if it is, Mother, then any den can be easily cleared in springtide, when the wolves are blind pups,”