Crown of Vengeance

Runacarendalur said. “You also share a border with Oronviel, do you not? But perhaps your spies are better than ours.”

There was a moment of silence, then Ladyholder Dormorothon laughed.

“None of us has been able to gain any useful knowledge of matters within Oronviel, Prince Runacarendalur,” Lord Ivaloriel said calmly. “I believe we all know much the same things: first Hamphuliadiel Astromancer demands Vieliessar Lightsister be returned to the Sanctuary—so we know she has left it—then we discover she has taken Oronviel from Lord Thoromarth through the exercise of an ancient custom no one has thought to set aside. At Midwinter she declares she will become High King. And now it is Rain, and all we have known for moonturns is rumor.”

“One rumor is true,” Runacarendalur answered. “The mercenaries who fight for her do so wearing Oronviel colors.”

“You said ‘they fight for her,’” Lord Girelrian said. “We have understood it is Thoromarth who leads the army of Oronviel.”

“No,” Runacarendalur said, shaking his head. “If that were so … I would have won the day. Vieliessar leads them into battle and fights as if she was born in armor.”

Damn Father for this. And Mother too. How am I to know what they want me to say if I have not spoken to them privately first? But whatever else Runacarendalur might think of his family, his parents weren’t stupid. It must be the truth—or a pretense of truth—he was here to offer. And it is too much to hope that everyone’s spies do not already know what remains of our Household guard, so truth it is.… He recounted the events of that day and night as plainly as possible.

“I do not believe it,” Ladyholder Dormorothon said, shaking her head decisively. “I met her while she was still at the Sanctuary—a simple child who knew nothing of the world. A gifted Healer, yes, but hardly a master Warlord.”

“Believe what you choose,” Runacarendalur said shortly. “If you prefer to think Thoromarth has somehow changed his entire way of waging war in half a year, then perhaps that is more likely.”

“We do not need to fight with each other yet,” Ladyholder Edheleorn said, implying, with good reason, that they would undoubtedly fight with one another later. “There might be many explanations for Oronviel’s new ways.”

“Perhaps,” Runacarendalur said, fighting to hold to his temper. “Vieliessar may have found some gifted knight whose counsel she follows. Or perhaps one of her mercenaries plans her tactics. We have all made use of them, and we did not do so because they lost battles. But this much is true: she led her army herself and she did not die on the field. If she is not a master Warlord, then she is at least a blooded knight.”

“Ah, Bolecthindial, perhaps you should have risked our ire these many years ago and betrothed the girl to your heir,” Lord Manderechiel said. “I am sure we would not have asked so very much in reparations for that transgression. And he seems fonder of her than of the Oronviel Princess he has—among other things—lost.”

“Does your champion accompany you, Lord Manderechiel?” Runacarendalur asked with icy politeness.

“I think we can dispense with this foolishness, Manderechiel,” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said briskly. “We are here to decide what to do in the matter of Oronviel, not to provide Caerthalien with entertainment.”

“What to do? To see Vieliessar Farcarinon dead, of course,” Lord Manderechiel answered. “What else?”

* * *

“I know it was a shameful and difficult thing to force you to,” Lord Bolecthindial said, candlemarks later, “but it was necessary.”

Runacarendalur had been allowed to escape the interrogation soon afterward. Rather than risk encountering the other War Princes or their Households elsewhere in the castel, he’d gone directly to his rooms, only to find a message summoning him to attend his father later. He’d been even more surprised, when he’d come at the appointed candlemark, to find Lord Bolecthindial alone.

“How could it have been necessary to expose us in our weakness—and me in my folly?” he said irritably.

“I require my former allies to believe Oronviel to be a threat to all of us,” Bolecthindial said.

“How can you believe it is not?” Runacarendalur demanded, stunned. “Vieliessar flouts the Code of Battle— she slaughtered most of the Household guard—she—”

“By drawing my old allies close and bleating in terror like a tethered kid, I gain concessions from Telthorelandor and Cirandeiron, and lull Aramenthiali,” Bolecthindial answered calmly.

“Do not tell me you sent your knights to be slaughtered for that?” Runacarendalur said hoarsely. Two-thirds of my army; she slaughtered two-thirds of my army.…

“No,” Bolecthindial shook his head. “I believed, as you did, that you would gain the victory. But you did not, and so I must choose another weapon.”

“What weapon?” Runacarendalur asked. “How can you believe anything will succeed when your army has failed?”

“It is a weapon I have wielded before,” Bolecthindial replied. “Its edge is keen enough to slay any prince.”

And he would say nothing more.

* * *

Barely a sennight after the defeat of Caerthalien’s army, Oronviel marched upon Laeldor. There was little for any of them to do while the army was on the march. Lord Vieliessar had sent Ambrant Lightbrother to War Prince Ablenariel with her challenge the moment she had reached Oronviel Great Keep. He had not rejoined the army along its march, which meant either he was still trying to persuade Lord Ablenariel of the wisdom of surrender or was being detained. Thoromarth had expected Ablenariel to take the field by now, if only in response to the nagging of his Caerthalien-bred wife and the sly proddings of a Chief Lightborn all knew to be inclined toward Aramenthiali. But he had not, and now two more days would see them at Laeldor’s Great Keep.

Riding the bounds of the camp each night was the only sign of nervousness Lord Vieliessar betrayed. Thoromarth wasn’t sure whether he was glad to see his prince fretting over the future like some ordinary komen or worried that her unease was the harbinger of catastrophe. Tonight she had bidden him to ride with her.

“Have you thought of what you will do if you win?” Thoromarth asked.

“When I win,” Vieliessar corrected.

Thoromarth waved the correction aside irritably. “When you win, if you win.… A good commander prepares for failure.”

“If I fail, there is nothing to prepare for,” Vieliessar said simply. “But I have planned for success.”

“I am eager to hear your thoughts,” Thoromarth said dourly.

“Should Ablenariel surrender himself and his domain and pledge fealty to me, I will spare his life. Then I shall take the whole of Laeldor’s army and add it to Araphant’s, and I shall march upon Mangiralas.”

“You’d leave Laeldor undefended?” Thoromarth asked.

“If Caerthalien wishes to invest Laeldor, and in doing so spread what remains of its armies thinner still, I shall be pleased to let them do so,” she answered. “If Caerthalien and Aramenthiali wish to fight over Laeldor and Araphant, let them. They weaken themselves, and both domains will be mine in the end.”

“If you win,” Thoromarth said.

“When I win,” she answered with an edged smile. “If I am forced to fight Laeldor, the end is much the same, save that I execute Ablenariel, and any of his family who will not renounce their claim to the Unicorn Throne in favor of mine. Either way…” She hesitated.

“What?” Thoromarth asked.

“Thoromarth, I cannot afford a siege here. I do not have time.”

“Shouldn’t you say this to Ablenariel? Perhaps it would convince him to surrender.”

“I must ask something of you,” she said, and sounded so troubled that Thoromarth felt a cold pang of unease strike like an enemy’s dagger to his chest.

She did not speak again until she had led the two of them so far from the edge of the camp that they crossed the path of the sentries on watch. “You know Magery is said to be Pelashia’s Gift to the alfaljodthi,” she began slowly.

“My lord, if you wish to speak of Magery, speak to Rithdeliel, or Gunedwaen, or even to your destrier—not to me, I beg you,” Thoromarth said hastily. “You know that—”