Crown of Vengeance

Gonceivis proclaimed Malbeth—his greatson through an elder daughter, if I remember rightly—Child of the Prophecy, and the Less Houses of the Grand Windsward rebelled against the High Houses in the West.”

“Yes,” Vieliessar said, nodding. “They did not even propose a Candidate for the High Kingship. Rather they claimed that the time High King Amrethion foretold had come, and no longer was there High House and Low. And so I need to send someone to Haldil to say Vieliessar Oronviel shall be High King and fulfill the Prophecy in truth.”

Thurion frowned, thinking over what she’d said. “Gonceivis knows The Song of Amrethion,” he said slowly. “If for no other cause than that Haldil is Hamphuliadiel’s House … and the Less Houses tried to break with the High by both force of arms and by the sword of custom. Vielle, if you have me say this to him, he will know you claim the Unicorn Throne not merely by conquest, but as High King Amrethion Aradruiniel’s prophesied successor.”

“Yes. And so it is you who must go, Thurion, for you already know I am Child of the Prophecy. It is the strongest argument I can offer to the Houses of the Grand Windsward, for freedom from the demands of the High Houses is what they desire most of all. And I must make this claim sooner or later,” she said, half laughing, half mournful. “And then every fool who once read The Song of Amrethion Aradruiniel will comb through it for proof I am mad.”

“I could almost wish you were, for the end of High House and Low is not all Amrethion prophesies.” Thurion shook his head. “And when Lord Gonceivis asks me of the rest of the Prophecy? Darkness—death—disaster—terrible armies out of the shadows?”

“I leave that in your hands,” Vieliessar answered. “Tell him all, or nothing—or lie. If Celelioniel had known what is so terrible Amrethion must send his prophecy down a score of generations to find me—she might simply have told the War Princes what was to come and let that be an end to it. I dare not. I dare not,” she repeated, low.

“And if Haldil will not listen?” Thurion asked.

“Then Bethros, or Hallorad, or even Penenjil, for if their Silver Swords do not ride to war outside Penenjil’s borders, perhaps they will fight for the Fortunate Lands themselves.” She frowned, as a memory struck her. “But that cannot be true. Once, at the edge of Arevethmonion, I saw some of the Silver Swords. They rode with knights of Calwas and Enerchelimier—and Anginach Lightbrother rode with them, in the armor of a knight. He called me Farcarinon and asked my forgiveness. I never knew why, but he carried with him part of a scroll that held Celelioniel’s last proofs. He died—they were all cut down by others who followed, and his body was too shattered by battle cordial for me to Heal him.…”

“A mystery,” Thurion said, as puzzled as she was. “For how should Calwas come to aid Enerchelimier, or cause Penenjil to break ancient custom? But it is settled: if Haldil will not hear me, I will go to Penenjil, and remind the Master of the Silver Swords of that day, for he will know of it. Of that, I am certain.”

“You will go?” she said, her voice as light with relief as if she were not a War Prince and he not her sworn vassal.

“At once.”

“I will send—” she began, but Thurion shook his head.

“Better if I go alone. You could not send enough knights with me to keep me safe on the Grand Windsward —and I could not keep them safe, either. If I go alone, my spells will guard me and I can use Door to speed me on my journey. I swear to you: I shall go to every court, to every prince of the Grand Windsward, and I shall bring you an army so great that the High Houses will throw down their swords and weep in despair.”

“I have known you so many years, and never knew you for a Storysinger,” she replied, smiling faintly.

Thurion smiled at the gentle teasing, but only for a moment. “Care for my Denerarth while I am gone. He thinks I can do nothing for myself, and he will worry.”

“I shall care for him as if he were my own flesh. And if— And if the day should go against me, I swear to you I will see him safe. And your family as well.”

“Then there is nothing for me to fear. I shall bring you your army before the first snows.” They were brave words, such as any knight might speak to his heart’s lady—if the world were a storysinger’s tale. Both of them knew it was not, for Vieliessar’s family had been destroyed by fear and ambition and the Light had lifted Thurion from a life of toil and privation to a life of ease and luxury … and of knowing his family were held hostage against his lord’s displeasure.

But the purpose of stories was to take the ugly, terrifying truths with which one must live and turn them into brave and beautiful ideas one might love. And so Thurion spoke light words of farewell as if his life had become a storysong for a Festival day, and held his fears and worries close until he would be the only one who could see them. And he went to tell Denerarth that he rode alone on a journey but that all would end well.

* * *

Siege was rarely a tactic used by any of the War Princes, for it was costly and difficult and offered little chance for battle. Vieliessar had not intended to besiege Laeldor, for as she had said to Thoromarth three days before: she dared not spend a year, or even a moonturn, in siege. For that reason, she had sent Ambrant Lightbrother to War Prince Ablenariel with a challenge, just as the Code of Battle required. Upon receiving it, Ablenariel Laeldor should have summoned his knights to meet her in battle. Or if he did not want to, he should have sent Ambrant Lightbrother to her with a request for parley.

He had done neither. Vieliessar’s army had crossed Laeldor unopposed.

As they went, the commonfolk of Laeldor flocked to her, hailing her as High King and swearing she was their lord. Gunedwaen questioned them, asking what they had seen of the movement of knights and supplies—for however Ablenariel meant to answer her, he would have needed to call up his levy knights—but always the answer was the same: Nothing. We have seen nothing.

“It is not possible,” Gunedwaen said in frustration. “You’ve had Landbond and Farmholders here from every steading within a hundred miles of our line of march. Landbond see everything—and not one of them has seen knights heading to muster. I’d say Ambrant Lightbrother just didn’t deliver your message, except—”

“Except that pompous windbag would never miss the chance to lecture a War Prince while doing his duty,” Thoromarth growled.

Vieliessar and her senior commanders sat at table in her pavilion. They had reached the keep itself and had set camp perhaps two miles from its walls. No one knew whether or not they would fight in the morning, but Vieliessar had ordered the feasts and victory sacrifices made just as if they would.

“Say the message wasn’t delivered,” Rithdeliel said. “Say, oh, his horse threw him and he broke his neck on the way to the keep. Or was eaten by wolves. By now someone would have mentioned our presence to Ablenariel, and he would’ve sent one of his Lightborn to demand we go home.”

“So he’s just pretending he hasn’t seen us,” Nadalforo said contemptuously. The former mercenary reached out with her dagger to skewer a chunk of meat from the platter in the middle of the table. “Fine for him. But do you think he had time to tell all his nobles his plan before we got here? We’ve been tromping over manorial lands for the last five days, and the only notice anyone takes of us is to come and try to join the army.”

Princess Nothrediel laughed, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Well, it’s true, Father,” she said in answer to Thoromarth’s dark look. “It doesn’t make any sense! Laeldor can call—” She paused for a moment in thought. “—two score grand-tailles, just as we can. Although really closer to twelve, if you mean knights who can actually fight. They won’t all fit in the castel. And it’s at least a moonturn and a half before Caerthalien goes to meet Ullilion, so they are all still here.”

“And even if Caerthalien has demanded Laeldor’s support before time—it is possible, now that the Heir-Prince has lost so many of his father’s knights—someone would have seen the companies on the move,” Gunedwaen said.

Rithdeliel shook his head, but in bafflement, not disagreement. “Either Ablenariel knows we’ve challenged him, or he doesn’t. Either he has summoned his levy knights, or he hasn’t. All we know for certain is we haven’t seen them, and nobody else has, either.”

“You are too pessimistic, Lord Rithdeliel,” Vieliessar said, with grave humor. “We also know where Lord Ablenariel’s Great Keep is.”

Princess Nothrediel and Commander Nadalforo both laughed.

* * *

The day of the battle—if there was going to be one—dawned clear and cool. The army had taken its final