Crown of Vengeance

“My lord,” Virry said, bowing sharply. She had been born a Farmholder and was now a commander of archers. “The commons gather beyond the edge of our encampment. They wish to see you. No more than that, but they wish to be able to say they have seen the High King with their own eyes.”

“I am not yet High King,” Vieliessar answered. “But tell them I shall come as soon as I may.”

“My lord,” Virry said, with another sharp bow, then turned and walked from the pavilion. Vieliessar heard Thoromarth snort in amusement at the breach of protocol any War Prince would have slain her for.

“They’d better be satisfied with a look. You can’t take them with you,” Rithdeliel said, waving a hand as if dismissing the entire problem.

“Can I not?” Vieliessar answered mildly.

Rithdeliel frowned. “You’d never be able to feed them. Send them to Caerthalien. Or Aramenthiali, if you prefer. Let them go forth and carry word of the High King’s greatness.”

“Stop it,” Vieliessar said, without heat.

“I’m serious,” Rithdeliel said, though he didn’t look serious. He was smiling, as if this were a great joke. “Don’t you know this is planting season?”

“I’m surprised you do,” she answered. She gave up on the map and sat down, certain she wouldn’t be left to study it in peace until Rithdeliel had said what he wanted to.

“Of course I know,” he said reprovingly. “When you’ve planned as many campaigns as I have based on whose lands I had to avoid lest I disturb their fields and had them run shrieking to my lord about how I was attempting to destroy them, you’d know too. If your army of commons can convince their fellows to flock to your standard, there won’t be anyone left to get the crop into the ground.”

“It could work,” Gunedwaen said.

Yes, she thought, looking around the pavilion. It could work. It would not merely strip my conquered domains of the laborers who allow the princes to make war, but all the lands.

“They’ll be killed,” Vieliessar said. “Bolecthindial and Manderechiel will send their meisnes to turn them back, and kill them if they do not.”

“If they kill them, the planting still won’t get done,” Rithdeliel said unsympathetically. “And this winter, there will be starvation. More than usual, that is.”

“Because the lords won’t open their granaries, or suspend the teinds and tithes,” Vieliessar said in disgust. Her own storehouses—those of Laeldor, Araphant, Ivrithir, and Oronviel—could feed her army for a handful of years. Or feed all the folk of those lands through one winter. Perhaps. If my war continues more than a full wheel of the seasons, I have lost, she reminded herself. She had already sent forth knights-herald to summon Laeldor’s absent lords to the keep, sending each messenger with a grand-taille of warriors in case her new vassals thought to rebel. To muster all of Laeldor’s knight levies would require a moonturn or more, and she did not have the time; she would take fealty of her new lords and hope for the best. She knew everyone was waiting to hear whom she would leave in charge of Laeldor Great Keep; she must make time to speak with her senior commanders to tell them what she intended.

When Vieliessar is High King there will be a Code of Peace. One justice for all, be they highborn or low, and all voices heard.

When Vieliessar is High King, domain will not war with domain, for all domains will be one.

When Vieliessar is High King, lords will not steal from vassals, from craftworkers, from Landbonds—

When Vieliessar is High King …

She would send the commons throughout the west to preach rebellion. She did not like it. But it would work.

“I shall ask this of them,” she said reluctantly. “But now it is time to share with you another thing that is in my mind.”

Quickly she explained. To conquer a domain did not strengthen the force she could bring to the field, for to hold what she had taken, she must leave a garrison force and a castellan. Should an enemy attack lands she held, she must retreat to defend them, or lose not only land, but reputation.

“Lord Rithdeliel has already said I should send the commons across the West to spread the word that I shall welcome them all to my banner, and his word is a good one. Now I say I shall do more: I shall strip my domains of every living thing. Let there be nothing for the War Princes to seize upon but empty keeps and deserted farms. Atholfol Ivrithir, I charge you to support me in this, and strip Ivrithir as I shall strip Oronviel.”

The meeting exploded into loud argument, as all those in the room began talking at once, arguing vehemently against Vieliessar’s plan.

“And put them all where?” Thoromarth demanded, winning out over the others through sheer insistence on being heard. “You’re talking about four domains—five, if you take Mangiralas!”

“I have been paying attention,” Vieliessar said dryly. “I shall send them east.”

“East!” Rithdeliel burst out. “You don’t hold any lands east of Oronviel!”

“But I shall,” Vieliessar said. “And I tell you now: I shall strip each domain I take of all it holds and weld my folk into one great army. Every domain I can take and strip before the Mystral passes close for winter weakens the Twelve.”

“Winter’s going to come no matter what Lord Vieliessar has conquered,” Dirwan said logically. “And I’d hate to try to get a flock of sheep over the Mystrals in winter, true enough.”

“And eleven of the Twelve are west of the Mystrals,” Gunedwaen said, a feral smile on his face as he began to understand the whole of what she intended.

“The Uradabhur is rich, wealthy, and fertile,” Diorthiel said. He now commanded all the Araphant meisne. “If you are there and the Twelve are not, I believe much of the region will quickly fall to you.”

“It is madness,” Prince Culence of Laeldor said. “But Laeldor follows your command, Lord Vieliessar, and gladly.”

Vieliessar inclined her head, acknowledging his loyalty. “Many Landbond and Farmfolk crossed the Mystrals to reach Oronviel. If my army were closer, I think even more of them would join me.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Rithdeliel said flatly, “but … it could work. If you’re on their doorstep with an army and their commons are running off to join it—well, the lords don’t have to know the commons are useless in a fight.”

“They’ll remember the Windsward Rebellion,” Nadalforo said. “The Twelve stripped the Uradabhur bare as their armies passed through. They won’t want to face that again.”

Gunedwaen, Rithdeliel, Thoromarth, and even Dirwan were staring at her in disbelief, but Nadalforo was nodding.

“You will make of yourself a landless joke!” Thoromarth burst out.

“How so, when all this land is mine?” Vieliessar answered. “I do not care who shall ride over it for a handful of moonturns making a brave noise of dominion. It is mine, and it will be mine.”

“It’s going to be a cold winter,” Gunedwaen muttered. “With no domain to return to.”

“You and I, Gunedwaen, have both spent colder winters than we’ll spend in warm tents with stoves to heat them. Did you think I meant to go back to some Great Keep and sit by the fire when Harvest Moon or Rade Moon came? I cannot. I fight until I win,” Vieliessar answered. It was time she let them know this part of her plan, for if she waited until Harvest to tell them they were not to retreat somewhere to rest through the cold moons, they would be angry, feeling tricked. But everyone here was still so disturbed about the idea of carrying all the folk of her conquered lands with them that this new and outrageous statement passed almost unnoticed.

“Followed by an ever-growing army of Landbond who will be missing their pigs and their mud,” Thoromarth grumbled. “And which can hardly defend itself if attacked.”

“The War Princes will not attack an army of commons,” Vieliessar said. “They will take my abandoned domains—and thereby lose a portion of their armies guarding them against one another—and will think only of reclaiming the servants and workers needed to make the land fruitful. Let it be done. And let word be carried across all land I now hold and all I shall take—a domain, a kingdom, is not earth and stone, but people.”

* * *

Despite the thousand calls upon her time, Vieliessar visited Luthilion Araphant’s pavilion, where Celeharth Lightbrother lay dying in the War Prince’s own bed. That he was dying was something no one could doubt. He had