Crown of Vengeance

Unicorn Throne and swear yourself to be my loyal vassal?”

“I—I—I wasn’t supposed to be War Prince!” Gatriadde said. “It was Maeren! How can you— You can’t, Lord Vieliessar—the Horse Fair is next year, and—”

“Be silent, Gatri,” Lady Faurilduin said quietly. “Your father, your sister, and I are dead and Mangiralas is yours. You are of good stock. Trust in your breeding.” She turned away as if Gatriadde no longer existed.

Vieliessar watched Prince Gatriadde as her guards led Lord Aranviorch and Lady Faurilduin to the place they would await their executions, knowing as she did that she had her answer: Faurilduin had let prisoners in her hands die. The prince took a deep breath. “You must tell me Oronviel’s terms, Lord Vieliessar,” he said with painful dignity. “I did not expect to be War Prince.”

She repeated what she had said before—vassalage and renunciation of his claim upon the Throne. She did not detail the law to which Mangiralas would now be bound, for Gatriadde would be oathbound to do all she asked of him, and she did not think he could remember her words from one moment to the next just now.

“But the horses?” he said desperately. “You won’t hurt them, or—or take them away, or—”

“The horses of Mangiralas will be in your care,” she said, holding up her hand. She meant to strip Mangiralas of all it held, but not to destroy it.

“Yes. All right. All right. I’ll swear. I’ll do whatever you ask. But I don’t—I don’t—”

Patiently, Vieliessar took Gatriadde through the phrases of the oath, then had Aradreleg set the spell so he could swear. She had to prompt him several times, and when it was over, he burst into tears.

“There, young lord, hush,” Camaibien said, going to him and taking the new War Prince in his arms. “It’s done and you’ll take no more hurt of it. The Silver Hooves have chosen to give Mangiralas into Oronviel’s care, and we must trust in Them, for do They not ride horses more glorious than any we can dream of breeding? Just so. As horse and rider promise to keep one another safe, so shall Mangiralas and Oronviel keep one another now.”

“Yes, I—yes. That is so,” Gatriadde said. “I may keep him, can’t I?” he said in sudden fear, turning to Vieliessar.

“If it is his wish to remain with you, I will not take him from you,” Vieliessar said, speaking gently, as to a child. Gatriadde was barely more than a boy, and even if he were to have become War Prince, it should not have been for many centuries. “But I shall need him to return to your camp now and bring to me the Lightborn of Mangiralas, for I have need of them.”

“I’ll go with him,” Gatriadde said. “I should. I’m War Prince now.”

“Yes,” Vieliessar said. “If you please, go with Lord Gunedwaen to our horselines, and you may choose palfreys to bear you.”

Gatriadde nodded jerkily. Gunedwaen stepped to the door of the tent and gestured for the new War Prince to precede him. Camaibien moved to follow, but Vieliessar rose to her feet, gesturing to him to approach her.

“If you take two candlemarks to return my prisoners and bring your Lightborn to me, his parents will be dead by the time he returns,” she said quietly. “He need only see their bodies on the pyre.”

“If you had showed such honor in war as you do in victory, my young lord would not be forced to a task so far beyond his skill,” Camaibien said sorrowfully.

“I will not leave your young lord undefended,” Vieliessar answered. “My word to you.”

* * *

There was rejoicing in the camp the evening of the victory, for not only had Vieliessar won, but Princess Nothrediel and Prince Monbrauel were among those prisoners returned by Mangiralas. If the war had continued many more days, Thoromarth would have lost two more of his children, for while Lady Faurilduin had not executed any of the prisoners she had taken, neither had she allowed their injuries to be Healed by Lightborn, and about a third of those she had captured had died.

Bethaerian was among the dead.

I should not care more for her life because she was known to me.

Vieliessar left her victory feast early, for she felt an uneasiness in her mind which she would not impart to her commanders. She passed her sentries and walked out among the pyres. Here the War Prince of Mangiralas and his lady. There, the Heir-Princess of Mangiralas. Bethaerian. Virry. Janondiel. She might count until the sun rose and not number all her dead.

“It is not a light thing if you were not raised to it.”

Vieliessar glanced back. Nadalforo had followed her from the camp and now stood watching her.

“It should not be a light thing even so,” Vieliessar answered, and Nadalforo shrugged.

“It is war,” she said. “In war, some die.”

“Why do we fight?” Vieliessar asked. Impulse, but also the question that had burned in her even before she ever accepted her destiny.

Nadalforo laughed, a short bark of laughter that held no mirth. “For land, for power, for advantage, for vengeance. You fight to become High King, but I do not know why.”

“To end this,” Vieliessar answered. “And because the day will come when we can no longer quarrel among ourselves.”

Vieliessar turned away, gazing out over the battlefield—the encampment of the dead. I am lonely, she realized in surprise. It had been years—decades—since she had been a servant in the Sanctuary, spending happy evenings in the Servants’ Hall or in the Common Room with friends. She had lost them one by one. She rubbed her hand over her face.

“Victory rides with the clever,” Nadalforo replied. “So far you have been clever enough.”

I have been lucky, Vieliessar thought, turning back to gaze out over the pyres. “The Silver Hooves grant—” she began. She did not finish the sentence. Nadalforo had gone.

* * *

It was a moonturn and a half after the defeat of Mangiralas, but Vieliessar and her people had not stood idle. All across the West, rebellion had spread like wildfire, causing more folk to flock to her banner. Places had needed to be found for all, and this time the newcomers were not only the commonfolk of the Less Houses of the West, but their Lords Komen and great nobles as well. Where she could, Vieliessar had sent troops to support the Less Houses as they fought the High, but she hoped to avoid becoming embroiled in a drawn-out campaign in the west—and one with a score of commanders, all with different goals.

Nor had Vieliessar herself been idle, for there were other Western Houses whose fealty she must gain though they would never join her in battle. So she had gone to take promises of Amrolion and Daroldan, traveling to the Western Shore to do so.

Now it was time for the next step in her plan. She had always meant to take the Unicorn Throne with as little fighting as possible. Now she meant to cement her victory with retreat.

“We shall take Ullilion next,” Vieliessar said, indicating it on the map. “Then I shall divide the army.”

“Divide it?” Rithdeliel said. “Is that wise?”

“It is necessary,” Vieliessar answered. “One third shall go to Thoromarth, one third to Atholfol, and the third part to you, Rithdeliel. Thoromarth, you must ride against Tunimbronor, Vorogalast, and Sierdalant. These Less Houses are disputed between Aramenthiali and Vondaimieriel.”

“And neither one will appreciate me riding in to snatch them from their grasp,” Thoromarth said. “You should take Aramenthiali first, then those Less Houses.”

“If I had an army as great as Aramenthiali’s, I would do so gladly,” Vieliessar answered tartly. “But I do not. Yet you may not face as much opposition as you think. Vondaimieriel did not declare for Serenthon during his attempt to gain the High Kingship, but neither did she oppose him. And Finfemeras Vondaimieriel was similarly evasive when I sent to him at Midwinter.”

“Vondaimieriel’s got her back to the Mystrals,” Thoromarth pointed out. “Finfemeras is cautious. Vondaimieriel can’t afford to lose territory in war. She has no place to go.”

“There will be fighting all through that region,” Gunedwaen said. “Aramenthiali battles Vondaimieriel this season. Vorogalast and Sierdalant are in clientage to Aramenthiali; Tunimbronor to Vondaimieriel. I don’t suppose I need to mention that Caerthalien attacks Ullilion as well?”

“Then my task will be easier, for Ullilion will be embattled by two foes,” she said.

There was a moment of silence, then Thoromarth spoke. “It is not that I am not grateful to be given an army and a hopeless task,” he said, “but you speak of three elements to your army, and yet you claim none of them for yourself. Where will you be?”