Crown of Vengeance

“You can’t possibly…” he said in disbelief. “Vielle … even with just the folk of Oronviel, it would take sennights for you to get everyone through the Dragon’s Gate. And now you have…”

“Twenty domains,” Vieliessar said. “Their folk, their cattle, their komen. Twenty.” And five more she might yet prize loose from the Alliance, if she were quick and clever. She might make of herself and them such a High House as Jer-a-kaliel had never seen …

And it would be extinguished within her lifetime.

“That … I cannot imagine so many folk in one place,” Thurion said in awe. “You can never move them east in secret. Once the Alliance sees what you mean to do, they will stop you. They’ll stop you before you take the pass —Vondamieriel has only to send to Jaeglenhend, and—”

“And she will not,” Vieliessar answered simply. “For she will not think to. My enemies will be elsewhere, waiting for me.”

“You have a plan,” Thurion said slowly, and the dread in his voice made her smile. “Vielle, what do you mean to do?”

“Wait and see,” she answered. “Wait and see.…”

* * *

As early as Rain Moon, the Old Alliance had agreed Vieliessar was a danger, but they were already committed to their summer’s wars and saw no reason to change those plans—until Vieliessar took Laeldor and announced her Lightborn would renounce Mosirinde’s Covenant. A moonturn later, she rode to victory against Mangiralas and word came that she had executed all but one of its ruling House.

After that, disaster followed disaster.

The Windsward Houses proclaimed their independence from the West for the second time in a scant half- century.

The Houses of the Arzhana recalled their levy knights.

The Houses of the Uradabhur fell silent, refusing to answer demands for information, for troops, for supplies.

In the west, a score of Less Houses—among them Ullilion—declared for the High King. The Twelve could neither outwait them nor attack each of them in turn, for with their declarations, their War Princes summoned their teind-levies home: craftworkers and Landbond and even, sometimes, Lightborn and knights. The commons didn’t matter—most of them were running off anyway—but the loss of troops and Lightborn dealt the Twelve a crippling blow.

And so Caerthalien rode against Ullilion not for its own enrichment, but in aid of Cirandeiron, for Cirandeiron was attempting to hold Less House Brabamant, and, unable to extend itself further when Ullilion also declared for Lord Vieliessar, had called upon Caerthalien for aid.

And Caerthalien gave it.

Unthinkable even in the days of the Old Alliance. But if the Less Houses of the West succeeded in joining forces with Vieliessar, she would at last have what she’d sought from the very beginning: an army large enough to take the field against all four of the greatest High Houses—and win.

We should have killed her, Runacarendalur thought bitterly. We should have bribed the Astromancer to kill her. What does she know of war, of ruling, of caring for the lands on which you were born so you may pass them on in sacred trust to your own child?

Nothing.

The shame of knowing this creature was his destined Bondmate was worse than knowing he would never rule Caerthalien. With his own death, he could end her life instantly. A blade in the night silence of his chambers. A moment’s deliberate inattention on the battlefield. He should have—he knew that now. But by the time she’d taken Laeldor, it was too late. The rot of her preachings had spread like summer wildfire and suddenly the High Houses were fighting for their very survival.

Caerthalien was fighting.

“Skill makes up for strength. As it is in a komen, so it is in a House. The High Houses are strong, so they need not be clever. The Less Houses are weak. They can afford no imprudence—in battle or in alliance.”

Elrinonion Swordmaster had said those words to Runacarendalur long ago: then they had puzzled him, but during this terrible War Season, he’d had their truth proved to him over and over. Lengiathion Warlord approved no tactics that had not been used by his greatfathers. Caution and superior numbers did not win battles, but Lengiathion’s strategy at least prevented the losing of them.

Against War Prince Vieliessar these tactics would be a disaster.

None of his siblings possessed Runacarendalur’s skill in warfare. His House needed him. Runacarendalur of Caerthalien would serve his House to the last beat of his heart. Whether it wanted that service or not.

* * *

“Fall back!” Runacarendalur shouted. He stared wildly around himself. His meisne was scattered and Helecanth was nowhere in sight. “Fall back!” he bawled again, striving to make himself heard over the roar of battle. Ullilion had regrouped and Caerthalien couldn’t stand additional losses.

Hating his own necessity, Runacarendalur struck at the destrier of his enemy rather than at the rider. His sword bit into the side of the animal’s neck. Blood sprayed and Runacarendalur urged Gwaenor forward. He could feel the stallion laboring for breath, just as he was, for the air was thick with smoke. Ullilion’s Lightborn had called Lightning down against Caerthalien’s army early in the day. If Ivrulion had not already ordered the Caerthalien Lightborn onto the battle lines, their losses would have been unimaginable. Shield had protected them, but it could not protect the grass and the trees, and the summer was a dry one.

His fury at being forced to fight this unclean battle gave strength to Runacarendalur’s aching muscles, and his opponent could not defend himself while trying to control his wounded destrier. Runacarendalur bludgeoned him until he fell from the saddle and Gwaenor battered his armored body into ruin.

For a blessed moment no one was attacking him. Runacarendalur tried to orient himself, but they’d had to abandon the war banners because Ullilion’s Lightborn had been using them as targets. He wasn’t sure where he was on the field or whose meisnes were beside him. The wind shifted and smoke poured directly over the Caerthalien line. Runacarendalur tried to shout again and choked instead. His ribs ached from blows taken and from the coughing spasms brought on by smoke.

Suddenly—as welcome as a dipper of cool water—came the mellow call of a Caerthalien warhorn. The smoke skirled and thinned and Helecanth appeared. Her white destrier was grey with smoke, and her surcoat was charred in a dozen places and filthy with blood. But she led a dozen knights of Caerthalien. When she saw Runacarendalur she gestured, using handsign because even if she could be heard, her voice was undoubtedly as raw as his. What orders?

Retreat, Runacarendalur signaled.

Quickly they gathered the scattered line of Caerthalien knights for an orderly retreat. They’d been the deosil wing of the army. Prince Gimragiel had the center, though Runacar had argued long and loud against that, for ’Ragi was quick to anger and reckless on the field once he lost his temper. The plan of battle the senior commanders had settled among them the night before had survived barely halfway into the first charge across the battlefield. Now Runacarendalur didn’t know where Caerthalien’s center was or if either of his brothers yet lived.

His plan was to retreat to his own lines, collect his reserve force, and try to locate the rest of the army. It would have worked if he’d actually known where his own lines were. Instead, he led the company directly into a force of Ullilion knights.

* * *

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ivrulion said.

“Tell that to Father, I’m sure he’ll believe you,” Runacarendalur snarled.

The pavilion smelled of wet cloth, wet leather, and grease. The rain made everything worse. Ullilion’s Lightborn had worked the weather to douse the last of the fires and wash the smoke from the air. And spoil their harvest. If anyone cares about that, Runacarendalur thought furiously.

He’d barely managed to fight free of the Ullilion knights they’d run into. The wind had freshened and sight- lines had cleared, so he and his knights had headed for the tree line. From there, he’d managed to orient himself and lead his force back to their own lines. By then the day’s fighting was nearly over. Just as well, since most of his