chair.
“What is it?” Josey asked.
The man in the chair jumped to his feet and stood at attention, even though he was clearly exhausted. His army uniform was covered in mud, as were his face and hands.
“This rider's just come from Durenstile,” Hirsch said. “He has so far refused to say why.”
The messenger saluted and pulled a round tube of wood from his satchel. “I was commanded to give this directly to Your Majesty and no one else.”
Josey clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She had a bad feeling. She nodded to Hirsch, who took the tube with a frown at the messenger. He broke it open and slid out a rolled sleeve of parchment, which he handed to her. Josey steeled herself as she opened it. The writer had been in a hurry, as evidenced by the scribbled handwriting and the omission of a perfunctory introduction.
A hard knot formed in Josey's stomach. How could this have happened? Durenstile was a large town with fortifications and a sizable garrison. For it to be wiped out, the attacking force must have been massive, but Hubert's reports had stated that the border was quiet. That the raiders had withdrawn to the north.
“Majesty?” Hirsch asked.
“Everyone out.” Josey swallowed. “Except for my council and Lords Therbold and Sarrow.”
Hirsch scratched his beard as the servants and soldiers filed out of the hall. Captain Drathan, who had been conferring with Sergeant Trenor, remained at a nod from her. Sarrow and Therbold eyed her with as much suspicion as they did each other.
As she read the message aloud, Josey felt the lump in her stomach clench harder. What was she going to do? The northern army was the empire's main line of defense from threats in that direction. She could send for the other armies, but even under the best conditions it would take weeks for them to arrive. By that time the invaders could be within striking distance of Othir.
Hirsch, standing by a window, tapped his chin and remained silent. Captain Drathan frowned at the floor as if he might find an answer in the polished hardwood. Count Sarrow gazed into the hearth fire, looking like he had aged ten years in the last dozen heartbeats.
Lord Therbold rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “The Eregoths have been raiding across the border since before I was born. We've beaten them back year after year, and we'll do it again this time.”
Josey held up the message. “It doesn't mention the Eregoths.”
“Who else would it be?” Therbold asked. “We'll muster the militias and-”
“They sacked Durenstile, you buffoon,” Count Sarrow said. “This is no ordinary raiding party. We'll go south. Take everything of value and burn the rest. The invaders will need to eat, but they'll find nothing here. Before spring, they'll be packing back to the hinterlands.”
The nobles would escape, certainly, but Josey kept seeing the faces of the people in Elser's village. How far would they get on foot with nothing to eat? She looked down at the signet ring on her finger. “No.”
Therbold glanced over. “Highness, I hate to admit it, but it may be the best solution.”
“No.” She knew what she had to do. “I am taking your soldiers.”
“What?” Sarrow and Therbold said in unison.
Josey took a deep breath. “I am hereby commandeering the forces of both your lordships. You will remand every man-at-arms and able-bodied male over the age of sixteen into my custody. And every horse, too. Fully provisioned and equipped. I demand this as your liege lord.”
The noblemen couldn't have looked more terrified if she'd poleaxed them. Sarrow gaped at her as if she were the enemy. “Highness,” he said. “I don't know if-”
“This is outrageous!” Therbold shouted.
She waited without expression while they complained and equivocated, not deigning to answer until both had fallen silent, Therbold red-faced and sputtering, Sarrow pale and petulant.
“My lords, this is not a request, but a command. Our combined forces will go north to meet these invaders before they infiltrate farther into our country. I expect full compliance from you both.”
She left unsaid the threat of what would happen if they refused. “Captain Drathan, please see to the collection of men and materials. And send for a messenger.” She nodded to the nobles. “My lords.”
As she left the chamber heading to her quarters, Josey felt the knot in her middle loosen. Just a hair, but it was a welcome relief. She only prayed she was making the right decision.
She was so lost in her thoughts she almost bumped into Iola. The girl curtsied and turned to accompany her upstairs. “Majesty, Doctor Krav is here.”
“In the castle?”
“Yes, ma'am. And he's insisting you must see him for an examination at once.” Iola smiled. “The way he dotes on you reminds me of my grandfather.”
“Yes, well…” Josey thought of all the things she had to do, and tried to imagine when she would find the time to see the doctor.
Once they were back in her quarters, which were little more than a bedroom and a small maid's chamber, Josey found parchment and ink and sat at the small, worn desk. While Iola packed and chattered about the latest in camp gossip, Josey focused on what she wanted to say. When she pressed pen to parchment, her hand was steady.
The pen hovered until a drop of ink dripped onto the page and sank into the fibers. Was she sure about this? She bent over the letter.
Josey folded it up, heated a dollop of wax, and pressed her seal into the stamp. It was done. She had decided her course of action. Standing up, she went to the room's only window, the glass pane warped and pocked with bubbles, and looked out onto the lands of Kistol, lands that would soon be threatened by invasion. Unless she stopped it.
With a sigh, she sat back down at the desk and began composing another letter, the first of many, to her vassal lords and ladies of the northern provinces.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caim shot upright from a deep sleep, his heart pounding in his chest. Aemon and Dray slumbered beside him, neither stirring. He took deep breaths until his heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm. Fresh snow covered the ground, making everything look new and virginal until he spotted a Northman pissing against a hillside. A few others were moving around the campsite, so he guessed it was morning even though the sky was the same dark shade of gray it had been the evening before. Tendrils of mist twisted across the ground, lending the camp an otherworldly atmosphere.
It had gotten colder overnight. Their fire was out, and Malig sat beside the dead ashes. Tiny clouds of steam emerged from under his hood in time with his deep, laborious snoring. Caim sidled up and jabbed him in the shoulder. Malig pitched backward, almost tipping over.
“Dammit, Caim!” he shouted, righting himself. “You damn near scared me out of my skin.”
