Ewan frowned, but stood. “Yes, my lord. I’ll begin preparations immediately.”
“Very good. Keep me informed of your progress.”
Ewan bowed and hurried from the chamber, leaving Renald alone with his first minister. Renald had convinced himself that Pillad served him loyally, seeing Elspeth’s suspicions of the man as another of her ploys. The minister advocated going to war, and so she accused him of treason hoping that this would keep Renald from heeding his counsel. Yet, though certain of this, he couldn’t help but feel discomfited being alone with the Qirsi. He tried to tell himself that it had always been this way, that the white-hairs were strange, their powers unfathomable. Who among the Eandi enjoyed being around them? But he knew that there was more to his uneasiness. Try as he might to put the doubts out of his mind, he could not help but wonder if the man had betrayed him.
“Perhaps I should leave you, my lord.”
Could he read Renald’s mind? Did Qirsi magic run that deep?
“As you wish, First Minister,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “We have much to do in the next few hours.”
“Yes, my lord.” He pushed himself out of his chair.
“Do any of the other Qirsi in the castle have mists and winds?”
“I’m not sure, my lord. I would doubt it. It’s one of the deeper magics and not terribly common.”
“Ah, well. I was merely curious. I take it you’ll be helping the healers.”
“As you wish, my lord. Though I had thought that I would stay with you. You may wish for my counsel when the fighting begins.”
“Yes, of course. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll be joining the fighting when it comes time to take back the city.”
“Even then, my lord, I’m willing to go into battle with you.” He smiled. “I’m not much of a swordsman, but I ride well, and I might be of some use in a fight.”
Renald forced a smile in return. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine, First Minister. I’ll let you know what I decide to do myself, and what I expect of you.”
The Qirsi’s pale eyes narrowed for just a moment, his smile fading. Then he nodded. “Of course, my lord. I think I understand.” He started toward the door.
The duke knew that he should let the man go, that he should end this awkwardness before one of them said something foolish. But he couldn’t stop himself. “What is it you think you understand, Pillad?”
The minister halted just a step or two from the door. He kept his back to the duke, taking a long breath. “Forgive me, my lord. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.”
Pillad turned at that. “Yes, I did. I sense that you still don’t trust me entirely. I wonder if you don’t want me riding to battle with you because you fear I might make an attempt on your life.”
“The conspiracy has disturbed us all a great deal, First Minister. The death of the tavern keeper only served to heighten our fears. I find it hard to believe that he was the only traitor in Galdasten, which would mean that there are still Qirsi in this city, perhaps in this castle, who wish to do me harm.”
“I’m certain that you’re right, my lord. But to my mind that makes those of us you know you can trust all the more valuable.”
“That may be so, but it also makes the task of distinguishing loyal Qirsi from traitorous ones that much more daunting. Surely you can appreciate that.”
“Yes, my lord. As always I’ll serve as you see fit. If that means remaining with the healers, so be it. I’ll await word of your decision.” With that, he bowed and let himself out of the chamber.
Renald didn’t know what to think. For just an instant he considered going after the minister, and saying that he wanted to ride with him into battle. But he couldn’t help wondering if that was just what Pillad wanted him to do, if the Qirsi’s words and bearing had been intended to produce just such a response. What scared the duke most was that in the past he had relied on Elspeth to help him make such judgments.
Unable to find any humor at all in this irony, the duke left his chamber and went in search of Ewan. Better to help the swordmaster with his preparations than sit alone in his chamber with his doubts and fears.
* * *
By the time the prior’s bells began to toll in the city, Renald’s archers were ready. They remained in the castle wards, where the enemy soldiers couldn’t see them. Only when the sunlight began to fail would they climb the towers to the ramparts. Standing together in the courtyards, their quivers full, many of them testing the tension of the bows for the tenth time, they reminded the duke of boys awaiting the start of their first battle tournament. Clearly they had been hoping for this moment, eager for a chance to strike at the invaders who had taken their city. Renald heard more laughter in those hours before dusk than he had in the last turn and a half. It lightened his spirit, gave him hope that they might really succeed in breaking the empire’s hold on Galdasten.
At one point, gazing up at the windows overlooking the upper ward, he thought he saw Elspeth. But when he looked again, no one was there, and he was left to wonder if he had only imagined her face in the late-day sun.
When at last the sky began to darken, Ewan ordered the archers onto the walls, imploring them to take their positions with as little noise as possible. He also sent his raiding parties to the castle’s sally ports, instructing them to wait just inside the hidden gates until they heard the bells ringing in the cloister tower. That would be their signal to attack.
Convinced that all was ready, Renald and the swordmaster climbed the nearest of the stairways to the turret atop one of the towers, where they could watch the battle unfold without getting in the way of Ewan’s bowmen.
The sky above the tower had deepened to a dark velvet blue, and the western horizon glowed brightly, the thin clouds over the North Wood touched with yellow and orange and pink. There was still enough light to see- Renald could make out the soldiers standing at the base of the castle, leaning against siege engines that had seen little use in the past half turn. From the beginning, it had seemed that Braedon’s men had known Galdasten wouldn’t oppose them. They had prepared for an assault on the gates, but had done nothing more, as if believing that the mere threat of attack would be enough to keep Renald from fighting back.
And for too long it had worked.
“Give the order, swordmaster. I grow tired of seeing the emperor’s men on my soil.”
Ewan grinned. “With pleasure, my lord.”
He took a torch from a bracket on the stone wall beside them, raised it over his head, then brought it down in a chopping motion. Immediately, two hundred archers stepped forward to the outer wall, arrows already nocked in their bows, and let their darts fly, the thrum of their bowstrings echoing off the castle walls like the roar of some great strange beast from the Underrealm. Screams rose from below, cries of alarm and rage filled the lanes surrounding the castle. Ewan raised and lowered his torch again, and the archers loosed a second volley.
More shouts reached them from the streets, repeated now farther off, as word of what was happening spread toward the piers. Ewan turned toward the cloister tower and swept his torch back and forth. A moment later the bells began to toll, and an instant after that, a different kind of cry arose from the soldiers around the castle. In just a few seconds Renald heard the clash of steel on steel, the urgent calls of men doing battle.
His eyes were adjusting to the evening light, but the shadows at the base of the castle walls were deepening. He couldn’t tell who had the upper hand. In just a few moments, however, he saw men retreating down the lanes that led to the port, and he knew that the invaders had been driven off. The men below gave a ragged cheer that was repeated by Ewan’s archers.
“Well done, swordmaster!” Renald said over the din, clapping the man on the shoulder.
It was not something the duke would normally have done, and Ewan gave him a strange look. “This is only a small victory, my lord. Braedon’s men gave up too quickly. No doubt they’ve simply gone to join their comrades in the city. They haven’t been beaten yet. Far from it.”
“I know that,” the duke said, forcing a smile so the swordmaster wouldn’t see how much the words had sobered him. “Still, I’m pleased. Surely this is a good beginning.”
“Yes, my lord, I believe it is.” He looked down at the city again, seeming to mark the progress of the retreating soldiers. “We have to choose now, my lord. Do we wait until morning to attack their strongholds in the city, or do we pursue them immediately?”
Renald stared at him a moment, suddenly out of his depth. “I’m … I’m not certain. What would you do?”
