Allegiance, page 15
part #3 of River of Souls Series
Raul’s lips puffed in silent laughter. “I don’t trust them. I am an inconvenient obstacle to Armand’s war. If he could wish me dead, he would, and Lord Khandarr would oblige him except he cannot without good cause. I am not Dedrick Maszuryn, a younger son of an inconsequential baron.”
“Even so, my lord. There are others, in Tiralien and elsewhere, who have risked a great deal for you. What of them?”
“I did not leave them unprepared, Benedikt, but I take your point. For all my distant friends, I have a plan in case my interview with the king goes wrong…”
It was a simple one. Two guards would ride ahead of the company to Duke Kosenmark’s household to announce his son’s arrival. They would take fast horses, and if questioned, they would pass themselves off as free swords, looking for guard work in the city. The rest of the company, including Ault, would accompany Raul. While it was possible that Lord Khandarr’s spies had observed their departure from Tiralien, and would therefore know how many had started with Raul, Raul doubted the information would reach Duenne faster than he did.
“If I meet with disaster, my father will be forewarned. I can trust him to carry word to Tiralien and Melnek.”
Ault shook his head. “It’s not enough, my lord. Nor quick enough.”
Raul drew a sharp breath. “You think Lord Khandarr would attack my father?”
“No. But what if your guards are intercepted before they reach your father? What if Lord Khandarr has set a watch for your arrival at the city gates? He might send out orders to arrest your people even before the king agrees to an audience.”
He could imagine that. Markus taking Gerek hostage. Markus executing the remaining members of Raul’s shadow court, one by one, until Raul publicly vowed his allegiance to the king’s war. He closed his eyes a moment, trying to erase that image from his imagination. He could not.
“Tell me, then. What would you advise?”
“Just one thing, my lord. Send your two guards ahead, yes, but leave one here. If the duke your father sends word of disaster, or sends no word at all, then have them ride as fast as they might back to Tiralien.”
Raul nodded slowly. “Yes. That would work. Or better—keep one here. Send a fourth east a day’s ride.” He was working through the permutations of that—whether to tell the first two guards about the fourth one, or if breaking the chain of secrets would add another layer of security, in case the guard left here met with difficulty. However that had its own disadvantages. “A company of five is too few,” he said. “Markus would surely suspect something.”
“Not a problem, my lord.”
Raul glanced up. “How so? Did you—? You did, you miserable dog. Am I right?”
Ault grinned. “You are, my lord. Ada Geiss waits a day’s ride east of here.”
They discussed a few more possible complications, then which guards were best suited to which roles. Ault set off for a walk around the perimeter, while Raul Kosenmark summoned the three he and Ault had agreed on. The first two, Markou and Soubz, had served the duke in Valentain for a dozen years before accompanying his heir to the capital and later Tiralien. Both women knew Duenne and the family. The third was a younger man named Bayt, recommended by Ault, who had entered Kosenmark’s service four years ago.
“I have two difficult assignments for you,” he told them. “Difficult and dangerous ones. Are you willing?”
None of them hesitated. “Tell us only what you need, my lord,” Markou said.
I need a kingdom we can both serve honestly.
That, however, was a different matter, for a different day.
“You and Soubz must ride to Duenne,” he said to her. “Go directly to my father’s household in the northwest quarter. You remember the street? Good. There is no letter, just a message. Tell my father…” He paused to consider how to word this message. “Tell him, I come as promised. Make certain you give that message to no one but him. Remain in his household until you receive word I have spoken with the king, and the outcome of that interview. Then return at once to here. Start at sunrise tomorrow. Take our fastest horses.”
He clasped their hands and exchanged salutes. Once they were out of hearing, he gave Bayt his orders.
“You will make camp and wait,” he told the young man. “Whatever news they bring, good or bad, you will ride east, taking the same route as before. If they do not appear within the week, you do the same. You will meet Ada Geiss. Tell her what has happened. Can you do that?”
The young man saluted. “I can and I will, my lord.”
“Good. Go to our stores for provisions, gear, whatever you need for the week.”
Later, he would consider the great gift of trust and loyalty these three gave him. He could not now. If he did, he might never have the courage to proceed.
* * *
MARKOU AND SOUBZ were away as the sun was lifting over the horizon. Within another hour, the others had erased all signs of their camp, while Bayt removed himself, his horse, and his gear to a higher, more secluded site.
With Ault in the lead, and Raul riding at the center point, the remaining company descended along a well-worn path that joined up with a highway running from the southeast provinces. By the middle of the second day they had entered the central plains. It was a vastly different landscape from the Gallenz Valley. Like a golden sea, it extended without any visible end toward the west.
Two, three more days until Duenne’s city gates. If he circled around and continued west and south, he would come to Valentain in six more weeks. Another week beyond that lay Hanídos and the mountains dividing Veraene from Ysterien and the other coastal nations. It was tempting, he thought. He might ride and ride forever, leave behind this kingdom with its tangled politics and a king too weak to resolve the very problems he had created.
I must not. I cannot.
It was as though he had considered abandoning himself. He did not even need to think of Soubz and Markou delivering his message, and his father waiting in vain.
And so the company continued forward across the next bridge to the broad highway whose course echoed that of the Gallenz River. They spent a night in a riverside inn, crowded with merchants and freight caravans and other travelers. No one questioned their presence. The next morning, they rose before dawn and set off at a quick pace.
By the time they passed the first settlements outside Duenne, the sun hung midway between the zenith and horizon. Much had changed since Raul last came this way. The farmland had given way to sheep pens, butcher shops, and several enclaves with ceramic and iron works. Carts and makeshift tents lined the highway itself. Vendors shouted at Raul, waving bits of cloth, or lifting up strings of gems that glittered in the sun. Raul had to maneuver his horse carefully through the crowds to keep from trampling the unwary.
He signaled for Ault. The other man pressed forward until they rode side by side.
“We take the lead,” Raul said. “No, no arguments. Let the others keep close behind, but I must be first through the gates.”
“A symbol?”
“A warning,” Raul replied. “The king will know how to decipher that.”
“As will Markus Khandarr. A dangerous move, my lord.”
“So be it. I intend to make others. They can be friends, all my dangerous moves.”
Ault smiled wryly, but said nothing more.
Their progress was slow, but eventually they reached the gates. A dozen guards in the king’s livery stood watch on the ground. More patrolled the walls above. It was well before sunset, and people passed through the gates freely as they moved between the city and the outer markets, but the guards watched closely. One of them sighted Raul. He spoke to his companions. Now all dozen stared warily at them.
“I go first,” Raul said softly.
Ault’s only protest was a twitch of his mouth, before he fell back with the others. Raul eased his horse forward a few paces and dismounted. It was another calculated risk, yielding the advantages of height the horse gave him, but he judged these guards wanted a confrontation as little as he did.
He held the reins loosely with one hand. With the other, he indicated that he held no weapon. The guards did not relax their attention, but their hands drifted away from their sword hilts. Good enough.
“My name is Lord Raul Kosenmark,” Raul said. “These are my personal guards. May I enter the city?”
By now, all the foot traffic around them had stopped. Raul heard the swell of whispers that died away almost at once, but he kept his gaze on the guards themselves. One or two had started at his voice, light and high as a woman’s. The rest were blank-faced. He knew that kind of studied blankness. He was recognized, then.
“Where are you bound in the city, my lord?” one asked.
“To the palace. To speak with the king.”
“And you pledge your word for your guards?”
“For the men and women who serve me, yes.”
The guard hesitated—his eyes narrowed, as though suspicious of how Raul reworded that guarantee—but only for a moment. He stood aside and indicated the open gates with a sweeping bow. “My lord. Welcome back to Duenne.”
Raul remounted. Ault appeared at once by his side—he must have started forward the moment the guard spoke. The other five crowded behind.
Raul glanced around. Those who had paused to watch the spectacle had not moved away. Well, he ought not to disappoint them. “Stay back,” he said to Ault. “Follow me, one by one. We’ll regroup at the first square.” He offered his audience a flashing smile, a wave of his hand, then rode through the gates into Duenne.
* * *
HIS SPINE ITCHED. The guards had recognized his name. They must have sent word at once to Armand. What if he had waited another week? Met his father outside Duenne? But his instincts had yammered at him the entire journey from Tiralien. Armand would learn of Dzavek’s death from his own spies. Raul could picture what came next. Armand speaking passionately to the council. Armand insisting they launch a war, at once. A few might argue back. Very few, given the fate of those who had argued before. And so the council would reluctantly agree. Soldiers would gather at the border. And thousands would die, all because a young king wanted glory.
He might not listen to me. But if I speak to him openly, others will hear. I cannot keep silent in the shadows any longer.
A string of young girls and boys ran alongside his train. All of them were barefooted, dressed in patched clothes and too skinny for comfort. One of them stopped long enough to gesture toward his sword. She was no more than twelve, all bones and swift angles, and a ruddy complexion that spoke of her plains heritage. Her hair tumbled over her eyes. She thrust it back with a fist. Fierce. No doubt she would bite if provoked. Raul liked that. He grinned. The girl grinned back and ran ahead, thumping a companion on his back.
At the promised square, Raul and his guards closed into a circle.
“Where to first, my lord?” Ault asked.
Raul had turned over that same question in his mind as they approached Duenne. He was tempted to delay the confrontation. He could ride to his father’s house, ask his advice. They had not spoken for almost ten years.
He shook his head. No more delays. “We go to the palace.”
They watered the horses and set off at a slow walk.
Humorists said the politics in Duenne were so convoluted the council had outlawed any direct route within the city. That was not entirely true. There were many direct routes. They were, however, not the shortest. Raul and his company had entered Duenne at its easternmost point, north of the river. An hour passed as they followed the main avenue west to the grand central plaza of Duenne. From here, an even grander avenue, lined with statutes of kings and queens, arrowed southeast across the river and to the palace. Very little had changed in this oldest quarter. He recognized, almost as one might recall the imprint of scent and color and texture from long-ago days, the golden walls, the roofs the color of rubies, the towers, a panoply of silver and gold breaking free …
“Benedikt.”
“My lord?”
Raul shook his head. “Nothing.” Then, “Thank you.”
Ault bowed in his saddle. “You have my heart and my service, my lord. I would give more if I could.”
They set off for the bridge across the Gallenz. As they crossed the river and gained the smaller square on the opposite side, Raul heard a shout from the crowd. Was that his name? He listened. The shout came again, closer now. Yes. He could pick out more words. Kosenmark. Valentain. Impossible, he thought. No one except the guards at the gate knew of his arrival. Such a display of enthusiasm felt … wrong.
He leaned toward Ault. “What do you think?”
“Hired troublemakers,” Ault said. “Khandarr would accuse you of inciting discontent.”
A clumsy excuse. Would that make a difference?
He urged his company forward. They threaded their way from the riverside square, down the royal avenue traversed by kings on their coronation day, into the maze bordering the palace. Statues of the rulers of Erythandra, of Lir and Toc, of their older manifestations from aeons past, lined the way.
Traffic clogged all the streets. Raul heard more shouts of Kosenmark and Valentain, less frequently, Damn the king’s weasel. He could imagine someone wishing for peace, for the end of Markus Khandarr’s rule of court and king, but he could not imagine Markus himself constructing such an obvious set of theatrics as this. Unless logic doesn’t matter, and he only wants an excuse.
“Benedikt,” he said. “Get away, as fast as you can.”
“But my lord—”
“Do as I say. Go to my father at once and tell him what happened here. Tell him to speak to his factions. Send word to Tiralien—”
He had no time to say more. A battalion of soldiers burst through the crowds. Ault swore and gave the signal to scatter. Raul rode forward to meet the nearest rider.
“My lord!” shouted one. “My Lord Kosenmark!”
Raul gripped his sword tight. “That would be me. What do you require?”
“Nothing but your cooperation.”
“You have that already. Take me to see our king.”
They had him surrounded. He tried to see if Ault and the rest had escaped, but the crowds made it impossible to see. He dismounted, handed over his sword and all his other weapons. It was laughable—two dozen guards to take one man. However, he made no protest when they insisted on searching his boots and trousers; even the mage-soldiers examined him for spells and other magical traps.
The guards blindfolded and gagged him. Raul stiffened, forced himself to breathe easily as they covered his face with a hood. Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms; another prodded him in the back and ordered him to march. It was difficult to keep his footing, more difficult to submit to their rough handling as they hustled him away from the square and through a doorway. Others caught hold of his arms and half dragged him down two flights of stairs, and into a dank dark cell, where they locked him away without candle or fire.
* * *
ONCE, YEARS AGO, Baerne of Angersee had insisted that all his councillors spend a day in prison. To make the test true, they would remain anonymous. He claimed the experience would teach them empathy toward those they ruled, innocent and guilty alike. As far as Raul knew, however, Armand of Angersee had never undergone such an experience.
It would do him good, Raul thought savagely.
They had bound him with iron shackles and chains at his wrists and ankles, then removed the gag and hood. He swayed to his feet and shuffled forward from one end of the cell to the other. Slowly he measured his new cell. Ten by ten feet. At the upper reach of his fingertips, he discovered a small round opening with faint sunlight pouring down from above. When he tilted up his face, a wisp of air tickled his forehead. An air shaft, then. Useless for escape, but at least he no longer felt as though he would suffocate underground.
Gradually the pale light in the airshaft faded to dark. Another two bells rang before they delivered to him a meal of bread and cheese. When it came, Raul tore into the bread and cheese, gulped down the water, and when the guard offered him wine for a price, he took it.
Now, three hours later by the count of bells, Raul huddled in the corner of his cell, his head resting on his arms. He wished he knew if Ault and the other had won free. He wished he could send word to his father. Ah, his father. His heartbeat caught in an imaginary stitch. He remembered the days leading up to his castration, how his mother and father had argued, how his cousin, his love, had suddenly vanished from his life. His brother had attempted once or twice to dissuade Raul, without any success except a black eye. His sisters …
He sighed at the memory of Heloïse’s last visit. She was eleven, three years younger than he, and in many ways older. You are an idiot, she hissed. I will never forgive you.
Moonlight trickled down the airshaft. The scent of prison, of sweat and urine, permeated the air. He wondered if Markou and Soubz had reached his father’s household. Most likely. If Khandarr had expected him beforehand, the soldiers at the city gates would have taken him prisoner at once.
The echo of footsteps broke the silence. Raul went still and listened. Three marched in regular formation. A fourth stumbled along at a halting pace.
The doors opened and lamplight streamed in.
Lord Markus Khandarr limped across the threshold. Raul surged to his feet. At once the air crackled. A wall of cold fire roared up between them. Raul checked himself a hairsbreadth from the flames. When he drew back a step, the fire subsided, but he sensed its presence lurking just beyond the ordinary world. Breathing heavily, he stared at Khandarr.
A stranger’s face stared back, aged and ruined, the iron gray hair bleached entirely white, the features distorted and misshapen, one half drooping, the other drawn back unnaturally tight. In the cold dead light of the mage fire, he seemed more like a monster from beyond the void than a man.
Khandarr’s mouth twitched open. The muscles along his throat and jaw rippled with effort. “Treason,” he said. “I know. Your letters to Károví. I know. You met with Karasek.”
