Chapter 2

Welcoming cheers rose as men trotted from their humble tents to line up on either side of the road. The standard-bearers, with the duke’s and the barons’ banners, rode before us and the evening breeze rippled the heavy fabric. Russe’s black bear on a red field led the way. Half the barons’ banners involved a bear, as well, whether black, red, or brown, crowned by the seven Flock moons or the crescent Shepherd — the other half paid tribute to the western mountains many Russe hailed from.

Duke Vysokov rode with one hand up to accept the men’s welcome. I settled in near m’lord Lesnikov, grateful that he was a reserved and quiet man. The duke had nudged me to wave back to the men but I didn’t want their cheers. In my well-worn, fur-lined cloak and men’s clothes, my blonde braid wrapped around my head, I felt little like an elect or a leader.

But we heartened them and that was good.

The main body of the reserves had split off the road some ways back with instructions of where to camp. Theo had gone with them to deliver his wagons to the quartermaster. Ada Brauer, who’d returned with us after a moon’s leave to see her family, would be taking charge of the infirmary on her own — I was expected in the command pavilion.

We drew up before that group of tents set between the Southbound Road and the Neva’s banks. I saw Englic blue and grey, and the king’s black, snapping in the breeze atop the tall tent-poles. King’s Guards kept the awning-shaded approach to the pavilion’s entrance clear as we drew up and men kept coming to cheer us.

I was glad to see the Guards were four I’d trained in pattern-checking over the winter. A fair number of the King’s Guard were true blessed-level knights, I’d learned in sounding those who wintered at the castle. They’d all learned the pattern trick easily enough and could check for unexpected elect or saints approaching the king.

Sounding them had also made something else clear; the chords their kir sounded shared certain notes. In truth, they were all quite similar. As the saints used kir-sounding to choose their disciples and Blessings, perhaps that should’ve been little surprise. What had caught my ear was that my own sounding included a couple of those notes. Which brought to mind the night of my binding when Woden had called me fierce.

Now here I was. Riding to war.

I swung down from Jenner’s saddle when the others did, sufficiently lost in the muddle of barons that I thought myself secret for a little longer. But a squire cut through the bustle and took Jenner’s reins for me, then put out one arm to invite me toward the front. I had to blink in surprise.

Gregor must’ve grown three inches over the winter. And it wasn’t all height, either. The surety in his eyes and dare I say the grace of his invitation — I had to smile. I also had to walk to the front alongside Duke Vysokov. I nodded, to thank Gregor, and joined the line before the three men waiting for us under the awning.

When I’d first met Duke Seagrace at the jousting tournament, he’d seemed far younger. A year’s campaigning had put grey in his chestnut knight’s crest and cut lines into his brow. He’d visited the graves of his wife and sons, at Solstice, but hadn’t stayed long. His easy smile looked to have died with his family.

From him, my eyes skipped over Kiefan in the center to a man I didn’t know. He wore the rampant black-elk-on-white of the duke of Alemannia and he had the leathery face of a knight who’d been years in the saddle and the outdoors. His crest stood only an inch taller than the grey-frosted thatch of dirty blonde on his head. It was losing ground as his hairline receded.

Beside me, Duke Vysokov dropped to one knee, fist to his chest in obeisance, followed by the rest of his company. Save for me. I met Kiefan’s eyes for a heartbeat and curtsied. He dipped his chin, slowly, in return.

That much was easy enough to survive.

“You made good time from Wodenberg,” Kiefan told Vysokov. “Join me at table to discuss the situation with Saint Woden. The enemy’s preparing to push out of Ansehen.” He turned, in a sweep of black cloak, and walked into the command pavilion.

Vysokov stood, beside me, and ran one hand across his bald head as he often did. “Back to Father Duty’s land even earlier than last year,” he muttered, with a glance at me. “M’lady?”

They all looked to me, waiting, so I went first. Lamplight inside the pavilion clustered around a map table set up with carved horses, armsmen, quivers of arrows, bits of crenelated wall, and tiny wagons. Around the rim of the table wooden trenchers were laid out with cups of small beer. Saint Woden sat on one of the three-legged stools, considering the map while he chewed on a heel of bread. With his kir tucked away he was only one more tall, bearded knight among the others.

Duke Seagrace gestured us toward the table, or me in particular. “Please sit, Elect.”

I took a stool opposite the square table from Kiefan. According to the map, the Arceal army had raised a wall to hem in the north side of Ansehen — there had been none when last I was here. Attacks could only have come from the south, then. Ansehen’s south wall, studded with towers and a heavy gate, rimmed the lip of a steep slope down toward Suevia. Much of that wall and the towers had broken and fallen in the earthquake that the Arceal Elect had summoned before Saint Woden killed him.

A page offered me bread from a basket. The next filled my trencher with a breast of chicken and fresh spring greens. I tore into the chicken and used the bread to catch the grease. Kiefan let us eat for a while, picking at his own dinner and leaning back with an ear cocked when messengers brought news to him. Gregor stood behind Kiefan’s shoulder, ready should he need anything, and at his other was Herr Vogt the memory-Blessed steward to be a record of it all.

Kiefan stood and broke the silence. “You have all received word concerning our new duke of Alemannia. Saint Woden selected Captain Gunther Stahlmann, who is the youngest son of my grandfather’s younger sister.” He slowed, in reciting that, looking to the duke for agreement. More certain, Kiefan went on. “Sir Gunther is a veteran of the borderlands and has served with us since the first battle of Ansehen. It will be good to restore him to his proper seat, even in its current state.”

The castle had suffered in the earthquake and then been burned when Arcea first invaded us last spring.

“In consulting the royal family tree Woden also considered each of the applicants to the kingship, should there be need before my son, Rafe Bockmann, is able to make a claim.”

That stopped the vague clatter of men in mail eating. My grip on my bread tightened; a few of the men glanced at me sidelong.

“The rumor’s been in camp since Solstice, I’m told,” Kiefan said, taking in the roomful of them with a calm stare. “Mother and Father willing, my son will prove worthy of the crown. But we are at war and a choice has been made.” Kiefan looked past Duke Vysokov’s shoulder and raised his voice. “Captain Konrad Tolokov?”

“Majesty?” The man who stepped forward and put a fist to his chest was the captain of the duke’s personal guard, perhaps thirty years old. He’d served the duke since he earned a high ranking in the king’s joust as a young knight, from what I’d heard.

“We are second cousins through another of my grandfather’s sisters, I’m told. Saint Woden has judged your claim to his crown the best and you will return to Wodenberg to take command of the castle. Pick a captain for your Prince’s Guard and the rest will be waiting for you there. Aleks took the liberty.” Kiefan nodded to his own Captain, at the edge of the lamplight.

Sir Konrad froze a moment, his mouth falling open. He looked to Saint Woden, who only nodded. The knight dipped to one knee in obeisance and said, “I will leave immediately, m’lord.”

“Leave in the morning.” Woden broke his silence. “Take a seat at the table.”

As Sir Konrad obeyed a page brought another trencher and food for the newly minted heir. He cleaned his plate with the speed of a man who was always expected back on duty.

I took a slow breath as all settled and it seemed that Kiefan didn’t mean to say anything more about Rafe. My son would have no claim to the crown unless he earned knighthood, but then he’d outstrip any array of second cousins.

“Before I brief you on this,” Kiefan said, gesturing at the map, “there’s also the matter of Caercoed. The Crown and I came to an agreement regarding their support and no more need be said on that until after Temitte. We have Lady Leix’s Tadhlon Guard and one of their battle elect flanking the enemy on the south side of the hill country.”

He leaned over the map to draw his finger across Wodenberg’s southern border from Knapptal to Ansehen. “Schutze reported that they left the morning after Equinox but they have not yet signaled us that they are in position. When they do, Saint Woden will send up a flare when we are ready to attack. However.” Kiefan held up one hand. “Arcea began making preparations on Equinox rather than celebrating. They will be ready to push out of their fortifications soon.” He put his hand on the carved bits of wall placed on the map; word was that the Arceal reserve had labored all spring in raising that wall, while we were besieged. “Thus, the orders I sent you to lay a quick camp tonight. We move into position tomorrow. If you would, Gunther?”

Kiefan sat as the new Duke Stahlmann of Alemannia set out more black figurines to represent our added relief forces. According to the map, our camp was half a mile from Ansehen’s new fortifications. M’lord Stahlmann moved them into position before the walls, straddling the Southbound Road. He explained as he went that Arcea had raised a quarter-circle of earthen wall with a stake-filled ditch before it, and then built three trebuchets for added defense. There were two gates, one on the road and one at the corner where the earthworks didn’t quite meet the half-ruined tower at the end of Ansehen’s southern wall. The river buttressed the other end of the earthwork.

Our main force would make two blocks of armsmen and one of cavalry, which would be in the center and on the road. Our knights would feign a sloppy formation and disarray, enticing Arcea to attack them and then follow when the knights pretended to retreat. The armsmen to either side would engage any other Arceal companies as seemed fit — and here m’lord Stahlmann sketched out some possibilities with the figurines.

“What of the center?” Duke Vysokov pointed to the golden horse figurine that had advanced between our armsmen to represent the enemy cavalry.

Kiefan’s voice rumbled, nearly like Woden’s. “Those are my Lambing-day gift. I will see to them.”

My throat tightened.

“Those may well be centaurs, m’lord.” The duke frowned.

Kiefan nodded, the lamplight glinting on his golden band. “Woden will be with me. And our cavalry will swing around and follow me in.”

M’lord Stahlmann finished the plan by pointing out the reserve forces and the two companies of archers who would be available for support as needed. Duke Seagrace would have the command pavilion, to gauge the needs as the battle progressed, and Duke Vysokov would lead the reserves.

“Elect Kate,” Duke Stahlmann said, with a nod to me, “will support the left flank with defensive charms, though if she’s needed she will do as she must.” As I stared at the lines, re-arranged to the beginning of our theoretical battle, I couldn’t think of how I could shield so many men at once. “Our main concern is the trebuchets,” m’lord said, perhaps guessing my worry. “Arcea has two elect for certain and they may load the artillery with any manner of things. Saint Woden’s said he’s confident you’ll save many lives.”

Thus, all my shield training of late. I met the saint’s eyes and perhaps a little of his confidence wormed its way into my heart. When Arcea first broke the city walls, I’d shielded Kiefan while he fought that red-haired Elect. The crack of stone shot on the walls and the rumbling earthquakes crossed my mind, unsettling my confidence. I touched my own saint’s bond in my right palm.

/ stop flying stones / ? /

Qadeem sent me an image, a simple drawing of a trebuchet slinging a stone into the air. Its path was traced in a red line, and a contrary line of kir in green struck it from below halfway across its arc. The stone flew off at a wild angle.

My head tipped, curious, as the sense of that clicked into place.

/ kir? /

/ vines / strike hard / keep your kir /

It would take a hard blow indeed to turn a large rock and likely the hit would numb my arms —

“Elect Kate?”

I blinked and looked to the voice. Kiefan. My heart stumbled in my chest when I met those grey eyes. He nodded, to one side, and I looked up; Gregor stood there, holding a bundle for me. A bundle of mail and a quilted gambeson, bound in a leather belt.

I took a breath to ask but it died in my throat. I closed my mouth and took the heavy bundle. The mail smelled faintly of oil, familiar from — I pressed my lips in a line. Clearly, I was to wear this. Further proof of what my saints needed of me.

“You’ll have a hand of my Guard, commanded by Rostislav, for further protection,” Kiefan said. “He can advise you on how to wear that, as well.” When I nodded he turned back to the dukes and barons.

“After we break their army here, we march hard for Temitte. Caercoed pledged six thousand more to march from Eryr Pass after Equinox. The city cannot stand for a long siege, cannot pack in the twenty-five thousand soldiers they have on hand; they must face us in battle. If there must be a siege, our contacts among the Suevi royalists will be of great help inside the city. We will take Temitte by Solstice.” Kiefan laid out a second map, of Suevia, behind the line of enemy figurines. He ran his finger along a river. “Over the summer we will strengthen our line along the Dúnforst-éa. Gain the people’s support. Next summer, Reowan.”

Heads nodded around the table. Duke Vysokov held up his cup of beer. “Reowan.”

They all tapped cups and echoed him, then drank. I could only think of Rafe and how old he’d be by Solstice. Surely I could be home for the autumn Equinox, before he turned a year old. If not I’d have to sleep alone for far too long — and last night had been no easier than the previous.

Around the table some numbers were bandied about and some complaining about muddy roads. I gave half an ear to it while running my fingers over my new mail tunic, until the dukes stood from the map table and began to take their leave. The barons and officers followed suit, at a leisurely, chatting pace. The meeting was over and I’d survived on silent politeness with Kiefan. Thank the Mother.

I stood as well, cradling the bundle in my arm. Surely they’d given me a small, light tunic but I couldn’t imagine running in such a thing. I’d need to sleep well tonight. Physician Brauer had told me where the infirmary was and my tent ought to be near there. Jenner would want his feed and a brushing.

“Elect Kate, stay. Sirs, if you would see to your posts?” Kiefan asked.

I stiffened my spine against the chilly touch of dread. He wanted to speak after all. I could do that. I’d faced worse.

He still sat, across from me, with one elbow on the table. He nodded when Seagrace told him he’d be off with the vanguard before first light. The pavilion cleared quickly; even the steward and the pages left once they’d cleared the trenchers. Woden stood looking through the wallet of documents that Vysokov had brought. Captain Aleksandra lurked by the pinned-open front door-flaps. Gregor stood beside her when he discreetly herded the last of the captains out.

“I’ll return after midnight, after the kir-rationing,” Woden told Kiefan, stuffing the papers back into the wallet. “We can do our own scouting then.”

He walked out, patting Captain Aleks on her shoulder as he went; she followed on that summons. Which left me nearly alone with Kiefan. I’d thought I had a hundred questions for him, some sharp, some anguished, but now I had only the familiar ache that had settled in after my tears ran out.

“Can I rely on you, on the battlefield?”

Kiefan spoke quietly, watching me. Gauging me with his truth-sense — Qadeem had called it augury. I would’ve told him the truth in any case. “Yes.”

“Can I rely on your advice, should I need it?”

That he even had to ask needled my heart. “Do you doubt me?”

I watched him in return, thought I saw an ache in him too. Or perhaps I only wished I did.

“No,” he answered. Kiefan stood, setting both his hands on the table. “Is Rafe well?”

I nodded, my son’s scent haunting me. “Strong and healthy.”

“How — what is he —?” Uncertainty was an odd thing to hear from Kiefan; my brows rose. He looked away. “Who is he like?”

“I would’ve brought him to the castle if you wished to meet him.” What Qadeem had said of not denying Rafe love had stuck with me. If Anders was gone, it wasn’t for me to push away Kiefan if he meant to take Father Duty’s role. But Kiefan hadn’t come home for Equinox and the meeting I’d been steeling myself for had become this instead.

“I had to see to —” He cut himself off with a grimace and sighed. With stronger resolve, he asked, “Do we agree that he should study at the castle? Books, riding, the sword?”

I could teach Rafe to read. His uncle Will could teach him to ride. Much as I wanted to deny Rafe would ever need a sword, it wasn’t likely I could stop his learning. Anders would have done the same as Kiefan, in that.

“Yes,” I said.

“If this should go badly, Woden will want you and Rafe to live in the castle. Captain Konrad has a fine reputation but I do not know him.” The emphasis Kiefan put on that drew my eyes to his. “He has sons of his own.”

A chill tickled down my spine at that thought. And worse. I felt my jaw tighten, to match Kiefan’s, and I nodded. “If this should go badly —” I had to chase the words; they scurried away from the thought of Kiefan lying dead on a battlefield. “It will be the Empress I must protect him from.”

Something too grim to be a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “If she threatens you, I’ll ride back from the Winter Wood itself.”

I’d seen that iron in him before — when he put me on Puck that last day of the mission, when he locked away his grief beside his father’s body — and in that heartbeat I didn’t doubt that he would.

Gregor moved so quietly, he startled me when he laid a shaving kit on the map table and unrolled it. The razor and the silver mirror caught the lamplight as the dark leather fell flat. He said nothing, only picked up the mirror and polished it on his sleeve.

That set both our minds back to the matters at hand. “There will be nightly meetings,” Kiefan said, “over dinner. Things you should know. We’ll expect you at sundown.”

“Is there a morning disciple’s dance?”

Kiefan nodded. “Abbot Shaw.”

“Shaw?”

“Yes, Tomas’s abbot.” Kiefan meant Duke Seagrace; the abbot was plainly as Englic as I was. “I don’t get to every one but they’re vigorous.”

At the pavilion door, the entire King’s Guard was gathering with Captain Aleks, to judge by how many four-starred tabards I saw. They meant to do the ritual crest-shaving, it would seem, which could mean razor wounds in the infirmary tonight. I retreated a step from the map table, my mail in hand. “Finish the shaving before the drinking begins,” I said.

A thin smile. Kiefan inclined his head. “Physician.”

At the infirmary, I got a brief update from Physician Brauer: some pneumonia, some flu, frostbite had not been much of a problem, and the Englic men were slowly learning to wash on Saint-day. They smelled rather better than I remembered from the siege.

Ter Biya, who had been my teacher’s surgery assistant, was glad to see me and wanted to know everything about Rafe. I drew an audience of Ters and that set off rounds of baby stories. When I finally left the infirmary I was smiling and sleepy.

My modest, circular tent stood off to the side of the infirmary’s stables. All the other sleeping tents had been in place for moons and they were surrounded by foot-beaten paths in the grass. To give me some quiet, the Thers had pitched my tent out of the way. The low, waning Shepherd and the six Flock moons overhead lent enough light to find the door-flap and slip inside.

I lit a little kir-lamp in my palm. A heavy, circular rag rug covered the grass. My camp bed stood just to the side, its straw mattress covered with my pair of wool quilts. They still smelled faintly of home. My chest of clothes stood to the other side. I’d packed some jars of willow bark, alum-root, and goldenrod, as well as a box of dried rose-hips for tea and a few books. The dagger I’d worn on the long-ago mission was in there too.

The bundled mail and gambeson clinked when I dropped it on the rug. Sitting down on my bed, I pulled my bone hairpin and let my braid fall down my back. Beyond my canvas walls, horses faintly whickered and puffed. The peepers were further away on the riverbank.

My hand was on my necklace, rubbing across the gold wire wrapping the lamia fangs, and I hadn’t noticed. The oil from the mail lingered on my fingers, smelling of — both Anders and Kiefan. That ached.

Anders in the claws of that monstrous vulture.

Kiefan riding through the Winter Wood. At the Red Hunter’s right hand, perhaps, allied in seeking vengeance. It was an old fable that the Hunter would aid in a righteous cause. A story for children. I’d seen such things, in my saints’ service, that I wasn’t sure fables were only fables.

I curled my hands into fists with a sigh. Maybe I could get some sleep tonight. I might face my first battle in the morning.