| |
At the turn in the river, when he first saw the Aldred Bridge, Sir Alfred Estnor almost felt happy. A few of the dusty, exhausted men of his regiments let out a low, ragged cheer that was more a sigh of relief than a genuine expression of joy. For the last ten miles, they had all expected to see Gramiren cavalry come thundering down on them from the woods and fields on their left.
His brigade formed the tail end of the Sigor army—the army of the true King of Myrcia. Behind him lay miles of worn, rutted roads, broken carts, dead horses, and loyal villages left to their fate. And somewhere beyond that, down the valley in the distance, was the blasted usurper himself and that vast, unstoppable army of his.
Escaping wasn’t the same as winning—not by a long shot. But Alfred was relieved they had escaped, all the same. Next time they would try to do better. They would have to, or the war would be over pretty quick.
At the turn for the bridge, Alfred halted and waved his men ahead. He had no particular reason to be the last man over the river, but someone had to be, and it might as well be him. He saw that some of his officers had started setting up camps in the fields to the west of the city walls, joining all the other troops who had arrived earlier in the afternoon. With luck, there might be hot baths and hot food, but he would settle for clean clothes and a chance to shave. At the very least, he wanted to wash his face and comb his hair before he went to the Bocburg.
The famous castle lay just across the river now, with its high gray towers reflected in the shimmering water. A dozen barges were docked there, with the wounded and the handful of supplies that the army had managed to take with them in their haste to escape Keelweard. Beyond the castle stretched the old capital itself, ancient and proud. The massive, ornate bulk of Finster Cathedral dwarfed everything in its neighborhood, southeast of where Alfred stood. Almost straight to the south, beyond the castle, the spires of the university rose like a forest of gray stone.
This was the heart of the ancient kingdom, and even though Alfred’s family had their seat forty miles upriver at Sarcastel, he had spent a good deal of his boyhood here. He had misspent at least a little of his youth here, as well. That was nothing to be proud of, exactly, but the memories made him smile, and he badly needed something to smile about today.
Once he had crossed the bridge, he spotted one of his captains, Sir Walter Davies, sitting with Sir Robert Tynsdale. Tynsdale was the best scout in the Sigor army. And in one of the many small ironies of this civil war, he happened to be the half-brother of Broderick Gramiren, the usurper.
“So, they didn’t wipe us off the map, after all,” said Alfred, nodding to Walter, who had voiced his worries to that effect over breakfast that morning.
“No, sir,” said Walter. “Sir Robert here says their forward scouts stopped at Bestandan.”
That put them eighteen or twenty miles downstream. With the vanguard behind that. And the bulk of the usurper’s army still farther behind. This was—by the standards of this disastrous week—pretty good news. The Sigor army would have time to rest. And Alfred would have time for a bath.
Then Walter said, “By the way, sir, the Duke of Leornian asked to speak with you, whenever you happened to arrive.”
“Very well,” said Alfred. So, there was no time for a bath. At least not yet.
As Walter and his other officers directed his troops through a sliver of the northwest corner of the city and out the west gate to their campsite, Alfred turned east into Addle Street. All the best shops and taverns were here, and the grandest houses of the richest merchants. He saw quite a few old acquaintances on this brief ride, but he could not stop to chat. The duke was waiting.
He found the castle full of officers and knights and nobles, all milling about talking and drinking tall mugs of cold ale from big silver trays carried by liveried servants. He saw the queen on the steps of the chapel, but he didn’t have time to pay his respects properly to her, either. And she looked very busy directing the servants, anyway.
Inside, he slipped through more crowds of knights, still dusty from the march, and down a hallway lined with faded banners, ancient armor, and centuries of knickknacks in dusty glass cases. He then jogged up the stairs until he found Robert Dryhten, Duke of Leornian, in the quiet oasis of a homey parlor, pacing behind an old desk and swirling a glass of wine in his hand.
“Ah, Sir Alfred,” said the duke. “Bringing up the rear of the column again, I suppose?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“I’d expect nothing less of my old squire.” He poured a second glass and brought it to Alfred. “You just missed the captain general, as it happens.”
“Did I, sir?” Alfred took a sip of the wine. It was very good—dry and spicy—and he thought he recognized the vintage—laid down long ago in the days of old Duke Brandon, the current duke’s father.
“He said, and I quote, that we ‘nearly had him.’ Meaning Broderick, of course. What do you think?”
“I think....” Alfred tried to be tactful, while also being honest. “I think the captain general is very generous in his assessment of our army’s performance, sir.”
“In his assessment of his own performance, you mean,” grumbled the duke.
“I couldn’t possibly comment, sir.”
“You could, but I suppose you had better not. Did you hear anything about where Broderick’s army is right now?”
“Sir Robert Tynsdale says the advance scouts of the Gramiren army are in Bestandan.”
“That’s what I’ve heard as well.” The duke glanced at a wide, painted map that covered half his desk. Leornian stood at the center, along a bright blue diagonal line that represented the River Trahern. In the lower left corner sat the city of Keelweard—the one they had just lost to the enemy. Bestandan was roughly two thirds of the way between there and Leornian.
“It could be good news, sir,” said Alfred. “We might have some breathing room.”
“Possibly. None of us should underestimate Broderick, though. If he’s slowing down and taking his time, that means he intends to besiege us and starve us out, rather than going for a full, frontal assault.” He drummed his fingers on the map. “Not everyone is quite as impulsive and impatient as our captain general.”
“Indeed, sir.”
A servant knocked and said there was a line of nobles waiting outside. The duke served as lord chancellor and head of King Edwin’s privy council, which meant he had a lot of demands on his time.
Alfred had barely enough time to ride out to his camp, bathe, and get changed, before he had to turn right around and come back to the Bocburg. The surrender of Keelweard and the retreat of the Sigor army had not been a victory, but the captain general insisted on treating it like one. So, there would be a grand feast of welcome in the castle, hosted by the king, the queen mother, and the Duke and Duchess of Leornian.
After his bath, Alfred was strongly tempted to crawl into his army cot and go straight to sleep. But once he was dressed in his finest blue silk doublet and red leather riding trousers, and once he’d managed to shave and put his floppy, dark blond hair into a semblance of order, he felt a little better about the party. And once he got to the Bocburg and saw all the ladies in their fine gowns and heard the minstrels playing a lively selection of Kenedalic reels, he completely forgot how tired and sore he was.
The great hall was packed almost to bursting with people, from the royal family down to country knights who had never been so close to royalty before. The banners of all the “best” families hung from the rafters. Alfred spotted his father’s banner up there, which was new. Nice to see that someone had remembered. Probably the duke or duchess, most likely.
Nearly everyone was talking at once, and those who weren’t talking were drinking. To the right of the door stood a pair of long tables with every imaginable kind of wine, from silvery-pale Immani Argitis to aged Rodvin so dark it almost seemed black in the glass. On the far side were the tables of food. Through the crowds, Alfred thought he could see a peacock and a wild boar, as well as a mound of honey cakes higher than a man’s head.
In the nearest corner, he saw the captain general, Lawrence Swithin, Earl of Hyrne. He was holding court with a little crowd of fawning courtiers—few of whom had been at Keelweard. With extravagant, sweeping movements of his arms, he demonstrated how he had managed to “save” the army from “the trap that Broderick the Black set for us.” Alfred turned away from the group before someone saw him and asked him to join the conversation.
At the near end of the room, a dozen couples were already dancing. Someone called out for Alfred to join them, and he saw a few young ladies of his acquaintance that he might have asked. But then he spotted the queen mother and the king, and he knew he had to go pay his respects first.
He really didn’t expect Queen Rohesia to remember him. He hadn’t been in Leornian in months. But he ought to have known better.
“Ah, Sir Alfred. Duke Robert speaks very highly of your conduct at Keelweard. As does my brother. They so rarely agree about anything, that I assume you must have made quite a name for yourself on this latest campaign.”
By her brother, she meant the Earl of Hyrne, the captain general.
Turning to her son, the queen added, “You must remember Sir Alfred Estnor, dear.”
“Son and heir of the Baron of Sarcastel,” said little King Edwin brightly. “Colonel of the East Trahernshire Volunteer Levies, promoted to brigadier at the defense of Keelweard. I painted some new soldiers this morning, and I gave them your colors.”
Alfred bowed. “I am honored, your majesty.”
The king looked as if he wanted to talk more about his toy soldiers, but there was a line of nobles and knights waiting for their chance to pay their respects, so Alfred bowed again and moved on.
He went to the drink table, examined the wines on offer, and then drifted down to the far end, past the various fruit liqueurs, to the little table with Annenstruker whiskey. At least five kinds were on offer, and he paused, trying to decide whether he wanted something that was smooth and light, or bracingly smoky.
As he stood there, he became aware that someone was hovering at his side, and he caught a whiff of lilac perfume, mixed with whiskey. He turned and saw Princess Elwyn. She had her long brown braids curled up on her head and fixed with silver hairpins. Her gown of blue and silver silk had been cut to fit close through the bodice, making her appear almost impossibly slim and elegant. Normally, when he saw her, she was dressed for hunting or riding.
“Your royal highness,” he said, bowing. “Did you need a drink?”
“Someone told me recently that I must distinguish between my needs and my wants, Sir Alfred. I want a drink, but I need a partner for this next dance. I assume you know the Mt. Nellis Reel.”
“Of course, your royal highness.” He held out his arm, and she took it like a river pike biting into the bait, practically dragging him over to where the couples were forming up.
He had only danced with her a handful of times. She was a very good dancer—light, graceful, and athletic. And being a princess, she was always in high demand as a partner at parties. So once the reel ended, he assumed she would go flitting away to some other, younger knight. But to his surprise, she asked if he wanted to stay with her through the next number—a slow pavane—as well.
Two dances in a row with a princess—with this princess in particular. He certainly hadn’t expected that.
The music ended, and the minstrels announced they would be taking a short break. Again, Alfred assumed the princess would want to go find someone more fashionable. But instead, she stayed with him.
“I’ll take that whiskey now,” she said, grinning. “And then maybe we could take a turn around the garden.”
They grabbed their drinks, then slipped through the crowded corridor and the entrance hall. On the front steps, they passed some of her friends, who giggled “hello,” then whispered behind their hands as he and the princess wandered on. And he saw a few of his officers, who all bowed low and made quick, meaningless comments about the weather.
He had not seen the princess in months, and he hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since a sledding party in February. He and Sir Walter Davies had taken care of the horses and managed the sleighs for the other, younger members of the party. The princess and a couple of her lady friends had giggled a lot and thrown snow at everyone.
He and the princess nearly traveled in separate circles, though he and his army comrades often went to the same parties as her fashionable “set” of nobles. His younger sister had been at Atherton with her, but they had never been close. The princess knew his friends, and he knew hers, but they rarely ended up in the same place at the same time, like two planets whose orbits occasionally brought them into the same sign in the heavens, but never quite intersected.
But now, here she was, acting as if they were dear, old friends. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she was very pretty, and when she was in a good mood, as she seemed to be, she was good company.
“Do you like the party?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“You don’t have to say that if you don’t want to. Personally, I find parties draining.”
“Oh? I’m quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” he said. “I was deathly tired earlier today, but now I feel like I could stay awake half the night, talking and dancing.”
“That’s why I need people like you around,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back in the city, Sir Alfred. We should try to see more of each other.”
“I...I, um....” He had no idea how to answer her. Eventually he had to say something, so he settled on, “Thank you, your royal highness.”
She paused, sipping her whiskey, and traced a little curve in the gravel of the front drive with the toe of her tiny blue slipper. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said.
“Of course I want to,” he said.
“Oh, good.” She smiled. “I want you to understand how much I appreciate what you do. For my family, I mean. For my brother, especially.”
“It’s nothing more than my duty, your royal highness.”
“Yes, but you see...you’re good at it. Some other people...,” she coughed slightly, “aren’t quite so skilled as you are. Whatever my uncle, the Earl of Hyrne, says, this was a goatfuck. But according to everyone who knows what they’re talking about, you were the one who saved the army. I promise I won’t forget that. We won’t forget that, I mean—my family and I.”
From the front steps, a group of tittering young ladies called out for the princess, beckoning her and begging her to join them.
“Oh, blast it. I forgot. I’m supposed to dance with some of their brothers, I think.” She finished her whiskey in one long, quick swallow and handed him the empty glass. “I can’t keep them waiting. I promised my stepmother that I would be good for the crowd tonight. So that is what I am trying to do, Sir Alfred. I am trying to be good.”
He bowed. “Of course, your royal highness. I understand.”
“I wonder if you do.” She cocked her head and gave him a mysterious little smile. “I’ll tell you what, though. If you see me looking terminally bored later this evening, feel free to come bring me more whiskey.”
“It would be my pleasure.”