Blood in the Water (17 page)

“I imagine he will soon ask what we intend. Emperor Tadriol will certainly want to know,” Gruit said frankly.

“They don’t call him ‘the Provident’ for nothing.” Failla recalled eavesdropping on conversations between Duke Garnot and his advisors. They all respected the Tormalin Emperor, despite his comparative youth.

“Kerith had better warn Aremil that we will need some convincing answers, and soon.” Gruit straightened the fronts of his gown. “By the bye, Master Cardel had a rather unexpected question.”

Failla had soon realised Master Gruit fussed with his clothing when he had something unpalatable to say. Curiously he didn’t seem to betray himself like that to anyone else but her. “He wants your permission to court me?”

“I thought it safest to say you were spoken for.” Gruit smoothed the fur trimming his collar. “So I said you had an understanding with Kerith.”

Failla was so taken aback she sat open-mouthed for a moment. “You said what?”

Before Gruit could answer, the library door opened on a brief knock.

“Master Kerith,” the lackey announced.

It was like some child’s tale of the Eldritch Kin. Mention the shadow-men and they’ll appear. It was bad enough she had to sit at the same table as the Artificer. The thought of being asked about Kerith’s intentions the next time she viewed a dressmaker’s wares with the noble ladies of Abray was enough to make her stomach rebel. For an instant, Failla tasted the bitter almond cordial rising in her throat.

Chapter Twelve

Failla

Abray, on the Border of Lescar and Caladhria,

4th of Aft-Autumn

Kerith closed the door as the lackey departed. He looked at the merchant, his eyes hooded. “Am I intruding?”

“No, not at all.” Gruit covered his confusion by picking up the crystal dish of cakes. “Can Anilt have her treat? If she’s drunk all her milk?”

“Please?” The child looked up at Failla, dark eyes wide with appeal.

“Just one,” Failla reminded her.

Gruit offered Anilt the dish. She promptly took a cake in each hand.

“One,” Failla reproved.

The child’s mouth tightened obstinately. She made no move to put either cake back.

“Anilt!” Failla’s stomach hollowed. If Sibetha rebuked Anilt, the little girl immediately behaved. She had no such respect for her own mother.

“Oh dear.” Gruit shook his snowy head, disappointed.

“Your mama said one cake,” Kerith said sternly.

Anilt immediately dropped both cakes in the dish and hid her face in Failla’s lap.

“Hush, chick, don’t be silly.” Failla held her tight, her reassurance light with feigned amusement.

At least the child had turned to her rather than running to Gruit for protection. But why was Anilt so afraid of Kerith? Grudging, she had to admit Kerith had never been anything but kind to Anilt, within the bounds of his habitual reserve.

Was it just his appearance, so stern in his long black tunic and breeches? Reared on Lathi’s remote farm, Anilt would never have known a man who dressed in such a fashion, with his cropped dark hair and beard, his only adornment the silver ring that Vanam’s university granted its scholars.

The child couldn’t possibly know how unspeakably cruel he had been to Failla.

Gruit set the dish down, cakes forgotten. “What’s the news from Carluse?”

“Duchess Tadira is adamant. She tells the townsfolk that Duke Garnot has withdrawn only to regroup. She will hold Carluse Castle until he returns. He will come back to save them from this army of mercenaries who have plundered Sharlac and Losand, and are now laying waste to Carluse, raping and murdering wherever they please.”

Kerith addressed himself to Gruit, avoiding any possibility of meeting Failla’s gaze. Well, he knew all she had done, all that she was, better than anyone else alive. She should just be grateful he didn’t voice his contempt, she told herself coldly.

“The townsfolk cannot possibly believe her.” But doubt undercut Gruit’s protest.

Failla could believe it. She knew just how convincing Duchess Tadira could be, and how ruthlessly she would turn on anyone who gainsaid her.

“What else do they have to believe? There’s no news reaching the town to contradict her.” Kerith shook his head. “The castle guard have been seizing food and fuel from every household. They’re barely leaving the common folk enough to feed themselves. Anyone living by the town wall has been thrown into the streets, to find shelter as best they can. Their houses have had their lower doors and shutters nailed up and archers keep watch from the upper rooms. Some of the cellars have been undermined, so the houses can be brought down to block the roads if there’s a successful attack on the gate and the enemy gets a foothold inside the walls.”

“How long can Evord maintain the siege?” Failla demanded.

Kerith addressed his reply to Gruit. “According to Jettin, the captain-general is content to wait her out for another ten days. It will take at least that long for Draximal, Parnilesse and Marlier to satisfy themselves that news of Duke Garnot’s defeat can be trusted. Then they must decide how to respond. Meanwhile our army can make good use of the time to rest their horses, tend the wounded and repair their gear. After that, though, he says they must move on and that means taking Carluse Town, even if it costs us dearly. Evord says not breaking Carluse could lose us the entire campaign.”

“How does he propose to enter the town?” Gruit wondered.

“It will have to be an all-out assault on the gates.” Kerith grimaced. “For the moment, though, he says not to look for the worst roll of the runes.”

An all-out assault, Failla thought, her stomach hollow. Then the mercenaries would plunder the town. That was always the price of such defiance. But Duchess Tadira wouldn’t pay it. It would be the ordinary folk, like her Uncle Ernout, her Aunt Derou, cousin Serafia and her little boy, Kip. No Carluse militia would defend them, all safely garrisoned in the castle.

“A great many captured mercenaries are being sent here under guard,” Kerith continued. “The captain-general asks that you warn the local barons and encourage them to do all they can to keep these men walking westwards. For our part, we should expect Reniack today or tomorrow.”

Failla wondered if the rabble-rouser’s pamphlets and rumours could really persuade such men to abandon their hopes of money to be made in Lescar. She felt Anilt shift in her lap, turning her head to look suspiciously at Kerith. Failla reached for a cake and offered it to her. The little girl sat up and nibbled it.

Gruit was nodding. “I will call on Baron Dacren and Lord Vapanet first thing tomorrow. They won’t want underemployed mercenaries lingering hereabouts any more than we do.” He raised a gnarled finger. “You told Evord that the next supply wagons will arrive in Losand tomorrow? I have sent everything he asked for.”

“I have told both Jettin and Aremil,” Kerith assured him. “Lieutenant Dagaran will send troops of his skirmishers out from Losand to escort all the wagons safely along the high roads.” The scholar gestured towards the untouched glass of cordial on the tray. “May I?”

“Of course,” Gruit said impatiently. “Now, what does the captain-general think Draximal and Marlier will do, once they’re sure Duke Garnot’s truly a broken arrow?”

Kerith hesitated before drinking. “Jettin says Evord refuses to speculate. We should all wait and see what Mistress Charoleia can discover from her web of informants. Aremil agrees.”

“Do all Solurans keep their counsels so close?” Gruit vented his exasperation in a hissing breath. “Can we not send out some enquiry agents? What about Sorgrad and his brother? Surely their talents could be put to better use than swinging a sword?”

“A spy using elemental magic would bring down the Archmage’s wrath on us all,” Kerith said sharply.

“He need not use his wizardry,” Failla objected. “He has far more talents than that.”

Kerith was startled into looking directly at her. “You think so?”

Failla was surprised at what she read in his eyes. Did the scholarly adept really think she bore Sorgrad and Gren a grudge? Granted, they’d kidnapped her when Garnot had sent her to await his pleasure at Thymir Manor. But she’d been looking for a chance to flee the duke’s protection, to reclaim the daughter no one knew she had borne him.

She hugged Anilt close, heedless of cake crumbs. If she had fled on her own, they wouldn’t be nearly so safe. Thanks to Sorgrad’s ingenuity and Gren’s casual grave-robbing, duke and duchess alike believed she’d been kidnapped for profit and the ransom they’d paid had only bought them burned fragments of bone and fabric. As Garnot had so often told her, one could never really trust mercenaries. She was still surprised he’d paid up though.

“What about Parnilesse and Triolle?” Gruit demanded. “Do we have any news from there? Duke Orlin and his duchess celebrated the festival with Duke Iruvain.”

“Whatever Parnilesse decides, that’s the most distant dukedom,” said Kerith, a trifle irritated. “We’ll have plenty of time to make ready once Mistress Charoleia tells us what Duke Orlin intends. She and Branca will return to Losand by way of Parnilesse and Triolle, once they’ve concluded their business in Toremal,” he explained, seeing Gruit’s perplexity. “They can tell the captain-general everything they’ve learned on their way.

“As for Triolle,” the scholar continued, “Evord is satisfied that Master Hamare’s death has drawn their teeth. Now Duke Iruvain lacks information as well as his best advisor. The dukedom has little enough coin to hire worthwhile mercenaries at the best of times. There’s no one to lead their militia effectively in battle since the duke and his brother are so young and untried.”

Gruit nodded slowly. “Isn’t there still a fair chance of Duke Garnot returning with some significant force? Marlier’s full of mercenary camps. How do we know that’s not where he’s headed?”

“Most of the mercenaries camped on the banks of the Rel take their cue from Ridianne the Vixen,” Kerith reminded him, “according to Sorgrad anyway and Captain-General Evord agrees. Neither of them thinks any company captain will be keen to trust Garnot’s promises of coin while his coffers are still besieged in Carluse. His Grace doesn’t exactly have a record of successes in this campaign. Sia Kersain’s scouts report that Duke Garnot is retreating towards Tyrle with his mounted companies. The foot regiments and militia have been left to make shift for themselves.” Kerith smiled with measured satisfaction. “Our scouts say tens, scores of men are drifting away with every night that passes.”

“Can’t we get that news into Carluse Town?” the white-haired merchant asked with sudden hope. “Couldn’t Sorgrad and Gren sneak in? If we can give the lie to Duchess Tadira and her promises of Duke Garnot’s return, maybe the townsfolk will open the gates to Evord?”

“Why should the townsfolk believe unknown upland mercenaries instead of Duchess Tadira?” Failla demanded. “Even supposing they manage to open their mouths before they’re hanged from the castle gates. You know all the tavern tales about Mountain savagery. As soon as they show their yellow heads, there’ll be a hue and cry that Evord will be able to hear outside the walls.”

Gruit yielded with ill grace. “Surely Duchess Tadira will surrender inside a handful of days. She has to know what’s befallen Duke Garnot. He’ll have taken courier doves from their castle loft to send her dispatches.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Failla shook her head. “Regardless, she’ll hold out till the last drop of water and crumb of bread. Even if she believes Duke Garnot’s so thoroughly beaten that he no longer commands respect, she’ll just set up Lord Ricart in his father’s place. She’ll look to Duke Orlin of Parnilesse to support her and he’ll be delighted to have his nephew as Carluse’s duke, so thoroughly beholden to him. You can be certain she has courier doves hatched in Parnilesse ready to hand.”

She had more immediate concerns. “I take it my uncle is sending letters out to tell Evord what’s happening in the town?” Uncle Ernout, Saedrin’s priest, who knew so many secrets and held them all close, her own deceits included. And not just her deceits.

“The boy bringing the last one said he’d been told not to return.” Kerith answered her reluctantly. “Master Ernout warned us not to expect to hear from him again, not for some time.”

“Why?” Failla’s demand outstripped Master Gruit’s.

Anilt shrank from her mother’s raised voice. Failla stroked her hair to soothe her, still intent on Kerith nevertheless. “What don’t you want to tell us? What else have you learned?”

Kerith set down his half-drunk cordial, his expression more dour than ever. “Duchess Tadira will not countenance talk of surrender or even of negotiation. When the castle’s sergeant-at-arms asked permission to send a courier to Evord, to ask for the return of any wounded captives, she had the man hanged from the castle’s gate.”

“What?” Gruit was horrified.

“Sergeant Banel?” Appalled as she was, Failla knew Duchess Tadira’s heartlessness of old.

“Jettin didn’t know the man’s name.” Kerith looked unwillingly at her once more. “A double handful of men in the castle have been flogged or imprisoned. No one’s seen your cousin Vrist since the first night of the siege. Your uncle has no notion what’s become of him.”