Blood in the Water (34 page)

Angry voices scattered his bleak reflections. Dagaran turned as the door flew open.

“Let me pass.” Lord Rousharn stared at the Soluran on the threshold, astonishment momentarily overcoming his outrage.

“My apologies.” The lieutenant bowed politely. “Your arrival was somewhat precipitate.”

“Remove your hand,” Lady Derenna said with icy precision.

Aremil saw Dagaran’s warning glance at the man-at-arms unwise enough to seize her elbow.

“Their coach only just arrived,” the man pleaded. “We offered them refreshment. I was going to send word but they came barging in—”

“Since my letters go unanswered, I thought it best.” Lord Rousharn glowered at the papers littering Aremil’s table. “I am still waiting for an answer to my proposal for a regency in Sharlac.”

“You may go.” Shaking the hapless man off, Derenna shut the door in his face.

Both nobles’ garb was creased and dusty from their journey. Aremil noted she was still dressed with the elegance of rank that she’d scorned in exile in Vanam though.

“Explain Duchess Tadira’s death and Lord Ricart’s,” Lord Rousharn demanded without preamble.

At least he was looking straight at him this time. Aremil shrugged. “They were casualties of this war. Regrettable yet unavoidable, like so many hundreds of others.”

“They were murdered,” spat Lord Rousharn. “Have the culprits been hanged?”

“No, and I don’t imagine they will be,” Aremil said tightly. “None of the castle garrison or household is prepared to identify those responsible.”

Lord Rousharn stared at him. “And you accept that?”

“Would you like to see everyone who was present flogged till they talk?” Aremil queried.

“I would like to see justice,” Lord Rousharn said angrily.

“As far as the folk of Carluse Town are concerned, justice was done,” retorted Aremil.

“Justice or revenge?” The Sharlac nobleman wasn’t yielding. “Do you deny that Duke Garnot’s discarded whore urged these deaths?”

“I can and I do.” Infuriated, Aremil glared at Lady Derenna, who had the grace to look embarrassed. “Failla risked her own life several times over to get into the town and then into the castle. She was urging the garrison to surrender, to save the town from being stormed and sacked by Captain-General Evord’s army. She had Lord Ricart’s sword at her throat when someone killed Duchess Tadira.” He choked on spittle and fury.

Derenna laid a restraining hand on her husband’s forearm. “We should speak to Failla, to get a clearer understanding of exactly what happened.”

“Indeed.” Lord Rousharn squared his broad shoulders. “Where is she?”

“She’s tending those of her family, and others, who were confined in Duke Garnot’s dungeons on Duchess Tadira’s orders. Like the priest from Saedrin’s shrine, her uncle. An old man, my lord, much respected, tutor to most of the merchants’ sons in the town. He was beaten till he couldn’t stand and then kicked half to death, merely for suggesting Tadira send an envoy to ask what terms might lift the siege.” Aremil swallowed and drew a steadying breath.

“Then there’s her cousin, a mere boy, a groom from the stables, thrown into a dungeon because someone accused him of trying to get word to his mother who lives in the town, him and several others. Nothing was proven, you understand. Duchess Tadira had no interest in justice. The boy was chained in darkness and filth without food or water for days. He survived by licking at the moisture running down the walls of his cell.”

“Of course Failla must attend to them.” Lady Derenna spoke quickly, seeing her husband had no answer. “Please let her know we’ll see her at her leisure.”

“I will.” Despite his efforts, Aremil’s voice shook.

Bodily, Vrist hadn’t suffered much beyond a few bruises but the man he’d been shackled to had perished four days before the castle fell. According to Failla, Vrist was waking every night, screaming for fear of still being chained to the corpse.

When Aremil had told Tathrin, his friend’s thoughts were thrown into turmoil. He was torn between desperate desire to race back to Carluse to console Failla and his redoubled determination to see every duke thrown down, so such cruelty could never be repeated.

Aremil waited for someone to speak, either Dagaran or one of their unsought visitors.

Lady Derenna cleared her throat. “Will Carluse’s younger daughters be ready to travel by the morning?”

Aremil looked at Dagaran who quickly nodded. “They will, my lady.”

Aremil’s throat tightened. “As you may imagine, they are much distressed.”

“Did they see what happened?” Derenna demanded.

“No.” He found that scant relief.

What difference did it make to girls of twelve years old and nine? To be told that their mother and brother had been slain by the very garrison sworn to protect them, or to see it? As they found their home occupied by an enemy army. As half their servants fled and those whom Failla said couldn’t be trusted were dismissed. Now they’d been told to pack only their most precious things and make ready to leave the castle where they’d lived all their days. To go to an unknown manor house, in an unknown dukedom, in the care of a woman as unsympathetic as Derenna. Well, they’d have plenty in common with Sharlac’s widowed duchess and her daughters.

“Duchess Aphanie is still most distressed over the loss of Lord Jaras’s ashes. Has there been any sign of the urn?”

Derenna’s words made Aremil wonder if he was being unjust. Her face was genuinely troubled.

“I’m afraid not.” Aremil hoped she believed his sincere regret.

“We have interrogated every mercenary company’s quartermaster,” Dagaran assured her. “All their baggage wagons have been searched.”

Lord Rousharn stirred from contemplating Duchess Tadira’s crimes. “What have you done with Lord Ricart’s body? And his mother’s? Don’t tell me they were thrown on some common pyre?” he warned, menacing.

Aremil stiffened in his chair, refusing to cower. “Do you think I would allow such dishonour? They’ve been burned with all due ceremony and their ashes are interred in the shrine to Poldrion within these castle walls.”

And both pyres had been unattended save by the mercenary surgeons who’d lost the roll of runes for the duty. Since then, according to Dagaran, none of the ducal household, none of the castle garrison, had made even the briefest of visits to the shrine. From fear of reprisal if they showed any sorrow or simply because the duchess and her son were reaping in death what they had assiduously sown in life?

“What are you intending to do with Carluse’s daughters, and with Duchess Aphanie and her girls?” Lord Rousharn was still staring at Aremil. “In the longer term. Do you intend to ransom them, as befits their rank?”

Aremil struggled for an answer. “We seek peace and prosperity for all in Lescar, whatever their station in life.”

“You spoke of setting Lescar’s dukes aside. You argued they had forfeited all fealty with their excess. Many of us agreed.” Lord Rousharn’s voice roughened with anger. “Now one duke is dead, plus one duchess and two ducal heirs.”

“We did not agree to summary executions,” Derenna interjected.

“Is this Soluran’s campaign just the prelude to general anarchy?” Lord Rousharn asked wrathfully. “Should all vassal lords expect to be thrown off our lands into beggary?”

“You know full well we have no such intent.” It took all Aremil’s resolve to speak in level tones. “Duke Moncan of Sharlac and Lord Kerlin died in battle, like Lord Jaras before them. As did countless others. We can show you the name of every dead and wounded man, humble and noble.”

He nodded incautiously at Dagaran, prompting a shudder that twisted his shoulders. Lord Rousharn couldn’t hide his instant of revulsion. Anger scalded Aremil.

Dagaran saw it and spoke up swiftly. “There’s a great deal to discuss, but you must be weary from your journey, my lord, my lady.” He ushered them inexorably towards the door, talking all the while. “In the morning, we have a favour to ask. Carluse’s militia commanders naturally included vassal lords’ sons. A number were captured and they’re housed here as befits their rank. My lady Derenna, if you could explain your reasons for supporting our endeavour? And assure them they’re free to return home once their wounds have been treated and we have their oath not to take up arms again. Of course, we’re not asking a copper cut-piece for their freedom.” He smiled with a shake of his head. “Such assurances may not sound so convincing from a Soluran.”

Aremil didn’t think Lord Rousharn was actually listening to a word Dagaran said. Not until he continued.

“As for regents for Sharlac and, indeed, for Carluse, if rumour accuses us of seeking to overthrow the established order, we should look for someone who could never have military ambitions. No one could think that of Aremil, given his infirmity.” The Soluran glanced towards him, veiled mischief in his eyes. “And he is both nobly born and well qualified by virtue of scholarship.”

Aremil saw Lord Rousharn was appalled at the idea of yielding to a cripple. “I’m sure we can find a great many possible candidates.” He managed to conceal his own horror at the notion of taking on such responsibility.

Lady Derenna was quicker to gather her wits. “I see we have a great many things to settle. Doubtless the most rational course will be clearer to us all in the morning. Let’s breakfast together.”

She took Lord Rousharn’s arm, though he hadn’t offered it, and led him swiftly from the room. Dagaran closed the door behind them.

Aremil looked wryly at him. “I don’t imagine I’ll have much appetite tomorrow morning.”

“A meal with that pair promises heartburn.” The Soluran sat down. “But while they’re here, we can keep them from throwing our plans off-kilter more easily than if they’re in Sharlac.”

“I’d hoped he’d forgotten that notion of a regency,” Aremil admitted. “And thank you all the same, but I have no ambitions in that direction.”

“I know, but the idea will help us keep him talking in circles for a while.” Dagaran ran a hand over his cropped hair and for the first time, Aremil saw weariness on his saturnine face. “And it will be useful to have Lady Derenna arguing our case to Carluse’s vassal lords.”

“They’ll probably agree just to stop her talking.” Aremil sighed. “Do you suppose they’re paying any heed to Reniack’s broadsheets and ballads?”

Dagaran shrugged. “If they’re not, their servants are.”

The rabble-rouser had skilfully threaded new verses, humorous and obscene, onto familiar tunes. Aremil found these songs lodged in his brain like burrs in a donkey’s coat.

Aremil considered what else Dagaran had said about their noble captives. “I understand we had to throw Lord Rousharn a bone, but what will the mercenary captains say when you tell them they can’t ransom their lordlings? When they haven’t even been allowed to plunder Carluse Town.”

“They won’t be best pleased. Let’s hope they capture plenty of rival captains in Tyrle, and let enough of their sergeants escape to buy them back. In the meantime, we’ll pay a retainer.” Dagaran grimaced. “There wasn’t nearly the gold we’d hoped in Duke Garnot’s private coffers. Can you let Master Gruit know we need more coin?”

“I can.” Aremil wondered what the wine merchant would make of that. Kerith always passed on Gruit’s confident assurances that he’d gathered a fortune from his fellow exiles. But Aremil saw Kerith’s anxiety that they would dip their bucket too often and find the well dry. Or was that just Kerith’s parsimony? Aremil had seen the scholar was used to making the four silver pennies in a mark do the duty of a handful.

“Coin is least of our worries.” Dagaran heaved a sigh. “We’ve been lucky with the weather thus far but I can’t see it holding much longer, not beyond the turn of For-Winter. We’ll be hard put to keep ourselves supplied once rain softens the roads, never mind sending wagons on to Tyrle. We must press on and win this campaign.”

“We’ll have taken a long stride towards that once we’ve secured Tyrle.” Aremil looked down at his blotted notes. “Then it’s on to Marlier or Parnilesse.”

“Either dukedom with an army to equal our own.” Dagaran looked grim. “We must defeat each one separately without taking too many losses. If they unite to face us …” He shook his head. “Well, if any captain-general can win through, it’s Evord Fal Breven.”

“Indeed.” Aremil could only hope the Soluran’s confidence was well placed.

Dagaran leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, his boots wrinkling the rug. “Have you had any word from Parnilesse?”

“Not since the day before yesterday,” Aremil said slowly. If Branca hadn’t been as angry as Tathrin about what had happened in Carluse, she’d been appalled to think of Failla taking such risks. The sufferings of Failla’s innocent relatives had horrified her and the potential consequences of the duchess’s death troubled her gravely. Aremil had told himself he should give her some time to come to terms with it all.

“Perhaps it would be as well to find out if Madam Charoleia has discovered anything new about Duke Orlin’s plans?” Dagaran suggested.

Aremil nodded, trying to hide his unwillingness. “I’ll see what Branca has to say, once we have news from Tyrle.”

Just at that moment he didn’t think he’d be able to hide his tangled fears for his unknown brother from her.