Blood in the Water (45 page)

Away to the other side of the road, the rain made a muddy slough out of grassland already trampled to dust by the mercenaries who’d taken Duke Iruvain’s coin. That didn’t seem to bother Ridianne the Vixen. She sat easily on her pied horse, her scarlet standard with its skewered dog-fox flamboyant behind her.

Tathrin did his best to count the helmets of her retinue. More men escorted her than rode with Evord.

“Is she capable of treachery?” he asked Sorgrad quietly.

“Capable, yes,” the Mountain Man said. “Stupid, no. She won’t start a fight out in the open like this.”

Tathrin could only hope he was right. Beyond the contingent that Ridianne had brought to this parley, he could see the vast sprawl of her army. Smoke was already rising from impromptu cookfires as quartermasters took the opportunity of this halt to offer their companies a hot meal. That was how to tell a good mercenary from an indifferent one, he recalled Sorgrad saying once. You hired the men who were warm, dry and fed whatever the weather or circumstances. From what Tathrin could tell, Ridianne’s army met this standard.

To be fair, so did Captain-General Evord’s. But his mercenary companies were now divided between garrisoning the castle and defending their own encampment on the far side of the town and the mere. Those outside the walls were a sizeable force but not equal to Ridianne’s army.

Sorgrad was unconcerned. “She doesn’t want to fight. Remember Saltebre.”

“What happened there?” Tathrin demanded.

“It was ten or more years ago,” Sorgrad explained. “Parnilesse paid Relshazri mercenaries to raid Marlier’s southern districts. Ridianne brought them to bay. But rather than have everyone fight, she proposed a tourney between the captains of all the companies, her own included. Only every bout was to go to the death.” He shrugged. “The army with most captains left standing was deemed to have won the unfought battle. It was hers.”

“The Parnilesse captains agreed to this?” Tathrin was astonished.

“Rather than back down and look like cowards.” Sorgrad chuckled. “She’s a woman who knows how to take advantage of a man’s vanity.”

Gren was dubious. “Captain-General Evord won’t agree to anything of the kind. Any battle here’s going to be a bloody affair.”

To Tathrin’s alarm, Sorgrad yielded a little. “You heard Evord give the captains their orders, in case they need to defend each other.”

“You know she left her Marlier militia regiments behind at the border?” Gren persisted. “To make certain Duke Ferdain’s defended if she gets herself beaten here.”

Tathrin uneasily recalled those scouts’ reports which had prompted lively speculation among Evord’s lieutenants. Just what was the Vixen plotting?

“Captain-General.” The Soluran inclined his head to acknowledge Ridianne. “You called for a parley?”

“I did.” Ridianne nodded and at that signal, swords appeared all around her.

Evord’s men instantly armed themselves.

“Treachery!”

“No.” Ridianne answered a tense cry behind Tathrin with a chuckle. “At least, not the way you think.”

“So I see,” Evord said drily.

The swords surrounding the Vixen weren’t menacing him. Instead, a third of the mercenary captains in her entourage now faced their erstwhile allies’ weapons.

“His Grace Duke Ferdain of Marlier retains me to guard his borders and his interests as I think best,” Ridianne said pleasantly. “I’ve come here at Iruvain of Triolle’s bidding, only to find he’s cut and run. Duke Garnot is dead, along with Lord Cassat, and all Lord Geferin has ever offered me is disdain and discourtesy. I’m beginning to think this game isn’t worth the candle, for me or for Marlier.”

At this distance, Tathrin couldn’t be sure but he thought her glance shifted briefly to Sorgrad standing beside him.

“I take it there’s some disagreement?” Evord raised a quizzical brow at those captains now raising their hands in surrender.

“Not disagreement. We just knew who not to bother asking, eh, Daifer?” Ridianne winked at a furious man whose white-rose badge was bracketed by the antlers of Sharlac’s stag. He couldn’t do much to retaliate since one of her men was unbuckling his sword-belt while another held a blade at his throat.

“My preferred captains and I have been discussing our options.” She swept a scarred hand around the men encircling her. “You know Beresin Steelhand?”

“I do.” Evord nodded a greeting to a tall, lean man riding forward from the rear of Ridianne’s contingent.

He wouldn’t be a man you’d easily forget, Tathrin saw. Some past battle had left a sword scar right across his forehead, cutting through one eyebrow and deep into his cheekbone. It was a wonder it hadn’t smashed his beak of a nose, all the more prominent with his long black hair drawn back into a tail.

“Captain-General.” He bowed courteously.

“Beresin has a list of all the companies prepared to fight with you against Parnilesse and whatever might remain of Triolle and Draximal’s forces,” Ridianne continued, “for the right price, of course.”

“What do you propose to do with those companies disinclined to join us?” Evord asked.

As the Soluran spoke, a shift in the wind brought shouts and the clash of steel over from Ridianne’s camp.

She shrugged. “I don’t propose to do anything with them, once I’ve made certain they don’t start a dogfight here.”

“I see.” Evord nodded. “Go on.”

She nodded at the black-clad mercenary. “Send Beresin to me with your best offer by noon tomorrow. Bear in mind you cannot be sure of defeating Parnilesse without my assistance. But if you choose to try, we shan’t interfere. We’ll be marching back to Marlier. I take it you can get word to and from your principals, if you need to?”

For a tense moment, Tathrin wondered how she could possibly know of their Artifice.

Sorgrad murmured under his breath. “She knows a courier dove can reach Carluse before dark, even in this weather.”

Ridianne was still speaking. “You might also ask your principals to consider what terms Duke Ferdain might expect, once Parnilesse is defeated. We would be interested to know, whether or not you decide to pay for our swords.” Her face hardened slightly. “You should let your principals know that we all accept the fortunes of war, Duke Ferdain included. That said, Marlier has long been a friend to Draximal.”

Tathrin couldn’t quite follow this. Was she threatening some revenge for Lord Cassat’s death or did she know about Aremil?

“She’s heard he’s Duke Secaris’s son,” Gren said softly. “Was that the pennyweight that tipped the scales?”

Sorgrad was sceptical. “Only if she seriously thinks he can lay claim to the dukedom as heir, which I very much doubt.”

“Then I wonder how much gold it’ll take,” Gren mused, “to weight the balance in our favour?”

“You couldn’t buy a barrel of ale with what’s left in these strongrooms,” Sorgrad growled.

“Hush.” Tathrin silenced them both with a gesture.

“I’ve left Marlier’s borders securely defended,” Ridianne continued calmly.

“We’ve no intention of testing them.” Evord seemed surprised she should think so.

And that, Tathrin saw, concluded their conversation. Each commander turned back with their respective escorts.

“Captain-General!” Sorgrad was already edging his horse forwards. “I know how to rid ourselves of any mercenaries who won’t follow Ridianne.”

Evord broke off giving instructions to a galloper. “How?”

“Duke Iruvain’s mercenaries came up the River Dyal by boat.” Sorgrad gestured towards the unseen wharfs. “Send them back to Relshaz the same way, in chains if need be. We have friends who’ll persuade them not to look back,” he said with a grin.

“I imagine the city’s magistrates will be as keen as anyone to see this fighting ended.” Evord looked quickly at Tathrin. “Have you heard from Master Aremil lately?”

Tathrin nodded. “I have.”

Evord glanced at the lieutenants around him. “A moment, if you please.”

As they obediently withdrew, Tathrin urged his horse close to Evord’s. “I told Aremil of Ridianne’s request for a noon parley. He’ll contact me before the next chime.”

“Tell him accepting her offer of assistance is our quickest path to ending this campaign.” Evord looked intently at him. “With the weather so uncertain, we cannot afford delay. I must know what funds Master Gruit has on hand and whatever’s been secured from Sharlac and Carluse’s treasuries. Tell Aremil he needs some plan for dealing with Marlier as soon as the fighting’s done.” He paused, grim-faced. “And maybe for some approach to Parnilesse, if all we can do is give Lord Geferin’s men bloody noses, even with Ridianne’s help.”

“Of course,” Tathrin nodded.

“Come on, lad.” Gren turned his horse’s head back towards the castle.

Evord was already writing another set of instructions for a messenger to carry to Triolle Town. A second and a third waited to carry his orders to the mercenaries’ camp.

As soon as they were back inside the castle, Sorgrad whistled for a passing groom and threw the man his reins.

“Let’s find some peace and quiet.” He contemplated the many-towered ring of the castle. “I reckon hidden ears are more of a threat than hidden knives. Master Hamare may be dead but his spies won’t be.”

“But I have to wait for Aremil to speak to me.” All the same, Tathrin followed both Mountain Men to the chamber they’d appropriated, high in what he’d learned was the Chatelaine’s Tower.

“Not if I bespeak Reher and tell him to tell Aremil we’ve got urgent news.”

Well, that was one advantage of the blacksmith’s refusal to leave Carluse, Tathrin reflected.

Sorgrad unlocked the door to reveal a chamber comfortably furnished with upholstered chairs, a marble washstand and a canopied bed. All the walls were richly panelled, so Gren had tested every handspan for the hollow knock of a hidden cupboard or secret passageway. He’d been disappointed to find nothing. Tathrin hadn’t.

“Tell me if you hear any step on the stairs.” With Gren listening at the door, Sorgrad took a candle from the mantel. As he snapped his fingers, the wick flared with magefire. Sorgrad took up a silver salver that Gren had found somewhere and held it up to reflect the flame.

Tathrin took a chair, wondering how long he’d have to kick his heels before he heard Aremil’s voice inside his head.

He scowled as Sorgrad spoke. He wasn’t bespeaking Reher at all.

“Mellitha, good day to you.”

Before Tathrin could protest, dizzying distress assailed him. He was on his feet before he realised it, his heart racing.

“
It’s Branca. I can’t find her.”

“Aremil, what’s wrong? Where’s Failla?”

Aremil’s anguish filled Tathrin with inexplicable fear for her.

“
Failla? She’s here in Carluse. She’s safe and well.”

Aremil’s bemusement momentarily overcame his concern. His sudden anger buffeted Tathrin. How dare he waste time asking after his own sweetheart when the woman Aremil loved might be—

“Aremil!” Tathrin couldn’t tell if his friend broke off that thought because he realised how unjust he was or because the prospect of Branca’s loss was too horrible to contemplate.

“
Don’t, please.”

As Aremil begged him not even to think the worst, Tathrin felt him rein in his tormented emotions.

“
Forgive me. It’s been a dreadful day.”

Tathrin tried to thrust Aremil’s anguish away. “She’s with Charoleia and Trissa,” he said aloud. “They’ll keep her safe.”

“
Can you ask Sorgrad to scry for them?”

“Of course!”

As Tathrin cursed himself for a fool for not thinking of that himself, he felt Aremil’s shaky amusement.

“
I’m sure it would have occurred to you once I’d stopped filling your head with my worries.”

Was that Aremil taking a determined breath, Tathrin wondered, or just his own imagination?

“
So tell me, what did Ridianne have to say?”

Tathrin rallied sufficiently to tell him the essentials of the brief meeting.

“Assuming we can overthrow Parnilesse with her help, that will leave Ferdain of Marlier as the only remaining duke still holding his lands securely,” he concluded.

“
The only one with a living heir, or at least, with a son fit to succeed him. We’re already discussing diplomatic overtures.”

Aremil’s familiar frustration with his own crippled condition was mingled with odd defiance. Tathrin heard faint echoes of irate shouting, by Aremil and Lord Rousharn.

“The prospect should be clearer once we’ve beaten Lord Geferin in battle,” he ventured.

Aremil’s thoughts rang with unaccustomed savagery.

“
Can Captain-General Evord do that?”

Knowing his thoughts were open across the aether made Tathrin’s reply easier. “We have a much better chance with Ridianne’s companies. We need enough gold to make sure of them.”

“
I’ll see to it. Now, can Sorgrad scry for Branca, please?”