Hunted (Book 3) (36 page)

Nothing but birds made a sound as Gen strode out the door and walked to Mirelle’s side, everyone agape. She took his hand and the crowd roared with applause. Gen turned to Mirelle and smiled, her face full of pleasure and the hint of a tear in her eye. She squeezed his hand and waited until the jubilation died down.

“Now, there are many tales I could tell of Gen’s bravery on the Shroud Lake shard and during his imprisonment by the Church. I could, though I would shrink to do it, tell you of the sufferings and injustice he has faced. But may this suffice and explain my actions since my return. Because I refused to go along with the Church’s story about Chertanne and Gen, I was kept as a prisoner in Ironkeep along with others who would not support such treachery. Gen, fearing that I and the Chalaine were in danger, escaped from his own imprisonment with the help of others and came all the way to Ironkeep to ensure our safety. There, he was captured again, but through good fortune and the grace of God, we escaped and come to you now having traveled many long and difficult miles.

“I say this. If Chertanne is to be revered and respected, and if Chertanne wishes to obtain the governance of this nation, it will not be through deceit or dictum, but by a clear demonstration of his own competence and good virtues. I have withdrawn from the Fidelium until such time as the Ha’Ulrich can honestly earn his title. Rhugoth will certainly aid Chertanne in any battle against Mikkik and his host, but the soldiers of this nation will not live and die at his command until I am sure he loves them as I do and until I am sure he can command them with more skill than he has hitherto shown.

“Most of all, I wish everyone to rest at ease. The Chalaine has always been well cared for and is happy and content. The prophecy will be fulfilled, and our nation is more secure and better able to face Mikkik’s threat than it ever has been. Please say your morning oblations. Please attend Church and worship there. The falsehoods you were told are the work of a very few within the Church. Please rest secure in my love and in the knowledge that Rhugoth is again ours—proud, mighty, and the envy of the world!”

Peals of praise and applause rolled through the courtyard, and Mirelle smiled warmly, waving and applauding with her people. Gen smiled along with her, finally taking her arm and leading her back into the Great Hall.

“I think that went well,” Ethris opined as they started toward Mirelle’s throne.

“As do I,” she agreed.

“I’ll be about the wards,” Ethris assured them. “Are you sure you want to go forward with the celebration tonight? It is an awful risk.”

“Those who are invited I know well and trust,” Mirelle explained. “Besides, I have you and Gen with me. That is all I require. Do join us for lunch. I have a mountain of people clamoring for my attention today, but after lunch I have sworn to do nothing but celebrate and enjoy myself.”

“And you have earned it,” Ethris said affectionately. “Until lunch then.”

Mirelle slid comfortably into her throne, rubbing the arm rests familiarly as Cadaen and Gen took up positions behind her. “You know, Gen, we’ve only been back a few days and I have a stack of letters from those wishing to court me. Do you know what that means?”

“That I’ll be dancing with you the entire evening?”

She laughed. “You’re beginning to understand. I hope that isn’t too much of a punishment.”

“Well, if you wear your hair down, I might get by. The way you look right now reminds me too much of all those filthy names you called me after Maewen and I had that unfortunate incident with the Uyumaak.”

“Unfortunate incident? So that’s what you call it now. I still call it a ‘moronic debacle,’ just so you know. But yes, my hair will be down, and I have just the gown picked out to make all my poor would-be suitors envious of you to the point of incapacitation. I can hardly wait. But first, we must press on with a few doldrums. Chamberlain Fedrick! Let the first one in!”

A mother and daughter joined all of Ki’Hal, who stood outdoors or on balconies or at windows staring into a perfectly clear night sky. No one knew quite what to expect when all the pieces of Ki’Hal knit back together. The sky, alien and lonely without the constant traffic of shards, bathed them in the weak nocturnal lights, Trys nearly full.

The mother and daughter stood miles apart, their thoughts of one another binding them together. While celebration and joy coursed all about them, each could not escape a longing for the other. The mother fretted for the happiness of her child, and the child needed the comfort of the mother. The absence of shards magnified the distance they felt, depriving them of the pleasant imagination that the other might be in sight on one of the flying pieces of the world.

In the end, only a tremor strong enough to knock down the truly inebriated marked the momentous occasion. Cheers rose and music broke out into the night. The dark circle finished its slide off of Trys’s shining, full face. The prophecy marched on, fulfillment of a hoped for joy ever nearing. The mother and daughter both smiled and turned to the man near her, but only one received a proper kiss.

“Oh, dear,” Mirelle lamented with mock gravity, eyes running over the first page of a thick parcel that had recently arrived from Ironkeep. “I’ve been excommunicated. There is no mention of you, Gen, however. Of course, you have already been excommunicated and killed, so why bother re-excommunicating a dead person? Ah, but look. You are alive again. The Church has authorized its leaders to inform the people that the Ilch, while indeed dead, presented himself to Chertanne in your form, in the which he killed you, meaning the Ilch in your form. No apologies to you, of course.”

They were taking lunch as they often did on the balcony of the Great Hall. The sun gained in strength with each day, and an air of life filled their lungs while strength of purpose reflected in their eyes. Mirelle continued her perusal. “It confirms that their scouts to the Shroud Lake shard did indeed find a Portal near Echo Hold, to which the Chalaine, Chertanne, and the faithful—which they underlined—armies of men will retreat to mount a defense against Mikkik’s eastern horde and await the birth of God.”

“Where does the Portal to Echo Hold lead?” Gen asked.

“To an underground cave in Tenswater, apparently. They’ve furiously mined it to clear a path. My spies brought word of that two weeks ago.”

“I don’t suppose Rhugothians are invited inside the walls.”

“I’m getting to that. Let’s see. No. Correction. Only those Rhugothians who will take an oath to obey the High King. Good. I want a solid contingent of our soldiers inside Echo Hold. I’ll send General Torunne and his men. Now that ‘Chertanne’ has been so gracious as to return our imprisoned Dark Guard, I’ll send some in disguise as Tolnorians, Captain Tolbrook included. I have graduated the surviving apprentices to full Dark Guard, so the good Captain needs something new to do. Echo Hold sounded like an adventure for him.”

“The army will spend the first three weeks just cleaning the place,” Gen speculated. “I should write and warn them about Sir Tornus.”

“Please do. It appears they have already started moving men and supplies to the fortress. The Portal is a scant two days ride from the mountain road. Let’s see. . . ‘We must all be vigilant’. . . Blah, blah, blah. . . Here we go. ‘The Chalaine and the Ha’Ulrich are well and anxious for the journey to begin. They send their love to all nations and peoples.’”

“Did the Chalaine manage to send any personal correspondence?”

“Alas, no. I think she realizes that no correspondence between us will be personal. Athan would read every word. Soon we shall see her. At least we are spared a month-long trek across the Shroud Lake shard. I don’t think I could bear to pass that miserable copse of trees where I sincerely thought I would freeze or starve to death. As it is, we can leave comfortably in a few weeks.”

Mirelle put the letter down and returned to her roast pork and strawberries. Gen admired her. Surely the world held no other woman like her. Just as with the Chalaine during their journey through the canyon, the days of close association with the First Mother had instilled a comfortable enjoyment, trust, and happiness with her that he now identified as the best parts of love. She and her daughter shared some traits, but in many ways differed from each other to such a degree that Gen wondered how he could love them both.

Mirelle met his eye, and a smile bloomed on her face that set his heart to pounding. “Cadaen, please go ask the door warden if Torbrand has arrived,” she commanded. He complied, and moments later she sent the servant away. Once they were alone, she leaned forward and kissed Gen lightly. “I have waited a long time to see that look on your face.”

Gen swallowed as she stared at him invitingly. Since his comment about pulling back her hair making her look severe, she always wore it down. A breeze teased it about her face as they sat together.

“I wasn’t aware I was making any sort of look,” Gen responded.

“I know. That’s the best part.” She kissed him again with more fervor. Gen’s mind spun.
How could a woman who has never had a suitor do this so well?
he thought after the capability to think grudgingly returned.

“Gen, I know you love the Chalaine, but she is a married woman. I am not. While you may not love me in the same way or to the same degree, I think those feelings live inside you, though you have never said it. My feelings for you I have made abundantly plain in word and deed. Pledge yourself to me, and I promise you will not regret it. Whether Mikkik or Eldaloth rules at the end of the summer, if I am yours you will never lack for love, or companionship, or pleasure.

“Some time before we march, Gerand and Mena will wed after the Tolnorian fashion within these walls. I will invite a single Pureman here to perform the ritual. He can do the same for us, in secret, with only Ethris as witness. When the drama of the Apocraphon has run its course for good or ill, you and I can announce our love to the world.”

Gen opened his mouth to speak, emotions and thoughts a tumult, but Mirelle put a finger to his lips and shushed him. “Think first, Gen, about what I have said. Sort your feelings out and then do what you think is best. Whatever you decide, I will always love you and be as close to you as you will let me be.” Gen smiled and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers. “Think first, Gen,” she admonished. “I know I can be a bit heavy-handed with my flirtations. Make sure you know where your heart and your head are. I know how difficult that can be.”

“First Mother,” Cadaen announced himself, startling them both. “Torbrand has arrived.”

When did Cadaen become so stealthy?
Gen wondered.

Mirelle held Gen’s eyes a moment longer. “Excellent. Please bring him here and have the servants send up some refreshment for him.”

“The news is not all good,” Torbrand informed them, travel stained but chipper. “I’m afraid that Chertanne, by which I mean Athan, has increased the number of Aughmerian troops in Tolnor above what I had left there since you announced your split from the Fidelium. Apparently Chertanne—or rather Athan—is keen not to have another defection on his hands.”

“And no sign of King Filingrail?”

“I contacted Lord Kildan as you suggested. As you can imagine, he has no kind feelings for me. Even after I firmly . . . suggested . . . his servant deliver your letter explaining the situation, Duke Kildan refused to see me until the Church issued its revision of the events surrounding the death of the Ilch.”

“We just heard of it today,” Mirelle told him.

“It hit Tolnor two weeks ago. After that, his Lordship tracked me down, and we met in secret. He flat out refused to give up Filingrail’s hiding place, stating it was a matter of that detestable Tolnorian honor. Given the disposition of Aughmerian troops, he also felt an uprising would do more harm than good.”

“You said the news was not all good. It appears there is no good at all,” Mirelle commented.

“To the good part, then,” said Torbrand. “While Duke Kildan has not staged an uprising, he did manage to leave the country with around five hundred of his best soldiers and his Duchess, Missa. There was a tiny bit of bloodshed to which I was able to render my service.”

“Where did they go?” Mirelle asked, astonished.

“That’s the good news. To Rhugoth! They crossed into Tenswater but had to leave quickly before the Church got wind of what we were doing. We convinced the Portal Mage in Tolnor that we were on our way to Aughmere, and the then told the Portal Mage in Tenswater that the troops were Rhugothian. Word of your excommunication hadn’t circulated too widely yet, so we slipped them through before the Church isolated your little shard cluster here.”

Mirelle grinned. “Excellent. I wish to see Lord Kildan as soon as it can be arranged. We have some planning to do.”

Torbrand leaned back and folded his arms. “I thought you might, and he will arrive in a few days. We need to have some arrangement for quartering his men, and you might be receiving some complaints from various of your subjects, both low and high, upon whom I have called for aid or otherwise inconvenienced . . . or offended.”

“Very well. Will you take some refreshment?”

“No. I would like to see Mena.”

“She is likely wandering the grounds somewhere with her husband.”

“Then I shall look for them. I have some instructions to pass onto him concerning how my daughter is to be treated. Good day.”

Mirelle though for a moment. “What do you make of Lord Kildan’s move, Gen?”

“Chertanne, by which I mean Athan, will turn purple with fury. All the good generals outside of Aughmere—Torbrand, Torunne, Kildan, and Harband—are now on your side of the fence.”

“And let’s not forget to put you on the list,” Mirelle said. “But what motivated Lord Kildan to act as he did?”

“Honor is the key. I can only guess, but the only way Duke Kildan could stomach Aughmerian occupation was by believing he would, in the end, serve the prophecy through complying with the commands of the Ha’Ulrich. Your dispatch no doubt opened his eyes to Athan’s duplicitous—and thus dishonorable—machinations. For him, your cause is the only purely honorable one left.”

She wiped her mouth and stood. “An interesting assessment. I am quite pleased he has come, whatever the reason.”

Gen, High Protector of Rhugoth, sat alone in the library. Two weeks had passed since Torbrand’s return, and the time had come at last to march. The Church had sent detailed instructions about where and when the armies of Rhugoth would be permitted to cross into Tenswater and through the Portal—long after the main bodies of Tolnorians and Aughmerians. They had a week long march around the Kingsblood Lake ahead of them, and the steady stream of arrangements and details and complaints had kept a good night’s sleep just out of reach for the better part of the week. The title of Lord Protector held a heavy price, and Gen wondered where Regent Ogbith had ever found the time to go for a drink at the Quickblade Inn.

Luckily, he learned to rely on the experience of Telmerran. Lesson one was to delegate everything possible. Lesson two, the people you delegate to will most likely do it wrong. Lesson three, when they do mess up, get angry but be sure not to dismiss your best people over trivial matters. As for squabbling and complaints, a good leader must know that there is rarely a satisfactory answer for a whining soldier, so find a way to reward all complaints with extra work for the aggrieved. So far, it had worked fairly well, though he admitted that much of his success he could attribute to his mystique and the general knowledge that Mirelle favored him excessively.

An hour before Gerand’s wedding, Gen had escaped all his duties and fled to the confines of the library, hoping to find some way to settle his mind and come up with a response to Mirelle’s proposal. His love for the Chalaine filled every thought of acceptance with guilt; his love for Mirelle and his general awe of her intelligence and beauty made every argument to decline seem idiotic. All the broken pieces of shattered arguments bobbed and floated on a confused sea of emotion and reason.