The Briar King (60 page)

Neil felt naked beneath her gaze. How could she know? Did
everyone
know?

The queen didn't. “What have you done to my knight, Elyoner?” Muriele demanded mildly. “What mischief have you been up to?”

“Not enough, by the looks of him,” Elyoner grumbled. Then she brightened. “Well, each day brings new hope.”

As she spoke, her servants brought platters of boiled eggs, soft white cheese and fried apples, clotted cream, scones, and persimmon marmalade. Elseny came tripping excitedly down the stairs dressed in a vivid blue gown, followed by her flaxen-haired maid Mere.

“What entertainments have you planned for us today, Aunt Elyoner?” she asked.

“Boating on the Evermere, I think,” the duchess replied, “and quoits in the orchard meadow.”

“Out of the question,” Erren said.

“Agreed,” Neil said.

“Mother!” Elseny protested. “It sounds delightful.”

Muriele sipped her tea and shook her head. “I think this time I shall defer to my keepers. I fear I have already strained them too much by bringing us here.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” Neil said.

“Yes, praise the saints,” Erren grumbled.

“But my dear,” Elyoner said, frowning. “It's all planned! I assure you, there is no danger, here on my lands.”

“Nevertheless,” Muriele replied, “I must think of my children.”

“As you were thinking of Anne?” Elyoner asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Anne is my affair, Elyoner. I did what was needed.”

“You've sent a perfectly wonderful, spirited girl off to be broken into a nag,” Elyoner retorted, “like that old killjoy jade Erren, there.”

“I have protected her from herself,” Muriele replied. “And we shall no longer talk of this.”

As they spoke, Charles and Hound Hat had descended, the prince still in his nightclothes.

“Apples!” Charles exclaimed, sounding like a child. “Aunt Elyoner, my favorite!”

“That's right, child, I always remember,” Elyoner said. “Have as many as you want. I fear it's the only entertainment you'll get today.” She sighed and fingered her chin. “I suppose I could have my players do something for us, if you don't consider
that
too threatening, Sir Neil. Elseny, you might do a scene with them, if you wish.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be better than nothing,” Elseny pouted. “Though the boat ride would be more dear by far.”

Audra came down the stairs, alone.

“Where is the princess Fastia?” Elyoner asked the maid.

“She is feeling unwell, Duchess,” Audra replied. “She's asked me to fetch something from the kitchen.”

“I see. Well, the cook will make whatever she wants. And do take something for yourself, child.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Audra replied. “It all looks wonderful.”

Neil bit into a boiled egg, relieved that he didn't have to face Fastia yet, ashamed for feeling that way. She probably hated him for taking what advantage he had. He ate glumly as the family chattered around him and the house awoke.

A footman entered and interrupted his worries.

“There's a rider here, Duchess,” he announced. “From Eslen.”

“Indeed? What news does he bring?”

The footman bowed. “News of war, Duchess. Liery has declared war on Saltmark.”

“It's beginning,” Erren muttered. “Muriele—”

“Quite right,” Muriele said. “Sir Neil, inform the guard. We are returning to the safety of Cal Azroth. We depart in one hour.”

“That's ridiculous!” Elyoner said. “You are quite safe here, I tell you. It isn't as if Crotheny is at war.”

“It took the rider at least five days to get here,” Muriele reasoned. “This news is old. If Liery is at war, Crotheny cannot be far behind, and if we enter, so does Hansa. It is probably done as we speak. Children, have your things packed.”

“But we just
got
here,” Elseny protested. “Cal Azroth is so unutterably
dull
.”

“Yes, it is,” Muriele acknowledged. “Pack your things.”

Despite himself, Neil felt only relief. War was less dangerous than Glenchest.

CHAPTER FIVE
MEETING ON THE HEADLAND

THE SUN ROSE SMOTHERED IN FOG, paling the headland of Aenah with the color and feel of frost, so that William pulled his cloak tighter, though the sea breeze still had summer in it. His gaze searched restlessly down the cliffs to the shatter of rocks there, and beyond to the unsteady lines of water and sky. Around him, fifteen knights sat their horses silently. Robert, his face creased in unaccustomed severity, had dismounted. He, too, gazed out at the sea.

“Where are they?” William growled.

Robert shrugged. “You know as well as I that the sea roads are uncertain,” he said. “Saint Lier cares little for the punctuality of mariners.”

“And even less for that of pirates. You are certain this is arranged? Lesbeth will be returned to us?”

“We've kept up our bargain,” Robert replied. “They will keep theirs. Austrobaurg knows he has extracted all he can from us by her captivity. That's been made clear.”

“But why this clandestine meeting? Why insist that we two come along?”

Ananias Hargoln, captain of the lancers, spoke up. “My very thought, Sire. This seems most transparently a trap.” His blue-steel eyes traveled the line of the coast suspiciously.

“We've covered this ground before. My spies have secured the region,” Robert stated tersely. “Does Sir Ananias doubt his prime minister?”

Sir Ananias shook his graying head. “Not in the least, my prince. But I do doubt the duke of Austrobaurg. First he takes
captive one of the royal family, and now he will exchange her only in the presence of the emperor himself on this saint's forsaken heath of a headland. Though we agreed to allow only fifteen men apiece, the emperor has it right. This is king-slaying begging to happen.”

“Austrobaurg will have only fifteen men, as well,” Robert pointed out.

“So he promised. That does not make it so.”

Robert pointed to the winding cliffside path that led up from the sea. “We shall have ample time to notice if he brings more. No, Austrobaurg's motives are far less clandestine. He wants to throw his piss in our face and laugh when we can do nothing in response.”

“Yes, that fits,” William muttered. “I remember him all too well. A puffed-up fellow, a braggart.” He leaned in close to Robert. “Let him enjoy his moment,” he whispered. “But when this is done, and Lesbeth safe in Eslen—then, Robert, we shall discuss Austrobaurg again.”

Robert arched his brows. “Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps we'll make a politician of you after all, Wilm.”

“Assuming he comes at all,” William added.

But Robert was nodding at the waves and lifting a finger to point. “There,” he said.

William's eyes weren't what they once had been, but only a few moments later he made out what Robert had seen—the long silhouette of a galley cutting through the whitecaps toward the stony shingle below. Over the crash of surf, he began to make out the pulling chant that went with the long, even strokes of the oars.

“How many men do you make?” William asked Sir Ananias.

The knight leaned his lanky frame forward in the saddle and studied the approaching ship.

“Narry more than fifteen, Sire,” he said at last. “Same as promised.”

“Might there be more belowdecks?”

“That there might be, Sire. I advise you stay here on the clifftop whilst I make certain there's no trickery. Let me keep you safe as I can.”

“Sound advice, brother,” Robert said.

“Very well. Meet them on the landing. Tell them you've come to insure that the terms of the meeting are kept—on both sides. Tell them they may send an emissary to verify our numbers, as well.”

He watched as Ananias wound down the narrow trail cut into the white face of the cliffs, shrinking in perspective until he and his mount might have been a silver beetle. He reached the shore just as the ship was beaching, and a figure in gold-chased armor stood in the prow. They spoke, and a few moments later, the knight boarded the galley. A horse was brought up from the hold, and soon a knight of Austrobaurg's was ascending the headland. As he did so, more horses were brought from the ship to the shore.

The Austrobaurg knight introduced himself in stilted king's tongue as Sir Wignhund Fram Hravenfera, and proceeded to search the headland for any troops William might have concealed there. It didn't take much of a search; the headland was where the plain of Maog Vaost stooped to the sea. It was sheepland, clear of trees and gently sloping, with no concealing ridges or crevasses in any direction.

Ananias returned presently.

“They are as agreed,” Sir Ananias said. “Fifteen, no more and no less.”

“And Lesbeth? She is well?”

The knight's long face pinched into a frown. “I did not see her, Sire.”

William turned to his brother. “What's going on here, Robert?”

Robert shrugged. “I do not know. More posturing, no doubt.”

“I don't like it, Sire,” Sir Ananias said. “I suggest a withdrawal. Let the prime minister ask the questions.”

“Indeed,” Robert said. “Let someone with a full set of stones do the talking with this ‘puffed-up’ fellow.”

“I am thinking only of the emperor and his safety, Prince Robert,” the knight said stiffly.

“No one is withdrawing,” William said. “I want to speak to Austrobaurg myself.”

He sat impatiently as the opposing company drew nearer. They were caparisoned in high Hanzish fashion, silver and gold bells jangling on the manes and saddles of their horses, horsehair or feathered plumes streaming from their helms. William had kept his company plain, to avoid recognition on the ride to the cape. But Austrobaurg was shouting to the world who he was, knowing only William and his knights would see.

Robert was right—it was a boast, salt rubbed in the wound by the duke of a small province who had made the emperor bend to his will.

The humiliation of it tasted like rotten meat and sat sour in William's belly.

The duke of Austrobaurg was a thick, short man with a brushy mustache and eyes as green as a sea swell. His long black hair was streaked gray, and his expression was imperious as he drew rein a few yards away.

One of his knights raised a hand and spoke.

“The Duke Alfreix of Austrobaurg greets the empire of Crotheny and wishes well-meeting.”

Robert cleared his throat. “The emperor—”

William cut him off, speaking in Hanzish. “What is this, Austrobaurg? Where is my sister? Where is Lesbeth?”

To his astonishment, the duke appeared puzzled.

“Lord Emperor?” he said. “I have no knowledge of Her Highness. Why should you ask me of her?”

William tried to count to seven. He made it only to five.

“I have no patience for this nonsense,” he exploded. “You have what you wanted: twenty Sorrovian ships lie at the bottom of the sea. Now you will return my sister, or by Saint Fendve I will burn every one of your cities to the ground.”

The duke shifted his gaze to Robert. “What is His Majesty talking about?” he demanded. “We had an agreement.”

“You know very well what my royal brother speaks of,” Robert snarled.

“Your Highness,” Austrobaurg said, looking back to William, “I make nothing of this. I am here at your behest, to settle the matter between Saltmark and the Sorrows. This war benefits no one, as we agreed in our letters.”

“Robert?” William asked, turning to his brother.

Robert cackled and kicked his horse to full gallop. William watched him go, his mouth gaping.

And as he stood confused, and his knights began to shout and reach for arms, the earth vomited up death.

At first William thought it a strange flock of darkling birds, winging up from some subterranean nest, for the air was full of black flight and fearsome humming. Then the part of him that had once—so long ago—been a warrior sorted it out, as an arrow pierced Sir Ananias through the eye and pushed its blood-head through the back of his skull.

Twenty yards away, a trench had appeared as the archers hidden there pushed up its coverings of cut sod. They were clad in raven black, like the arrows they shot.

“Treachery!” Austrobaurg cried, desperately trying to wheel his mount and find cover behind his men. “Crothanic treachery!”

“No!” William cried, but the Austrobaurg knights were already engaged with his own, and swords were spilling blood. Only he seemed to notice that both sides were falling from the deadly aim of the archers.

“There's our enemy!” he shouted, drawing his sword and waving it toward the trench. “The enemy of us both!”
Robert has betrayed me.
He tried to fight clear to charge the archers, gasping as a shaft glanced off his breastplate. He watched as Sir Tam Dare, his cousin, made for the murderers, and saw him fall, quilled like a hedgehog.

An Austrobaurg knight went down in the same fashion. The head flew from the shoulders of Sir Avieyen MaqFergoist, cut by the sword and arm of a knight wearing the crest of house Sigrohsn.

A horse screamed, his own, and William saw an arrow in its neck. It reared so as to take another in the belly, then crashed to earth, twisting as it went. William twisted himself,
felt a brief, grinding snap of bone as the beast covered him. The horse writhed off, kicking. A hoof—maybe that of his own horse, maybe another—struck William in the head, and for a time he knew nothing.