The Daylight War (71 page)

‘Mother sends her regards,’ Thamos went on. ‘And gifts.’

‘Gifts?’ Leesha asked.

‘First things first,’ Thamos said, turning his gaze on Gared. ‘Gared Cutter?’

Gared stepped forth. ‘Ay, Yur Highness?’

Arther took a small scroll from his podium and broke the seal, unrolling it to read: ‘“Gared Cutter, son of Steave of the village of Cutter’s Hollow, in the name of His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck the Third, Wearer of the Ivy Crown, Protector of the Forest Fortress and Duke of Angiers, you are hereby requested and required, in the year three hundred and thirty-three after the Return, to assume the rank of captain of the Cutters in service to His Grace, and the title of Squire at court. You will be given a district of the Hollow to oversee and tax for the upkeep of your household, and report only to His Highness Lord Thamos, Marshal of the Wooden Soldiers.” Do you accept this honour, and this duty?’

A wide grin split Gared’s face. ‘Captain, eh? Squire?’

‘Do. Not. Accept,’ Leesha said through gritted teeth. It was a meaningless title. Gared was already the leader of the Cutters. This was all just a ploy to get him to swear fealty to the crown, and admit that the Cutters were part of Rhinebeck’s army and not a private force.

Gared chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. Not gonna.’

He looked up at the count. ‘Thanks all the same, Yur Highness, but there’s a lot more Cutters in the Hollow than Wooden Soldiers.’

Everyone in the room tensed. Thamos’ hand found the haft of his spear. ‘And just what are you saying, Mr Cutter?’

Gared thrust his chin at Gamon. ‘Corespawned if I’ll be the same rank as that pissant. Wanna be general. And … ay, like a baron or something.’

Gamon scowled, but Thamos nodded. ‘Done.’ Leesha put her face in her hand, feeling her temple throb again.

‘Idiot,’ Rojer whispered for her ears only.

Thamos rose and pointed his spear at Gared. ‘Kneel.’

Gared gave Leesha a triumphant grin and stepped forward, falling to one knee. Thamos laid his speartip on the Cutter’s burly shoulder. Tender Hayes came forward as well, holding out a worn but beautiful leather-bound book, its cover illuminated in gold leaf. ‘Place your right hand on the Canon, my son.’

Gared did, his eyes closed.

‘Do you swear fealty to His Highness, Count Thamos of Hollow County, answering to him and no other, from now until your death?’

‘Ay,’ Gared said.

‘Do you swear to uphold his law,’ Hayes went on, ‘to
administer fair justice to your subjects, the people of Cutter’s Hollow, and to smite its enemies?’

‘Ay,’ Gared said. ‘And twice for the last.’

Thamos gave a grim smile. ‘By the power given me by my brother, Duke Rhinebeck, Wearer of the Ivy Crown, Protector of the Forest Fortress and Lord of All Angiers, I name you General Gared of the Cutters, Baron of Cutter’s Hollow. You may rise.’

Gared got to his feet, taller than the count even with Thamos standing on his dais. The count gestured to the Butchers. ‘A uniform and armour will be provided for you. Please confer with your lieutenants after the audience and prepare your troops for muster and inspection. The Butchers have handled elevating most of the petty officers, but you of course can change their decisions if you feel it necessary.’ His tone made that sound like a terrible idea.

‘Ay,’ Gared nodded, sticking his hand out. ‘Thanks.’

Thamos looked at the hand as if Gared had just wiped himself with it, but he shrugged and shook it all the same. ‘I know you will do great honour to the ivy throne, General Cutter.’

Gared smiled a wide grin. ‘General Cutter. Like the sound of that.’

Thamos grunted. ‘And so, General, what is your assessment of the Krasian army?’

‘Big, like Leesha says,’ Gared said, ‘but scattered. They’ll get here eventually, but it’ll be a while. Got time to get ready for ’em.’

‘So you agree with Mistress Leesha that they should have free run of the Hollow?’

Gared shook his head. ‘I’d keep an eye on ’em, sure. But I seen ’em fight, corelings and men, and there’s no denyin’ they got a lot more practice at it than us. They sent men to teach us tricks to killin’ demons. Think we’d be fools not to let ’em.’

‘Very well,’ Thamos said. ‘Have your men escort the caravan to Mistress Paper’s land. Keep men posted on the border. Train with the
Sharum
,
but they are to be under watch at all times, two to one.’

‘Three to one, we’re smart,’ Gared said.

Thamos nodded. ‘Do as you think best, General.’

How
do
I
keep
getting
myself
into
messes
like
this?
Rojer thought.

But he had no choice but to speak. He’d be corespawned if he was going to start camping in Leesha’s backyard when there was a fine room waiting for him at Smitt’s.

Rojer cleared his throat loudly, and all eyes turned to him. ‘What about my wives? Can they at least stay in town?’

‘Your heathen marriage means nothing here,’ Tender Hayes cut in. ‘Taking more than one wife is an abomination. The Creator will not recognize it.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘It may mean nothing to you, Tender, but that doesn’t mean a corespawned thing to me. I said my vows.’

‘And failing to recognize the union would insult the Krasians beyond measure,’ Leesha added.

Hayes looked ready to retort, but Thamos silenced him with a wave. ‘You get one wife in Angiers, Mr Inn. Pick one. If you want the other to live in your chambers and warm your bed, the servants won’t ask any questions.’

‘Chambers?’ Rojer asked. ‘Servants?’

Thamos nodded. ‘I ask that you serve me as your master did my brother, as royal herald of the Hollow.’

Rojer kept his Jongleur’s mask in place, though his shock could not have been more complete if Thamos had turned a somersault and broken into song. He remembered what it was like, back when Arrick had been royal herald of Duke Rhinebeck. Gold and wine flowed in equal measure, and he and Rojer wore the finest silks and suede. Lords and ladies alike had bowed to Arrick as an equal, and his voice carried the power of the throne behind it as he ranged far and wide. They had rich apartments in the duke’s own manse, and access to his exclusive brothel. Arrick had spent almost every night there, and left young Rojer in the ladies’ care when he was away, or drunk, or with a woman.

In other words, almost every night.

But all of that had ended in an instant, when Rhinebeck had stumbled drunk into the bed of his favourite whore, where Rojer was fast asleep. In his inebriated state, the man hadn’t known the difference, yanking down Rojer’s bedclothes and casually overpowering his struggles.

‘Like to play the unwilling, eh, lass?’ the duke had slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. He chuckled. ‘It will do you no good. Best bend and take it. Be over quick.’

It was only when Rojer cried out and elbowed him in his fat stomach, leaping from the bed, that the duke had roused and lit the lamp. He found Rojer quivering across the room, holding a small knife as he yanked his bedclothes back up.

The duke had roared, and Arrick had returned from the hamlets to find his royal commission torn to shreds. He was given barely an hour to remove his possessions and himself from the duke’s manse. The duke had never spoken publicly of the reasons for his expulsion, and there had been a few patrons to take him in at first, but Arrick began drinking more and more, alienating one after another until he and Rojer seldom knew during the day where they would stay that night. They owed money to every bartender and innkeep in the city.

Rojer relived all that in an instant, and looked at Thamos, wondering if he was as fickle as his brother. Not that it mattered. Arrick, for his part, had been the duke’s man, happy to tell people of new taxes or privations, secure in his own position. Rojer had no such desire to speak for Thamos, a man he knew only for his reputation as a short-tempered womanizer.

He made his best leg, his face calm. ‘You honour me, Highness, but I fear I must refuse.’

Arther and Gamon both tensed, but kept silent. Tender Hayes shook his head as if Rojer were a fool.

‘Think carefully about this, Mr Inn,’ Thamos said. ‘With your heathen bride, you would be an ideal ambassador to the court of the desert demon, and your own mistress advises that we need just that. The throne would be most generous. You could even take lands and a title, as General Gared has.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Leesha Paper isn’t my mistress, and I want none of what Gared has. I want only to train my apprentices and the Jongleurs who came to the Hollow with you to charm corelings.’

Thamos’ eyes became hard. ‘I see no reason to allow my Jongleurs to train with someone who will not swear fealty to me.’

Rojer bowed. ‘With all due respect, Highness, they’re not your Jongleurs. They are mine, bought and paid for legally from Guildmaster Cholls. I have the writs. If you deny me those men, not only will you be wasting power to save lives, but every performer in Angiers will soon be singing that Count Thamos of the Hollow does not honour other men’s debts.’

For the first time, Thamos looked truly angry, but Tender Hayes laid a gentle hand on his arm, calming him.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Your little entourage can stay at the inn if Speaker Smitt will still have you. But I will not forget this.’

Rojer made another leg. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

Thamos took a calming breath. ‘Now, as for the gifts from my mother …’

Thamos gestured to Arther, who produced a small scroll bound in green ribbon, handing it to Leesha. ‘Her Grace still controls the affairs of women in Angiers, and has appointed you Royal Gatherer of Hollow County.’

Leesha fought to keep her face calm. The Duchess Mum had her in check and she knew it, for she could not sidestep as Rojer had. Legally, a Royal Gatherer outranked all others. Leesha couldn’t refuse without having someone else take the spot and begin to leach away at her own power in the Hollow, but accepting it was little different than Gared accepting a title. She would be legitimizing Thamos’ rule and accepting his dominance. Also, her position would effectively make her his personal Gatherer. The idea of having to see the count unclothed sickened her, though that was becoming her natural state these days. She stroked her bodice, imagining the life taking root beneath.

The room was deathly quiet, waiting for her response. Thamos looked as if he expected her to refuse as Rojer had. She wasn’t sure if that would please him or not.

‘Maybe you’ll get a uniform to go with that fancy title,’ Gared said smugly, and she wanted to throw a dash of pepper in his face.

At last she curtsied, a slight tug at her skirts and a shallow dip. ‘I’m honoured to consider the offer, Highness. You’ll have my answer within the week.’

Thamos pursed his lips, then shrugged. ‘We look forward to your response. Please have it by Seventhday, in case I need to send to Angiers for another to take the position instead.’

Leesha nodded her assent, and Thamos turned to Wonda. ‘As for you, Miss Cutter, I have no lands or titles to offer you, no rank or station, but my mother has taken an especial liking to you, and has sent you a gift.’ A servant wheeled in a clothing rack holding dozens of doublets, each emblazoned with Duchess Araine’s seal, a wooden crown set over an embroidery hoop.

‘Women cannot hold rank in the military, but the bow-women of the Hollow are legendary, and Mother wishes to be your patroness.’

The servant selected one of the doublets and approached Wonda. ‘May I?’

Wonda nodded numbly. The man removed her warded cloak, and she bent as he lifted the thick doublet over her head. Wonda stroked it in wonder. She bowed. ‘Ent ever had clothes so fine. Please thank Her Grace.’

Thamos smiled. ‘The doublets are a trifle. You may give them to other women you deem worthy, but Mother was adamant that the first go to you. The crown will also give purse for a team of bowyers, fletchers, and their materials.’ He gestured again, and the guards opened a wall flap, allowing in a middle-aged man, thin, with wiry muscles and a doublet emblazoned with the hammer and chisel of the Artisans’ Guild. He was followed by three young men who carried bundles of oiled cloth they carefully laid on the floor. They unrolled them to reveal fine wooden armour, beautifully warded and shining with enamel just like that worn by the Wooden Soldiers. Wonda gasped.