The Queen's Consort (27 page)

             
He stood and strode away, but Sayer's mocking laughter followed him.

Twenty-Nine

              Durnhams Keep was shut up as tight as an old maid at an orgy and was just as prickly and defensive.

             
“They're bracing for a fight, my Queen,” General Perry said.

             
Clairwyn sighed unhappily. The wind whipped strands of her hair from the long braid she wore. She brushed the strands aside and looked at the field in front of them.

             
The ground for a hundred yards around the walls had been churned into a muddy mess lined with circles of sharp spikes and, no doubt, booby traps to delay troops and topple siege engines.

             
“Sadly,” Ansel told her, “Durnham learned his lessons from the best. Me. When he and I are not fighting together, we are fighting each other.”

             
The Keep, Ansel knew, was a walled town placed on a naturally imposing bluff. The walls protected a city swelled with refugees. He fully believed that Durnham had pressed every able-bodied man in his lands into service, and now he had them standing on those walls with a crossbow and a sword.

             
And that would be just the first line of defense. Once the outer walls were breached the invaders would still have to fight all the way to the inner walls of Durnham's own fortified manor.

             
If the battle went ill the Queen could lose the war here.

             
“They are prepared for us, my Queen,” Perry said. “What shall we do?”

             
“Send a messenger and ask for Durnham to surrender. If he will not, ask again at noon.”

             
“And if he will not surrender?”

             
“Then we fight.” She gestured and Ansel, surprised, saw a young serf with a laden donkey approach. “You have what I need?” she asked the boy.

             
He nodded and opened a pack. “Yes, ma'am. These blocks are from Durnham's quarry. The same stone built the walls and most of the city.”

             
“Very good.” She gave the boy a handful of coins—more money, probably, than the boy had seen in his entire life. “Tristam, take these bags, if you please. Young man, you and your faithful steed have performed a great service for me.”

             
The boy flushed and bowed, then tugged his recalcitrant “steed” away.

             
Ansel looked at Perry, who shrugged. None of the men knew what was going on.

             
Clairwyn drew a plain cloak over her fine dress and dark hair. Perhaps she believed that made her look like just another Highland girl. To Ansel's eyes, her poise and bearing would give her away no matter what disguise she wore.             

             
“Gentlemen.” She climbed onto her horse. “Please come with me.”

             
Tristam hustled up the Guard in the time it took Ansel to gather the reins of his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. He swung into the saddle and caught Clairwyn's look of amused annoyance.

             
“I didn't want to form a parade,” she said.

             
“You're not going anywhere without your Guard,” Tristam said, “unless it's over my dead body.”

             
“Don't tempt me.”

             
She spoke the words softly as she turned away, but Ansel heard them and laughed out loud. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled.

             
“Where are we going?” he asked.

             
“That way.” She gestured vaguely.

             
He didn't ask any more questions. He didn't really care where they went. It was a beautiful day, Clairwyn was safely out of bowshot of Durnham's Keep, and her faithful army surrounded her. She and their precious babies were reasonably safe, and she was here next to him.

             
She urged her horse to an easy canter and led them around the city until, for no apparent reason, she slowed down. He watched as she cast about as if searching for something.

             
She swung off her horse and walked in a tightening circle, glancing up at the sun and at the walls of the Keep until she was satisfied.

             
“Here,” she said.

             
Everyone stared at her.

             
“Hand me a stone,” she said, her voice betraying a hint of impatience.

             
Jonas dismounted and quickly handed her one of the rocks.

             
She examined it carefully. Ansel leaned on the pommel of his saddle and studied it, too. The stone was rough-cut, squarish, and completely ordinary.

             
Clairwyn looked at the sky and the Keep, then carefully placed the stone on the ground. She walked around it in a circle and made a few tiny adjustments before she was satisfied.

             
“I need two of you to remain here,” she said to her Guard. “No one can touch this stone. No one can move it. Understood?”

             
They didn't understand the orders but they understood how to carry them out. Ansel watched, bemused, as two of the Guard dismounted to stand watch over a rock.

             
Clairwyn got back on her horse. It took them most of the rest of the day to completely encircle the Keep. Ansel realized that she positioned the rocks at the exact north, south, east and west of the Keep. He also realized that he didn’t even want to ask why she did it.

             
He figured he'd find out soon enough.

             
It was late afternoon before they finished positioning the rocks and returned to her tent. Perry was waiting for them. “As you directed, my Queen, we have twice asked Durnham to surrender. Each time he has refused.”

             
Her shoulders slumped. “Ask one more time,” she said. Despite all of her preparations, Ansel realized that she still hoped to avoid conflict.

             
Perry nodded and strode off. He and Carpenter returned shortly after dark to report that the offer had been rebuffed again.

             
Clairwyn stared off into the distance, her eyes going silver. “What will be, will be,” she said. She blinked rapidly and focused on her generals. “At dawn tomorrow the walls of Durnhams Keep will come down. Every stone from Durnham's quarry will turn to dust. When that dust settles, be ready to attack.”

             
Perry rubbed his hands. “I'll have the archers in position,” he promised. “We'll have the moveable barricades as close to the walls as we can get.”

             
“The Highlanders will be mounted and ready,” Sayer chimed in.

             
“The infantry will be close behind,” Carpenter said.

             
“And provision for the wounded?” Clairwyn asked.

             
“I will be ready,” Gladnys assured her. “We have the infirmary tent set up as close to the front line as we dare. And the pony carts are ready to transport the wounded.”

             
“Very good.” Clairwyn scrubbed at her tired eyes. “We are as prepared as we can be.”

             
Sayer twitched a little. “My Queen, the Highland girls with us want to fight. It might be worth more than my life to try and stop them.”

             
She sighed. “Give them crossbows and short swords, cousin. They imagine fighting to be much more glamorous and gallant than it truly is.” She paused. “Perhaps after they have a taste of war they will be more willing to go home.”

             
“Perhaps,” Sayer said doubtfully. “I fear they will learn to like it overmuch. And then they will have no need at all for their men.”

             
That made her laugh. “I think they'll find a use for you. Perhaps you can make yourself useful in the kitchen.”

             
“You haven't tasted my cooking,” Sayer said mournfully.

Thirty

             
The first red rays of the rising sun met Clairwyn as she stood over the easternmost stone. As the light grew stronger a shower of crossbow bolts launched from the walls of Durnhams Keep. They all fell short of her and she didn't even glance toward them.

             
The sun rose in front of her, bathing her face in a rosy glow. Her shadow crept up the slope of the hill to the Keep, stretching for it, enveloping the walls until the entire city lay in a pool of darkness. Around the walls the sun glowed warmly but the city remained shrouded in night.

             
Ansel watched as the stone at Clairwyn's feet suddenly glowed as if it burned. It cast off a ray of light brighter than the morning sun. Another beam of light erupted from the south as a second rock seemed to catch fire. The northernmost rock burst to life and then, a moment later, the western stone sent up an answering burst of light.

             
For the space of a dozen heartbeats everyone stared in wonder. And then the very earth trembled and roared under their feet. Horses voiced their terror, men cried out in surprise and fear, and a huge cloud of dust covered Durnhams Keep.

             
A shrill bugle sounded.

             
The Queen's army vaulted into action. The archers rushed forward, pushing their defensive screens up the hill. The Highlanders brought their skittish horses together to form ranks. The knights’ banners unfurled as they prepared to charge. The infantry clattered into position, swords up and shields at the ready.

             
Clairwyn didn't look. Her eyes closed and she swayed on her feet. Ansel caught her before she could fall and lifted her in his arms.

             
Her Guard crowded close around them as he carried her back to her tent. As he brushed through the flap he saw that Gladnys was already there.

             
“I will care for her, my prince,” the fey said. “Return to the battle.”

             
Ansel hesitated, torn. He desperately wanted to know the course of the battle but he was loath to leave Clairwyn.

             
“Go, my prince,” Clairwyn whispered. “You will serve as my eyes.”

             
Her words resolved his dilemma. “I will be close,” he promised. “And your Guard is here.” He glanced up at Gladnys. “Summon me if I am needed.”

             
Gladnys wrung out a cloth and placed it on Clairwyn's forehead. “If you are needed, I will call you,” she promised.

             
Ansel spared a glance for the Guard on his way out. They surrounded the Queen's tent, their faces grim. He could learn to like these guys.

             
The dust was just starting to settle when he returned to his vantage point. Beyond him the Queen's army waited, tense and ready, almost silent.

             
On the far side of their ranks sounds began to filter out from the besieged city—the shouts of men, the screams of women.

             
The dust rolled outwards, filling and overflowing the moat. The Keep's walls were gone, completely gone, and many of the city's buildings were damaged or destroyed as well. The manor at the heart of the city was leveled.

             
Ansel's mind churned, processing the sight before him. In all likelihood most of Durnham's fighting men were on the walls when they fell. The survivors staggered out now, coughing up dust and wiping it from their eyes.

             
“Drop your weapons and surrender!” General Perry shouted.

             
Instead, the men focused on the threat and raised their shields.

             
“Fire!”

             
A barrage of crossbow bolts rained down on the enemy.

             
“Charge!”

             
The Highlanders put their heels to their horses and thundered up and through the Keep's battered defenses and right into the city itself. The knights, heavier and slower, followed. The infantry took up the cry and ran after the cavalry.

             
The battle was won but the fighting would continue, perhaps for days.

             
Staggered, Ansel collapsed onto the ground. He'd scoffed at Clairwyn's tactics but he had to give her credit. Her army was spoiling for a fight and she'd given them an easy victory. But at what cost to her?

             
He climbed to his feet and returned to their tent. He found Clairwyn asleep on their bed.

             
“I gave her something to make her sleep, my prince,” Gladnys said. “She hates this, Ansel. She hates death and destruction.”

             
A quick retort rose to his lips but he bit it back. There were indeed some who thrived on death and destruction. Or, at least, they sought it out and had no qualm about sending others to die.

             
His hand curled around Clairwyn's. She wasn't weak. She just cared too much.

             
“Death and destruction are part of war,” he said.

             
“We know it. She made every effort to avoid it.” A small, secretive smile played over the fey's lips. “But where there is death, Ansel, new life can flourish.”

             
“You speak in riddles.” It annoyed the hells out of him.

             
“Then I shall speak directly: Go. Make war. Your Queen and your children are safe for now.”

*****

              Ansel rode through Durnhams Keep with Perry and Hugh. Carpenter, Goddard, and Sayer were still battling the last of the defenders. Gladnys had set up a tent for the wounded in the city square. Pony carts moved briskly up and down the streets to bring the injured for treatment. Thick stone dust coated everything and stirred around the horses' hooves with every step.

             
“Had I not seen this with my own eyes,” Perry said, “I would not have believed it.”

             
  Ansel nodded in agreement. Even though he'd seen it happen he could barely believe it himself. Well-stocked and stoutly-defended Durnham had fallen in a handful of minutes. He knew that men were slipping out of the city to carry this news throughout the kingdom. Even if her soldiers could have stopped the exodus, Clairwyn had ordered them not to.

             
She wanted Courchevel to know what had happened here. And she didn't care if the country's fighting men fell back and regrouped. She was confident that she had power enough to defeat them on any field.

             
And Ansel was starting to believe that she could do it.