The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) (16 page)

“When other countries sought to deal with Aemogen, to take her treasures, Ainorra Breagha was careful and wise. She weighed offers of trade and alliance with care, refusing many before she settled on the ancient country of Bylja Svain, making a treaty with Hildr Rogg, their king. They were far across the water, but they were sea-born and sea-bred, and they traveled far in their mighty ships.”

Wil drew his eyebrows together. He’d heard but little of the Bylja Svain, and had not known Aemogen shared history with that ancient nation. “They brought gems and jewels, skins and gold,” Eleanor continued. “Aemogen, in turn, sent metals, weapons, grains, silver, and seeds. But, Ainorra Breagha would not tell the Bylja Svain’s captains the way around the dangerous port of Calafort. Unless committed to perfect memory and touch, no man can navigate these waters safely. So, the Bylja Svain would anchor far from land and wait until Aemogen ships came for trade,” Eleanor said, pausing briefly.

“At first, the Bylja Svain were amicable, but, soon their king, who had sought Ainorra Breagha for his bride and been refused, pleaded the cause of his captains. ‘They are weary from their long journey across the Darke Deyja Seas,’ he said. ‘Since we have been friends these many years, teach my captains how to navigate the Aemogen sound.’ Ainorra Breagha refused.

“But, Hildr Rogg grew angry and sent a message, saying that if a show of friendship was not made, he would withdraw his trading. The councillors of Ainorra Breagha would be remiss if they lost such a powerful and wealthy ally. So, they pled with the queen. She finally sent word to Hildr Rogg that three of his captains would learn the Aemogen waterways and be allowed to harbor at Calafort.”

“The Aemogen sailors spent many months teaching the Bylja Svain captains. They practiced until they could wend their ships past those unseen graves of many a man. All was well for five more years, and both countries thrived in wealth.”

Wil shifted, and waited for Eleanor to continue. A fierce look had come into her eye.

“One evening, as the sun was setting far across the western mountains, shadows were seen on the sea. They were Bylja Svain ships. But, rather than three coming for trade, there were twelve. Each wound its way, following signals and lights from the ships ahead,” Eleanor said, gesturing with her hand.

“The people of Calafort were afraid as they heard the calls of war from the water. Soon, men with weapons and shields poured into the streets. A messenger was sent to ride hard for the towers of Old Ainsley, where Ainorra Breagha lay sleeping. He arrived in the night, calling out the news of the attack.

“Now, Aemogen had no national army, but rather a company of men assigned to each fen in the land,” Eleanor explained, her eyes moving to Wil. “Ainorra Breagha knew that Hildr Rogg’s men would march up the eastern coast and capture Old Ainsley. So, she called on the men of the castle and on the men of the nearby fens. Who were the fastest riders? Who were swift? Who could rally the men of the fens and call them to battle?

“Fifteen young men were chosen,” she smiled as she continued. “They were true and virtuous. Ainorra Breagha blessed them each with a queen’s blessing and called them her fen riders, sending them out as the early touches of the day lit the eastern sky.

“She now had only one hundred men around the castle. They prepared and waited as Ainorra Breagha walked from turret to turret along the high battlements, her red dress blowing in the morning wind. She walked and watched and waited, praying speed down on her riders and courage into the hearts of her men.

“More horsemen arrived from Calafort,” she continued. “It had been ransacked, men, women, and children killed. The survivors fled to the towers, claiming four hundred assailants were at their heels. Old Ainsley took in the seafolk from Calafort, prepared the men for war, and waited for word from Ainorra Breagha. She continued to walk the battlements, watching the southern road for Hildr Rogg and his army, and the northern road for her own.

“When she reached the western turret she looked out across the Barrows of Ainse. There, the graves of all her predecessors lay, mounds of soil to cover their bones from winter’s chill, grass and flowers, as reminders of beauty, growing above them in spring. As numerous as the pebbles of the beach below the cliffs of Taise, their graves stretched west towards the woods. Then she remembered the legend of the first king and his son, Prince Coir. When the King lay dying, he pled with his son to bury him in the fields west of the humble walls beginning to form the towers of Old Ainsley.

“‘Bury me close,’ he had said, ‘that when trouble arises, I am at hand.’

‘I will see it done,’ the son had vowed.

The son did as his father asked and buried his mother the same. For hundreds of years, the men and women of Old Ainsley were buried in the Barrows of Ainse, uttering the same promise made by the first king: that they would offer aid to their children and their children’s children.

“When Ainorra Breagha remembered the promise, she called her captain to her. ‘Stand fifty men before the towers, facing the south road,’ she told the captain. ‘Then stand the remaining fifty to the west, the barrows behind their steps. When the men of Hildr Rogg come up the south road,’ Ainorra Breagha explained, ‘the men from the west must run them into the sea, and the men standing before Ainsley towers must hold their ground and see that the towers are kept.’

“The young captain argued with his queen, saying that she was a fool and that they would all die.” Eleanor’s voice broke as she told this part of the tale. Wil knew that he had thought her a fool many times for trying to defend with so few against so many. He bowed his head, as she took a deep breath and continued. “Nevertheless, he set his men: fifty before the castle and fifty standing with their backs to the barrows on the west. Ainorra Breagha returned to the battlements, a single archer at her side, and watched the road. When Hildr Rogg and his men came into view, her soldiers stood, trembling. None had come to their aid save a few.

“The men of Hildr Rogg fanned out to face both flanks of the Aemogen forces. Hildr Rogg himself saw the queen on her towers and demanded her surrender. She called down to Hildr Rogg that he had broken his covenants to the people of Aemogen and that if he continued, his men would not see the light of another star.

“Hildr Rogg laughed. ‘What are your men against my warriors?’ he said ‘We are trained for war, and you are trained unto servitude.’

“‘We are trained for triumph,’ was the answer Ainorra Breagha gave.” Eleanor lifted her chin higher and continued, “The men of the fens began to arrive. They came from the west and from the north, and fell into the line of the men at the edge of the barrows. Hildr Rogg called for his soldiers to advance and take the castle, so Ainorra Breagha told her archer to release a warning shot. But Hildr Rogg only laughed and swore he would sit on her throne before midday.

“The battle commenced. It was a dark day—the sun did not break the clouds—and many fell against the gates of Old Ainsley, their blood smeared on the gray stone. As the soldiers continued to defend their queen, men of the fens began to arrive in greater numbers. They joined in strength and fell upon the battle-weary Bilja Svain before the Ainsley gates. The young captain celebrated the fidelity of the fens and took courage, swearing until the day he died that an unseen hand had rested on his shoulder, and urged him forward, and so, forward he went.”

“As the battle continued, three of Hildr Rogg’s men broke through the gates and entered the towers of Old Ainsley, hoping to burn it to the ground. The Aemogen men rallied, and as they came upon the men of Bylja Svain, their courage took hold, and they ran the army of Hildr Rogg over the cliffs of Taise, letting them fall to their deaths in the angry sea.

“With victory won, they turned towards the flaming castle. The eastern tower had fallen, and the queen was no longer seen on the battlement. The soldiers could not put out the fire, neither could they find Ainorra Breagha. But then, out of the smoke, came the single archer, carrying Ainorra Breagha to safety. She called him
her own,
and for the rest of her days, he served to protect his queen.” Eleanor paused, her voice taken by the winds coming off the cliffs of Taise. No one spoke, and no one moved. All waited for her to finish the tale, listening as the sounds of the sea crashed in the distance.

“It has been said,” she continued, “many times over the centuries that on nights when the wind lifts itself above the waves, it moves as if it is beating against the ancient towers of Old Ainsley, diverted, as it were, by invisible walls where the castle once stood. And, if one is to look up towards the battlements, there can be seen a beautiful queen, walking the invisible turrets against the night sky, an arrow in her hand. And out from where the castle towers of Ainsley once stood, there can be heard the rushing of one hundred hoofbeats, riding from all directions across the Aemogen landscape, coming to the aid of the queen.”

Eleanor sat still, Hastian silent behind her, his face sober. Her soldiers also remained unmoving. Wil bowed his head, telling himself that he did not want Eleanor to see his face. But, he wondered if he, in truth, did not want to look up and risk seeing the beautiful ghost of Ainorra Breagha, walking along the shade of her long crumbled towers, looking straight into his heart.

Chapter Eleven

“Training in Old Ainsley fen will be different,” Crispin had promised.

And, to Wil’s pleasure, it was.

The tenants of Old Ainsley had brought with them from Marion a cultural love of swordplay. At last, Wil found himself engaging with men who offered him a more robust challenge. He relished the fights and, for the first time since his arrival in Ainsley, fought full and hard, sparing no thought for his opponents.

He needed to shake the ghosts of Ainsley away. And he needed to forget that Eleanor was preparing for an impossible war, hanging onto tales of impossible victories. Wil felt anger rise with each blow, and he gave himself over to the fight, forgetting all else.

***

The council gathered inside the fen hall after dusk. Eleanor watched each man as they waited for Thayne to come and join them. Gaulter Alden and Crispin were happy with the training; Sean was pleased with the mounts; and Briant, satisfied with the craft and weaponry of the Old Ainsley smiths, was whistling. Doughlas was absent, having been sent back to Ainsley Rise with a dispatch for Edythe. Aedon had admitted to Thayne and Eleanor, earlier in the day, that he feared the numbers of all Aemogen would not be sufficient to fight, and the worry of it rested still on his face. Wil sat looking sullen at the opposite end of the table from Eleanor, inside his own head. As for herself, Eleanor did not feel well: her eyes were sore, her neck aching, and she wished for sleep.

“Thistle Black is not friendly to your monarchy,” Thayne began, once Eleanor had opened the meeting.

“I know,” Eleanor said, looking down at her hands. “He criticized my father’s rule in the past and, consequentially, my rule as well.”

“Yes,” Thayne nodded. “But, it is more than that. I’ve heard him say that the mine of South Mountain fen belongs to his family, not the country of Aemogen.”

“Ridiculous,” Eleanor stated. “It was my grandfather who sent Black and his family south to open more mines, and who provided all the equipment and support for years. It is a national mine. His role, as fen lord, is a gift of the crown as well.”

“Thistle Black, according to some of my men, does not agree with fighting the Imirillians,” Thayne added. “He wants to join forces with Zarbadast and become a useful asset to the empire. He has already considered forging his own trades.”

“That’s treason,” Aedon said flatly.

“Surely we can win his allegiance in some way,” Eleanor said, looking around the council. “Make him see the foolishness of his aspirations and how it would affect the entire country,” she suggested. “Is he so unreasonable?”

“Thistle Black has always wanted power,” Gaulter Alden said as he sat back in his chair. “He was like that as a young man. And power and reason are rarely the same thing.”

“Humph,” Wil disagreed, drawing Thayne’s attention to him.

“What are my options for regaining his allegiance without removing him from his place?” Eleanor asked, as much to herself as to the others. She stood up and walked behind her chair, clutching it with her hands and drumming her fingers along the wood grains. “Any ideas?”

Thayne was about to speak, when Wil’s voice cut across the room.

“It’s clear what you have to do,” he said. All eyes turned towards him.

“Is it?” Eleanor said.

Wil stood. “You and I have disagreed about how a monarch should relate to their people.” His eyes were set directly on her, and she did not look away. “You favor loyalty born of love and friendship. I favor deification of a monarch to inspire submission.”

Thayne was now watching Wil carefully. Every part of Eleanor was tired. She was not feeling up for a challenge, or a verbal spar, especially with Wil. They had gotten on so well the last several days.

“This entire battle run,” Wil continued, “you have ridden up to the people in plain dress, greeting them as if they were all second cousins—talked, laughed, encouraged—and the fens have loved it,” Wil admitted. “Clearly, they are affectionate towards you as their monarch. But,” he added, “now you have this man, Thistle Black, who, although I have never met him, appears to have little respect for all of that.”

“Get at a point, Wil,” she said.

“You must ride into South Mountain fen in power,” Wil stated. “No laughter, no games, no disorganized guard calling hello to their aunt.” Wil raised his voice and lifted his hands. “Make this man see you for the person you are, in the station you are in. What is a fen lord to a queen?” Wil demanded, hitting the table with his fist with unexpected force. “Nothing!”

No one spoke. It was as if the others present felt they were eavesdropping on a personal exchange. Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but she knew she would not sound steady. Eleanor instead took another deep breath. Wil, appearing suddenly conscious of the others, began to sit down and then, as if still more had to be said and he was determined to do it, stood up straight again and pointed a finger at Eleanor.

“I’m not sure if you realize this yet, Your Majesty,” he said. “But you are the supreme power of this country. What you say goes whether your council agrees with you or not.”

Eleanor began to object, but Wil held up his hand. “They have power because you give it to them. Only when you fully know
that
will you become a threat to any dissenters—or any foreign power, for that matter.”

Crossing her arms, Eleanor gave Wil a terrific glare. His own expression narrowed in response and he continued. “When you ride into South Mountain fen, let your guard be sharp. Let your call for aid be accompanied by a grueling day of training. Instead of being encouraging and complimentary, as you have been, criticize them, be exacting; make them earn any praise you have to offer.” A hint of fervor passed through his features, something that both needled and comforted Eleanor: he wanted her to succeed, badly.

“Do not let your power stop there,” he continued. “They run a national mine? Ask them about the workings of it. Ask them what their profit is. A disgruntled man with thoughts of his own ambition is often a thief, in my experience. Check their records. Chances are he is stealing from the crown. Let him know that you are onto him and that if he does not fall in line, there will be consequences. Make this Thistle Black fear he is of so little importance that he can be disposed of, easily, along with his entire family, if you so desire.”

“That sounds a bit harsh,” Eleanor heard herself reply.

“It is,” Wil said curtly. “And that’s exactly what you need to be if you are to earn the respect of a man like Thistle Black.” Wil sat down again in his seat and leaned back, his arms folded, his eyes burning.

She stared back, challenging, agreeing, and disagreeing in one long, visual exchange. Then someone cleared their throat, and Eleanor broke the connection. Thayne was looking from the queen to Wil and back again. He frowned as Eleanor sat down in her chair.

“I will not change who I am,” she said. It was meant to be a personal thought, but the words had just spilled out.

The room was silent, everyone avoiding looking at Eleanor and Wil.

“Let’s hear your thoughts, council,” Eleanor snapped, when no one would speak.

“This young man may be right, Eleanor,” Thayne said, braving the taut atmosphere between the queen and the traveler. “You have great maturity for your age, which causes you to shy away from using your power to force those around you. That is to be commended. But, there are times when, used wisely, rulers must show that they wield this weapon—”

“And, for the sake of anything that is in heaven,” Wil interrupted Thayne, “take advantage of the impressive skills of this fen to get some decent clothing. Let them tailor you a wardrobe that no one could mistake as that of a plain country noble. You are a queen,” Wil added, “so look the part, act the part. Be a monarch they dare not cross.”

“Yes, thank you, Wil, for your observations on my wardrobe,” Eleanor shot back with uncharacteristic acidity. “I believe, council, that the arguments have been clear. It is late, and I desire some time to think about the problem Thistle Black poses. I would appreciate if you would do the same. We will continue this conversation at a later time,” she said. “Please have dinner sent up to my room.”

Wil stood, as did everyone else, when Eleanor left the table and retreated up the back staircase. Her cheeks burned, but, with an internal plea towards her more measured self, she refrained from slamming the door.

***

Only Aedon and Wil remained at the table after the room had emptied, the other councilmen seeking fresh air away from the tense exchange.

“Say it,” Wil said, pushing his chair back from the table, although he did not get up.

“Say what?” Aedon looked away from the figures on a paper before him and candidly met Wil’s glare.

“Whatever it is you disapprove of.”

“To be quite honest,” Aedon said, “I agree with you, as I am sure will Eleanor—if not in method, then in spirit. Thistle Black is a stubborn, self-important bully, and I would love to see him set in his place for the benefit of all. It was your delivery that was, on the one hand, inflamed, and on the other, quite—” Aedon hesitated, “personal.”

Wil felt the memory of his exhibition pull at his chest, and he frowned, moving his fingers across his forehead, feeling uncomfortable beneath Aedon’s calm scrutiny. “If you think that was inflamed,” he finally said, “you should witness the arguments my family gets into.”

Aedon stared. “Pass,” was his only response when it came.

Wil smiled despite himself. The tension of the room cleared, and he disappeared out a backdoor of the fen hall, seeking whatever solitude he could find.

***

Eleanor sat on the edge of her bed in the upstairs chamber, staring at the patterns in the floor intensely. It had not occurred to her, until that evening, how wearing it was, to always be in the presence of others with little personal respite. Her emotions had gotten the better of her, her thin patience pushing back. She bit her lip, angry and embarrassed. Why had Wil’s biting counsel antagonized her so? Why could she not have listened dispassionately, rationally thinking through his words, and stated her response with clarity? Why did his words feel like a threat? And why, of all the silly things, did she care so much for his opinion? He was only a foolish, tempestuous soldier from the borders of Imirillia.

“And what a temper he throws about,” she hissed, still angry that she had buckled and exhibited the same lack of self-control. A knock sounded on the door, which she ignored. Eleanor remained on the edge of the bed, cursing her public reaction. To make a spectacle of oneself was the worst kind of torture. The knock came again a few minutes later, and then, the door opened.

It was Thayne who entered, closing the door behind him, and sitting next to Eleanor. Putting his arm around her, he kissed her on the forehead and pulled her close. Eleanor sniffed, fighting her tear-rimmed eyes. Thayne was always whatever Eleanor needed him to be; he was her personified mainstay.

“You have done well,” he said. “Your father would be proud.”

Eleanor nodded numbly, but she didn’t look up.

“Is all well with Edythe?”

“She is engaged.”

“Well,” Thayne said as he squeezed Eleanor’s shoulder and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I thought he would never ask. You can be quite fierce to approach.”

“Can I?” Eleanor gave a quick laugh and pulled back, interpreting Thayne’s expression. “That’s not what it sounded like this evening.”

“Thistle Black is a fool,” he said. “You have proven yourself to all of Aemogen time and time again. You need not change who you are for him.”

“And yet—” Eleanor added dully.

“And yet?” Thayne asked and paused.

“And yet, you agreed with Wil.” Eleanor took a deep breath, as if she were struggling for air. The sound of the nearby ocean pounded against her chest. “I am so tired tonight. Even the thought of waking in the morning for training is almost—” she broke off.

“It is late. A dark night is never the time to make a decision, for your emotions always get in the way. Let us deal with Thistle Black tomorrow.” Thayne smiled and looked at her face. “The people of my fen love and respect you, they also don’t require anything that you don’t have to give. You can sleep tomorrow, if you do not wish to rise. But, for now, come join me below. You will feel better once you have eaten. The others have already gone. After you eat, we will walk the cliffs, watch the stars, smell the ocean,” he said. “Let the wind blow your sorrow from your bones.”

“Father always said you were a bit of a poet.” Eleanor smiled and leaned into Thayne’s arms, her head resting on his chest.

“So I am, dear,” Thayne said as he looked out the window. “So I am.”

“Well, what else have you to say?” Eleanor pressed. “I know when you’ve got something catching on the tip of your tongue.”

Thayne pulled back from her and looked at her honestly, moving the muscles in his cheeks, as if reforming a question several times in his mind. “I am rather curious,” he finally said, “about the newest member of your war council, this Wil Traveler.”

“Ah,” Eleanor sniffed. “Wil.” She rolled her eyes. “And you have already spoken with Gaulter Alden or Crispin, haven’t you?” Eleanor asked as she turned on the bed and faced Thayne, her leg tucked beneath her.