The Queen's Gambit: Book One of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 1) (31 page)

“We will send another emissary,” she said. “If we do not hear an explosion, we will send another emissary and try again.”

Aedon nodded.

Time passed, and still no sound came down from the mountain.

“Do the miners have instructions to see it done, regardless of what else happens?” Eleanor asked Aedon.

“They won’t stop,” Aedon answered. “They’ll see it done, unless the Imirillians stop them first.”

When the army was past the midpoint of the valley, Eleanor ordered the second emissary, only to watch as they suffered the same results: each soldier killed by an arrow before he could reach the Imirillian line.

“What will make them stop!” Eleanor pounded her fist against the stone. “What can we do, Aedon?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something that will surprise them, catch them off their guard.” Aedon began to pace, biting his fingernails. “We have, including the guard from the pass, close to one hundred soldiers. Could we draw the army aside, into the woods?”

“No.” Eleanor shook her head. “They would only send a company to kill us all. There must be
something
that would make them pause or make them hesitate.” She grabbed Aedon’s arm as he walked past. “Wil is down there,” she said. “What would make him stop?”

“I—I don’t know.”

The early afternoon sun had just hit Colun Tir, and Eleanor blinked it away, looking across the valley. She thought of Wil. She thought of the sun. And then, she thought of the moon.

“Seraagh,” Eleanor said to herself. “Seraagh! I have it Aedon!” Eleanor spun and ran into the tower. Hastian followed, then Aedon. “Give the Battle Crown to Edythe,” she called over her shoulder. “I have it!”

“What are you talking about?” Aedon demanded. “Eleanor!”

“Don’t you see?” Eleanor said, almost giddy as she flew down the stairs and across the dust-filled hall. “
And Seraagh, clothed in white, rode her fair horse above the earth to fulfill every command of the Illuminating God.
Aedon!” she called back. “The scripture says that she reflects his glory, aflame and alight.”

Aedon ran past Hastian and caught Eleanor’s arm just as they burst into the courtyard. “Eleanor, what are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Aedon.” Eleanor was out of breath. “I am riding out to meet them.”

***

“No! No!” Aedon was shouting as Eleanor sprinted towards Hegleh, who, thanks to Aedon’s orders, was mounted and waiting for her. “Eleanor, you can’t go down there,” Aedon said. “They will kill you!”

“They will not expect a woman,” Eleanor shouted back at him. “Wil, or Basaal, or whoever he is, will command them not to shoot. I can buy our miners the time they need to bring down the pass!” she explained. “The queen is the most powerful piece on the board. Don’t you see?”

“No!” Aedon said, reaching Eleanor and pulling her away from her horse. Hastian was at his heels. Gaulter Alden had also come into the stable yard, as had the other soldiers. Aedon turned Eleanor around by her shoulders. “You can’t do this!” he yelled at her face. “You will die. Eleanor, I won’t let you!”

“There’s no other option!” she screamed back. “It’s the best chance we have. If I can send my soldiers to war, I can send myself. They will think I am Seraagh.”

“Who is Seraagh?” Aedon shook her. “You have gone completely mad!”

“She’s the messenger angel of the Imirillian god. She wears white, she rides a white horse—it’s a story they
all
know!” Eleanor broke free of Aedon’s grasp and pulled on the ribbon that kept the braid in her hair. “They will not shoot Seraagh.”

“I will ride,” Aedon said desperately, shaking her shoulders. “I will ride before the army.”

“They would kill you, Aedon,” Eleanor replied, catching Hegleh’s reins from a stunned soldier. “They will not expect me.”

Hastian moved past Aedon and stood before Eleanor. “I can’t let you go,” Hastian said.

“You will,” Eleanor flared at Hastian. “That’s a direct order, which you have sworn to never disobey. You must help me see this through. It is a way I can defend my people.” Hastian looked as if he would cry, but, after a moment of his eyes searching hers, he nodded and helped Eleanor mount the large horse.

“Are you a fool?” Aedon shouted, pushing past Hastian, trying to block Eleanor’s way. But Hastian pulled Aedon back, tossing him to the ground, and Eleanor cried out, urging Hegleh forward, flying towards the road leading down the mountain to the plain below.

As Eleanor rode, her hair worked itself loose of its braid, whipping around her face. The fabric of her white dress flew wildly behind her, her golden belt flashing in the sun. She had never ridden so fast in her life—her knuckles were white around the reins. Eleanor leaned forward, pulling her face close against Hegleh’s neck, shouting the white horse on, the wind ripping at her ears.

Chapter Twenty-One

Prince Basaal heard screaming in the woods.

He’d left Refigh tethered some distance out and worked his way toward the sound. An old keep came into view, and he could see soldiers moving about the battlements. The screaming stopped, then the sound of a horseman galloping away filled the space. Basaal moved closer as his eyes followed the north wall of the fortress towards higher ground. He could hear more shouting and the sounds of a scuffle. Strange, he thought, for the shouting had sounded like Aedon.

Creeping over a moss-covered crumble of stone, Basaal pressed his back to the wall of the keep itself. He waited, hearing only more arguing. He needed to know what the Aemogens were about, for he wouldn’t risk having his soldiers in the pass when they brought down the mountain. So, he had reconnoitered the mouth of the pass and had seen nothing. He hadn’t risked going farther and was about to return to his men. Then he had seen a quick shine that caught on his instinct, and, leaving his horse in the woods, he had worked his way toward it, finding the keep. Twice, while moving through the woods, he had heard a company ride out, and both times he had pulled himself into the shadows, curious what Aemogen soldiers would be about in this part of the mountain. Wondering what their actions might be able to tell him.

Now, Basaal questioned whether he would be able to learn anything, skulking around the edges of the moss-covered keep. He had waited in watch far longer than he knew to be wise. He didn’t even know who was in there. Tapping the wall behind him with his fingers, Basaal decided to leave.

Just as he began to step away from the keep an arm reached around his chest and pulled him back against the wall. Basaal’s first reaction was to grab a small dagger from his belt as he spun towards his attacker, only to be smashed in the face with a large rock just after his dagger found its mark.

***

“Wake up!” someone yelled as he was kicked again in the gut. “Wake up you coward!”

Basaal shook his head and moved from the haze of his thoughts. His hands were bound behind him.

“Get up!” Water came down on Basaal’s head, and he flinched from the cold, trying to open his eyes. Basaal’s face hurt, and he was dizzy.

Then someone grabbed his shirt and half dragged him, until he was forced against a stone wall.

“There she is on the plain!” he heard someone shout. Several people moved towards the battlements, and Basaal blinked a few more times, trying to focus his eyes. Aedon was crouched over him, his face so full of rage Basaal hardly recognized the councillor. Once their eyes met, Aedon jerked Basaal to his feet and forced him to the battlements.

“You coward!” Aedon yelled at him. “You’re not even down there to save her.”

“Save who?” Basaal said as he found his words. His lip hurt like the devil, and it was bleeding.

“Eleanor!”

“What?” Basaal asked as he shook his head and looked down the mountain. There, a rider, all in white was racing towards the advancing Imirillian army. He could see her copper hair flying as she raced. His heart jumped, and the fog dropped away from his mind.

“What is she doing!” Basaal demanded as he leaned forward against the battlement. “Is she mad?”

“You shot down our emissaries of peace,” Aedon snarled.

“We did?” Basaal cursed. He could see that his archers were again lifting their bows. Aedon tore himself away from the battlement, unable to watch.

“Please, Annan, please. Please, Annan,” Basaal muttered to himself under his breath, willing his second in command not to shoot. Gaulter Alden was standing close by, his hands shaking as he leaned against the wall. Hastian was also there, and not himself, his eyes rimmed red, pacing as he watched. Prince Basaal moved his eyes back to Eleanor. Closer and closer she came, a flash of white rushing to meet the endless sea of black and red. The archers were still poised, trained on Eleanor as she raced forward. Basaal’s entire chest constricted, and then, he blew his breath out slowly. “They won’t shoot,” he said. “They would have done so by now.”

Eleanor had slowed to a near stop, and a rider on a black horse came out to meet her. “It’s Annan,” Basaal said, closing his eyes in relief. “He will not kill Eleanor until he speaks with me.”

Aedon was sweating. He wiped his arm across his forehead and steadied himself against the wall. After several deep breaths, he opened his eyes and looked at Basaal.

“You have to let me go,” Basaal said. “There are men down there who won’t hesitate—”

Aedon walked towards him, grabbing his collar, and walked Basaal backwards, until he was forced hard against the stone wall of the fortress. Basaal’s head cocked back, a flash of pain crossing behind his eyes. He shook his head, trying to see clearly. “Aedon, please—” he said.

“What are you doing here?” Aedon demanded.

“I came up, scouting to see what had become of the guard at the pass, before sending my men through.”

“Liar,” Aedon said. “Why didn’t you, a prince, send out a real scout?”

“Because,” Basaal said, spitting blood from his mouth, “if you were still planning on bringing down the mountain, I didn’t want my men killed in the act.”

“You could have sent anyone to find that out,” Aedon pressed.

“Not if I did not want them to know what you were planning to do,” Basaal replied hotly.

Aedon took a step back from Basaal and looked toward Gaulter Alden.

“They’re taking the queen back towards their camp,” Hastian called out. Aedon and Basaal both looked back at the plain to see Eleanor, surrounded by a company of soldiers on black horses, riding west.

“That’s Drakta, my father’s war leader, and his men,” Basaal said, spitting again. “Aedon, you have to let me go. He is a man with no scruples and Eleanor isn’t safe with him.”

“We will let you go in trade for Eleanor,” Aedon said, his jaw working back and forth.

“There’s not time for that,” Basaal said, and he tried to move his arms, shaking them in frustration when he could not work them loose. “The Imirillian army does not swap hostages,” he explained hastily. “It would be a trap. They would not keep their word.”

“Surely, your father would agree to—” Aedon began.

“My father is in Zarbadast,” Basaal said, his frustrations exacerbated. “I lead this conquest.”

Silence hovered around Basaal, and he could feel the Aemogens’ anger against his back.

“Then, the price on your head,” Aedon disputed, “is all the more valuable.”

“I’m not lying, Aedon, when I tell you that they will have their way with Eleanor,” Basaal said. “My second in command, Annan, can keep her alive. But Drakta and his men will be speaking with the queen. You must let me go, and I will see her safely home to Aemogen, somehow.”

Gaulter Alden pulled Aedon aside and began talking quietly. He motioned several times towards the pass and then back at Basaal.

After a few minutes, Aedon nodded, responding to Gaulter Alden in a harsh tone, before he walked over to Basaal, taking him none too gently by the arm. “Come with me,” he said. Aedon led Basaal into a room inside the hold and pushed him towards the corner.

“Did I kill him?” Basaal asked, lifting his shoulder, attempting to wipe the blood from his lip. “Who was it?”

“What are you talking about?” Aedon demanded.

“The guard who caught me unawares just now. Did I kill him?”

“No,” Aedon scowled. “It was Duncan. You caught his shoulder pretty good though.”

Basaal made an effort not to show his relief, but Aedon discerned it.

“What are you about, Wil?” Aedon challenged. “Or Basaal, whoever you are.”

Basaal licked the blood from his lip and looked back at Aedon. “I’ll tell you honestly, a flat answer, but, you have to promise that you will consider releasing me, so I can help Eleanor.”

“Talk,” Aedon said, sounding more like his levelheaded self.

Then a sound, like Basaal had never heard, shook the mountain: thunder come from earth, rumble after endless rumble. Every other sound of collapse Basaal had ever heard before this now sounded a pathetic tinker compared to the deep baritone of the mountain being rocked.

Basaal stumbled to his knees and looked toward Aedon, whose face had collapsed in relief. The councillor fell the ground, shaking. “They did it,” Aedon said as he closed his eyes and repeated the words over and over to himself. “They did it. They did it.”

Basaal used his elbow to right himself, hissing at the pain, as he laughed out loud.

***

The sound of the tumbling cliffs still reverberated through Eleanor’s tired body. Although the collapse was several hours past, she played it over and over in her head to help her believe that it was indeed true. The Imirillian army would not be marching into Aemogen.

The relief of it was so thick that she didn’t feel she cared what happened, until a familiar voice shook her from her private victory. Prince Basaal was just outside the elegant tent, where she had been tied to a chair with a gag placed in her mouth. As his voice continued in low conversation, Eleanor sat up straight, trying to twist her bound wrists into a more comfortable position. It wasn’t working.

The tent flap was pulled back, and Prince Basaal entered, a fierce scowl on his face.

“Your Majesty,” he growled in Imirillian while walking over to a table and pouring himself a drink. After downing the contents of the cup, he refilled it and turned towards Eleanor. “May I get you something?” The offer held a tinge of relief that did not match his face. His lip was swollen, split through, as if he had been in a fight. There was also a discolored cut beneath his eye. “Well?”

Eleanor eyed the food on the table a moment before shaking her head. Seeing him made her too anxious to eat.

“They tell me you’ve been here for hours,” he said. “Which must have been a trial for you, considering no reading material was provided.” A mean smile tilted on his face. “Desperation makes fools of us all, doesn’t it? Had I known you were so hungry for my company, I could have arranged for it,” he added, flippantly.

Eleanor’s eyes burned. What astounding arrogance.

“Of all the stupid—” Basaal muttered in the Aemogen language as he slammed his cup on the table, his familiar anger coming through. At least, Eleanor thought, she knew his temper had been authentic. He walked towards her, placing his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning down until his face was right before hers.

“Eleanor, what
foolish
thing have you done?” he whispered. “Do you understand what would have happened to you had I not returned tonight?” He paused, then spoke louder in a mocking tone, looking towards the closed flap of the tent. “Are you quite
comfortable
, Your Majesty?”

Basaal pushed himself away from the chair and ran his fingers through his hair, again speaking just loud enough for her to hear. “Don’t you understand they would have ridiculed you, hurt you—had their way with you?”

Eleanor’s eyes met his. “I’m afraid with my father’s officers,” he continued, “you will not be specially treated or protected, without my express orders. Monarch or not, you are a woman, and that limits your rights under my father’s reign.”

She tried to give an angry answer, but the gag firmly held its place.

He looked at her a long while before leaning down towards her again, his lips close to her ear, the scent of cinnamon on his clothes. “Be very careful what you speak, Eleanor. Spies watch me and may hear anything above a whisper. We must be cautious if I am to help you escape.”

Eleanor pulled away from his touch and tried to scream, her eyes burning as he dared pair them as allies. He had betrayed her, betrayed them all. Her scream was muffled, but still audible.

Basaal laughed, returning to Imirillian and a normal volume of speaking. “You didn’t like that, did you? Well, you will,” he said.

Eleanor’s eyes widened at the insinuation.

“I will agree to remove your gag if you can converse civilly,” he said, still loud enough to be heard by any curious eavesdroppers. “Yell or scream, and you will wish I’d ordered you dead. Do you hear me?” His words stung, even as his expression was apologetic as he came around behind her.

Eleanor glared at Prince Basaal over her shoulder, and he just laughed loudly, cutting the rope from around her arms, then unknotting her gag.

“You swine,” Eleanor hissed while he was still close enough to hear her whisper, “How could I ever trust you again?”

Basaal studied her face. “Because I have this,” he said quietly, holding up a small piece of paper. “And, because I promise to you now that I will never lie to you again.” He gave a slightly jaded smile, adding, “unless I’m playing a part.”

She took the paper from his hand and stood. It was Aedon’s writing, scribbled in Old Aemogen. “His release now in exchange for yours later—only option we had.”

“Come,” Basaal said as he took the note from her fingers and walked over to a candle, setting it on fire. “Enjoy yourself, Queen Eleanor. You’re unbound. Make yourself comfortable.”

Eleanor took a step back, feeling the fierce expression of a wounded animal on her face as she turned her eyes warily from his back to the rest of her surroundings. The tent felt more like a royal pavilion, and was certainly made for comfort. It was filled with furnishings of red and blue fabrics lined with gold. Tassels adorned an ornate sofa, piled with cushions, at the opposite end of the tent. Intricately patterned rugs created a makeshift floor. There was an elegant writing table, chairs, several large trunks studded and lined with precious metals and pearl, and more items of luxury set about than Eleanor had in Ainsley Castle—thus traveled the royalty of Imirillia.