David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

The soldiers led them through the wicket gate and into the first of the castle wards. Aindreas awaited them there.

It had been nearly a year since Gershon had last seen the duke. The turns had taken their toll on the man. He was still huge; indeed, if anything, he looked heavier than he had at Kearney’s investiture. But his eyes were sunken, his skin blotchy, unnaturally flushed in some places, ghostly pale in others. It seemed to the swordmaster that the duke was being consumed from within, as if his grief and hatred had loosed a demon in his heart.

The duke didn’t move as Gershon and the others approached. His sword was sheathed on his belt, and his feet were firmly planted in the grass, as though he were daring his guests to step past him.

“Trasker,” Aindreas said, his voice taut. He eyed the dukes. “Tremain, Labruinn.”

Gershon gave a small bow, though a part of him felt that the man didn’t even deserve that much. “Lord Kentigern.”

“Have you come to take my castle?”

“Had it been up to me, I would have. But Kearney sent me to drive back the Aneirans and to offer what aid we could. Are you in need of provisions, healers, arms?”

Aindreas narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting from Gershon to Caius to Lathrop and back to the swordmaster. “Kearney told you to do all that?”

“He did.”

A man approached the duke, his face bloodied, his uniform torn and stained. He was powerfully built, like the duke of Labruinn, but shorter of stature. It took Gershon a moment to recognize him as Villyd Temsten, Aindreas’s swordmaster. He whispered something to the duke, who eyed him briefly before nodding and dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Villyd hesitated, then walked away.

Aindreas raked a hand through his red hair, his pale eyes fixed on the ground before him, as if he were deep in thought.

Watching him, Gershon began to feel uneasy. He glanced about the ward, as if expecting to see Kentigern’s soldiers closing on them, but he saw only a few men lingering near the gates to the inner keep. “Lord Kent-”

“I have something to tell you.”

“By all means.”

“A large contingent of the Aneiran force that had been laying siege to my castle marched northward this morning.”

“The farmhouses,” Gershon whispered.

Aindreas looked up at that, meeting the swordmaster’s gaze. “Yes. They burned the farmhouses and fields as they went.”

“How many men?”

“Well over a thousand, most of them from Solkara. I believe they were headed toward Galdasten.”

Gershon nodded. Of course they were. A thousand men wasn’t many, but with enough bowmen, they could inflict heavy losses on Kearney’s army from the south as the king battled the men from Braedon to the north.

“There was nothing I could do to stop them,” the duke said, seeming to misinterpret Gershon’s silence. “They sought to draw me out of the castle with the fires they set, but I couldn’t risk compromising the safety of the tor. You understand.”

“I do, my lord. But we need to go after them. They’re already nearly a full day’s march ahead of us.” He turned to Lathrop and Caius. “My lords, please ready your men, and inform my captains of what’s happened. We march within the hour.”

Both men nodded. “Of course, swordmaster,” Lathrop said.

Facing Aindreas once more, Gershon said, “Thank you, Lord Kentigern. I’m sorry that we can’t do more for you, but my first duty is to the king.”

“I want to go with you.”

Gershon stared at the man. Lathrop and Caius, who were nearly to the gate, had stopped and were eyeing him as well.

“But after all the damage that your castle sustained-”

“Mertesse is in retreat. He’s lost too many men, and he no longer has the Solkarans by his side. I’ll leave a few hundred men here to guard the tor, but he won’t attack again, at least not soon.”

“My lord-”

“Kearney thinks me a traitor.” He faltered, looking to the side for just an instant, almost as if he had spotted something out of the corner of his eye. “I want to win back his trust,” he said at last. “You can’t tell me that several hundred more men wouldn’t help your cause.”

“Of course they would, my lord.” He took a breath, then pressed on, knowing that he was about to put his life and that of his companions at risk. “But I don’t know if I trust you to ride with us. You’ve made no secret of your hatred for the king, and you’ve done nothing in the turns leading up to this war to indicate that you care a whit for the welfare of this realm. I fear that if you march with us, you may betray us.”

Aindreas’s face shaded to scarlet, but rather than flying into a rage, he merely shook his head. “I won’t. Everything you say about me is true. But this siege has. . has opened my eyes. And so has your arrival here. I’m in debt to the king, and to you, even more than you know. I’d be grateful for the opportunity to repay that debt.” His eyes darted to the side, once more, and he licked his lips. “I swear to you on the memory of my daughter, Brienne, that I will not betray you or defy the king again.”

Unsure of what to do, Gershon looked over at Lathrop and Caius. Labruinn held himself still, but after a moment the duke of Tremain gave a single nod.

“Very well, Lord Kentigern. Ready your men. They’ll be marching under the king’s banner, and so will be under my command. Are you prepared to follow my orders?”

“I am, swordmaster.”

Gershon nodded. He still wasn’t certain that he was doing the right thing; he dearly wished that the king were here. But something in Kentigern’s manner convinced him that the man wouldn’t betray them. After a moment he turned and followed Caius and Lathrop out of the castle and back down the road toward the king’s army.

“I don’t trust him,” Caius said quietly.

Gershon glanced back at Aindreas, who was watching them walk away. “Neither do I, Lord Labruinn. But he swore on the memory of his daughter. He wouldn’t have done so lightly.”

“So we’re placing our faith in a ghost?”

“No,” Lathrop said. “We’re placing our faith in a father’s love. And I, for one, feel quite confident that our trust will be rewarded.”

Yaella was by the river when the siege failed. She had heard shouting and screams, and had watched as the blazing pots of oil flew from the hurling arms, but she had merely assumed that the duke of Kentigern had sent out another raiding party. Only when the cries of Aneira’s men turned desperate did she begin to understand that another army had come to break the siege.

Soon men were streaming down the road toward the Tarbin, many of them falling as arrows and bolts pelted down upon them. She heard her duke shouting orders, urging his men to stand and fight, but the soldiers would not listen, and soon Rowan gave up. She saw him at the rear of his army, fleeing as well.

And she knew that the time had come.

All around her was bedlam-panicked men, horses straining against their reins, healers and their wounded desperate to cross the river before the men of Eibithar descended upon them. It was perfect.

A small part of her grieved at the thought of leaving Mertesse. She had served in Rouel’s court for nine years, and had been with Rowan for another. A decade. Not much to an Eandi, but nearly a third of her life. She had possessions in her chamber in Castle Mertesse that she would never see again. Gold she had earned in the Weaver’s service, clothes and baubles she had accumulated over the years, gifts Shurik had given to her. She regretted having to give these up, particularly the gifts from her beloved. She knew as well that she would have some need of gold in the coming days.