David Coe: Shapers of Darkness

So very soon. All he needed was to wait a short time longer, with the patience of the youngest brother.

City of Kings, Eibithar

There can be no more question of their intent, Your Majesty,” Gershon Trasker said, watching the king closely. He had known Kearney for years, since before the man became Eibithar’s king, or even Glyndwr’s duke, and had long thought him a wise and strong leader. But Gershon’s father used to say that there was no greater test of a king’s mettle than war. The swordmaster found himself wondering how Kearney would respond to these latest tidings from the north coast and the banks of the Tarbin River.

“You believe they mean to attack as one, the empire from the sea, and Aneira across the river.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I do.”

Kearney shifted his gaze. “Do you agree?”

Half a year ago, perhaps as recently as three turns ago, a mere season, he would have asked this of Keziah ja Dafydd, for she was his archminister. More to the point, she had once been Kearney’s lover. Gershon had never thought to see the day when anyone would supplant her as the king’s most trusted advisor. But on this day, she sat in the far corner of Kearney’s presence chamber, alone and ignored. The king had spoken not to her, not to any of his Qirsi, but to Marston, thane of Shanstead, whom he had taken into his confidence in recent days.

“I’m afraid I do, Your Majesty. The empire has always maintained a formidable presence in the waters north of Thorald, Galdasten, and Curgh, but their fleet has not menaced our shores so in my lifetime. This latest marshaling of their vessels only makes sense as the prelude to an attack.”

“And the Aneirans?”

The thane gave a slight shrug. “For several years now, House Solkara has been pursuing closer ties with the emperor, and I’m not sure that Harel is confident enough to contemplate war with Eibithar without support from the south. I agree with the swordmaster: the assault, when it begins, will come from both realms.”

“How long do we have?” the king asked, looking at Gershon again.

The swordmaster rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes falling to the messages that had arrived that morning. His knowledge of letters was not what it should have been; even Elric, his youngest child, had begun to write simple words under the watchful eyes of Sulwen and the castle tutors, and here he was, one of the king’s most trusted men, and he could barely read more than the boy. He had never let the king know how little he understood of the messages they discussed. He had his pride, and he had managed thus far to hide his ignorance. Just as he would now. For though he had little understanding of letters, he did know numbers, and in this matter, numbers meant more than the words beside them.

“It’s hard to say, Your Majesty,” he answered after a few moments. “Judging from the number of Braedon ships in the waters around the islands at the top of the scabbard, I’d say that we don’t have much time at all. The emperor has already gathered a large force. He could order them into our waters tomorrow, and our fleet commanders would have about all they can handle.”

“But?”

“It’s these numbers from our scouts on the Tarbin, Your Majesty. If the Aneirans intend to engage enough of our army to help the empire with an invasion, they’ll need a few thousand more men. As it is. .” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“So you think they’re still moving men northward?”

“Looking just at these numbers, I’d have to think so. But they have no more soldiers on the Tarbin than they did half a turn ago. I would have thought that they’d be bringing in more men, but thus far they haven’t.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Perhaps the regent needs his men elsewhere,” Keziah said.

They all looked at her, the king with his lips pressed thin, a wary look in his eyes. The archminister seemed to quail at what she saw on his face, and for a moment Gershon thought that she might not say anything more.

“What do you mean?” the king demanded.

“Ever since Carden’s death, we’ve heard talk of discontent among the other Aneiran houses with the Solkaran Supremacy. It’s even been said that some of the dukes are fomenting rebellion. What if it’s more than talk? What if the regent hasn’t sent more men northward because he’s afraid to leave himself too small a force to guard against those in his realm who might oppose him?”

“It is possible,” Marston said quietly. “Some of the other houses may even have refused to send additional men to the royal house.”

Kearney stared at Keziah a moment longer before sweeping the chamber with his gaze. All the dukes who had traveled to the City of Kings were present-Javan of Curgh, Welfyl of Heneagh, Lathrop of Tremain-and, a sign of how seriously the king took the latest missives from his scouts, so were their ministers. Some of the dukes had been in the royal city for over a turn now. Kearney had summoned them to Audun’s Castle after the Qirsi woman held in the prison tower of the great fortress confessed to being a traitor and the person responsible for arranging the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern.

Yet this was the first time since the dukes had come to the castle that their Qirsi ministers had been included in any of the king’s discussions with his nobles. Gershon sensed that Marston wasn’t pleased to see them here. The thane seemed to be as distrustful of the white-hairs as Gershon once had been, and during his brief time here he had managed to convince the king to regard his Qirsi with suspicion as well.

But this had become a council of war, and Kearney was wise enough to consider advice from all who might offer it. No doubt he wished that more of his dukes had answered his summons, even those who had joined Aindreas of Kentigern in his feud with Javan and his defiance of the king.

“If all this is true,” he said now, regarding the other nobles, “if the Aneiran army has been weakened by dissent within the realm, what should we do?”

“There’s only one thing we can do, Your Majesty,” Javan said, from his chair near the open window. “We must prepare for war as if the Aneirans had massed ten thousand men on the banks of the Tarbin.”

Welfyl sat forward, his bony hands gripping the arms of his chair. “But the regent’s weakness offers us an opportunity. We can send a larger force to the north coast to repel the emperor’s invasion.”

Javan gave a wan smile. “We haven’t the men to do so, my friend. Aneira may be weakened by rifts among its houses, but so are we. If we had the armies of Galdasten and Kentigern, I’d agree with you. But we don’t.”

“Surely the other houses will join us to fight an invasion.” Welfyl glanced at the others, looking old and frail. “Maybe not Aindreas, but I’ve known Renald of Galdasten since he was a boy. He may be ambitious, but he’s as loyal to this realm as any of us.”

No one spoke up to agree with him. They just sat, silent and brooding, almost as if they were embarrassed.

“Any invasion from the north will land near Galdasten. The cliffs are lowest there, the strand the broadest. You can’t doubt that he’ll guard his dukedom.”

“He can guard Galdasten without fighting to repel the invasion,” Javan said. “If he seeks the throne, he need only keep his army strong and his city and castle whole.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” the old duke said, shaking his head. “Is this what we’ve become then? Are we no better than the Aneirans? Are we more concerned with our petty quarrels than with the defense of our realm?”

“I assure you, Lord Heneagh,” the king said, his voice hardening, “the same message you received summoning you to Audun’s Castle was sent to every house in Eibithar. If some choose to place other concerns above the welfare of the realm, then so be it. But I have not.”