David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Welfyl said. “Forgive me.”

“You’re here, Lord Heneagh. You’ve pledged yourself to the defense of Eibithar. There’s nothing to forgive.”

Welfyl lowered his eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“It’s time all of you returned to your homes,” Kearney told them, looking and sounding every bit the warrior king. “Lord Heneagh is correct in saying that Galdasten is the most likely target of any seaborne invasion. No doubt the Braedon fleet will attempt to take Falcon Bay and control the mouth of Binthar’s Wash. That would give them a powerful foothold from which to wage a land war.” He turned to Javan. “Lord Curgh, once you’ve returned to your home, I want you to take your army north and east. Obviously we don’t know how much help you can expect from Galdasten, so you should take as many men as you can spare from the defense of Curgh. I’ll send five hundred men from the King’s Guard north with you, under your command.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Lord Shanstead, you shall have five hundred as well. I assume that you’ll be commanding the army of Thorald.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Good. You too should take them to Galdasten. And you should do the same with your men, Lord Heneagh. I’ll also send an additional two thousand men north. Perhaps we can outflank the Braedon army as it lands. I’ll send word to Eardley and Domnall instructing them to go north. If they’re with us, that should be enough.”

And if they’re not? The question burned in every pair of eyes trained on the king, but no one in the chamber gave it voice. No doubt they all feared the answer.

“What of the rest of us, Your Majesty?” the duke of Labruinn asked.

“The armies of Labruinn and Tremain will march south to the Tarbin. So will the Glyndwr army, and fifteen hundred men from the King’s Guard. I’ll send word to the dukes of Sussyn and Rennach, but again, we should plan to fight this war without them.”

Javan’s Qirsi cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Forgive me for asking, Your Majesty, but what if Lord Kentigern joins forces with the Aneirans?”

The king glanced at Gershon. The two of them had discussed this possibility just an hour earlier, before the nobles and their ministers joined them in the chamber. At the time, neither of them had an answer, and the swordmaster had yet to think of anything. The king had sent men to Kentigern hoping to compel the duke to pay his ducal tithe and declare his loyalty to the Crown. They had heard nothing from the men since, and Gershon feared the worst.

“I have no choice but to hope that Aindreas is not so consumed with hate for me that he’d do such a thing.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

It wasn’t much of a response, but no one in the chamber seemed inclined to challenge him on the matter.

“What of our allies in the east and south, Your Majesty?” Javan asked.

“I’ve already sent word to the king of Caerisse and the archduke of Wethyrn, asking them to consider joining us in any war against Aneira and Braedon. I’ll send new messages today, and include in them the information we’ve just received. And I’ll send word to Sanbira’s queen as well. She asked us to join in an alliance against the conspiracy. It seems that we need more than that now. But again, we must assume that we’re fighting this war alone. If we go into battle with one eye on the horizon, watching for allies who never come, we’re doomed to fail.”

“Where will you be, Your Majesty?” Marston asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. A king should be wherever his men are fighting and dying, but in this case that’s not possible.”

“The greater challenge looms in the north, Your Majesty.” Javan. “You should be there.”

Gershon wondered if one of the Southern dukes would disagree, but Lathrop nodded his agreement. “Lord Curgh is right, Your Majesty. Braedon is the more dangerous foe. If the emperor’s assault can be stopped, the battle with the Aneirans will go our way as well.”

A mischievous grin crept across the king’s face, one that Gershon knew well, though he hadn’t seen it much since Kearney’s ascension to the throne. “With all my dukes urging me to ride toward the more dangerous foe, I have to wonder if you want me to survive this war.”

Both Javan and Lathrop started to protest, but Kearney held up a hand, silencing them. “It was a joke, my friends, or at least an attempt at one.”

“Your Majesty possesses a singular humor,” Javan remarked dryly.

“So I’ve been told.” Kearney paused once more, looking from one face to the next. “I needn’t tell you that we fight for the very survival of the realm. If we were united, I wouldn’t fear at all, for I’ve seen the strength of Eibithar. But divided, against these foes, we must fight as we’ve never fought before. And we must remain watchful as well. I sense behind all of this the hand of the conspiracy. If the renegades truly seek to weaken the courts so that they can take the Forelands for themselves, then this war will give them as fine an opportunity as they’re likely to have.” He stood and drew his sword, holding the flat side of the blade to his forehead and bowing to the rest of them. “May the gods keep you safe, may Orlagh guide your blades, and may we next meet to celebrate our victory.”

Everyone in the chamber stood and, led by Javan, the nobles pulled their swords free and saluted the king, much as he had done a moment before. “Ean guard our king!” they said in unison.

Then, one by one, again led by the duke of Curgh, the nobles came forward, knelt for a moment before the king, and left the chamber. Each was followed in turn by his minister, after the Qirsi bowed to the king as well. If any of them were discomfited by the king’s words regarding the conspiracy, they showed no sign of it. Gershon cast a look toward Keziah, who stood now, though she was still alone. She met his gaze, but the swordmaster could read little from what he saw in her eyes.

Marston was the last of the nobles to offer obeisance to the king, as was appropriate, since he was the lone thane among them. As he straightened and started toward the door, the king called to him.

“Lord Shanstead, please stay for a moment. I wish a word with you.”

“Should I go, Your Majesty?” Gershon asked.

“No, swordmaster. Please remain.” He looked past Gershon toward Keziah. “You may go, Archminister.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She bowed and left, as did Marston’s young minister.

When they had gone, and a servant had closed the door, Kearney returned to his throne and sat. “Gershon, I always thought that when I rode into battle, it would be with you at my side. I see now that this isn’t possible.”

The swordmaster had expected this. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“As Javan and Lord Shanstead suggest, I’ll ride north to meet the threat from Braedon. I want you to lead the defense of the Tarbin. Take whichever of your captains you wish to have with you. I’ll make certain that the dukes understand that your orders carry the weight of the throne.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t fail you.”

Kearney smiled. “I’ve never doubted that for a moment.”

The swordmaster started to ask a question, then stopped himself.

“What is it, Gershon?” When the swordmaster still hesitated, the king sat forward, his brow creasing. “Come now, swordmaster. This is no time for diffidence.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I was wondering, since you said that the Glyndwr army would be coming to the Tarbin, will Lord Glyndwr be leading them? And if so, shouldn’t he command the armies, and not I?”

The king stared at him a moment, then sat back once more. “Kearney the Younger won’t be fighting in this war.”