David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

“They wish to make a traitor of me,” he muttered.

To which a voice in his head replied, You’re a traitor already, made so by your own actions .

“Where is my wine?” he called again, his voice echoing in the corridor like thunder.

A moment later a boy peered into the chamber like a frightened dog.

“You have my wine?” the duke demanded.

The boy nodded, stepping warily into the chamber. He carried a flagon and cup.

“Quickly, boy!” he said, waving the servant forward.

The boy set the cup on Aindreas’s table and began to pour. But the duke grabbed the flagon from his hand, spilling Sanbiri red on the table and floor.

“Go get more,” the duke said. “I’ve a mighty thirst today.”

The boy fled the chamber, eager to obey.

The rest of that day and the entire night were lost to him in a fog of wine and grief and rage. It was only the following morning, when Aindreas awoke to a hard rain and keening winds, that he even remembered that the king’s men had come and had made camp outside the walls of his city. Dressing quickly, he left his bedchamber in search of Villyd, only to find that the swordmaster was waiting for him outside his presence chamber.

“My lord,” the man said, bowing to him.

“Swordmaster.” He opened the door to the chamber and entered, with Villyd close behind. Now that he had found the man, he was reluctant to reveal his concern for the king’s soldiers. Had Villyd had his way, the men would have been sheltered for the night. “I’ve been looking for you,” he finally said. “When I saw that it had been raining I. .” He trailed off, glancing toward his writing table, hoping that perhaps there would still be wine there. He would have given his sword for a drink just then.

“I had tarpaulin and poles taken to the men last night, my lord, as the storm moved in. I knew that you’d want them to be sheltered, even if they did come here as agents of the king.”

Aindreas tried to keep himself from looking too relieved. “My thanks, swordmaster. As you say, we have no quarrel with these men, only with those who sent them.”

“Quite so, my lord.” Villyd hesitated, eyeing the duke closely. “Shall I send for their captain, my lord? He awaits word from you.”

“Not yet, Villyd. Later, when I’ve had a chance to consider what message I want to convey to the king.”

The man pursed his lips briefly, then nodded, “Very well, my lord.” Still he lingered, seeming to muster the courage to say more.

“Is there something else you wish to discuss, swordmaster?”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but I wonder if you’ve considered the consequences of further angering the king.”

Aindreas glowered at the man. It was one thing for the duke to question his own judgment. It was quite another for one of his underlings to do so, even one as trusted and intelligent as Villyd. “To be honest with you, swordmaster, I haven’t given the matter any thought at all. I don’t give a damn if I anger the king, nor do I care if his men rot in their little camp outside my walls. Kearney offered protection to Tavis of Curgh when I was certain that the boy had killed my daughter, and he embraced Javan as his ally though Curgh and Kentigern were on the verge of war. He has shown no consideration whatsoever for the House of Kentigern. Why should I care a whit if I anger him?”

Villyd stared at the floor, his color high. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me.”

“Now get out.”

Villyd started to leave, turned once as if to say more, then shook his head and walked out of the chamber.

Aindreas didn’t see the swordmaster for the rest of the day. Twice guards came to his chamber, asking if the duke was ready to speak with Kearney’s man, and both times the duke sent them away, telling them that he would summon the captain when he was ready. The truth was, however, he feared this audience with the king’s soldier. The duke didn’t know what the man had been instructed to say to him, but he felt certain that the captain would expect Aindreas to reaffirm his loyalty to the realm or declare his intention to stand against the Crown. The duke wasn’t prepared to do either. He needed more time, but it seemed clear that neither the conspiracy nor the king was willing to give it to him.

An hour or so after the ringing of the prior’s bells, as Andreas sipped from yet another cup of wine, someone knocked at his door again. Squeezing his eyes closed and rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger until they hurt, he called for whoever had come to enter.

The door opened and a soldier stepped into the chamber.

“My lord-”

“No,” Andreas said angrily, “I’am not yet ready to speak with him.”

“I’am sorry, my lord, but that’s not why I’ve disturbed you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Then what do you want?”

“There’s a Qirsi woman at the gate, my lord. She’s asking to speak with you.”

Somehow Andreas was on his feet. “Which gate?”

“My lord?”

“From which gate did she come?”

The man shook his head, a puzzled look on his blunt features. “She’s at the east castle gate, my lord.”

“No, I mean the gate through which she entered the city.”

“I believe it was the north gate, my lord.”

Of course. That was the gate nearest the quays. The king’s men never would have seen her from their camp. He let out a breath, steadying himself with a hand on his table.

“Shall I bring her to you, my lord?”

This was’t a discussion he wished to have tonight either, but he could’t very well refuse her. It struck him as a measure of the Iris threat that he should fear this white-haired merchant so much more than he did his own king.

“Yes. I’ll speak with her now.”

The man bowed and withdrew. Aindreas drained his cup of wine, but when his servant lifted the flagon to pour more, the duke shook his head. “Leave me,” he told the boy. “I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

The boy nodded and all but ran from the chamber. Aindreas stepped around his table and began to pace, wishing now that he had let the boy fill his cup before leaving. He was about to call the servant back when he heard a knock on the oaken door.

“Enter!” he said, a flutter in his voice.

The door swung opened, revealing Jastanne, slight and pale, like a candle flame, standing between two guards who towered over her.

Aindreas eyed her for a moment, then nodded to the men. “We’ll speak alone,” he told them.

Jastanne gave a wry grin and sauntered into the chamber, leaving it to the guards to close the door.

“I thought you didn’t want to risk any more meetings,” Aindreas said, trying to keep his tone light. “Only written messages, you said.”

“Yes, I remember.” She dropped herself into a chair. “But I thought a visit to your castle was warranted. The movement’s leaders wanted me to make certain that you appreciated fully the importance of our last message.” She opened her hands. “What better way to do so than to come here myself?”

“I only received your message yesterday. That’s hardly time enough to give it the consideration it deserves.”

“I realize that. But I also know that the king’s men arrived yesterday as well.” She tilted her head to the side. “Such a strange coincidence.” The woman continued to watch him, as if searching his face for some response. When he offered none, she gave a small shrug. “In any case, I didn’t want the arrival of Kearney’s men to serve as a distraction.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that she would know about the soldiers. No doubt the Qirsi had spies in every major city in the Forelands by now. But he found it disturbing nonetheless. Even had he been ready to make peace with the king and find a way to extricate himself from this alliance with the white-hairs, even had Ioanna allowed it, Jastanne and her underlings would have found a way to stop him.