Gail Martin - The Sworn

Berry looked to Gethin. “Does he always do your talking?”

Gethin glowered at her. “No. While I agree with what he has said, I can speak for myself.” He looked from Avencen to Berry. “The alliance between our kingdoms makes sense. It would protect both our peoples. We’re also the best available marriage partners for each other. Neither of us would consider an agreement with Nargi or Trevath, even if they had partners of suitable age. Isencroft and Margolan have only one heir, an infant. There is honor in this pairing. I am not opposed.”

But you’re not exactly jumping for joy, either, Jonmarc thought.

Berry nodded. “Your reasoning’s sound. The burden of the crown often removes choices others take for granted. On the other hand,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “I would rather rule as a spinster queen than be tied forever to a man I loathe. An unhappy consort has opened many a kingdom to disaster.”

“You dare to impugn the prince’s honor?” Avencen’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened.

“I believe the queen has merely stated the case for getting to know one another before rushing into things, given the danger of our times,” Jencin said in a placating tone.

Berry inclined her head slightly to indicate agreement. “The coming war must take precedence over everything else, for now,” Berry said, and Jonmarc saw a glint in her eyes that told him Berry was certain that she had won this round. “You’ll be our guests indefinitely. Let’s use that time to get to know each other without the pressure of a deadline. Surely by the time the war is over, we’ll both have made up our minds.”

“That sounds fair,” Gethin said before Avencen could speak. “And it permits both sides to save face, should the alliance not go as our fathers planned.” He gave an unexpected bow, and in one graceful movement, he took Berry’s hand and kissed it. “It means I’ll have to court you and win your favor.” He flashed a rebellious grin. “I prefer to stand or fall on my own merits.”

The corners of Berry’s lips twitched as she concealed a smile. “So do I.”

For the second time in his brief reign, King Martris Drayke led his army to war.

Tris muffled a sigh as he reined in his restless horse. Moving an army was a monumental task, as was keeping it provisioned in the field. And while the Margolan coast was only a week’s ride north, the fact that food would be scarce again this year would make a difficult task that much harder.

“Final count is five thousand two hundred and forty-six,” Soterius said as he rode up beside Tris.

Tris nodded. “I’m afraid to ask, but how did we manage that? We barely pulled together four thousand men to fight Curane last year without leaving the palace undefended.”

Soterius shrugged. “Rumor has it that the plague hasn’t taken hold as much near the coast. I think some people signed up to outrun the fever. Most of the vayash moru and vyrkin refugees at Huntwood and Glynnmoor and Lady Eadoin’s manor also signed on. Trefor earned a field promotion; he’ll be leading them. As for the others, frankly, we weren’t as choosy on age if the recruits would swear they were between fourteen and fifty.” He grimaced. “And if they lied convincingly, we took them anyhow.”

Soterius paused, looking out over the group. “We’ve also taken more women as soldiers this time. Maybe it’s the queen’s influence, or maybe it’s the lack of better options that made so many come forward, but if they could wield a sword and provision themselves with equipment, we took them.”

“Do you think they realize what a fight this might be?”

“On one level or another, yeah, I think they do. Curane was a family feud, an internal problem. It’s a whole different game when there’s an invader headed for your coastline. That hasn’t been something Margolan’s worried about in a long time.”

Tris scanned the ranks. Most of the soldiers were on foot. Those with a horse were promoted into cavalry. Wivvers, their genius inventor, had brought along several of his killing machines, covered with tarpaulins and hauled by oxen. Wivvers’s machines had helped to turn the tide in the war against Curane at Lochlanimar, and Tris was glad to have him with them against a new enemy.

“The good news is that we’ve recruited more mages than before. Fallon’s been busy. We’re taking them all, from hedge witches to healers,” Soterius said. “Maybe it’s not surprising, but most of them already know that there’s dark magic afoot. They can feel it, even if they don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“We lost two generals last time out,” Tris said, watching the organized chaos of an army on the move. Supply wagons followed the infantry and mounted soldiers, and the wagons held everything from extra weapons to tents and bedding and food. Four blacksmiths’ wagons trudged along with them, as well as armorers and farriers. To move an army of soldiers, it took an army of civilians who would work behind the lines but often in no less danger to keep the army fed, sheltered, armed, and repaired. Tris glanced to one side and spotted the mages and healers. Most of them had horses, but they also took turns driving a wagon with their own supplies, both magical and medical. Even all of this, Tris knew, might not be enough to keep the army in true fighting shape, especially if the war dragged on.

“You’ve got Senne, Rallan, and me for starters. Trefor’s a colonel now. We were going to need to include him in our planning sessions; it’s good for him to have the rank to back it up. Senne and I put our heads together to promote talent within the ranks. We promoted Kiril and Taras to general based on how bravely they performed at Lochlanimar.” His eyes took on a haunted look. “Kiril assumed command when Palinn was killed. His men were the first through the wall, and they took heavy casualties, but they cleared the path. Taras handled the mop-up of sifting through the wreckage after the fighting stopped and he took charge of getting the army home. They’re both good men, and loyal.” Soterius paused. “We needed more generals. We don’t want you exposed the way you were the last time, against Curane.”

Tris grimaced. “That’s going to be hard to manage. If we really are coming up against a dark summoner, I can’t hide behind the ranks. I need to see what I’m fighting.”

Soterius gave him a sideways glance. “You’re still the king. Keeping you alive and as far out of harm’s way as we can is still our top priority.”

Against his will, Tris’s thoughts strayed back to Shekerishet, and to Kiara. Soterius picked up on the shift. “You’re not completely with us, Tris. Tell me what’s got you worried, and if I can fix it, that’s one thing off your mind.”

Tris gave a bitter chuckle. “I’m afraid it’s nothing you can fix. Kiara’s pregnant again. She was only a few days along when the army left; it’s only by magic that we knew so soon.” He let his voice trail off, not putting his real worry into words.

Soterius finished the thought for him. “And you’re worried, because Cwynn’s birth was so hard on her.”

Tris nodded. “That, and we don’t know what’s going to happen with Isencroft. She’s still heir to the throne there, and although the Divisionists are angry about our marriage, many Crofters see her as a hero.”

“You’re afraid something is going to happen that forces her to go back there, aren’t you?”

Tris gave him a grim smile. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Only for someone who’s been doing it since we were twelve years old.”

“Yes, I’m worried. I’m worried about Cwynn, worried about Kiara with the new pregnancy and me gone, worried about the Isencroft problem. Fallon tells me it’s the king’s business to worry. But she says that doesn’t mean I have to be better at it than anyone else,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.