DAVID COE - Seeds of Betrayal

He stepped past the duke into the corridor and made his way to the nearest of the towers. Aindreas should have stopped him. He should have railed at the man for his self-righteousness. Under the circumstances he would have been justified putting him in the dungeon. A thane did not say such things to a duke, certainly not in the duke’s castle.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than watch Marston walk away. Even after the thane had entered the tower stairway, disappearing from view, the duke continued to stare down the corridor trying to summon anger or indignation or even hurt; anything other than the strange hollowness he felt.

At last he turned back to the table, eyeing the wine. But rather than filling his goblet again, he left the hall and made his way to the upper corridor of the castle, where the private chambers were found. He passed a pair of guards along the way, the men nearly jumping to salute him as he walked by, but Aindreas hardly noticed.

The duke heard the midnight bells ringing in the city just as he reached the door he sought-apart from his guards and Marston, he might have been the only person in the castle not yet asleep. Still he didn’t hesitate to knock. When no one answered, he pounded on the door a second time. Silence. He raised his fist to hammer at the door a third time, but in that instant he heard a voice from within.

“This had better be important! I’ve got my sword, and I’m mad enough to use it.”

“I’m armed as well, swordmaster,” the duke said. “So I’d sheath your weapon before you open the door.”

The door flew open, revealing Villyd, bare-chested, his hair tousled with sleep, and his eyes blinking in the torchlight. He carried a sword, though he held it point down, as if he had forgotten it. “Demons and fire! Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t know it was you.”

“You’re forgiven, swordmaster.” Aindreas looked past the man and saw Villyd’s wife still asleep in their bed. “Why don’t we go elsewhere, some place where we can talk.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The swordmaster ducked back into his chamber, emerging a few moments later wearing a shirt and strapping on his belt and weapon.

“I trust your conversation with Lord Shanstead went well, my lord?”

Aindreas frowned. “Actually no. That’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

The man gave him a puzzled look. “My lord?”

“Tell me again where we stand. What’s the state of our army?”

“We’re still down several hundred men, my lord. We lost some at the Heneagh during our battle with the army of Curgh, and a good many more in the siege. The lesser nobles are doing their best to fill the ranks, but it’s going to take some time.”

“And what of the castle?”

Villyd shrugged. “The repairs go well. The Tarbin gate is nearly at full strength again, though the last portcullis is not yet in place. The inner gates still need a good deal of work.”

Aindreas nodded. “What about Galdasten?”

“They lost more than two hundred men to the pestilence just before the harvest. From what I hear, I believe they’ve replaced more than half of them, but even at full strength, Galdasten’s army is no larger than ours.”

Aindreas shuddered at the mention of the pestilence. The lords of Galdasten had long prided themselves on their ability to control the outbreaks with the burnings that accompanied their Feasts. But nearly eight years before, a commoner-a madman-brought infected vermin to the Feast, spreading the disease throughout the court. Not only did the duke and his family die, but so did much of his army and hundreds of the common folk living in Galdasten City. This past year, when the pestilence returned, the new lords of the house chose to weather the outbreak rather than resorting to the burnings again.

“And the others?”

“The others, my lord?”

“Eardley, Sussyn, Domnall,” he said impatiently. “The others who stand with us against the king.”

“They’re minor houses, my lord. Each has six hundred men; Eardley may have eight hundred, but no more.”

They reached Aindreas’s chambers and the duke opened the door, leading the swordmaster inside.

“That’s not enough men, is it?”

“For what, my lord?” the man asked, dropping himself into one of the chairs as Aindreas stepped to the hearth. “I have to confess that I don’t understand what you hope to accomplish with this alliance you’re forming.

I know that you feel Curgh and Glyndwr conspired to keep you from the throne, but that’s done now. If you wanted the throne for yourself, you should have moved against them before Kearney’s investiture.“

It was not a tone Aindreas would have tolerated at most other times. But it was late, and he had roused Villyd from his bed.

“I don’t want to be king,” the duke said.

Villyd raised an eyebrow, drawing a grin from Aindreas.

“All right, let me put it this way. It’s not the crown I seek, not right now.”

“Then what, my lord?”

“I want Kearney off the throne. He betrayed this house by granting asylum to Tavis, and in return, Javan gave him the kingdom. He may claim to have taken no sides in this dispute, but he owes everything he’s become to Curgh. So long as he rules Eibithar, there will be no justice for Kentigern.”

“Will you sacrifice the Rules of Ascension to destroy him?”

“Gladly, if that’s what it takes.”

The swordmaster nodded. It was hard to tell what he thought of the duke’s aims, though Aindreas suspected that he disapproved. “If your aim is to challenge the king, my lord, then you haven’t enough men. Not anywhere near. And I doubt you ever will. The king has not only his guard, but also the army of Glyndwr. Javan will join him as well, as will Tremain and Labruinn. And I assure you, if you move against the crown, Thorald and Heneagh will oppose you as well. Even if the other houses stand with you-and I’m not convinced that they will-it will not be enough.”

“What if we had Thorald?”

Villyd looked at him keenly. “Do we?”

The duke turned away, gritting his teeth. “No.”

“I’m not sure it would matter, my lord. Thorald might balance the scales, particularly if Tobbar brought Heneagh with him. But still it wouldn’t be sufficient. Kearney has Audun’s Castle. You’d need an overwhelming force to take it from him.”

“You said before that you weren’t certain the other houses would stand with me in such a fight. What about you, swordmaster? Would you fight beside me to break Kearney’s hold on the throne?”

Villyd lowered his gaze, the light of the blaze shining like torch fire in his dark eyes. “I serve Kentigern, my lord. I gave an oath many years ago to follow you and your house, even if it led me to my death. If you command me to fight Glyndwr for the crown, I’ll do so.” He took a breath. “But I hope with all my heart that you’ll not give that command.”

It was a more honest answer than he had any right to expect, perhaps a more honest one than he deserved. No doubt if Villyd felt this way, his men did as well. Raising an army to fight the king would not work. Villyd’s words made that clear, as had his own conversation with Marston.

But Shanstead had said something else this night that gave the duke reason to think there could be another way. A year ago he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of considering such a thing. But a year ago Brienne still lived. A year ago the man who had harbored her killer did not wear Eibithar’s jeweled crown.

Bistari, Aneira

The tavern was so empty, so quiet, that Rodaf could hear the sign out front rattling in the wind. He often heard it during the days, but by this hour on most nights enough people crowded the tables of his inn to make it hard to hear an order from a man standing right in front of him, much less any sounds from beyond the tavern walls. Not that he should have expected any better. It was his own fault for opening at all one night before Bohdan’s Night. Aliya warned him it would be like this tonight, and though he had told her to keep her mind on her stitching, he had to admit that she had been right. He wouldn’t bother opening tomorrow night, nor would he do this again next year. For now, however, he had little choice but to remain open and serve those who came in.