Tower Lord

“We thought he’d come to aid us. Though the Departed know how he could’ve gotten there so quickly.”

“You are saying,” Veliss put in, “that Fief Lord Darnel is a traitor? That he led his men against the King’s host?”

“I am, my lady. And as for the King, I met some refugees from Varinshold on the road. Word is the King’s dead.”

Silence reigned and Reva wondered at her lack of exultation. The King of the Heretic Dominion lies slain and all I feel is dread.

“There were no survivors?” Veliss pressed. “The Battle Lord?”

“Last seen charging the Volarian line, alone,” the cavalryman replied. “As for survivors, Lord Marshal Caenis had rallied the Wolfrunners and a few other regiments for a rear guard, but they were sorely pressed last I saw. My own Lord Marshal sent me and four others to bring news to you here, I was the only one to make it.”

“Thank you,” Uncle Sentes said in a faint tone. “Please leave us to consider your tidings. Quarters will be provided.”

The cavalryman nodded, rising to his feet, then hesitating. “You should know, my lord. The tales I heard on the road leave little doubt as to the nature of our enemy. These Volarians do not come just for conquest, but for slaves and blood. They cannot be treated with.”

Lady Veliss gestured at the door with a polite smile, leading the man from the chamber. “Lord Darnel seems to have found grounds for treaty,” she commented when the door closed.

“Darnel is a self-glorying fool,” the Fief Lord replied with little emotion. “Though I never thought his vain ambition would lead him to this. One wonders what they promised him.”

“I told the guard captain on the gate to send scouts north,” Reva said. “If they come, we should have warning.”

“I seriously doubt it’s a question of ‘if.’” He turned to Veliss who stood with a hand covering her mouth, eyes distant. “No counsel for me, my most trusted advisor?”

Veliss swallowed and glanced at Reva.

“My heir should hear your wise and honest guidance, don’t you think?” he told her.

“Five pounds of gold lie waiting in the basement of this manse,” Veliss said. “Swift horses in the stables and a well-attended port an hour’s ride south.”

Reva found herself on her feet, advancing towards the woman with fists clenched.

“He desires honest counsel,” Veliss protested, backing away.

“Reva!” Uncle Sentes barked as she reached for the Asraelin woman. “Leave her be!”

“Just a whore after all,” Reva said, glowering at Veliss but stepping back.

“In recognition for your good and faithful service to this fief,” Sentes told Veliss, “you may take one of those pounds of gold, and a swift horse of your choosing, and depart with no recrimination.”

A flush of anger marred Veliss’s face. “You know I won’t do that.”

“But you would have me do it?”

“I would have you live. You heard what the soldier said. If the Realm Guard can’t oppose them, what chance have we?”

Uncle Sentes rose from his chair and went to the long window at the rear of the chamber, looking out at the grounds and the rooftops jutting above the manor wall. “Did you know this city has never been taken? My grandfather held it against Janus’s father for a whole summer. Eventually, the besiegers grew more starved and diseased than the besieged and they went back to Asrael, leaving half their army behind. Janus, always wiser than his father, never even tried to take this city, he knew all he had to do was keep ravaging the fief.”

“What’s to stop the Volarians doing the same?” Veliss asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Uncle Sentes turned back from the window, smiling at Reva. “You, my wonderful niece, are also free to take . . .”

“What do you intend, Uncle?” she broke in before he could finish.

An unfamiliar expression came to his face as he looked at her, an odd smile of contentment on his wine-red lips. Pride, Reva realised after a second. He finds pride in me.

“When I first went to enjoy the hospitality of King Janus’s court,” the Fief Lord said after a moment, “before I developed my appreciation for wine, and other pleasures, I had a liking for games. Especially cards. They have a complex game in Asrael called Warrior’s Bluff, where victory depends largely on how you bet. Stake too much and your opponents know you have the better hand, too little and they see your bluff. I must have played a thousand games, becoming rather rich in the process I must say. Eventually it was difficult to find others willing to play against me and I found other distractions.”

“So,” Veliss said. “How much do you intend to stake now?”

“Warrior’s Bluff gets its name from one particular hand, the Lord of Blades and the five other cards in the martial suit. Even if every other player holds cards with grater value, if you hold the Warrior’s Bluff, the game is yours.” He moved to Veliss and embraced her, Reva seeing how her fists bunched in his tunic, the knuckles white. Uncle Sentes drew back and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I intend to stake it all, my lady, for I suspect the Lord of Blades sits high in our deck.”

? ? ?

The commander of Alltor’s City Guard stood tall and straight, breastplate gleaming, his grey whiskers neatly groomed. Behind him the six hundred men of the guard stood in ranks, all similarly polished and straight-backed. Beside them stood the four hundred some men who made up the Fief Lord’s House Guard, all at least six feet tall as tradition dictated. A thousand men to hold a city, Reva thought as her uncle stepped onto the back of a cart. It won’t be enough. As many times as she had fought, she had never seen battle so had no experience to support the gloomy conclusion, but the cavalryman’s tale had left little room for optimism.

The muster had been called less than an hour before, convened on the gravelled parade ground next to the barracks. Rumours were already flying: the cavalryman’s appearance at the gate had been well marked, so many of these men would no doubt suspect trouble was brewing, yet every face betrayed only the stoic discipline of the long-serving soldier. The wind was stiff, stirring dust and setting cloaks and banners aflutter, her uncle obliged to shout to make himself heard.

“War comes to us,” he called. “Unsought and unjust, brought to our shores by the foulest race this world has yet to birth. I do not beg your loyalty, I do not seek to persuade. I tell you simply you must stand here and fight what comes or face death if you are fortunate and slavery if you are not. Our enemy brings no other gifts. I give you all this day as your own. Go home, be with your families, look into the face of your wife and imagine her raped, look on your children and see them as corpses. Look at this city and see it as a burnt and wasted shell. Then, come the morning, decide if you will stand with me and my valiant niece, as we defend this city.”

He turned to step down from the cart, pausing in surprise as voices were raised in the ranks, a few at first but soon building until a great cheer ascended from every soldier present, fists and swords raised to punch the air. Reva scanned the chanting faces in the ranks, seeing mostly fear and sweat, but also something more. Not courage. Desperation, or is it hope? They find hope in a drunkard’s words.

The commander of the City Guard strode forward as the Fief Lord stepped down from the cart, saluting smartly.

“Lord Arentes?” her uncle asked.

“I know I speak for my men, my lord,” the man said in formal tones, his back just as straight as before. “We need no day for reflection. The defence of this city requires every hour at hand.”

“As you wish. No doubt you will have requests to make in due course.” He extended a hand to Reva. “The Lady Reva will stay at your side throughout the preparations, any requests will be made through her.”

The old guardsman gave Reva the briefest glance of examination, too quick to judge his reaction, but she heard a certain tightness to his tone when he replied to her uncle. “As my lord wishes.”

Uncle Sentes leaned close to kiss her cheek, whispering, “Keep an eye on the old buzzard for me.”

“I’d like Arken to assist me,” she said as he drew back.

“I’ll send him along.” He went to his carriage, leaving her with the Lord Commander.

“I thought I might tour the walls, my lady,” he said. “If you would care to join me.”

? ? ?

The walls were fashioned from great blocks of granite, each taller than she was, held in place by virtue of their sheer weight. “Stood unbroken for four hundred years, my lady,” Lord Commander Arentes said in answer to her query. “Some cracks showing in the lower stones, but I’ll still stake the city on their strength.”

Reva recalled one of the stories about Al Sorna’s exploits during the desert war. The details were vague, and Al Sorna himself had simply ignored or waved away any question she voiced about those days, but it had something to do with the Alpirans sending great engines against the city he had seized.

“Aren’t there engines?” she asked. “Devices capable of bringing down walls like these.”