Chained (Chained Trilogy) (2 page)

“You speak of matters you know nothing of, boy,” Percyvelle snapped. “It is known that Krea came to him willingly. They son she bore—”

“Speak not to me of the wretched bastard that killed my mother!” Theodric bellowed, his sword sliding an inch from its scabbard. The slide of steel against leather was unmistakable, and Theodric had an arrow from the sheath at his hip and between his fingers in an instant, his opposite hand tight on his longbow. “Do not dishonor my mother by naming Prince Favian’s seed her son. He was no brother of mine.”

“Heed me, boy,” Percyvelle replied calmly. “
I feel poorly about it, truly. My brother loved her madly, and in his madness he acted foolishly. Nonetheless, ’twas your father who ended the peace between our realms, not he.”

“You did nothing,” Theodric argued. “You saw that Prince Favian was courting danger with his flirtations. As his elder brother and his king, it fell to you to give him wise council. Where were you when he was spouting poetry and sending her lavish gifts in full view of my father and
his vassals? Where were you when he pursued her without discretion or shame?
Where were you
when he bestowed his favor upon her at the Tourney of the Kings?”

“What man heeds wisdom when his mind and heart
are incensed by love? I tried, boy … gods, you will never know how I tried. Still, it can be argued that King Terrowin exacerbated the matter by maliciously attacking my brother in the joust. Had he competed with honor, instead of impaling my brother on his lance, things may never have escalated as they did.”

Theodric drew his sword at last, at the exact moment that Percyvelle notched his arrow. Theodric held the longsword before him with two hands, his hood falle
n back from his head to reveal a face edged in malice and anger. Percyvelle pulled back on his bow’s string with excruciating slowness until it kissed his cheek, resting there as the arrow waited for the command of its master.

“Enough!” Merek bellowed, stepping between them and praying that Percyvelle was a steady hand at the bow. If the
king so much as sneezed, he was a dead man. “Lower your weapons and cease your quarreling. I have brought you here to speak of peace, not rehash the past.” The two men complied, albeit reluctantly. “Queen Krea and Prince Favian are no more. Both are dead, the gods preserve them, but we are still here and the realms of Daleraia and Dinasdale are in peril. We will speak no more of the past, Your Graces. The future is of far more interest to us all.”

Percyvelle replaced his bow at his side and slid the arrow back into his sheath. “Very well. Heed His Grace, boy, and let us get on with it.”

Theodric glared at Percyvelle as he slid the longsword slowly back into its sheath. “My sword remains sheathed for now, but call me boy again and I will carry your head back to Daleraia by those pretty locks of yours.”

To Merek’s surprise Percyvelle laughed, his thunderous voice booming out over the bay. Merek smiled, his hold on
his sword’s hilt slackening a bit. This would be harder than he had first thought, and he cursed himself for not realizing it before now. There were decades of bad blood between House Maignart and House Toustain, and while young prince Theodric had every right to his anger over the death of Queen Krea, he had not even been born when the feud was truly begun. Yet, it was not in Merek’s best interest at the moment to point out to the young man that his grandfather, King Terrowin Maignart I, had begun it all with his pursuit of Princess Farah Toustain. His actions had not been unlike those of Prince Favian. Rejection of his suit had wounded the king’s pride, compelling him to kidnap and imprison Farah, forcing her to become his concubine. Unlike Queen Krea, the princess met her end at the hands of her captor, who had hung her from the battlements of the Wraith’s Tower.

No,
Merek decided,
it would not do at all.

The men standing here knew their history. King Merek was less interested in the
annals that had been written than he was in writing some of his own.

“Now,” Merek continued when he realized he had the attentions of the two men, “let us speak upon the matter at hand. The realms of Daleraia, Dinasdale, and Camritte will soon fall into ruin if we do not put a stop to this war.
How long before you’ve burned your great cities to the ground with your fighting?”

“What concern is it of Camritte what takes place between Dinasdale and Daleraia?” Theodric asked. “Our quarrels are none of your affair.”

“No,” Merek agreed, “I suppose they are not, except for the matter of commerce and trade. Our three kingdoms rely upon each other, do they not? When your storehouses are emptied of timber, will you then go crawling to Heywick? Need I remind you that the lords of Heywick are vassals to the Toustains? And what of you, King Percyvelle? When your blades have gone dull, do you suppose the miners of Haleah will supply you with more steel? Furthermore, what do you expect me to do when your bloody war begins to cross the bay?”

“I suspect you would then be compelled to choose a side and raise your banners,” Percyvelle challenged.

Merek met his challenge with one of his own. “Or, I could avoid such a thing and pose another option. The time has come for peace, Your Graces.”

“We had peace,” Theodric sneered. “Prince Favian negated the treaty by kidnapping my mother!”

“There would not have been a need for the treaty, had King Terrowin I not kidnapped my aunt and slaughtered her before her father’s eyes!”

“Enough I say!” Merek commanded, knowing that the king and young prince were seconds away from coming to blows. “It matters not why there was war, or who broke what treaty. We agreed to speak of the future
, and that is what we will do. In the name of amity, I have a proposition for you. Separately, our kingdoms are powerful, though we still rely heavily upon each other. It is essential to our survival. So, I beseech House Maignart and House Toustain to consider a joining with House Arundel, to put to this war to rest once and for all.”

Percyvelle stroked his smooth, dark jaw thoughtfully. “An alliance, you say?”

“More than an alliance,” Merek ventured. “A new kingdom. Three realms, joined into one under one king. Think of it, Your Graces. Harmony between our realms, united under the power of our three great houses. No force could withstand us.”

“Just who will rule this new kingdom?” Theodric questioned with a dry laugh. “I suppose you plan for House Arundel to take its place as the royal house of this new realm.”

Merek shrugged. “I am not opposed to the idea, though that is not my aim. Should Daleraia yield to Dinasdale—”

“Never!” protested Prince Theodric. “The Daleraians will never bow to kidnappers and
oath-breakers!”

“No more than the Dinasdalians will concede to murderers and rapists!” Percyvelle countered, his hand once again moving to its bow.

“Becalm yourselves, Your Graces!” Merek was growing weary of their fighting. Yet, they had not protested his notion of one joined kingdom. It was a start. “Can we at least agree, three realms joined into one is an answer to our dilemma?”

Percyvelle nodded and Theodric mumbled his agreement grudgingly
. “Aye, it could work.”

Merek nodded. “Good. Very good, Your Graces. We are now on the right path. Let us continue upon it without looking back. Now, I know that if you both feel this way, there are bound to be others th
at share your sentiments. It falls to us to find those men and gather them—in a council of sorts.”

“Pray tell, what will be the aim of this council?” Percyvelle asked, seemingly curious.

“They will decide the fate of our realms. If we are going to come to a decision, we must hear the voices of influential men from all three kingdoms. They will speak for their people, and we will build our new world together. What say you, Your Graces?”

Theodric’s fingers scraped along the rough stubble on his jaws as he pondered the proposition. “Aye, it could very we
ll work. I am willing to try if King Percyvelle is. Sadly, my father will not be of much help to us. Since Mother’s … death, he has nursed his hatred for all Dinasdalians. That is why I am here in his stead. While the past still angers me, I, unlike my father, am willing to forge a path toward a peaceful future.”

“Are you prepared to do what must be done, Your Grace?” Percyvelle asked, his voice low. “If King Terrowin will not agree, then you w
ill have to go against him publicly.”

Theodric nodded, though Merek could see the prince’s eyes were clouded with doubt. “You must act in the best interest of your people,” he said. “His Grace is right. You must be
certain before we proceed, that you are prepared to do what must be done.”

“Do not give me cause to regret telling you of this,” Theodric sighed, “
but I have already met with my father’s council on the matter. They are prepared to name me Regent in his stead, declaring him incompetent to rule. Since her death, he has descended into madness. I fear it will doom our realm if someone does not act. So yes, Your Graces, I am more than prepared to do what must be done.”

“The gods are
good,” Percyvelle answered, reaching out a hand toward the prince. Theodric flinched, but did not pull away when the king grasped his shoulder. The two men clasped hands between them and Merek smiled.

“Very well, Your Graces,” he said. “We are in agreement. Shall we meet again, say in three months’ time
? The new year is coming, and your vassals will no doubt come visiting. There is no better time for taking the measure of a man’s aims than over meat and ale. Search out men with like minds and bring them into the fold. I will send word, and when I do, journey to Oryna Keep. There, we will meet and talk and plan. I pray the gods give us wisdom. Your Graces, until we meet again.”

Merek clasped hands with King Percyvelle first, then Prince Theodric.
Finally, he stood and watched as former enemies—now allies—turned and went their separate ways. He remained on the shore of Gythe Bay long after the hoofbeats of Prince Theodric’s destrier had faded out across the sands, and King Percyvelle’s rowboat was no more than a shadow over the bay. Only his mantle stirred about him as the wind pulled at it with insistent fingers.

***

Oryna Keep, the Isle of Camritte, March 1275

Beneath the stones of Oryna Keep, a series of passageways twisted and turned, a labyrinth of coils writhing about like a nest of snakes. Here and there throughout the maze were hollows carved out in the soil, caverns with stone doors. The air was damp and warm, tasting of earth and stone. Blackness was thick, broken only by the meager yellow glow of torchlight as Merek Arundel II led the way through one of the twisting passages. Behind some of these doors were storerooms where casks of ale, barrels of wine, dried meats, cheese, bread, grain, oats, and spices were stored. Behind others were chambers where prisoners were held, though from their proximity, Merek and his men were too far away from such rooms to hear the cries of the damned. Here, there were doors behind which men met in secret, far from prying eyes or the ears of gossiping servants and treacherous spies. Here, no one could hear them but the stone and soil.

Above, Oryna Keep stretched toward the heavens, a sandstone monstrosity with the
Arundel banners flapping from its battlements—a golden star upon a banner of black. Within the keep his wife, Queen Helewys, and young daughter, Princess Helena, would be about their needlework. His son would be at his swordplay, bandying his wooden child’s weapon in place of real steel. Merek had charged one of his knights, Sir Russell Belmis, with instructing the boy. Sir Russell was teaching the prince well, and soon he would be ready for steel. Above them, life continued on as it did everyday—cooking, sewing, eating, feasting, swordplay—and in Daleraia, near the twin inlets known as The Athils, a battle was brewing. King Terrowin led his forces against Prince Clarion Toustain, the eldest son of King Percyvelle. There, steel would clash and blood would flow; death was certain. Here, peace would be forged as a blade is born of the forge.

Merek opened one of the stone doors and led the men following him inside. There were
thirteen men in all; of them, the future of the realms of Dinasdale, Daleraia, and Camritte would be decided. They came together behind the wooden door. For House Arundel stood King Merek himself, his brother, Sir Hadrian, and his uncle Sir Olivar. The golden star was emblazoned upon the left breast of Merek’s black leather jerkin. His brother chose a simple brooch to bear the house crest. Sir Olivar, in his usual flamboyant fashion, wore a doublet covered in golden stars, as well as a brooch twice the size of Sir Hadrian’s, with an extravagant diamond at its center.

For House Toustain stood
King Percyvelle and his brother Lord Orrick Toustain, as well as Lord Humber Bauldry of Heywick, Lord Mador Saint-Clair of Vor’shy, and his eldest bastard son, Gaubert—only fifteen years of age and well on his way to knighthood already. Though each man was adorned with the silver archer of House Toustain, the sleeves of Lord Humber’s forest green doublet were embellished with black sailing ships—the emblem of House Bauldry—and Lord Mador and his son wore silver badges enameled in royal blue at their throats—the dancing minstrel of House Saint-Clair.

Standing with Prince Theodric fo
r House Maignart were his uncle Sir Destrian, Lord Cedric Durville of Quaos, and his brother Guyar, as well as Sirs Bors Goodwin and Griffon Calliot of Haleah. Among their emblems were the mountain of Maignart, the red ruby of House Durville, and the crossed swords of House Goodwin.