Hearts in Cups (40 page)

With Lord Gunnar's
death, only Branwilde of Creon could be counted as an allied Great House. His
daughter had just been wed to Langstraad's Duke Regent, which indicated support
from that House as well, but the scales were beginning to tilt alarmingly in
Mirvanovir's favour.

A soft knock was heard
at the door and, before either man could respond, Dinea's tall figure swept
through the doorway. There was a slight scowl marring her face when she halted
to regard them, arms akimbo on her hips. In her wake came two servants bearing
trays from which the smell of cooked food emanated.

"Michael, it is
well past the noon hour. Are you going to be at this all day or can you spare a
few precious minutes to eat?" With an arm she brushed away any reply he
might be inclined to make and ordered the food to be placed on the table.

"Rest easy,
Dinea," Percamber admonished gently. "We have just finished with this
morning's state of affairs, and were going to take a break anyway."

"And to eat?"
Concern for him made her sound more waspish than was her nature. "You know
that the doctor has told you that you must eat regularly if you are to regain
your health."

Peevishly he put the
plate to one side. "I cannot eat if I am not hungry. Take it away!"

"You must eat, and
I will stand here until you take some nourishment." By threats, pleading,
reasoning and cajoling, Dinea had struggled to force Percamber back to health.
It was due greatly to the love that she bore the man, but it was also a matter
of practicality. She knew what Colin and Michael were labouring to hold
together and how vital Percamber was to their plans.

Percamber looked into
her set face and relented. Appeasingly he drank a spoonful of the broth that
she had provided and forced himself to swallow it. His stomach told him that he
did not want it but he persisted. With Michael eating what had been brought for
him with relish and Dinea standing guard to make sure he ate what she
considered a reasonable amount, Percamber felt alternately badgered and
foolish. He appreciated what Dinea was attempting to do, but the weariness
within him was beginning to demand its rest.

When he had eaten as
much as he could, Dinea ordered the dishes cleared away and prepared to leave
the men in peace. Michael also stood and gathered together all of the papers
that they had been reviewing. Waving them both away, Percamber announced that
he would take a nap in his solar and rejoin them at dinner.

Colin and Michael were
talking in low but animated tones, seated on an upholstered bench in one of the
private salons of House Sandovar's wing of the palace. Colin’s arm was almost
completely healed and he no longer needed to cradle it in its linen sling,
though an occasional twinge of pain reminded him to use it with care. Dressed
in shades of rust and gold, Dinea had found a seat beside an open window to
watch the changing, twilight sky. They had taken to assembling thus in the
evening to wait for Percamber's arrival before escorting him to the small
banquet hall that was used when the palace was empty of Great and Minor House
guests. Here the nobles and palace attendants of rank would dine at the long
tables running the length of the room in parallel rows, while the ranking lords
would partake of their meal at the raised table that crossed the room.

Dinea was the first to
begin fretting about Percamber's tardiness. The sky had grown quite dark and
still he had not made his appearance. When she mentioned this fact to the two
men, they responded by teasing her in a friendly fashion about her maternal
fussiness. Irritated by their banter, she stalked back to her seat and, with
her chin resting on her fist, continued to stare out the window.

It was a white-faced
servant who stumbled into the salon half an hour later, trying to remain
coherent in spite of his evident distress. He had gone to waken his lordship at
the hour that his lordship had requested but, upon opening the door, he found
the regent lying dead upon his bed. The three nobles fled at once to
Percamber's bedside, only Dinea having the wit to order the servant to fetch
the court physician.

In his rooms, upon the
bed where he had lain these last ten years, Percamber ap Morna, regent for the
Pentarchy, lay in the sleep from which he would never awaken. Reverently, the three
who had shared his last difficult months stood at the end of his bed as the
summoned physician clucked in commiseration and folded the aged hands on his
breast. The heart had simply grown too old and had ceased its beating. No
treachery had struck him down, only time.

The city of Pentarin
was stunned to hear the ringing of the bells, denoting the passing of a soul
and to find that the soul belonged to the regent. Colin and Michael together
ordered the ringing of bells and a funeral befitting a ruler of the Pentarchy.
The body was cleaned and arrayed in robes of state, then placed in the Royal
Crypts to join company with the dead kings of the Pentarchy who had been
interred there since the first High King. The ceremony of interment could not
be delayed, as both custom and the summer's heat demanded that the body find
its resting place within three days of the death. Therefore, no member of a
Great House attended the funeral.

The inhabitants of the
city came forth to mourn the loss of their regent, watching his funeral
procession as it wended its way through the streets. Furtive looks cast among
the crowd revealed a populace well aware that with his passing there was no
longer a duly anointed steward to protect them. At the head of the procession
walked Viscount Treves carrying the empty ceremonial scabbard. Keeping pace
with him, Lord Michael Talen led the pallbearers as they conveyed their sad
burden to his tomb. Towards the rear of the cortege Dinea, veiled and with a
heavy heart, followed with the other noble mourners. A single drum beat its
monotonous march, echoing down the streets as they passed through the city.

Within a week of
Percamber's burial, Colin received a secret, urgent letter from the steward of
his own home, Castle Howell. In the letter, he was told of armed troops from
Mirvanovir crossing into Treves, which lay along the northern border of the
Duchy of Mirvanovir, and moving north towards the Royal Duchy of Sandovar. He
was advised not to try to return to his own home, for it was now occupied by
Mirvanovir's soldiers. Their children were still at Howell, and both he and
Dinea suffered a moment of panic until they read the second letter, written by
Dinea's niece, Cerwen de Rommel. In it Cerwen told them that she was taking the
children and their nurse to a place of safety where they would not become
hostages of the Duke of Mirvanovir. She also advised that rumours, intimating
that the regent had died at Treves' hand, were being circulated.

"At least Cerwen
is with them!" Dinea expostulated. She was torn between a desire to race
to the aid of her children and stay at her husband's side. Luckily, the
decision was not hers to make. There was no way that she could get to Treves
without passing through Mirvanovir's army, and Cerwen had not told them where
it was she was taking the children, in case the letter fell into enemy hands.

Colin knew the dilemma
his wife wrestled with, for it was his own as well. "They will be all
right," he assured her. "If anyone can find a safe refuge for them,
it will be Cerwen. She is very resourceful, and as quick-witted as they come;
much like her aunt." He held Dinea close, knowing that they both were
fervently hoping that their confidence in her niece was not ill-placed.

The blow had come far
quicker than Colin imagined it would, and it found him unprepared. Still
mourning his friend, Colin had not looked south soon enough and now Niall was
on his front doorstep. While, to the north, the newly proclaimed Duke of Tuenth
was bringing an army to his back door. For the first time in his life, Colin
froze into inaction. He did not have the authority to counteract the ruler of a
Great House or to raise an army within the borders of Sandovar. For that
matter, legally he could not even command the House Troops of Pentarin. His
capacity in Pentarin was that of a friend and advisor to the dead regent, with
no powers or authority other than those of the ruler of a Minor House. Michael
was in a similar position, with no vested power to call forth an army.

It was the Captain of
the Household Guard, Lord Renard Istan, who eventually came to them and asked
what they wanted him to do. Physically intimidating in a broad-shouldered,
muscular way, Istan was also strong-minded and determined to do more than stand
aside and let Lord Niall run rough-shod over his city. He argued persuasively
that someone had to give the orders and act as a focus to rally the citizens of
Pentarin. A more unscrupulous man might have taken the opportunity to seize
this advantage for himself, but instead it was decided between the three of
them that they would form a temporary leadership coalition to deal with the
immediate crises. Since neither Colin nor Michael had much practical military
training, most of the defense strategy was left to Lord Istan. Michael was
aware of the placement of troops within Sandovar's borders and Colin offered
what strategic suggestions he could come up with, but Istan was in charge of
the major military decisions. Colin and Michael then turned their attention to
organizing the inhabitants of the city to prepare them for the assault that was
being launched at them. The primary problem was that the city of Pentarin was
virtually indefensible. Located far inland, it had been built for beauty, since
its location made it an unlikely and difficult target for invading armies. No
one had apparently considered that it might someday come under attack from
within the borders of the Pentarchy.

The citizens of
Pentarin who were deemed unable to help in the defense of their city, rich and
poor alike, prepared to flee. In haste, they packed their bundles of provisions
and hid the valuables they could not carry with them, hoping to return and
retrieve them when better times came. Long lines of people streamed down all of
the roads that led from the city. Skirmishes had been reported occurring both
to the north and south of the city as the invading armies met armed resistance
and drove through it. Soon smoke was detected drifting lazily in the skies,
whether from fields torched by farmers to prevent the invaders from benefiting
from them or as the result of warfare.

In the ten days between
hearing of the offensive being launched against Pentarin and the sight of
hostile armies appearing in the Silvarluin Valley, neither Colin nor Dinea
slept much. Afraid to confront the fear in each other's eyes, for their own
safety, the safety of their children and the safety of all those who looked to
them for protection, they kept themselves in constant motion to meet the
demands placed on them. The news brought to them from the soldiers sent to slow
the advance of the enemy was not heartening. While Tuenth's army showed the
roughness of men newly assembled, Mirvanovir's army moved and fought with
precision and confidence. The long history of Niall's planned treachery was all
too clear in the efficiency of his troops. Lord Istan had done his best but,
with Mirvanovir's army a half-day’s march to the south and Tuenth's not much
further, Colin and Dinea were advised to flee the near deserted city.

"You must leave and
leave now, or it will be too late," Istan told them at their last hurried
meeting. "Most of the inhabitants have fled to the surrounding countryside
and are laying low until they see which way the wind blows."

"Are you
suggesting that we run while you stay?" Colin asked in consternation.
"We can't leave you here alone to face Niall."

"If you stay, you
will be killed or held prisoner, unable to do yourselves or anyone else any
good. I have received an insolent message from the duke demanding that what forces
we still command surrender immediately, and that he be granted free access to
the city. He also orders that you be bound over to him." He confronted the
anxiousness in their eyes with his own calm resolution. "We cannot oppose
him any longer. What troops we have are poorly organized and have taken a
terrible beating at their hands. The city cannot be defended without being
destroyed. Our efforts have kept the enemy at bay long enough for our people to
save themselves and some of their belongings from the rape and looting that
will occur once Niall’s men enter the city."

"But why will he
unloose destruction on the city he so obviously prizes?" Dinea was
distraught both at the idea of leaving, and the thought of what would be done
to the city after they left.

Istan's sigh shook the
bulk of his shoulders with its resignation. The eyes that met and held hers
were bloodshot with fatigue. "Men fight for what they wish to take."

Colin added, "For
Niall, it is an intangible: power. For the generals who command in his name,
there is duty, and power, and the rewards offered by a generous and victorious
prince. But for the common soldier, it is whatever lines his own pockets."

Istan nodded. "The
men who are enlisted to fight for Mirvanovir are not, for the most part,
fighting for any ideal. They are fighting for what they can personally carry
away. Their generals know that, even if Lord Niall is unaware of it. The
soldiers are going to pillage this city and nothing is going to stop
them." He sympathized with the horror in her face but knew that he spoke
the truth.