Hearts in Cups (41 page)

"There is nothing
to be gained by your remaining here." Michael, who had sat silently
brooding, spoke. "I shall stay here with Renard to greet our uninvited
guests."

"No, Michael, that
is asking for death!" Colin protested at once. "You must also take
the opportunity to escape while you can."

Michael shook his head
and spoke in a voice filled with determination. "Niall may imprison me,
but I don't think that he will have me killed." He smiled grimly.
"After all, I am too well versed in the bureaucracy that runs this city,
and this kingdom. At worst, he will put me into prison and squeeze as much
information as he can out of me. And," he was philosophic, "there is
much that I can tell him to ensure that he keeps me alive but does not breach
confidences. You two must leave though, and leave quickly."

"We cannot leave
you here alone! Please come with us," Dinea begged.

He shook his head
again. "No, I am the last official of any rank left here. It is my duty to
stay and meet this traitor face to face before he, in his conceit, claims
Pentarin as his own." There was more than a glimmer of pride and defiance
in his face and bearing.

"He shall not be
alone, my lady," Lord Istan added. "As Captain of the Household Guards,
I cannot leave the city. Michael and I will await the Duke of Mirvanovir's
coming, together."

Both men's faces bore
the imprint of their resolve and Colin knew that further argument was useless.
Unhappily, he accepted their answer. "I'm afraid that the battle for
Pentarin was lost from the first. The real fight for the Pentarchy must now be
waged from outside its capital." He turned to Dinea. "Can you gather
whatever you need to travel and be ready to leave within an hour?"

Sighing heavily, she
replied, "Yes, of course. But where will we go?"

"Dacara. We will
go to Dacara and see if there is any aid that can be gleaned from there. Even
if the mage masters refuse to help us directly, there are others there who will
be ready to assist us." An air of determination came over Colin, banishing
the feelings of inadequacy that had haunted him since the death of Percamber.
He had at last seen a path that he could follow.

Dinea clasped his hand,
relieved that he had rediscovered his strength and gaining back some of her own
from it. They parted from Michael and Renard a short while later, vanishing
into the dimness of the night like wild animals or phantoms, leaving with their
promise to rouse and bring aid as soon as they could.

In the hard brightness
of morning, Lord Michael Talen, recorder of the Pentacle Council, and the
Captain of Pentarin's Household Guard, Lord Renard Istan, stood before the
southern-most gate to surrender the royal city of Pentarin to the renegade Duke
of Mirvanovir. Wearing the blue and silver of House Sandovar, both men stood
with stately dignity in the shade beneath the arch of the stone gate, with a
small knot of palace courtiers and guards behind them. A hot breath of wind
stirred their hair and watered their eyes as they watched the dark mass of
Mirvanovir's army moving towards the city with irreconcilable menace. Less than
a quarter mile from the gate, they clearly saw Lord Niall riding a grey charger
at the head of his army's vanguard. At his side, his standard-bearer held aloft
the black swan swimming on its red field. Michael lifted his chin and met
Niall's sneering smile with as much dignity as he could brave when the duke
finally arrived before the gate of the city. In a soft, drawling voice Niall
began by ordering everyone to their knees. When they did not respond with the
promptness that the duke expected, several of his warriors leaped down from
their own mounts and struck with mailed fists those who were not on their knees
to their conqueror. Lord Istan was one of the first to be knocked down.

"You are my
prisoners now, and those of you that I decide not to execute will soon learn
who is master here," Niall announced arrogantly, directing an unpleasant
glare at Michael, who had gone to Renard's aid.

The last Michael saw of
the duke, as he was hauled to his feet to be taken into custody, was his back
as he brazenly rode into Pentarin, home to House Sandovar and capital of the
Pentarchy for the past three hundred years, with his army on his heels.

The next day, Blaise ap
Halberstad, newly proclaimed Duke of Tuenth, led his forces in triumph through
Pentarin's northern gate. His men, grumbling that they had been held back to
allow Mirvanovir's forces to arrive first, soon forgot their resentment as they
joined in pillaging those portions of the city not restricted by Lord Niall and
his War-Council. Blaise joined Niall in Pentarin Palace, which was strictly off
limits to all but Niall's hand-picked House Guard.

At present Niall was
still occupying the wing of the palace in which the scions of Mirvanovir had
always dwelt. Blaise, taking his cue from Niall, set himself up in his family's
apartments. He had been informed by Niall, that the duchess, Rashara, would be
arriving within the week with a retinue of servants and courtiers to staff the
palace. Adopting a policy of discretion, Blaise put himself at the service of
the older duke, taking and carrying out his orders until his lady should appear
and give him other tasks.

Furious that Treves and
his wife had escaped, Niall ordered Lord Michael to be persuaded into revealing
where the missing pair had gone. An over-zealous inquisitor had pushed too far,
too fast, with the result that they now had yet another dead and useless body
to dispose of. When Niall was informed of this unfortunate event, he merely
shrugged and ordered the inquisitor dead as well. Lord Istan was still alive
after his interrogation but, so far, had revealed nothing useful. Niall gave
his men another day to extract something useful from the captain or kill him.

Upon setting himself up
in Pentarin Palace, Lord Niall had letters drafted and carried by private
messenger to each of the remaining heads of the Great and Minor Houses, in
which he declared his intention of assuming the High Kingship in order to
"secure the integrity of the state," and demanding a tribute of
fealty from all of the other members of the Pentacle Council. Unwritten but
implied in the letter was the threat of war if his wishes were not complied
with. By the time that Rashara made her entrance into the city, Niall had
received Creon's reply. With amusement, he read Branwilde's pompous demand
aloud: Renounce your claim to the throne and return with your people to
Mirvanovir in peace immediately!

"Well, that's
blunt enough," Rashara declared as she sat, enjoying the comfort of an
upholstered chair that did not move, and reaching for an apricot with leisurely
grace. She had attired herself in an ornate over-dress of patterned red damask,
the long sleeves caught at the elbows to reveal an under-dress of peach-coloured
silk. The rich gold of her hair was caught simply in back with a net strung
with pearls and rubies. As she turned her head the weight of her hair swung
alluringly to reveal the nape of her neck. The care which she had taken in her
toilette was as much for her young protégé as her lord duke. Both seemed
appreciative, she noted with amused satisfaction, as she sunk her perfect,
white teeth into the piece of fruit.

"Branwilde is an
idiot if he thinks that I would pay the least attention to that!" Niall's
arm moved in a loose, undirected gesture. "However, I'm not quite ready to
go to war with him. Brescom needs to start the distraction in the north before
we make our next move. In the meantime, I will wait and see if I can increase
our odds with another army or two from one of the Minor Houses."

"Why bother with
them?" Blaise interjected lazily. He sat on the arm of a chair with one
leg swinging free, smiling at the duchess. "We took the capital from under
their noses with hardly enough fighting to call it a contest." Rashara
forbore to send him a warning look. If he wanted to antagonize Niall, he should
learn the consequences.

"Because, my
ignorant young dukeling," Niall sneered, "we have made it this far only
because we mobilized the instant that we were informed of Percamber's death. We
won because there was no organized resistance and no one with enough authority
in charge here. This city is almost impossible to defend, especially without
troops. Branwilde may be an idiot, but he is head of a Great House. And he does
know how to organize a fight. If he and that commoner in Langstraad who so
recently became his son-in-law hold together, they will present a difficult
front."

During this tirade
Blaise's face flushed darkly with anger, though he said nothing. With an
effort, he dropped his eyes to the carpet and regained his composure. He could
not afford to offend Niall at this juncture, so he responded by looking
chagrined and keeping still. When he ventured to glance at Rashara again, he
noted amusement and sympathy in her eyes. He almost smiled back at her but
instead the cool, judicious mask that he was learning to wear so well came over
his features and he turned his attention to Niall.

"...so, by
offering to split the Pentarchy with him as co-ruler, we will both tempt him
and keep him at bay a little longer," Niall was explaining.

"Is there a
possibility that the Duke of Creon might agree?" Blaise asked.

Niall laughed
unpleasantly. "Branwilde and I go back many years and I know him very
well. His conscience would never allow him to even admit to what he might
consider doing in the hidden recesses of his own heart. Poor Branwilde has
never allowed himself to take or enjoy anything that might possibly conflict
with his sense of moral rectitude."

Within a few days,
Niall received his fellow duke's conscionable reply to his offer: the entrails
of a goat.

Through the window of
his study, Ian could hear the noises made by the castle's inhabitants going
about their business on this rather balmy afternoon. He had retreated to the
privacy of the study, formerly Holly's now made his, to reread the letter
received from his father-in-law that morning. There had been little
communication between the ducal houses since Ian had returned to Lir with the
Duke of Creon's daughter as his wife. If Angharad wrote to her parents
privately, it was without his knowledge. But then, he reflected, there was
little communication between his wife and himself.

After seeing her
installed in her own rooms and ascertaining from her that they were adequate,
Ian returned to his own rooms and his way of life much as before. They did meet
in the main hall for the evening meal, those times when she did not order a
tray brought to her room, and once in a while their paths would cross as they
went about their daily lives in the castle. Ian was always polite when they met
and tried to be amiable, but there was a chill in her speech and attitude that
distanced him. He would have liked to have been friends with the girl, as she
seemed in need of friends, but he had promised to leave her alone, and that was
apparently what she wanted. Kathryn, seeing the true state of her old lover's
new marriage, gleefully returned to his bed. Ian simply shrugged and let the
domestic arrangements take care of themselves.

A month ago, he had
received the news of Lord Percamber's death. The notice had made him blanche
and a strong foreboding had overcome him. He subsequently ordered increased
patrolling of the duchy's borders and continued to keep vigilant watch on
events outside his borders. The tidings of war came sooner than expected, and
from quarters unexpected. He had known that one of old Gunnar's sons had become
the new duke but not that he was allied to Niall of Mirvanovir. Over the next
few weeks he learned of the surrender of Pentarin and its occupation. Then
Niall's insolent message was delivered and a shiver went down Ian's back. War
was about to come in search of him and he was not at all certain of his own readiness
to face it. Now Branwilde wrote, demanding Ian join with him in an alliance to
go to war against these traitors.

Ian had been wrestling
with a response to the letter all afternoon. The Baroness of Morna and her
husband had been sending him a series of reports on the Earl of the Inner Ward
and his activities to the north, all of which pointed to preparations for an
impending attack. Branwilde was asking him to lead an army south, to join with
the armies of Creon and Thurin in marching into Sandovar and subduing Niall. To
send an army of the size that Branwilde obviously wanted would seriously
deplete the forces left to defend Langstraad. Ian was unsure that marching out
to find Niall was the best strategy for the situation anyway. He was certain
that Niall did not intend to stop with the conquest of Sandovar. Niall wanted
the entire Pentarchy for himself and he would go after it if they did not bring
it to him. Ian also judged that Niall would be loathe to wait long in Pentarin.
Niall was a shrewd but impulsive man who had just won a major victory; the
sweetness of that accomplishment would not let him linger where he was. They
only had to wait behind their mountains and he would come to them. To Ian's
thinking, it made more sense to muster their forces and pick off Niall's army
as it tried to come through the mountains. He was also reluctant to leave his
northern borders under-protected. Alwyn did not know the size of Brescom's
forces, but he did know that they had been in training for most of the summer.
Lastly, Ian knew that he himself was not a military man. Branwilde and his
grandfather had grown up learning how to fight, how to plan battles and
campaigns and how to give orders. He on the other hand was an indifferent
swordsman with no real fighting experience at all. For him, to go leading
armies into major battles seemed the height of idiocy.