Shapers of Darkness

Chapter Eighteen

Kentigern, Eibithar

For some time now, Aindreas had been preparing the castle and city for a siege, making certain that the quartermaster had all the gold he needed to provision the castle, ordering his swordmaster, Villyd Temsten, to drill the men relentlessly in defensive tactics, and having the prelate and his adherents transform the castle’s cloister into a spacious surgeon’s chamber. There had been little doubt in his mind that the attack would come, and soon. He hadn’t needed his allies in the Qirsi movement to tell him that much. But until this very morning, he hadn’t been certain whether the first assault would come from the Aneirans or from the army of Eibithar’s king.

Villyd’s scouts had been telling him for nearly a turn that the army of Mertesse, just across the river in northern Aneira, was more active than at any time since the siege a year before. And considering all that Aindreas knew of the conspiracy and the recent movements of Braedon’s fleet in the waters off northern Eibithar, he fully expected that the renegade Qirsi would do all they could to spark a war along the Tarbin. Why else would they have been pushing him to break with Kearney? United, Eibithar could hold off attacks from both the north and south. Such a war would exact a high price, to be sure, but Aindreas had little doubt that the invaders could be defeated. Divided, however, the realm had a far less certain future.

Aindreas felt certain that had it not been for the presence of Braedon’s fleet in the waters off Galdasten, Kearney would already have laid siege to Kentigern Castle. As matters stood, however, the Aneirans were the first to attack the tor. Just after dawn this morning, under cover of a sudden mist no doubt conjured for them by their sorcerers, the soldiers of Mertesse crossed the Tarbin into Eibithar and began building siege engines. Even now, sitting in his presence chamber, drinking his wine, Aindreas could hear the distant beat of axes and hammers on wood and the singing of the Aneiran army. He had stood on the ramparts for a time after Villyd first came to him with word of the mist and the crossing of the river, but the Aneirans remained beyond the reach of Kentigern’s archers. There was nothing for any of them to do but watch and wait. A year ago perhaps Aindreas would have stayed with his men. Now all he wished to do was drink his wine and listen in solitude to the sounds of the coming siege.

“Let the Aneirans cross,” the Qirsi woman had said. “We want this war.”

Yes, but was he to let them have the castle, too? Should he and his men simply lay down their arms, or did his Qirsi masters want him to defend the fortress? In the end Aindreas decided that he didn’t care what they expected of him. Kentigern would not fall without a fight. Mertesse could have the rest of the realm for all he cared, but the tor was his. The Tarbin gate, which had failed during the last siege after being weakened by Shurik jal Marcine, his traitorous first minister, had been rebuilt, and though it had not yet been tested in battle, he thought it strong enough to withstand Mertesse’s assault. These walls, built and defended by his forebears, would not fail him a second time.

He heard the door creak, and saw Ennis peeking into the chamber. Placing his goblet on the writing table, he rose and stepped around so as to block the cup and flagon from the boy’s view.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the cloister?” he asked.

Ennis gave a small shrug. “Father Crasthem says I was in the way.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She’s in the cloister with the prelate and the surgeon.”

This pleased the duke, though it gave him little choice but to let the boy stay. Ioanna continued to show improvement. No matter what happened to him, Ennis and his remaining sister would have their mother to care for them.

“And Affery?” the duke asked, more out of curiosity than any intention to send the boy to her.

“She’s helping the kitchenmaster.”

“So you’ve nothing to do.”

Ennis shrugged again, looking so much like Aindreas himself that the duke nearly laughed. “I wanted to go up on the walls, but Mother told me I couldn’t.”

“She was right. It’s not safe right now.”

“Because of the Aneirans?”

Aindreas sat in a large chair next to his empty hearth, motioning for the boy to climb onto his lap. “Are you frightened?” he asked.

“Not too much. I wouldn’t be at all if they hadn’t broken the gate the last time.”

The boy was clever, a worthy heir to a proud house.

A house you ‘ve shamed. You’ll leave him nothing but your disgrace.

“You know why they broke the gate last time,” Aindreas said, trying to ignore the voice in his mind. “I’ve explained it to you.”

“The Qirsi, you mean. The man who used his magic on the por. . the por. .”

“The portcullises. Yes. The gates won’t fail this time.”

“How do you know that he didn’t do it again?”

“Because I have men watching the gates night and day. If the Aneirans want to get into the castle, they’ll have to break the portcullises themselves.” Unless they have a shaper with them. Aindreas shuddered at the thought.

“I heard two of your soldiers talking. They said that the king won’t help us. We’ll have to beat the Aneirans alone.”

Damn them for letting the boy hear such a thing. “You shouldn’t be listening to conversations that don’t concern you.”

“Yes, Father.” A pause, and then, “Is it true?”

Aindreas exhaled heavily. “I really don’t know what Kearney will do. I suppose it’s possible.”

Ennis twisted his mouth briefly, as if wishing his father had answered differently. “But we can still win, right?”

“Of course we can.” The duke made himself smile. “This castle has stood against the Aneirans for centuries, and if it wasn’t for the traitor, it would have held last time, too. We don’t need Kearney.”

For several moments the boy said nothing, leaning back against Aindreas’s chest. Then he tipped his head back to look up at his father’s face. “Can I see your dagger again?”

Aindreas grinned, without effort this time. Pulling his blade free, he handed it to the boy, hilt first. “Be careful.”

“I know.”

He held the dagger reverently, as if it were made of glass, turning it over in his hands, examining the steel with a critical eye and testing its heft in one hand and then the other.

“Why are the Aneirans our enemies?” Ennis asked after some time, still playing with the blade.

“They have been for hundreds of years now. The clans of the north have been fighting the southern families since before the Qirsi Wars and the establishment of the seven realms.”

“But why?”

“It started with disputes over land. Now it’s mostly about control of the river. The Aneirans used to say that the land between the Tarbin and Kentigern Wood should belong to them.”

Ennis looked up again. “You mean they think that the tor is theirs?”

“They used to, yes.”

“Is it?”

“No, of course not. It might have belonged to the southern clans once, but when the Forelands were divided into the seven, Eibithar was given all the land south to the river. The Aneirans didn’t like it, and they tried to take this land a number of times. But they never succeeded, and every other realm recognized our claim to it.”

“But they still think it’s theirs.”

Aindreas frowned. “Not really. They no longer claim the land as their own, but they still think of us as their enemy. And I suppose we think of them that way, too. The Tarbin is an important river. During the snows and well into the planting, merchants can sail its waters all the way to the base of the steppe. Eibithar and Aneira share control of the river, and most of the time we trust one another to allow ships from all realms to complete their journeys. But every now and then, we get into fights over who can and can’t sail its waters. And occasionally one king or another gets it in his head to imagine what it would be like to control the land on both sides of the river, so that we wouldn’t have to share.”

Ennis made a face. “That seems dumb.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Kings aren’t always as smart as they should be.”

“Like Kearney?”

Aindreas looked away. “Kearney’s plenty smart.” But the Qirsi are smarter. “He’s a victim of this, too.”

“Of what?”

He hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud.

“Nothing. Perhaps we should go find your mother. I’d like to see how preparations are going in the Cloister.”

“Do we have to?”

The duke hesitated. She’d smell the wine on his breath.

“Not yet. Soon, though.”

They sat a while longer, Aindreas gazing toward the window and listening to the hammers and the singing, Ennis intent on the dagger. After a time, the hammering ceased. Aindreas knew what that meant, and so he wasn’t surprised by the sharp knock at his door a few moments later.

“Enter,” he called.

Ennis had stopped toying with the blade, though he made no move to leave the safety of the duke’s lap.

Villyd stepped into the chamber, an avid look in his eyes, as if he were ready to fight the Aneiran army right there. “They’re on the move, my lord.”

Aindreas nodded. “Very well.” He lifted the boy off his lap and turned him around. “You need to go find your mother now. Tell her that the Aneirans are nearing the castle walls.”

Ennis gaped at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “Where are you going?”

“Up to the ramparts.”

“But you said it wasn’t safe.”

He cupped the boy’s chin in his hand. “It’s not safe for a boy, but it’s where I belong.”

Ennis handed him the dagger, his face as solemn as a prior’s. Aindreas sheathed the blade, then gathered the boy in his arms. “We’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Take care of your mother and sister for me, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now go.” He gave the boy a gentle push toward the door and watched him go. Only when the door had closed behind him did Aindreas stand and turn to the swordmaster.

“Can you tell how many?”

“Not yet, my lord. They’re still hiding in the mist. The latest reports we had from the Tarbin put the number near three thousand, most of them from Mertesse, a few from Solkara.”

“That’s not much of a force.”

“The reports were a few days old. They may have more now.”

Villyd started to say more, then seemed to stop himself.

“Out with it, swordmaster,” the duke said at last. “What’s on your mind?”

“It may be nothing, my lord. But we’re all aware of the fighting in the north. It seems likely that the emperor and the Aneirans are working together. In which case Mertesse’s attack may not be aimed at Kentigern.”

“They’re preparing siege engines, Villyd. I could hear them building the damned things from my chamber.”

“Yes, my lord. But what if the siege is meant only to keep your army occupied, and their true intent is to drive into the heart of the realm?”

Aindreas felt his stomach tightening. “They haven’t enough men to try such a thing.”

“As I said, my lord, the reports were several days old. They may have more than three thousand by now. And even if they don’t, they could commit a thousand soldiers to the siege, leaving two thousand to march inland.”

‘Two thousand men-”

“Is not many. But when combined with the army of Braedon, it’s far more formidable. Certainly it’s enough to flank the king’s army.”

Under most circumstances Aindreas wouldn’t have tolerated the interruption, but then again, usually Villyd wouldn’t have thought to speak to him so. The swordmaster raised an interesting point. Mertesse had little to gain from another siege, even if it succeeded. But as a diversion from Aneira’s larger aims, the siege made a great deal of sense.

The two men left the chamber and began to make their way through the corridors toward the south towers.

“Have you seen any sign that part of their army is trying to slip past us?” the duke asked as they walked.

“No, my lord. But with the sorcerers’ mist still covering them, we have no idea how many men are approaching. The rest may already be past us; they may have crossed the Tarbin farther east. Or they may be waiting until the siege is under way and our forces committed to the defense of the city and castle.”

Aindreas was barely listening. The more he considered the matter, the more convinced he was that Villyd was right. The siege was secondary; the war in the north would decide Eibithar’s fate. The Aneirans had to be stopped here. Aindreas was quite certain, however, that the Qirsi wanted the soldiers of Mertesse to slip past Kentigern. Jastanne would tell him to guard his castle but to make no attempt at stopping the Aneiran advance. You have doomed your realm, and for nothing-misplaced vengeance and false justice. He glanced at Villyd, only to find Brienne walking on the far side of the swordmaster, her golden hair shimmering like Panya’s Falls at twilight. She stared back at him, her face so grave that it made Aindreas’s breath catch in his throat. After a moment, she shook her head, and looked away. She hadn’t haunted him since his visit to Bian’s Sanctuary, and he had dared hope that she might leave him alone from now on. He should have known better. He had promised her that he would end this alliance with the Qirsi, and he knew that she would hold him to his word.

“What can I do?” he whispered. “There’s no way out of this.”

“My lord?”

The duke covered his eyes briefly, then looked again. The apparition had vanished.

“Are you all right, my lord?”

Relief and sorrow warred within him. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“We were speaking of the Aneirans, my lord. Of the purpose-”

“I know what we were discussing. What would you have me do, swordmaster?”

They entered one of the tower stairways, making their way down to the ward so that they might cross to the castle’s outer defenses.

“Send some of your men north, my lord. Send them to Galdasten now, before the siege begins and they can’t leave.”

Listen to him! Brienne’s voice shouted in his mind. It’s not too late to make right again all that you ‘ve destroyed! But while he heard his daughter’s voice, it was Jastanne’s face that loomed before him, waiflike, yet forbidding. Whatever his uncertainties about the expectations of the conspiracy, he knew how they would respond to any sign that he was breaking his oath to them. Jastanne would expose him as a traitor to the realm, offering as proof the document he had penned for her only a few turns before. There had to be a way out of this, a way to free himself of the conspiracy without disgracing himself and his house. He had no choice but to believe that. But he had yet to find it, and until he did, he could not risk angering the Qirsi.

They entered the south watch tower of the outer wall and started up the stairway to the ramparts. “We haven’t enough men to spare, Villyd. It doesn’t matter if the Aneirans actually hope to take the tor, or only wish to distract us from their true purpose. Either way, this siege threatens the survival of our house. I’ll not weaken our army by chasing phantoms to Galdasten.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but we don’t need two thousand men to repel a siege. We can guard the castle and city with half that number.”

“The last time I left Kentigern to be guarded by so few, the castle fell.”

“That was because of Shurik’s treachery, my lord.”

“Do you honestly believe that if I had been here, and the men with me, Mertesse would have gained control of the tor, even with the gates weakened?”

The swordmaster could offer but one answer. He looked straight ahead. “No, my lord. Of course not.”

They emerged from the stairway into the bright sunshine.

Aindreas held a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes, and looking down on the thick mist that appeared to be crawling up the side of the tor. It wouldn’t be long before the Aneirans were at the Tarbin gate. Let it hold.

“You don’t like being at odds with the Crown, do you, Villyd?”

“No, my lord.”

“You think I should have reconciled with Kearney a long time ago. I know that.”

“I’m but a warrior, my lord. I know little of court politics.”

Aindreas had to grin. “Your reply belies the claim, swordmaster.” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss the matter. “It’s not important. To be honest, I don’t relish being labeled a traitor any more than you do, and I share your concern for the realm. I don’t like Kearney and probably I never will, but I have no desire to see Braedon and the Aneirans carving up the kingdom. My first duty, though, is to Kentigern and her people. Until I’m convinced that the tor is safe, I won’t send away even a single man. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Tearing his gaze from the mist, Aindreas surveyed the castle walls. Already the swordmaster had positioned archers three deep on the top of the wall. They would be ready to loose their arrows as soon as the enemy was within reach.

“You have men preparing fire pots and lime?”

“Yes, my lord. We’ll have tar as well. The Aneirans won’t have an easy time of it, that’s for certain.”

Aindreas nodded, surprised by how calm he suddenly felt. “Good.” Maybe the gates would hold; maybe they wouldn’t. Perhaps the Aneirans were intent on capturing the tor; perhaps, as Villyd suggested, this was all just an elaborate diversion. At least something was finally happening. Yes, the Qirsi still controlled him, and he remained convinced that this siege and the fighting to the north were contrivances of the conspiracy, but once the battles began he’d at least have a chance. The white-hairs couldn’t control everything, not amid the turmoil and carnage of war.

A wind began to rise from the south, though the conjured mist clung stubbornly to the side of the tor and the winding road that led from the Tarbin to the castle gate.

“That’s a Qirsi wind,” Villyd said, eyeing the sky warily. A few pale clouds hung over the city, but they were barely moving. “The Aneirans must think that they’re within range of our bowmen.”

“Are they?”

The swordmaster looked down on the mist. “Possibly. But we still can’t see them.”

“How are our stores of long shafts and bolts?”

“We have ample supplies of both, my lord.”

“Then let them fly. I want the Aneirans to understand that their Qirsi can’t protect them from the soldiers of Kentigern.”

At that, the swordmaster faced the duke again, grinning eagerly. “Yes, my lord.”

He shouted an order to the archers. Immediately those men with crossbows stepped to the wall and aimed their weapons down at the slope of the tor. Villyd raised his arm, then brought it down sharply. The crossbows snapped loudly in rapid succession, and the bolts whistled as they flew, like trilling birds. A moment later screams of anguish rose from the mist. The first bowmen stepped back, to be replaced at once by archers with longbows. Again the swordmaster’s arm rose and fell. Bows thrummed, the long shafts flew, and more cries echoed off the tor and the castle walls.

Aindreas could hear the Aneiran commanders shouting instructions as well, and after a few moments the wind strengthened and shifted so that it blew across the tor. Clearly the attackers wished to make it more difficult for Kentigern’s archers to find their mark.

“Continue to loose your arrows, swordmaster,” the duke said. “And call for the tar and fire pots. They’re rushing the gate.”

The mist had reached the castle entrance and now Aindreas could hear the wheels of the Aneirans’ siege engines. There was a pit in the center of the road that had been intended to further impede the approach of snails, rams, and other siege machines. During the last siege, however, the army of Mertesse had filled it in with stones and dirt. In the year since, Aindreas had instructed his men to clear it out once more, but he had been more concerned with the reconstruction of the gate itself, and the pit had been largely neglected. It might slow the Aneirans, but only briefly.

Villyd barked orders, sending men scurrying in every direction. The third line of archers loosed their arrows, and stepped back, making room for the crossbowmen, who had fitted new bolts in their weapons. Soldiers emerged from tower stairways carrying pots of oil and containers of lime, and a short time later, others appeared, with forked poles to fend off the ladders that the Aneirans would use to scale the castle walls. Aindreas was about to call a second time for the tar, when the smell reached him, burning his nostrils. An instant later men appeared in the tower doorways struggling with large vats of the foul stuff.

Villyd shouted again, and the bowmen shifted positions, moving to either side of the Tarbin wall so as to make room for the men with the tar and fire pots.

“All is ready, my lord,” the swordmaster said. “We need only wait for the first blow.”

“Very well, Villyd. Have the archers continue to fire.”

“Yes, my lord.”

After but a few seconds the crossbows crackled again, and more howls rent the air. Then one round of longbows. And the other. An otherworldly stillness settled over the tor, broken only by the pulsing of bows, the whistle of arrows, and the shrieks of those dying below the castle ramparts.

Aindreas peered down at the mist again, waiting for the assault on the gate to commence, listening for any indication of what the Aneirans were doing. As he did, he suddenly felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, as if some wraith from Bian’s realm had run a ghostly finger down his spine. Unsure as to why he did it, the duke straightened and turned, looking north, toward the shores of the Strait of Wantrae.

Atop a small rise, not far from the city walls, a slight figure sat atop a white mount, seeming to stare back at him. For just a single heartbeat, Aindreas thought it was Brienne, or at least the apparition of his beloved child, haunting him once more. But as he continued to watch the rider, sunlight burst forth from behind a cloud, lighting the figure’s hair and face. Both were as white as bleached bone. Jastanne.

“Is something wrong, my lord?”

Aindreas turned so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. “No. I was just-” He shook his head. “It was nothing.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Was there something you wanted, Villyd?”

“Yes, my lord. I was wondering if you wanted to send men out to strike at the Aneirans?”

The duke narrowed his eyes, thinking that the swordmaster was trying once more to get him to send part of his army northward. “I thought we had discussed this.”

“No, my lord. I mean to strike at them here. We can send a small party of archers out of the east sally port to attack the siege machines as they reach the gate. But we’d need to do it now, while they still have their mists about them. This won’t work if the men can be seen.”

Aindreas nodded. “Give the order, swordmaster.”

“Yes, my lord,” Villyd said and hurried away.

The duke turned to look toward the rise again, but Jastanne was gone.

A cry went up from Aindreas’s men, and before the duke even had time to turn toward the sound, the castle shuddered, as from a blow. The assault on the gate had begun.

Aindreas strode to Villyd’s side and looked down at the side of the tor. The mist was gone, and he could see the ram poised just in front of the gate. Its wooden roof was covered with animal skins, as were the roofs of the snails that still crawled up the road, protecting much of the Aneiran army. The duke heard the Aneirans within the ram shouting in cadence and the castle shook a second time. Yet for all the power of the blow, it seemed that the new gate was holding.

“Fire pots!” Villyd called. “Lime and tar as well! Archers, flaming arrows!”

In another moment, all on the castle walls was frenzy. Ladders rose to the ramparts as if sprouting from the earth, and Aneiran soldiers began to climb them under the cover of volleys from their own archers. Kentigern’s men used the forked poles to push the ladders away, sending enemy soldiers tumbling to the ground. Others used torches to light the oil pots, which they then dropped on the ram and snail. Still others poured tar over the edge of the ramparts, drawing wails of pain from below. When a few of the enemy managed to gain the top of the wall, they were immediately beset by swordsmen. Several of the Aneiran bowmen found their mark, killing a number of Aindreas’s men, including one soldier only a few fourspans from where the duke stood. Still, most of the casualties in these first moments of the siege were inflicted on the attackers.

“You planned well, swordmaster,” the duke said, toppling a ladder himself and ducking beneath a flurry of arrows. The fortress shuddered once more.

“Thank you, my lord.” Villyd’s tone was a match for his grim expression.

“You’re not pleased?”

The man nodded toward the river by way of answer.

Following the direction of the swordmaster’s gaze Aindreas saw them as well, though the Aneirans had tried to hide their work within the trees and rushes growing along the Tarbin. Hurling arms. Four of them. They hadn’t been completed yet, but from the look of them, it wouldn’t be long.

“How can they have built them so quickly?”

“I’d guess that they cut and prepared the timber in Mertesse before crossing the Tarbin, my lord. At least, that’s what they did last time.”

“Of course.”

Another blow to the gate.

“Last time they had only one.”

“They only needed one. Shurik had seen to the gates.”

“Yes, my lord. I expected two this time, perhaps three. But not four.”

“The walls will hold, Villyd. They always have.”

“Of course, my lord. But still I fear for the men. No part of the wall will be safe.”

“We may have to send out parties through the sally ports after all. Not yet, not until we have an idea of where they intend to place the arms. But you should begin forming several parties of your best archers and swordsmen. Have them ready to go when I give the word.”

“Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it right away.” He sketched a quick bow and returned to the men.

Aindreas looked down at the Aneirans again as yet another jolt from the ram forced him to grip the stone wall. Then he glanced northward, at the rise. There was no sign of the Qirsi woman.

Leaving the walls, the duke descended the stairs again, hurrying back to the inner keep. He had intended to make his way to the cloister, to check on Ioanna and the children. Somehow, however, he ended up back at the door to his presence chamber. Shaking his head, he turned away, again intending to walk to the cloister.

It was the wine that stopped him. He could never admit as much to anyone, certainly not the duchess. A duke shouldn’t drink during a siege, not while his men were fighting and dying. But Aindreas knew that the flagon of Sanbiri red was still there on his writing table, just where he had left it.

He rubbed a hand over his face, wanting to walk away, unable to make himself leave.

“Go to them, Father. Mother and Affery and Ennis. They’re all waiting for you.”

He gave Brienne a sad smile. She was so beautiful, just as her mother once had been. His heart ached at the mere sight of her. “I want to,” he said. “Truly I do.”

“Then go. Walk away now. Leave the wine.”

“It’s not as easy as all that. You know the things I’ve done.”

“Yes, Father, I do. And I know as well that it doesn’t matter. Go to them, while there’s still time.”

“I will,” he told her, taking hold of the door handle. “Soon. I swear it.”

He turned his back to her, knowing that she’d go away. She always did.

“Oh, Father,” he heard her sigh as he pushed the door open and stepped into his presence chamber.

Crossing to the table, he grabbed the flagon and filled his goblet.

“I thought there was someone with you.”

He spun, spilling wine on his table and on the stone floor.

Jastanne stood before him, an insolent smirk on her youthful face. “I heard you speaking just before you opened the door.”

“How did you get in here?”

The smirk broadened into a grin. “Does it really matter?”

He pulled his sword from its sheath. “Yes, it does.”

Her golden eyes dropped to the blade for just an instant before locking on his again. All traces of mirth had fled her face. “You realize that I can shatter that sword with a thought. And I can do the same to every bone in your body.”

In his rage, he had forgotten that she was a shaper. He longed to kill her, but he didn’t dare chance an attempt. He knew all too well what a Qirsi with shaping power could do, be it to the gates of his castle or to his neck. After a moment, he returned the sword to his belt. “I want to know how you got in,” he said, though he could do nothing to compel a reply.

To her credit, Jastanne seemed to sense how important this was to him. “I used one of the sally ports. Your guards are more concerned just now with parties of Aneirans than they are with a lone Qirsi.”

“How did you know about the sally port?”

“Before you banished all the Qirsi from your castle, we had. . allies in your court. Our knowledge of Kentigern Castle is extensive.” Then, as if to soften the words, she added, “Though no more extensive than our knowledge of the castles in Thorald, Galdasten, even the City of Kings.”

“So you can come here unbidden any time you like. You could kill me in my sleep if you wanted to.”

The smile sprang to her lips again. “Why would we want to?” When he said nothing, she gave a small shrug. “I suppose we could. As I said, with the siege under way, your guards are intent on the Aneirans. They know me from my previous visits, so even if they saw me, they probably would let me pass. Under other circumstances, that might not be the case.”

Aindreas wasn’t satisfied by this, but he hadn’t the time to pursue the matter further. “Why are you here?” He stopped, eyeing her closely. “Was that you I saw just a short time ago, on the rise north of the castle?”

“Yes, it was. Word of the Aneirans’ advance reached the piers a short time ago. I came here to make certain that you know what we want of you.”

“I intend to defend my castle.”

“Of course you do, Lord Kentigern. We’d expect no less.” Something, a catch in the voice. He knew what she’d say next. “But we also expect no more.”

“The Aneirans are going to march north, to Galdasten.”

Her eyebrows went up. “I’m impressed.”

Aindreas looked away, feeling ill. “Actually,” he said, not certain why he bothered, “my swordmaster suggested that they would.”

“Really? Who’d have thought that an Eandi warrior could be so clever?”

“You want me to let them go.”

“Yes. They’ll wait until the siege is well under way-I imagine you’ll have little choice but to use all your men in the defense of your city and castle. But just in case you have it in mind to stop them, don’t.”

“You have allies in Mertesse, as well. Or perhaps in Solkara.” Or is it both? When she didn’t answer, he said, “My swordmaster all but begged me to divide my army in order to keep the Aneirans from getting past Kentigern.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I was most concerned with the defense of the tor, and that I wouldn’t take even a single man off the castle walls until I was certain that Aneira’s siege had been broken.”

“Excellent. Then you have nothing to worry about.” But there was a brittle quality to her voice, as though she sensed that he was wavering.

“We’re nearing the end of all this, aren’t we?”

“The end of what?” she asked, in a way that made him certain that they were.

“This is what your leaders have been waiting for. This siege, the naval war in Falcon Bay.” He forced a smile, despite the pain in his gut. “We’re allies, Jastanne. Surely you can tell me this much.”

She regarded him briefly, before stepping to the door. “Guard your castle, Lord Kentigern. There may be more to this siege than there appears, but that doesn’t mean that the Aneirans are any less earnest in their desire to destroy you. You’d be wise to remain true to your word. Defend your castle, and leave the rest to us.” She left him then, her words hanging in the air, pungent as black smoke. And she closed the door so softly that he never heard the latch slip back in place.