“If my queen would be so gracious as to grant me a boon,” I said. “I want the Pit Mines destroyed. The shafts all collapsed and the crater filled in. What was done here was never justice, merely slavery born of greed. I submit that the Ascendant Queen’s reign should be free of such things.”

  She clasped my chin with gentle fingers, guiding my lips to hers, voice grave with a sincere promise. “Granted, my lord. With all my heart.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We spent another three days at the Pit Mines while I oversaw the caravanning of the iron ore recently hewn from the seams. All the heaving carts would be transported to Duchess Lorine in lieu of payment for the supplies provided to the Covenant Host. The shafts would remain unworked until the time came for their destruction, but I saw little point in forgoing easy profit.

  Most of the former inmates, those capable of movement, chose to join the Anointed Lady’s cause and march in our wake as we returned to the main body of the crusade. During our stay, Evadine had resumed her compassionate ways in tending to these unfortunates, winning them over with her usual effortless combination of kindness and carefully phrased solicitation. In truth, thanks to the murderous efforts of Sir Aurent Vellinde, the freed miners made a meagre contribution to our numbers, the strength of which began to worry me when the host forded the Siltern to tread upon the soil of Alberis.

  “We were gaining ten to twenty a day the last few weeks,” Ayin reported that evening as the Anointed Lady’s Crusade made camp. Evadine had retired to her tent, once again without providing a sermon, leaving me to review our current dispositions and the state of our gathered intelligence. My status as de facto marshal of this host remained unspoken but also uncontested. Strictly speaking, Wilhum and I held equal rank but he exhibited no resentment at Evadine ceding command to me, apparently content with leading the Anointed Lady’s cavalry. As my keenest eye for numbers, Ayin had fallen into the role of both adjutant and quartermaster. Tonight she came armed with her ledgers and tallies that told a disquieting story. “Today we had a grand total of five, and one of them had a bad wound to the buttocks. A crossbow bolt loosed by his own father when he ran off.”

  “Folk are certainly of a different stripe here,” the Widow confirmed. With my attentions focused on the entire host, leadership of the Scout Company fell to her and she had been diligent in her duties, sending patrols far and wide. “Today we happened upon a village where they’d hung their Supplicant from the spire of his own shrine for speaking in support of the Lady. Also found one of our proclaimers lying in a ditch with his throat cut and pamphlets stuffed in his mouth.”

  “Our total strength?” I asked Ayin.

  “Eight thousand, one hundred and thirty-two,” she replied with customary promptness. “Though, Supplicant Delric says at least one of those that followed you from the Pit Mines is unlikely to see the dawn. Also, he said to tell you that the rest will be capable of no more than tossing a few stones at the heretics.”

  “Put them on the carts,” I said. “They’ll serve as drovers until they get their strength back.” Turning to the Widow, I continued, “There’ll be no more pamphlets. The proclaimers will stay with the host from now on. Scouts are to patrol in groups of five at least. Send that minstrel and his knife-juggling friend to the villages ahead of us. They’ll make out they’re paupered players fleeing the oncoming war and gauge the allegiance of the locals. We’ll send recruiters wherever they find folk in favour of the Lady’s Crusade and skirt those likely to be troublesome.”

  “All of northern Alberis is likely to be troublesome,” Wilhum said. “There’s nowhere in the whole of Albermaine more wedded to Covenant orthodoxy.”

  “We don’t have to take the land,” I replied. “Or the people. Just the holy city. With that, we have the Covenant.”

  “Eight thousand is a decent number. But even with the duchess’s soldiers, we’ve at best a thousand trained troops among this mob.”

  “Eamond must have reached Couravel by now. Swain and Ofihla will have their companies on the march. Three thousand veterans, foot and horse. Once we join with them, this war is won.” I paused, grimacing. “Save the actual fighting.”

  “Assuming Leannor allows us the leisure to settle this matter. Or that Arnabus and his outlaw captain remain content to sit and await our approach.”

  “Much of war is conducted in ignorance of the enemy’s intentions.” I couldn’t recall where I’d read this rejoinder, and may even have come up with it myself. Either way, it seemed appropriate. “This one is no different. Lord Wilhum, henceforth you will keep the Mounted Company within sword reach of the Anointed Lady at all times. If Arnabus and Thessil do choose to venture out and contest our advance, she will surely be their principal target.”

  The royal messenger found us ten days later, announced by the fluttering Algathinet banner cresting a hilltop to the south as the hour tipped past noon. The herald rode at the head of a twelve-strong band of mounted kingsmen, none of them knights as far as I could tell. I had wondered if Leannor would send Sir Ehlbert, the word of the King’s Champion being so much harder to ignore than this court functionary. The fact that she hadn’t could indicate unspoken approval for our course, the Princess Regent having no more love for the Luminants’ Council than did Evadine. The contents of her missive to the Risen Martyr, however, tended to exhibit the opposite sentiment, albeit in suitably floral language.

  “We are aware of the grievous harm and insult done to the Anointed Lady by the actions of the rogue cleric Arnabus,” the messenger read from an unfurled scroll while perched atop a fine black mare. I assumed the beast had been bred for its placidity for it continued to chew its bit and remain still throughout the recitation. Rather than receive the royal missive in camp, Evadine had ridden out to meet him with myself, Wilhum and the full Mounted Company. The fact that Covenant soldiery outnumbered those of the crown by a considerable margin was not missed by the kingsmen. Unlike the messenger’s mare, they fidgeted in constant agitation, worried eyes roving the unwelcoming faces of the riders flanking the Risen Martyr.

  “That these are crimes under law of both Crown and Covenant is not disputed,” the messenger went on in his carefully modulated tones, stripped of accusation or approval, “and, as such, they require an accounting before the appropriate courts. Therefore, in furtherance of the peace I know to be the cherished desire of both the king and the Anointed Lady,” the messenger paused, just for a second, his throat working to banish a catch, “all those currently following the Lady’s banner are commanded to return to their homes and allotted lands forthwith. Lady Evadine’s presence is formally requested at court where the Princess Regent will receive her full account of this matter and take all necessary steps to ensure justice is served.”

  The messenger, marked as no fool by the way he smothered a nervous cough, walked his mare towards Evadine, arm outstretched to proffer the scroll. When she made no move to accept it, the cough succeeded in escaping the messenger’s throat. “I…” He swallowed. “I am instructed to remind Lady Evadine of the oath she gave on bended knee to Good King Tomas not so long ago. Said oath binds your service to King Tomas’s heirs, as I’m sure my lady recalls.”

  Evadine said nothing, merely turning to me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Your message has been noted, good sir,” I told him with bland courtesy.

  His eyes flicked between myself and Evadine. Behind him the agitation of the kingsmen grew a notch, warhorses tossing their heads as they sensed the thickening tension. “Then,” the messenger ventured, “you have no reply for the Princess Regent?”

  “Princess Regent,” Evadine repeated, voice soft and a puzzled crease to her brow. “I know this person not. I do know Leannor Algathinet currently calls herself by various titles, but I will not sully my soul with the deceit of acknowledging falsehood. If, good sir, you are minded to tell her anything, tell her that. Now, I bid you good day and safe travels.”

  One of the kingsmen bridled at this, hand slipping towards his sword. He was forestalled by the commanding bark of his sergeant, but not before Wilhum and the Mounted Company had begun drawing their own steel.

  “Sheath your blades!” Evadine snapped. “These men come to me in peace and will depart so. Spilling blood at a parley is something I leave to others.”

  The messenger blinked, disconcerted by the pointed reference to Leannor’s actions at the Vale. However, his outrage didn’t prevent him walking his mare back to his own line. Once again, the man’s lack of foolishness made itself plain in the short bow he offered Evadine before wordlessly riding off, the kingsmen close behind.

  I watched them disappear over the hilltops to the south then glanced at Evadine, broaching a careful murmur. “Open defiance might not be wise at this juncture. Not with one war yet unfought.”

  Evadine merely smiled and patted a hand to Ulstan’s neck before tugging his reins and turning him about. “We have stepped beyond mortal laws now, Alwyn. Henceforth, only the Seraphile may command me.”

  I sent the Widow off to shadow the royal messenger’s party to ensure they hadn’t been accompanied by a larger body of troops. Juhlina returned after three days reporting the country south of our line of march clear of all forces, though she had seen a good many people heading to and from Athiltor.

  “Those moving south seemed a good deal more ragged than those going north,” the Widow said. “We managed to question a few of both, made out like we were free swords deciding which side to throw in with. Those going south were all from Athiltor. From what they told us, life in the holy city isn’t especially pleasant just now. Lot of folk being flogged or even hanged for heresy. There’s Vergundians and various other ne’er-do-wells hanging about and helping themselves to whatever they fancy. Every able body has been conscripted into the Council Company, but desertion is a constant problem. Plenty of orthodox-ites came flocking in when word of the Lady’s Crusade started to spread, but many left soon after. The Divine Captain is too fond of the lash and too spare with the coin.”

  “Arnabus?” I asked. “The council?”

  “Talk is one of the Luminants is now dangling upside down from the cathedral spire. Seems Arnabus ordered him hung by his ankles until he died. Before hanging him, they stripped him naked and carved the words ‘Traitor to the Covenant’ into his belly. Arnabus himself is rarely seen outside the cathedral, though the Divine Captain is said to be everywhere at once, overseeing work on the defences or sniffing out fresh necks for the noose.”

  “Did you hear any word of Swain?” For the past two days I had expected to receive news of the Covenant Company proper. It was my intention to merge our forces amid the open country south-west of the holy city, there to engage in some much needed reorganisation and training before advancing north.

  “Neither word nor sign,” the Widow said. “But if they’d come to grief we would have heard tell of a battle by now.”

  “Rest the scouts tonight. Come the morn, divide them into parties of three and have them range across all points south for ten miles. Any who happen upon Captain Swain are to tell him to bring his host directly to Athiltor with all haste. We’ll endeavour to rendezvous at the crossroads where the eastern and northern King’s Roads meet.”

  “And if we don’t find them?” Juhlina directed a pointed glance at the surrounding encampment, untidy by most military standards, and the ragged clusters of pike-bearing churls blundering through their nightly drill. Her doubtful tone and disparaging scowl invited a rebuke I didn’t voice. The Widow’s demeanour since the Dire Keep had been even more taciturn than usual, but also exhibited a good deal of unspoken knowledge, especially whenever her gaze drifted towards Evadine. Still, I valued her candour and the insight of one untroubled by blind devotion to the Risen Martyr.

  “Then,” I said, “we’ll soon find out if this lot are as devoted as they claim.”

  Since my encounter with Danick Thessil at the Dire Keep I had known he would prove a canny opponent. A veteran soldier’s experience married to outlaw instincts made him a man not to be underestimated. Yet, when it came, his first gambit in this war still succeeded in taking me by surprise, shamed as I am to admit it.

  The Lady’s Crusade took three more days to approach within striking distance of the holy city. The crossroads where I had hoped to find Swain’s troops stood barren, the small hamlet surrounding it silent and abandoned. The carts that would normally have busied this meeting of trade routes were notably absent. So were those who sold wares and drink to drovers and traders. I knew by now that people wishing no part of imminent battle had an uncanny knack of disappearing when the hour was at hand, vanishing to whatever refuge they could find amid hills or forest. Years of war had made this a habitual migration for many, as much an aspect of life as the harvest or stocking up for the winter. I drew some comfort from this, reasoning that if there was ever a land in need of peace, it was Albermaine. When Evadine rose to don the crown, who but the mad would wish to contend her? Such, dearest reader, are the delusions of those lost in the maze of love.

  With the Scout Company off in search of Swain I was obliged to press Wilhum’s riders into patrol duty, dispatching him with two-thirds of his strength to scout the approaches to Athiltor. I was also scrupulous in organising the camp, making sure its irregular sprawl didn’t extend too far and setting out a tight picket line. Evadine took up residence in the hamlet’s largest building, an inn that doubled as a brothel and therefore benefited from some comfortable beds. Now back among the ranks of the crusade, there was no prospect of sharing such comfort with her that night, much to our mutual frustration.

  “None?” she demanded of Ayin with an untypical snap to her tone. “No new recruits at all?”

  Ayin clutched her ledgers tighter and lowered her gaze. She had been called to the inn to provide an accounting of our numbers, a task performed with her usual guileless honesty. “No, my lady,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “There haven’t been any for several days now.” Darting a worried look at me she added in yet quieter tones, “Also, others have been… leaving. Our strength is five hundred and eighty-three less than it was last week.”

  “How?” Evadine’s voice acquired an edge. “Where did they go?”

  “They deserted,” I cut in as Ayin squirmed under the Anointed Lady’s gaze. “As with any army when battle draws near, those who thought themselves brave and faithful often find they are neither. As for the lack of recruits, we should remember that this land hasn’t known a season without war for a long time. Folk are wearied of constant strife, my lady.”

  This brought a softening to her brow, and a glance of apology at Ayin. “My thanks, trooper,” Evadine told her with a forced smile. “Your diligence does you credit as always. Go now and rest.”

  “We can’t wait here,” I said when Ayin had departed, leaving us alone in the low-ceilinged room that served as the inn’s drinking den. “There’s little chance of increasing our numbers and every day that passes saps our strength further. I would have preferred to join with Swain and Ofihla’s companies, but by the time they arrive, if they ever do, we may have no army left to speak of.”

  “Then we press on to Athiltor,” Evadine stated. “Demand Arnabus surrender and take the city by storm when he refuses.”

  “Storming prepared trenches with barely trained soldiers invites disaster. Thessil may be a cruel commander but he’s far from foolish.”

  Evadine shook her head. “Cruel or foolish, it matters not.” She paused, meeting my eye with a familiar certainty. “I have seen it, Alwyn. This crusade will take the holy city.”

  “A vision?” I asked receiving a nod in response.

  “It came to me last night. It will be a bloody day to be sure, but take it we will. And there on the steps of Martyr Athil’s sacred cathedral, the Ascendant Queen will proclaim her rise.”

  If the prospect of impending monarchy pleased her, it failed to show in the preoccupied cast to her face as she slumped into one of the rickety chairs. “The visions,” she whispered, putting a hand to her brow. “Such a burden sometimes.”

  “A burden we share,” I promised, moving to grasp her shoulder. “I’m here. I always will be. Know that above all else.”

  She looked up at me, reaching to clasp my fingers, then withdrawing her touch when the clump of boots outside told of guards taking up station for the night. “I’d best see to the pickets,” I said, squeezing her hand before bowing and making for the door.

  “Not a chance he can do six,” Ayin said, the disbelief in her voice a contrast to the rapt fascination on her face as she watched Adlar Spinner demonstrate his skills. His performances had become a nightly ritual on the march, folk gathering round the tent he shared with Quintrell to witness the spectacle of various items cast into the air in a dancing arc. Curiously, the clumsiness he had exhibited in Lorine’s hall had vanished, his remarkably dextrous hands achieving feats some might ascribe to arcane influence, so impossible did they seem. One of his favourite tricks was to garner random objects from the crowd, pendants, weapons or sundry trinkets, and juggle them with much the same skill he displayed with balls or clubs. Tonight, he spun a glittering circle of knives, starting with three then snatching another from his belt every few turns to increase the number.

  “A wager I’ll take, my dear,” Quintrell said, smoke blossoming from his mouth as he raised his pipe to Ayin.

  “Lady says not to gamble,” Ayin replied with a scowl that proved short-lived, so enraptured was she by the spinner’s antics. I was surprised, in truth near shocked, to read in her expression something more than mere delight at a novel spectacle. It was an interest of a kind I had thought beyond her and found its abrupt appearance discomfiting.