Chapter 29 | The Last Royal Mistress

Warin reached Guenor with a fraction of his forces. Every nightfall on the long march, nearly five dozen would slip past the torchlight into the surrounding countryside, and while some of the camp guards killed the ones they could catch, others deserted their posts and fled with them. Word on the size of the rebel force was reaching the company; while King Warin fielded ten thousand men and a thousand cavalry, Prince Andrin Periander had three times again as many infantrymen, and more than twice as many cavalry. Worse, and what hastened the flight of the deserters: while the King had no Brothers with him, intelligence said the Prince did.

“I am King by right, and your recognition! Why would the Brothers refuse to stand by me, then turn around and side with my son?” fretted Warin to Teacher, who remained silent. “It’s not a rhetorical question, damn you!” said Warin. “Why!”

“I would assume,” said Teacher slowly, “that Farr instructed them to do so, and the Eldest Brother sent word to his forces in Corland and Kellen to follow the Prince.”

Warin paled and lay back in his cushions. “Pagg damn this foot!”

When Warin’s troops finally reached the border with Guenor, exhausted and footsore after 16 days’ march, his force had dropped by nearly a thousand men. But the cavalry stood fast, as was their tradition; it lost not a man to the tempting road home. “They’ve had at least two months to prepare their defenses, not counting superior force,” said one of the two colonels of horse to the other. “The cavalry always fights or dies--we never desert, we never surrender except under orders--but there’s not much we can accomplish this time but to die, I fear.”

The day of the battle, the King’s two generals surveyed the gathered enemy from a rise behind the camp; Ardenil saw nothing but a sea of spears, fronted by banks of archers protected by earthenworks bristling with horse-killing pikes. “I don’t see anything for it, Dantono,” said Ardenil. “We’re outnumbered, they have a battalion of Brothers, and they’re entrenched.”

“I don’t think they’ve even bothered to saddle their cavalry. I don’t see a single horse,” said Dantono, squinting. “All the platoons we’ve sent to scout their flanks have gone missing--I think they just fled into the woods! The rest of our men are on the brink of turning tail, Ardenil, we’re losing discipline with no way to enforce it. We’ve never faced anything like this. What do we do?”

Ardenil scanned the enemy again. Years of campaigning left him able to read the mood of an army even from this distance. He could sense their excitement, the confidence running through the rebel army, such a stark contrast to the dispirited men he was left with. I’m sending men to certain death, he thought.

Ardenil had been a soldier his entire life. The only reason he hadn’t stayed with the Brothers was that he could not forget his sweetheart, no matter how hard he tried; finally, he gave up his postulancy, went home and married her, and joined the King’s Army as an officer. I don’t mind dying, he thought; though leaving Elibetta a widow pained him, she would get his pension and his oldest son would care for her. No, it wasn’t the dying, it was the pointless slaughter of his men that made it hard to swallow.

Finally he turned to Dantono, his oldest friend. “We’d better see the King and try to talk some sense into him.”

Dantono shook his head. “Teacher’s been trying for weeks with no success, and we’ve been trying to change his mind since he raised the army.”

“Perhaps,” said Ardenil, “he will listen to his generals now that he sees what we face.” The two friends descended the rise and walked through the muddy camp to the King’s pavilion, the smell of horses, burnt bacon and spilled small beer drifting on the faint breeze. Ardenil knew the King’s ears were stopped with pride, and seeing the King’s face as they entered the tent confirmed it.

Warin’s retainers were strapping him into his armor as best as they could, as Teacher looked on. “You’re pinching me, buffoons!” said Warin.

“It still needs at least two inches to close, Your Majesty,” apologized the lead man. Teacher placed a slender hand on the breastplate; the man eyed Teacher skeptically. The breastplate seemed to melt and flow around Teacher’s hand. Teacher stood back, nodding at the astonished retainer who tried again. “Well! It fits now, sir!” he exclaimed. “Am I--I am right that this armor repels all weapons--that it is enchanted?”

“Now, whoever heard of enchanted armor?” said Teacher with a faint smile. The man shrank away from the figure in black, and returned to outfitting his King.

“Teacher,” resumed Warin, “you are to kill Corland and Kellen the moment you see them! Am I understood?”

“It isn’t as easy as all that, sir, but I shall try,” murmured Teacher. “For your part, if the time comes, will you be able to kill your son?”

“What d’you mean, if the time comes? Do you doubt our victory?”

General Dantono cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the battle is very much against us, Your Majesty. The chances are more than good that the Prince will carry the day.”

“I am also quite certain the Prince will not hesitate to kill you,” added Teacher. “It’s still not too late, to retire to some lovely backwater and abdicate to Prince Andrin, sir.”

“Become a country squire!” said Warin dismissively. “I can’t imagine my Rose being satisfied with such a life.”

“Indeed,” said Teacher. “Though you don’t have to worry about satisfying Lady Callant any longer. She has fled the country.”

“What! Harla take you, mind my foot!” said Warin, kicking at the hapless retainer trying to fasten greaves to his shins. “What d’you mean, fled the country!”

“I mean she has taken what she can carry and left with her servant Ototo for safer climes, sir. She is convinced you will be killed here today, and that her own death would follow shortly, if not at Per’s hands then at the hands of the people,” said Teacher, adding as Warin paled, “You have greatly underestimated the anger of the common folk, Your Majesty.”

“My Rose!” faltered Warin, eyes turned inward. “How can I fight without my Rose?”

“Sir, abdicate!” said General Ardenil. “There is no shame in living out your final years in comfort and peace!”

Warin straightened up, and for the first time in years looked almost noble. “No. You may lack faith, Dantono, and you may think slinking away is preferable to facing my disloyal son, Ardenil, but We shall win the day and We shall win her back! Teacher, We will send you out to find her, as soon as We have defeated these traitors and killed Per. We will not accept defeat, but We will fight to the last man, and in the end, stand victorious!” He made to stride out of the pavilion, until his full weight landed on his gouty foot; he left the tent leaning on the shoulder of the retainer he’d tried to kick, his enchanted armor clanking as they stumped along. Ardenil and Dantono exchanged bleak glances, and followed the King reluctantly.

Teacher sighed, slipped out of the black robes that otherwise seemed attached, and prepared for battle.

There was nothing for the King’s forces to do but to line up and hope for the best. A flanking attack didn’t seem possible; it would spread them too thin, and Ardenil was more and more convinced that his scouting parties hadn’t come back because they’d found the missing enemy cavalry--in the woods, already flanking the King’s forces.

At the back of the Royal troops stood Warin in the resplendent armor that made him look like a very expensive kettle, and Teacher, dressed in a simple black doublet, hose and boots, iron-colored hair pulled back with a leather thong. On either side stood the army’s two generals, long-faced and resigned. Before them, the infantry stood in a long block, with cavalry on both sides. Even their pennants drooped in the dying breeze, as if certain of capture and humiliation. In the distance, behind the defensive earthworks, three ranks of enemy archers waited.

“Teacher!” said Warin. “Remove the earthworks.”

Brows furrowed, Teacher reached out a groping hand, as if trying to tangle it into invisible threads. Teacher’s hand dropped. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t!”

“My disobedience is impossible,” said Teacher wearily. “I cannot remove the earthworks. I can’t budge a pebble.”

“What d’you mean, you can’t!”

Teacher’s eyes squeezed shut, then opened again. “You really are the most tiresome king I have ever served, Your Majesty. I cannot remove the earthworks because they are in Guenor and we are in Tremont.”

“What! Guenor is mine, just as Corland is mine!” shouted Warin.

“Not any more,” answered Teacher. “The land doesn’t recognize you. My magic stops at the border. You have lost control over Corland, sir. It belongs to your son.”

Warin stiffened, and one corner of his mouth gave a miniscule twitch. “I-it is m-mine!” he repeated. “Knock--knock those earthworks down, I tell you! Knock them down!”

Teacher inclined in a small bow, arms spread. “Corland is no longer at your command, sir.”

“D-damn you! Pagg damn you straight to Harla’s Hall, you useless old crow!”

“I was damned before your great-great-grandfather was born,” said Teacher coldly. “You can stop this, Your Majesty, and save the lives of thousands of men whose only crime is loyalty to the throne--a throne, I swear to you, you cannot hold!”

“Sir,” said General Dantono, “if we have no magic at our command to balance the numbers against us, we cannot win! I cannot in good conscience throw the lives of my men away!”

Ardenil felt his heart pounding, resounding against his armor. “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” said the general, “I concur. I will not order an attack.”

Warin turned to face them both. “You are cowards, the pair of you! You will not fight for your king?”

“We, ourselves? Of course we will. But we will not send our men to die for our king’s pride,” said General Dantono. “Nor, sir, will we watch your son slaughter you, when you could live out your old age in honor.”

“Honor?” said Warin. “You know nothing of honor, either of you! Die for my pride? Die for your own pride!” He turned to the ranks of men behind the generals and boomed, “who among you will execute these traitors, who call themselves men of honor and will not fight for their rightful king!” The soldiers shifted on their feet. Lieutenants eyed each other over the ranks uneasily, but no one moved. Warin turned purple. “Very well, then! I’ll do it myself! Teacher! Execute them immediately!”

“A traitor’s death? No,” said General Dantono. He unbuckled his breastplate and moved it aside. Before Ardenil understood what he meant to do, Dantono drew his sword and fell on it. He lay gasping on the ground, the sword buried up to the hilt in his gut, then looked up to his old companion. “Ardenil, if you love me, take my head and end me. I beg you.”

Ardenil looked down at Dantono, struggling to stay still through the pain, and mortally wounded. I’d rather cut out my own heart--it is cutting out my own heart, he thought. But he drew his sword, and did as his friend asked. At least it was a death of his choosing, Ardenil thought. He turned to Teacher, and only then let his tears fall. “I’m sorry, Teacher. Please, follow your king’s orders and kill me, for I have killed my best friend, and I haven’t the heart to kill myself, nor to live.” He glanced over Teacher’s shoulder at Warin. “I have no king to serve any more, so I may as well die.”

Anguish contracted Teacher’s smooth face. “I don’t wish to kill you.”

“But you must,” said the general, handing Teacher his bloodied sword. “He commands it. Get it over with and let me join my friend.”

Ardenil made as if to kneel, but Teacher stopped him. “I will not have you on your knees like a thief.” Teacher ran quickly-bloodied fingers down the sword’s edge. “It’s sharper now than any whetstone can make it. It will be quick, Ardenil, I promise.” Teacher threw the sword into the air; it hovered before the general, just out of his sight. “I’m sorry,” said Teacher.

“Don’t be,” said Ardenil. The last thing he saw before his head hit the ground was the flash of his own sword.

Teacher swept a hand through the air, and the sword drove point-down into the earth next to Ardenil’s head.

A sobbing cry of despair burst from the men around the King; the cry echoed and magnified, as word of the generals’ deaths traveled through the ranks of soldiers. “What is happening?” said Warin.

“They are mourning their leaders,” said Teacher. “They have no one to follow now.”

“What d’you mean! They have me!” said Warin. “Listen, you men! I am your leader! Prepare to attack!”

A few of the more stalwart men took up battle positions, but no sooner had they done so than a hail of arrows went up from behind the earthworks, followed by another, and another. Soldiers fell in great numbers, and the main force finally broke and ran, leaving a desperate but committed ring around the confused Warin, who bawled all the orders he could think of.

The cavalry tried to herd the remaining soldiers into ranks, with mixed success. One officer was pulled bodily from the saddle as he slashed in futility at his desperate attackers. Three men clambered onto his horse, who promptly threw all but one; that man rode for his life as fast as he could and was gone from sight in moments. Other cavalrymen raised their swords and charged the enemy screaming until the archers cut them down; a few of them made it as far as the horsekillers, where the great spikes did their jobs and impaled both horse and rider.

Suddenly the hail of arrows stopped. Both soldiers and cavalry paused; those near the front of the lines called out, “Prince Andrin!” Atop the earthworks stood the Prince, grim but satisfied.

Teacher came striding through the battlefield, throwing soldiers both dead and alive aside with a wave of a hand to the edge of the earthworks. “Per!” Teacher called out. “Meet me in the middle ground, I beg you, and soon! You know you are safe!”

Per clambered down the far side of the defenses, carefully picking his way through the horse-killers, until he stood opposite Teacher between his own men and what was left of his father’s force. “Well?” said Per, “have you any message to relay from my father?”

“None, I’m afraid,” said Teacher. “But you must stay on Tremontine soil, or I can’t protect you.”

“Tremontine--what?” said Per with a confused laugh. “I’ve never left.”

“Corland no longer recognizes your father. It recognizes you.”

Per stared. “D’you mean to say,” he said, “that if I stepped back over the border I’d have the Corrish magic?”

Teacher said, “No. The men of the line have lost the essential ability, you know that. Some day you’ll get it back. You could get it back yourself--”

“I’d prefer to keep you instead,” said Per.

A tentative arrow from one of Warin’s few remaining archers whistled toward them; Teacher deflected it without even looking. “Once you’re king and know the story, you may change your mind, Your Highness.”

“Time to find out,” said Per. He stepped over a Tremontine soldier with an arrow through one eye, making his way around the bodies and frightened men to his father.

Teacher kept one hand toward Per and one toward the King. Arrows and swords directed at either of them bounced off solid air, the arrows falling to the ground, the swords shattered, until Teacher and the Prince reached Warin.

The soldiers surrounding the King raised their pikes. “A standstill, son!” called Warin. “I have a few loyal subjects left!”

“You cannot allow me to be hurt, correct?” said Per to Teacher.

“Except by a man of the blood, and that would be your father.”

Per smirked. He took a step toward the barbed wall of men around his father. One man made a tentative thrust; Per moved closer, arms spread. Encouraged, the soldier thrust again, adding a yell for good measure that turned into a yelp as his pike flew out of his hands and landed several yards away. “You can’t hurt me, good soldiers. I offer anyone within earshot amnesty, if you lay down your weapons and move away,” said Per loudly. The soldiers still huddled on the battlefield immediately threw down their shields and stacked their swords and pikes on top of them. The men surrounding Warin slowly put down their pikestaffs and moved away.

“Cowards!” yelled Warin. “I will hang your heads over the Market Gate!”

“Really, Father?” called Per. “D’you intend to behead them yourself? Or force Teacher to do it for you? Perhaps Mistress Bakerson--excuse me--Lady Callant will emerge from whatever hole she’s hiding in and wield the axe for you.”

Warin was snorting like a bull by this point. “Lady Callant is the love of my life! To think jealousy would lead you to treason!”

“Oh not jealousy,” retorted Per. “You’re welcome to the woman. I am merely saving my inheritance from your incompetence and pride.”

“D’you think I won’t kill you, boy? If I had known what a wicked son you’d turn out to be, I would have strangled you in your cradle!” said Warin. He pulled his sword. “No interference from anyone, Teacher!”

Per stood his ground with his sword still in its scabbard. “Come for me, old man.”

Warin charged, sword aloft, gouty foot apparently forgotten in his rage. Per neatly sidestepped him, deflecting his father’s sword arm and sending the old man stumbling to the ground. “I don’t want to kill you, sir,” said Per. “You can still leave the throne to me as your regent, with no dishonor. I can repair the damage you’ve done, and you--” Warin gave a hoarse cry and came at him again with the same result; this time, Warin stayed down, struggling for breath. “You’re ill, Father! Let me take you home. You can live at Middlemont, and run the house just as you please. You always liked it, you know. You can rest there, and perhaps the fresh air will do your gout some good. Yes? Let me help you up.”

Per extended a hand, but Warin drew a dagger and slashed at him. Per drew his hand back, as sudden pain ripped through it; the dagger had taken his little finger off, and he screamed in fury and shock. He pulled a kerchief from the breast of his doublet and pressed it against the wound. “I swear I will kill you, Father!” he said.

“You won’t need to,” said Teacher at his side.

Per looked down, keeping the kerchief clutched to the stump of his finger. Warin lay choking and twitching like a beached fish on the muddy grass. His face was an unnatural color; his eyes stared sightlessly into the milky sky. “Goodbye, Father,” said Per, his eyes filled with unexpected tears. Warin shuddered one last time, and died.

“The King is dead. Long live the King,” said Teacher quietly.