Chapter 36 | The Queen Who Ruled by Herself

Two days after their picnic, Macca and Ilhovin were eating a quiet dinner in their rooms when a mild commotion in their receiving room broke out. The door finally opened and Teacher stalked in, followed by the chamberlain. “I did try to stop him, your highness,” he said apologetically.

“No need, Teacher is always welcome. You look very full of news!” Ilhovin said after the chamberlain had bowed himself out of the room. “What is it?”

The Teacher looked at the floor and then at Macca and Ilhovin. “You have conceived a son.”

Macca started back in her chair and gave a small, good-natured laugh. “I'm sorry? I think I would be the first to know such a thing, counselor.”

“No, your highness, I would be the first to know. If you had conceived a girl, you would be right--you would definitely be the first to know. But the men of this line are different. I sense them the instant they are conceived. You are carrying a son, ma'am.”

Macca looked at Ilhovin. “He's serious.”

“Very much so,” said Ilhovin. “Have you told the king?”

“No,” said the Teacher, head shaking. “That is your place. I suggest you tell him soon, though. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how much time he has left. I'll leave you to your dinner.”

Macca and Ilhovin sat staring at each other for a long time after Teacher left. “A son,” Ilhovin finally whispered. “Macca! We're going to have a son!” He whooped as he pulled her out of her chair and began to spin her around, then set her carefully on her feet. “Gods! None of that now! Sit down again, darling, did I jostle you too much?”

“Hov, it's a baby, not a piece of porcelainware!” laughed Macca, tears in her eyes. “And I'm a woman, I'm not going to break! When shall we tell your father?”

“I want to wait,” he said, holding her gingerly. “I want to make sure. Yes, the Teacher would know, before anyone. But if something were to happen--”

“Nothing's going to happen,” she soothed. “Nothing. In six spokes we'll have a baby. Hov! The gods answered our prayers!”

Even so, they waited a spoke before they approached Gethin with the news. By then, Macca was sure the Teacher was right; she'd missed her cycle for two moons, certain smells were unbearable, and her stomach often rose up against her, especially first thing in the morning.

Gethin was by now just skin over bones; the wasting disease was close to claiming him, and the Sisters and lay healers could do nothing more than try to keep him comfortable. Most days he sat with Attik. Sometimes Attik would read to him. Sometimes Attik would have the footmen carry Gethin out to the garden and they would talk quietly among the falling leaves of early autumn. But increasingly, they simply lay together in Gethin's bedchamber, holding hands while Gethin slept.

“I'm losing him, Prince Ilhovin,” Attik said sadly the day Macca and Ilhovin came to tell the king. “He's a little further away every day.”

“Maybe he'll hold on a little longer now,” said Ilhovin, watching his sleeping father's face.

“I'll leave you with him,” said Attik, standing up.

“No,” said Macca, her hand on his arm. “Stay.”

Attik sat back down, nodding. “Geth,” he said, stroking the king's cheek. “Wake up, love. Ilhovin's here, with Macca and the Teacher.”

“Hov?” said Gethin sleepily. “Oh, son, there you are. Macca, my daughter. Come sit near me.”

“Father,” she said, taking his hand, for as the years had passed she had come to love Gethin dearly. “We have some good news. We think--we're fairly sure that I'm to have a child.”

“Teacher?” said Gethin, opening his eyes fully. “Have you sensed anything?”

“It's a boy, your majesty,” said Teacher quietly.

“We waited a spoke to make sure before we told you,” Ilhovin added.

“A grandson. An heir. I knew your birth prophecy couldn't be wrong. She said--the Traveler Queen said--you would survive your infancy and carry on the line. I knew she was right. Listen, Ilhovin,” he said laboriously, “now that you'll have an heir, Belleth--will make his move.”

“Father, he's never stopped moving against us.”

“I mean he will launch an out and out rebellion. I was wrong. I should have let you and Teacher have your way. When word gets out that Macca is pregnant he'll attack before the child can be born. Be ready, Ilhovin. I support you in whatever you decide to do. In fact--I may as well--say this now. Teacher, I am losing my strength. When I can no longer speak--I give my son Ilhovin the regency. You will obey him--as you would me.” Gethin lay back among the pillows, pale and spent.

“He's tired now,” said Attik. “I think you'd best go.”

Macca stood and kissed Gethin's brow, as did Ilhovin, and they left Gethin to sleep.

Gethin was right; the news traveled fast, and Belleth launched his rebellion within a week of Macca's news becoming public. Fully two-thirds of the nobility joined him against “the weakling and his Sairish whore.” Ilhovin gathered his loyal lords and the Brothers of Farr and went to war.

“Take advantage of Wallek,” urged Macca. “He is a master of archery on horseback, and he can teach you and your men a great deal.” And so Wallek was elevated from his status as Macca's master of horse, became a cavalry officer and stood at Ilhovin's right hand.

The first skirmish was far too close to the capital for Ilhovin's liking. The Duke of Valmouth had joined the rebellion, and had attacked a loyal garrison of troops at the valley's mouth that had given the duchy its name. The Brother of Farr who commanded the garrison had gotten a messenger through to the capital, and Ilhovin and Wallek rode to the defense of the garrison. He left his father and Macca behind with the Teacher to guard them, and he knew he would probably never see the king alive again; Gethin had lapsed into unconsciousness, with faithful Attik keeping vigil by his side around the clock.

When the royalist forces neared the garrison, Ilhovin and Wallek parted company, each leading his forces up over the passes around the garrison to flank the attackers on the valley floor. The Duke of Valmouth was a vain man who believed firmly in his own military superiority; he insisted no one would ever hazard the mountains, especially “that milksop Ilhovin,” and so he left them only lightly defended. Neither Wallek nor Ilhovin faced any serious opposition, especially Ilhovin and his magic as limited as it was, and none of the defenders were left alive to get a message back to Valmouth.

When they emerged from the passes, they found Valmouth's considerable forces arrayed before the garrison, dug in for a siege. Wallek and Ilhovin were outnumbered and on unfamiliar ground, but it didn't matter; they charged into the rebels, taking them by surprise. Valmouth's siege engines were slowly turned from the garrison onto the Tremontine cavalry, but Ilhovin lit arrow after arrow with magic fire, his own and his men's, and sent them into the timber of the towers. Soon the engines were ablaze.

“The land still recognizes me!” he called to his men as they regrouped for the next charge. “It is still ours no matter who Valmouth bows to!”

But before he could ride back down into the throng, Ilhovin was transfixed by a smashing tide of power, flowing into him like a spring flood. He screamed with grief, for it meant only one thing; his father was dead.

With a sobbing cry, he stood up in his saddle and flung his new power outward, and the valley went up in flames. Those rebels who weren't caught in the immediate conflagration were trapped, their retreat cut off by the fire. A cheer went up from the garrison, but it went unheard; the roar of the flames drowned out all other noise. Wallek, Ilhovin and the forces in the garrison rode out against the rebels, pushing them back against the wall of flames. The air filled with smoke, at first the acrid scent of burning wood and grass, but then the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh. Not one man among Valmouth's forces was spared, and Valmouth himself was found burned almost beyond recognition in the ruins of his pavilion at the back of his army, the only clue to his identity a ring Gethin had given him that was spared by the fire.

“Your highness,” said Wallek when they finally met again in the aftermath, “your magic--”

“My father is dead,” said Ilhovin bluntly.

Wallek immediately dropped to his knees. “Your majesty!” The rest of the company followed his example, and cries of “The king is dead! Long live the king!” rang through the gathered armies.

Ilhovin took his bloodied sword and tapped the still-kneeling Sairishman's shoulders. “I give you this holding as your own, Wallek, for your service and your faithfulness. Stand, Duke of Valmouth.”

It was the first battle in the war, it was the end of 631, and Ilhovin was king.