Honor among thieves

Chapter Fourteen

After Morgain left, no one spoke for some while. Croy grew uneasy, standing against the wall with his hand on his sword hilt. The king, his liege, was clearly distressed-Ulfram sat in his chair, chin in hand, deep in thought.

“It’s far worse than I thought,” the king said at last. “I thought they would give us a chance to pay tribute in exchange for peace.” He shook his head. “Croy-Sir Croy. You were there. You saw the mountain come down. How wide is this pass? How many men can march abreast through it?”

Croy’s brow furrowed as he considered that. “When the mountain fell, it wreaked terrible damage on the surrounding land. The pass is perhaps a quarter of a mile across.”

“That big? That big!” Ulfram got up and ran to the door. He waved outside and Croy heard footsteps in the hall. “My scouts told me it was passable, but they forgot to mention it was wide enough to march an entire army through. Incompetence everywhere! A hole that big in my kingdom. The barbarians will flood through. There’ll be no stopping them.”

“Your majesty,” Sir Hew said, “I suspect you knew this was coming.”

The king looked up at his Captain of the Guard. “I knew they were massing the clans just east of the mountains, yes.”

“Already you’ve begun the process of conscription. We’ll have an army ready before they arrive,” Hew went on.

“An untrained rabble,” Ulfram told him. He waved one hand in frustration. “And only a few real knights to lead them.”

“We could send to the Northern Kingdoms, to hire more soldiers.” The kingdoms of Skilfing, Ryving, Maelfing, and Anfald were constantly at war with each other, and in times of peace they hired their soldiers out as mercenaries.

“Already done,” the king said. “Skilfing has promised to come to our aid as soon as they’re finished making their own war on Maelfing. They won’t arrive for many weeks, though-and the barbarians are only days away.”

“What of the Old Empire?” Croy asked.

The king shook his head. The first settlers of Skrae had been exiles from the continent across the southern sea, a land ruled for thousands of years by a grand imperial court. “I sent an envoy as soon as I heard about the new pass, of course,” Ulfram said, “but the Emperor there has no love for us, not even after all this time. And I wouldn’t trust him if he did send us troops. They’d probably beat the barbarians, then stick around to conquer us as well. No, we’ll have to rely on the army we have. But we’ve had too much peace, for too long! Barely any man in Skrae remembers how to lift a sword. We’re fat and soft. The barbarians-if they’re anything like her-will run roughshod over us.”

One by one the king’s councilors filed in from the hall. The exchequer, the seneschal, the chancellor, the Duke of Greenmarsh, the archpriest of the Lady, many more Croy had never met. The Baron of Easthull nodded in a friendly way to Croy, but was quickly drawn into conversation with a man who wore the golden chain of the Keeper of the Royal Seals. These were the most powerful men in Skrae-and unlike their king, they all looked terrified.

A table was brought in and maps unfurled across its surface. Croy was asked a thousand questions, very few of which he could answer, but he did his best. Cythera had a few more answers, but she lacked any military training and couldn’t speak to strategy. Yet the need for information seemed endless. Even Malden was interrogated about what he’d seen of the land near Cloudblade’s ruin.

Everyone crowded around the maps, working out where the invasion would come from. “The forest-here-will slow them down a bit, but we can expect at most ten days’ grace before they reach the river Strow,” Sir Hew said.

“If we could only hold them off until winter,” the king said, wringing his hands. “Just a few months. No army can march properly through a bank of snow. They’d have to either make camp where we could harry them, or, more likely, withdraw into the mountains and wait for spring. By then we could fortify the pass and seal them back where they belong.”

“There might be a way to slow them, at least,” Croy suggested. “Here,” he said, pointing to the map, quite near where the new pass lay, “there is an old fort. It’s where we met Herward. It’s half in ruins, but the walls still stand. My liege, give me five hundred men, and I’ll hold it for a month, though it cost me my life.”

The king stared at the map. Then he took a step back from the table and shook his head. “No,” he told Croy.

“I beg you, majesty! Allow me this chance to prove my honor.”

“I said no, Sir Croy. Your five hundred would be overrun, eventually. Every man of them slain, and still you wouldn’t buy us enough time. I can’t sacrifice that many on a noble gesture. No, we will make our defense here, at Helstrow.”

Sir Hew cleared his throat, but the king shot him a piercing glance. “I have spoken,” he announced.

Silence fell across the room.

“When word of this gets out, everyone in the outer bailey will try to flee. I can’t allow that. Seal the gates of the outer bailey-all of them. No man will leave Helstrow, not until I bid it,” Ulfram declared. “Redouble our efforts to conscript the population. I want every soul within these walls dedicated to preparing for the attack. As for you three Ancient Blades-go now, and make yourselves useful. Train as many of the rabble as you can. My councilors and I have a great deal of work to do, and you’re wasting our time.”

Croy’s cheeks burned. His heart raced in his chest. He bowed deep and said, “My liege.” Then he nodded at Cythera and Malden and hurried them out of the chamber.

It was not until they were beyond the gates of the palace that any of them spoke again. It was Cythera who spoke first. “I can’t believe he just let Balint go like that-after all she did!”

“We cannot gainsay him,” Croy told her. “He is the Lady’s appointed sovereign, and his word is law.”

“He’s a man. And any man can be a fool,” Malden insisted.

Croy’s blood surged to hear the slander, but he knew better than to take Malden’s words too seriously. The thief didn’t understand what he was talking about. “He’s a king, and that’s all that matters. It is his right to do as he sees fit, for all our sakes.”

“Not mine. I know nothing of war,” Malden admitted, “but he’s making a mistake, isn’t he? Sir Hew seemed to think your strategy could have worked. It could have kept the barbarians bottled up. Instead he’s going to just let them march up to his gate so he can have a nice chat with their king. Or whatever it is they have instead of a king. He’s going to talk to them, when all they want is to destroy us.”

Croy’s honor wouldn’t allow him to agree. But he knew enough of military history to say, “If the barbarians come through the pass unhindered, they’ll have time before the first snow falls to establish a strong foothold inside Skrae’s borders. Once they’re here, it’ll be a hard thing to drive them out again.”

The thief placed a hand on Croy’s shoulder. Croy could feel Malden’s fingers shaking. “I–I’m not good enough with this sword to fight in battle,” he said. “I can’t stay here. I can’t stand beside you.”

Croy closed his eyes. Cowardly words, but truthful ones. “No, Malden, you can’t. Which is why you’re leaving Helstrow tonight-and you’re taking Cythera with you.”