While she looked through the window, Selinda’s hand drifted to her belly, touching the imperceptible thing that had taken root there, though it was not yet beginning to affect her slender shape. Her tower room offered views in three directions, but she did not so much as glance at the roadway heading into the mountains, the route taken by her husband’s army. Instead, as she stroked her belly, the princess of Palanthas gazed northward, past the city’s teeming docks, to the masts of the crowded harbor, and the sparkling blue waters extending to the limits of her vision on the northern horizon.
She knew her husband and his soldiers too well even to try to persuade the guards at her door to consider relaxing their duties and letting her out for a short while. They would hem and haw and shuffle their feet, but in the end they would obey the emperor. She would not be allowed to leave her chambers.
What a pretty prison I’ve made for myself! she thought, remembering back. She had been long been intrigued by the man, even though he was an outlaw when they had first met. Fascinated, she had paid wary attention to Jaymes as he exonerated himself, then rose by acclamation to the command of all the Solamnic Armies. As lord marshal, he had been surprisingly gracious to her. Then, one time during a visit, he had come to her chambers and they had shared a decanter of wine and talked; that was when she had fallen helplessly in love with him. Almost overnight his words had become music to her ears, his casual wishes her deepest desires.
She had wanted-no, needed — him with a passion she had never imagined-and one that she could barely recall. What a naif she had been when he had proposed to her, and her world broke into song. The wedding itself, hastily arranged but conducted with all the pomp that was owed to their status, had been a like a dream. Later, when he took her into the bridal chamber, her love for him had soared.
It was a curious memory. At times the old feeling would return, when Jaymes would smile at her, or touch her cheek; then her heart would suddenly melt, while her mind… well, her mind just seemed to shut itself off. Only recently he had wielded that charm to take her to bed, some two months ago; she smiled at the memory. Then she frowned. The result was the child she had only recently discovered she was carrying.
Most of the time, Jaymes was all business, immersed in his work, in the politics of rule or the dictates of army command, while she was trapped in that room in the tower, fifty feet above an enclosed, barricaded courtyard.
Waiting to bear the emperor’s child.
“No!” she cried aloud, banging her fist against the pane. She was startled by her outburst, and upset as she saw a thin crack spread across the expensive piece of glass.
She drew herself up, tried to calm her emotions, forced herself to think. Banging on the windows-or walls or doors, for that matter-was fruitless. If she was going to do something, get out of there, she would have to try clever means.
She thought for a long time, pacing slowly, looking out the window without really seeing the sunlit view, the blue waters, the glittering, busy city. Finally, she made up her mind, turned her back to the window, and strode to the door.
“Sergeant!” Selinda called.
The door opened at once to reveal the familiar mustachioed knight in his scarlet tunic and gleaming black riding boots.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Take a message to Coryn the White. Ask if she will come to see me at her earliest opportunity.”
“At once, my lady,” replied the sergeant. He saluted formally and closed the door. She heard him issuing orders to a runner.
At the same time, she heard the lock snap shut outside her door.
The soldier strode through the upper hall of Thelgaard Keep. As he turned the corner leading to the general’s council chamber, he almost broke into an excited run, his left hand bracing the hilt of the long sword he wore at his belt so he didn’t trip over the weapon.
“I need to see my father, at once!”
The young captain’s manner was so urgent that the guard might have let him pass even if he weren’t General Dayr’s son. As it was, the halberdier at the door all but stumbled over himself in his haste to get out of the soldier’s way.
“Of course, Captain Franz, go right in!”
His riding boots scuffed across the smooth boards of the floor as he burst into the council room, where he found his father and several of his officers standing around a map. A glance showed Franz that the parchment displayed the central Vingaard Plains.
“Is it true that we have been order to march? To join the emperor in a campaign against our own people?” Franz demanded.
“Watch your tone, my son,” the general retorted sharply. His glare was fierce, until it wavered unevenly with a glance toward the other men at the table. Franz could see his own misgivings mirrored in the concerned expressions of Captain Blair, master of the Thelgaard Lancers, and the Knight Clerist Lauder. General Dayr was silent for a moment as he slowly drew a breath. Finally, he addressed his son directly.
“Yes. The order comes through the Clerist’s scrying tool. Lord Markham is leaving Palanthas this morning, and we are to march north from Thelgaard. We are to seal off the approaches to Vingaard Keep from the south and east while he comes down from the mountains.”
“But those are some of your own men in Vingaard!” protested Franz. “How can you march against them!”
“They are men who swore an oath to support the lawful government of Solamnia!” the general snapped. “Yet they have sent a message that can only be construed as a personal challenge to the lord marshal!”
“He’s not the lord marshal any longer, Father. He has appointed himself emperor. Isn’t that going too far?”
“He is not the first emperor in Solamnic history. Sometimes a realm needs an absolute ruler, one who can dictate to the masses, to his troops-to everyone. It is an honorable title, one that has been claimed by strong men throughout our history whenever the empire has been in a state of turmoil,” Dayr explained, as if tutoring a schoolchild.
“The only turmoil is his doing!” retorted the son.
“That is enough!” snapped General Dayr, suddenly filling out his uniform with his annoyance. His gray mustaches curled downward in walrus-like disapproval, and his cheeks were flushed beyond their normal ruddiness. Franz was reminded that his father was a man who had fought many battles, had risked his own life and ordered hundreds of men to their deaths, all in the service of the lord marshal who had proclaimed himself emperor. “Jaymes Markham has united this nation, restored a proud legacy, and given us-and the order to which we have sworn all devotion-a real chance to regain its former glories! He deserves my loyalty, and he deserves yours!”
Captain Franz immediately stiffened to attention, replying only with a curt “Yes, sir.”
The elder officer relaxed, slightly, and indicated the map on the table. “But I’m glad you’re here, Captain,” he said in a softer tone. “As cavalry commander, you’ll play a key role on the march. I’ll want the White Riders to accompany the column, of course.” He turned to Blair. “And the lancers will screen the advance, as well as the right flank of the march route. Our left will follow the course of the Vingaard River, for the most part.”
“Yes, General. When do we depart?” Blair was a stolid veteran of the past years’ campaigns. Courageous but unimaginative, he had seen Thelgaard fall to the barbarian horde and had nearly lost his life when the city was ultimately reclaimed. If he shared Franz’s discomfort with the current mission, he did not say anything. But his look was solemn.
“I want two companies of lancers on the road well before dark tonight. The rest of the Crown Army marches north with the dawn. Can you see to that?”
“I have four companies in garrison right now; two of them can depart by noon. And the muster has already sounded, so the rest of the men should reach the stables before evening.”