She hesitated then. “No one knows what happened to Kauron,” she said. “Some say he never returned, that he vanished into the mountains. But some say he appeared in the chapel late one night, babbling like a man with fever, though his skin was cool. The priest who found him put him to bed, and the next morning there was no sign of him. The bed showed no trace of being slept in, and the priest was left wondering if he’d really seen him or merely had a vision or a dream.”
“Have you ever felt anything there?”
“No,” she admitted. “I’ve never heard anyone else report anything unusual, either. But you’re different: a Bevesturi and Kauron’s heir. Maybe that’s why he spoke to you.”
“I don’t know. Whoever—whatever—it was, it didn’t seem nice or even helpful. I felt as if it was mocking me.”
“Well, I’ve no idea, then,” she said. “Maybe Kauron had enemies and you’ve attracted them, too. In the mountains, the past and the present aren’t distant cousins. They’re brother and sister.”
Stephen nodded and refolded his notes.
“Well,” he said, “I think I’ll try and get some sleep.”
“About that.” She sighed. “I may have to give you one more chance, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because, as I said, it’s going to get awfully cold tonight.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she closed it with a kiss that smelled pleasantly of barleywine. He kept his eyes open, wondering at how different a face looked from that close.
She nibbled around to his ear and down the side of his throat.
“I really don’t know much about women,” he apologized.
“So you said. Then it’s time you had a lesson, I think. I can’t give you the ultimate lesson; this time of month you might get me with child, and we don’t want that. But there’s no point in skipping to the back of the book, is there? I think some of the early chapters can be pretty entertaining.”
Stephen didn’t reply; anything he said was potentially the wrong thing.
Besides, he’d pretty much lost interest in talking.
3
A New View of History
Ignoring Sir Leafton’s protests, Anne hurried to the far end of the square, where the Craftsmen had been quickly building a redoubt, piling crates, planks, bricks, and stone between two buildings that together commanded most of the breadth between the two walls.
In the few bells they’d had, they’d done a creditable job, but it wasn’t good enough. As Anne watched, a wave of armored men eight deep crashed into it, about half of them wielding pikes to keep the Craftsmen back as men with sword and shield pushed forward. Already they were spilling over the top. That quickly, Anne saw her plans crumbling.
It would be only seconds before their line was breached.
“Saints,” Austra shrieked, echoing Anne’s sentiments as one of her men fell, a spear driven through his mouth lapping out the back of his head like a monster’s tongue.
“Archers!” Leafton bellowed, and suddenly a black hail fell from the roofs and upper windows of the buildings. The charge faltered as shields raised to ward off fletched death, and the Craftsmen’s line closed solid and surged back to the wall.
Anne experienced a brief flash of hope, but they were still terribly outnumbered. Should she go now, while she had the chance? Take Austra and Cazio into the tunnels? At least she would avoid capture, and Artwair’s hands wouldn’t be tied by threats to her life.
But the thought of leaving her men to die was intolerable.
The attackers re-formed their ranks and battered at the wall again. Many fell, but they kept pushing.
“Majesty,” Leafton said, “I beg you. Move away from here. They will break through at any moment.”
Anne shook his arm off and closed her eyes, feeling the ringing of steel and hoarse cries of pain vibrate through her, reaching through it and beneath her for the power she needed to boil blood and marrow. If she could summon the same sort of power she had had at Khrwbh Khrwkh, she might be able to turn the tide or at least give her men respite.
But at Khrwbh Khrwkh there had been something potent in the earth, a pocket of sickness she had been able to draw to the surface, like pus in a boil. Here she sensed something similar, but it was more distant and more subtle, and lurking behind it she could feel the demon, waiting for her to open the way. Thus, a part of her faltered.
But a sudden new tenor entered the sounds of fray, and she opened her eyes to see what had happened.
Her heart fell when she saw that the attackers had been reinforced and were now nearly double their number, or so she thought at first.
Then she realized that wasn’t the case at all; the newcomers weren’t armored, at least not most of them. They wore guild clothing and Jessy, woolen plaid and workman’s flenne. They carried clubs and pitchforks, fishing spears, hunting bows, knives, and even a few swords, and they were cutting into her attackers from the rear.
The Craftsmen all sang out at once and went slashing over the wall. Blood ran like rainwater down the streets of Gobelin Court.
“The people of Eslen,” Austra breathed.
Anne nodded. “I sent four men to spread the word. I thought I would test the theory that I have their support.” She turned to her friend and smiled. “It appears that I do, at least some of them.”
“And why shouldn’t you?” Austra excitedly replied. “You’re their queen!”
At sundown Anne stood at the window of Saint Ceasel’s Tower on the Fastness. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun’s great belly was impaled on the distant towers of Thornrath, making a red mirror of the Ensae, which she could just make out between the great paps of Tom Woth and Tom Cast. She could see the Sleeve, already velvety with shadow, and far below that the vine-covered dwellings of the dead in Eslen-of-Shadows and farther out on the misty rinns. The wind was from the sea, and it smelled strong and good.
This was her home; these were the sights and smells of her childhood. And yet it was strange now. Until a year ago this frame she looked upon—Thornrath, the rinns—contained most of the world she knew. Oh, she’d been east as far as Loiyes, but she knew now that that was a small distance. Today, in her mind’s far gaze she could see beyond the rinns to the hills and forest, across the strands and plains of Hornladh and Tero Galle, to the South Lierish Sea, to the white hills and red roofs of Vitellio.
Every sight, every sound, every league traveled had made her something different, and home no longer fit the way it once had.
She turned her attention to the north, to the city. There was the palace, of course, the only thing that really stood above her now, and below was her little kingdom of Gobelin Court. Volunteers continued to arrive, and Leafton and the other Craftsmen were working quickly to make them useful. The redoubt was infinitely more secure than it had been during the first attack, and all the natural walls were now well manned.
Robert’s men hadn’t been idle, of course. She could see them all around, a few streets away from her perimeter, building their own camps, trying to cut off aid from the outside. She’d even seen a few small siege engines rumbling down the hill, but most of the streets approaching the quarter weren’t wide enough for them.
“Do you think they’ll attack again tonight?” she asked Leafton.
“I doubt it. Nor, I think, will they fight in the morning. A siege is what I imagine. He’ll try and keep us contained here until we’re out of supplies.”
“Good,” Anne said.
“Your pardon, Majesty.”
“I have something to do tonight,” she told him. “In the Sefry house. I will be unavailable all night, possibly into tomorrow. I am not to be disturbed, and I leave the defense of this place entirely to you.”
“Of course, you must have your rest,” Leafton said. “But in case of an emergency—”