Gabriel shook his head slightly. “I had a chance to learn from one of his officers.”
Ghause raised a perfect eyebrow. “You tortured him?”
“I subsumed him and took his memories,” Gabriel said.
A near perfect silence fell over the table.
“Ah,” Ghause said, with a smile that could only be described as motherly. “Please go on.”
“I have the impression, first, that the attempt on me was put together with clay and spit, and was not a serious effort. Despite which”-he looked away-“it was very nearly successful.”
“Perhaps,” Ghause said.
“And I also received the impression that Plangere is well-prepared. That the extent of his own preparations left him unwilling to take any risks.” Gabriel shrugged. “Why should he?”
“I don’t believe there’s enough men and power in the world to take Ticondaga,” Ghause said.
“No fortress is stronger than the men on its walls,” Ser John said. “And no fortress can stand a year of siege. Starvation can take any stronghold.”
Ghause sighed. “So much drama. Very well, what do you want?”
“I want to appoint a Captain of the North. And I want to have him muster an army.”
“This captain is to be you?” Ghause asked.
Ser John shrugged. “I was thinking of your son, Gabriel.”
Gabriel looked surprised. “I am going to the tournament at Harndon.”
Ser John nodded. “Harndon is five days’ ride for a single determined man and his escort. Faster if there’s a change of horses.” He looked over the table. “Wherever he strikes, we’ll be able to combine our forces. While I have greater fears for our ancient fortresses than the duchess, I agree that none of them will fall quickly. We will have a month or more to raise our armies if we are prepared.”
“My husband is ready to lead an army straight at the sorcerer, if that’s what you want,” Ghause said. She sat up, like a fierce hawk disturbed at her rest. “Why wait for him? Why not strike him first?”
Ser Gabriel frowned. “By water, your grace?” he asked.
Ghause smiled. “Yes, my child. By water.”
“You are a puissant magistra, Mother. Would you allow an attack on Ticondaga by water?” Ser Gabriel’s tone was quiet and respectful.
Ghause laughed. “I agree that water is a wonderful element to manipulate,” she said.
“And every step he takes south of the inner sea stretches his resources,” Ser John said. “Why should we go there and stretch ours?”
Lord Corner put his hands flat on the table. “Not all of us are men of war,” he said. “I see no reason to risk an army in the Wild.”
Ghause laughed-a genuine laugh, not her laugh of derision. “You are in the Wild right now, my lord,” she said. “Or perhaps I should say, there is no Wild. Irks and boglins-men and priests. And little to tell between them.”
Lord Wayland was a careful man. He leaned back, one finger against his chin. “It is always easier to rally men to defend their homes than to invade someone else’s.”
Now Ghause snorted her derision.
Amicia looked up and down the table. “My lords-how will we know when the sorcerer launches his true effort? Will he not attempt to deceive us?”
Ser John smiled at her. “An excellent point. No army will march and denude any district. We must have an arrière-ban ready to stand on the defence.”
Ser Gabriel met Amicia’s eyes. “It is an excellent point, Amicia. But I think that we can build a mobile army that will move faster than Thorn can.”
A frisson of power passed through the air.
Ghause threw back her head and laughed. “Bless you, my child,” she said. “You amuse me. Taunt him!” She smiled. “Thorn,” she said, seductively.
The air darkened a moment.
Eyes were wide.
“Leave it there,” Ser Gabriel snapped. “If we say a third, the die is cast. As it is, it will stay in the air.” He smiled. “I see all sorts of things that can go wrong, Ser John. But Alcaeus and I have a chrysobul from the Emperor authorizing us to call on the field army, which will, by the first of April or so, be at Middleburg.”
Ser John looked up in surprise. “My pardon, my lord duke, but the chatter in the market is that the Emperor is bankrupt and cannot field an army.”
The Duke of Thrake smiled mirthlessly. “What do you think we were doing last year?” he asked. “Dancing? The Empire has a field army. It will be at Middleburg.”
Ser Thomas slammed a fist on the great table. “I like what I’m hearing,” he said. “I like the notion of the fight this season and not next. But I have my herds to move, and most of the tail of my best men is with me. I can send a man home to muster levies, but until the drove is over-”
“I mislike the idea of keeping an army in the field all summer,” Lord Wayland said. “We’re not the Emperor with an army all the year. Fields must be ploughed. My archers are my yeomen. My spearmen are my herdsmen.” He shrugged.
Next to him, the Grand Squire grinned and nodded. “I wouldn’t mind a season of campaigning,” he quipped. “But my people would. And my wife, come to think of it.”
“A shirt of mail is a year’s lost herds.” The Bishop of Albinkirk spoke seldom, but he spoke well.
Ser John looked at Ser Gabriel. “Can you command the Emperor’s army?” he asked.
Ser Gabriel looked at his hands. “Yes,” he said.
Ser Alcaeus was seen to smile.
“Then let us build a force here, based on your company and Ser Ricar’s. I’m sure we can pay your wages.” He looked at the merchants, who flinched.
Ser Gabriel shook his head. “I’ll pay my own,” he said. “I’m the Duke of Thrake. I had other plans, but I’ll put them aside for the summer. We can keep the northern levies and the Hill clans as our reserve.”
“But what of the Royal Army?” Ghause asked, too sweetly.
Ser John frowned. “I do not think we can rely on the Royal Army this summer,” he said primly. “I don’t think we will see them north of Harndon.” He sighed. “Or if we do, we may rue it.” He looked around. “I would rather not speak all my thoughts than lie. But unless I am mistaken, the Royal Army will not save us this year.”
“Because of raids in the south?” the Etruscan merchant asked.
“Because Alba is on the brink of a civil war,” the bishop said quietly.
Ser John leaned back. “We are all king’s men here,” he said. “We will be the Royal Army.”
Ser Alcaeus looked as if he was going to choke.
Ser Gabriel frowned. “We will be an allied army of the north. If the Emperor contributes troops, he will not want to be seen as a vassal of the King of Alba.”
The Duchess of Westwall nodded. “Well said, my son. We are allies, not feudatories. Let that be clear.” She looked around-more like the griffon than was quite right. “Consider this, gentles-if the Royal Army cannot help us, and if we must raise our own army to hold back this petty sorcerer, what will we do when a serious threat comes? Why pay our taxes to a distant king who cannot defend us? Why not have our own king?”
Ser John sat up straighter, and looked at the duchess. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but are you contending that the Earl of Westwall is not the vassal of the King? Are you suggesting…”
The duchess smiled. It was the sort of smile one might imagine on a particularly subtle fox just before he eats the chicken. “I am a poor weak woman with no great head for politics, Ser John. I speak no treason when I say that my brother cannot defend us. His writ does not run here.” She smiled, and her smile narrowed. “I merely tell you, brave knights, that neither my husband, nor I, will be bound by a document or an agreement that decribes us as the king’s vassals or requires our knight service. On the other hand, if such an agreement is worded as an alliance, we will eagerly contribute to both the field army and to the total effort and the costs.”
The Bishop of Albinkirk narrowed his eyes. “You see the Adnacrags as a sovereign county?” he asked.