Stormed Fortress (112 page)

* * *

Hard on the heels of the scrambling servants who snatched off the sitting-room
'
s dust-sheets, Asandir assumed the winged chair that had once belonged to Dame Dawr. The seat still commanded the space before the stone pilasters of the darkened fire-place. To his left, the latched casements spilled in streaming sun, brilliant day to storm-lit, azure night, where his velvet mantle draped upright shoulders.

Since Bransian s
'
Brydion was too massive to slink, he stalled until the last moment. Sevrand and both bereaved wives sat in silence, as his bold-as-brass tread crossed the threshold and hammered the carpet. He settled his duchess with immaculate deference. She was forced to fold her hands in her lap, or else risk her lace cuffs to destruction: the scarred trestle pulled in haste from the armoury had stayed bare in the rush to accommodate. Yet the juxtaposed setting of rich comfort and rude function was thrown into eclipse by stilled power, leashed in waiting to address Alestron
'
s duke.

Bransian chose to remain on his feet, his last refuge his heavy-weight muscle.

'
Old law still reigns here,
'
Asandir opened in declarative quiet.
'
When did you think you became the exception, wielding the privilege of title above the terms of sworn service accorded to this ancestral seat?
'

Though the steel in that gaze raised a glaze of flushed sweat, Bransian answered directly.
'
My banner still flies above walls not yet overtaken in conquest. I may not be applauded for every mistake. Fact remains, my defence has not faltered.
'

Asandir laced his large fingers; leaned forward, his face chiselled bare of expression.
'
Defence by extortion, manipulation, and conspiracy?
'

Cloth rustled, down the table.
'
Prince Arithon spoke for his liegeman, and Jeynsa, who has been released without harm,
'
Sevrand dared. A brief pause ensued.
'
Lawful terms put the grievance to rest,
'
he went on in his kinsman
'
s defence.

A mistake: the Sorcerer
'
s drilling attentiveness only resharpened upon the duke
'
s steaming discomfort.
'
My selection for the late high earl
'
s post in Daon Ramon, as Arithon
'
s intended
caithdein,
but a girl not yet sworn, in her teens. She was not sent home in corrected disgrace! Intrigue and collusion saw her brave folly reduced to bloodshed and bullying abuse. Rathain may have accepted compensation for damaging injury,
'
the Sorcerer amended in blistering censure.
'
But no foreign prince on Melhalla
'
s ground can usurp the right to declare for the crown
'
s arbitration.
'

'
We are at war!
'
Duke Bransian pealed, laid raw as Liesse masked her face to stifle her ashamed tears.
'
What of the enemies hounding our walls, laying siege while my people are starving? What of the holocaust that razed our farmsteads, and slaughtered our innocent villagers?
'

The Alliance will disband.
'
Asandir inclined his silver head in respect to the destitute wives, as he added,
'
Each troop returns home to its town of origin, under a Fellowship fiat. Sulfin Evend
'
s commanded to retire to Tysan. He will turn his crack troops to relocate the squatters encamped at the Second Age site at Avenor. That nest of iniquity will be swept clean! No more threats will be issued by a false court against the Kingdom of Havish! Lysaer
s
'
Ilessid
shall no longer house his pretensions at the crown seat of Avenor.
'

A scraping disturbance arose at the door. Bransian turned his head, met by the mailed tread of his acting captain. The man
'
s hands were the same, in their battered gauntlets, that had wielded steel through a lifetime of loyal campaigns. Only now, he carried the scarlet standard bearing the s
'
Brydion bull, just run down from the Watch Keep
'
s flagstaff. The folded cloth was remanded to Sevrand, which at last ruffled Bransian
'
s crowing defiance.

'
Ath above!
'
he cried, shocked.
'
You can
'
t strike our colours in front of that mincing faker
'
s religion!
'
Spurred yet by the courage of his stubborn heart, his anguished bellow gained force. "That abrogates every term of the compact. Rams hard against every principle my ancestors died to preserve.
'

'
On no terms will I declare a surrender!
'
Asandir snapped in rebuke. "The Fellowship
'
s pendant takes sovereignty, here. This citadel holds too much strategic importance to stand at strength under any armed faction
'
s self-serving brutality! Neither will an heir of s
'
Brydion reign, unless a Paravian presence returns to the continent. I have come to enact Alestron
'
s entailment! This fortress will lie under Fellowship seal, until such time as a centaur guardian may declare in your favour for a reinstatement!
'

'
Then where will we go?
'
the deposed duke gasped, pale. The sun through the casements blazed down, too bright. He could not bear the sight of Liesse
'
s bowed shoulders, or face his displaced cousin, or answer for the gaunt desperation endured by his lost brothers
'
widows.
'
There would be no mercy shown by town mayors for the least of my children and kinsfolk. No secure place for any fighting man in my company who
'
s resisted invasion.
'

'
Your place,
'
declared Asandir unequivocal,
'
will be to serve Atwood
'
s defences henceforward, with your war band kept under arms at your Teiren
'
s
'
Callient
'
s right hand. Your head of household shall fall to Mearn. He will hold the chieftain
'
s seat on her council, until time determines what honest mettle your lineage matures for review.
'
The silence was stark as the Sorcerer finished,
'
No one else dies for your family pride. The craftsfolk who have held out within the walls will be asked to resettle themselves in the trade towns. Since those who possessed a tuned ear for the mysteries have departed, called out by the song of Alithiel, they remain free to set roots where they please.
'

The Sorcerer
'
s unabashed sorrow emerged, then, as his mild closure scored the air like a line of engraving.
'
By these terms, your people are granted their right to continued survival.
'

Bransian shoved forward and banged on the trestle. Debased by shame, he shook off the imploring hands of his wife and glared down at his Fellowship arbiter.
'
Let me die here. Strike me down, before I slink off to the forest, tuck tailed and grovelling.
'

Asandir sighed.
'
Just once, I might have seen you show the natural grace to apologize.
'
He stood to full height. Not a silver hair turned as he inclined his head towards the side doorway that led from the bedchamber.
'
Dakar? Bring the prisoner, please.
'

The spellbinder entered, to the rasp of Tiassa
'
s shocked breath. Short-strided and fat, still fumbling with the role of authority, he ushered in Parrien
'
s aggressive step. But this hour, the larger man
'
s prowess wore the ridicule, tied in restraint as a felon.

'
I will read you a choice,
'
said the Sorcerer softly.
'
Parrien
'
s sentence for the murder of Kyrialt s
'
Taleyn, struck dead while defending a fatal assault on Athera
'
s titled Masterbard. Or, you accept a quiet exile in Atwood, with your brother exonerated by Arithon Teir
'
sTfalenn
'
s sealed reprieve. Cross me again, Bransian, and I burn the royal writ that grants Tiassa
'
s children their blood heritage, and her husband the privilege of retaining an ancestral name.
'

Bransian raised his bearded chin. Shut his harrowed eyes, before weeping. Defeat branded him there, a huge, wounded lion torn by too many battles, waged through generations of vicious adversity. Tiassa,
'
he grated,
'
set free your bound man.
'

Clear sun shone, still, through the casements. Glints sparkled, blood deep, through the rubies in the state collar just unclasped and laid down on the trestle. Then a shadow eclipsed them, not Asandir
'
s: the shaft of winter light illumined the reunion, as Bransian s
'
Brydion embraced the lost brother that fate had restored at the price of humility. Before Tiassa
'
s joy, and Sindelle
'
s faded mourning, he had nothing to do, and nowhere to turn, except to brace Liesse
'
s tearful distress and step from the chamber in silenced ignominy.

* * *

Days later, the Second Age citadel of Alestron stood emptied of people and parading sentries. Dakar stood at the side of the Fellowship Sorcerer on the stilled, midnight eve, when Asandir spoke in actualized Paravian to rock, and mended the cracks in the underground cisterns.

At sunrise on winter solstice, the spellbinder also was granted the gift to bear living witness: as the Sorcerer mounted the height at Watch Keep and declared his address to the wind. Through an appeal to air element
'
s grace, Asandir summoned the power of the wardings the centaurs of old had laced into the citadel
'
s stonework. A heart-beat in time brought his answer. The solid ground sang underfoot, as the light and sound force of the defences blazed active, and ran gilded ribbons of ecstatic joy through flesh and bone, and ephemeral spirit.

How long the Sorcerer and his apprentice endured the struck note that streamed through the eye of eternity, no human senses might measure.

Yet when Asandir shouted the Named rune for ending, the fortress of Alestron lay under seal. No step would trespass here. Man, woman, or child, none might enter unless Mankind
'
s presence was granted leave by Athera
'
s Paravians. The high walls were left silent. Vacant crenels lay washed in a faint, silvered nimbus, until the summoning force of grand mystery dwindled to moonbeams in daylight, then faded quiescent. Nothing spoke then but the cry of a hawk, and the salt-laden gusts off the estuary.

The Sorcerer faced north-westward, and offered his opened hand, palm upwards. His silver-grey eyes appeared fixed into distance, as he touched the listening presence of Sethvir, who awaited, poised at the focus laid into the vault beneath Althain Tower.

'
Are you coming?
'
Asandir admonished the spellbinder, still gawping over the memory of marvels.

Dakar started and yelped, seized by Asandir
'
s fist. Ever and always, the fat seer was granted no warning to brace for the gut-wrenching upset that followed.
'
Reach!
'
sent the Warden.

The clasp of Asandir
'
s raised wrist was received, bridged across yawning oblivion.

The next instant, the crag of the citadel stood empty, the only trace of a Fellowship presence the midnight blue and white pennant, streaming above the fast quiet of Watch Keep
'
s squat spire. For passing years that extended to centuries, the men in the crab skiffs that trapped in the estuary, and the caravans bound down the trade-road attested the fact that the cloth never frayed in the grip of the elements. Unlike the worn lugger, that stove in forlorn planks in the next winter storm, and sank under the waves at the landing.