A Crown Disowned

  "Oh, no, this won't do," Ysa said, looking around the dwelling place that had been set aside for her and Lady Ingrid. "This won't do at all."

  Plainly, two tents had been combined with the snow-wall separating them removed, and a doorway of sorts cut to join them. In the second "room" thus created, Ysa could see a jumble of boxes and bundles, but Lady Ingrid was nowhere in sight.

  There was a bed in each room, and a chair in the one that was, presumably, hers.

  A small brazier took the worst of the chill off the air.

  "It is the most spacious we have to offer," Jabez told her deferentially. "The only lodgings that are larger are those of the High Marshal."

  "Oh, yes. Royance. Well, he will simply have to give way to me," Ysa said imperiously.

  "I am sure that the High Marshal would have done so already, but refrained because his living quarters are in the command tent, and there is much commotion there, with messengers coming and going, and the officers planning the next assault. I think the Lord Marshal thinks you would not find it restful."

  Ysa frowned and turned her back. "I'll be the judge of that, later," she said.

  "I will see Zazar now."

  "Yes, Madame."

  She sensed rather than saw him bow, and a gust of chilly air told her that he had left the tent. Glancing around, she realized with a certain distaste the conditions under which Rendel's armies lived in the field. And where had these two tents come from? She had a sudden suspicion that the former owners didn't need them anymore.

  She went into the second room. There was barely space enough for the second narrow bed that had been hastily moved in for Lady Ingrid's use, and not even a chair. She quickly determined that some of the boxes of clothing were missing, and then found that they had had to be stacked outside, between the side of the tent and the wall of snow. Shivering, she returned to the relative warmth of the part of the tent that was hers. What had she gotten herself into? Not for the first time, she wondered why she was here.

  The command tent young Jabez had spoken of was undoubtedly much better than this. Well, if need be, she thought sulkily, it would have to be turned over entirely to her. Surely Royance and his officers could make their plans somewhere else.

  "You wanted to see me?"

  Ysa turned to see Zazar standing in the doorway. She had a basket in one hand, an odd little furred creature in the crook of her other arm, and she was scowling.

  "I did. I wanted to know the meaning of why you had me dragged all this way, through the snow, out of my—"

  "I will tell you when I'm ready, and not a moment before," Zazar said. The scowl turned to a look of amusement. "Your business now is to wait. Oh—and you might lend a hand in the infirmary. We could always use another nurse. Lady Ingrid is already making herself useful, unlike you."

  It was the Dowager's turn to frown. "How dare you address me in that fashion!"

  "Oh, drop your airs, Ysa," Zazar snapped. "In case you don't, I remember when you came to me in the dark of night seeking a potion that would keep Boroth in your bed. You were much more polite then. I sent you away if you recall, telling you that if he would not stay for regard of you, no magic of mine would keep him there." The Wysen-wyf looked at Ysa keenly. "It was about that time that you began to read and to dabble in Power yourself, wasn't it? Tell me. Were you successful in your endeavors?"

  Ysa felt her cheeks grow hot. "That is none of your—" She looked away, unable to meet the implacable gaze that cut through her to where the truth lay. "No. I was not." Then, with a remnant of her accustomed hauteur, "No one knows it better than you. After all, you fostered my late husband's bastard."

  "Aye, Ashen Deathdaughter, whose birth killed the king's true love and who is proven to be far better than the seed from which she sprang. For all that you have put her through and the grace with which she endured it, you should respect

  Ashen."

  "Respect?" Ysa echoed. "I can barely tolerate her presence."

  "Even after all these years."

  "Even so."

  "Well, it's time you put the past behind you, and more. She will rise to be more than either of us, though as yet she knows it not."

  Ysa had no answer to that. She sniffed and turned away.

  "You are living among soldiers now," Zazar told her brusquely. "We all work here, even you. As I said, drop your airs and stop acting like someone whose every whim must be catered to. Follow me now. Learn of the real world."

  Reluctantly, the Dowager Ysa found herself trailing after the Wysen-wyf.

  Studiously, she ignored the war-kats stalking through the camp and the odd little furred creature that Zazar carried. With Zazar, she ducked into a tent full of steam from vessels of simmering water and the smell of medicines and sick men. Zazar directed her to one of the beds, and with a shock, Ysa realized that the occupant was Hynnel, the son of the late Cyornas NordornKing, only so wasted and thin she scarcely recognized him.

  She sat down on a stool beside the cot. "Do you remember me?" she asked with unaccustomed gentleness. "We met but briefly, when you were on your way to the

  Oakenkeep and your kinsman Gaurin."

  "Yes, I remember," Hynnel said. He endeavored to smile. "I was seeking directions only and you were gracious enough to come outside the city and greet me."

  "It was no burden. Your father—"

  A cloud passed over his face and Ysa immediately realized her blunder.

  "He is no more, and I fear that I will soon follow him."

  "Not if I can help it," Ysa said brusquely. "Now, you must tell me. What is your treatment, and how can I best carry it onward? After all, I can't just sit around and wait to be catered to. I am here to help."

  Far away to the north, the being known to his enemies as the Great Foulness and to his thralls as the Great One Whom All Served was in conference with his most trusted officers, if indeed, there was anybody he truly did trust.

  Farod, leader of the Dragon-riders, was speaking. "I have set the order of attack," he said. "You, Baron Damacro, will engage the main army. Our Frydian allies will destroy the remains of the Bog-men, and my Ice Dragons will lend assistance wherever they are needed. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," replied Damacro, a dour-faced man clad in black fur.

  "And my place?" asked Duig.

  Farod bared his teeth in a kind of smile, watching Duig. He did not cower, the way most men did at such a grimace laid over his pale and frosty skin stretched taut over sharp bones. "Second only to the Baron in command of our ground forces. You have another task, however. You will send a picked body of men and undertake to destroy the ships of the Sea-Rovers. We have suffered enough from them, both from their audacity in striking down one of our Dragons, and from the way they seem to be able to spy out our movements even when they sail at a great distance from land. However, if their ships should happen to sink under them…"

  "I understand," Duig said, grinning. "A few small boats, quiet in the night, and an augur to bore holes in the hulls— yes, we can manage the Sea-Rovers, me and my men."

  "This means that you will not have the honor of being in the van of our all-out attack against the Four Armies. I suggest that honor should go to our former

  Rendelians, Piaul and the men he leads."

  "Thus can their loyalty to the Great One be proved," Duig said. "Excellent."

  "And you, Great One?" Farod asked, turning to the ice curtain behind which his overlord sat. "Do these plans suit you?"

  The familiar whisper came from behind the icy curtain, filling the chamber.

  "Anything that will remove this obstacle from my path suits me. But I warn you, do not fail me."

  "We swore fealty, Great One," Baron Damacro said. "We will not fail, for we know our reward—either way."

  The Baron, Farod knew, had been promised the governorship of Rendelsham.

  "Just so," the Great One whispered. "The Four Armies are almost ready to march into our trap. Are all our forces ready?"

  "Awaitin
g only the final placement to close all avenues of retreat behind them,"

  Farod said.

  "And is there no word of any special plans they have been making, even as we have been preparing?"

  "As I told you earlier, our spies have brought back reports of some kind of construction they have been doing—machines on great wheels. But further than that, we know not. They leave the machines outside their walls. I do not think it a matter of great importance."

  "How many machines?"

  "The reports vary. They are nowhere near completion. One looked like a siege engine, and the other—no one knows. The enemy is most likely engaged in an enterprise without any thought to guide it."

  "Beware," the whisper came. "Beware. Do not make the mistake of thinking our foes are weak or simple-minded. I fear these unknown machines, finished or not.

  We must destroy them before they can get them in place. Our enemies are to be crushed. To make sure, I have decided to come and see the battle for myself, once it has begun."

  It was an unprecedented statement. Never before had the Great One Whom All

  Served ventured beyond the ice curtain that sheltered him from unworthy eyes.

  Farod bowed. "I and the Dragon I ride will personally look to your safety," he said.

  "My Power is such that you will not be needed," the Great One retorted, "but your presence will be welcome nonetheless." The entity behind the curtain shifted, and the curtain grew more opaque. "Now go. I feel that the final battle grows nigh, perhaps even tomorrow. Make your final preparations to meet the foe, even as I make mine."

  "Tonight, late, in the dark of the moon, we march," Royance said. He looked around the table where his officers were gathered. "We should arrive just before dawn. Is everything in readiness?"

  "It is, sir," Gaurin reported.

  "Show me your proposed order of battle," Royance commanded.

  Gaurin approached, unrolling a map that the officers around the table had not as yet seen. There was a soft intake of breath as all but Royance viewed it for the first time.

  "Here is the valley I spoke of earlier. Our spies have brought back sufficient information that we could draw out the terrain as you see it. My guess, based on their reports, was that this is the place where the enemy was gathering. Our scouts have confirmed that my guess is correct. More are moving into the area daily, both the Frydian remnants and men as well. They appear ready to move. We must thwart this advance. While their numbers are large, they are not more than our warriors can deal with." He took up a piece of chalk and marked a route on the map. "This is the road I propose to take, and have already ordered the catapult and giant bow to be carried to this place, where the road bends about a minor valley where the machines can be con- cealed. They should already be there, hidden under white cloth and tree branches."

  "But sir," Steuart protested. "We cannot use the engines! They are not even completed] They lie half-built just outside our walls!"

  Gaurin smiled. Around the table, the other junior officers were looking bewildered as well. "I see that my plan was successful, and the secret kept even in the privacy of our own company. It was a ruse. While there were engines left lying unbuilt outside, elsewhere the real ones were being completed by a squad of Nordorn engineers who were sworn to silence."

  "You could have told us," Steuart said, an edge of reproof in his voice. "Our labor was for naught."

  "Far from it. My hopes were that with this diversion, I could give you young men training in how these engines of war work, and at the same time convince our enemies that our labors were fruitless."

  "I see, sir," Steuart said. "But I still wish you had let us know of your plans."

  "The very hair on my own head does not know my plans," Gaurin replied. "Not all of them. You are hearing of them now, only because we march tonight. I am putting you, Steuart, in command of the giant bow, and Cebastian in command of the catapult."

  The two young knights brightened. "Thank you, sir," they responded. They arose, bowed, and resumed their seats.

  "I assume that you have crews already trained, and I will assign some of my

  Nordorn engineers to you as well," Gaurin said. "When you bring those engines onto the field of battle, only at the first shot will we know how successful we were at concealing our readiness."

  Snolli stirred in his chair at the conference table. "And what about the

  Sea-Rovers' part in all this?"

  "We ask for the aid of two-thirds of your marines on land, and that your ships with the rest in reserve stand ready offshore, Admiral-General," Gaurin said.

  "We do not know if the enemy plans to make a flanking attack from that direction. If they do, then it will fall on you to prevent it."

  "Agreed. Also, if any of 'em try to escape by taking to boats and heading back north with their tails between their legs, we can squash 'em like fleas." Snolli laughed.

  "We will count on you," Royance commented soberly. "Now. What about this scheme of Ashen's to set up a field infirmary just behind our battle lines?"

  Gaurin grimaced. "I could not talk her out of it, sir, and I dared not order her to stay behind. Every man with a wife will understand this."

  There was a ripple of laughter around the table, even from those who were not wed.

  Gaurin acknowledged their understanding, and then continued. "Ashen has been gathering bandages and medicines the past two days and has already gone ahead.

  But at least she will not be alone. Madame Zazar has decided to be with her after all."

  "Staunch Ashen. She puts the bravery of our warriors to shame. Staunch Zazar as well."

  Just at that moment, the Wysen-wyf appeared in the doorway of the command tent.

  "Zazar who but for misfortune should be at home tending to her business instead of here, freezing, in the middle of a war," she snorted. "Royance, that person I spoke to you about has arrived."

  Royance started to his feet. "Then I should go and greet herl" he exclaimed.

  "No hurry. She's busy at the moment." Unexpectedly, Za-zar grinned. "You'll never believe what she's doing."

  Twenty

  Madame," Lord Royance said, bowing low to the Dowager. "How noble of you to come. Your presence here will gladden the hearts of our men as they march out to do battle."

  It was on Ysa's tongue to tell him that it was not her idea to come to this forsaken spot and that if she had her way, she would still be in her warm apartment in Rendelsham. Then it occurred to her to wonder why, exactly, she had not had her way in this, a relatively trifling matter. Royance was still waiting for her response. She held out her hand for him to kiss.

  "Could I have done any less?" she said.

  "Will you say a few words to the company, as they prepare to march away? General

  Gaurin is even now setting the order."

  "Of course," Ysa said. Privately, she wanted nothing more than to lie down and have Lady Ingrid rub her back and her feet, and to get several more braziers in to make her truly warm and comfortable. However, she stifled these feelings.

  After all, she had seen with her own eyes some of the effects of battles she had only heard about previously. Poor Hynnel.

  She put her fur-lined cloak around her shoulders, and, grateful for the fur-lined boots she had scorned when she first saw them, followed Royance out to the makeshift platform that had been hastily erected so that she could be seen by as many of the armsmen as possible. He helped her up, where she stood revealed in the flickering torchlight.

  Ah, the young faces—and so many of them fledgling knights who had dined at her table. Ysa felt her eyes fill with tears. She spoke with unfeigned emotion.

  "All of Rendel knows and honors your efforts on our behalf. Let no man here, however humble, think himself anything but a hero. The lives and fate of those you left behind now lie in your hands. We are proud of you."

  A murmur of approval rose, growing in volume. Royance held up his hands. "No cheering," he reminded the men. He turned to Ys
a. "The officers have impressed on the soldiers that no untoward noise must be allowed, no sound of movement, lest the cold, still air carry the news to enemy ears."

  "I see," Ysa said. She nodded and waved to the men as they passed the place where she stood.

  But as the Bog-men came near, one of them, a kind of chieftain by the medallion he wore around his neck, paused.

  "You are mother of headman over all of us?" he asked.

  Ysa regarded him for a long moment before she answered. "The King, Peres. I am his granddam."