He heard the door creak, and saw Ennis peeking into the chamber. Placing his goblet on the writing table, he rose and stepped around so as to block the cup and flagon from the boy’s view.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the cloister?” he asked.
Ennis gave a small shrug. “Father Crasthem says I was in the way.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s in the cloister with the prelate and the surgeon.”
This pleased the duke, though it gave him little choice but to let the boy stay. Ioanna continued to show improvement. No matter what happened to him, Ennis and his remaining sister would have their mother to care for them.
“And Affery?” the duke asked, more out of curiosity than any intention to send the boy to her.
“She’s helping the kitchenmaster.”
“So you’ve nothing to do.”
Ennis shrugged again, looking so much like Aindreas himself that the duke nearly laughed. “I wanted to go up on the walls, but Mother told me I couldn’t.”
“She was right. It’s not safe right now.”
“Because of the Aneirans?”
Aindreas sat in a large chair next to his empty hearth, motioning for the boy to climb onto his lap. “Are you frightened?” he asked.
“Not too much. I wouldn’t be at all if they hadn’t broken the gate the last time.”
The boy was clever, a worthy heir to a proud house.
A house you ‘ve shamed. You’ll leave him nothing but your disgrace.
“You know why they broke the gate last time,” Aindreas said, trying to ignore the voice in his mind. “I’ve explained it to you.”
“The Qirsi, you mean. The man who used his magic on the por. . the por. .”
“The portcullises. Yes. The gates won’t fail this time.”
“How do you know that he didn’t do it again?”
“Because I have men watching the gates night and day. If the Aneirans want to get into the castle, they’ll have to break the portcullises themselves.” Unless they have a shaper with them. Aindreas shuddered at the thought.
“I heard two of your soldiers talking. They said that the king won’t help us. We’ll have to beat the Aneirans alone.”
Damn them for letting the boy hear such a thing. “You shouldn’t be listening to conversations that don’t concern you.”
“Yes, Father.” A pause, and then, “Is it true?”
Aindreas exhaled heavily. “I really don’t know what Kearney will do. I suppose it’s possible.”
Ennis twisted his mouth briefly, as if wishing his father had answered differently. “But we can still win, right?”
“Of course we can.” The duke made himself smile. “This castle has stood against the Aneirans for centuries, and if it wasn’t for the traitor, it would have held last time, too. We don’t need Kearney.”
For several moments the boy said nothing, leaning back against Aindreas’s chest. Then he tipped his head back to look up at his father’s face. “Can I see your dagger again?”
Aindreas grinned, without effort this time. Pulling his blade free, he handed it to the boy, hilt first. “Be careful.”
“I know.”
He held the dagger reverently, as if it were made of glass, turning it over in his hands, examining the steel with a critical eye and testing its heft in one hand and then the other.
“Why are the Aneirans our enemies?” Ennis asked after some time, still playing with the blade.
“They have been for hundreds of years now. The clans of the north have been fighting the southern families since before the Qirsi Wars and the establishment of the seven realms.”
“But why?”
“It started with disputes over land. Now it’s mostly about control of the river. The Aneirans used to say that the land between the Tarbin and Kentigern Wood should belong to them.”
Ennis looked up again. “You mean they think that the tor is theirs?”
“They used to, yes.”
“Is it?”
“No, of course not. It might have belonged to the southern clans once, but when the Forelands were divided into the seven, Eibithar was given all the land south to the river. The Aneirans didn’t like it, and they tried to take this land a number of times. But they never succeeded, and every other realm recognized our claim to it.”
“But they still think it’s theirs.”
Aindreas frowned. “Not really. They no longer claim the land as their own, but they still think of us as their enemy. And I suppose we think of them that way, too. The Tarbin is an important river. During the snows and well into the planting, merchants can sail its waters all the way to the base of the steppe. Eibithar and Aneira share control of the river, and most of the time we trust one another to allow ships from all realms to complete their journeys. But every now and then, we get into fights over who can and can’t sail its waters. And occasionally one king or another gets it in his head to imagine what it would be like to control the land on both sides of the river, so that we wouldn’t have to share.”
Ennis made a face. “That seems dumb.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. Kings aren’t always as smart as they should be.”
“Like Kearney?”
Aindreas looked away. “Kearney’s plenty smart.” But the Qirsi are smarter. “He’s a victim of this, too.”
“Of what?”
He hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud.
“Nothing. Perhaps we should go find your mother. I’d like to see how preparations are going in the Cloister.”
“Do we have to?”
The duke hesitated. She’d smell the wine on his breath.
“Not yet. Soon, though.”
They sat a while longer, Aindreas gazing toward the window and listening to the hammers and the singing, Ennis intent on the dagger. After a time, the hammering ceased. Aindreas knew what that meant, and so he wasn’t surprised by the sharp knock at his door a few moments later.
“Enter,” he called.
Ennis had stopped toying with the blade, though he made no move to leave the safety of the duke’s lap.
Villyd stepped into the chamber, an avid look in his eyes, as if he were ready to fight the Aneiran army right there. “They’re on the move, my lord.”
Aindreas nodded. “Very well.” He lifted the boy off his lap and turned him around. “You need to go find your mother now. Tell her that the Aneirans are nearing the castle walls.”
Ennis gaped at him, wide-eyed and earnest. “Where are you going?”
“Up to the ramparts.”
“But you said it wasn’t safe.”
He cupped the boy’s chin in his hand. “It’s not safe for a boy, but it’s where I belong.”
Ennis handed him the dagger, his face as solemn as a prior’s. Aindreas sheathed the blade, then gathered the boy in his arms. “We’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Take care of your mother and sister for me, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now go.” He gave the boy a gentle push toward the door and watched him go. Only when the door had closed behind him did Aindreas stand and turn to the swordmaster.
“Can you tell how many?”
“Not yet, my lord. They’re still hiding in the mist. The latest reports we had from the Tarbin put the number near three thousand, most of them from Mertesse, a few from Solkara.”
“That’s not much of a force.”
“The reports were a few days old. They may have more now.”
Villyd started to say more, then seemed to stop himself.
“Out with it, swordmaster,” the duke said at last. “What’s on your mind?”
“It may be nothing, my lord. But we’re all aware of the fighting in the north. It seems likely that the emperor and the Aneirans are working together. In which case Mertesse’s attack may not be aimed at Kentigern.”