She waited two days for Arentes to return, greeting the old guard commander at the gates with a warm embrace. “Forgiven me yet, my lord?”
“My lady commands and I follow,” he replied, his tone a little stiff though she could detect the vestiges of a smile behind his moustache. “Besides,” he went on, gesturing at the line of shackled men arrayed on the causeway, “securing your enemies is my sacred charge, and not one I’ll shirk for any glory.”
“There was no glory to earn. Just more blood.” Her eyes tracked over the captives, about twenty emaciated men in varying states of raggedness, some fearful and sagging with exhaustion, others glaring at her in sullen defiance. “The Sons.”
“Plus a few outlaws. Thought it best to hang them in front of the people, make an example.”
“Unless they’ve raped or murdered I’ll send them to the queen. She’s keen to make use of all men, even those of meanest worth.”
“Word of the edict flew far and wide. Not all were glad to hear it.”
“They will when they’ve heard the Father’s word. I’m afraid I’ll need you and your men on the morrow, it’s time I saw my fief in full.”
He gave a precise bow. “Of course, my lady.” He turned a baleful eye on the prisoners. “What do you want done with the Sons?”
“Lady Veliss will question them. When I return we’ll see justice done.”
• • •
Ellese had clung to her and cried again, begging to be allowed to come. Reva had been firm in ordering her to remain with Veliss, firmer than necessary judging by the increased pitch of the girl’s wails. “Motherhood has a price,” Veliss told her, holding Ellese to her bodice.
She let Arentes choose their route, acceding to his greater knowledge of the fief. “West then south I think, my lady,” he advised. “Westerners are the least godly folk in Cumbrael so we may as well get the hardest task done first.”
There was plenty of evidence of Volarian activity to the west, a procession of ruined villages and the occasional pile of rotting corpses amidst the vineyards. In each instance Reva ordered a halt to have them buried, the words spoken by the only priest to accompany them, a spindly fellow of middling years chosen for his renowned courage during the siege and taciturn nature. She found herself greatly disinclined towards sermons these days.
The devastation abated the farther west they went, disappearing altogether in the hill country on the Nilsaelin border. She knew from Veliss this was one of Cumbrael’s more prosperous regions, the wine being of the finest quality and the people noted for gay celebrations and lax adherence to the Ten Books. Arentes guided her to the largest town in the region, essentially a sprawling hill-fort ringed by impressive walls that traced the line of the surrounding vine-covered slopes in an uninterrupted ribbon of stone.
“Easy to see why the Volarians left it alone,” Arentes commented as they rode up to the gates.
“They’d have gotten to it in time,” Reva said. She expected some difficulty at the gates—it was quite possible these people had no notion as to who she was after all—however she found the town guard already drawn up in ranks and the gates standing open. A stout man in a long robe was on both knees beneath the gate arch, arms spread in supplication.
“Lord Mentari, the town factor,” Arentes explained. “Owns most of the vineyards for miles around. He had great regard for your grandfather.”
“But not so my uncle?” Reva asked.
“Your uncle was much more punctilious when it came to the collection of taxes, and less inclined to favouring old friends.”
“Lucky it is then, that I only have new friends.”
“Blessed Lady!” Lord Mentari clasped his hands together as she approached, dismounting to cast her gaze around the city, finding it strange to see so many intact buildings after weeks of viewing ruins. “You bring the Father’s word to our unworthy ears.”
Reva frowned down at the man’s wide-eyed countenance, expecting to see some glimmer of calculation there but instead his awe appeared completely genuine. “All ears are worthy of the Father’s word,” she told him. “But he doesn’t require you to kneel, and neither do I.”
The stout lord got to his feet, though his back remained at a servile stoop. “The tale of your victory is already legend,” he gushed. “The gratitude of our humble home knows no bounds.”
“I’m glad to hear it, my lord.” She hefted the scroll-case containing the queen’s edict. “For I bring word of how it can be expressed.”
