LORD CURANE SHOULDERED through the crowded corridors of Lochlanimar. Since the siege began, the tension within the keep had grown daily. Some of it was due to the plague now raging in parts of the village, a plague created by his own blood mages as a weapon against the invaders. Some of the tension could be attributed to the feel of the locked-down keep. And some was certainly due to the army outside that was visibly engaged in building siege engines to bombard Lochlanimar.
He climbed the stairs to the tower and withdrew a key from where it hung on a chain around his neck. Locked within the tower was the war's greatest prize—his granddaughter and her infant son.
Curane squinted as he entered the room. The only light came from the fireplace and from the five slitted windows high on the wall. Lanterns sat unlit on a reading desk along the far wall, and candles were dark in their sconces. The room had been made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, outfitted as a noble's bedroom, complete with a small crib. On the bed, he saw a huddled shape.
Annoyed, he took a candle from its sconce and lit it in the fire, then lit the rest of the candles and a lantern. "Is there a reason you sit in the dark?"
"Why do you care what I do?"
"Your son is the next king of Margola'n. I won't have him brought up like a cave dweller."
"Cave dwellers are free to come and go as they please."
Curane bit back his first response. "We're at war. You're safe in here."
"A locked door is a locked door." Canice's dark hair was uncombed, and she still wore a night gown, although it was midday. She cradled the baby against her, gently jiggling him when he stirred. "We're exactly where you left us. What did you expect?"
"What's wrong with you, girl? I've seen tavern slatterns who took better care of themselves. You're still abed, and you haven't dressed. I've had all I'll take of your self-pity. If you don't shape up, we can find a wet nurse for that baby. I've worked too hard to have this sabotaged by a spiteful child."
"You thought I was woman enough for a king when you sent me to Jared. And between his 'attentions' and the birth, I'll never be suited for another man. You've gotten what you wanted from me. What do you care what I'm wearing? No one but the guards see me. Morgan is fed and clean, and he's finally stopped his colic."
"You'd probably prefer to have the baby taken, wouldn't you? Think you'll go back to the Trevath court and waste your time with that noble trash you call friends. You've got a king to raise. Grow up."
"Why did you come?"
"I'm going to move you to Trevath, back to your aunt's people. Lord Monteith's castle is far enough inside Trevath's boundaries that Margolan doesn't dare move against him."
"Losing so soon? The siege hasn't even started."
Curane's voice shook with anger. "Being cautious. This keep and everyone in it is expendable—except for that baby."
"Do your mages know they're 'expendable?'"
"This is war. The only thing that matters is achieving the objective. There are always necessary losses."
"Maybe Martris Drayke isn't as soft as you thought he was. After all, he killed Jared. That's a plus right there."
Curane snatched a dress from the wardrobe and threw it at the bed. "Get dressed. Clean yourself up."
"Stop shouting. You'll wake the baby."
"I don't give a damn—"
The baby let out an ear-splitting scream, arching and grasping. Canice fixed Curane with a deadly stare and lifted the baby against her shoulder.
"Don't let him scare you. Mother's here. Mother will keep you safe. It's all right. It'll be all right." .
"Did you hear me? I want you up and dressed and presentable. Pack your things. I've made up my mind. You're going to Trevath. I'll let Lady Monteith deal with you."
Canice did not look up. "Hush," she cooed. "Hush now. Mother's here. It'll be all right."
"I'll send guards for you at sundown. You'd better be ready." Curane slammed the door behind him.
His foul mood carried into his briefing. "Well?" he demanded when General Drostan and the fire mage Cadoc entered the room. "Are we ready?"
Drostan nodded. "Nearly so."
"Nearly so isn't enough. Our best chance to strike at the Margolan army will be when it first arrives, before they've had a chance to dig in. If we take the offensive, we might turn them."
Cadoc shrugged. "I doubt they'll be broken quite so easily, even with magic."
"We must terrify them. Teach them that we have the will to endure. Let them understand that we'll hold out."
"Is that why you're smuggling the girl out of the keep?" Drostan's voice was icy. "Hardly proof that you believe this siege to be winnable."
"I learned long ago to hedge my bets. With Canice gone, there will be one less distraction, and it puts one prize out of Drayke's reach before the first salvo is fired." Curane smiled icily. "I'll send you one of the serving girls and her baby. Use your magic to put an illusion on them. We'll lock them up in Canice's place. No one will suspect."
"Even our best strike can't defeat thousands of soldiers," Drostan replied.
"We don't have to defeat them. We need to make them lose heart. Every day the army camps here, my man at Shekerishet moves closer to success. Our people in Isencroft already have Donelan occupied with the divisionists. We have the resources to keep the army tied up here for months. By stripping the land bare, they'll have to travel further for supplies—and we have fighters in place to harry their supply line." He rose and looked out one of the thin windows, toward the plain where the army would camp.
"We'll teach them to be terrified of what comes by night. Sicken them once the harshest days of winter come. Make them hungry. Drayke and his mages will weaken the longer they stay here, while you and your blood mages," he said with a nod toward Cadoc, "grow stronger off the rift in the Flow. They're not a real army, not professionals. Just a ragtag band of volunteers out for an adventure. How long until those volunteers decide to go home?" Curane smiled. "No. We don't have to defeat his army. We have to break their will. Then Trevath will see the opportunity and come to our aid. We'll he rid of Drayke, rid of his heir, and both Margolan and Isencroft "will be ours."
"Everything will be in place, m'lord," Drostan said. "Our scouts expect the' army within two days. We'll strike them hard their first night, before they're ready to respond. We'll see how long Drayke's army can stand its ground."