By Sword, Tale, or Magic

By Meredith Mansfield

Three Fantasy Novels

Fire and Earth (Epic Fantasy)
Just when her country is threatened by an invading army, seventeen-year-old Casora loses her battle against the berserker curse. Now she's exiled and unable to help protect her home and family unless she can find some way to tame the berserker. Her desperate search for a cure leads her to Tiaran, a scholar-prince who needs her help to defend his own land against the invaders and who just might be the answer to her prayers.

The Bard's Gift (Historical Fantasy)

Astrid is too shy to even talk to the boy she likes, so naturally she's the one the Norse gods choose for the bard's gift--the ability to tell the right story at the right time. Turns out, her new talent is the key to escaping starvation in medieval Greenland and finding a better future in the New World. When rebels anger the very dragon-like guardian of their new home, stories are all Astrid has to prevent a power grab that could ruin their chances to settle in this bountiful new land.

Daughter of the Disgraced King (Fantasy Romance)
In Ailsa's world, magic and political power are kept strictly separated. Her father abdicated his throne in order to marry a mage. Now Ailsa is caught between becoming a mage herself, or marrying her best friend--the crown prince. Can her magic help her heal the wounds caused by the conflict between magic and power?
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meredith Mansfield
• Release date: Mar 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393549444

Book preview

FIRE AND EARTH

By Meredith Mansfield

Chapter 1: Berserk

Casora restrained the impulse to get up and pace across the floor of the command tent. She couldn’t show emotion, not even frustration, in front of her troops, but the continued silence from home was troubling. She reached up to rub the little scar above her right eyebrow.

She glanced up at the mountains visible through the open tent flap. The snow crept lower every day and so did her hopes of a recall order to let the troop over-winter at home. Casora dreaded the prospect of a winter stuck in camp with a troop made up entirely of homesick teenagers--every one of them carrying the potential of the berserker curse. Time to start planning a lot of training exercises.

Riders coming! The shout came from the lookout to the east, toward home. After a pause, the lookout added, Two of them.

Only two riders? She’d sent three out.

Casora walked to the front of the tent and cursed under her breath. They were her scouts all right, but whatever orders they brought had better be end-of-the-world urgent. There was no other excuse for abusing the horses like that. Then she realized that Varana’s braid was redder than it should be--blood red. Casora took off running. So did others from all parts of the camp. Varana fell off the winded mare just as Casora reached her.

Report, she said, but more quietly than her usual command voice.

Stumbled into a scouting party just inside the pass. Ambushed.

Ravan ran up with a water skin and Casora held it so Varana could drink. What happened? She handed the skin back to Ravan and nodded towards the other scout.

Ledan was out in front. Went down with the first volley. We tried to get to a defensible position. There were too many. Had to run. Bring word back here.

Casora rocked back on her heels. What about . . . She paused to swallow and steady her voice. What about home?

Smelled the smoke even before we got to the pass. Whole valley’s burning. Even from that high up, we could see the Yriri crawling all over the valley in their black armor, like ants on a corpse. There’s nothing left.

Casora looked down at her empty palms. Her chest was too constricted to breathe. Astraea invaded? It wasn’t possible. Even the Deathless, really only warriors in training, had never been defeated. How could Astraea have been conquered?

The roar of angry voices around her snapped Casora back to her duty. She had to get them occupied with something and quick. She gripped the hilt of her sword. Anger, especially, was the enemy of the Cursed. Not something they could be allowed to engage in for long. Her eye lit on one of the greenest recruits, looking young and frightened. You, see the wounded to the medicine tent. Look after them.

Casora scanned the other faces around her. Orders wouldn’t come from home, so the decision was up to her. If Astraea was under attack, there was only one place where the Deathless should be and it wasn’t sitting uselessly in camp all winter. Ravan, organize the band. We’ll need the horses and gear readied. Break down the camp. I want everything packed up and ready to move by dawn day after tomorrow. She looked at the stunned faces around her. Get a move on. The Deathless are needed at home.

At that, the band broke into excited units, scattering to their various tasks. Casora breathed a sigh of relief. She felt Varana shaking her head against Casora’s supporting arm. Varana had more recent intelligence. Casora looked down to her friend’s face. What is it?  

Varana’s answer was low enough that not many beside Casora heard it. You didn’t see how many of those black-armored devils there are. Even the full band won’t be enough. That army could crush us like you or I would swat a fly. All we’d do is get ourselves killed, too. Varana turned her head back toward the mountains. Besides, the snow followed us down the mountain. It’s the only reason we got away from them. No one’s going into or out of Astraea until spring.

The blare of a horn signaling an attack cut through the voices of the Deathless. Now? Seven gods! Could there be a worse time for a fight? There’d been no time to defuse the shock, fear, and anger of the Deathless.

Her blood answered the rising notes of the horn, wanting to boil out of her skin. Yes, now. Fight, kill, destroy, let the rage and grief out before it burned her to ash.

Casora looked up into the uncertain faces of the band and squared her shoulders. What are you waiting for? Let’s get this scuffle over with so we can go home, where we’re needed. Casora shoved her helmet on and ran towards the battlefield, crying Deahtless!

The war band streamed behind her, echoing the war cry. Rage blossomed as she ran. Rage she’d never permitted herself to feel before. Blood pounded in Casora’s ears as her vision narrowed to the enemy in front of her. This wasn’t the enemy she really wanted to fight, but they were the ones that presently stood in the way of going home. As the front lines crashed together, her rage spilled over.

Casora’s first opponent went down like so much laundry falling off a line. She’d always been taught to fight cold, to let her mind rule her actions. Not today. Today there was too much pent up inside her for that. She had to let it out and the enemy was right there for her to dump it on. Casora let every bit of her grief and anger out in her blows. Her enemies’ blood smelled better than any roses to her. She’d never felt this free, this wild on a battlefield before. Her sword was light in her hands and her blood sang in her ears.

The sword was not normally her weapon of choice. She’d been an archer before her elevation to command. Today, the sword felt like part of her arm, seamless, the way her bow used to feel.

At first, she dedicated each adversary: for Ledan, for Grita, for Ma. But they began to blur together. The whole world outside of this battle was only a haze. Casora’s entire focus was on the combat. Only the clash of metal on metal, the smell of blood, and the feel of her sword cutting flesh existed. Nothing else. No pain, no memory, no fear.

~~~

Casora came to herself, blinking, in the middle of a bloody battlefield. Deathless were already busy collecting the bodies for burial, so the battle must have been over for some time. Strange she didn’t remember how it had ended.

A few others stood as still as she had just a moment ago. They wore the armor of Deathless. Casora gasped as she realized that the familiar faceplates of their helmets’ visors weren’t armor at all. Their helmets were gone and their faces were hideously transformed into bestial masks.

She dropped her sword. Why was she still holding it if the battle was over? And raised her hand to her own face. Where had her helmet gone? Her hand touched flesh, not metal, but twisted into a horrible grimace. As she felt it, the muscles began to relax and reform, returning to a normal appearance. But her fingers remembered what they had felt. What had she done?

A glance at the others, beginning to rouse from their trances, told Casora the truth. She’d Cracked. Done what she had been trained not to do since she could understand speech. She’d let the anger out, let it rule her. By doing that, she’d released the Curse that was in her blood. She’d gone berserk.

How many of the others had Cracked, too? Too many. The other Deathless worked around them without touching or looking at them for more than a moment. They’d been raised knowing how to handle a berserker: leave them bloody well alone until their eyes were human again.

Casora lifted her eyes to the mountains. Whether or not the passes were closed by the snow, there was no going home now. Ever. The law was absolute: berserkers were exiled from Astraea.

She dropped her chin to her chest and wrapped both arms around herself to hold back the wail of loss that tried to rise in her throat. She had to lock her knees to remain standing. Lost. Everything she’d ever known or planned or hoped for was gone forever. Not just for her, but for all the others who’d Cracked with her.

She turned from the mountains to look back at the camp. The banner of the Deathless snapped in the breeze above the command tent. A circle of seven stars on a blue field. It represented the seven stars of the seven gods. Back home, on Star Night, each of those seven stars appeared to rest on the peak of one of the seven mountains that surrounded Astraea’s high mountain valley. That was a sight she’d never see again.

Casora swallowed hard and looked around the battlefield. The Deathless were all she had now--all any of them had. She had to be strong for them. She’d have to find some new purpose to keep them going after this. Something, hopefully, to keep their minds off the dark thoughts she was trying to duck right now. She owed it to them. They were the only family she had left. She blinked rapidly.

Her family! She couldn’t help them or be there to defend them. She’d probably never even know what had happened to them. Casora knew too much of warfare. Her imagination supplied images that threatened to drive her back into the Change to the berserker.

Seven gods damn the Yriri for this and for what must be going on at home at this moment that she was powerless to fight against. Pa and her brothers would be in the fighting, maybe dying to defend Astraea. Who was there to protect Ma and Grita meanwhile? That plowboy down the road who Grita was supposed to marry this winter? Who was there to avenge them, if that was necessary?

She straightened her back. Yes. That was the answer. The Yriri were raiders not conquerors. They might be trapped by the early snow now, but come spring, they’d take what they could carry and move on. Whatever rebuilding was to be done then wouldn’t be helped by the inherent chaos of a company of berserkers, even if they weren’t exiled. There was only one thing for the Deathless to do now. Make the Yriri feel the same pain they’d inflicted on their victims.

Varana, cleaned up and bandaged, appeared at her side. She tilted her head back toward camp. Come on. You’ll want to wash up and get something to eat.

With a sigh, Casora fell into step beside her. How many? Her voice sounded rough in her own ears, like she’d been howling for hours. Maybe she had.

Five and eight. I don’t think anyone has an accurate count of the berserkers, yet.

Casora felt the muscles in her neck and back bunch. That many?

Varana shrugged. I’m more surprised at the ones who didn’t Crack under that kind of stress.

Casora swallowed. There was something to that. She should never have ordered them into battle. Not after a shock like that. Her fault.

Varana looked sideways at her. So, what now, Captain?

Casora lifted her chin and strode out a little faster. We’re warriors. We fight.

Against what enemy?

There is only one enemy, now. The Yriri. We’ll avenge Astraea. We’ll fight the Yriri bastards wherever they go.

Varana smiled. Suits me.

Casora inhaled deeply, then blew out the breath through her mouth. We need to make plans. And the first thing we need is to decide where the Yriri are likely to go come spring. Back north?

Varana pursed her lips and then shook her head. No. They’ve already plundered all of the north. In my opinion, they’ll go south. And they’ll hit the richest target first.

Casora nodded. Artria. Then we’ll be there before them.

Varana looked to the mountains and her fists clenched. You, know, if I’m right, Astraea would make a better base to plunder the south. They’ll go back there next winter.

Not if we stop them first.

Chapter 2: Supplicants

Casora and Derian rode into the city wearing ordinary clothes. They’d left their armor and most of their weapons back in camp, in order not to draw too much attention, though Casora couldn’t help fidgeting with the inconvenient split skirt. How was anyone supposed to fight with so much fabric swirling around their legs? She felt positively naked with just her bow and dagger, but the chance to pray in the temples was too good to miss. It was the only guidance available, now.

Revenge on the Yriri was all well and good, but what they all really wanted was to go home. Beyond their worry for their families, it was what they were all trained for practically from birth. The purpose of the Deathless and the Home Guard was to protect and defend Astraea. It galled that when they were most needed they couldn’t do anything.

Casora had spent many late nights trying to think of a solution, any solution, to the problem of the Cracked berserkers. The only ray of hope she’d been able to come up with was prayer. Slim as that hope might be, she had to try it.

The sounds and smells of this ordinary town were almost overpowering to her now. The berserker curse had heightened all her senses. She could hear a blacksmith hammering over the gabble of the market square even though there was no smithy in sight. The smells of so many people packed together were even more annoying. They’d better take care of their business quickly before it all became too much of an irritant.

They rode on through to the temple square without stopping. Casora looked from side to side of the square. The flatlanders worshipped differently than the Astraeans, but it seemed clear from the temple façades that the gods were much the same.

Ignar’s temple, or whatever the Estosians called the fire god, was easy to recognize from the flame kept burning by the door. Ignar had always been the patron of all Cursed redheads and of the Deathless specifically. Both Casora and Derian dropped a coin in the box and scooped a ladle-full of oil to feed the flame before entering. The fire spurted green when Casora tossed her oil onto it. Not generally a good omen with the fire god. Derian got a nice red flame, though. That was more hopeful. Of course, Derian hadn’t Cracked. She reached up and touched the scar above her eye. If Ignar had turned his face away from the berserkers, it was a very bad sign.

They paused just inside the door to let their eyes adjust to the dim interior. Casora assumed it was meant to make the fire burning on the altar more dramatic. She wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming smell of burning sweetwood. After a moment, she started forward again, ready to kneel at the altar and pray for guidance. There had to be some way to break the Curse. Some way that she and the others who had Cracked could leave the berserker behind.

As she stepped before the altar, a red-robed priest held out a hand to stop her from kneeling.

What was the color of your flame, Daughter? he asked.

Green, holy one.

The priest shook his head sadly. The god will not hear your prayer. Green is the color of earth. Perhaps Gaiar will hear you.

Casora stepped back, frowning. She rubbed the scar above her right eye again.

And you, my son? What color was your flame?

Red, Derian answered.

The priest smiled. The god smiles on you. He will listen with favor to your prayer.

Derian looked from the priest to Casora. If he won’t grant her prayer, then he can’t grant mine.

Pray anyway, Casora said. I can find my own way across the square. We can’t afford to lose any chances.

Derian nodded slowly and sank to his knees.

There was no oracle in front of the Earth Goddess’ temple to predict how she would receive petitioners’ prayers, just a small square of garden, blessed with a few flowers and late fruit even at this time of the year. Casora dropped a coin in the offering box by the door and entered the sanctuary.

She paused again just inside the door to let her eyes adjust. With no flame on the altar, Gaiara’s temple was even dimmer than Ignar’s, like a cave. When she could see, Casora took one step forward and then froze.

Is something wrong, my child? a priest in brown and green robes asked.

The robes were right. The garden out front was right. But there had to be some mistake. Casora couldn’t take her eyes off the statue behind the altar. It was unmistakably male. Um, I think I’m in the wrong temple. From the garden out front, I thought this was the temple of the Earth Goddess.

The priest’s face showed surprise before he carefully masked it. This is the temple of Gaiar, god of the earth.

Casora swallowed hard. "God of the earth?"

Of course. Anyone knows that the strong, enduring, protecting earth must be male. The priest’s voice was condescending.

Must it, now. Mind your tone, priestling. Even half disarmed as I am, I could gut you where you stand. Casora reined her thoughts back around sharply. She couldn’t allow his supercilious tone to rile her. Attacking a priest probably wasn’t the best way to gain the gods’ favor. Now, more than ever, it was essential to keep control of her temper. That’s why she’d brought cool-headed Derian with her and then she’d allowed them to become separated.

Maybe something showed in her face. Maybe the priest just realized that he was failing in his duty to his god. His tone had returned to the more formal attitude of a spiritual guide when he spoke again.

Pray to Him, child. Whatever you seek, He is great enough and strong enough to answer you.

Casora restrained herself from shaking all over like a wet dog. This was a temple to the earth. Whatever the strange beliefs of these people, she could pray to Gaiara here in her own way. And she needed Gaiara’s help as she never had before. She forced herself to bow her head briefly to the priest and then advanced across the room to the altar.

Casora knelt, then prostrated herself on the tiles. It emphasized her supplication. It also helped keep her from being distracted by the male statue of the goddess Gaiara. That was just so . . . wrong.

Casora poured her heart into her wordless prayer. Lying with her face against the cool tiles, she felt that this was a place where she might safely release her fears to the goddess.

A tinkling and a rustling sound from above the altar made Casora look up. She blinked. The statue seemed to be moving in a slow, stately manner. Tingles spread up and down her body as the idol approached. At each step, its form wavered, male one instant, more familiarly female in the next. When it stood directly above Casora’s prostrate form, it settled in the female shape and spoke in a low, melodious voice.

Do not trouble over outward appearances. People will see Me in the form best suited to their needs.  The figure morphed from the goddess to the image of the statue of the male earth god and back.  Form has no meaning for Me.

Ga-- Gaiara? Casora’s pulse pounded in her ears. She’d hoped for an answer, but she’d never expected anything like this.

I have heard the prayer of your heart. You can learn to control the beast you have unleashed. You will find what you seek where you find your enemy. Help the youngest prince find his way and he will help you find yours.

Thank you, Goddess. Casora’s gratitude for an answer, any answer, was all the greater for her distress at Ignar’s rejection.

Something else troubles you. The goddess stated it as a fact.

Why . . . Casora paused to clear her throat. Why did Ignar abandon me . . . us?

Gaiara’s smile was patient and kind. He has not deserted you, child. He merely acknowledged My prior claim and sent you to Me. I have need of you. Do not fail Me.

Casora blinked. Gaiara claimed her as Her own, in spite of the berserker? She wasn’t completely outcast, then. A fiery resolve grew in her heart. She’d make very sure she didn’t fail the goddess.

There was a louder ringing sound and the image was gone. The stone statue stood on its plinth as if it had never moved. Had it moved? Casora didn’t think she’d dreamed it. Her nose caught the sweet scent of spring flowers lingering in the air, too faint for an ordinary human to catch. No, she hadn’t dreamed it.

She stood, bowed her head in thanks to the altar and the statue behind it and made her way back to the door through a sea of prostrate priests in brown and green. Apparently, this behavior on the part of their god was not common. On her way outside, she dumped the contents of her purse into the offering box.

She sat in the early winter sun on a bench at the edge of the little garden to wait for Derian and thought about the goddess’ message. Despite her determination not to fail the goddess, the message was ambiguous. Which enemy? The Yriri or her Curse? Well, she was likely to find them both together. And which youngest prince? Most of the petty kingdoms around here must have more than one prince. One thing at a time. Presumably, she would find the youngest prince in the same place she found the Yriri. That’s the direction she and the Deathless were headed anyway.

Chapter 3: The Uses of a Prince

Tiaran tried hard to hold his focus despite the snickering from the sidelines. Part of the point of these stretching and flexibility exercises was to concentrate the mind. His older half-brothers weren’t helping with that. Not that they cared.

Hey, kid, this field is for practicing fighting, not dance steps, Daltor called.

Yeah, even really weird dances like that. What do you call it again? Ardur added.

Tiaran continued his motion, a little less smoothly than he intended. It never paid to get angry with his brothers. They were, and probably always would be, too much bigger and stronger than he was. Singly or together they could beat him up whenever they chose. And getting defensive would only show them where his weak spots were and guarantee more harassment. So he fell back on his usual defense: humor. You should see it set to music.

He regained his balance and continued to the next move. Besides, it helps limber me up for fighting practice. It did more than that, though Tiaran wouldn’t try to explain that to his brothers. When he was allowed to practice in peace, he felt grounded, like he could almost touch something bigger than himself. This, obviously, was not going to be one of those days.

Stay as stiff as you please, Ran-ran. No one’s going to send you out to fight. Since you have absolutely no battle experience, Father’d have to assign three men just to keep you out of trouble. The arithmetic doesn’t add up, kid. Besides, Father has another use for you.

True, he was the youngest of them, but he was more than old enough to fight alongside his brothers. I’m older than you were at your first battle. And this is my home being attacked, too.

Is it? Daltor asked.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It means those are your mother’s people swarming across our borders, Ardur answered.

That was too much for Tiaran. He stopped his enyoro stretches and rounded on his brothers. Mother is Yalisi, not Yriri. The Yriri were her enemies before they were ours. I am a prince of Artria, same as you. I would die to defend it, same as you.

Would you? I don’t want you at my back going into battle. Never know when your allegiance might turn, same as your mother, Daltor said.

Mother never deserted Artria.

No? Just Father, then? Daltor asked.

He left her first and you know it. And Mother only went as far as the temple. She didn’t go back to her people.

No. Maybe she knew they’d be coming to her, Ardur said.

Tiaran’s fists clenched. He was close to jumping in and wiping that smirk off Ardur’s face. And getting a thumping for it. Ardur was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. Tiaran was faster and more flexible, but that wouldn’t help when Daltor came in on Ardur’s side. They seemed unusually intent on starting a fight with him today.

Save your skin, Ran-ran, Ardur said. Father’ll want it all in one piece for what he has in mind for you. Now, as a matter of fact. He’s sent for you to attend on him in his private audience chamber. If you run, you might even have time to make yourself presentable. You’ll want to look your best for this.

Tiaran didn’t like the derision in his brothers’ smiles. Or being repeatedly called by his baby name, Ran-ran. But even Ardur would never lie about being summoned to attend on the King.

~~~

Tiaran ignored the stares of the assorted nobles waiting in the greater audience chamber. Earl Cashel and his odious children were there. Father must be planning a war council for later. That’d explain Cashel and his son, Roddick. What Aliesa was doing here was a bit of a mystery, though. He’d have thought cagey Cashel would have his wife and daughter already safe in the Eagle’s Nest fortress.

Aliesa gave him a teasing, half-alluring smile. She’d gotten very good at that over the last year or so. Tiaran ignored her, knowing she had no real interest in him. Aliesa was currently working her charms on Daltor.

Tiaran stepped across the ante chamber with a lighter, faster tread. If Father had called him here for a war council, maybe all his pleas and arguments had finally paid off. Maybe he’d get his chance to fight for Artria after all.

Tiaran knew down in his bones that he needed to be part of this war. Not just for the chance to prove himself. Not just for pride, although it’d be pretty hard to hold his head up around his brothers if they fought and he didn’t. This was something deeper. It had haunted his dreams for the last months, even creeping into his enyoro practice. He felt it without understanding it, but he knew that if he wasn’t in it, the battle for his homeland would be lost. He just couldn’t get anyone to take him seriously.

Tiaran tugged his clean tunic straight just before the seneschal opened the door to admit him to his father’s presence. He’d found his good blue tunic, the one his sister always said accented the color of his eyes, lying out ready for him when he got to his chambers. He bowed as soon as the door closed behind him.

There you are! King Leorad said. Where’d you get to, boy? I’d hoped to have more time to prepare you for this.

I was at the practice field, Father. I want to be ready to fight for Artria.

King Leorad looked Tiaran over. Tiaran had never been more conscious of the difference between himself and every other male member of his family. The Artriads were tall, massive, and blond. All except Tiaran, who was slight and dark like his foreign mother. At least he’d gained some height over the last winter. He was only a hand span shorter than his father, now.

You’re not made for war, son. Accept it. There are better uses for you and your wits than swinging a sword. Leave that to those better made for it.

Like my two hulking brothers. Tiaran swallowed the comment. As my lord King wills, of course.

King Leorad smiled. Better. You always were quicker than your brothers. Now let’s put those wits to use. I am in need of a general for my armies. What do you think of Earl Cashel and his son, Roddick?

The King wasn’t really asking for advice. He’d already made a decision and wanted to see how quickly Tiaran could arrive at the correct conclusion. Sometimes, Tiaran wondered what kind of position in the court Father was grooming him for.

He knew his father wasn’t asking what he thought of the men, personally. He kept his tone carefully neutral as he answered. Earl Cashel is generally considered the greatest military leader in the south. Roddick lacks his father’s experience, except for rooting out bandits, but he is certainly a master swordsman.

The king waved his hand dismissively. Common knowledge. What of their trustworthiness?

Tiaran made a face. The family has a history of profiting by changing sides in the middle of a war. It’s how their fortune was made.

Yes. So I need to find a way to assure Cashel’s loyalty in the coming war. Some way to tie him to me strongly enough that no other offer will sway him. What would you suggest?

Tiaran shrugged. The traditional way would be a marriage to one of the king’s younger children. Tiaran looked up in horror at the logical conclusion. There was a reason Roddick was called Roddick the Beast in certain quarters. No, Father. You must know Roddick’s reputation. You can’t subject Janessa to that. She’s too young.

King Leorad nodded. She’s little more than a year younger than you. Grant you, she doesn’t act it. Still, I certainly would rather not. But as king I can’t place even my daughter above the welfare of the country. Fortunately, there is another option.

Aliesa’s presence in the outer chamber took on a much more sinister meaning. She was no better than her brother, if more subtle about it. Tiaran swallowed hard. Me? And . . . Aliesa? He just managed to keep the disgust out of his voice.

King Leorad nodded, then chuckled. Come, boy, don’t look as if I’ve just announced I’m giving you to an ogress. I know you don’t like her, but, well, royal marriages are seldom about love.

On the whole, Tiaran would have preferred the ogress. His mind raced as he tried to come up with any viable alternative, anything less than marriage into the royal family that would cement Cashel’s loyalty. The Earl’s celebrated pragmatic approach to politics defeated every other option.

Tiaran had to try something, anyway. It’s not just that I don’t like her, Father. You know Daltor--

His father’s face clouded. The sooner that relationship ends the better. She is not a suitable match for Daltor. If he is to be my heir, he needs to make alliance with a much more powerful family. One that can help him hold the throne. A princess would be best.

No wonder his brothers had been so confrontational. They must know Aliesa, Daltor’s current lady love, was to be betrothed elsewhere. And to Tiaran, at that. Oh, this was going to make his life impossible.

Aliesa, who pushed the boundaries of good behavior to the breaking point for the fun of it and enjoyed watching everyone else squirm, was bad enough. He’d disliked her when they were children. He’d learned to hate her over the last couple of years when she’d filled out and found an entirely new way to tease him. He suspected that what she did with Daltor went well past teasing.

And Daltor, feeling cheated of that, would take his anger out on Tiaran. Aliesa would probably cheer Daltor on from the sidelines. This was going to be a marriage made in hell. Did Father have any idea how much trouble this was going to cause for Tiaran?

Do I have to, sir?

King Leorad gave him a long, serious look. It’s you or Janessa. At least you won’t be so much at Aliesa’s mercy. She’s pretty enough, boy. After the wedding night, I don’t think you’ll mind as much.

Father didn’t know Aliesa very well if that’s what he thought. She was every bit as bad as Roddick, just not as open about it. Still, he couldn’t wish Roddick on Janessa. Not even to save himself from Aliesa. Tiaran took a deep breath and nodded. Yes, sir.

Good. Now, let’s go make the announcement.

Already? Of course, Father and Earl Cashel had already arranged everything. This had just been Father’s way of making Tiaran see the necessity of it. And of course Father wouldn’t give him time to marshal stronger arguments.

Tiaran tried to compose himself. With half the court already sent to safety in the Eagle’s Nest, this could only be an announcement of intent. He tried to console himself with that thought. He wished he’d been able to complete his enyoro routine. That always helped to clear his head and calm his emotions. He could use all the help he could get when faced with such a bleak future. Anything would be better. Tiaran looked up at his father. Maybe he could at least get something out of this. Sir?

Yes?

There’s no reason marrying Aliesa should keep me from the fighting. Can’t I do both? And that would give him an excuse to stay far away from her.

King Leorad patted Tiaran’s shoulder. We’ll talk about it later.

~~~

As soon as the announcement had been made, Tiaran dropped Aliesa’s hand like it had scorched him and practically ran out of the audience chamber. He didn’t at first pay much attention to where he went. Anywhere, as long as it was away from his brothers and Aliesa. He looked up to see that his feet had carried him to Gaiar’s temple. Well, why not? A bit of prayer certainly couldn’t hurt anything. Didn’t condemned men customarily pray? Being betrothed to Aliesa felt a little like walking to his own execution.

Tiaran tossed some coins into the collection box and entered the temple. He walked straight to the altar at the feet of the statue of Gaiar and knelt. It took a moment to clear his head enough for prayer. As he collected his thoughts, the glimmer of an idea inspired him.

Gaiar, please guide me. There must be someone else out there who can provide the same advantages to the kingdom as the alliance with Earl Cashel. Another general’s daughter, maybe. Some way to accomplish the same thing for Artria and save Janessa from Roddick, without marrying Aliesa. I serve you and the land. I ask for your help in this.

Tiaran waited on his knees for a long time, holding himself still to hear the least whisper of an answer. All he heard was the footsteps of the priests and the wind beginning to whistle down the narrow streets of the city. Finally, he sighed and stood up, dusting off his knees.

~~~

Late that night, Tiaran tossed in his bed, unable to sleep. His mind kept working, darting around seeking an escape from the inevitable. Even the god of earth, Tiaran’s patron, hadn’t had an answer for this problem. Marriage to Aliesa was worse than his worst nightmare.

He finally dozed off near dawn. From the grit in his eyes, he knew he couldn’t have been asleep long when the cock crow roused him. He’d been dreaming and the dream had given him a sense of peace that had eluded him since his interview with Father. Tiaran clutched at the broken strands of the dream. All that would come back to him was a deep, resonant voice.

Your bride is seeking you even now. Marry strength to strength if you would succeed. The proper bride for you possesses the strengths you lack. And you, in turn, have what she needs. Thus are the greatest marriages made--and heroes born.

Was that an answer to his prayer? Or just his own wishful thinking?

~~~

Tiaran looked up from his enyoro at the feminine giggles, his concentration broken. There she was again. Aliesa. Over the last few days she’d turned up wherever he went. He half expected to find her in the latrine, watching him. Was there no place he could just be alone? Bad enough he had to face the prospect of marrying her within the week. Earl Cashel had insisted on a scandalously quick wedding, dashing Tiaran’s hopes for more time.

Ignoring his brothers’ snickers, Tiaran squared his shoulders and went over to talk to Aliesa. Why are you following me around? Can’t you just leave me be?

Aliesa simpered and reached up to play with the collar of his tunic. It was a disconcertingly possessive act. Why, Tiaran. I’m just trying to show some interest in my future husband. Most young men don’t find my presence to be a burden.

He snorted at that. I daresay. Most don’t know you the way I do.

Her smile didn’t waver as her hand crept around behind his neck. If you’d just relax a little, I could teach you some things.

I’m sure you could. Most brides at least try to act demure before the wedding.

Aliesa laughed. Come on, Ran-ran. Your father needs mine too much. You’re not going to throw me over just because there’s no blood on the sheets.

Just go away, Aliesa. You’re ruining my concentration.

She smirked. Good. I was hoping you weren’t made completely of stone. Not that there aren’t certain parts I wouldn’t mind finding had some comparison to stone, now. Her hand started to move down.

Tiaran stepped back. Can’t you leave me anyplace to myself?

No, Ran-ran. I enjoy watching you squirm too much. I’ve been planning ways to make you use that quite interesting flexibility of yours on our wedding night. Of course, we needn’t wait that long, if you don’t want to.

Give it up, Ran-ran, Ardur called from the other side of the practice field. You’re a different kind of warrior, meant to wield a different kind of sword. Some men might envy you.

Daltor, on the other hand, was looking daggers across at him.

Some men might be fools, Tiaran said, but not loudly enough to reach his brothers’ ears.

Aliesa heard, though, and laughed. Not a pleasant laugh. I do enjoy that you understand the full import of your situation, Ran-ran. I suspect that’s what makes you squirm so exquisitely. So, she moved closer, just how good is the control you’re supposed to get from this little dance? Good enough to resist me? She chuckled as her hand made a quick pass below his belt line. "No, evidently not. Even better. I will enjoy watching you try, though. You know how much I enjoy teasing."

And any other form of torment she could think up. He’d been the butt of some of her early experiments a few years ago. One of the few to escape more or less unscathed. He was pretty sure she hadn’t been a virgin, even then. It occurred to Tiaran to wonder, not for the first time, how much of her perversion was learned from her brother Roddick and how much simply ran in the family.

It had been a mistake to ask her to relent. That would only make her more determined. And there were no bounds of shame or convention that would stop her. She was like her brother in that.

Pity your flexibility exercises haven’t helped that stiff neck of yours, she said. You’re going to have to overcome that, you know, if I’m to give you a son.

That was like a splash of cold water. Aliesa, I wouldn’t trust you with a defenseless puppy or kitten. What makes you think I would ever want you to bear a child of mine?

Your brothers are going off to battle, Ran-ran. It could be necessary for the succession. Very easily.

No. His eyes narrowed at her smile. "And don’t think you can gull me, either. I may not be able to do anything to escape this marriage, but I won’t raise a bastard. Even Father--even your father--would have to accept a divorce under those conditions."

Aliesa’s smile widened. She twirled one of her own dark curls then reached up to twirl Tiaran’s black hair. Unless you keep me fully occupied, it may be hard to be certain of that.

Tiaran stepped back. There is one way. If I just never share your bed at all. He walked off, back stiff.

Aliesa’s trilling laugh followed him. Oh, yes. Good luck with that.

Just before his stride carried him out of earshot, he heard a triumphant, This will be fun!

~~~

Tiaran cracked his door just in time to catch movement down the hall and froze. It was Aliesa, coming out of Daltor’s chambers. Tiaran’s jaw and fists clenched. He took a step forward and then stopped. What of it? He didn’t want Aliesa anyway? She and Daltor deserved each other. And Aliesa would be much happier as the future queen. If Daltor could persuade Father to switch bridegrooms, so much the better. Tiaran’s hands trembled as he opened his fists. A future court ruled over by Daltor and Aliesa? There’s a picture of hell. May Father live and reign a hundred years!

Well, if he was freed of Aliesa, Tiaran could always marry out of the country. Didn’t the king of Tilaria have an unmarried daughter? Or join a mercenary band. Or escape to the hill country and take up banditry. He let out a sigh. Any way he looked at it, his future was pretty bleak.

Tiaran headed down the stairs toward the dining hall to get some breakfast. He practically ran into his younger sister, Janessa, running down the hall away from their father’s private audience chamber. He caught her as she started to run past.

Hey, now, Jana. What’s up? There were tears standing in her eyes. His heart sank. Father couldn’t be going to give her to Roddick, anyway, could he? What’s got you so upset so early in the day?

Oh, Tiaran. Janessa clung to his arms. Father is so mean and unreasonable. He’s sending me away to the stupid Eagle’s Nest tomorrow.

Of course he is. All the ladies of the court and most of the women of the town will be going during the next week or so. It’s the safest fortress in Artria. It’s for your own good.

That’s precisely my point. There’ll be three or four more caravans, at least. There’s no reason I have to go tomorrow.

Why not go tomorrow?

Janessa looked at him as if he had three heads. Men! My brother, my favorite brother--that’s you, although sometimes I’m not sure why--is getting married in three days. And I won’t be here for the wedding. Why couldn’t I go with a later caravan? Aliesa herself will have to go in a later caravan, a few days after the wedding. Why can’t I go with her?

Jana looked so grown up it was sometimes difficult to remember that she had never gotten over those silly stories her nurse used to tell her. Tiaran hoped that she would never find out how ugly the other side of those stories could be.

It doesn’t matter, Jana. I’ll tell you a secret.

Janessa leaned in closer.

I’d rather not be there myself. Aliesa . . . Aliesa is not my princess fair. She’s the price of Earl Cashel’s loyalty--or I am. You really don’t need to be here to see that.

Oh, Tiaran. I’m sorry. Janessa clutched his arm tighter.

Her eyes were huge and he could see sympathetic tears forming. He couldn’t stand that. It might threaten his own resolve. So he adopted a light, bantering tone. So am I. Now, you’d better run off and start packing. If I know you, it’ll take every available hour.

Tiaran watched her go for a moment, then turned back towards the dining hall. He took only three strides before stopping and turning instead towards his father’s private audience chamber. The seneschal nodded and opened the door for him.

King Leorad looked up with a somewhat harried expression. Well, what now? I’ve had about all the wheedling offspring I can take before breakfast.

Sorry, Father. I just wanted to request . . .

Well, out with it. I won’t break your engagement if that’s what you’re after.

No, Father. I understand the necessity. The need to sacrifice one of the princes, anyway. It needn’t be him. Not if Daltor and Aliesa were given enough rope to bind themselves in. Tiaran not being even in the castle would complicate Aliesa’s lies. I just wanted to ask to be allowed to ride with the caravan that takes Janessa to the fortress tomorrow. I . . . I feel like I need some room to move. Once he’d gotten started, arguments began to pour out faster than he could organize his thoughts. It’ll be a large force. Very safe. One day out and one day back. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the wedding. In a flash of insight, he added. You were going to send Daltor and Ardur, weren’t you? I can go in Daltor’s place. You need him here to help with the planning more than you need me. He just stopped himself short of a very childish, wheedling Please! which he was sure Janessa had already overused.

King Leorad looked at Tiaran for a long moment. At length, he smiled. Well, well. I was fidgety myself before my first wedding. I don’t see the harm in it, if it’ll help settle you down. You’ve been like a fart in a mitten these last days.

Thank you, sir! Tiaran said and almost ran out of the room before his father could change his mind.

Chapter 4: Mountain Ride

After breakfast, Tiaran decided to pay a visit to his mother at Gaiar’s temple. He probably should have done that the other day when he’d gone in to pray. Once admitted to the inner sanctum, he sat, half dozing, in the warm sunlight of the temple garden. He started awake at a light touch on his shoulder and looked up into his mother’s smiling face.

Leorad sent a message that you were to be married. Hard to believe you’re old enough already. Are you happy? She spoke the common tongue perfectly, but her voice still carried the lilt of her native language. It had been the sound of comfort all his life.

All the things he’d been trying so hard to suppress exploded at the question. Horrified, Tiaran felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He turned his head to hide the evidence. Eighteen was much too old to cry like a baby. Somehow, his mother had always been able to touch the exact spot that brought everything to the surface.

I guess not, Mother said. Before he could collect himself, she was sitting beside him, holding him close. I wouldn’t have thought Aliesa was that bad a match. She’s pretty enough and well connected. The right age. She’s not a stranger. You’ve known her since you were children.

Tiaran pushed himself upright. Aliesa’s as bad as Roddick. Worse. I hate her.

His mother’s hand was on his back, rubbing gently. Then don’t marry her.

Tiaran took a ragged, steadying breath. I’m being sold to cement her father’s loyalty.

Mother’s lips pursed. Marriages to cement alliances are worse than useless. My father sent me and most of his wealth to Leorad to buy an alliance that was repudiated as soon as it became inconvenient. All such a marriage will do is cause misery. Don’t fall into that trap.

It’s too late, Tiaran said, trying not to sound bitter.

It’s never too late until the vows are spoken. I’ll go and have a talk with Leorad, remind him of just how much his promises at our wedding meant.

He won’t listen.

His mother sighed. Probably not. But I’ll do it anyway. The reminder won’t hurt him. If he’s still as pig-headed as ever, I’ll stop him another way. There can be no marriage if all the temples refuse to officiate.

Tiaran looked up, meeting his mother’s eyes. That was a tactic he’d never thought of. Mother was high enough in the temple hierarchy to pull it off, too. For just a moment he felt giddy with the promise of freedom. Then his heart sank again. No. If I don’t marry Aliesa, he’ll give Janessa to Roddick. I can’t let that happen.

Mother’s face was grimmer than he’d ever seen it. "That I can and will prevent. Don’t ruin your own life to save hers. Trust me to see to that."

The tone of her voice left little doubt that she believed she could protect Janessa. But Mother was still only a priestess, no matter how high up in the temple. And Father was king. Sooner or later, he’d find someone to perform the marriage. Maybe not soon, though. There might be a little breathing room in this scheme.

I’m riding out with the guards taking Janessa and some of the other ladies up to the Eagle’s Nest tomorrow.

Mother smiled. Good. I’ll send a message along to your Uncle Corrick. He’s a stiff-necked old man, but he’s about the only one with the guts and position to stand up to your father. And there’s nothing he values above family. He can be counted on to keep Janessa safe from Roddick. She paused to take a long look at Tiaran. You, too. Stay there. It always does you good to get out of the city. Delay is to your benefit.

Tiaran thought it through and sighed. Father will just call me back. But maybe Uncle Corrick will at least let me do some fighting first.

Ti, you don’t need to prove yourself the equal of your brothers. Not to me and not to your father.

It’s not that. Okay, maybe it is a little, he added at her doubtful look. "But I need to be part of this war, Mother. No one takes me seriously, but I know that like . . . like . . ." Tiaran trailed off. He didn’t know what this feeling was like, exactly. It wasn’t in the way he normally knew things. No one had told him so. He had no experience to compare it to, like knowing the sun would come up because it always had. He just knew his participation was important.

Mother pursed her lips as she watched Tiaran through narrowed eyes. He squirmed under her stare.

After a moment, she nodded. You should follow your instincts in this, I think. It could be the god trying to nudge you in the right direction. If you feel it strongly, I think you should take it seriously. Just . . . just remember what I told you about the Yriri. Don’t let yourself be taken captive.

Tiaran swallowed, remembering his mother’s description of what the Yriri had done to her brothers. Don’t worry. I won’t.

Mother nodded and drew a deep breath. There’s something else you should know before you go. The temples will never accept Daltor as king.

Tiaran’s brows creased in confusion. What are you talking about, Mother?

It is our way. It is our law. The land chooses the Heir.

Well, yes. Everyone knew that, but Tiaran--and everyone else he knew--had always just assumed that Daltor had been chosen. It was so obvious, no one even questioned it. After all, Father certainly acted as if Daltor was his heir. Daltor--

Daltor was never the Heir, Mother interrupted. He started screaming fifteen minutes after being led into the caves. Had nightmares for a month. The land rejected him. After that, your father wouldn’t permit either you or Ardur to be tested, Maressa said. I think he hoped to do as our neighbors do and name his heir by his choice.

Tiaran took a moment to absorb the implications of that. Did Daltor know he’d failed the test? Why would Father try to override the temples on something as important as this? Father knew this all along? This is why you said the temples would never accept Daltor?

Leorad knew it. That doesn’t mean he accepted it, Lady Maressa said.

And he never even tried to find out if Ardur or I might be the heir? Of course his father would never expect Tiaran to be the heir. Not the skinny boy who couldn’t handle a sword. But why not test Ardur? Not that Ardur would be much of an improvement over Daltor as king, but still . . .

I think he was afraid that none of you would be accepted, Mother said. You have a whole pack of royal cousins who would have been snapping at the prize if that had happened. Leorad didn’t want to be forced to hand the crown down to one of them.

Tiaran shook his head, still trying to take it all in. So what? He planned on leaving the mess for us to settle after he was gone? Without even any warning? That’s a pretty poor strategy. There’d be a civil war, each contender claiming a right to the crown.

You won’t get an argument from me about that, Mother said. Leorad was always a good warrior, but not a great general. That’s why he’s tried so hard to bind Earl Cashel to him. The earl always was a better strategist than your father.

Tiaran shivered at the reminder of how close he’d come to being permanently tied to Earl Cashel’s family.

But not, perhaps, better than you, Ti, Mother said. You’ve quickly grasped nuances that I’m sure escaped your father, or he wouldn’t have done what he did.

Tiaran shook his head. He’d always known that Daltor would be king after their father. The only way his betrothal to Aliesa made sense was if he would never be king. If Father knew that Daltor could never rule, he should have been the one offered to Aliesa in the first place.

His eyes narrowed as the implications hit home. And Earl Cashel knew about this, didn’t he? This marriage was all his idea to start with, I bet. He was planning on a chance of marrying his daughter into the crown. Of course, if it wasn’t Daltor, then Ardur would be the next king. But Ardur would be at risk in the war. Aliesa had said as much. Another thought struggled to the surface through all the roiling and overturned concepts. He never would have accepted a marriage between Janessa and Lord Roddick, would he? It was always me or Ardur, not me or Janessa. That was just a ruse to get me to agree, wasn’t it? And his father had known that much all along, and chosen Tiaran as the sacrifice. The expendable one.

And Aliesa? Did she know, too? Probably. It made sense. Her ruthless pursuit of him was more than just the enjoyment of watching him squirm. She was looking for a way to bind him to her so that one day she might be queen. Well, that would never happen.

I wouldn’t put it past Cashel. Mother grasped Tiaran’s shoulders and turned him to face her. Don’t let yourself be used as a pawn. That is not your role, Ti. That much I’m certain of.

~~~

Tiaran rode beside Janessa as they passed under the great city gate, glorying in simply being outside, away from the palace, and most importantly, away from Aliesa. The road to the Eagle’s Nest wound through the hills and up into the mountains, almost entirely sheltered from view from any vantage point short of a bird’s.

It was a large force, much larger than necessary. Probably why Father had insisted Janessa ride today. Lord Roddick himself led the escort. Some units were going out as guards and then on to stations around the mountain rim from which they could attack the flanks of the enemy. That strange, standoffish group of mercenaries, riding apart with their helmets on and their face plates down even on this tame ride was almost certainly one of those. It’d be a smaller group riding back, but still large enough for safety on these secret trails.

Riding beside Janessa, it was possible for a moment or a day to forget the armed escort and the looming war and just enjoy the beauty of the hills in spring. Water laughed as it ran down the rocky slopes in rivulets. Trees and grasses gleamed with new green. Meadows bloomed in bright golds and blues, like any other spring. Birds sang and insects hummed, flitting about their business. Life went on despite his personal disasters. There was comfort in that.

It wasn’t until the afternoon stop to rest the horses before the more strenuous climb into the mountains that Ardur found him and plopped down on the grass beside him. It seemed to Tiaran that he took a little of the warmth of the sun away. He didn’t want to think about what waited for him back in the palace.

Listen, Tiaran, Ardur said. From the way you’ve made yourself scarce the last couple of days, I know you know about Daltor and--

Tiaran bolted to his feet.

Take it easy, Tiaran, Ardur said. Even I think that’s wrong. There are just some lines you don’t cross. Your brother’s bride is definitely one of them, whatever their relationship was before.

Janessa looked on with wide, innocent eyes.

Excuse us a moment, sister. This isn’t for your ears, Tiaran said and stalked off.

Ardur hoisted himself to his feet and followed. She’s going to find out sooner or later. With you leaving like this, right before the wedding, the gossip will be all over the palace by now.

I don’t care. They deserve each other. Maybe Father will switch and give her a bridegroom obviously more to her taste.

He won’t. Daltor’s being saved for a higher marriage.

Tiaran shrugged. Father had said as much and now he understood why. If Daltor was going to have to take the throne over the opposition of the temples, he’d need very powerful supporters. More powerful than Earl Cashel. He didn’t know how much of that Ardur, or for that matter, Daltor knew, though. And he wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. Probably not.

You knew about Daltor and Aliesa. Why did you ever agree to the betrothal?

I didn’t think I had any choice. Father needs Cashel. Cashel wants a royal marriage for one of his children. It was either me or Janessa. Could you stand by and watch Jana be married to Roddick the Beast?

Ardur grimaced. No. No, I think I’d have to kill him before I let that happen.

Kill Roddick? Now there was a thought that hadn’t occurred to Tiaran. Not that it was practical. Roddick was a legendary swordsman. Daltor and Ardur together couldn’t do it.

Tiaran decided to play this out and see just what Ardur was driving at. Ardur might actually mean what he’d said, but Daltor could still have primed him to set Tiaran up for something. "It’s what younger