A choir started to sing a requiem as they proceeded, the high priestess droning her prayers to the goddess. None of it would be original. There had been no time for that. Still Rupert would have a composer employed once all this was done. He would raise statues to his mother. He would
Were here, Rupert, Angelica said, guiding him to his seat on the front row. There was more than enough space there, in spite of the crowded building. Perhaps the guardsmen standing there to enforce it had something to do with that.
We are gathered to bear witness to the passing of a great figure among us, the high priestess droned as Rupert took his place. Dowager Queen Mary of the House of Flamberg is gone behind the mask of death, into the arms of the goddess there. We mourn her passing.
Rupert mourned it, the grief rising up through him as the priestess spoke about what a great ruler his mother had been, how important her role had been in unifying the kingdom. The old priestess gave a long sermon about the virtues found in the holy texts that his mother had embodied, and then men and women started to come up to speak about her greatness, her kindness, her humility.
Its like theyre talking about someone else, Rupert whispered across to Angelica.
Its the sort of thing that theyre expected to say at a funeral, she replied.
Rupert shook his head. No, it isnt right. It isnt right.
He stood, moving to the front of the temple, not caring that some lord was still busy spinning out the one time hed met the Dowager into a eulogy. The man backed away as Rupert approached, falling silent.
Youre all talking nonsense, Rupert said, his voice carrying easily. Youre talking about my mother and ignoring the real her! You say that she was good, and kind, and generous? She was none of those things! She was hard. She was ruthless. She could be cruel. His hand swept around. Is there anyone here she didnt hurt? She hurt me often enough. She treated me like I was barely worthy to be her son.
He could hear the whispers among those there. Let them whisper. He was their king now. What they thought didnt matter.
But she was strong, though, Rupert said. Its thanks to her that you have a country at all. Thanks to her that traitors to this land have been driven out, their magic suppressed.
A thought came to him.
I will be as strong. I will do what is needed.
He strode over to the coffin, lifting the crown. He thought about what Angelica had said about the Assembly of Nobles, as if Rupert needed their permission. He took it, and he set it on his own brow, ignoring the gasps from those there.
We will bury my mother as the person she was, Rupert said, not as your lies! I command it as your king!
Angelica stood then, hurrying over to him and taking his hand. Rupert, are you all right?
Im fine, he shot back. Another impulse came to him, and he looked out over the crowd. You all know Milady dAngelica, Rupert said. Well, I have an announcement for you. Tonight, I will take her as my wife. You are all required to attend. Anyone who does not will be hanged for it.
There was no gasp this time. Perhaps they could no longer be shocked. Perhaps theyd gone past it all. Rupert walked over to the coffin.
There, Mother, he said. I have your crown. Im going to marry, and tomorrow, Im going to save your kingdom. Is that enough for you? Is it?
A part of Rupert expected some answer, some sign. There was nothing. Nothing but the silence of the watching crowd, and the deep guilt that somehow still wormed its way through him.
CHAPTER SIX
From the balcony of a house in Carrick, the Master of Crows watched the gathering armies, looking out through the eyes of his creatures. He smiled to himself as he did so, a sense of satisfaction creeping over him.
The pieces are in place, he said, as his crows showed him the gathering ships, the defenders rushing to build barricades. Now to watch them fall.
The bloody sunset matched his mood today, as did the screams coming from the courtyard below his balcony. The days executions were proceeding apace: two men caught trying to desert, a would-be thief, a woman who had stabbed her husband. They stood tied to posts while the executioners worked with swords and garroting rope.
The crows descended on them. There were probably those who thought that he enjoyed the violence of such moments. The truth was that it didnt matter either way to him; only the power that such deaths brought through his pets.
The Master of Crows looked around at the commanders waiting for his instructions, seeing if any flinched or looked away from the scenes below. Most did not, because theyd learned what was expected of them. One younger officer swallowed as he watched though. He would probably need to be watched.
For a moment or two, the Master of Crows slipped his attention back to the creatures wheeling above Ashton. As they gyred and looped, they showed him the spread of the advancing fleet, the branching force that sought to land further up the coast. A rook on a city wall showed him a group of Ishjemme men in merchant clothes opening a hidden chest of weapons by the river. A raven near the citys graveyard heard men talking of retreating when the attack came, leaving the nobles to fend for themselves.
It seemed like a combination that might leave his pets hungry. He could not have that.
We have a task to perform, he said to the waiting men as he brought his attention back to himself. Follow me.
He led the way down through the house, taking it for granted that the others would be in his wake. Servants scurried aside, eager not to be in the path of so many powerful men as they descended. The Master of Crows could feel their resentment and their fear, but it didnt matter. It was only the inevitable consequence of ruling.
In the courtyard, the screams had faded to the silence that only death could bring. Even the quietest of living creatures had the soft sound of breath, the fluttering beating of a heart. Now, only the cawing of the crows cut through the silence as the bodies hung limp against their posts.
Order must be maintained, the Master of Crows said, looking over at the officer who had shown a flicker of distaste. We are a machine of many parts, and each must play its role. Now that they have stepped beyond their bounds, the role of these three is to feed the carrion birds.
Those were flying down in greater numbers now, settling on the still recent corpses as they started to feast. Already, the Master of Crows could feel the power starting to flow into his flock from the deaths, along with the hundreds more that spread around the New Armys empire at any one time. There were even a few of his birds feeding in the Dowagers kingdom.
It is time to place a thumb upon the scales, he said, drawing on that power and tracing silver lines of consequence within his mind. Each represented a possibility, a choice. The Master of Crows had no way of knowing which would come to pass; he was not the woman of the fountain, or another of the true seers. He could see enough, though, to know where to exert influence. Where to push for the effects he wanted.
He reached out to the fluttering birds around Ashton. His mind sought the spots where a few well-placed words might do the most, and corvids of all kinds came from the sky to croak them.
A raven landed near the commander of Ashtons city watch at his command, black eyes staring up at him.
Northerners on the river, it croaked as the Master of Crows uttered the words. Northerners on the river, disguised as merchants.
He reached out to the fluttering birds around Ashton. His mind sought the spots where a few well-placed words might do the most, and corvids of all kinds came from the sky to croak them.
A raven landed near the commander of Ashtons city watch at his command, black eyes staring up at him.
Northerners on the river, it croaked as the Master of Crows uttered the words. Northerners on the river, disguised as merchants.
He didnt wait to watch the mans shock as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Instead, the Master of Crows shifted his attention to a rook in the graveyard, having it land on a headstone near the would-be conspirators who planned to flee.
Be brave, his bird croaked. You are watched.
To balance it, he sent another bird to a man by one of the main walls, having it caw a premonition of death. He sowed courage and cowardice, gave truths and told lies, weaving them into a spell of known and half-known things.
Not all of the birds were successful. He sent a blackbird winging its way to Prince Ruperts window, only to find it barred. He sent a crow winging out toward the ships that waited in the harbor, circling lower over Ishjemmes flagship, only to find his attention caught by the sight of a young man looking up. The Master of Crows knew that young man. He was the one who had thrust a blade into him back in Ishjemme. He stared up at the bird now, and his hand went to his belt, coming up with a pistol almost inhumanly fast
Damn it all! the Master of Crows snarled as he jerked his attention back from the bird just in time.
He left the invaders fleet alone. Instead, he focused his attention on the city, finding small things that might give men courage or take it, that might fuel their rage or make them careless. He had a magpie steal a wifes wedding ring as she washed glasses, then drop it at the feet of the soldier she was married to. No doubt the man would spend the battle wondering why it was not on her finger, and if he should be home. He had a raven lift a lit candle, dropping it in a set of abandoned buildings where the flames would lick.
Let them choose if they want to save their homes from invaders or from fire, he said.
There were a hundred other birds about a hundred other errands, each one taking a flicker of power, but each one an investment in the chaos that would flow from it. Some spoke to soldiers, others to men and women hed sent for this moment, who stood to tell stories of the horrors of Ishjemme to those who would listen, or suggested bloody rebellion against the Dowagers line, or both.
The Master of Crows took a battle that should have been an easy victory for the invaders and wove it into something more complex, more dangerous, and more deadly.
By the time he came back to himself, he was smiling with what he had achieved. Men thought of the great workings of magic and they thought of symbols or ancient tomes, yet he had just worked something far greater, with far less. He looked around at his officers, still watching the crows pecking at the dead with dutiful expressions.
The enemy will have their battle for Ashton tomorrow, he said. It will be a bloody one, with many dead on all sides.
He couldnt help a note of satisfaction at that. After all, he was the main reason that so many would die.
When do we strike, my lord? one of his fleets commanders asked. Do you have orders for us?
You are eager to attack? the Master of Crows asked.
I am, my lord, the man said. He pounded a fist into his palm. I want to crush them for the humiliation they inflicted last time around.
Me too, a general said. I want them to know that the New Army is stronger.
A chorus of assent followed, each man seeming to strive harder than the last to show how committed he was to making up for the failures of the assault on the Dowagers kingdom. Maybe that was the point. Maybe each wanted to show that they could do better. Maybe they thought that their hides were at stake if they failed again.
They werent entirely wrong in that guess. Even so, the Master of Crows held up a hand for calm. Be patient. Return to your men and your ships. Ensure that all is ready for an attack. I will tell you the moment for it.
They left as a group, each hurrying to prepare. The Master of Crows let them go. For now, his attention was on the blood red of the sunset and what it portended. There would be blood aplenty in the morning, he had no doubt. Thanks to his creatures efforts, there would be carnage on a scale that would make Ashtons river run red. His creatures would feast.
And when they are done, he said, we will add whats left to our empire.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The assassin who went by Rose waited for full dark before she rowed out toward the ships waiting in the harbor, her oars muffled by cloth in the rowlocks. It helped that the moon was bright, and that shed always seen well in the dark when she needed to. It meant that she didnt have to risk even a thiefs lantern. Even so, fear ran through her with every stroke, pushed down only with an effort.
This will be fine, she said. Youve done this a hundred times before.
Perhaps not a hundred. Even the finest of her profession who ever lived had never killed so many. She was not some butchers cleaver, sent to cut down as many in a war as she could. She was a gardeners knife, sheering only what was necessary from the stem.
Half the soldiers there will have killed more than me, she whispered, as if that justified it.
There was always fear as she did it. Fear of discovery. Fear that something would go wrong. Fear that she might acquire the kind of conscience that stopped her from doing what she was best at.
Not so far, Rose whispered.
Gently, she guided her boat through the waiting boats. She wasnt surprised to hear a voice call out into the night.
Oi, who goes down there? What are you up to?
Rose saw a soldier leaning over the prow of a nearby ship, a bow in his hands. Perhaps someone stupid would have tried to row to safety, and gotten an arrow in their back for their trouble. Instead, she took a moment to think. Accents were a skill shed taken the time to work on, so now Rose selected a suitable one, not Ishjemme itself, but the rougher burr of one of the islands between there and the kingdoms coast. That was better. The soldiers from Ishjemme might know one another. They couldnt expect to know all their allies.
Getting ready for a battle, you idiot. What are you doing? Trying to wake up all of Ashton?
Aye, well, you could be anyone! the soldier called out. It could have been a boat full of the enemy, for all I knew.
Do I look like a boat full of the enemy? Rose shot back. Now, can I get on with delivering the reports Im supposed to? Ive been scouting that excuse for a city for hours now. Cant even find the flagship.
She saw the man point.
Over there, he said.
Thanks.
Rose was good at pretending to be people she wasnt. Some thought that assassins should be people who could fight their way through an army, or fire an arrow from further than a man could see. She liked stories like that. It meant that they werent looking at the innocuous figure next to them who had just put something in their wine.
No chance of doing that this time though, she said to herself.
She wasnt sure that Milady dAngelica had understood what she was asking when shed sent her to do this. Frankly, she doubted the noblewoman cared. Yet there was a big difference between poisoning some rival in Ashton and sneaking onto a ship in the middle of a battle fleet.