The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(77)

The torches affixed to the outer wall of Dundrennan cast light on the preparations that were being made. The drawbridge was up, revealing a jagged cleft of rocks separating the defenders from the attacking army. The bailey was crowded with knights, and many of the castle’s braziers had been brought out to provide warmth. Trynne and Staeli followed the herald to a stone staircase leading up to the head of the gate. The king was pacing the battlements, wearing borrowed armor. The hollow crown was welded to his helmet. It was nearly midnight, judging by the stars overhead. The moon had disappeared.

Fallon stood there in his armor, the chain cowl up around his head, his arms folded imperiously. He nodded at Trynne as she reached the top of the wall.

The view filled her with dread. A veritable sea of torches filled the space below, and the golden armor of the warriors of Chandigarl glowed in the light. The ranks of Gahalatine’s soldiers stood in perfectly ordered rows—spearmen, archers, and warriors with glaives. Row after row, phalanx after phalanx, with more coming still. There was no siege apparatus on display, no towers or ladders or ropes with grappling hooks. She knew from her own experience that they did not need them.

Their breath came out in puffs of mist. The night was bitingly cold and getting colder. Her eyes shot to the hollow crown.

Standing opposite Fallon was Duke Severn, wearing his black armor with the boar badge tunic, still bloodstained from the battle at Blackpool. He glared down at the host.

The king smiled when he saw Trynne. “We’re outnumbered,” he said to her. “But do not the rocks hold back the sea? I’ve ordered the maidens to occupy the heights along the inner wall. Fallon’s knights hold this one. Do you approve?”

Trynne nodded, gazing down at the huge host, her throat stopped with fear.

Fallon approached. “The last Espion to make it inside said they found a treasure ship unloading in Blackpool two days ago. Another host of soldiers is marching to Dundrennan. They are converging here with suitable arms. Grand Duke Elwis crossed over from Brugia with an army of ten thousand and started attacking the supply lines. Some of this new army has diverted south to engage his. The war is happening in multiple places and across multiple battlefields. But this one is the largest.”

“Thank you for the news,” Drew said grimly. “We are hopelessly outnumbered. But one soldier with courage has always been worth a hundred men fighting for the wrong reason.”

“My lord, look!” Severn said, pointing off the wall.

They all turned at once. The army before them was splitting in half. A black road appeared down the middle. Then Trynne saw Gahalatine striding through the ranks with Rucrius by his side and two other figures following behind them. She sensed the aura of their magic as they approached. It had become familiar to her.

Just a few days before, she had faced Gahalatine at the zenana in Chandigarl. Now he was approaching Dundrennan as a man of war.

The knights on the wall fell silent as he approached.

Drew’s face twisted with animosity as he gazed down at the emperor. He was still looking at the scene below when flakes of snow began to drift down from the cloudless sky. There was an audible gasp as the soldiers noticed the flurry. A grim smile appeared on Severn’s mouth. He knew, better than anyone, the special qualities of the hollow crown.

Gahalatine halted when he and his Wizr companions reached the front of the army. He held a sword in one hand and a blazing torch in the other. The wind was blowing hard still, thick with coin-sized flakes of snow that were quickly sticking to the ground.

The emperor of the Forbidden Court turned to Rucrius.

“Bevah-kah-sha!” Rucrius pronounced in words that trumpeted like thunder.

The wind instantly calmed. Silence fell across the wall, broken only by the hissing of the snowflakes as they hit the fires from the braziers and torches.

Gahalatine strode forward again, only stopping when he stood directly before the walls of Dundrennan. She knew that he had a way of amplifying his voice. And she felt his well of magic writhing inside him, a bowl full to the brim with power. He unleashed it.

“My name is Gahalatine, Lord of the Distant Isles. I see you plainly, Andrew, son of Eyric, son of Eredur. You wear the hollow crown. I have come to take it from you, to conquer your people and assert my claim to rule these lands as your emperor and protector. Before the bloodletting that will result if I am forced to earn my right by conquest, I give you this chance to surrender the crown to me and spare many innocent lives. But if you feel your duty is to preserve your crown by right of arms, then so be it. I did not come to kill you. Only to humble you. What say you, Lord of Kingfountain? Will you kneel before me?”

Trynne felt magic gush from Gahalatine as he spoke. He was using his words to try to cow Drew into surrendering. Faced with such impossible odds, another might have buckled and capitulated to prevent the violence of war. But Trynne stood near the king, and the magic did not shake Drew’s confidence or his resolve to defy Gahalatine’s claim. She saw the king’s jaw clench and he leaned forward, putting one hand on a buttress of the battlements.

“Both of us worship and believe in the same Fountain, my lord. It was the Fountain that gave me the right to rule. And if it is the Fountain’s will that I surrender it, then I shall. Be it according to the Fountain’s will and not my own.”

He did not have a supernatural way of lifting his voice, but Trynne did not doubt that he could be heard below.