The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Read online

  As they neared the capital, Kath pestered Sir Tyrone for every scrap of gossip he’d ever heard about the queen. “So how did a queen come to rule alone?”

  Sir Tyrone warmed to the telling, helping to ease the boredom of the long ride. “The old king had only one child, one daughter, so there was no choice. The nobles rebelled but King Leonid won the fight, insisting his only daughter take the throne. As a concession, the nobles competed for the hand of the young queen. Forsaking his own name, one of the lords married the queen and became the prince-consort but he died in a hunting accident shortly after the birth of the second prince. Rumors ran rampant after his death, but nothing was ever proven and the accident faded into the past. Since that day, the queen has ruled alone, never remarrying. The kingdom prospers and the common people flourish despite the fact that a woman sits alone on the Rose Throne.”

  Riding on Kath’s left, Sir Blaine asked, “What did the rumors say about the prince-consort’s death? Was it truly an accident?”

  The black knight shrugged. “Who can say? The Rose Court is steeped in intrigue. Behind her back, the courtiers name her the Spider Queen. They say the queen uses a cadre of spies to spin tangled webs of intrigue. It’s said that no one ever beats the queen at the game of politics.”

  “Politics!” Sir Blaine snorted in disgust. “The royal court is a game of daggers not swords. We are riding in the wrong direction.”

  Kath privately agreed, but instead she asked, “What else do the rumors say?”

  “They say the queen has a rare gift for multiplying golds. Lanverness has never been as rich as under her stewardship. The queen’s ability to multiply golds is so prodigious some whisper at the use of magic, or worse, a pact with the Dark Lord.”

  Shocked, Kath gaped at the black knight. “Not the Dark Lord!”

  Sir Tyrone laughed. “You asked for rumors!”

  “But surely you don’t believe it?”

  The black knight gestured toward the countryside. “Look around you. The true test of a ruler is in the prosperity and happiness of the people.” With a wry smile, he added, “Remember, my Lady, there is always someone in the background eager to sling mud at those who succeed, especially if the person who succeeds is different.” Pausing he added, “Look at the people and judge for yourself if the rumors are true.”

  Kath took the knight’s advice to heart, studying the land and the people as they rode toward the queen’s capital city. Signs of peace and prosperity were everywhere, from the plentiful food in the market places, to the well-ordered towns, to the people’s ready smiles. The farther she rode into Lanverness, the more daunting the prospect of meeting the queen became. Kath’s world was full of swords and castles, she knew next to nothing about golds and even less about politics. She wondered how she’d fare in the queen’s court. Surely her sword was needed elsewhere. Lost in thought, Kath was surprised when the horses topped a hill and they gained their first look at the capital city.

  ‘Sprawling’ was the first word that came to mind. Cobblestone streets lined with buildings of brick and stone sprawled in every direction. Gazing at the stone maze, Kath realized she’d never seen a true city before. The scale was overwhelming. At the heart of the sprawl, Castle Tandroth crouched like a stone spider guarding a web of cobblestone streets. The enormous structure was a haphazard mixture of military castle, fairy tale architecture, and luxury palace. In Kath’s opinion, the structure did not deserve the title of ‘castle’, especially since the city started at the very base of the castle walls, negating much of their defensive value. Studying the capital with military eyes, Kath was quick to conclude that neither the city nor the castle would be defensible against a large force. The queen had best hope that war never visited her capital.

  Kath urged her horse to a canter, eager to explore the great city. Faces stared as they passed, most full of smiles and curiosity. Kath had hoped to enter the city unnoticed, but they soon had a following of ragtag children. Silver surcoats, maroon cloaks, and the octagon emblazoned on the knights’ shields drew the children like bees to honey. Once they spied Sir Blaine’s blue steel blade, there was no turning them away. Resigning herself to the escort, Kath flipped a gold coin to the oldest child and asked him to lead the way to a good inn near the castle. Captain Tellor protested, saying they should ride straight for the castle, but Kath pulled rank on him again, insisting they take rooms at the inn. The captain scowled but Kath ignored him. She needed at least a day to purchase better clothes. She couldn’t appear before the mighty ruler of Lanverness dressed in her scruffy squire’s clothing.

  The lad led them to a well-appointed inn within the very shadow of the castle. The innkeeper, a well-groomed man with a moon-shaped face, fawned over the knights, but he barely spared a glance for Kath.

  Overlooked and ignored, Kath stood in the background, shocked at how quickly she’d faded to obscurity. After the battle in the meadow, the knights had treated her differently. She’d expected others to do the same. Being invisible had never hurt so much. She gripped the hilt of her sword, trying to hide her hurt beneath anger.

  Captain Tellor settled with the innkeeper, giving Kath her key. She carried her saddlebag to her room. Sir Blaine followed behind to make sure her room was secure.

  The inn proved better than any they’d stayed at. Spacious and well appointed, her room reflected the wealth of the city. A thick patchwork quilt covered the four-posted bed, a washbasin stood on a table, and a small mirror hung on the wall. Kath dumped the dusty saddlebag on the floor, her eyes drawn to the mirror. Perhaps the mirror held the answer to her sudden invisibility. She approached it cautiously, as if sneaking up on an enemy. Needing to know what others saw, Kath stepped in front of the mirror, taking stock of her appearance for the first time in her life. Blonde hair cascaded down her back in a wild tangle of knots. Her gray squire’s garb was dusty and tattered, the bulky tunic hiding her small breasts. Her sword rode easy on her left hip, the handles of her axes protruding over her shoulders. Sea green eyes stared back at her, forcing her to see the truth. She looked like a skinny squire, scruffy but dangerous. If the innkeeper dismissed her as inconsequential, what would the queen think? Kath’s dresses were lost in the wilds of Wyeth and good riddance to them, but she needed something to wear, something that would let her be herself yet not reflect poorly on Castlegard. Besides, she refused to give up her sword and her throwing axes. She was a blooded warrior and had earned the right to wear weapons. There had to be an acceptable compromise.

  Desperate for advice, Kath sought out the black knight and asked for his help. To her relief he did not laugh. Instead he just nodded and took her to the street of tailors. Kath lost count of how many tailors they visited before they found one willing to work within her requirements. The tailor was young, new to the capital, and trying to make a name for himself. When he heard her requirements, he picked up a piece of charcoal and drew a series of quick sketches. He suggested long flowing capes, tight-fitting leather bodices, silk shirts with puffed sleeves, leather pants, and knee-high boots. For every day clothes he recommended huntsman’s colors of gold and green combined with supple brown leathers. For court clothes, he worked with her heraldic colors of red and white, making liberal use of the hawk in flight.

  To Kath’s amazement, she liked the designs. They were both practical and elegant with just a touch of femininity. With the approval of Sir Tyrone, she ordered two of every design, one to be done in court colors with the second made of durable wools and leathers in huntsman’s colors. She paid triple the price in order to have one set of court clothes delivered to her by the morrow. Much as she dreaded the meeting, she dared not keep the queen waiting. Kath stared in the mirror as the tailor took her measurements. She needed to understand her friends as well as her enemies. Kath wondered which she would find in the queen.

  48

  Samson

  He’d found a safe haven in Lanverness and he never wanted to leave. Billeted with the Rose Squad, Samson shared a roo
m with a grizzled drill sergeant named Ben Obern. The sergeant looked as tough as nails, but the twenty-year veteran had a quick wit and an amiable personality. He took Samson under his wing, showing him around the soldiers’ quarters, making him feel like a one of the men.

  After the terror of his long trek from Coronth, Samson wanted nothing more than to be immersed in a normal life filled with orderly routines. He took comfort in the regimented drumbeat of military life, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the queen’s piercing gaze. In the peaceful normalcy of Lanverness, he bitterly regretted his promise to return to Coronth…but the choice was already made.

  As the days passed, Samson waited in dread for a summons from the queen, but the lords of Lanverness left him alone. He supposed they were giving him a chance to recover from his ordeal. With three hearty meals a day from the soldiers’ mess, he was gaining back his normal weight, but his eyes still had a haunted look that reminded him too much of Coronth. In Lanverness, he only saw those kinds of eyes when he looked in the mirror. He did his best to avoid his own gaze when shaving.

  Except for answering questions from the bards, his time was his own. Samson spent his days eating and sleeping, watching the soldiers at arms practice, and visiting with his mother. His mother was given a comfortable room in a section of the castle reserved for the cooks and servants of the Rose Court. His mother’s mind was still broken but she seemed comfortable in the great kitchens, enjoying the smell of fresh baked bread and the familiar bustle of busy hands preparing meals. She took to the new life as if she had been born to it. At first, the loss of the past bothered Samson, but he eventually came to see his mother’s weakness of mind as a blessing. She lived entirely in the present with no painful memories. Sometimes he envied her forgetfulness.

  With time on his hands, Samson became an avid spectator of normal life. He watched soldiers practicing sword drills in the courtyard, bakers kneading the morning bread in the great kitchen, and women shopping in the city markets. Observing from the shadows, he hungered for a normal life. Sometimes he wished they would let him join the guards. He’d swear whatever oath they asked, spending his days immersed in the order of military life. Or perhaps he’d become a farmer, marry a local girl and raise apples and children. His daydreams were appealing but they could not compete with the fearsome power of his nightmares.

  His nightmares always started with the relentless eyes of the queen boring into his very soul. The queen had somehow bewitched him, planting a mirror in his mind from which he could not turn away. In the depths of his dreams, the mirror showed him every detail of his father’s death. He watched his father beg for mercy…but none was ever given. The crowd jeered, enjoying the spectacle of a human turned into a torch. Samson tried to look away, but the gruesome execution reflected from every corner of his mind. On other nights, he saw his own face reflected in the mirror, but in these dreams he wore the red and gold tabard of the Flame. His hands clawed at the hated wool but the tabard was like a second skin, refusing to come off. The scene shifted and Samson served as one of the guards for the Test of Faith. An innocent stranger cowered in chains, awaiting the will of the Pontifax. The Pontifax gestured and the captain ordered Samson to consign the sinner to the flames. Trapped by the order, Samson drew his sword and prodded the stranger to his death. In the searing heat, the man’s face melted like molten wax, reforming into the face of Samson’s father.

  A scream caught in his throat. He bolted awake, his heart pounding. Slick with sweat, Samson huddled on the bed praying for morning. Somehow the dawn’s light always brought peace and order, banishing the fears of the dark. In the light of day, he clung to the present, dreading both the night and the road ahead.

  After more than a fortnight of nightmares, he was almost relieved when they came for him. A royal guard escorted him to a council chamber. All the queen’s men were waiting: the Lord Sheriff, the master bard, Lord Duncan, and Prince Justin. A polite inquiry revealed that the queen would not be joining them. Samson sagged with relief, thankful to be spared her penetrating gaze.

  The Lord Sheriff started the meeting. “The bards are close to completing their work. The public will soon hear the new ballads designed to reveal the truth of the Flame God. On the strength of these songs, my constables will begin recruiting refugees to return to Coronth.”

  Return to Coronth, the words sounded like a doom. Samson’s heart thundered.

  The Lord Sheriff gestured toward him. “Led by Samson, a group of refugees will be sent back to testify that innocence is no protection against the Flame God. By returning to tell their tales, we hope the common people of Coronth will open their eyes and see the evil that has taken root in their midst. Once the veil is lifted, we hope Coronth will change from within.”

  Samson stared at the man in shock. The truth would condemn the refugees to the Flames…but no one asked his opinion.

  Spreading a map across the table, the Lord Sheriff pointed out towns and villages along the road to Balor. “Witnesses will be seeded back into villages in a rough line between Lanverness and the capital city of Balor. The returning refugees will form a chain of contacts to relay information and assist in smuggling the wives and children of condemned heretics out of the kingdom. Knowing their families are safe, we hope the men will choose to stay, swelling the ranks of those fighting from within.”

  Lord Duncan pointed to the capital city. “Samson, you will lead the heart of the resistance in Balor.”

  Samson stared, seeing his death marked on the map.

  The Lord Duncan continued, “We plan to discredit the Pontifax while giving the common people a hero to rally around. We want you to do what you can to release sinners and disrupt the Test of Faith, embarrassing the Pontifax in front of his own people. By striking in many places at once, the deeds of the hero will quickly become the stuff of legends. To improve the odds, the refugees will be prepared with sword training as well as with selective methods of the shadow. With courage, golds, careful planning, and luck, we hope to topple a false religion.”

  The Lord Sheriff turned to Samson. “What do you think of our plan?”

  Samson felt the weight of their stares, a mouse trapped in a corner. The details were impressive, but he couldn’t see himself in the role of the hero. He stared at the lords; amazed they couldn’t see the nightmares crowding his eyes. Feeling like a cork swept along by a raging river, Samson realized he was too far into the current to change course. Resigned to his fate, he nodded. “I will do whatever you ask.”

  No one heard the fear behind his words.

  Samson listened as the others talked, agreeing to everything asked of him. He hoped the bards’ songs would be successful in swaying other refugees to return to Coronth. Samson suspected it would be easier to be a hero in the company of others.

  When the meeting ended, he bowed to the lords and then escaped from the chamber. Walking through the cold marble corridors in a daze, he was surprised when a voice called from behind.

  “Wait!”

  Turning, he found Prince Justin following behind. The prince flashed a ready smile. “All this planning has made me thirsty. I know a place where the ale is dark and flavorful, the serving women are fair, and the tables are far enough apart that a man can talk without being overheard by everyone in the common room. What say you?”

  If Samson had any objections, they vanished in the face of the prince’s irrepressible charm. With a self-conscious smile, he nodded his assent. He liked the young bard even if he was a prince.

  The prince led him out of the castle into the back streets of Pellanor. Samson was soon lost, but the prince navigated the back alleyways with confidence. They stopped at a small pub tucked into a street full of cobbler shops. A weathered sign proclaimed the name as the ‘Green Stag’. Samson followed the prince inside. “How did you ever find this place?”

  “Always trust a bard to know the best pubs and taverns.”

  The pub had a warm and easy charm that instantly appealed to Samson. A
great fireplace made of river stone dominated the common room, throwing off welcome heat to dispel the winter chill. A minstrel strummed a lute in the corner, blanketing the room with soft melodies. Savory smells swirled between tables filled with as many women as men.

  Samson followed the prince to one of the few empty tables near the minstrel. Taking a seat, the prince said, “The Green Stag is a neighborhood pub, favored by the common folk for its lamb pies, dark ale, and quiet music. It is a pleasant place to talk and to take the edge off of a hunger or a thirst.” Nodding towards the minstrel, the prince added, “And I like that the owner is happy to give the younger bards and minstrels a chance to perform. In a place like the Stag, patrons can truly hear the music and appreciate a new composition. When we’re ready to perform the new songs about Coronth, this is one of the places where I’d like to start.”

  Before more could be said, a large busty woman materialized, draping a beefy arm around the prince’s shoulder. The prince gave the redhead a wink and a smile. “Marg! The Green Stag would not be complete without your ready smile.”

  “How dare you show up empty-handed! My patrons have been asking for your harp.” With a proprietary wink, the woman added, “You’ve gained quite a following. When will you be back to play?”

  “I’ve been working on a new composition and when it’s done, I promise the Green Stag will be the first pub to hear it.” He gestured towards Samson. “Meanwhile I’ve brought a friend to sample one of your famous lamb pies.”