The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [224]
She entertained herself as best she could and waited for something to happen, because everything was out of her hands now.
She found she liked that in a way. The only thing that really grieved her was that she didn’t know what had become of Anne. The shade of Erren had assured her that her youngest daughter was still alive, but that had been months ago now. Had Neil MeqVren found her?
Even if he had, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—bring her here. So it was best to pretend that Anne was safe, protected, anonymous in some far country.
On what she reckoned to be the fifteenth day of Etramen, Muriele awoke to the clash of arms. Sometimes the wind would carry the sounds of steel from the city and the voices of men shouting. But this seemed nearer, perhaps in the inner keep itself.
She went to her window and craned her neck to look down, but since the Wolfcoat Tower was set in the southern wall of the keep, she had very little view of the inner courtyard. She could hear better with her head in the air, however, and she was more certain than ever that there was fighting below.
A movement farther toward the horizon caught her attention. Beyond the walls of the city she could see a bit of Eslen-of-Shadows, the necropolis where her ancestors slept, and beyond that the muddy, shallow southern channel of the Warlock. At first she wondered if a flock of swans had settled on the rinns, but then the perspective of distance worked itself out, and she saw that they were boats: galleys and canal boats, mostly. But she couldn’t see any standards or sign that let her recognize their origin.
When the guard brought her meal, he looked frightened.
“What is it?” she asked him. “What’s happening?”
“It’s nothing, Queen Mother,” he said.
“It’s been quite a while since you called me that,” she observed.
“Auy,” he replied. He started to say something else but shook his head and closed the door.
A brief moment later it opened again. It was the same fellow.
“Don’t eat it,” he said, his voice pitched very low. “His Majesty said if ever…just don’t eat it, please, Your Highness.”
He closed and locked the door again. She set the food aside.
Time passed, and the tumult quieted, then renewed itself farther down, in the outer keep. She had a very thin view of the Honot Yard before the great gate of the outer keep, and she made out sun glinting off armor there, along with dark streams of arrows. Shouts of valor and shrieks of agony filled the air at times, and she prayed to the saints that no one she loved was dying.
It was nearly dark when she heard the ring of steel in the tower itself. She composed herself in her armchair and waited, with no idea what to expect, thinking that at least it was something, something Robert hadn’t planned. Even if that meant they were invaded by slaughtering hordes of Weihands, that was better than whatever her brother-in-law would think of next.
She winced as the fighting came to her door and a piteous howl cut through the heavy beams and stone walls. She heard the familiar scrape of a key in the lock.
The door swung wide, and the bloody body of the guard who’d warned her not to eat the food flopped onto the threshold. He blinked at her and tried to speak, but his mouth was pouring blood.
Just behind him came a man she did not recognize. He had a distinctly southern look to him, enhanced by the weapon he carried, the sort she had known Vitellians to wield. His dark regard picked quickly through the spare chamber and returned to focus on her.
“You are alone?” he asked.
“I am. Who are you?”
Before he could answer, another face appeared behind him.
In the first few heartbeats, all Muriele saw was the regal bearing and stern gaze. Saint Fendve the War Witch incarnate.
It was only as the woman lifted off her helm that Muriele recognized her daughter. Her skin was dark and weather-changed, and her hair fell only as far as her throat. She wore men’s clothes