After a restful night's sleep within one of Baron Rikard's guest rooms, I rejoined Miriam at the smithy. Orgumir, Sorunna, and my other warriors stayed behind with Rikard to recuperate a bit longer and to help defend the town in case of another attack. After fending off countless gifts from the locals, Miriam and I set off back towards the convent.
The gates swung open as we neared the sacred compound. Several veiled nuns sprinted forth.
"By Saint Morwenna's grace," one cried out, and I recognized the voice as Catriona's. "When you didn't return last night, we feared the worst."
When Miriam dismounted, the other nun wrapped her in a fierce embrace.
"It's all right, Catriona," Miriam said with a soft chuckle. "That hug of yours is hurting me worse than any of Grozdan's soldiers did."
Giggling and sniffling, Catriona pulled away. Her veiled gaze shifted to me and she reached out to gently squeeze my wrist.
"I had no doubt that you could handle whatever trouble befell you," Mother Superior Isidora said, keeping her hands clasped before her as she approached. "But I am still curious as to the reason for your delay."
In a breathless rush, I relayed what had occurred.
"Then there is no going back now," Isidora said. "I had hoped for more time to prepare and to sway the other barons. But if Rikard escaped execution, Grozdan's wrath will be swift and ugly. As far as Grozdan is concerned, Rikard and his subjects are now in open revolt."
"Our next move, then?" I asked.
"Come," Isidora said, gesturing behind her. "We will convene and discuss."
As Catriona and the other nuns helped with the horses, Miriam and I followed the Mother Superior into the heart of the convent.
The large room contained a table covered with maps and scrolls. Statues of Saint Morwenna adorned the walls. From the ceiling dangled dozens of chains and ropes, swaying slightly in the breeze that swept in through the open windows.
Isidora gestured to a map of the duchy. The long, thin island was ringed by dozens of smaller isles, with only a few marked settlements. Though I could not interpret the writing, I'd seen enough of the island to have a sense for the convent's location and Rikard's barony.
"This is Saerkell: the seat of Grozdan's power," Isidora said, pointing to a dot in the middle of the map. "Despite falling into disrepair, it is a formidable fortress."
"And cursed, too," said Miriam. "If the stories are to be believed."
"A shame the curse does not take care of Grozdan for us," I said with a snort. "Why is it said to be cursed?"
"Etmorra was once ruled by a council of shamans and chieftains, in the days before the Empire's conquest," Isidora explained. "In a sense, Etmorra at that time was not unlike Kovgaard. But when a Kovgaardian king sent his envoys to Saerkell to demand Etmorra's submission, the ruling shamans broke the oaths of truce and imprisoned the envoys. Doing so was a violation of ancient laws, but the shamans were so offended by the demands that they didn't care. It is said that they sacrificed the envoys to dark spirits, as a foul bargain to protect the island.
"Instead, the spirits claimed the souls of the shamans instead, as punishment for their treachery and oath-breaking. The locals soon found Saerkell empty, save for the eyeless corpses of the shamans."
"My people have a nearly identical story," I said, frowning. "King Thorvard Mountain-Bane was said to have sent his son to a kingdom across the sea, only for the son to be betrayed and slain."
I'd had no idea that the mystical kingdom from those tales had in fact been Etmorra. How many other stories of our mythic past were echoed in Etmorra's legends?
"Whether or not it is cursed does not change the fact that it is a formidable fortress," Isidora continued. "It contains springs and vast gardens, making it nearly self-sufficient. Even with a small force, Grozdan could hold it for years."
"The other key to controlling the island is Surta's Gate," said Miriam, pointing to a spot on the northern coast of the island. "A large town and the island's primary port. It's how Grozdan has been importing his weapons and mercenaries, and it's where he sends out all the goods he's stolen from his subjects."
I tapped the western side of the map.
"And who rules these lands?"
"Baron Selwyn. A dashing young man who had the strongest claim to the ducal title until Grozdan pressed his own claim. More than any other Baron, he has resisted and rebuked Grozdan's increased taxes. With Baron Rikard now in open revolt, I suspect Selwyn will soon join him."
"If Grozdan had enough wealth to hire so many mercenaries to begin with, why does he strangle the island for more?" I asked.
"Though of noble blood and a kinsman to the Duke of Utresk on the mainland, he had little wealth to speak of," said Miriam. "So he went into great debt to the money-lending guilds in order to press his claim and maintain his hold. But he is a man who satisfies his vices before his debts...which only creates more debts, and more desperation to repay them."
"He treats this island like a vulture treats a corpse," I muttered. "And so how many troops can this vulture call upon?"
"Given Etmorra's isolation and reliance upon the sea for protection, the duchy never had much of a standing army," Isidora said. "There were in fact only a hundred true knights and five hundred men-at-arms on the entire island when Grozdan took the title. He brought with him a few hundred mercenaries. As tensions have increased, he has hired hundreds more...which only drains his coffers further. He could call upon greater numbers if he summons the barons and their respective forces, but those would be meager militias, not hardened troops."
"Despite Rikard's uprising, I doubt he'll call upon the other barons just yet," said Miriam. "Relations are too tenuous and fraught at the moment. If he asks them to face Rikard, they might turn on him, or refuse and make him look weak. I suspect Grozdan will try to deal with this using his own forces and mercenaries, rather than relying on the barons."
My scowl returned to the map.
"Rikard found several of my warriors: they'll be recovered enough in a few days to fight. But a few Kovgaardians alone cannot stand against Grozdan's forces. I know Rikard has some knights under his command and we could raise a militia from his lands, but that still won't be enough."
I ran my finger along the coast until it settled upon Surta's Gate.
"The port is the key. Without it, Grozdan will have difficulty receiving supplies and reinforcements, nor can he send out confiscated goods to fill his coffers."
"It is the most defended place on the island, save for the fortress at Saerkell," Isidora said. "Even if several other barons came to our aid, we'd not have the numbers for such an assault."
"I am not suggesting a full assault." I braced my hands against the table. "Grozdan is a mighty bear, lurking in his cave: we need to draw him out. So I suggest a raid. An attack in the night, to burn or sink the next inbound ships containing weapons and mercenaries. Or perhaps we could steal one of the outbound ships and we can give the supplies back to the people. Such brazen attacks will draw him out from Saerkell, get him into the open..."
I rested my finger upon the road that led from the fortress.
"Then we put him down like the mad beast he is."
"Clever," Isidora said, smirking beneath the veil.
"There is no guarantee that he will take the bait, though," Miriam warned.
"You're right. But if he doesn't bite, then we continue to raid his holdings across Etmorra. We isolate him, then plan our next move."
**
For the rest of the day I assisted the nuns with other duties: chopping wood, digging irrigation ditches for the gardens, caring for the horses. With my body occupied by such chores, my mind raced with the thoughts of what I would do when I found Hoskuld.
While I longed to challenge my brother to a formal duel so that he might restore his honor, I doubted he would accept. The wretched dog might run, or I'd be forced to fight him in a pitched battle rather than glorious single combat.
Any death would suffice, in the eyes of our people's laws. As long as I could prove the death to King Ulrik, my family's pride and honor would be restored. My brother's sin would no longer stain our clan and we could resume our rightful place as prominent warriors of the north.
With my body filled with the pleasant ache of a good day's work, I returned to my quarters. After a quick bath I once more plucked the holy texts from the shelf. Though I still understood not a single written word, that didn't stop me from thumbing through pages of half-naked figures in various states of submission and domination.
My skin tingled as I pictured myself or the nuns in those various poses.
There came a soft knock at the door. I opened it to find Catriona standing out in the hall, still wearing her veil.
"Here to claim that last strike with the flogger?" I asked, grinning.
She giggled.
"I did think about it, yes. May I come in?"
Nodding, I stepped aside. Catriona brushed past me, her fingers trailing along my wrist.
"The Mother Superior asked me to give you a few lessons about our Sisterhood. If you are staying with us, it is important that you know more about our customs."
"In fact I was just perusing those books," I said with a slight smirk, gesturing to the shelf.
"Oh? I must say that the chronicles of the sacred mushrooms are quite intoxicating to read. So many wonders hidden upon the forest floor. And did you have a chance to read about the blister-bloom flowers? Marvelous things."
"I confess my interests rested in different books than the ones on herbs." I chuckled. "And I don't know the Imperial script, so I couldn't have even read them anyway."
"Such books are not in the Imperial script: they are in the Etmorran language. The Empire's rule stamped out the spoken version of the language but the written word remains. An elegant script that took me years to master after I'd taken the vows."
"So you're not Etmorran, then?" I asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed as she ran her fingers over the books.
"No, no. I'm from the Duchy of Tsannor. On the southern edge of the continent."
I cocked my head, having not heard of that duchy before. Considering the size of the Empire and the remote nature of my homeland, my ignorance was hardly surprising.
"I pestered Miriam about how she ended up here...I suppose I am obliged to pester you now as well."
Catriona turned, her smile fading a little beneath the veil. That diminished smile stabbed deep into my heart, making me certain that my question about her homeland had opened an old wound.
Her smile strengthened after a moment.
"A few lessons, first." She pointed to the center of the room. "It is customary for novices and new initiates to kneel during instruction. One of our many rules."
Hopeful that such a command meant the lessons would be the wicked sort, I obeyed, settling upon my knees in the same spot where I'd been chained a few nights before.
