First up, I apologize for the long wait between these installments. Computer issues, job changes, and relationship troubles all contributed to the long delay. I also had many false starts with this installment and went through tons of re-writes. I found that I was getting too sidetracked with subplots and side characters, so I decided to start from scratch for this chapter and hone in on Sarya herself.
Some characters introduced in prior chapters sort of fall by the wayside as a result, as I tried to focus more on Sarya's journey and her various relationships. This chapter does move quickly to set up the final showdown, and there are definitely some characters and subplots that could have been more developed, but I wanted to focus on providing a satisfying conclusion to Sarya's arc without getting bogged down in plotlines and character arcs.
To summarize previous installments: Duchess Sarya has been gathering allies to save her homeland of Fellhaven from a horde of barbarians led by King Ulrik. She has allied with Duke Lucan of Ravenmark, along with some barbarian mercenaries, and has recently managed to win the support of the duchy of Wolfgate.
In search of one last ally before she returns home, Sarya now makes her way to Jadewall, ruled by Duke Thandor, who once sought her hand in marriage. Sarya is accompanied by her lovers Lucan and Ketrik, along with captain Neryth (Lucan's second-in-command). Also with the army is Velwen-the illegitimate daughter of a high priest in Wolfgate-who escaped with the help of Neryth and Sarya.
**
Sarya never could have imagined that an idyllic countryside would fill her with such dread. During her last visit to Jadewall, she'd been enchanted by the tidy vineyards, bucolic pastures, untouched groves, and the seemingly endless expanses of wildflowers.
But now all she could think of was the doom that could befall her duchy and her people. If Duke Thandor of Jadewall did not agree to commit forces and supplies to her hastily-assembled coalition, the odds would be stacked against Fellhaven. Without Jadewall's help, her army would be outnumbered and outmatched by Ulrik's forces besieging the city, and there would be no time to travel to other duchies to recruit more allies. The truce would have expired by then and her beloved home would be in flames, turned to an ashen sacrifice for the dark, hungry gods of the north.
She had not spoken to Thandor since she had turned down his proposal of marriage. A year ago, he'd sent her a rather preposterous proposal that had not only entailed marriage, but also the annexation of her duchy as part of the arrangement. Some rulers might have reacted to such an insult with a declaration of war, but she'd politely rebuffed him and countered with the suggestion that their heirs could one day marry, provided both of them produced children.
He hadn't responded, and the only official communication since had been terse letters to negotiate trade along the river that marked the border between the two duchies.
"My lady," Duke Lucan said, his soft voice tearing her away from her grim thoughts. "You have a look on your face as if you're about to go into battle."
She couldn't help but smile as she looked over at her dashing, one-eyed lover. In preparation for the negotiations, he'd changed out of his usual armor and riding clothes in favor of something more suitable for court: a fine black doublet, leggings that accentuated the strong muscles of his legs, fine riding boots, and a long red cloak embroidered with raven feathers as an homage to his duchy of Ravenmark. For the first few minutes of the ride, she'd fantasized about getting him out of those fancy clothes. Crossing the border from Wolgate to Jadewall had dashed all such thoughts of wickedness, though.
"We
are
about to go into a battle," she murmured. "Of a different sort."
"Do you truly think Thandor will hold a grudge and refuse to aid a neighboring duchy against a barbarian horde?" he asked.
"He has not raised his banners or sent any raiders across the border to assail Ulrik's forces. If he was committed to the defense of the region, he would already taken action."
"He would not be prepared for such a war, my lady. Jadewall's forces alone cannot stand against Ulrik and he would not have the benefit of the truce that you negotiated for Fellhaven. If he'd moved against Ulrik prematurely, we could have been marching across ashes by now."
He gestured to a vineyard as they passed, as if to demonstrate that the idyllic scenery would have been reduced to blackened cinders if Thandor had ridden to war on his own.
"Still, it would have been nice if he'd at least called forth his levies and sent spies across the border," Sarya said, wrinkling her nose.
"He may in fact already have." He reached over and gently rested a hand upon her knee. "From what I have heard of Thandor, he is an ambitious man, but not the jealous sort. He's already married, after all, and quite happily from what I've heard. Nor is he known to be a fool. He has to know that if he doesn't aid us, Jadewall will be Ulrik's next target."
Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand as gratitude for his reassurances. Such a public display of affection was a minor scandal, considering the knights and barons among their escort. While northern mercenaries and Ravenmark knights would not have batted an eye, their new pious allies from Wolfgate might have disapproved.
Lucan pulled his hand away and she immediately regretted its absence. Sighing, she looked over her shoulder at the column that made up their escort: two hundred knights and barons riding under the protection of a white flag. Far in the distance behind her, the allied army had made camp on the Wolfgate side of the border, under the command of Neryth and Baron Hecforth, the pious but skilled warrior appointed to command the Wolfgate contingent.
Gods, Sarya hoped that Neryth didn't offend the zealous baron with her brusque and scandalous attitude. Already she was rethinking her decision to leave Neryth in charge, though she supposed Lucan had left several other loyal barons and knights behind to keep the wild woman in check.
A rider in gleaming green armor approached from the north, bearing a white flag. Sarya gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. Thandor could, after all, simply refuse to see them and demand that their army turn back.
"My lords, my ladies," the messenger said, bowing his head. "Naturally, my duke was alarmed upon hearing of an armed host upon his borders, even one under a flag of truce. Please state your business in Jadewall."
"I am Duchess Sarya of Fellhaven," she said, then gave a nod to Lucan. "And with me is my ally Duke Lucan of Ravenmark. Also among my allies is Duchess Chera of Wolfgate, who has sent her loyal Baron Hecforth to command her forces in her stead. We have come to speak of an alliance against the northlanders besieging Fellhaven, an army which will surely scour Jadewall if my city falls."
The messenger looked up and down her assembled escorts.
"We heard rumors that you had northern exiles and mercenaries among your alliance."
"We do, under the command of Rathgar of the Red Omen tribe. A wise, clever man who has been a fierce ally."
"And yet you did not bring such men with you, my lady."
"We understand that an army upon your borders is a worrisome sight and we did not wish to alarm your duke further by bringing northlander mercenaries among this diplomatic party."
"You may remain here, for now. I will ride back to my duke, inform him of your presence and your intentions, and will return before nightfall with the next step."
With that settled, the messenger turned and rode off. Sarya grumbled a curse under her breath.
"Nightfall," she said. "That means we likely won't have a summit until tomorrow at the earliest."
"I know. But at least Thandor didn't turn us away immediately or make demands without even meeting us. A good sign."
"You're being rather optimistic lately."
"Not at all. I am simply making a realistic assessment of the circumstances, my lady."
She snorted at that and the column dismounted to prepare to make camp.
Restless and nervous given the state of affairs, Sarya wandered a bit once the camp had been set up. A tryst with Lucan certainly would have eased her nerves, but after spending so much time in the saddle, her body ached for a stroll instead.
At least for the moment. No doubt she'd wind up in Lucan's bedroll before sunset, one way or another.
With the scent of freshly-cooked stew still wafting on the breeze, Sarya wandered farther from the edges of the camp, over to one of the vast forests that dotted Jadewall. Fellhaven had many such forests as well, though the forests in the path of Ulrik's host had been torn down to build siege weapons and fortifications for his army. She brushed her fingers over the bark of an ancient tree and winced at the memories of her youthful wanderings through the woodlands of Fellhaven.
For a moment she pondered what the forests of the north were like: dark, foreboding, and cold in their beauty. From what she'd heard from Ketrik and Rathgar, the northern woods were fierce, beautiful and bountiful places, full of plants to forage and plentiful game to hunt.
So why bring their fury south? Why toss away a chance to live amidst that chilly paradise to die in battle against a foreign duchy? Why did their devotion to strange, hungry gods outweigh the simple, human desire to live in peace and abundance?
Sighing, she sat down on an overturned log and stared up at the darkening sky.
A shuffling sound from behind her sent a jolt through her heart. As she reached for the knife hidden in her boot, she spun her head about, then let out a soft laugh at the sight of Lucan making his way through the underbrush.
"Gods, you gave me a fright."
Chuckling, Lucan crossed the forest to join her on the log and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the knife half-drawn from its sheath within her boot.
"Neryth gave it to me," she explained with a bashful smile. "Said it was lucky. More use as a good-luck charm than as a weapon, I suspect."
