Crown of Renewal(2)
“You’re never going to hide it from him—”
“No. I’m not going to hide it. But he will have word from me, to blunt the blade, before I send it. Now, however, I will open Immer’s letter. Simthal, is the food ready?”
“For Midwinter, sir? I thought—”
“We have much to do, and days are short. We will eat, and we will prepare for the attack that is surely coming.” Already his mind was working again, offering alternatives and the problems with each. In Midwinter, no one could ride from this tower to Cortes Andres in one day’s light … but had Alured’s men sent a message directly to the Count? No … they wanted to unnerve the border guards first. “Tell the cooks: breakfast now. And we will observe most parts of the Midwinter ceremony, though we will not be fools and exhaust ourselves in games this day. We will honor Filis’s memory best by saving Andressat from the same fate.”
They nodded. Someone handed him a mug of sib, and he sipped cautiously … his stomach kept it down. The tears burning his eyes did not overflow. He took the tube from between the lips, leaving a gaping hole in the face, and untied the green and black ribbons.
It was written in blood; the rusty color could be nothing else. “Brother,” he murmured, and kissed it. Filis had died, no doubt a terrible death, but this was proof he was no traitor, as some had thought. The words made it clear what had been done and when and how. A terrible death indeed. The box had not required all of Filis’s skin … the rest had been made into a rug for Alured’s bedside—“and as I stand on it each day, so will I stand on Andressat: master of all.” “The best parts” of Filis’s broken body had been cooked and force-fed to the Count of Cilwan and his wife before they were killed and their bodies fed to dogs, their skins added to the rug.
So Alured had killed not only Filis but their sister, and his father had lost two children. Thank the gods their child, the count’s grandson, was safe in Cortes Andres. A few tears slipped from Meddthal’s eyes. Nerinth had been married to Cilwan young, unwillingly and had endured years with that—Meddthal cut off the thought. It would do no good now to despise Cilwan’s timidity and avarice. He blinked back more tears and read on.
The rest was yet more boasts and threats. Meddthal thought of burning it, saving his father that knowledge, but the old man would not thank him. He rolled the letter once more and put it back in the tube, then put the tube into his belt pouch.
Cooks had brought in bread, porridge, pastries, roasts; for a moment his stomach turned again. But vengeance required nourishment. Starving himself, heaving his food out: neither one would help him defeat Alured. He forced down a bowl of porridge and a slab of bacon. Others ate after seeing him eat. He went to the door and opened it, shut it behind him, then opened the outer door. A gray day, just enough light to see, barely past dawn. Low clouds like a lid shut them away from the sun. Wind cut through his clothes like a knife. He went back into the vestibule when the wind had frozen the tears on his face, and he brushed the tiny ice chips away.
Kolfin was his best rider, and his own horse the fastest. Meddthal wanted to go himself, but if Alured did plan to attack—and he himself would have—in the next few days, he needed to be here to command the defense. He went back inside. “Kolfin.”
Kolfin stood up from the table. “Sir?”
“Finish quickly. Take two days’ ration, and you’ll ride my horse to Cortes Andres with my letter. Be ready to ride when I’ve written it.”
“Sir.”
He sat down with pen and ink, and his mind blanked again. Filis. This … this abomination … but his father must know something, and as soon as possible. He wrote quickly, plainly.
Father. Bad news. Filis’s death proved; Alured has sent—
He paused. He could not say it all, not like this …
—proof of what he did to Filis. It is beyond my words to say. Laid on our doorstep here last night; no doubt it is Filis. I expect attack when he thinks we are unmanned by grief; I remain here to command defense but will come at your command, bringing what was sent. I send also the letter he wrote you, written in what I am sure is Filis’s blood, admitting he killed the Count of Cilwan and your daughter as well.
He sealed that, put it and the letter from Alured in a message bag, and gave it to Kolfin, who had already saddled Meddthal’s horse. “Take a spare horse,” Meddthal said. “Ride fast but warily. Those who did this may be looking to intercept any messenger.”
“Yes, sir.” Kolfin took the message bag; another soldier brought out another of the horses, saddled it, and transferred Kolfin’s saddlebags to the second horse.