The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

Jeff Wheeler




CHARACTERS


MONARCHIES



Ceredigion: Eredur (House of Argentine): after a brutal civil war, led by his father, resulted in his father’s death and his family’s exile to Brugia, Eredur wrested control of Ceredigion from King Henricus. Now in possession of the hollow crown, Eredur has consolidated his power and joined forces with Brugia to wage war on the King of Occitania, seeking to reclaim lands forfeited generations before. Eredur’s banner, the Sun and Rose, has been unfurled, and the invasion of Occitania has begun.

Occitania: Lewis XI (House of Vertus): Lewis, known as the Spider King for his cunning, wants nothing more than to prevent another disastrous defeat such as the one his grandfather’s army suffered at the Battle of Azinkeep a generation before. Lewis is the son of Chatriyon, who was the prince who defied Ceredigion and, with the help of the famous Maid of Donremy, secured his right to rule Occitania despite overwhelming odds. Lewis would rather bribe his way out of a conflict with his powerful neighbor than take the field against him.

Brugia: Philip (House of Temaire): succeeded his father as King of Brugia at age twenty-three after his father was murdered, purportedly by a poisoner hired by Chatriyon Vertus, Crown Prince of Occitania. The kingdoms of Brugia and Occitania have been enemies ever since. Philip has involved Eredur in his disputes with King Lewis, and the two kingdoms have joined forces to defeat and humble their ancient enemy.





LORDS OF CEREDIGION

Severn Argentine: Duke of Glosstyr

Dunsdworth Argentine: Duke of Clare

Lord Horwath: Duke of North Cumbria

Lord Kiskaddon: Duke of Westmarch

Lord Asilomar: Duke of East Stowe

Lord Hastings: Duke of Southport, king’s chancellor





The tree of Argentine kings has many branches and knots, the bark scarred with many usurpations and upheavals. But there is no disagreement that one of the greatest battles ever fought, by one of the greatest kings ever crowned, was the Battle of Azinkeep. Remember the Battle of Azinkeep. The King of Ceredigion defeated twenty thousand and only lost eighty of his own men. He became the ruler of Occitania when he married the princess and her father died. One simply cannot underestimate the depth of Occitanian hatred following such a humiliating defeat. But one must understand Azinkeep to understand the loamy soil that sprouted a Fountain-blessed girl. A girl who would change history. But I get ahead of myself. This girl would never have been permitted to meet an outcast prince in his outcast court had someone important not first believed in her. Her entire history blooms into vibrant color because of one young nobleman.





—Polidoro Urbino, Historia Ceredigica





CHAPTER ONE

The Queen's Poisoner





The sound of laughter, conversation, and clinking goblets drifted in from the overcrowded ballroom down the corridor. Music bubbled over the din. The celebration seemed a little too exuberant considering the kingdom was facing yet another war with Ceredigion. Ankarette Tryneowy paused before a pillar, watching the light from the torch mirrored on the polished marble floor. She’d heard a sound, the clip of a boot, and wondered if she was being followed by a drunken Occitanian lord more interested in trying to steal a kiss than in returning to the rough camp of the army hunkering around the city of Pree.

The sound of shuffled steps in heavy boots came from behind, followed by a grunt and a slurred bit of Occitanian. She paused, adjusting her skirts, and then wobbled slightly and caught her hand on the pillar, giving the impression that she’d had too much to drink. As she pressed her stomach and breathed deeply, she dug her fingers into the folds of her dress, ready to seize the dagger hidden there to defend herself.

Ankarette’s delicate beauty conveyed the impression of defenselessness, but she was his majesty’s poisoner, the most dangerous woman in her realm. If she hadn’t been, her king would never have sent her into the heart of the enemy’s capital on the eve of war to seek a man who was one of the Occitanian crown’s most notorious prisoners. The army of Ceredigion was encamped several leagues away on the other side of a river—the farthest they had marched into Occitania since the invasion that had led to their stunning victory at the Battle of Azinkeep. No cities had been taken as of yet, but the threat of conflict seethed in the air like smoke. Her instincts were taut and ready for battle.

The shuffling steps halted and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a man relieving himself against a stone wall. If he was that drunk, he posed no threat to her at all. Still, she did not lower her guard until the drunken lord staggered past her, oblivious to her presence even then. She thought for a moment that it might be a ruse, that this man was one of King Lewis’s poisoners, come to kill her, but the man’s bleary eyes, shuffling steps, and moans indicated liver infection. He must have been a man who frequently indulged in such nocturnal pleasures. Soon he was gone, and Ankarette let out a sigh of relief.

Moments later, a little palace drudge appeared with a bucket and rags and began mopping up the mess the nobleman had left reeking against the wall. The waif was a pretty little thing, but she could be no more than eight. She should not have been kept up so late. Ankarette had observed many such drudges in the palace, lurking in the shadows to earn their bread by serving the whims of the Occitanian nobility. They were invisible to most people and treated like dogs.

Turning from the column, she approached the girl and sank down onto her knees to be at her level. The waif blinked in surprise, taking in Ankarette’s rich, fashionable gown and her delicately coiffed hair.

“Shouldn’t you be abed?” Ankarette asked the child in a quiet, kind voice, reaching out and brushing some of the girl’s hair away from her face. Her Occitanian was fluent, but she knew the capital Pree had its own flairs. Hopefully, her accent would suffice.

The girl seemed even more surprised by the show of compassion. “No, my lady. I napped earlier, but the fête is almost finished and we’ll be cleaning till dawn.”

It was only just after midnight. “That’s a shame,” Ankarette said, patting the girl’s cheek. “It must be difficult cleaning up the messes of others.”

The waif sniffed and shrugged. “You have a strange accent,” the girl said offhandedly, dipping a rag into the bucket.

Children always noticed things that others passed over. Ankarette had made it a rule never to underestimate their usefulness.