"Gjerdrum," he said, as they neared his room, "scare up the physician. Then have all officers assemble in the officers' mess. Have them bring maps of the area where Vodicka's camped. And I want my Marena Dimura there. Then meet me at the council chamber. How do I get there?"
"But you can't..."
"Watch me. I could care less about being respectful to a gang of lard-assed Nordmen hypocrites. Tell me."
Reluctantly, the youth gave directions.
"Carry out your orders. Wait. What the hell time is it, anyway?"
"Around midnight."
Ragnarson groaned. He had wasted eight hours sleeping.
Two palace guards blocked the council chamber door. "Announce me," he told the senior.
"Sorry, sir. Lord Lindwedel left instructions that they weren't to be disturbed for any reason."
"Eh? Why? What if something happened?"
The soldier shrugged. "I got the idea they were going to have it out with Her Majesty."
"Ah." The old snake had found out about Eanred.
"You'd better get out of the way." His cold determination made the younger guard gulp.
"No, sir," the senior said. "Not till my orders change." His knuckles whitened on the haft of his short ceremonial pike.
Bragi hit him with a left jab. His helmet clanged off the wall. Ragnarson snatched his pike, knocked the second soldier's feet from beneath him, rattled the first's brains again, then hit the door. It was neither locked nor barred. He crashed through.
Just in time.
Seven old Nordmen surrounded the Queen like lean gray wolves a terrified fawn. She had been weeping, was about to sign a document. The triumph on the ministers' faces, before they turned, told Ragnarson he had guessed right. They had bullied her into abdicating.
He took three swift steps, smashed the pike head down on the document. Hurling ministers aside, Bragi seized the document, flung it into a nearby fireplace.
Lindwedel shouted, "Guards!"
"Keep your mouth shut, you old vulture!" Ragnarson growled, drawing his sword. "Or I'll cut you a new one about four inches lower." He backed to the door, locked and barred it.
He wished he had a few Trolledyngjans along. He would have to hurry instead...
"You men get over against that wall." He moved to the Queen's side. She appeared uncertain whether to be grateful or angry. He scowled at a minister edging toward the door.
"If I were younger, I'd..."
"You'd get your ass killed. Haven't met a Nordmen yet who could butcher a chicken without help. Let's get this settled civilly. We'll let the lady make up her mind on her own."
Their glares promised trouble. There would soon be plots to eliminate the foreigner who defended the foreign Queen.
"Why'd you bust in?" the Queen whispered.
"Friend of mine just arrived," he replied softly. "From Vodicka's camp. Wanted you to know what he said. When I got trouble outside, I figured these old buzzards were up to something."
"What was so important?"
"Vodicka's shaghun is dead, Vodicka has gone insane, and his army has been decimated by sickness. H is men are deserting. My associate Kildragon has placed a force west of them as an anvil against which I can hammer them. I'll begin tightening the noose in the morning."
"You're pushing too hard. Killing yourself. You've got to rest sometime."
"You rest between wars," he muttered. Then, "We can't ease off. There're still too many variables. And Shinsan's vultures are perched on the crags of the Kapenrungs."
"You won't wait for your man Blackfang?"
"No. But he'll be here soon. I don't intend getting in a fight anyway, just to maneuver Vodicka into a bad position."
"The numbers don't look good."
"Numbers aren't important. Still want to run away? To quit when we've got a glimmer of hope?"
"I don't know. I wasn't made for this. Intrigue. War."
"I promise you, if it's within my power, that I won't go till I can leave you with the quietest country in the Lesser Kingdoms. If I have to leave rebels hanging like apples from every tree."
"But you're a mercenary. And have a family and home, 1 hear."
Did she sound just the least disappointed? "I have no home while the Greyfells party retains any power. The appointment?"
"They'll never agree."
"Bet?" He turned to the Ministers. "Her Majesty wishes your confirmation of my appointment as Marshal of Ravelin."
Some turned red and sputtered. Lord Lindwedel croaked, "Never! No base-born foreigner..."
"Then we'll hang you and appoint some new Ministers."
The door rattled as someone tried it. The Ministers perked up.
Ragnarson could force his will here, he knew, but how would he keep them from reneging?
Haroun's would be the simplest solution. He would have them murdered.
"You wouldn't dare!"
Men smashed against the door.
"Try me. The charge is treason. I believe Her Majesty will support it."
Axes began splintering the door.
The Queen touched his arm. "Appearances will decide this. Back into the corner like you're defending me."
She had chosen. He smiled, did as she suggested. She attached herself to his left arm in the classic pose of damsel hanging on protector.
Lord Lindwedel surrendered. "All right, damn it. Have the documents prepared."
Bragi held his pose long enough for Gjerdrum and the Queen's troops to catch a glimpse. Thus it was that, dishonestly, he won their loyalty.
iv) The challenge
There was snow on the ground, a sprinkling scarcely thicker than frost, tainted ruby in the dawnlight. A harsh cold wind stirred skeletal trees. Bragi, astride a shivering horse at wood's edge, glanced up the road that snaked over the hill masking Vodicka's camp. With him were the irrepressible Mocker and a dozen of his own and the Queen's men. Mocker blew into shaking hands and bemoaned the impulse that had brought him into the field.
For a week Ragnarson had maneuvered his forces into position, hoping for a fiat that would spare lives. He would need every man in the spring.
To the north, blocking the route to Volstokin, were Blackfang and Ahring with the Trolledyngjans and Itaskians. Sir Andvbur, for the moment commanding the Queen's Own and palace guard, held the routes eastward. In the south lay Altenkirk with eleven hundred Wessons and Marena Dimura. The woods behind Vodicka were held by Kildragon and Preshka.
Everyone had been in position since the day before. The men had been given a night's rest and plenty to eat... This one he wouldn't hurry. It would be his most crucial battle, one that, in its handling more than its winning, could make him as Marshal of Kavelin.
"You'd better get going," he told Mocker.
The fat man kicked his new donkey into a walk. He had volunteered to find Haroun. He would skirt the battle zone and, hopefully, would know the outcome before passing Kildragon's last outpost. He also bore messages to Vodicka's family.
Ragnarson turned to another of his companions. "Bring her out."
Against his advice and over the protests of her supporters, the Queen had insisted on joining him.
In minutes she was at his side, bundled in furs that concealed ill-fitting chain mail. She bubbled.
Ragnarson nodded. "We begin." He urged his mount forward. She kept pace. His party trailed by twos.
Ragnarson's heart hammered. His stomach flipped and knotted. Doubts plagued him. Had he chosen the best course? Sure, it was the way to slay the rumors about him not leading from the front, but... What if Vodicka refused his challenge?
He leaned toward the Queen, said, "If you bring as much excitement and stubbornness to ruling as you do to getting in a fight, you'll..."
Her thigh brushed his. He wasn't sure, but it seemed she'd guided her mount the slightest bit closer to his. He remembered riding thigh by thigh with Elana, with mortal dangers waiting to strike.