Chapter XVIII. By Sainted Blade
XVIII
BY SAINTED BLADE
“‘WHO SPEAKS FOR this company?’
“The capitaine was tall, broad, less than twenty. His accent was nobleborn, but though he was young, decidedly handsome, his face bore scars of battle, and his eyes, the shadow of war. He wore a suit of platemail embossed with a unicorn and five swords, a tattered golden cloak. Chestnut hair was cropped in soldier’s fashion, bright blue eyes glittering in the torchlight.
His kit was soiled with blood, and the fine longblade in his hand was well loved and well used.
“The cadre about him wore golden tabards of House Augustin, five hundred strong.
Each was armed to the teeth—burning brands, longblades and spears run with silver, wheellock rifles.
Several wore the embroidered vestments of priests of the Faith under their hauberks, silver wheels burning with holy light about their necks.
“We slunk back at their approach, Maryn beside us. And through our line, a figure stepped forward, chin high and mismatched eyes ablaze.
“‘I will speak.’
“The handsome capitaine looked the Princess over, lips pursed.
“‘And you are, mademoiselle?’
“‘Reyne á Maergenn. Fifthborn daughter of Niamh Nineswords, Duchess of Ossway, and firstborn daughter of Connor á Lachlainn, Laerd of the Moonsthrone Mountains. I am a Princess of Lands Low and High, come with this holy company from the wreckage of Ossway and the grave of my royal mother and father.’
“The Princess spoke with regal bearing, chin held high. We were reminded of that statue in the foyer of her ruined dún then; the legend from which this pup was birthed.
“‘Holy? ’
“The young capitaine’s jaw clenched, fists likesame. And though we lingered at the company’s rear like wraiths, that sapphire gaze fell unerringly upon us.
“‘Unless my eyes be liars, or I a fool, you bring the Dead to our door.’
“‘Oui.’ Reyne licked at dry lips, nodding. ‘But these two have journeyed long with our company, and I swear God they are no friends to the Forever K—’
“The Princess fell quiet, silenced by the rise of the young man’s hand.
“‘Who might you be, Highlander?’
“‘Phoebe á Dúnnsair, Laerdbride of the Clan Lachlainn. And there’s nae might about it.’ The fleshwitch nodded to the girl beside her. ‘This is Dior Lachance.’
“The Grail inclined her head. ‘Bonsoir, Capitaine.’
“The man raised one brow, glancing to the cadres behind him. At his back, we saw the young crook-eyed soldierboy whose life Dior had saved.
“‘This is the one, Louis?’
“‘Oui, Majesty.’ The boy bowed. ‘I seen it meself. Her blood brung the dead back to life, it did. Healed my own hurts whole. And it burned the rottens to ashes when it t—’
“That hand rose again. Sapphire eyes roamed Dior, brow to bloodied boots.
“‘The price of witchery in this empire is death, petite fille.’
“‘I’m no witch, monsieur.’
“‘My name is Philippe. Eldest son of Alexandre III and Prince of all Elidaen.’
“‘Lovely to meet you, Majesty. But I’m still no fucking witch.’
“The young man scowled, Phoebe stepping in before trouble bloomed.
“‘Dior Lachance is a maid of the Mothers. Savior of Dún Maergenn. Heavensent Godling of the Moonsthrone, and Holy Grail of San Michon.’
“The Prince seemed unmoved. Cold eyes drifted over the ravaged city, the mangled corpses and burning ruins, before returning to Reyne.
“‘Please, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘I swear before God and Mothermaid we are here with holy intent. And if my oath is no assurance, my sister will speak to my character.’
“‘Sister?’
“‘Dame Yvaine, wife of Duke Maarten.’
“‘Duke Maarten is Warden of the South now, mademoiselle. He and his bride keep vigil from the chateau at Daggercoast. Lady Yvaine cannot vouch for you.’
“‘Then let the battle yesterday speak to our intent! I swear God we are true enemies to the Forever King, Majesty, and we would treat with His Grace, your noble father, Alexandre III, on a matter of direst import!’
“‘My father is dead, Mlle á Maergenn.’
“Reyne’s fervor died swift, and she bowed her head.
“‘I’m … so sorry, Majesty. Forgive me, please. I also lost my mother in the fires of war. But I am certain your noble father died valiantly, defending the people he loved.’
“‘He died slowly. Eaten from the inside out.’
“The Prince turned his gaze to the sky, breathing deep. But looking to those dark clouds, his sorrow faded, and the glint of iron returned to his eye.
“‘We were but a heartbeat from calamity, Mlle á Maergenn. All Augustin stood imperiled, and the empire besides. You keep strangest company. But whatever turned the Carrion Lord and his army back from our brink, only a fool could not conjure it has something to do with you.’
“‘Not I, Majesty.’ Reyne nodded to Dior. ‘Her.’
“‘Heaven’s Huntress,’ Joaquin said.
“‘La demoiselle du Graal,’ a Callum nodded.
“The young Prince looked again to Dior, lips pursed. The Grail stared back, wearied beyond reckoning, yet standing tall. The snows had finally stopped falling, and though the skies were yet black above, the light from those glowing wheels and burning brands seemed to dance on the pale blue arcs of Dior’s eyes.
“The Prince nodded. ‘My Empress shall have wish to speak with you.’
“‘Merci, P—’
“‘Follow.’
“The Prince was already marching away, boots crunching in frost and gore, cloak billowing behind him. His soldiers encircled our company, blades ready, torches ablaze, eyes mostly fixed on Maryn or myself. My Priori met every gaze, smiling soft; a cherub drenched in blood. Every one of us was exhausted, hungry, battered, and bruised, but as Dior followed the young Prince, all her company yet walked behind her. And surely no prouder parade has ever marched under heaven’s skies.
“Dior walked at our fore, Reyne stalking beside her; close, but not near enough to touch. Though the Grail showed little sign of her ordeal save weariness, we wondered how she must be feeling. To be revealed as a child of the Redeemer’s line, and a daughter of the Moonsthrone?
Half sister to her beloved? How might this play out in the end?
“We studied the fortifications before us, lit by torchlight; the cadres of soldiers along the battlements, dark stone and massive ironwood doors embossed with the Emperor’s seal.
Though only a gatekeep, the structure was more impressive than most chateaux we’d seen.
And still, the Voss had come so close to breaching it …
“Corpses were piled against the walls—great hills of dead flesh and gleaming fangs, burning in the rising night. Dior looked at them, lips pinched, whispering a soft prayer. Though her mind was ever closed to us, we could guess what she was thinking.
“How many could I have saved if we’d come but one day earlier?
“Though the air was still chill, it seemed winter had departed with the legion, and the first breath of summer kissed our skin. The gates opened wide, Prince Philippe marching into the tunnel beyond, and our company followed, flanked by his troops. Though their discipline was perfect, as we passed beyond onto the bridge into Rive C?ur, we could hear soldiers on the walls gossiping, runners sprinting ahead, bearing word of she who’d healed the sick, saved the dying, rescued the city from the Forever King himself.
“‘The White Wolf of God,’ they whispered.
“‘Heaven’s Huntress.’
“‘La demoiselle du Graal.’
“Across the bridge we marched—an ancient archway of solid granite looming fifty feet over the frozen river. Our eyes drifted over the half-frozen Béni below, the ravaged ports of Rive Nord and Sud, the horrors of the Forever King’s assault now full unveiled.
In the icy waters, we saw galleys smashed upon each other and sunk to their masts.
Our Dead heart fell as we spied Dawnseeker among them; the swordmaid on her bowsprit submerged all the way to her blade.
We signed the wheel and whispered farewell, both for she who’d borne us over the seas to be here, and for her master—good Capitaine á Connell, who had fallen with so many others defending the Grail from the Iron Maiden’s blade.
“Horns rang out, and our gaze shifted to the gate at bridge’s end.
This second keephouse was grander than the first, built atop a sheer cliff rising from the river below.
Standards rippled in chill winds; golden cloth stained by soot and smoke.
A thousand eyes followed as we marched through the walls, and finally into the streets of Rive C?ur.
“The heart of Augustin power on earth.
“Though night had fallen, those streets were thronged, not just with soldiers, but commonfolk too.
Many were refugees from Rive Nord and Sud, come to look upon their deliverers.
Rumor was rushing ahead swifter than any arrow, folk peering from high-flung windows, all eyes on the girl, the miracle, the savior at the heart of us.
“She raised her wounded hand. And we were amazed to see many among the crowd lift their hands in return, forefingers and thumbs outstretched.
“‘Bless you, child! ’ one cried.
“‘God be praised for your coming! ’
“Rive C?ur was riven with man-made canals, and we crossed four bridges on the way through, past grand estates and statues of emperors long dead.
The roads began to open up, and Prince Philippe called for folk to make way—the boulevard was flooded now, onlookers scrabbling to get a glimpse of Dior.
The Grail looked overwhelmed, weariness beginning to get the best of her.
But Phoebe and Reyne walked at her side, and by their strength was she kept upright.
After an age, we saw them rising above the roofs ahead, our heart with them; the towers of the Chateau Impérial, and the gleaming spires of …
“‘Cathédrale de Lumière,’ Maryn whispered.
“‘You know it, Mother?’
“Our Priori nodded, and as she looked to heaven, we saw bloody tears in her eyes. “Neath those holy foundations doth our brother Oleander abide in eventide with the sainted blade. We are close, sweet Liathe, so close, oh, all glory be unto thee my Lord, my God.’