Chapter 35 To Parley #2
If there was even the slightest chance that Corin was going to retake Blackfell, it was better to surrender on favorable terms.
It was as simple as that. He knew what he had to do, even though he did not like the thought of it.
He had been raised to never surrender. But his unwillingness to admit weakness had gotten them into his mess in the first place, when he refused to leave Ironcliff before the storms came.
He’d lost men to his own stubbornness then, and he wasn’t going to do it again.
It wasn’t until two hours later that Niel waited just inside the wall, watching the drawbridge in front of him lower in shunts through the still-closed metal lattice of the portcullis.
He was riding Anchor, the bulkiest of the castle’s remaining horses, though she was still far smaller and leaner than a warhorse.
The mare stomped and tossed her head, sidling as Niel tried to hold her in place.
For all Niel’s dread at leaving, she was eager to be beyond the walls.
He was fully armed and armored, sword and dagger on his hip but more knives hidden discreetly in his boot, on his thigh, and beneath his cuirass in case the worst came to pass.
“Send someone else out,” Kerr tried suggesting one last time. “Someone less tempting. You’re too valuable a prisoner.”
“I know my brother,” Niel answered. “And if I’m wrong, well, you’re in charge.”
In the empty ground between the castle’s gate and the town, Niel could see his brother waiting, similarly armed and armored and seated on his black warhorse’s back.
They both stayed still as the portcullis finally winched up into the wall.
Niel could not stop his hand from drifting towards his sword hilt, though he knew Corin was not about to single-handedly charge the castle.
And then Niel nudged Anchor forward, and the mare briskly trotted out of the castle, ears pointed forward as if they were not walking into danger. Niel did not glance over his shoulder. There was no need for farewells. In fifteen minutes or so, he’d be back inside the castle, the gate drawn.
“Firewood getting low?” Corin asked as Niel approached. It was hard to tell by the suit of gray armor, but Niel thought his brother looked too relaxed.
“I’ve got stone walls. You’ve got tents,” Niel answered flatly.
He drew Anchor to a halt and found that, unpleasantly, he was forced to look up at Corin.
Beside his brother’s massive charger, Anchor seemed almost like a child’s pony.
He should have ordered the meeting to be done on foot, where they’d be of equal height, but he’d wanted to be sure a quick retreat was possible.
Behind him, he could hear the jangle of a chain as the portcullis lowered down again, allowing Niel’s men to keep an eye on him without leaving the doorway wide-open to attack.
He knew his archers waited on the wall above him, just as there were archers in the crowd some twenty feet behind Corin.
But in the clearing between these two forces, Corin and Niel were alone on their horses.
His brother reached up and took off his helmet, revealing a face that was much like Niel’s, sharp-featured, though Corin’s nose was crooked from having been broken by their father and healing potion withheld as punishment. His brother’s dark hair was pulled tightly back.
Corin’s eyes were red-rimmed. Whether it was from the cold wind, or because Corin thought his good friend—the Ashbrin knight Niel held captive—was dead, Niel could not say.
Niel kept staring through his helmet’s eye-slit, disinterested in removing his own helm.
“Are you finally ready to be done with this madness?” Corin asked flatly. “Have enough people died to satisfy you?”
For a moment Niel considered how miserable his brother must have been, freezing outside castle Blackfell after fighting at Ironcliff all summer, while his woman likely waited for him back at Liron, mourning the winter they would have expected to spend together, when the hostilities should have paused.
It served his brother right.
“Perhaps,” Niel said.
“She’s displeased it’s lasted so long,” Corin warned him, and Niel knew he was talking about their aunt, not Corin’s lover. “I can spare your life for now, but there’s no walking free. We might be able to arrange for exile, but it will take time to talk her around. And you’ll need to be contrite.”
“I don’t care if you hang me,” Niel said. He didn’t miss the way Corin’s eyes narrowed at that. “But I’ve got terms.”
“List them,” his brother said. Corin's voice was sharp; guarded.
“My soldiers won’t be sent to mines or breaking rocks. Father sent them with me; that shouldn’t be their death sentence.”
“I can’t just let them go,” Corin said.
“Hold them for a time, if you must. But don’t kill them or send them to their deaths, or mistreat them. And do not keep them prisoners their whole lives, for the simple crime of obeying our father. When the war is over, they must be free men.”
“I will consider that,” Corin said. He sounded suspicious, like he thought Niel was planning something. “What else?”
“The Lady of Blackfell is to be let go. She will not be harmed or forced back to her husband. Your men will not touch her.”
Corin’s head jerked back.
“What the fuck did you think we’d do to her?” Corin said.
“It doesn’t matter. I want her freedom and safety guaranteed.”
“Fine. It always was.”
“And I want to duel Blackfell. To the death. If he wins, he can kill me. If I win, I’ll lay down my arms after and you can do as you wish.”
If Corin wouldn’t agree to that term, Niel’s only option would be to sneak into the war camp with his cloak on.
But invisibility wouldn’t stop him from leaving sounds or footprints; from doors and tent flaps appearing to open invisibly as he passed.
He was no assassin. Searching a camp of thousands without arousing any suspicion, when his brother knew about Niel’s cloak, was not an appealing task.
And Niel could not afford to fail, and leave Blackfell alive.
Corin barked a single laugh.
“You can’t be serious. He’ll never agree to that,” Corin said.
“I saw the bruises. She wasn’t lying about what he’s done.”
His brother sighed, and looked away for a moment. When he turned back his face was grim.
“I don’t doubt it,” Corin said, nearly growling. “I’ve already written to the Queen for permission to arrest him, and…”
“Permission?” Niel scoffed.
Corin gave him an irritated look.
“We’re on Blackfell soil. He’s sovereign on his own land. Some of us respect the law.” Niel snorted, and Corin continued. “I'll make sure he faces justice, but he knows your reputation, Niel. He won’t agree to a duel.”
“He’s a knight. I’ve got a right to challenge him.”
“Not since you broke your oath, you don’t,” Corin said flatly. “That won’t work. Let justice happen in its own time.”
“If the Queen didn’t care about Hannes, I doubt she’ll care about protecting a merchant-born woman,” Niel said, his voice practically a growl.
Corin frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. His stallion shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortably by his rider’s sudden rigidity.
“What the fuck has Hannes got to do with that?” Corin asked.
“She’ll say there’s more important matters to focus on. That she can’t risk angering any noble on her side just now. There’s no justice to be found at court.”
“What are you saying?” Corin pressed, the look in his dark eyes intense and disbelieving. “You disliking your squire training has nothing to do with—”
“I’ve given my terms,” Niel interrupted. “If you agree to them, you can have the Ashbrin back. Elsewise I’ll execute him.”
He knew the captive knight was a good friend of his brother’s.
Corin’s mouth fell open, then snapped flatly shut.
“Bradhan’s alive?” Corin asked, his voice harsh and his eyes hollow.
“He lost a leg in the battle. But he’s alive and his condition is stable.”
“There was no ransom,” Corin practically growled. “You—Mercy, you fucking didn’t—I’d a right to know.”
“This is the ransom,” Niel said. “I duel Blackfell to the death. My men aren’t mistreated.
Lady Ayla walks free. You get the castle and an Ashbrin back.
If you say no, I put Bradhan’s head on a pike and I slaughter as many of your men as I can before you gut me—and you know that will be no small number.
Do you want their deaths on your hands?”
His brother stared at him in silence, seething, Corin’s jaw locked tight. Niel smiled, knowing his own expression was hidden by his helmet.
“A hundred-odd soldier’s lives and your Sir Bradhan, against one pathetic excuse for a lord. Don’t tell me that’s a hard decision, even for you,” Niel said.
“I need time to make it happen,” Corin snapped.
He couldn’t let his brother delay long enough to build the siege tower.
“You have until dawn tomorrow,” Niel said. He lifted his hand in a gesture to tell his men he was ready to return inside. Pulling lightly on the reins, Niel coaxed Anchor to take a few slow steps back away from Corin. His brother stared down at him in open anger and disbelief.
“What happened to make you hate the Ashbrins so much?” his brother asked abruptly, as Niel started to pivot his horse.
“Oh, do you finally care enough to ask?”
Corin frowned. Neil turned his back.
The portcullis was lifting as quickly as his men could raise it.
He urged Anchor into a trot, and bent low to fit beneath its iron spikes.
Niel could already hear the drawbridge rising again before he chanced a look back over his shoulder.
Corin’s eyes met his own, his brother’s expression tense and thoughtful all at once.
And then the drawbridge rose another foot as the portcullis sank fully into place, and Corin was lost to his view.