David Niemitz
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Faerie Knight 162
🕑 Added 2025-03-19 11:00:09 +0000 UTC162 - The Battle of Lutetia I: Lure
There’s nothing I like more than to catch some poor bastard with his pants down.
The Life and Times of Legionary Titus Nasica
☀
17th Day of High Summer’s Moon, AC 297
It was a comfort to be cared for again by Anais, who had not only accompanied the army to Rocher de la Garde after Clarisant and Trist rode ahead, but then continued on to Lutetia in order to meet again with her mistress.
“My mother said that first time mothers don’t show until later,” the girl commented, as Claire ran her hands over the skin of her belly. The curve was small, and if she had not known better she might have told herself that she was merely getting plump. “Have you felt the child move yet?”
“No,” Claire admitted. “But the morning sickness has lessened, at least, which I am grateful for.”
“We won’t need to get you new dresses quite yet, m’lady,” Anais decided, examining her profile from the side, by the light of a flickering brazier. “We’ll just leave your stays loose.”
“Riding skirts and doublet, today,” Claire decided. “And when you’re finished here, be certain that Tystie is saddled.” She did not have armor to wear, but she also would not be anywhere near the walls, and intended to stay well outside the range of a bowshot. Still, a part of her would have felt more comfortable with a layer of steel rings to protect her.
She was half dressed, with Anais just starting on the riding doublet, when a call came from outside the tent. “My lady,” Dame Etoile said, ducking her head in through the canvas flap, “there’s a woman here to see you. Lady Enid De Lancey.”
“Daughter of Tor and Jeanette,” Claire remembered. “They hold a valuable quarry for my father at La Colline Isolé. Yes, send her in please, Ettie.” It seemed a lifetime ago that Percy had told Claire of his father’s plan to betroth Enid to Trist, and then there had been the horrible tragedy of what happened to Sir Tor.
The young woman who entered and curtsied was slight, with brown hair and a quiet voice, but Claire remembered her clearly. “Lady Enid,” she said, stepping away from Anais and taking the younger woman’s hands in her own. “It is good to see you well in such troubled times.”
“Lady Clarisant,” Enid said, in a small, tremulous voice. “I had to come to see you, because I’ve seen your husband.”
“Yes, Dame Margaret said you had escaped Cheverny with them,” Claire said. “I heard some of her story last evening, but she told me little about how Trist is actually doing, save that he is alive and-” her thoughts careened to a halt, like a horse brought up short with its rider sawing at the reins. And his eyes, she did not say aloud.
“It was really all of us escaped with him,” Enid said. “I think we would all still be there, the Exarchs included, if he hadn’t got them out of their cages.”
“Please, sit,” Claire said, leading Enid over to the two folding camp chairs, finicky contraptions of wood frame and canvas, that her tent had been appointed with. She didn’t actually know whether she had her brother or the king to thank for these arrangements, and she would have to find out. “Tell me how he is. How he really is,” she asked.
“He was in a lot of pain, at first,” Enid said. “I know it must be hard to hear, but I thought you would want the truth. Baron Maël - Avitus, I suppose - he’s a horror.” The woman shivered. “He ripped Trist’s eyes out with his own fingers, and then just left him hanging in an iron cage. No bandages, not even wine for the pain, not until I brought them.”
“That was kind of you,” Claire said, though she felt sick to her stomach. “And it must have been dangerous. Thank you.”
Enid shook her head, and then burst into tears. “It was my fault,” she admitted. “He spoke up to protect me. Avitus had hit me, said he was going to give me to his men, and so Trist started calling him a coward, and then he…”
“Shush, now,” Claire said, wrapping her arms around the girl’s shaking body. “Of course he did. That’s my husband. He would never stand to see a woman abused like that. You mustn't blame yourself, Enid,” she said. “When you brought him the wine, did he use it to heal himself?”
She nodded, sat up straight, and rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Yes. He was disappointed, though, because it didn’t bring his eyes back, just stopped the bleeding. But he got everyone away in spite of it - he made some sort of hole in the bottom of his cage, and then broke Dame Margaret out. I’m afraid I wasn’t much use from there,” Enid admitted, “But I tried to help him when I could. And we talked a bit, when we took shelter in the cellar of the inn.”
“Did the hole - it was a circle in the air, sparking with fire?” Claire asked, picturing it clearly in her mind.
“Aye,” Enid said. “Just so.”
“He’s learned the trick of the Serpent of Gates, then,” Claire mused. “But he hasn’t come back here yet, even though he could.”
“He was thinking about how to even the odds,” Enid said. “Sent me south with Dame Margaret’s father, to get word to the king, while they attacked the Cathedral of Saint Camiel.”
“Avitus’ abomination,” Claire said, thinking back to what the Exarchs had revealed the evening before, in the king’s pavilion.
“Yes,” Enid said. “They wanted to make sure it couldn’t be used in this battle.”
“Thank you for telling me all of this, Enid,” Claire said, rising. “It fills in a few holes for me, helps me to understand.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Enid said, rising. “Please be careful today.”
“I intend to be well back from the fighting,” Claire assured her.
“I should warn you,” the younger woman said, following close behind as Claire stepped out of the tent into the cold, dark morning air. “One of the daemons - the one that looked like a woman. She took a special interest in Trist, and spoke of coming for you.”
“The Plague Dancer?” Claire asked. Dame Etoile, Henry and Yaél were all waiting with the horses, though the hunter sat his as poorly as ever.
“No,” Enid said. “She was some sort of archer.”
“Do not say the name,” Claire said, reaching up to her saddlebags. She could feel the Marian Codex packed within, just as she’d instructed. “I know which one it must be. The Marquise of Hearts.”
“Please be careful of her, My Lady,” Enid said, and offered another curtsy.
“You may remain here with Anais, if you wish,” Claire offered, “in my tent. But I believe my companions and I must get to the king.”
“Of course. Be safe, Lady Clarisant,” Enid De Lancey said. Henry put his hands together and helped Claire up into her saddle; she’d gotten spoiled by Trist simply lifting her up and down by the hips, she thought. Once she had Tystie’s reins in hand, Claire turned the mare’s head toward the center of the lines, where she knew King Lionel intended to begin the battle.
“I don’t much like the idea of a daemon with a personal interest in you,” Dame Etoile commented, riding beside her on a rounsey.
“You’ll make short work of it with the ice sword,” Yaél stated cheerfully. “We need to come up with a name for that. Magic swords should always have names.”
“Lord Trist’s sword doesn’t have a name,” Henry pointed out.
“That’s only because he won’t let me name it,” the squire grumbled. “I have plenty of ideas.”
“If it comes, we will deal with it,” Claire said, doing her best to project confidence. For the beginning of the battle, at least, she would be near the Exarchs and the king - but the siege of her home had taught her just how chaotic and dangerous war could become.
They made their way through the stirring camp. There weren’t enough braziers to drive off the chill, and the morning cookfires were mostly banked coals. The white circle cresting the horizon over the ocean brought no warmth, and the entire effect was closer to winter than summer.
The soldiers had been up early, filling their bellies with supplies brought from Raetia, and Claire hoped the food they’d returned with would be enough to make the men strong and ready to fight. Now, they were all donning armor and taking up weapons. Soon, the horns would blow to assemble the troops, and then Lionel would give the order for the siege engines to move forward. At Rocher de la Garde, Claire had been on the inside; now she would see what it was like to be on the assault.
King Lionel waited astride a destrier nearly as heavily armored as he was, beneath the banner of the monarchs of Narvonne: a golden lion on a black field. When Claire had first come to Falais, his banners had carried the label of the eldest son along the top, a mark of cadency; now, they were undifferenced, showing all the world that his father was dead, and that only Lionel had the right to display this heraldry.
Around the king, five Exarchs waited for battle - the entirety of the surviving guard that had been defeated at Cheverny only weeks before. Dame Margaret nodded to Claire when she pulled Tystie to a halt, and Sir Bors gave her a grin. Claire’s brother, Gareth, was there, and the king’s squire, Isdern, who immediately walked his gelding over to stand next to Yaél’s horse. Sir Florent was there as well, and half a dozen more knights whose heraldry Claire recognized, but whom she did not know personally.
“Assemble the men,” Lionel commanded, and Sir Bors raised a horn to his lips and blew. Behind them and out to both the right and the left, the army responded. Men sorted themselves into lines, entirely infantry save for messengers and officers. Even most of the knights would fight on foot, here, as their horses were useless in assaulting city walls.
“No parley?” Yaél asked, looking about for a white flag on either side.
“There is no point,” Claire told her. “And nothing to negotiate.”
“With your permission, Your Majesty,” Sir Florrent said, inclining his head, “I will go to oversee the engineers, now.”
“Permission granted,” Lionel told the older knight. “Angelus watch over you and guide you, Sir Florent.” The knight from the west pressed his spurs to the sides of his destrier, and departed.
Clairsant knew the general strategy as well as one of her prayer books: they had all remained in the king’s pavilion until late the night before, debating the best tactics to proceed. She had felt somewhat out of place during the military discussion, but then more at ease when Lionel had needed her to speak on the specific strengths and weaknesses of the daemons they knew were defending the city.
“There they are,” Henry said, raising an arm and pointing to the sky above the walls of the capital city. Claire squinted her eyes, and thought she saw something, but compared to the hunter’s gaze she found herself somewhat lacking.
“What do you see, Henry?” Dame Etoile asked. Though Lionel didn’t say anything - Claire wasn’t certain he even knew the hunter’s name - he turned to hear the answer, as well.
“Two of ‘em, over the walls,” Henry said. “One like a man, but with crow’s wings and horns. Looks like it’s got a sword. The other seems like a woman - black hair and bat wings. She’s got a bow. That the one you were talking about before, m’lady?” he asked Claire.
“It should be.” Claire smiled. “Time to do my part. Loray, the archer,” she intoned, focusing all her being on calling out to the daemon. “You want my husband? You will have to come kill me, first.”
