Lora of Two Worlds

From Windsor Yvain, they learned: Stoneford held twenty thousand. Fresh supplies had arrived. Even if twenty thousand men surrounded the city with trenches, it would take a month before starvation forced surrender.

So the suppression warrant had called for lifting the siege of Deepford and destroying the rebel forces there.

The Redmane and Leon’s group both wanted the same: a clever strike, not a brute-force siege.

Windsor Yvain hadn’t convinced his father before. But the situation had changed. Yorvik, supposed to revolt alongside Greyhollow March, was now fighting for the crown. He had hope that his father would pull back, confess, and perhaps save his my older brother’s life.

Summer. Stoneford was sweltering. The closer they came, the less wind. Walking felt like arguing with the road itself.

”General Conrad, all four gates are closed. Locals say the gates open one hour a day: women and children may leave, none may enter. Grain may enter, none may leave.” A scout returned.

Windsor Yvain said: ”I’ll go to the south gate and call up. We’ll know soon. If I can see my father, I’ll urge him to withdraw and submit.”

He left with Lothair and two guards.

”Yuankui wants to keep his medicine, he won’t turn on us easily. But the duke may not listen. Lyle, Corin, be ready to pull him out.” Roland glanced at Lora, smiling:

”Sister, are you sure he’ll recover? Tell me clearly, so I know whether to hide you.”

”His condition is blood deficiency. A few doses of blood-tonic medicine from any apothecary will do. The corpse-swoon came from extreme mental tension, then shock from your threats. When I said he needed my ’divine medicine’ to recover, I was lying.”

Time and space, rewoven. She couldn’t be sure of Yuankui’s fate this time. She wouldn’t be careless.

Lyle and Corin rode slowly, closing on Windsor Yvain’s position.

”General Zachary, don’t shoot! It’s Windsor Yvain!”

”Second lord? General Lothair?” General Zachary on the wall showed no joy. If the second lord was being brought back under guard, it meant the western defenses at Eastmarch and White Horse Gate had both fallen.

The Duke of Greyhollow March drew the same conclusion.

He’d received word: Yorvik, Weybrook, and Yarrowvale had all marched. Now Eastmarch’s Redmane had joined. North, south, east, west, the domains that had sworn ”mutual support” had quietly boxed him in.

He swept the soup bowl off his table, cursing:

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”Dead dog! Agreed to revolt together! I gave him cartloads of grain, and he runs off! I’ve cut off his trade routes in Greyhollow March!”

General Kendrick Wyman said: ”That’s later. My lord, go see the second lord. See how to bring him back.”

The duke rose. But Windsor Yvain’s wife rushed from the inner hall, kneeling before her father-in-law:

”Lord, save your son! He’s been unwell. You sent him to guard the western pass. Now he’s been captured. Don’t abandon him!”

The duke’s face was stone: ”He lost a battle. You want me to welcome him with drums?”

”Father!” His daughter-in-law’s voice hardened: ”You always favor his my older brother.

The my older brother bullies Yuankui, you pretend not to see. I’ve heard, the my older brother is surrounded by several armies. Whether he comes back alive is anyone’s guess. Why are you so harsh with your second son?”

”Insolent! Is that for you to say?” The duke strode from the hall.

Kendrick Wyman glanced at the wife. Wanted to comfort her, closed his mouth. Followed the duke on horseback to the gate.

He knew what she’d said. The second lord held the title of Right Marshal, but real power lay with the duke and his eldest son.

The duke ruled by thunder and by favors. The balance held. But now, with the crown’s armies closing in, someone had to take the blame. Who?

”Kendrick Wyman, send men to Deepford. Order Yvain to withdraw and submit.” The duke, dismounting, gave the order.

”Yes!”

He whispered to his guards, then followed the duke up the gate tower.

The duke looked out. Eastmarch’s army, ten thousand: So, old man, you open your horse market and I helped you, and now you march on me?

”Lothair! You have the nerve to come back? You lost my impregnable White Horse Gate, why don’t you fall on your sword and apologize to the people of Stoneford?”

Lothair had known the duke wouldn’t spare him. He laughed, a long, bitter laugh:

”I failed the people of Stoneford. But we were at peace. Why this war? What did the people of Greyhollow March and Yarrow-Deep do wrong? What did the soldiers do wrong?”

He drew his sword. One stroke across his throat. He fell. Dead.

Corin and the others couldn’t stop him. Neither could Lothair’s own guards. Too fast.

Lothair had commanded the south gate before White Horse Gate. The old soldiers on the wall, men who’d served under him, saw their general’s blood spill below. Silence. Then, muffled weeping.

Windsor Yvain, witnessing Lothair’s suicide, steeled himself:

”Father, I failed to hold the western pass. My fault. But look, every neighboring domain has answered the crown. We can’t reclaim Yarrow-Deep. Better to submit now, before the mistake grows ”

The duke’s fury was beyond words: You brought the enemy to besiege Stoneford. That’s your fault.

He reached out to a guard. The guard froze. The duke turned and snarled: ”Donkey! A bow! Let me show you what a traitor gets!”

He took the bow. Nocked. Drew. Aimed at his second son below: ”That’s right, Windsor Titus, killing his own son for the crown.”

An arrow flew from the wall, straight at Windsor Yvain.

Corin had been waiting. His arm flicked, a flash of silver. Two arrows collided in midair. Both spinning away, spent.

”Mount!”

Lyle hauled Yuankui onto his horse. Two guards carried Lothair’s body. They rode for the Redmane lines.

Windsor Yvain sat frozen. He hadn’t believed his father would try to kill him.

Even the commotion on the wall behind him, he didn’t notice.

Dismounting, he faced Roland and Leon, hollow-eyed: ”My father... my father...”

”Common enough in the marcher domains. Sons kill fathers. Soldiers kill generals. Look behind you, the gate is opening. Who’s coming?”

Leon, facing the wall, had seen clearly: the moment the duke loosed his arrow, the guards on the wall had erupted.

Windsor Yvain turned. The gate was opening. Two men came out. He recognized one, General Kendrick Wyman. They were running toward him:

”Second lord, the old duke has died of sudden illness. We support you as the new marcher duke of Greyhollow March!”