Lord ravens gambit, p.30
Lord Raven's Gambit, page 30
part #1 of Raven Chronicles Series
“Was.” Selgaard corrected in soft tones and stared at her with gentle sorrow. "Braan, FitzHelm had found a witness that would slander you before the Church for the death of Henry. Daema feared your power...that it was slipping from her control. Only a slight push would be needed for Eltric to say in her ear that you needed judging before such power turned against her. "
“She would not--” Braan could not finish the thought. After the events of the past day, could what Selgaard suggested be such a dream?
“She would.” Selgaard denied her the luxury of forming a lie. “She fears you. Such fear in a monarch is deadly to its source.” With a sigh the heir to the kingdom of Sidan tried once more to reason with the woman he had spent much of his life protecting. "Braan, think you, please, of all the reasons you stated de Aranur would be a good match for Isabeau."
The agitated woman began to pace the chamber shaking her head. "I was wrong."
Selgaard laughed. "No, Braan. The problem was you were all too right. The man you sought for Beau was the man you would have for yourself. I know you, little sister." The tender address, so rarely heard from fear of exposure, drew her tormented eyes to his own. "A man of honor. One who would not beat or harm those in his protection. A man whom you would not fear a dagger in the hand of. One you could see stand at your back with safety. All this you proclaimed him. All the things you admired."
“I was wrong." Braan protested once more. "He cried to all and sundry--”
“What would you have done, Braan?” Selgaard cut her off. "Knowing that a man you respected, honored, was in truth, no man at all but a woman playing a very dangerous part, surrounded by enemies who would see her not only exposed but dead. What would you have done when she stood on the very cusp of disaster?”
Braan opened her mouth to blast an easy answer and found that her honor would not give it voice.
“You have protected others, women, your lifelong, Braan.” Selgaard murmured. "You have placed yourself between them and danger as any honorable, noble man would when faced with protecting the weaker sex. You would have done exactly as Jost de Aranur had your positions been reversed."
Closing her eyes, Braan turned her head away. "I have been a man too long to be a woman easily, Selgaard. I cannot be the weaker sex."
The big man smiled and pulled himself from the wall. "You have never been weak, little sister, and Daema deludes herself does she think calling you such will make you so."
Braan ran a hand through her hair, her words forlorn and sounding almost lost. "What should I do?”
“That you must learn for yourself, Braan." Selgaard headed for the door. "Only you can walk the path that lies before you. Only you can say I will be this and this and not that. Only you can make peace with your husband."
Rubbing her forehead, Braan sighed. "Sel, keep Isabeau well."
“Oh, aye, little sister." Selgaard laughed. "I will indeed."
Irritated at his good humor, Braan’s features darkened slightly. "You deserve each other."
Selgaard burst into the great laugh that had been known to echo on a battlefield to the fear of enemies. "Braan, I could say the same of you and the little man you have married."
Braan debated searching for something to bash his head with but feared nothing in the small room was hard enough.
“Be eased, Braan." Selgaard said in farewell. "I will take the watch of your sister and do it the same honor you have."
“Then I will not fear." Braan answered formally giving over the care of her sister as she bowed to him. "Be well, Sel."
“And you." The big man departed leaving Braan alone with her thoughts once more.
Scarce was she allowed them when the room was entered by four guardsmen requesting that she follow them to her wedding feast.
CHAPTER 23
Braan held her face high as the toasts to Jost, who was seated next to her, were given voice. Ignoring all those directed her own way, most wishing her a fertile marriage bed, she began to plot and scheme as to how she would leave this castle that had for so short a time been her home. If she wished to live, she must retreat to where her guard prevailed and not Daema’s.
Retreat where? Rhiansmere? The ancestral home of the de Cheneys? Except there would soon be no more de Cheneys.
Closing her eyes, Braan recalled the oath sworn to both father and mother at different times that the de Cheney name would not fall from the earth. An oath witnessed and blessed by the Gods. An oath she had failed.
Braan stood and found herself immediately surrounded by guards in Daema’s colors.
“I need the privy!” She snarled as Daema quickly took notice of the action. “I hardly need an army to deliver me there!”
“We will escort her, Your Majesty.” Came a surprisingly familiar voice from the guard at her back.
Braan closed her mouth quickly and schooled all emotion from her face.
With a jerk of her head, the Empress gave permission and turned her attention back to the revelry determined to not draw any more attention to the recalcitrant bride.
Braan held her head high as she was escorted from the hall, deliberately not looking at the guard who paced her. “Such curious colors you wear, Rospeb.” She murmured once the revelry was behind them.
“Not fond of ‘em meself.” Rospeb said in easy reply as he quickened their pace and led her in a direction definitely not toward the privy but right out the doors and into the courtyard. "But it’s all according t’plan, Lady Raven.”
Braan began to smile. “There’s a plan?”
“A masterful one, my Lady. One worthy o’you.” He grinned and they moved beyond the gate, straight to where no less than twenty of her soldiers were mounted on horses.
At the front of them stood her own warhorse, Dancer, saddled and waiting.
Laughing, Rospeb watched as she quickly pulled her sword and dagger from Dancer’s back and donned them. "We leave tonight, Lady Raven. Many more o’your men will follow in the next few days so as to divert most o’the attention from your disappearance. When the search begins, they’ll leave the castle and not return. It’s all been planned."
“My men?” She queried taking up her travel cloak next.
Grinning, a slant of white showing through his bushy red beard, Rospeb nodded. "Aye, your men. Those of us who’ve followed you since Rhiansmere Field. Who stood w’you and mourned the massacre committed against our wounded at Danryu. Who ‘elped you chase that bastard Rakaerd from our ‘ome and who have no desire to follow any other -- man or woman. Your men. Mount, my Lady."
Licking her lips, eyes smarting, Braan mounted. "You and those with you will be exiled from Jandard for this night’s work, Rospeb."
The soldier shrugged. "Getting t’be a boring place since the war ended anyway. We figured we’d hire out as mercenaries in the other kingdoms. With you as our leader, we ain’t gonna lose."
Determination and the first signs of hope filled Braan. "No, Rospeb." She promised. "We aren’t going to lose. Mount up." The order was given and fulfilled. "We ride." She called and kicked her heels hard into the withers of her horse.
Rospeb signaled and someone cut the rope holding the gate open and it crashed thunderously to the ground. Those inside would have a hard time getting horses out to chase after them until the rope was replaced.
By the time Jost and Daema and those at the wedding feast left the hall in response to the noise, the entire group was but dust clouds drifting across the road beyond the gate.
Staring out into the night, Jost sucked in an awed breath at the smoothness of Braan’s escape. Next to him Daema began screaming orders to follow.
She had bought them time, this clever wife of his. Time to regroup and time for Daema’s ire to cool. Time for healing.
He had promised her he would find her, and he was a man who kept his promises.
About the Author
Sometimes introducing herself as Cleopatra, J. T. Howes enjoys mischief and misdirection. She was raised primarily in the Rocky Mountain West but also spent some formative time in Texas.With a predominately Northwestern accent, her Texan drawl often escapes unexpectedly, giving way to…interesting pronunciations.
She retains a seemingly endless amount of random knowledge. It is a rare occasion to leave a conversation with JT Howes without learning something new.
Her world revolves around stories. It could be stories she’s written or read, stories she’s watched, or stories she’s played her way through. Those stories have influenced how she sees the world, and all contribute to how she writes. She is a storyteller, through and through. “I write, therefore I am.”
The story continues in…
LADY RAVEN
Book two of the Raven Chronicles
by JT Howes
Braan’s world has shattered.
Once the queen’s most trusted Commander. Braan chooses self-imposed exile from the country the so-called Butcher of Jandard fought so long to secure and protect.
Regrouping in Cith, In the lands of a sworn blood-brother, the former Baron of Rhiansmere must come to terms, not only with the abrupt change in fortune, but the host of powerful enemies that now see the former Lord Raven as vulnerable.
Where assassins lurk in every corner and former friends come with their own agendas, Braan must carve a new path and use all of the skills war has taught just to survive.
LADY RAVEN
Chapter 1
“They’re attacking my garrison!”
Rospeb slanted his Lady a twisted smile at the incredulous fury that sounded in her voice. The two hid on the fringes of the thick wood, eyes on the fort before them. Parts of it were on fire, other bits hammered by tar soaked and lit foliage launched from the catapult.
“There’s maybe three hundred o’em, Lady.” Rospeb responded, his sharp eyes glancing about. “You’ll have noticed they wear Rakaerd’s colors.”
“They can be buried in them.” Braan snarled, her scarred face twisted in rage “Traitorous bastards.” Turning her head, she considered the lay of the land. “An ill-organized lot as well. I’d never allow my men to sit about during a siege on the enemy.”
“You’d never let a cat do all th’work.” Rospeb answered. “Commander Kriex’ been doin’ a good job holdin’ ‘em off.”
Braan turned her attention to the walls where she could see the slim man directing the soaking of the walls. “Good Commanders never win while on the defensive.”
“We’ve thirty men and limited supplies.” Rospeb moved closer. “How do you want t’toss the runes?”
“Gather any archers of skill at long distances.” Braan ordered. “We’ll whittle them down before trying a head on attack.”
“Should we gi’ Kriex a signal we’re here?” Rospeb questioned.
Braan slanted a dark glare at him. “Why not tell those fools with the cat as well?” She shook her head. “I expect Kriex will learn we are about soon enough. And send what help he can muster from within my garrison.”
“Where d’y’want us to set up the ambush?”
“How many men do we have — and I want good shots, Rospeb. I want kills with every arrow.” Braan moved to the left, her eyes searching the dense undergrowth.
The second nodded his head. “Most o’us are foot soldiers, Lady, but there’s few that ain’t spent a childhood with a bow huntin’ food, where makin’ a kill means a full stomach or starvin’ f’r our families. You’ll have your kills.”
Braan made brief nod of assent, her eyes continuing to scan the scene before her. “Rospeb, the tent, there–” She pointed toward the scarlet erection, set back from the siege line by some distance. “The device––hart in a field, golden ivy laced in the antlers.”
A vile oath spewed from Rospeb’s mouth. “I thought he’d run w’the Pretender!”
“Not far enough.” Braan’s smile took on a sly tint. “I wanted Straveth under my blade nearly as much as I wanted Rakaerd.” She settled back, her eyes looking about the field for the man himself. “It would be well, to finish this before I kicked the dust of Jandard from my feet.”
“Why is he here?” Rospeb questioned pointing out the solitary figure standing near a cooking fire. “Has Rakaerd returned?”
Taking a small loop of leather from her belt, Braan began to tie her hair into a tight club at the base of her neck. “No. I would have heard if he were returning. I’ve feelers throughout half the world. He’d not stir into civilized land without my learning of it, let be Jandard.”
“You had n’such trace on Straveth?” Rospeb questioned, thinking how rare it was for his Lady to be caught off guard.
“I thought I had no need of one.” Braan’s voice held terse self-condemnation. “Straveth was a shadow to Rakaerd. He wagered his lands, title, monies, all of it, on Rakaerd gaining the throne. When Daema took power he lost everything. His family were executed as traitors and his lands given to me.” Braan’s lips curled with derision. “He has nothing here to return to. If this is the extent of his army, then attacking my garrison may be called suicide.” She rose to her feet. “If death is what he wishes for, then I shall be more than happy to accommodate him.”
Rospeb turned to her, his eyes solemn. “This is no longer your problem, Lady.” He pointed out in soft tones. “It would be little matter to circle the garrison and continue on to Cith.”
Braan reached out, entwined her fingers in Rospeb’s travel worn tunic and jerked him close. “That is my garrison. Those are my men. I personally chose Kriex to command Nyrad because I knew I need never fear either atrophy or treason from him. I will not turn my back and leave him to die a slow death under a catapult. Or worse.” She let him go, shoving him away. “Straveth had little care for his own wounded, killing surrendering enemy soldiers would not be past him and any wearing my colors would be joy to torment to death. No more of my men will die under that bloody bastard’s order. I’ll finish this.”
A slight smile crossed the soldier’s lips. This was why he’d followed her from Shaybanye, why they all had. Because she would never turn her back on any man she honored enough to consider ‘hers’.
“I’ll summon your archers, Lady.” He murmured and began to crawl from her side.
Braan slanted a gaze after him, her expression guarded. She should have expected this. Since she’d taken command of her father’s men at the age of sixteen, there had been trials like this of one sort or another as those she demanded the loyalty of tested her worthiness to hold it. With circumstances as changed as they were now...she turned her head back to the siege before her. The men who followed her had given up their home to do so. They had chosen her over families, over hearth and land and were traveling to a foreign place simply on her assertion that they would be welcome and given new homes.
This was a trust she would never fail.
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J T Howes, Lord Raven's Gambit
