The Fell Sword by Miles Cameron Page A

display to keep the Earl – and every other man in the first three rows of tables – looking, and then she crooked a finger at the stranger, a handsome man, middle-aged, in a plain red jupon and high black boots.
    ‘What news of the southlands, messire?’ asked the Earl. He was interested to see his son had access to a royal messenger. The boy must be in high favour.
    The man bowed. ‘I was fifteen days through the mountains, my lord Earl. Have you had word of the fighting in the south?’
    The Earl nodded. ‘Ten days ago I had another messenger, but well ere that the Abbess sent me from Lissen Carrak. I know that a strong force of Sossag passed the Wall well to the west – beyond my patrols, I fear.’
    ‘Ser Gavin sent me from the Ings of the Dorring to tell you that news, and to tell you that the sorcerer Thorn was driven from the field at Lissen Carrak. Ser Gavin thinks he retreated to the north. Several of his friends – who have the fey – felt the same.’
    ‘Thorn?’ asked the Earl.
    ‘Shush, naming calls,’ said the lady, suddenly all business. ‘I’ll look for him later. He was once Richard Plangere. Back when we were billing and cooing.’
    Her husband raised an eyebrow – they’d gone well beyond billing and cooing in their first fifteen minutes alone together, some twenty years before.
    ‘It’s an expression,’ she said.
    The messenger looked as if he was trying to vanish into the flagstone floor.
    ‘How is my son?’ she asked.
    ‘He does nobly!’ said the messenger. ‘He won much renown in the battle. He was wounded in the great battle on the fells, and then again fighting boggles beneath the castle.’
    ‘Ah? And how was he wounded?’ she asked mildly.
    ‘He took a great wound, but the Magister Harmodius—’
    ‘The faker. Posturer. Yes?’ the lady’s eyes seemed to glow.
    ‘Lord Harmodius healed him – although there were, er, complications.’ The messenger held out a scroll tube.
    ‘Old charlatan. And how fares my dear friend the Abbess of Lissen?’ she asked. She leaned forward and her gown fell open a little.
    The messenger licked his lips and raised his eyes to hers. ‘She died. In the fighting.’
    ‘Sophia is dead?’ Ghause asked. She leaned back, and looked at the ceiling, thirty feet above her. ‘Well, well. That is news.’
    The Earl took the scroll. He opened it, read a few words, and slammed the bone scroll tube into the arm of his throne so hard it smashed. ‘Son of a bitch ,’ he swore. ‘Gabriel is alive.’
    Ghause froze. All the colour left her face, and her hand flew to her throat. ‘What?’ she asked.
    He picked up the scroll. His face was as red as beet.
    Pater and Mater,
    I must start by saying that Gabriel is alive, and I am with him.
    If you have heard of the mercenary captain they call ‘The Red Knight’, well, that is Gabriel. He won the fight men now call ‘The Fells’, and he held Lissen Carrak against the devil himself. I was there.
    I have left the court. It is not for me – or perhaps I liked it too well. And I have plighted my troth to the Lady Mary – yes, Pater, that’s Count Gareth’s daughter. I have joined Gabriel. Our company – we have a goodly company, more than one hundred lances—
    The Earl looked up. ‘Gabriel? My lackwit minstrel son is leading a company of lances? What sorcery is this? That ponce couldn’t have led a company of maids to pick flowers.’
    He met her icy stare. ‘You always were a fool,’ she said.
    — into Morea, to aid the Emperor in his warres. I have entrusted this messenger with certain news concerning the great Enemy we vanquished at Lissen, because we are sore affeard that said Magister Traitor may attempt to recoup his fortunes north of the wall.
    Gabriel has entrusted me with certain informationes which I now believe, but I will hold my peace until I have heard from Mater and from you as to how we came to be a family divided so deep. For the nonce, I ride by my brother, and we have