Una sent a letter by courier informing her brother she would be returning to Dregrove, stopping over in Wargsdale instead of Fywold so as to avoid trouble with the Fys. A fortnight later, she received Madrot’s reply and set off with her retinue of six sworn guards. They reached Wargsdale on the third eve of their journey. Road worn and wary, they retired in the wayhouse run by loyal friends who had readied their lodging for their arrival by another of Una’s letters.
A modest board of pottage, thick with barley, a brace of rabbit, and a dark port drawn fresh was prepared. As they ate, talk turned to Azarius, as all talk now did. The prophecy of the archon-light had spread through the countryside like a cloud of pollen carried on the wind, settling thick upon every mind. Each brief summer night, men and women alike lifted their gaze unto the heavens, though Luna had not yet to wax full.
When the feast was consumed, the plates cleared away, and the cauldron hung cold, the talk turned toward doom.
“What shall we do when they come?” asked the wayhouse dame as she filled their cups.
Una raised her voice to answer, but then caught herself, softening her tone.
“Trust thy rex. The Norland host shall thwart their plans.”
“Yet Fy’s men will not march, so it is said,” the dame replied. “And without them, the host will lack the needed might.”
“Fy’s men will march,” Una assured her. “They will soon see there is no other way.”
“I fear their lords will spy the towns left bare by the muster, and seize them while the men are gone.”
“If that be their design,” Una answered, “then I trust the thegns and peasants will rise against them.”
“I worry they will not rise up out of their own fears.”
“There is no profit in fears and worries,” Una answered. If ruin comes, worry only hastens its bite. Live in thy hopes, not in thy dread.”
A brief silence followed, and Una’s guard standing nearest murmured an old road-verse, half-remembered:
When darkness brings the howls to ear,
Yield not thy mind to dogs of fear.
Then there came loud pounding on the door, and the dame set her pitcher aside to answer it.
“Who comes at this hour?” she called. “We have no more rooms.”
“We come not for rooms,” came the answer, “but for your guest. We know Una Blodwin is there. Send her forth or we shall batter this door in.”
“It is Kaldwin Fy,” Una said calmly. Rising not from her seat, she lifted her voice. “Thou art still a fool, Kaldwin— louder now, but none wiser.”
“Who is the greater fool,” he called back. “The fox, or the rabbit in a snare? There is no escape for you. The house is ringed. Thy guards have fled in fear.”
“I shall have a moment, then,” Una replied. “Let me finish my cup, that I may meet my fate with steadiness.”
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“Drink, then,” came the voice.
Una remained seated, gesturing for the dame to refill her cup. Her two remaining guards stood fast— one by the door, one at her side, blades bared.
“Sheath your swords,” Una said with lowered voice. “There will be no needless bloodshed.”
They gazed at her in disbelief as she calmly drank from her cup. When it was at last drained, a sudden tumult rose without— footfalls, shouts, the thunder of hooves. The wayhouse dame clutched her apron. The guards leaned toward the sounds.
Then silence.
And another knock upon the door.
“Who knocks?” Una asks.
“It is I.”
“Open it,” Una ordered.
The dame lifted the bar. The door flew wide and a man flung through it, landing in the middle of the floor. He raised his gaze, terror filling it up. It was Kaldwin Fy.
Following him strode another.
“Well done, brother,” Una said.
“Madrot!” cried the guard nearest to her. “By The One, our fortune turns.”
“Look up,” Una said.
Kaldwin obeyed, shaking, near to tears.
“Thou art a thrall to thy own oxwit dullness,” she went on. “Thou mistookest words for cunning, and haste for strength. It is ever the way of thy house.”
“Mercy,” Kaldwin begged.
“Go ahead, weep. Weep knowing that mercy lies on the narrow ledge of my whim.”
Kaldwin broke, sobbing openly.
“Beg me for mercy,” she urged.
“Please... I beg.”
Una let him grovel on the floor until she had achieved the fullness of utter disgust.
“Were thy worth no greater than thy wit,” she continued, “I would have my brother brain you, thinking no more of it than if he was wiping the dung from his soles.”
Kaldwin nodded, hands covering his eyes.
“Stand up, you breast fed half man.” Kaldwin labored onto his feet. Una turned to her guards. “Bind him and set him to horse. Madrot will deliver him to Gruen at once.” Then to the dame she turned. “Fill my cup.”
“My Lady,” the dame said, trembling as she poured. “I swear I betrayed thee not.”
Una searched her face and found no guile.
“I know it. Kaldwin was intercepting couriers and reading the letters they carried. I laid the bait within our words to you.”
The house had grown still. Outside, the horses stamped and snorted as Kaldwin was bound and set to saddle. His conspirators were set to kneeling, disarmed and disrobed. Una and Madrot lingered.
“Will Korbin muster to save his son?” Madrot asked.
“I fear it must,” Una answered.
“Will it buy me Fia’s favor?”
“No,” Una answered. “No much, anyway.”
Madrot’s jaw tightened, though he had expected it.
“I will never find her forgiveness.”
“No,” Una replied, “but delivering Kaldwin may buy thee Cerenid’s.”
A shout rose; the horses were ready.
Una went on. “Fia knows only what was taken from her, not the brother who took it. Thou wert a stranger to her before Briganta. Thou art a monster to her now.”
Madrot’s stare hardened.
“There is no place for me in Gruen.”
“No,” Una answered flatly. But then her voice lifted. “Yet thy place is not within gilded halls. Thy place is at the head of Dregrove’s men, marching to war at the side of thy rex.”
Una gazed long into her brother’s eyes, finding the honor there that she had always known. She climbed into her saddle, her guards gathered near, and glanced once more before setting off Dregrove.
“Fare thee well, brother.”
“Goodbye, sister.”
