"At that point it's fighting in the streets," Brutus continued. "It becomes a matter of numbers and timing. Whoever entrenches first will have the advantage, which should be Tollin and his men—again, assuming he's smart enough to do it."
"This Tollin is young, as I understand," Isaic said. "He's never had to deal with war. He has no advisor"—he glanced at Tavost, who nodded a confirmation—"and we should assume the worst. Include all your tactical suggestions in the note for the bird."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"How many able-bodied men does he have, if he calls up the militia?"
Kai took the question. "Based on what I heard from Lyseira, not many. There were a lot of sick, a lot of starving. Hopefully the food the Kesprey brought has helped the situation some, but they were far gone." Kai spread his hands. "Maybe 500, if they've recovered well. But those are just militia men, not trained soldiers."
"We also left a hundred people who could easily be calling miracles by now." Lyseira entered the room with two other Kesprey behind her—Elthur and Shaviid. "Akir has a voice there. He'll use it."
Isaic looked at her. The room fell silent. Lyseira performed a tight curtsy and offered a belated, "Your Highness."
"Have a seat," the King said. He turned back to Kai and Brutus. "Those sound like workable numbers if things have gone well. What if they haven't?"
"The worst case?" Kai frowned. "They could have no one."
The King hissed through his teeth. "We can't lose Colmon. It would put the Church on our doorstep before the war even starts. Master General, I know we suffered deserters and deaths over the winter. How many men do we have standing ready?"
Brutus met the King's eyes. "487, Your Highness."
The blood drained from Isaic's face. "All told?"
"At last count. We may have lost more in the last days' blizzard. I've ordered a complete tally and report."
"We had 3,000 in the summer. How did I lose five-sixths of my standing force?"
"There were some losses to the cold and sickness. Starvation. But most were desertion. After I have the updated tally my first order will be to punish deserters. Any who left the city surely froze to death, but most of them have to still be here. If we go door to door―"
"We don't have time for that, General! We need to be marching within days—this afternoon, if we can!"
"Yes, Your Highness. It can wait—but the message has to be sent. I expect most of them left because their spirits broke over the winter, but if there's no consequence for desertion, the entire army will crack after their first loss."
"'The entire army'?" Isaic threw back. "What army?"
"Your Highness, if I may." At the King's exasperated nod, Kai continued. "I know desertion has to be punished. But these men likely thought the world was ending. Many are probably still unsure they made the right choice, staying under your banner. I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of them started regretting their choices this morning, when the snow started melting."
"They'll regret their choices when they're executed for desertion," Brutus growled.
"Hunting them down one by one will only ensure we're at each other's throats when Jan's army arrives," Kai shot back. "It's a guaranteed way to lose." He turned to the King. "These are extraordinary times. Perhaps an extraordinary response to this desertion would be . . . smarter."
Isaic chewed on this, glaring into empty space. "Hensel," he finally snapped.
The royal page, standing near the door, straightened. "Your Highness."
"Put a crier on every corner. Any man who missed winter training, in full or in part, will have his absence excused—provided he reports to the barracks by sundown tonight. They are not to use the word 'deserter.' It'll rattle the peasants. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Highness." The page repeated the message, then made for the streets.
"Brutus, I want every man who kept his post through the long winter to be recognized. A unique designation, a small bonus, and first helpings at meals. Anyone who returns by tonight is to have their desertion struck from the record without consequence."
The Master General looked grim, but he nodded.
"Your Highness," said a new page from the door.
"Yes, what is it?"
"The, ah—the witches are here."
"The chanters," Isaic ordered. "Chanters."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Send them in."
Harth entered with a quiet man Kai didn't recognize, with a heavy shelf of a brow that made him look simple. Ben came in with Takra and Angbar.
"Give me an updated report on the army's numbers by two hours after sundown," the King said, turning back to Brutus, "along with a plan for setting north tomorrow morning. Tollin said there were a thousand soldiers staged in Jacobsford. I want to match that, if we can."
"Understood."
"I know it's early yet, but what of the banners? The Goladrics? The Old Kingdom's houses?"
It was a desperate question, Kai knew. Most of the banners who had announced before the winter had sworn to Jan, and even if the King called his banners today, it would take weeks for the support to arrive.
Jasom Therrigan, Isaic's chief diplomat, answered. "Ornbridge hasn't changed its position since it declared neutrality. The Goladrics understand they'd be safest, geographically, if they declare for you. They made overtures that way before the snow fell. With the roads clearing I'll prepare a delegation at once."
"Send them grain," Isaic said.
"Your Highness, if I could."
Impatiently, Isaic said, "Yes, Davit, what is it?"
The new commander of the Blackboots rose to address the King. "If you're looking for men, I could order the Blackboots―"
Isaic waved him off. "No. We have to keep order in the city. And the Blackboots are our last line of defense if there's a direct attack we didn't see coming."
He turned to the newcomers. "Harth. Ben. I need every chanter who knows a war spell to be ready to move out with the army tomorrow morning."
Harth nodded. "Of course."
Ben held up a hand. "Your Highness, some of those chanters are just children."
"You've been teaching children war spells?"
"It's . . . not so they can use them. It's foundational. There are certain syllables that only―"
Isaic cut him off. "Fine. Use your judgment. I don't want little ones on the battlefield, but we need every chanter you can spare, Elderman. Leave a small number in Keswick for defense—the rest must go north, including your best. You five, at minimum."
Again, Harth nodded while Ben spoke. "We need to leave a teacher in Keswick," he said, "for new blood fever cases and to help the current students. Chanting is dangerous—without a good tutor on hand, sometimes new students―"
"Elderman!" Isaic snapped. "We are going to war! We need every advantage we have. We don't have the men. We don't have the banners. We have you"—he pointed at the chanters—"and we have you." Lyseira.
"The Arwah stand ready, Your Highness," Harth said.
"Good. That leads me to the other item we need to discuss." Isaic took a steadying breath. "The seventh wardbook. I want it found immediately."
The chanters exchanged surprised glances.
Brutus glowered. "Your Highness, are you sure this is the right time―"
"We would all be dead under the snow if I hadn't had that book," Isaic said. "I want the next one in hand—in my hand, not the Fatherlord's. This is not an advantage we can cede." Then, again to the chanters: "Assemble a team with one member from each school. Melakai, you did well on the search for the fifth wardbook. I'm also assigning you."
Melakai started, but knew better than to challenge Isaic's command. He nodded.
"Let me know what funding you need. Finding the sixth book was a fluke—I don't imagine we'll be so lucky twice. I want your team prepared to begin the search by the day after tomorrow."
Harth ventured a word. "Your Highness . . . we need to send our best to look for the ward
book. And we can't send them to two places at once."
"I understand. The search takes priority—but only one from each school, no more. Colmon requires everyone else you can spare."
Brutus tried again. "Perhaps we could delay the search just until Colmon is secure?"
"No. We're descending into war. Colmon is the beginning, not the end—if we accept a delay now more will follow, and I refuse to lose sight of this." He turned to Lyseira. "How many Kes―?"
A crash and clatter in the hallway. Kai tore Lar'atul's sword loose and stepped in front of the King as Cort and the other Crownwardens moved to the door. "A hawk!" a servant shouted. "Hawk in the basement!"
The bird careened past the guards and into the corner of the room. Kai sheathed his sword, scowling. "Akir's sake, Cort, grab the thing."
But as Cort started to the corner, the hawk was suddenly a man. Mad-eyed, with a shock of wild beard and hair like a jumble of debris.
Lyseira and Angbar shot to their feet. "Iggy?" They ran to their friend, took his shoulders.
"Iggy!"
"Are you well?"
"What is it?"
Iggy ignored them. He locked his eyes on the King. "They're gonna bring Her back," he rasped, fighting for breath. "Revenia—the Raving Witch. They have Her body.
"They're gonna bring Her back."
23
i. Melakai
"What are you talking about?" Isaic demanded. "Who's coming back?"
"Revenia," Iggy said. "The witch who—the one this was all about. They found Her body in a ruined tower in the Tairen Sea. I tried to stop them."
"Iggy, slow down," Lyseira urged. "Who found her body?"
"The Fatherlord," Iggy said, "and the Mal'shedaal."
Kai knew that word. Didn't he? He searched his memory, trying to figure out where he'd heard it, and came up blank.
"Iggy," Lyseira said. "Start at the beginning."
So he did. He told them about a dark presence he had sensed in the Shientel Valley; how he had pursued it through the Tears and it had nearly killed him; his visit to Ordlan Green and the stag's insistence that he follow it further yet. Ultimately he told them about the days he had spent in the crystal tower as a pigeon or a rat, scurrying from room to room to overhear as much as he could.
"I don't know First Tongue perfectly, but I heard enough to pick up on the plan. There's some altar they found. They can use it to resurrect Her. They had it planned since before the Sealing. It was . . . they've been planning it."
"The Fatherlord?" Isaic snapped. "How could he be involved? I thought you lot told me the Sealing happened thousands of years ago."
"It did," Iggy said, "but the Fatherlord's changed. They call him Baltazar in private. I don't . . . he's a different person, somehow."
"Mercy," Lyseira breathed. "Baltazar Godson?"
Angbar looked at Lyseira and stammered. "Has the Fatherlord always been . . . ?"
"It doesn't matter! God, are you listening to me? They have Her bones! The Raving Witch! The one that started all of this, the one who made the Waste! She's dead, that part of the plan worked, but they have a way to resurrect Her—they were always planning to resurrect Her!"
"Kirith a'jhul." Angbar looked sick. "Oh, sehk." He stumbled into a chair.
"Resurrection?" Isaic scoffed. "No, that's impossible. Even the Fatherlord can't raise the dead. They were tricking you."
Iggy narrowed his eyes. "They didn't know I was there. If they had, they would have killed me. And they went all the way to the fallen tower for Her remains—why would they do that, if they couldn't follow through?"
"Your Highness, if I may." Elthur stood. Isaic waved him on. "There is a stone set in the floor at the heart of Sanctaria's chapel, said to be cut from the same bedrock of Sanctaria at the time of the temple's construction. Its powers are real and tested. Any cleric who stands upon it has their capacity for miracleworking multiplied.
"The Foundation Altar is a legend. It's never been found. But the stories say it was also cut from Sanctaria's bedrock. If it's real, its powers would dwarf those of the Foundation Stone in the chapel. Whether you act today or a year from now, I would recommend you destroy it if you can. The Fatherlord is powerful enough with the tools he already has. I am loath to lend him more."
"You ignore this," Iggy summarized, "and everyone dies. You have no idea who She was. You should have heard the way they talk about Her. They practically worship Her—the Fatherlord is terrified of Her. And we're actually still sitting here? She could wipe us from the earth with a word!"
He sounded like a madman, a stark contrast to Elthur's careful support a moment earlier. That's not going to help convince him, Kai thought, glancing at the King.
"We'll stop them, Iggy," Lyseira said. "This altar—was it in Sanctaria?"
"Thirteenth floor," Iggy said.
"How much time do we have?"
"I don't know—and I've seen the Mal'shedaal fly, too. They're not as fast as I am, and they have the Fatherlord to deal with. They need him—they can't do it themselves."
"If we left now, do you think we could catch them on the road?"
"Maybe." Iggy shook his head, eyes pinched. Angbar had never seen such naked horror on his friend's face. "But the Mal'shedaal . . . you don't understand. You can't kill them. And they have powers . . . they don't chant, but they can work spells with their swords."
That caught Kai's attention. Tei'shaar. The word flickered like an omen.
"I've never seen anything like it," Iggy went on. "You can't stop them."
Lyseira glanced at Shaviid and Elthur. "Then we beat them to the temple. If we can't take the remains, we'll destroy the altar before they reach it." Iggy nodded, resolved. "A sledgehammer ought to do the job. Shaviid, take―"
"Halt!" the King shouted. The room fell silent. When he had every eye, he said, "This changes nothing."
Iggy's jaw sagged; his eyes burned as if he'd just been stabbed.
"We still must go through Colmon to reach Tal'aden. And if we don't secure it behind us, any force we send will die on the road. Keswick will fall not long after." He scoffed again. "Even if I had no doubts about what you're saying, there's nothing I can do. I don't have the men."
"You don't have a spy there?" Iggy pressed. "Someone you can get word to? Someone who could act before the Fatherlord gets back?"
The King glowered. "I'm not about to share my intelligence operations with you. But even if I did, this altar you're talking about has to be heavily guarded. It would take more than a spy or two to reach it, and a lot of time to destroy it. It's a risk I'm not willing to take."
He pointed at the map of Colmon. "Lyseira, Harth, Ben—I need you at Colmon. I need names from you for the wardbook search. Those two tasks will stretch your groups to the breaking point."
"No." Lyseira set her jaw and faced the King. "We can't ignore this."
The King drew up, affronted. "You will not stand in my congress chamber and tell me what we can ignore."
"M'sai," Lyseira snapped. "Then I won't stand in your congress chamber at all." She made for the door. Shaviid and Iggy went with her.
Elthur took her arm. "Sister," he said. "Please."
"No." Lyseira yanked her arm away. "The Fatherlord's in league with an ancient witch, the one who made the Waste. I won't ignore it, no matter the cost. The Kesprey will not ignore it."
Sehk, Kai thought. It was exactly what the King had feared: open mutiny. And the sun hadn't even been up for a full day yet. All right, son, he thought as he watched the King. Carefully, now.
"No army could reach Tal'aden," the King finally repeated coldly, "even if I had one to send."
"Then don't send an army," Lyseira said. "Chanters can Vanish. I've seen it with my own eyes. The Fatherlord can't defend against what he can't even see.
"You already have two teams working. We can make a third, and leave tonight—now, if we can."
A suicide mission, Kai thought. A small group like that, going in to the crystal tow
er? They'll never come back out.
Gears turned behind the King's eyes, some sudden concession to pragmatism. "M'sai," he said. "But not you." He turned to Harth. "And not you. I need you both at Colmon. Find someone else."
"I'll go," Elthur said. He looked from Lyseira to the King. "I served in the crystal tower for a year, when I was young. I know my way around it."
"Done," the King said. "Ben, Harth—do either of you have someone who can Vanish?"
"It's a complex spell," Harth answered. "It'll need to be one of the advanced students."
"It's only fourth-Seal," Harth's companion answered. "I've looked at it."
Harth looked at him. "Do you know it?"
The other man nodded.
"It'll be dangerous, Torthan. Are you sure?"
Torthan set his jaw. "I can handle it."
"I'm going too," Iggy said. "If it's possible to avoid the Mal'shedaal, I can help the group do that."
"That'll be your group, then," the King said curtly. "But I want one of mine leading them. Cort, that'll be you." The young man's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Get your supplies together. Keep it to a single wagon, if you can. If you need something, speak to Logan."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Your Highness," Melakai said.
Isaic scowled at the newest interruption. "What?"
"With all respect to Cort, this will be a dangerous mission. If that group's going to have any chance of coming out again, you should be sending me, not him."
"I want you after the wardbook."
"I understand, but Cort could handle that as well as I could. We should be switched."
"Captain . . ." the King said in warning, but Kai kept his eyes. Isaic saw the plea there.
"Fine," he said. "Captain Thorn will lead the team to Tal'aden. Cort, you're with the group seeking the wardbook."
Cort threw a glare at Melakai. "Your Highness, I can handle―"
"Good!" the King barked. "Then handle it!" He turned back to the room. "You all have your orders. I want your assignments and reports as soon as they're made." He threw a hand to the door. "Now go."
Of Dark Things Waking (The Redemption Chronicle Book 3) Page 41