Oh no.
“The medicine? The food?”
“All the medicine and most of the food. They set the damn boat afire, too! We’re tryin’ to save what’s left of the grain. Our mages got a shield protecting it, but we gotta stop the fire from spreadin’.”
Kezra dared look for herself. The Healers’ pavilion lay in ruins, engulfed in smoke and flames. Soldiers were tossing water onto the charred exterior, but Kezra knew the contents inside were utterly destroyed. The army’s medicine. Their food. The fodder for their beasts. All of it, gone. They were stranded in the middle of the desert with nothing.
She should have cared, but in the moment, a single, terrible reality had pushed all other worries aside. Nawaz. She’d seen him go down. He could be dead.
Her eyes wildly scanned the ruined camp. So many colors surrounded her: orange flames blanketing drab brown tents, thick black smoke rising into the night sky, scattered embers glowing red beneath unmoving bodies—but not a trace of blue. She couldn’t see his blue jerkin anywhere.
Tears stung Kezra’s eyes as hope faded. Where was he? Where was Nawaz?
Gib wandered in the direction of the command tent. Koal probably had no need for him—the seneschal would likely dismiss Gib with a terse word and flick of the hand—but it was the only excuse Gib’s mind, muddled as it was, had been able to conjure.
Kezra meant well, he knew, but he just couldn’t face her right now—not when his grief was still so fresh. He also knew she and the others were there for him, that all he needed to do was ask and they’d willingly embrace Gib’s burdens as though his troubles were theirs too. He loved and appreciated the support, but sometimes, like now, he just wanted to wallow in his misery. Alone.
Liza’s death was still a constant ache, like an open wound that refused to mend itself. Three sennights had come and gone, and still the pain hadn’t lessened. Gib wondered if perhaps it never would. Would her death, like their father’s, haunt him forever?
Gib nodded absently at the two guardsmen standing at attention near the command post. Originally members of King Rishi’s Royal Guard, these men knew Gib and weren’t prone to heckling him. The same couldn’t be said for some of the dogs Morathi had appointed to “protect” Deegan. Gib could barely contain the urge to roll his eyes at the thought.
“Evening, Gibben,” one of the guardsmen called out. He waved a gloved hand in greeting. The ornate embroidery stitched into the golden fabric glimmered with each movement. Tay would have appreciated such fine tailoring.
Gib’s heart bled anew. Why must everything remind him of Liza’s death? He still hadn’t written to Tayver and Calisto, and now that the army had crossed into enemy territory, there wouldn’t be an opportunity. He would have to tell the boys about Liza’s fate in person, when—and if—Gib returned to Silver.
Daya, give me strength on that day.
He knew it was his responsibility, but for the love of The Two, he didn’t want to be the one to have to break their hearts.
“Is Seneschal Koal here?” Gib asked.
“Aye. In council with the general, last we were informed.”
Gib thanked him and kept walking—meandering, really. If anyone happened to be watching, they’d surely conclude he’d lost his way. The pointed apex of the command tent towered ahead, a dark blot against the eventide sky. Too close. He would arrive sooner than he wanted.
I should have walked the camp perimeter a few times before coming here. Maybe it would have given me time to get my head on straight. Chhaya’s bane, how am I ever going to fight in this state of mind?
His hand slipped to Oathbinder’s shagreen hilt, fastened to his belt. He carried the sword with him always, for protection and because it was a constant reminder of his vow—that he would put aside his fears, his doubts, and his grief—to defend Arden.
Truth be told, he needed the reminder. Desperately, at times. Some days, the vow was the only thing that held his mind intact. Sorrow and doubt occupied so much space in his heart it had become easy to forget what he was even supposed to be fighting for.
“Gib? What are you doing back here?”
Gib blinked and tore his eyes away from his boots. Joel’s voice, despite its delicacy, still managed to startle him.
Joel sat upon an overturned bucket just outside the reach of the campfire’s dancing flames. Prince Deegan and Tular lounged close by, and all three men were patching various bits of armor that had fallen into disrepair.
Gib shuffled closer. “Hi. Uh, is Koal here?”
“He’s inside. With Morathi.” Joel’s serene expression faltered as he gestured toward the tent. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“N–no. Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to check in with him before I settled down for the night.”
“Oh.” A bit of the tension left Joel’s shoulders. “Well, you’d best wait out here then. You know how Morathi is. He doesn’t like the underlings around while he’s discussing strategy.”
Gib curled his nose and caught Tular doing the same. Quite frankly, Gib didn’t care what Morathi did or didn’t like. But waiting outside was certainly a better option than having to stand tight-lipped, listening to the general’s filth. Gib wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach Morathi. His presence alone made Gib’s skin crawl.
And when he opens his mouth and spews hatred—Daya, how does Koal not go mad?
Joel retrieved a second pail and plopped it down beside his own. “Here. Sit.”
“You can help us patch armor.” Deegan snickered.
“Is that a suggestion or a command, Highness?” Gib asked, bowing to the prince.
Deegan made a face. “Stop. You don’t have to do that here.” He tapped the place where his circlet usually lay atop his dark hair. “See? No crown. Uncle Koal insisted I take it off, to keep the enemy guessing. No crown means I’m off duty.”
Gib snorted as he took a seat. “I don’t think it works that way. Crown or no, you’re still our prince.”
Deegan’s cheeks puckered when he smirked. “You’re probably right. Father hated wearing his crown, but taking it off never seemed to help him get a moment’s rest either. Hasain once told me that when Father first became king, he was summoned so frequently to the council chamber that he resorted to sleeping in his formalwear.”
Gib shook his head slowly. “I imagine that couldn’t be very comfortable.”
“More comfortable than sleeping in armor,” Tular muttered, his nimble fingers making quick work of a needle as he pieced a torn brigandine back together.
“That I would agree with.” Gib laughed.
How anyone could possibly grow accustomed to eating, sleeping, and essentially living in armor while trekking through the desert was beyond Gib’s comprehension. The leather and mail cuirasses worn by Arden’s soldiers were miserably hot, and the linen undergarments beneath only made the heat even more intolerable. The only relief from the blasted armor came when it was time to bathe, and even then, they were rushed along before the moment could truly be enjoyed. It was just too dangerous to be caught defenseless. A soldier without his armor was likely a dead soldier.
“And then we have our precious little mages over there,” Tular continued, nodding in Joel’s direction. “Complaining about the heat in their flowy, silken robes. Ha! Spare me your woes.”
Joel narrowed his eyes at the red-headed lord. “I don’t recall voicing a complaint. At least not aloud.”
“Maybe not you. But Hasain does. I swear to The Two, the next time he starts whining, I’m gonna knock his teeth down the back of his throat.”
Deegan kept his eyes on his busied hands but didn’t bother containing his laughter. “I mean, this is Hasain we’re talking about. Would you really expect anything less from our brother?”
“No, I guess not.”
Gib’s eyes explored the clearing. “Speaking of Hasain, where is he?”
Again, Deegan chuckled. “He wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea of mending armor with us, so Un
cle Koal sent him to fetch water.”
“Alone? Are you—are you sure that’s a good idea, given how—how many—uh—”
“Given how many people want my family dead?” Deegan said what everyone else was already thinking. “No, it’s probably not a good idea, but if we’re unsafe in the middle of the Ardenian army, then I suppose it’s only a matter of time before Hasain and I both meet our doom.”
Joel’s hand shot up to cover a horrified grimace. “Deegan! Don’t say such things! You’re safe. Hasain’s safe. Nothing is going to happen to either of you.”
The prince merely shrugged and went back to his work, looking entirely crestfallen. He said nothing more, so no one else around the campfire did either.
Gib winced. He hadn’t meant to put everyone in a bad mood.
Nice going, imbecile. Way to drag everyone else down into misery with you.
Joel touched Gib’s shoulder then, startling him. He glanced up with guilty eyes, expecting to be scolded. Instead, Joel sighed heavily and asked, “How have you been? I feel like it’s been forever since we last spoke.”
Gib shifted in his seat. “What do you mean? We rode side by side just this morning.”
“You know what I mean.” The sharp edge to Joel’s voice made Gib flinch, but a moment later, the mage’s expression had already softened. “We haven’t had a real talk since Perth. Things haven’t been easy for any of us, most of all you. How are you holding up? Have you written to Tayver and Calisto?”
If anyone else had asked, Gib would have gotten defensive, even angry. But this was Joel, and the rules could always bend for him.
“I couldn’t,” Gib blurted out. A wave of untamable emotion washed over him, eroding his resolve and finally settling in the pit of his stomach like a boulder. Don’t cry. “I couldn’t write to them.” Do not cry. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Joel’s grip helped center Gib and brought him back from the cusp of the abyss. “Perhaps it’s best you tell them in person anyhow. There will be time to grieve properly once you’re home. Tayver and Calisto will need you, more than you probably realize.”
Across the fire, Tular and Deegan kept their eyes respectfully low, diligently working, pretending not to listen.
Gib glared into the night. “Liza needed me, too, and I failed her.”
“You did no such thing.”
“I should have gone with her.”
“If you had, your brothers would be sending two siblings across The Veil instead of one.”
“Maybe not. Maybe I could have saved her. And even if I couldn’t, it’d be better to die trying than to live with the guilt of knowing I should have done more.”
Joel went quiet for a long time, and his face remained so still it was difficult to guess what he might be thinking. Finally, he said, “I think it’s normal, when we lose someone dear, to have such thoughts. I often wonder if there was something I could have done to save Cenric. The better part of a year has passed, and at times, the guilt is still unbearable. That night in Teivel, he took a volley of arrows for me. He died so I could live. Did I ever tell you that?”
Gib shook his head. No. Joel hadn’t said much about the late ambassador’s death at all. “I’m sorry.” He hoped that was enough. He didn’t know what else to say.
Joel’s eyes locked with Gib’s. Impossibly blue and boundless, they were also open, the most genuine Gib could remember seeing them in a very long time. The remorse trapped within those sapphire orbs all but shattered Gib’s soul.
“And I’m sorry, too.” Joel’s voice was a deep murmur, like water trickling through ancient stones. “For Liza and—everything else. When this war is over, I’d much like to finally share my grief with someone. Perhaps you’ll feel the same way.”
“Perhaps,” Gib replied. His heart began to race. What was this fluttering in his chest? “And perhaps we can try again to mend our friendship—”
His words were lost when a horn blared in the distance. The sound pierced the night, toppling the serenity and sending it spiraling into chaos.
Gib sucked in a jagged breath and reached for Oathbinder. The call could mean only one thing.
“Draw your sword, Deegan,” Tular said, already on his feet.
The young prince did as he was told, unsheathing his blade with trembling hands. “What’s going on? What’s that noise?”
“An attack, prince,” Natori’s collected voice lifted above the din of shouts and pounding boots. As deft as a shadow, she swept across the clearing and took post at Deegan’s side. The runes on the Blessed Mage’s ethereal sword flickered, bathing her dusky skin in brilliant shades of blue.
Gib jumped, startled. Where had she come from? Or had she been here the entire time?
The horn continued to wail, and now a second joined with the first.
Natori ushered Deegan toward the command tent. “Inside. Now.”
She reached for the tent flap just as Morathi and Koal flew through the opening. Gib took a reluctant step back. In all the years he’d known them, he’d never seen the two men look more terrifying. Towering and fierce with narrowed eyes and gleaming weapon points, the sight of the seneschal and general standing side by side would surely be enough to send the entire Shiraz army running in fear.
“What’s going on?” Koal demanded.
“We don’t know yet,” Joel said. “We heard the horn and—” He paused, the sound of heavy footfalls drawing his attention.
Deegan let out a relieved cry. “Hasain!”
All eyes turned as the Radek lord stumbled into the firelight. Ghostly pale with dark hair flying in every direction, Hasain looked like he’d been running from a ghoul. Gib braced himself.
Hasain trudged closer, inhaling sharply, gasping for air. “The men are saying Shirite riders are attacking!”
“Dammit,” Koal spat through gritted teeth. “Where? Do you know where?”
“T–they said the western side of the encampment.”
Morathi stomped forward, looming over Hasain, his steel grey eyes gleaming madly. “How many, boy?” he demanded. “How large is the enemy force?”
“I–I don’t know.” Hasain shrank beneath the weight of the general’s glare. “I don’t know anything else.”
“Foreign scum. They’re too cowardly to fight on the open battlefield, so this is what they resort to?” Morathi marched over to where his hulking warhorse was being restrained by a page. The general snatched away the reins and snarled at the boy, “Go! Spread the order! All able-bodied soldiers to the western front. Tell them to take no prisoners. If the enemy tries to run, our men are to chase them down and slay them.”
“Yes, sir,” the page uttered and scampered off.
Calling hastily for a servant to fetch his own horse, Koal turned a stern gaze onto Deegan. “You will stay inside until I return. Understood?”
Deegan’s wide eyes were imploring. “Uncle, I can help.”
“Not this time, Deegan.”
“But I’m not afraid to fight—”
“I know you’re not.” Koal squeezed the prince’s shoulder. “And when the time comes, I have no doubt you’ll fight as valiantly as your father ever did. But now isn’t that time. I promised I would protect you. I won’t throw you into unnecessary danger.”
Tears clung to Deegan’s eyelashes, but with a stiff nod, he finally relented. He ducked as he crossed the threshold and went into the tent. Hasain followed on his younger brother’s heels, and within moments both of their forms were swallowed by the shadows.
Koal motioned for Gib and Tular. “I want both of you to stay here with Deegan as well.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a mere whisper. Gib strained to hear the words. “No one goes inside that tent—even if they say I sent them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, sir,” Gib replied, shuddering.
Morathi huffed impatiently and swung atop his stallion. “Seneschal, I must insist we get to the front.”
“No one.” Koal’s eyes
flicked toward the general, and Gib suddenly understood. What better time for Morathi’s henchmen to make a move against Deegan than in the midst of an attack?
“Father,” Joel called.
Gib’s stomach flopped when he noticed the mage had gone to the hitching post where the rest of the horses were tethered and was now returning with his silver mare.
“I’m going with you,” Joel stated firmly. “You’ll need mages.”
At that, Morathi twisted in his saddle. “A valid point.” His unnerving gaze landed on Natori, still standing within the mouth of the tent. “The seneschal speaks highly of you, she-mage, though I’ve yet to see any such exceptionality myself. Why not join us in battle now and prove your skill to all?”
Gib’s grip tightened around Oathbinder’s hilt, wishing instead that it was Morathi’s neck. That son of a horse’s arse was purposely egging her on!
Unperturbed, Natori smiled mockingly. She waved her sword between herself and Morathi. “If it is my skill you doubt, General, I can give you a demonstration. Now.”
Morathi bared his teeth, his disdain palpable. “The threat to the Crown Prince is right in front of us, yet even now you refuse to act?”
“You’re right about one thing, General,” Natori replied darkly. Her eyes were so narrow Gib could no longer see their color. “The threat is right in front of us—and you may rest assured that when the viper chooses to strike, I will spare it no mercy.”
With that, she turned her back and swept into the tent. Gib wanted to cheer.
Morathi’s face had gone so red he might burst at any moment. He glared over at Koal. “Insubordinate bitch! I could have her hung for such a crime.”
Koal was as stone-faced as a statue. “Try it. Lady Natori has served Arden’s ruling family for decades. I’d say calling her loyalty into question is a truer offense.”
The general squared his broad shoulders, reminiscent of a giant cat preparing to pounce. Gib instinctively stepped closer to Koal, Oathbinder held at the ready. He could feel Tular at his back. No doubt the soldier was also prepared for any eventuality. Joel watched from his saddle, soft features drawn tight and the glow of magic resting atop his palms.
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 24