by R. K. Thorne
On his magical gifts, sure. Going back to the temple would have meant abstaining. But he wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on that point, anyway. Magic was a minor gift compared to the others. Jaena was a gift. And Akaria itself was a gift—a land where mages could be free.
Both of them needed him, didn’t they? Or was he the one that needed them?
It wouldn’t be long before the star map was translated. And Jaena… If it hadn’t been for her injury so close to her pursuers, she would have been fine escaping Kavanar without him. Now in Akaria, with all the support of a free kingdom at her back? He was fooling himself if he thought she needed his protection or his help.
So then, perhaps it was selfish to stay. Could he do the most good elsewhere? Perhaps it truly was the temple that needed him most.
Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to change his mind. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He pulled on some clothes and stoked the fire, adding a log as quietly as he could. How odd that he could still learn things about himself at this age. He’d never thought he’d had a selfish streak. But then again, he’d never had anything worth hanging onto, nothing he cared much about losing. Yada, the smithy, even the weapons and books, he’d given them all up easily.
For her. For the mission, too, but if he was honest, it was mostly her.
Fire raging again, he slipped out of their rooms, heading down toward the library. As usual, he greeted the guards he passed along the way, asking their names, inquiring about the weather. He had learned a few things from his childhood, and one of them was that knowing a guard’s name—or his wife’s—was a powerful thing when your luck went awry.
Maybe he’d head outside. He needed… something. Something to distract himself from this new, disturbing facet of himself. Maybe some fresh air.
He definitely wasn’t going far.
Stone columns and wide windows bathed Aven in pools of cheery morning sunlight and cold, dewy shadow as he strode down the corridor toward the war room, barracks, and training yard. Ah, Ranok wasn’t home, but it sure was nice. Maybe it could be home, someday. It certainly had more light. Did Miara have a preference between mountain holds and city fortresses?
The sounds of troop muster echoed off the stone, like it had the few times he’d visited Panar as a young man for training maneuvers. Not far away, the town market was in full swing, the sounds of haggling peppering the brisk air. No snow yet, but it would be on them soon, even this far south. Another thing he needed to discuss with Dyon.
But first, he had to find Miara.
Thuds from the training ground reached him before he could see the wide, dusty square. Rounding the corner slowly, he leaned against the stone in the shadows, folded his arms, and watched.
A sword flashed in the sunlight as Miara assaulted a wood-and-straw practice dummy. The slashes and jabs had an air of thoughtful experimentation rather than true aggression, but she was quick and decisive, clad in new leathers this time in the midnight blue of the royal guard.
She paused for a moment, resting the sword tip in the dirt and her hand on the pommel as she wiped her brow with the back of her other hand. Wisps of red had escaped from her bun and danced in the feisty wind.
Are you trying to hide in the shadows or just waiting for an opening to say hello? Her mind’s voice was growing to be a familiar presence in his thoughts, and now he caught a hint of a smile in her tone.
He grinned. A little of both. Come speak with Dyon and the war planners with me.
I’m sweaty.
So are they.
She snorted, then her gaze flicked to him. Care to give me a few pointers? I’m without my tutor, with Dev still in Estun.
He’ll be here soon. Dom can’t stay away for long, and Devol will come with him. Especially when they hear about Thel.
He could sense her spirits fall at that, her light a candle in danger of flickering out for a moment. It would be nice to have a few more friendly faces around here. I miss Fayton and Camil. She turned and strode toward the weapons rack.
Me too.
Does your mother usually take part in war planning?
What my mother did doesn’t have anything to do with what you do. You’re not her.
So that’s a no?
She didn’t join us often, but she also wasn’t recently defected from the enemy.
Is that a positive or a negative in my favor?
Both, probably.
I may not be her, but people will have expectations based on what she’s done.
And we can change them. There also haven’t been any significant wars in my father’s reign for her to sit out of planning.
A fair point, I suppose. Weapon returned, she strode toward him, frowning at the sky and looking every bit the woman who’d kidnapped him, just garbed in a new color now.
“Wasn’t it the short sword last time?” He switched to speaking aloud.
“And hand ax. But I couldn’t find that. Your brutes probably prefer more sizable weapons.”
He smiled. “They’re your brutes, too.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon.”
“All right, our brutes probably prefer large, hefty weapons. Good for smashing.”
“How did you find the long sword?”
“Lighter than I’d thought. Having both arms to wield it seemed easier than two smaller weapons, actually.”
“It’s not a bad choice. I know you’re accustomed to clawing at eyes, but the longer range is an advantage. If they can’t reach you, they can’t hurt you.”
“And I’m getting a few pointers after all. Thanks.” She smiled as she found her cloak on a peg, swung it over her shoulders, and lifted the hood—her old black Kavanarian one, hopefully not a detail that Dyon or any lieutenants would notice. Clearly not everything had been replaced yet. She smiled brightly, her cheeks flushed with the activity. “Ready to plan a war?”
“Never a good time for that, but we haven’t much choice.” Aven smiled back and held out an arm, guiding her back toward the war room.
“I’d think with all your military prowess, you Akarians would be chomping at the bit for war.”
He sobered a little. “Only those who don’t know much about war anticipate it.” And he didn’t have much direct experience, but he could read. Not that there wasn’t a rush to battle itself, but the truth of the matter was that war was inherently dark and bloody and everybody lost something in the end.
The small, plain room where Dyon, a few wardens, and the regiment lieutenants waited sat along the corridor that led from Ranok proper to the attached barracks. It had more in common with the drafty soldiers’ quarters than the palace, with its dusty dirt floor and its wooden walls hung with maps.
Aven swung wide the heavy oak door. Just for a thrill, he shut it with a gust behind them. He wasn’t going to get any better if he didn’t practice, right? The corner of Miara’s mouth ticked up as she noticed his extravagance. Or laziness. A handful of lieutenants, wardens, and arms masters waited around the outside of the room, taking notes and making drawings. One young, brown-haired warden raised her eyebrows and eyed the door.
“Drafty in here, eh?” Aven said to the warden with a smile. She smiled nervously and nodded back.
You don’t need to hide your magic anymore, Aven. Miara’s silent tone had a surprising edge.
Force of habit.
If we don’t show them magic, how will we get them to accept it? They have to see it can be harmless. Or even helpful.
Even sarcastic comments referring to my magic at all feel very bold, trust me.
We’ll work on it.
A stone hearth to their right fought off the morning chill. One stone arch led out to the grounds and the market, as well as unhelpfully letting in a river of frigid air. Wunik and his glowing water sat under it on a pair of rough-hewn logs, bathed and enlivened in light. Could Aven convince them to take this outside? One glance at the table told him definitely not; too much was already carefully positioned
there.
“Take a look, Aven. Miara.” Lord Dyon jabbed a finger at the table before him as one of his lieutenants—Jenec?—scowled and placed another small brown stone inside charcoal lines that marked off Gilaren territory.
Miara smiled. “Good morning to you to you too, my lord.”
Dyon grunted a hasty greeting without looking at them. “We’ve got these bastards staked out across the map. The talents of your mage friend are making an enormous difference in our planning.”
Aven smiled at that, but his expression faded as he surveyed the scene they’d set. More than a dozen smooth stones were arrayed inside Kavanar and Gilaren, with several poised on the edge of Numaren. Some represented Akarian forces, but most indicated the enemy. He pointed at the two closest markers, perhaps intended for assaulting Panar itself. “That’s barely a day’s ride away.”
Dyon nodded. “Indeed it is.”
“Well, you’ve all been busy.” Aven ran a hand absently through his hair, taking it all in.
“And so have they. But this knowledge is a huge help. We won’t be riding out blind, guessing at everything. We can respond faster. The Kavanarian forces may move, but Wunik’s efforts enable us to make much more informed plans.”
Aven nodded numbly. “Glad there’s a positive to this situation.” He paused, then remembered Miara’s comment. “I think you’ll find there are many spells that can be helpful to us in war. However, we must keep in mind Kavanar can do this just as well as we can. If not better. They’ll be able to see our movements easily too, as long as they bother to look.”
“How many men do those stones represent?” Miara asked.
“It varies,” Dyon replied. “Around one thousand each. Their force isn’t as uniform as I’d prefer if they were mine.” He sniffed at the stones in distaste and leaned his elbows onto the table. Akarian companies were always as close to one hundred soldiers as possible, although the mix of horsemen and footmen was not always the same, and every regiment had as close to ten companies as they could manage. “Look, I know it’s a lot of pebbles, but we are better trained, better armed, better armored. I daresay it may be a stroll in the garden, kicking over urns, if we’re lucky.”
“If it were only soldiers, I’d agree with you,” said Aven. “Can you discern how many mages they have on the move?”
“No,” Wunik called from where he sat. “Haven’t noticed any differences in armor to give us any clues. Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Aven asked.
“Some are cavalry, some infantry, of course. Some of each don’t have armor,” Dyon said. “But that could mean they just don’t have enough armor to go around.”
“Or they don’t need it,” Miara put in.
Dyon gave her an indecipherable look. “I would expect that Kavanar doesn’t have enough equipment, whether the unarmored are mages or not. They haven’t been serious about this war for long. In fact, it’s surprising they have suddenly become so aggressive.”
Aven rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “Well, their Alikar plot failed. And then there’s Trenedum Palace.”
Dyon squinted at the map, frowning. “What about it?”
“We attacked it. Demikin was caught up in some kind of coup—dead by the end of it.”
“Dead? Well, that might explain a few things. When did you have time for all that? And how?” Dyon managed.
“With a bit of help from our mage friends, we made a last-ditch rescue effort. Two nights ago? I think that’s right. Spiraled into an outright attack. Stealth has never been my strong suit.”
That’s what you have me for, Miara said silently.
If only you hadn’t been stuck somewhere in the woods with my father at the time.
“Can’t argue with that,” Dyon grumbled. “But why were you there in the first place?”
“We rescued Miara’s family and Tharomar from the dungeon there; Kavanar was trying to use them as leverage against us.”
“’Bout time somebody struck back at those bastards,” Dyon said. “If you ask me, we’ve been at war since they kidnapped you, sire.”
“What’s this about a coup?” Miara said. “I missed that in Jaena’s recap, I think.”
“Daes seemed to be arranging something, and we walked into the middle of it. Ultimately, Demikin fell to his death accidentally, but nobody—including his personal guard—helped him. Last I saw him, he was facedown in a fountain.” Aven filled in a few more details of the attack that he’d glossed over. “Daes has likely used our attack to cover it up, so he can pin the blame on us.”
Miara swore under her breath.
“Demikin didn’t leave an heir,” said Dyon. “So if he’s dead, who’s in power?”
“And these troops must have already been in motion before this coup took place,” added Jenec, scratching his head.
“The coup wasn’t an act of opportunity. Daes is the careful, planning type.” Aven paused, remembering seeing Daes arriving at Trenedum in the water and Shanse’s words in Anonil. “Kavanar’s crown can descend to the queen, who appeared to be a close ally of Daes’s. A spy also reported that troops had started to move on the queen’s orders specifically. Hmm.”
“King Demikin wouldn’t need the queen’s help,” said Dyon.
“Exactly. But Daes would.”
“One of those Masters?”
“Yes. The leader. He started all this.” And it would end with him, too, Aven was certain. He rubbed his shoulder absently.
“He’ll have more power than ever,” Miara said, voice sharp and angry as a knife’s edge.
Aven nodded. “When were the last reports received from our spies in Evrical’s court? We need news from there.”
“I’ll inquire. Given that Evrical’s a four-day ride around the gulf, their reports likely predate any action you took.”
“We should look into getting them help to send news faster. Mages could do it, if we had enough of them. I wonder if anyone at that temple of Tharomar’s could aid us.” Even as he said it, Aven knew they were far from having enough mages for that.
Jenec shifted uncomfortably. Not comfortable with all this magic about, eh? But afraid to say so in front of the new king?
Well, whether Jenec liked it or not, they were quickly going to be outmanned with the Kavanarian troops this spread out. If all of them had come for Panar, Aven could have clustered all the Akarian mages and sent all available troops against his enemy. Maybe they still would. As it was, he would have to choose where to engage them—and potentially what to risk losing. Kavanarian troops might be spread thin, but then the Akarians would be too. Should he try to cover each city with a unit of mages or keep them all together to better their chances? As if they had that many. Already he’d sent Derk away. And what if he didn’t come back? They should have sent a creature mage with Derk in case of injuries—Siliana being the only option. But then she’d be unable to assist his mother. No, covering every city with mage forces wasn’t an option. They couldn’t even cover Panar at this rate.
“Can we recruit more mages?” said Miara. “Surely there must be some in hiding or practicing secretly. They may not be well trained, but they could be taught to draw energy for those that are.”
“We should try. But it may be a delicate matter.” Aven massaged his forehead, trying to think.
“It would certainly need to be carefully worded,” Dyon said sternly.
“Not everyone will support the use of magic in war,” said Jenec.
“We have no choice,” said Aven. “It’s being used against us. We can defend ourselves or die.”
Jenec’s eyes widened. “There must be some conventional way to win. Certainly it can’t be that serious.”
“Oh, it is,” Miara said. “If enslaved mages have the orders to do so, they can be very deadly.”
Jenec opened his mouth to say something else, but Aven spoke first. “It was King Samul’s guidance that we should know at least enough to defend ourselves and our people
from a mage threat, and I agree with him. And if Kavanar is flinging all they have at us, we’re going to need more on our side. It’s not clear how well a conventional army can stand up to magic.”
“If it can at all,” Miara said. Jenec narrowed his eyes at her.
Aven wanted to slam a fist on the table but forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath and only grip the table edge a little too hard. They’d all been so concerned about sharing the news of his magic with leaders in power, within the insular world of Estun and the Assembly, but no one had given one whit of thought to selling the idea to the people. News was likely already spreading. How many reactions would be tainted by unfounded fear? Or skewed by those preaching hate? Right now, no one’s reactions were being guided. He needed to do something, and soon. They should have started recruiting mages the day he’d arrived back in Estun.
Dyon’s voice cut into his thoughts. “I agree more mages will be needed. What else? You said Warden Asten will be heading to Dramsren to meet her troops?”
“Yes. The regiment from Shansaren should arrive by then. Assuming everything with Thel goes smoothly.” Assuming she survives, Aven thought. Assuming any altercation would go smoothly would be horribly naïve, of course. Thel’s easy return was, in fact, the least likely thing to happen.
“I saw them on the road,” Wunik called. “They should get there as planned tomorrow.”
“Good.” Aven eyed the table. Four of the twelve stones were clustered within northern Gilaren. Maybe three to five thousand men. Anonil had barely more than a thousand armed men, but there was the stronghold nearby to help. “Think those are heading for Anonil? Does it still stand?”
“For now,” Dyon said. “But the outlook is grim. The regiment stationed in the southern Gilaren stronghold has yet to encounter any Kavanarian troops, and there’s at least one Kavanarian unit between them and Anonil now. Worse, the Kavanarians marched right past the northern stronghold and its regiment without incident.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line.
“By the gods,” Aven muttered. Alikar had ordered them not to engage. What general had he bribed to pull that off? Alikar would be in their existing chain of command, though, but letting Kavanarians pass freely couldn’t have sat well with the troops. He hoped. “I wonder if Anonil will offer any resistance.”