by Mira Zamin
My eyes opened to whirling greens, browns, and blues and a vaguely solidifying view of hills and skies. Falling to my knees, I retched. As my vision steadied, I could see half of the army felled by illness. The rest looked around, some perplexed, some horrified.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I slowly staggered upright, as cumbersomely as if I were once more heavy with child. The metal armor weighed down on my shoulders.
“Your servant, madam,” the djinn pronounced as he vanished, once more leaving stars dancing in my eyes.
“That was quite a trick, your Majesty,” Admiral Kharset noted congenially. “Warning might would have been nice though. I think our boys are thoroughly confused.”
I smiled ruefully, righting the crown on my head. “Sir, I myself had no idea it would be like this. I could have used a warning as well!”
Looking around, I marveled at our vantage point. We were high enough to allow a crisp view for miles, but cavalry could gallop down the slope to crush the coming army. Perched on the mountains across from us, the pennants of the other third of our army waved against the clean blue sky. The pass bloomed like a lotus, so that the path at the bottom was narrow, but the surrounding high ridges were perhaps half a mile apart. Further down, the remainder of the army was being reassembled, the lines straightening as if guided by a giant hand.
Suddenly, Niara appeared at my shoulder, pointing towards a cloud of golden dust, which hazed the sun. “There’s Quenela’s army. I have dispatched messenger birds to the mouth of Ghazar and to the other side to warn them if they have not noticed it yet.” Her brow furrowed. “They look much…larger than I expected.”
My eyebrows rose. “Enough to offset our positioning advantage?”
“Perhaps.”
That answer was shocking. “How?” I managed. It would take an impressive force indeed to not crumble immediately upon the double impact of the hills and the crush of spears which would meet them at the mouth of the pass.
“More mercenaries, likely. Also…” Her mouth tightened. “It may be that Fyodor of Murban has joined them already.” She squinted. “But I do not see his banners. If it’s not him, it’s mercenaries, and his force still remains unaccounted for.”
Before I could demand further answers, a pigeon wheeled toward us and as we ducked it was caught gently in the hands of the falconer. Untying a small note from the bird’s delicate ankle, he handed the missive to Niara.
After appraising it, she handed it to me in silence.
Niara, we too have spotted the army. Their increased size might be explained by Fyodor of Murban and his soldiers and it appears that Lord Ferdas has gone with him although Luix’s army remains. Let us know if he is with you. I have written to the infantry commander at the mouth.
“It’s from Baswor.”
Looking at that vague blur of dust below us, I could not help the bile that rose in my throat. “And Fyodor knows almost everything. I wonder how long he has been for Quenela?” I kicked the earth. Betrayal was bitter. “And Ferdas?”
Niara shook her head. “Likely from the beginning. He was among the last to stand for you, is it not so? She may have bought his support through servants as soon as she fled Nyneveh, but that is not what we should concern ourselves with. He knows our strategy, if not our precise position, but that will be obvious soon enough.”
If I were alone and not a queen I would have screamed. As it were, I gritted my teeth in frustration.
Seeing my aggravation, Kharset placed a tanned hand soothingly on my shoulder. “No battle goes off perfectly, your Majesty. If an outcome is predestined, it’s not much of a battle is it?”
Fyodor had been among the last to join me, but Ferdas had been a childhood friend, and he had professed his support from the beginning. Out of loyalty to our childhood together, I had thought. Although Fyodor’s treachery stung, Ferdas’s ached. And now, I could not help but look at the generals around me with suspicion. Niara, who had been so present since I had first been elected Queen—had she only been at my side to feed information to Quenela? What of Baswor and Kharset whom I had known only for hours. They owed me nothing. Why would they fight for me? Much the same. You cannot give into groundless doubt, I reasoned with myself. If they do not fight for you, they fight for Ghalain, for the will of the Council.
“As best as I can remember,” Kharset said, his white eyebrows raised and knocking me away from my fears, “I have not seen Fyodor for a day. That means he may have been marching day and night to rejoin Quenela. His forces will be exhausted.”
“But how does an emir and his army just disappear?” I insisted, hitching my kidskin gloves further up my wrist. My suspicions of my generals were beginning to subside. And, I decided, if they also decide I’m unfit to rule, then it would honestly be best to acquiesce to their opinion. I do not want to give up, but neither will I push myself where others may perform better.
“Fyodor has always been quiet,” Kharset pointed out, running his fingers through his bristling snowy hair. In a calm and soothing manner, he recounted, “And he had his soldiers housed away from the main barracks, which is not abnormal. He probably left the night before you arrived and in between your arrival, the move towards war, and his own double-crossing, his disappearance went unnoticed, especially easy with the army divided into three and communications not always clear. Fortune certainly favored him.”
“Well, the Seasons can have him,” I declared spitefully. “Treacherous snake. How is our army?”
“Ready and waiting,” Kharset responded. More sharply, he added, “Ready to take blood.”