by David Estes
Gareth knew what it meant:
They don’t know what is coming.
This was good, he supposed, for it should be he who told them, especially as he planned to invite their enemies across their borders for the first time in recent history. It would be a bitter pill to swallow, and he wanted them to understand the reason.
He bowed and raised his own fists and even stood in the stirrups and trumpeted a cry of victory. For they had defeated a great enemy while in Phanes, even if it was only a portion of the Phanecians. And if a Southron alliance could be forged…
Gareth bit his tongue and refused to cling to that word—hope—like it could save them. For it couldn’t. No, he would rely on the strength of his people, a people who had never been defeated within their iron stronghold, not even during the Dragon Massacre.
So he rode on, enjoying his part in the panoply. For it was the last celebration his people might have for a long time, maybe ever.
“Your Highness, I beg you to reconsider.”
Gareth sat the iron throne with an audience of only his generals, three men and two women. Three were Orians and two were humans, legionnaires he’d known his entire life as they worked their way up through the ranks.
Gareth sighed. He’d known persuading his generals to the course of action he’d chosen wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t thought it would be this difficult. Then again, he didn’t need to persuade anyone of anything, for he was the king.
Yes, I do, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to rule as a tyrant. No, the Four Kingdoms had been ruled by tyrants for far too long. Which meant convincing first his generals, and then the rest of his people, to welcome the northerners into the east.
Making the impossible possible, he thought, a new mantra of his that he quite liked. None believed an alliance with Rhea Loren had been possible—until it had.
“I value your advice, General Jormundar,” Gareth said.
The tall, strong Orian nodded once, causing his lush green hair to ripple like disturbed seawater. “I advise you to keep the northern border closed,” he said.
“And I request you keep an open mind.”
“I’m trying, Your Highness,” the general said tiredly, his eyes looking more bronze than their typical gold. The other generals looked just as weary, and Gareth didn’t blame them. They’d had a long march, a bloody battle, and then another long march. They were all exhausted, both mentally and physically. Hell, he was too.
“You saw the evil we face, can we all agree on that?”
Slowly, the generals nodded one by one. Though Gareth was certain they wanted to disbelieve the images Lisbeth Lorne had projected into their minds, he knew they couldn’t deny the truth any more than he could.
“And you agree we are outnumbered by our foes, do you not?”
Again, there were nods of agreement, though their stony expressions told a different story.
“So we need allies, correct?”
The nods stopped. “Ironwood is our ally,” General Jormundar said. “Its defenses have proven themselves time and time again, and now they are stronger than ever. Even the dragons couldn’t breach them.”
It was a fair point, but the enemy they now faced was an unknown, the likes of which they’d never experienced. They couldn’t know what to expect, nor could they be certain the Horde would attempt a direct assault on the iron forest. “So you would have me sit safe in Ferria while our neighbors to the north are slaughtered?” He was annoyed that he’d let his frustration creep into his tone, but he couldn’t help it. How did one change an isolationist mindset that crossed several generations?
“Neighbors? Your father referred to the north by a different name,” the general reminded him.
Aye. Our enemy. “I know that,” Gareth said evenly. “But that didn’t work out very well for him, did it? Nor for my brothers. I am not any of them. I am the Sword, and I will take a different path, with or without your support.” There was a challenge in his tone, one that was intentional. Their argument had come to a head, and it was time to make a decision.
The generals exchanged a series of glances, seeming to come to an unspoken decision of their own. General Jormundar spoke for all of them. “Long have we served the Ironclads, and we will still. Though we disagree with your position on the north, we will help you. We will help them.” Gareth felt his body relax until the general added, “But be warned: there will be strife between our peoples. The inhabitants of the iron forest do not react well to outsiders.”
I can deal with that later, Gareth thought, satisfied with the conclusion. “Thank you,” he said as he stood. There was not a moment to lose. He needed to finally send a stream to Darrin.
Twenty-Six
The Northern Kingdom, Darrin
Annise Gäric
Annise’s eyes flashed open, seeing nothing but darkness until her gaze settled on an aurora of green- and red-hued moonslight ghosting through the window.
Her heart was beating too fast and she felt something wet on her cheeks.
I’m crying, she realized, blinking away tears. A dream. Nothing more. She sighed, frustrated. She loved Tarin, of that there was no doubt in her mind. But that didn’t make it any less difficult knowing that the times when she needed him most—and, consequently, when he needed her most—were the times when they had to be apart.
She knew it was worth it, but still…
Something shifted behind her and she almost cried out when an enormous hand closed around her. She stifled the cry, realizing it was Tarin. “Frozen hell,” she said, “you nearly stopped my heart.”
He murmured something in his sleep, for he was not truly awake. Annise almost laughed, but didn’t want to wake him. She was pleasantly surprised. Typically after a period of extreme violence Tarin required longer to…get his head right again. Perhaps he was learning to control the monster.
Laughter resounded in her head…
Control me? Impossible.
Go away, Annise thought back. Ever since Tarin’s monster had found a way to communicate with her, she’d gained a greater appreciation for what her paramour was forced to endure on a daily basis. But that didn’t mean she wanted to talk to it while she was supposed to be sleeping.
I could, or…
Annise sighed again. Or what?
Or I could tell you what Tarin tried to do to me.
Dammit. This wasn’t what Annise wanted. Tarin was supposed to talk to her, communicate. The last thing she wanted was to violate his own thoughts by communicating with the very part of him he detested most. But now the curiosity was killing her.
Yes or no? Your choice.
Annise closed her eyes, trying to picture what the thing inside Tarin might look like if it had a body of its own.
The monster filled in her thoughts for her. Black skin, scales, claws like daggers, fangs as long as—
Stop, Annise said.
Yes or no? the monster repeated.
Yes, Annise thought, hating herself for her weakness.
He took your suggestion, the monster said. He tried to kill me.
Annise’s body jolted upright. What? she asked, but the monster was already gone, leaving her with that little nugget to wrap her own dark thoughts around. She remembered when the warning bells had begun tolling in Gearhärt. She’d run into Tarin and his leg had been bleeding profusely. She’d wanted to ask about it, but everything had happened so fast… Frozen hell, he tried to use pain to drive the monster away!
She turned to look at the sleeping giant only to find he was no longer sleeping, his dark eyes watching her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I was waiting for the right time, and then, well, everything.”
“Tarin, I—” She wanted to ask why he hadn’t gone through with it. Who had helped him? She knew the answer—Fay—and felt a slash of jealousy cut through her, not because she worried about any romantic connection between Tarin and the blacksmith, but because she wanted it to be her Tarin had asked to help him.
>
And why had he stopped? Had he been interrupted by the bells?
Tarin stared at her, waiting for her to finish her thought. And reading her mind, she was sure of it. She shook her head.
“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” Tarin said. Aye, reading my mind, just like I thought.
“I know.”
“And I chose to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid I couldn’t protect you without it.”
“What?”
Tarin frowned just as a splash of moonslight found its way to his face, illuminating his strangely perfect features. “Without this…thing…inside me, I wouldn’t be anything special. I would just be Tarin, and I don’t know if I would still be strong enough to…”
“Tarin, you’re the size of an ice bear. I think you could protect me just fine on your own.”
“You don’t know that,” he said, and the earnestness in his tone made her heart melt into a puddle. “With the monster gone, I might shrivel up like a piece of old fruit, or turn back into the skinny rail of a boy you once knew.”
“Tarin,” Annise said again, her voice growing husky. “You will always be more of a man than any other.”
She rolled over and took him in her arms. She didn’t want to waste another second on this night when he wasn’t even supposed to be in her bed, and yet, magically, he was. Her lips found his as she shoved him back onto his pillow and threw her leg to the opposite side of the bed, straddling him.
She didn’t need to tell him what to do, his hands roving from her hips to her breasts, teasingly plucking at the ties at the front of her nightclothes.
She gave herself to him, and him to her, their bodies illuminated by flashes of moonslight in the dark.
Annise chose not to continue their conversation in the morning, allowing Tarin to help her with her armor, his fingers burning tracks on her each time they lingered a moment longer than necessary as he tightened a leather strap around her body.
“Thank you,” she said when he had finished. She was slightly breathless.
“You’re welcome.” He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her, and she had the urge to remove all the armor so they could do it all over again.
In another world perhaps, she thought, rolling her tongue over the gap in her teeth. “How do I look?” she asked, opening her mouth wide.
“I wouldn’t mess with you,” Tarin said.
“Good. Perhaps I can scare the barbarbians off with my smile.”
“I love it when you talk battle.”
Annise ignored him else she be distracted. “We should see Fay. I’m certain she can pull together some scraps of metal until she can construct you a full set of plates.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tarin said with a grimace.
It was a stark reminder of what had happened only a day earlier. Though she’d been fighting the barbarians too, her gaze kept finding him. Without armor, spattered with blood and gore, he had fought like a tornado brought to life. The sheer violence she’d witnessed from him had dwarfed anything she’d ever seen in her life. Thank the frozen gods he’d been fighting on our side…
“Annise, I’m…”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You did what you had to do to protect our people. To protect me.”
His expression remained tight for a moment longer, and then relaxed. He nodded. She wanted more than anything to take him into her arms again, to comfort him, but there wasn’t time for that. Not yet.
He was still looking at her, and she could sense he had something else to tell her. “What is it?” she asked.
“The Horde was smaller than expected,” Tarin said slowly. Evenly.
Annise closed her eyes. She had thought the same thing, but was still trying to wrap her head around it. Also, her Uncle Helmuth and his yew-strapped legs had been absent from the battle. “I know,” she said. “Which means a larger force is coming. The ones we fought must’ve been a faster, advance party, sent to harry us. Weaken us.”
Tarin licked his lips. “Perhaps you’re right. But I would suggest otherwise.”
Annise frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We weren’t exactly…swift…in our flight,” Tarin said. “There’s no reason the entire Horde couldn’t have caught us.”
Annise’s pulse quickened, though she wasn’t certain why. “You’re saying they purposely split up? Then where is my uncle? Where is the rest of the Horde?”
“I’m not sure,” Tarin said, shaking his head. “But it’s likely they’re already through Raider’s Pass. Gearhärt is only a short distance from the mountains.”
She considered his theory. Anything was a possibility, but something about it didn’t make sense. “My uncle swore vengeance on the north. He had us on the run. Why would he divert his course?”
Tarin said, “I don’t know, but I know someone who might provide you with greater insight.”
Annise knew exactly who he meant, the only living person who might truly understand the way her uncle’s mind worked.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go find Zelda.”
They exited the room, turning right down a short, stone corridor, and then swung left, shoving through a heavy oak door that led without the barracks. The bright sunlight stunned Annise for a second and she squinted, letting her eyes adjust. “Too cheery a day by half,” Tarin grunted, cupping a huge hand over his eyes like a visor.
Annise couldn’t disagree, and yet feeling the warm sunlight on her face felt good. Like it was a different day. Like there was still hope.
And there is, she realized. For us. For my people. Two people she’d thought were dead were alive. Yes, they’d lost many lives—too many—yesterday, but not all. Plus, if they only faced a small portion of the Horde, perhaps there was still a chance, or at least half of one. And as long as the heart of the north continued to beat…
“We will fight,” she whispered.
“What?” Tarin asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing. I want to see my aunt.”
“Breakfast then,” Tarin said, smiling at his own joke.
Of course, it wasn’t really a joke, because as soon as they arrived at the makeshift mess tent Annise spotted her broad-shouldered Aunt Zelda. She was double-fisting an apple and a sourdough roll smeared with butter. “Are you going to use your rations?” Zelda asked without preamble. “Sir Metz is a strict bugger.”
“Yes,” Tarin answered for the both of them.
“Pity,” Zelda said, crunching into her apple. “I shall wither away and die.”
“As dramatic as the day is long,” Annise said. She wanted to go to her aunt, to throw herself into her arms, to squeeze her until she could feel her heartbeat. But she restrained herself, for her aunt wasn’t really the hugging, tear-filled reunion type. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“Me too,” Zelda said. “Even if it’s only so I can starve to death under the rule of a merciless mess officer.”
On cue, Sir Metz strode up in that too-stiff manner of his, bowing to Annise from the waist. His polished armor shone almost as brightly as the sun. “Your Highness. I trust you slept well?” he asked. Before she could answer, he continued. “The Watch have nothing to report from last night. However, this morning they’ve spotted several of the enemy milling about on the edge of the mountains. They seem to be…hunting.”
“Hunting?”
“For food,” he clarified.
“What sort of food?” Annise pictured the barbarians leaping upon an unsuspecting woodsman, their teeth flashing as they began to gnaw on his limbs.
“Deer. Rabbits. Anything they can find.”
“Oh.” Her dark thoughts vanished. Sometimes she forgot that the barbarians still required standard sustenance just like anyone else. Even in the springtime, the north was a difficult place to survive. Which meant… “They’ll come for us soon.”
Sir Metz’s expression didn’t change. “It is likely, Your Highness. I’ve taken the lib
erty of recommissioning those from your army who survived the battle without serious injury. Regular perimeter patrols have commenced, their weapons have been sharpened, their armor polished, their—”
“Did you sleep, Sir?” Annise asked, cutting him off. She noticed the redness in his eyes and the shadows darkening his cheeks.
“I am fine. If the enemy attacks today—”
“We will rouse you forthwith,” Annise interrupted. Sir Metz opened his mouth to argue, but she was too quick. “You have done well, Commander Metz. Now go to bed. That is an order from your queen.”
With another stiff bow, the knight turned and departed swiftly. Annise realized her error, shouting, “And go to sleep!”
Sir Metz stopped, but didn’t turn back. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said.
Lady Zelda chuckled. “Nice save.”
Annise could just picture the honorable knight going to bed as she’d commanded, but not sleeping, instead passing the time polishing and re-polishing his armor.
“Has anyone seen a brutish lug masquerading as a knight?” a voice asked.
Annise turned to find Fay standing with a hand on a hip. Instead of the jealousy that had burned through her last night, she felt nothing but appreciation for this strong woman who had been there for Tarin during a dark time.
“He was here a minute ago…” Annise said. “Nope. He must’ve fled back to the Hinterlands.”
“Amusing,” Tarin said. “I shall eat breakfast to refill my shrunken ego.”
Annise ignored him and went to Fay, clasping her arm. “You are well?”
Fay met Annise’s eyes without flinching. “Not a fang nor claw shall pierce our dear lug’s skin,” she said.
“Good. Thank you. Now let’s eat.”
Zelda said, “I’m off to steal someone’s food.”
As she turned away, Annise said, “Auntie.”
A half turn back. “Hmm?”
“Meet me on the wall, facing south. Half an hour.”
“As you wish, dear.” With that, she departed, kicking her apple core in a perfect arc into a bucket full to brimming with the same.