The great city of Antedale rejects Zeryth Aldris’s baseless command.
I really could not blame them.
“A stupid decision,” Essanie remarked.
Stupid or brave. I wasn’t sure which.
“They won’t last an hour,” Arith agreed.
Undoubtedly true.
“My men are ready to march,” Essanie said. “Better to strike at nightfall, anyway. We can wield light and fire, and they don’t have many Wielders.”
One more advantage that we could use to slaughter as many of those poor bastards lining the gates. And slaughter them we would, surely.
Arith nodded. “By breakfast, we’ll be on our way out.” He let out a laugh. “’Scended, my wife’ll be pleased to know that I’ll be making back for our anniversary after all. You know, she—”
“Probably not,” I said. I held the map of Antedale, examining runny ink lines that represented the city’s winding streets.
“Sir?”
“Don’t get your wife’s hopes up.” I set down the map and turned to my captains. “We’re not going to march tonight.”
“With all respect, why not?” Essanie asked. She was looking at me as if I had announced that I was quitting the military to go breed exotic birds. “What are we waiting for? We would win.”
When I answered, I was acutely aware of Essanie’s loyalty to Zeryth, and the promise that bound me to him. “We will win,” I said. “But it won’t help the King’s reputation if we overpower them so completely. He would become another Sesri. Is that what you want?”
Essanie and Arith exchanged a perplexed glance.
“I believe that a show of power is exactly what the King needs right now,” Essanie said. “If we prove that we are not to be trifled with, it will serve as a warning to the other rebels. And with respect, General, that is the King’s chosen strategy.”
Of course it was.
“We can’t disobey his orders,” Arith said.
Of course we couldn’t.
“We won’t.” I stood and stretched. “Make no mistake, our illustrious king will have his victory. But he won’t have it tonight. Return to your soldiers and tell them they’re welcome to turn in for the night if they wish. And they’ll get further orders in the morning.”
Deafening silence. I slid my hands into my pockets and regarded Essanie and Arith. They did not move.
“Well? Is there something else you want to say?”
Going by the looks on their faces — Essanie’s withering disapproval and Arith’s abject confusion — there was plenty more that they wanted to say. But they were both well-trained, competent soldiers, and well-trained, competent soldiers did not argue with their commanding officers. So they bowed their heads, saluted, and left me alone in my tent, where I sagged back into my chair and stared at the draped fabric above me.
Zeryth was right. I was a naturally cautious man, and this was a gamble. He would not be pleased.
But I thought of Tisaanah, and all that she had managed to accomplish with a glorious facade. I thought of my old friend Rian, and his brother, whose life was now balanced in my care. I thought of all those men lined up outside the gates, who just as easily could have ended up on either side of this battle. Was I about to sentence those people to death for the crime of rejecting Zeryth’s crown?
Hell, no.
I received a letter from Zeryth that night, sent via Stratagram, even though I myself hadn’t yet finished writing to inform him of my plans. This confirmed my suspicions that Essanie and Arith were loyal to him — loyal enough, apparently, to tell him before I had a chance to.
The letter was short:
Captain Farlione -
For all our sakes, I certainly hope you know what you’re doing.
-Z.
I wrote back:
My Illustrious King -
I do.
- General Farlione
Chapter Sixteen
Aefe
The five of us set off on horseback early. Goodbyes were said under the hush of pre-dawn. My father and I gave each other stoic nods, my mother a chaste kiss on my cheek, her scent of lavender as fleeting as her brief affection. It was only Orscheid — always, only Orscheid — who broke through the ice between me and the rest of my family. From a distance, she looked so pristine, meticulous as a work of art. I’d spent my life dreading the moment she would become like them, the day when she would become the Teirness more than she was my sister. That morning, she looked so elegant that I thought, Perhaps this is that day.
But then her perfect face crumbled, and she threw her arms around me in a wild embrace. I clung to her, wrapping my battle leathers around her delicate silk, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Be safe, sister,” I whispered.
“Be safe,” she choked back out at me. “I’ll miss you too much if—”
But my father cleared his throat, and the message was clear: we were making too much of a scene for people who needed to appear dignified in front of our reluctant allies. So I pulled away, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. I did not allow myself to look back.
I could feel Caduan staring at me as I rejoined the group — whether out of judgement or curiosity, I was not sure. I wasn’t sure about anything, with Caduan.
If he said goodbye to anyone, I did not see it. Even the small, mismatched collection of Stoneheld who gathered to see us off didn’t so much as lift their hands to wave.
We were silent as we rode, the only sound our horses’ hooves crunching through the underbrush. When the road grew rockier and the trees thicker, I knew we were encroaching on the edge of Sidnee territory. I turned back to look at the Pales. Only a sliver of them remained over the horizon, the rising sun casting streaks of bloody red light over black glass. Soon, we would no longer be able to see them.
I was a child the last time I had been so far from home. I never thought I would be again. Let alone like this — let alone with Wyshraj.
Siobhan was, of course, my chosen companion. There had never been any doubt in that. Ishqa had chosen a Wyshraj general named Ashraia as his second. He was a broad and burly man, rougher-looking than most of the other Wyshraj, with a long dark beard and braided hair that nearly reached his waist. A nasty scar sliced his left cheek, and it wrinkled every time he shot me or Siobhan a glare of skeptical disdain.
He did not trust us, and didn’t care if we knew it. That was fair. We didn’t trust him either. Besides, I far preferred Ashraia’s honesty to Ishqa’s glass politeness. His tranquility reminded me of the surface of a too-calm pond: a reflection of a smooth sky that merely masked whatever dangers lay in its depths.
We rode in silence for hours, hardly stopping. At this pace, it would take only a week to reach our first destination, the House of Reeds. My stomach twisted at the thought of it. Both the Sidnee and the Wyshraj had written to the king of the House of Reeds, and neither had received a response. But the Reedsborn were notoriously private, one of the rare small houses that were on poor terms with both the House of Obsidian and the House of Wayward Winds. It was possible that they were simply trying to stay out of a conflict that they wanted no part in.
Even still. The thought of it was never far from my mind. Ishqa, who — to my petty annoyance — headed up the group, was the one who stopped, lifted his face to the dusky sky, sniffed twice, and simply stated, “We will stay here for the night.”
I almost argued with him simply because I hated his tone.
But we were all exhausted, and no one was about to disagree. Siobhan and Ashraia went off to kill some rabbits — together, under the unspoken understanding that neither group trusted the other to go anywhere alone with a weapon — while the rest of us remained to set up.
It wasn’t long before Siobhan and Ashraia returned. It would be impossible to miss them. Ashraia was stomping through the brush like a bull.
“Disrespectful,” he spat. He was clutching dead squirrels by their tails.
“Ridiculous,” Siobhan was mu
ttering. She held two lifeless quail. The sight of them had my mouth watering. We hadn’t eaten all day, and the quail looked much more appealing than Ashraia’s rodents.
Ishqa straightened. He had just started the fire, and as he swept a sheet of golden hair away from his face, it looked like an extension of the flames. “What is the problem?”
It was very, very obvious that there was a problem.
Siobhan shot me a frustrated glance, shaking her head.
“She,” Ashraia growled, “has no respect for our ways.”
“Would it be more respectful for me to leave them in the dirt?” Siobhan replied. Ashraia scoffed.
Ishqa’s stare hardened, an ever-so-slight rearranging of his features. I followed his gaze… to the dead birds in Siobhan’s hands.
“We do not kill birds,” he said, coldly. “Let alone eat them.”
Reluctantly, I had to admit that made sense.
“I would have been willing to eat rodents out of… respect for the Wyshraj ways. But I’d prefer to be told this ahead of time, rather than swung at without notice.” She glared at Ashraia. “It’s rare that creatures that attack me from behind walk away alive.”
My eyebrows lurched. “Attack?”
Siobhan approached, and as she ventured closer to the firelight I saw it: a bloody streak over her shoulder.
My attempt at calm diplomacy drowned beneath a wave of rage.
My blade was in my hand before I could think. Two steps, and my body was pressed against Ashraia’s hulking form, blade to the underside of his chin. “Do not ever raise a hand against her,” I snarled, my incisors already sharpening.
The threat had barely left my lips when I felt the warmth of another behind me — and cold steel against my throat.
“And I ask the same of you.”
Ishqa’s voice was close enough to rustle my hair. Smooth and quiet, but as cold as the steel pressed against my skin.
Two breathless seconds passed, with all those weapons ready to strike. And then, everyone let them fall at once. We all watched each other warily, a dare to make the first move. My eyes were locked on Ishqa’s. The fire roared up between us, heat rippling the still panes of his face.
I felt the weight of the responsibility my father had placed upon me more acutely than ever. In this role, I was Ishqa’s equal. I had been allowing him to lead. No longer. The Wyshraj had been our enemy for a millennia before this, and they would be our enemy again the second this strange blip in time was over.
I could not afford to forget that.
I refused to be the first to speak. Ishqa seemed to have made the same vow. We stared each other down, waging a silent battle for control.
Caduan’s voice finally sliced through the silence.
“You are all,” he stated, plainly, “acting like children.”
The sheer force of his annoyance was enough to crack the tension.
Ishqa turned to Siobhan. “Ashraia should not have raised his blade against you. I apologize on his behalf.”
“I’d prefer that he apologize on his own behalf,” Siobhan said.
Ashraia was silent, a wrinkle over his nose, and it was only after Ishqa gave him a prodding look that he loosened a frustrated grunt. “In the future, I will hold my blade,” he said gruffly, “though not my words, I warn you.”
“Nor will I,” Siobhan replied, “so I can’t argue with that.”
Ishqa turned a gaze to me, then to the quail at my feet. I knew exactly what he wanted me to say. What the polite and chivalrous thing to do would be. But I’d never been good at being polite and chivalrous. Now, my notorious, damned stubbornness clamped my lips shut.
“Fine,” I finally spat. “Out of respect for your ways, we will not eat the quail tonight. And we will refrain from hunting birds in the future.”
It was not difficult to hear my irritation. Ishqa cocked his head, and maybe it was my imagination or the warping smoke of the fire, but I could have sworn I saw a spark of amusement in his stare.
“Thank you, Aefe,” he said.
“Thank you, Ishqa,” I replied, reluctantly.
“Thank you, gods,” Caduan muttered, with a sincerity that made me snort a sudden, unexpected chuckle.
We cooked up the squirrels, a poor meal for five warriors who had been traveling all day, but still, I wasn’t about to complain about any quantity or quality of food at this point. I had already downed several unladylike bites when I noticed that the two Wyshraj were waiting, eyes closed, face lifted to the sky. They dragged their pointer fingers to their foreheads, then to their hearts, then to the soil. With each movement, their lips formed soundless words.
Siobhan, Caduan, and I ate silently, watching this. Ishqa, noble as he was, managed to make this look… well, at least somewhat graceful. But watching someone as large and burly as Ashraia go through these movements painted a particularly silly image.
They performed this cycle several times before, finally, opening their eyes.
“Were those prayers?” Caduan asked. No judgement in his voice, just curiosity.
“Yes.” Ishqa looked to me, one eyebrow quirking. “The Sidnee do not pray?”
“I have heard that the Sidnee are a godless people,” Ashraia grumbled.
“We do have gods,” I said, tearing off a chunk of roasted squirrel, “but ours don’t ask us to perform silly dances for them.”
“We make sure that our gods fully see our appreciation for them,” Ishqa replied, smoothly. “And because we speak to them often, our gods gift us with appreciation in kind.”
“Our gods appreciate us just fine.”
Do they now? a jeering voice in the back of my head whispered. Is that why they tainted you?
I pushed the thought away and tore off another chunk of squirrel.
“We need their service now, more than ever.” Ishqa’s gaze went far away, the remnants of his smirk fading. It was the first time I’d seen anything akin to concern, true concern, on his face.
“We cannot rely on the gods to help us,” Caduan said. “I think we’ll just need to help ourselves.”
He barely had picked at his food. The fire haloed his profile, highlighting the severe line of his nose and chin, the serious set of his jaw. He didn’t look up.
Ishqa gave him a look that veered on pity.
“I know that your people, above all, understood the value of spiritual faiths and magics,” he said. “The Stoneheld are known for building the most magnificent temples of any house, and for having the most committed spiritual scholars. In dark times as these, we need their faith more than anything.”
“The temples were beautiful,” Caduan said, quietly. And he paused, as if remembering, a mournful smile at his lips. Then he looked back at the fire, and it was gone. “But when the humans came, they crumbled just as easily as the brothels. And the scholars and the whores ended up in the same graves.”
Well, what was there to say to that? From then on, we ate in silence.
Long after everyone else drifted to sleep, I lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the night sky. It had been decades since I had last slept so far beyond the Pales, and even back then, I was a little Teirness housed in the most luxurious places the world had to offer.
Now? Now, I was alone beneath the sky. I looked up at the stars and had never felt so small, so exposed. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw the bloodied faces of Caduan’s kin.
By the time I heard rustling in the forest, I was grateful for the distraction. My eyes snapped open. Slowly, I rose. The fire was low. Siobhan was asleep, even at rest looking ready to leap into action, lying on her side with her fingers close to the blades that lay beneath her bedding. Ashraia was sprawled out like a sleeping bear, limbs escaping his bedroll at all directions, snoring loudly. And Ishqa was completely still, like the stone carving on a crypt, his hands laid gracefully over the hilt of his sword.
And then, there was an empty bedroll.
I followed the sounds off into the woods. I found Caduan in a cl
earing. A ball of fire lingered in the center of the clearing, hovering and self-contained — clearly magic, though it occurred to me that I’d never asked if Caduan was a magic speaker. His back was to me. It took me a moment to realize that he held his sword.
I froze. My hand went to the hilt of my own weapon.
“You don’t need to worry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He peered at me over his shoulder, offering me a half smile. “I have no ill intentions.”
“What are you doing?” My hand was still at my belt. Caduan’s eyes slid down my body, landing there.
“It’s embarrassing, honestly.”
My gaze fell to the ground. Years of training made recognizing patterns in the underbrush second nature, and it took seconds to recognize the pattern of the footsteps in the dirt. The same steps, running back and forth.
Exercises.
“You’re practicing,” I said, letting my hand fall from my sword. I joined him in the clearing. The weapon he held was a Stoneheld sword, the artisan craftsmanship matching the beauty of his crown. It was impossible not to admire it — elegant and delicate, yet clearly lethal, copper etchings on the hilt and beautiful ancient Stoneheld writing carved into the steel of the blade.
He glanced down at it. “For a long time, I saw swordsmanship as nothing but sport, and a largely useless one at that. But given present circumstances…”
I winced. He did not need to say more. I glanced to the fire hovering above the ground.
“You are a magic speaker.”
“Yes.”
My brow furrowed, thinking back to the conversation earlier that night. “But you do not pray.”
“Not typically.”
“So who gives you the magic if not the gods?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Are you a magic speaker?” he asked.
I patted the hilt of the sword at my hip. “Magic is for the patient. Steel is for the rash.”
Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) Page 13