“Can’t you just do your job without giving me any lip for once?”
Orbrahn looked skyward, as if in serious contemplation. “I don’t think that’s possible. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“If there are any delays, I’m docking you a month’s wages!”
Orbrahn waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve been getting the reports from the front lines directly, you know. No one here will live long enough to receive a single coin from the Imperial treasury.”
Yandumar glared at him. “Do it now . . . or I’ll sic Ilyem on you again.”
Orbrahn bowed his head in an instant, eyes closed to enter commune.
Within twenty marks, the remaining Imperial ships had dragged themselves onto the beaches. Rope ladders and wooden ramps came down, and soldiers of the Veiled Empire, blanketing the beach like ants, began their first ever invasion of a foreign land.
“Ol’ Emperor Rekaj is probably spinning in the abyss right now,” Yandumar said.
“Why’s that?” Mevon asked.
Yandumar jerked his head towards his forces. “Nineteen hundred years is a long time for a conqueror to be sitting on his ass. If we hadn’t stopped him when we did, he’d be the one leading this army, with all the mierothi and daeloth at his back. And not a soul outside the Shroud would have welcomed that sight.”
One corner of Mevon’s lips twitched up. “Well then, I suppose it was a good thing I slit his throat.”
“That it was, son. That it was.”
“Yandumar!”
He faced up towards the deck of his ship once more. Orbrahn flinched as Ilyem strode up beside him. She gave the caster a curious glance.
“What is it, Ilyem?” Yandumar asked.
Sunlight bouncing off her head like a round mirror, she pointed inland. “It seems we have company.”
Yandumar spun towards the desert hills, looking to where she had indicated. Though distant, he could still make out the dust that was rising in a long cloud.
“Horsemen,” Mevon said.
“Aye,” Yandumar replied, then turned back to Ilyem. “Send down our mounts, if you would. I suppose we’d better go and meet them.”
“Already done,” she said.
He looked, and indeed two grooms now marched Quake and his own Silverburr—a beast with a gleaming grey coat, unmarked by any blemish—off the end of the nearest ramp. He stepped into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle with an audible grunt of effort. At least his head didn’t start spinning again this time.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, he watched Mevon take one stride and leap wholly into his seat.
“Cheater,” Yandumar said.
Mevon shrugged. “I didn’t ask for these blessings, Father. But abyss take me if I won’t use them.”
Yandumar rolled his eyes, then looked over his shoulder. “You coming, Orbrahn?”
The boy furrowed his brow. “But . . . I don’t have a mount?”
“Sure ya do. Just not one with hooves!”
Orbrahn’s face drained of color. “It’s not ready yet.”
“Well then, you have until we reach our rendezvous to get it ready. And I expect to see you there.”
Without waiting for a response, Yandumar kicked his heels into Silverburr’s flanks. He and Mevon began trotting up the nearest hill. By the time they reached the crest, he could hear the pounding of approaching hoofbeats. He tugged gently on the reins.
“We’ll wait here,” he told his son.
“Why?” Mevon said.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
A dozen beats later, three riders appeared from over the next set of hills, just off to the west. The one in the lead, bearing a white flag on a pole, pointed towards Yandumar, then angled his horse’s path to intersect. They rode down the short gulf between hilltops, then up again, slowing to a halt fifteen paces away.
Yandumar inspected them, memories surging as he took in their polished plate armor, tarnished by only the faintest traces of sweat and dust. All three lifted their visors to reveal young, pale faces.
But it was not at him they looked.
“Sweet bloody abyss,” said the one on the left, eyes wide as he surveyed the armada and the Imperial army taking over the shore.
“Hold your tongue,” snapped the center man, obviously the leader. Still, his jaw hung almost as low as the others.
Yandumar held his chuckle in check. “You boys the welcoming party?”
“Ye . . . Yes! We are. Sorry. We’re—I mean, you’re . . . who are you again?”
“Yandumar. Though some idiots insist on calling me Emperor Daere.”
Their simultaneous, nervous swallows probably could have been heard from the deck of his ship.
“Look,” Yandumar said, “I’m not nearly as used to this heat as you are, and I’m guessing there’s a place nearby that can give an old man some shade?”
“Indeed there is, Your . . . Imperial Majesty.”
“Then bother all the formalities and lead us on, boys!”
Snapping their visors shut, the three soldiers turned their mounts and headed back the way they’d come. Yandumar and Mevon followed. They rode at a canter—much faster would have been too taxing on their horses—going single file for a time, but once they began crossing the dunes switched instead to a five-wide row to avoid eating each other’s churned-up dust. His son rode at his side, on the formation’s far left edge.
“So,” Mevon said, “the man we’re meeting—you know him well?”
“I did, once. It’s been a long time, though. People change—yes, even old men like me. I can only hope he’s enough of the same man I knew to see the right path to take.”
“Do we even know that?”
“Ha!”
It took half a toll, all told, until they crested one last dune and came within sight of their destination: a round tent, encircled by at least five hundred soldiers. He and Mevon dismounted, and their three escorts led them right up to the entrance without delay.
The lead man lifted up a flap and ducked his head in. “Your Majesties? They’re here.”
“Send them in,” called a voice from inside, one Yandumar knew well.
Yandumar stepped in, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the dim, candlelit interior. Two figures rose at his approach: one slim and tall and breathtakingly beautiful, even in the gloom; the other hunched and grey.
It was towards the second that Yandumar inclined his head. “Daryn Reimos,” he said. “I see you finally decided to lift your fat backside out of your throne for a change.”
“Yandumar? I was told I’d be meeting with an emperor, not some upstart mercenary far lacking in manners.”
They both stepped forward, closing the gap between them with dangerous speed . . .
. . . then wrapped each other in a jovial embrace.
“You’ve no idea how good it is to see you again, Daryn.”
“I think I might, actually.”
“That’s probably just old age playing tricks on you.”
“Pah! It doesn’t need to. I have my new wife for that.”
Yandumar released his old friend, stepping back to get a better view of the queen. “That explains why your heart’s still beating. I was sure Ellesia was going to drag you down with her into an early grave.”
“My dear first wife—may she rest in peace—departed not three years hence. This one has proven quite the upgrade.” Daryn leaned in close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “In many . . . interesting ways.”
“Halice,” the woman said, extending a hand.
Yandumar shook it tenderly, surprised by the vigor of her return grip. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“I’d say the same, but you’re old friends of Daryn, which means you’re probably quite mad.”
“Guilty as charged,” Yandumar said with a grin. He turned to his son. “And this is—”
“Mevon,” Daryn said, his voice shaking. “Yes, we know. A couple of fascinating young ladies came through some t
ime ago and told us all about it.” Tears now welled in the old man’s eyes. “I’m glad . . . so, so glad . . . that you found him at last.”
Yandumar clamped down on his own rising well of emotion as Mevon swapped greetings with them. “I take it those ‘young’ ladies were the reason you haven’t driven the mierothi from your border?”
“That, and I didn’t want to throw away half my standing army just to make the attempt.”
“A wise choice. Trust me, they’re better to have on your side.”
“So I’ve gathered. But sides aren’t really a problem anymore, are they? We’ve got bigger issues to deal with.”
“So you’ve heard?” Yandumar asked.
“About the ruvak? The invasion? Of course I have. What do you think, I’ve been living under a rock?”
“Well . . .”
“Don’t answer that. Just tell me you have a plan?”
Yandumar nodded. “Right now, it’s just to go wherever the alliance sends us. We were hoping to march through Weskara. If you’d like, we can draft a treaty—”
“Abyss take all that. Your boys can walk wherever they’d like. I’ll even send some of mine to join you.”
Yandumar lifted his eyebrows. “Really? They’d have to share meals with casters daily. Are you sure they’ll . . . behave?”
“Oh, probably not. But they’ll learn quick enough once they’ve been put in their place a time or two.”
“In that case, I’ll welcome them. How many can you afford to lend?”
Daryn snorted. “Lend, huh? As if I’ll ever get them back alive.”
“You’re not the only one to underestimate our friends,” Mevon said. “Not even the first today. Trust me, no life will be thrown away, and none lost without good cause.”
“Oh, he’s a fiery one,” Halice said. “I like him.”
“Hands off,” Daryn snapped. “Or have you forgotten your vows already?”
“Don’t be vile, O husband of mine. I was just admiring his . . . spirit.”
Yandumar couldn’t help but smile. He raised a questioning eyebrow at the king.
“Right. Numbers,” Daryn said. “Two hundred thousand is the most I can spare of the regulars. Any more than that and I won’t be able to maintain order within my kingdom.”
“A generous offer, thank you. And a significant bolster to our own troops. What of the border guards?”
“One company, and that only to guide you through our land. I’m still hoping they might be some use in keeping out these invaders.”
“Not likely.”
“Why’s that?”
“You haven’t heard?” Mevon said. “They have ships, we’ve been told—ships that can fly.”
Daryn and Halice both shared a stunned look.
“It’s true,” Yandumar added.
“It’s not that we disbelieve you,” Halice said. “It’s just . . . so . . . incredible to imagine!”
Daryn rolled his eyes.
Yandumar now turned his own stunned gaze on the king. “You married a northerner?”
“Eh, the good outweighs the bad. Most days. When you get to my age—next month for you is it?—you’ll appreciate a little vigor at your side.”
Yandumar grunted. “Don’t I know it.”
“Poke fun all you want,” Halice said. “I, for one, can’t wait to see something like that in action. You think so too, right, Mevon?”
His son nodded. “Indeed.”
Shouts rang out from among the soldiers outside, rising sharply into panic. Yandumar heard, very clearly, someone cry, “Look out below!” just before something large thumped into the sand.
He rushed outside, though Mevon beat him to it. The king and queen joined them a moment later, and together they took in the scene.
Orbrahn climbed free from the wreckage of his flying contraption, now little more than scattered, smoking scrap. He staggered forward, coughing, then laid a hand on Yandumar to catch his balance.
“I see you got it working,” Yandumar said. “For a mark or two at least.”
Mevon grinned. “I’d even call it an improvement.”
“Abyss take you both,” Orbrahn said, straightening with a groan.
“I missed it?” Halice said, face turning red with rage. “You had one here and didn’t tell me, and now I just missed watching it fly!”
“I wouldn’t worry about missing anything,” Orbrahn said, finally able to summon his perpetual smirk. “We’ll be seeing a lot more of that around here.”
“What do you mean?” Daryn asked, his eyes narrowing.
“That’s why I rushed here. I got a message, you see. A rather urgent one.”
The boy began dusting himself off, obviously taking great pleasure in making them all wait. Yandumar had seen the routine before, and knew Orbrahn was just waiting for someone to ask—
“Well, what is it?” Mevon said.
“A change in our orders. They need help along some new line of conflict—Sceptre, the place was called—and can’t wait for us to travel there. Not by foot, anyway.”
He pointed towards the horizon just as five ships sailed into view, hovering above the dunes like a mirage.
“Impossible,” Daryn said.
“Majestic,” Halice said.
“About time,” Mevon said.
Yandumar watched the wheels turn inside his son’s mind, tactics and strategies for how to put his new toys to deadly use. He didn’t question at all that it would be Mevon to whom they fell. It seemed inevitable. It seemed right. Where people were in need of saving, Mevon would go. Simple as that. He couldn’t keep his son from throwing himself into danger any more than he could stop the sun from rising each morning. It was what he was meant to do.
And far be it from me to stop any man from fulfilling his destiny.
Yandumar grasped Mevon’s shoulder, turning him around and embracing him, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time, knowing that if it was, his son would meet his end as well as any man ever could.
“Send ’em all to the abyss, son.”
“Without remorse, Father. Without even batting an eye.”
Part II
Chapter 7
Rain pattered against the forest’s broad leaves like millions of tiny drums all thumping to different beats. Petrichor dominated his senses as the thirsty soil drank in the much-needed moisture. The summer had not been kind to the land of Corbrithe.
In more ways than one.
Squatting on his heels, motionless, Draevenus peered out from beneath his cowl, focused on the backs of the retreating ruvak patrol. Tassariel was similarly postured, to his front and left, face angled past his as she scanned the enemy’s back trail for stragglers. A spear rested across her knees, wrapped in white knuckles.
He waited until the sound of squelched breath and inhuman footsteps squishing in the mud faded from his ears before curling his pinky finger in the hand sign for a general query.
Tassariel pinched her brow in concentration, then signed back a moment later.
All clear.
Draevenus acknowledged with an extended thumb, then returned to his imitation of a statue.
Five marks later, he stood at last, then stepped off to resume their trek.
Their journey so far had been one of silences. What noise they’d heard had belonged to nature, to wind and thunder, tides and tumbling stone, angry predators, startled prey; and to the ruvak with their thrumming ships and screeching patrols. The silences, though, had been the more constant companion.
Silences belonging to humankind.
Villages, towns, even a few cities—they’d all been devoid of life. Some had fled, but most hadn’t been so lucky. Not even bodies remained. He had no idea what had become of the Corbrithites; dead or alive, he didn’t want to think what the ruvak might be doing with them.
The silence that embodied the absence of this land’s native inhabitants was perhaps more chilling, but it was far less personal than the one that fell between him and Tassariel.
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A twig snapped behind him. Draevenus spun, narrowing his gaze on his new . . .
Apprentice? Protégé? Partner? I’m not even sure what to call you yet. Except—right now—for careless!
Her eyes widened in fear. Not at the threat being discovered—she’d displayed a naked yearning for something, anything to happen—but of invoking his displeasure; which, try as he might, he couldn’t keep from showing on his face.
She was, by all measures, a nearly perfect student of his art: flexible yet strong, quick of reflex and mind, skilled in all manner of armed and unarmed combat, and in absolute control of every muscle. If it wasn’t for her regrettable valynkar height, and her inability to stay focused over long periods of dormancy, she’d make a fine assassin.
That, and her as-of-yet untested capacity to kill.
Draevenus forced his features to soften, almost smiling as he raised a questioning eyebrow.
Planting the butt of her spear in the ground, she shrugged apologetically.
Glancing around, he found a narrow gully only fifty paces away and gestured her towards it. He followed her in, then squatted until his head fell below the sharp rise on either side. She settled in opposite him, close enough that their words wouldn’t travel more than a few paces, but far enough to where they could still watch over each other’s backs.
You may still be learning, but you’re catching on quick.
“Sorry,” she said, beating him to the punch.
“It’s all right,” he replied. “Just try to keep your attention on where you step.”
“I know. I know! It’s just hard when I’m also supposed to be watching out for threats.”
“Doing both at once is indeed difficult, but all things considered, you’re doing quite well. It will come with time. And practice. And—”
“Focus. I know.”
Draevenus sighed. “You know a lot of things, Tassariel. But that’s only the first step. You must do what you know, over and over, until it comes without thought. Then—and only then—will you be.”
She averted her gaze, clearly distraught by his words. Draevenus understood. When he’d first formed the adjudicators, the most difficult part of training his pupils had been getting them to overcome their reticence towards what they considered murder.
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