by Pemry Janes
Rock was studying their surroundings, looking into every corner of the small and sparsely furnished room. Though there wasn’t much to see. There was the table, a bench up against the wall, and pegs on the opposing wall.
He turned to her. “Do you know why Slyvair chose this entrance rather than the one in the front?”
“Because that would have taken far too long,” Leraine said. “At this hour, the main entrance is closed. So, to use it we would have to first convince the guards to open it and get someone who can decide to let us in. Then that person would have to be convinced that, yes, I am who I say that I am, and he would in turn get whoever was above him. It would take the entire night to scale all the walls between us and Mayor Rozenbruk.”
Rock’s brow furrowed. “But if it is so much faster to use this entrance, wouldn’t everybody use it? And make the other one useless?”
“Because all those hindrances disappear if you are considered to be of a certain status. If you have wealth or power, you can simply walk in and have your presence announced. The obstacles are there to filter out any whose presence is not desired. Think of it like this. The main entrance is for those who want to be seen, this one is for those who should be unseen. As the horse people see it.”
The joke quirked her lips but only for a moment. With a sigh, she lowered herself onto the bench, resting the scabbarded sword on her knees. Leraine had been on her feet for the entire day and half the night, complete with a desperate battle in the dark. She wanted to close her eyes and rest, but there was still more to do.
“You do not approve,” Rock said.
Leraine opened her eyes—she didn’t recall closing them—and looked at her friend. “Hmm?”
“You said these people are your allies, but it sounds as if you disapprove of their ways.” He hadn’t sat down and seemed comfortable with standing.
A chuckle wrestled its way past her lips. “You are mistaking the word ally for friend. Two persons may loathe one another and still make common cause against a third. If they hate that one even more than they do each other.” She shrugged. “There is no such animosity between Snake and the Oathfellowship, but it is the enemy we share that has brought us together.”
“The Irelian Empire?”
Now she laughed. “No, by all the spirits, no! What have we to fear of people that are even further away then the Oathfellowship? No, I am speaking of the Hundred Kings.” A great name for a bunch of petty people. Their allegiance to the Irelian emperor was nothing more than lip service but they bordered her people and from time to time one of them thought they could expand at the expense of her people.
“Ah.”
It took a very long time for the servant to shuffle back into the room and Leraine pushed herself up to stand even before he announced that the mayor would see them. He led them through a hallway of bare stone, up to the first floor where their surroundings were a lot more expensive.
They passed several paintings in gilded frames, most depicting the birth of the Oathfellowship. The walls were covered in paper on which flowering vines had been printed in vivid colors. Here and there a chair stood where a weary walker could rest his feet, all were upholstered and their legs carved to resemble a lion’s paws. The lion’s head stared at them from atop the backrest.
The servant led them to a set of double doors, only opening one of them before gesturing for them to pass him. They entered the room under the watchful eye of several guards, two of them flanking the doors, though their halberds were all aimed at the ceiling.
She paid them no more heed and focused her attention on the five people gathered around the table in the middle of the room. They, in turn, were looking at her. One wore a breastplate, another had mail of blackened steel, while two others were dressed like merchants. The final person was a woman in flowing white robes with silver thread.
One of the unarmored men stepped around the table, but did not get any closer. Leraine recognized him, he’d visited her mother ten years ago to conclude the alliance. “Good evening, my lady. I’d welcome you to our fair city, but first there is the matter of your identity. Merchant Aldhoub has apparently vouched that you are a daughter of Raven Eye, but last I checked none of them were called Silver Fang.”
“Mother had a daughter named Broken Fang, now she has a daughter called Silver Fang.”
“Such reliable allies,” someone muttered. “Can’t even stick to their own name.”
Mayor Rozenbruk acted as if he hadn’t heard the comment, which Leraine doubted. Mother had called him observant once, a high compliment she rarely bestowed on anyone. Certainly not on Silver Fang.
“Then there is a simple way to settle matter,” he said with a toothy smile.
She mirrored his action, turning her head to the right slightly to show off her metal canine.
Mayor Rozenbruk nodded and closed the rest of the distance, extending his hands to envelope her right. It disappeared between those meaty digits, but there was barely any pressure. “A pleasure to see you again. You must have been, what, ten? You’ve done quite a lot of growing up since then.”
“Nine, and I didn’t think you would have noticed me. As I recall, I fled the meeting at the first opportunity.”
“Yes. But you’re not fleeing now,” the Glinfeller said, his voice growing. “Though I’m surprised Raven Eye learned of the attack so far in advance.”
“Mother did not send me. I haven’t heard anything from her in some time,” she said, conscious of the listening ears of the guards. They must be trusted, but they’d still talk. It would be nearly impossible to prevent it. Rumors would take flight or die in this room, depending on her words. Best to kill the ones that might endanger relationships between their peoples. “I’m sure she’ll hear of our plight soon enough and send help. Though I think we will have these people running long before then.”
But he only sighed. “This affair will be a brief one, yes.”
He escorted her to the group still standing around the table. A map of the city’s surroundings had been laid out upon it. Several wooden blocks holding cards with notes scribbled upon them were scattered upon that map. Their forces and the enemy’s.
“Let me introduce you to the others. Captain of the City Guard, Frits Toberij.” The man in the breastplate nodded. “Guild Master Berent Haversen,” Mayor Rozenbruk said, indicating a man with a beard streaked with gray who muttered a “milady” and lifted the cap off his balding head for a moment.
“High Priestess Lijsbet Goedevert.” The woman formed a triangle pointed down with her hands. Her hair was done in a long braid that ran down her back while the sleeves of her dress draped down to her knees. Her title told Leraine she was the head of the main temple of Aethel in Glinfell. Only the High Priest of Ariod was her peer as horse people reckoned such things. And unless she missed her guess, that was the last person she’d be introduced to.
“And High Priest Geer Bovenschudt.” He wore the breastplate, elaborately worked with gold to depict a bearded man holding a sword in front of him pointed down. The priest wore a similar longsword at his side. He tented his hands and pressed his thumbs against each other to form a triangle with the point up.
Leraine did not return the gesture but bowed in acknowledgment. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” Her gaze strayed back to the map. “You are planning a battle. I suggest you hasten your preparations.”
“Joost mentioned you had information,” Mayor Rozenbruk said. “I take it Griffenhart has reinforcements coming.”
“Knew it,” Captain Toberij said, staring daggers at the map.
“I saw a large contingent coming from his lands and marching up the Road in this direction.” Not truly, but this was not the time to explain Rock. “They’ll cross the Glinster tomorrow and reach the city the day after. If they send their men straight on after crossing, then their vanguard can reach us by sunset tomorrow at the latest.”
High Priest Bovenschudt touched his medallion with a single finger. “Ho
w close a look did you get?”
“I only saw them at a distance. It gave me a good perspective on their numbers, but not much else. Most were on foot, more I cannot say.”
Captain Toberij shook his head, staring at the map. “It must be his personal levy, perhaps bolstered by a few mercenary companies. Griffenhart hasn’t had the time to gather anything more. And those peasants won’t stay one moment longer than they’re required. They need to harvest their crops, same as ours. We don’t need to gamble on a battle, not tomorrow, not when we have reinforcements coming as well.”
“Eventually,” Guild Master Haversen countered. “It will take Stohlhavve at least another day to learn of the attack and then they’ll have to muster their forces. Then they have to get here. Metten and Dorvhuse will take longer and Griffenhart knows they are coming. He must have come up with a way to defeat us before then. He wouldn’t have started this if he didn’t think he could finish it.”
“And I fear time is not in our favor,” High Priestess Goedevert said. “Unless we plan on expelling all who have sought safety within our walls?” Many shook their heads, though Mayor Rozenbruk hesitated for a second. “Then perhaps seeking battle now is the preferred option.”
Leraine barely caught herself, turning a nod into a thoughtful dip of her chin. As her mother’s representative here she could not be seen taking sides. Not when she didn’t know those sides and what they stood for. What had High Priestess Goedevert mean with time not being in their favor?
Regardless, it accorded with her own instincts. Strike now, while the enemy was still gathering its strength.
The captain leaned over the table. “And what if the enemy does not oblige you by offering battle, hmm? Every man of that host has a horse, and they can easily ride away if we march out.”
“Yes, and leave their camp and its supplies behind.” Guild Master Haversen waved the concern away. “If you’d bothered to climb the walls you would have seen they are setting up for a siege and you don’t break one off at the first sign of enemy resistance. We can’t afford to cower behind our walls for weeks, waiting for the others to come to our rescue. We must take advantage of the Griffenhart’s mistake and strike now.”
“Ha, you expect me to believe those nobles are going to dig in the dirt like a common farmer? No, they’ll wait for Griffenhart’s levy to come and do all the work. But they won’t stick around for long. And I’m not so sure how steady some elements of our army would be in open battle.” The captain looked at one particular card, but Leraine could not read what was on it from this angle.
Guild Master Haversen flushed. “The Skutterij has a long history of valor. Our hall is still decorated with the banners captured in the Battle of Hundrugge.”
Captain Toberij sneered. “It’s a shame some have forgotten that. And that—”
“And now we must defend our liberty as our ancestors once did,” Mayor Rozenbruk said, interrupting the argument. “The enemy has made a mistake, and we should at least try to take advantage of it. We attack tomorrow, when the clock strikes ten.”
Haversen frowned. “Ten? Why not at dawn, catch them napping?”
“Because it takes hours to ready an assault and our men will fight better if they’d had some sleep,” Mayor Rozenbruk said, glancing at a clock of gleaming copper sitting on the mantle. It took Leraine longer than the Glinfeller to read the thing—it was past midnight, according to the device.
“Ten,” Haversen agreed.
“Then I’d better get to my temple immediately to prepare the sacrifices,” High Priest Bovenschudt added. “With Ariod’s blessing we will drive them from our lands.”
“With Ariod’s might,” every horse person in the room said as one. Captain Toberij didn’t look happy and said nothing more, only giving a salute to the mayor before stomping out of the room.
The others left as well, leaving Mayor Rozenbruk alone with her and Rock—if one didn’t count the guards, since none of them had left with the city’s notables but kept their eye on her and her friend.
Mayor Rozenbruk studied the map for a few moments and then looked up at Leraine with a wan smile. “I don’t suppose you’re accompanied by a large band of seasoned warriors?”
There was a pang as the memory of Irelith came unbidden, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I can only offer my own sword.”
“And not your companion’s?”
“It would be safer for everybody if Misthell stayed in his scabbard,” Leraine said lightly.
“Hey!” The sword’s outburst barely got a reaction from Mayor Rozenbruk.
“He will follow me into battle.” She would not promise more. Rock’s abilities had the potential to sway this battle, but he was untested and he hadn’t reacted well after their fight with the elves. This night he had fought well, but that fight had been upon them before he could think. A battle, one between armies, was different. You saw it coming, had time to consider things. Would Rock still fight when the time came, or freeze up?
Mayor Rozenbruk raised an eyebrow. “Well, the hour is late and I have mentioned the importance of sleep. Do you have a place to rest yet?”
“We came straight here.”
“Then you can stay here,” the Glinfeller said, pulling on a nearby cord. The servant, Joost, slipped into the room. “Lady Silver Fang and her companion will be staying the night. Arrange for appropriate quarters.”
The stooped old man bowed. “Yes, sir.”
“A good night, my lady.”
“To you as well,” Leraine said with a dip of her head before letting Joost lead them out of the room. She glanced back when the door closed to see Mayor Rozenbruk peering down at the map again, plucking his lower lip.
Leraine switched to Thelauk. “How much of that did you understand?”
“Some,” Rock replied. “Misthell told me the rest. A battle, tomorrow, at ten.” He took a deep breath. “Have you ever fought in a battle?”
“No. Irelith . . . she did tell me stories about all the things that don’t make it into the songs. I’m not certain they’re of much help right now.”
He didn’t suggest they could walk away, which was good. It meant Rock was learning.
***
After placing Misthell against the wall, Eurik took off his boots and knelt on the floor next to the bed. He knew he should get some rest, but he wasn’t sure he could even close his eyes at the moment. So he kept them open as he connected with the earth chiri and listened.
Not for the trembling and pitter patter of people and animals, but for the deeper, slower currents underneath. Eurik listened, and let the rest of him fall away. His thoughts, his worries, his fear, they all sank into the depths.
He closed his eyes. He’d go to sleep in a minute. Probably not on the bed, though. That still felt a little weird. In a minute.
Chapter 16
Rise
“I want you to help Silver Fang today.” Eurik laced his boots while Misthell rested against the wall, which was covered in something like colored paper decorated with images of flowers.
“Worried you’ll cut the wrong guy’s arm off?”
He didn’t answer Misthell right away, too busy shaking off the image. “I can fight better with my hands empty and you’d do nobody any good on my back.”
“I don’t know about that,” Misthell said. “I could shout cutting remarks that would seriously bruise their egos. Our enemies would flee weeping!” The blade studied him for a moment. “Why are we going out there today?”
“Because our friend is going out there today,” he said.
“She’s going because her honor demands it, or her family’s honor. But I’ve lived among the san for as long as you have and they don’t have honor; it’s a quaint custom of outsiders to them. And you’re afraid, I can tell. Why not try and convince her to walk away from this? Not like the three of us can really sway a battle among thousands of fighters.”
“You’re right,” Eurik said as he got up. “I don’t understand why it�
�s so important to Silver Fang. But I know that it is, and that is enough.” It made the difference. This fight, he knew little of either side. And the outcome would not change anything for him. But it mattered to Silver Fang. “Are you afraid?”
“Me? Afraid?” The living sword laughed. “What should I be afraid of? The magics flung about? The mud and the blood getting into every nook and scratch? To be taken as a prize by some noble while the two of you lie dead? I’m not worrying about any of that.”
Eurik crouched before the weapon. “You can stay here.”
Misthell sighed. “No, I can’t. Let’s go. But you’ll owe me a favor after this. And some pockets.”
“Pockets?”
“Yes. I’ve realized that I need a place to put my winnings. I was thinking of a new scabbard with pockets, something that looks nice, too.”
“Wouldn’t you have to win something first?”
“It’s only a matter of time. Silver Fang’s luck can’t last!”
“Sure, sure.” Eurik picked up the blade with a smile, only to have that smile quickly die when he considered those words some more. Please, let her luck last. At least for this day.
***
“I am not comfortable with you going into battle practically naked,” Leraine said as they made their way to front of the city hall where the horses were waiting for them—well, for her, as Rock had refused to ride. He’d refused a lot this morning. “At least wear a helmet.”
Her own was an older model loaned to her by their host, like the small shield resting on her shoulder. The helmet was open-faced and resembled a bell with a one side cut away. It didn’t offer complete protection, but it was better than nothing. Rock had disagreed.
“Not naked, since I’m still wearing my clothes. They don’t fit you.” His smile slid away when he noticed she wasn’t laughing. “I’m not wearing armor for the same reason you’re carrying Misthell. This is what I’m familiar with,” he said, holding his hands up. “Better to trust the familiar when thrust into an unfamiliar situation.”