A Time of War and Demons

by S E Wendel

  “Perhaps smiling is what I needed to do.”

  He considered her a moment, his ruddy blond brows pulled down into two matching bird wings on a downstroke.

  “Perhaps it is,” he said, though she didn’t think it was truly to her. Then he sighed, gaze dropping to his hands. “I’m sorry if you felt you needed to do that, Essa. I never meant for…”

  Essa shrugged, though her arms had drawn around her to hold herself tight. “You wouldn’t have wanted a weepy, sad warprize.”

  His brows turned into bird wings on an upstroke then, as if she’d truly surprised him. “What in Themin’s name are you talking about?”

  “What else could I do?” she huffed. “My survival, especially in the early days, depended on staying in your good graces. How was I to do that without smiles? I did what I had to do; I gave you what you wanted.”

  “You have no idea what I want,” he said in almost a growl.

  For the first time since he’d returned, his eyes glowed with real and figurative fire. He looked about the table, quickly grabbing up a cheese knife. Before Essa could even squeak in surprise, he’d cut the slave ribbon from her neck. He cast it into the fire as she watched.

  “Will that make you happy? Gods, Essa, what else will it take?”

  “That’s not fair!” she cried, though she couldn’t help stroking her fingertips along the base of her neck, feeling the skin there. “You’ve said since the beginning that you couldn’t free me. What…what’s changed?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” Waurin ran an agitated hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and for all her anger and irritation at everything said tonight, Essa was a little comforted by the familiar gesture.

  Waurin leaned into her space, hands clasped on the arms of her chair. She knew he wouldn’t harm her, knew he would do nothing without permission, but after sennights of a deadened Waurin, this revitalized Waurin, this man looking her in the eye and confronting her about her lies made her lean back in a startled squirm.

  “I’m tired of fighting,” Waurin said lowly, eyes barely blinking as he kept hers captive, “I’m tired of fighting for Larn. I don’t want to fight with you, either. I just want you, Essa. If that’s weepy and sad, I want it. If it’s smiles and brightness and laughter, I want it. I want to give you a home here. I want to make you happy. What will make you happy, Essa?”

  Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, nothing coming out.

  But when his gaze flicked to her lips, she couldn’t help looking at his too. Oh, she’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Many times. Essa was no innocent and had had grand plans for how she’d seduce Waurin if and when needed, but this was different. This was…

  “What is it you want?” he whispered.

  What do I want? Her heart seized in her chest. She didn’t—

  “Sir!”

  With a furious bang, one of the hall doors crashed open, revealing a drenched Par.

  Waurin quickly straightened, moving away from Essa as Par hurried over, pulling a sealed parchment from his jerkin.

  “What is it?” Elodie called from the gallery above before flying down the stairs, her bare feet poking out from underneath her billowing nightgown.

  “Riders from Rising,” Par explained breathlessly, taking the parchment back from Waurin when his hands were dry enough.

  “And?” Waurin asked as Par’s eyes flew across the page.

  “It’s from Lord Manek. Midlanders came not a fortnight ago and told him that, as a test of loyalty, he and the Lowlands will march into the Mountain Lands and conquer the tribes there for Larn.”

  “Gods,” Waurin swore, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  “Tell me he said no,” Elodie said.

  Par grimaced. “He refused. But Larn’s going to invade by the solstice, he’s sure of it. He asks for aid.”

  Waurin sighed, leaning over to splay his hands on the table in front of him. There was a tic next to his right eye as he thought, and Essa watched him. She was having a hard time catching up to the development, still pinned in her chair even though Waurin’s arms, and eyes, no longer kept her there. It was as though she swam through her thoughts, fighting to the surface for clarity.

  It came with one thought, the realization that her sisters were in Rising. Where Larn threatened to be.

  “Of course we’ll go,” Waurin said.

  Elodie’s face contorted with pain. She put her hand over her mouth, as if she had to physically hold words back.

  “The question is if we can make it in time,” Waurin was saying, voice low. “The solstice is a generous estimate.”

  “Why?” Essa asked.

  Waurin’s gaze was heavy when it fell on her, and she almost wished she hadn’t spoken. His calm concealed whirring thoughts; a swift current beneath still waters.

  “Because Larn’s spiteful. He’ll come fast.”

  He shifted his attention back to Par, sending him off to fetch maps, and Essa was glad of it. Salt pounced onto her lap, and she dug her fingers into his black fur. He turned curious yellow eyes on her, but she hadn’t any answers for him.

  When Par returned, he unfurled a great vellum map. He and Waurin each took a side, weighing the corners down with the stone game pieces.

  Still holding Salt, Essa rose and edged towards the map. “Could you make it in time?”

  Par glared at her from under his lashes, which she was used to, but when she glanced at him, she realized that it was her neck he stared at. Her neck, where the ribbon used to be. She wanted to be smug about it, to flaunt it before Par, but the shock of it was still too new and they spoke of far too dire circumstances.

  “Perhaps,” Waurin said. “If we move like hell.”

  Putting Salt over one shoulder, Essa traced the Lowland coastline. “And what if you sailed?”

  “We aren’t a navy,” Par snapped.

  “But surely you know the waters well.”

  “It’d be faster,” Waurin said slowly, his eyes following the coast. “At least, with a good wind. We could easily collect men from the coastal towns as we go.”

  “But what about the Oltaraani?” said Par.

  Waurin grunted, frowning.

  “The who?” asked Essa.

  “The Oltaraani,” Par repeated, sneering at her as much as he dared in front of Waurin. “Hostile tribes along the southern coasts.”

  “And?”

  “And, their stronghold, Tiernay, sits at the mouth of the Morroley River—the river we’d have to navigate to get to Rising by water.” Par sat back on his heels in triumph. “Overland is much surer.”

  Waurin was silent throughout this exchange, and both she and Par looked to him to settle the matter. He didn’t seem to notice, just stood there thinking. When he finally drew in a long breath, Essa squared her shoulders.

  “We don’t have the luxury of surety,” Waurin said. “Sailing’s a sennight quicker. We’ll bring valuables with us; maybe we can buy our way upriver.”

  Essa nodded when he looked at her, an odd contentment blooming in her that he’d taken her advice, had listened to her.

  “Ceralia bless us and Balan guide us, we might just make it in time.” Pointing at Par, Waurin said, “You show Manek’s rider somewhere to sleep and then take the south side of town. I’ll take the north. I want everyone up, ready to shove off in three days.”

  “Three days!” Elodie croaked.

  “Even with a good wind the whole way, we might not beat Larn there. There’s no time to spare.” When he saw what truly troubled his mother, Waurin put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t like it either, but Manek would come if it was us. I won’t abandon him. I’m tired of Larn, and I’m glad we’ll finish it, one way or the other.”

  This did nothing to ease the pain in Elodie’s face and Essa’s chest, but Waurin seemed unable to offer more comforting words. He nodded at Par, who took off like a loosed arrow back out into the rain.

  Essa watched him make to follow Par, to rally his men for
yet another battle. Perhaps it was because she was looking for it, but she saw when his shoulders slumped, when the realization that battle, whether it was a welcome chance to end everything or not, would soon be his fate again settled over him.

  “Waurin,” she called softly, putting Salt down on the table, walking towards him, needing to make it better but not knowing how.

  He turned back to her and watched her come, his face carefully neutral.

  It had been so brief, almost painful to bear, but Essa already missed the direct fierceness he’d shown her only minutes ago. Like a lantern that had been turned down, Waurin had drawn back into himself. As much as she hated seeing him suffer, seeing him distant and quiet when he’d once been so full of life, what she hated most was getting glimpses of more, of something else and then having it taken away. She didn’t need Waurin to be what he’d been, she just needed him to be alive.

  Was that…was this how he felt when he caught glimpses of her true feelings? When she’d slipped up or told too much truth, did he learn to crave such moments?

  The thought made Essa breathless.

  She’d come to him now, had crossed the ten paces so quickly and yet it felt like it took a lifetime. She still didn’t know what she would say, and her heart beat rapidly in her chest, drumming in her ears so loud, surely Waurin could hear too.

  He said nothing, just waited, and Essa both thanked and hated him for it.

  What do I want?

  She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him to leave her. But she didn’t want Manek, Rising, and her sisters facing Larn alone. She wanted more time with Waurin. She wanted to see her sisters.

  “I want to go with you.”

  He held her gaze, not with the fire of before but no less intense. She let him search, gave him the time to find what he needed.

  “All right then,” he said.

  He took her hands in his and squeezed, and Essa took what comfort she could. She had a little time now. She could only hope it would be enough.

  Fifty-One

  Dea was as beautiful as she was terrifying, and everywhere she turned her face, the earth did tremble. Everywhere, that was, except the mountains. For in Dea, Ma’an saw the same molten heart as his own. He was not afraid of her, and she was not afraid of him. And so, the Mountain bowed to Chaos and took her to his bed. Each time the Destroyer came to the Stone-Bearer, their union made the earth shake and tremble and weep, and the mortals were reminded just how terrible their wrath was.

  —Why the Earth Shakes

  It began with the northern farmers. Fleeing their farmsteads, hundreds of families hurried south into the Lowland heartland, carrying the news of invasion. They amassed people as they went, led by women who had come to see Rising’s wall built, and Ennis made good on her promise to them. For sennights, the north gate stood open like arms to welcome the families. They poured in, until Rising was swollen with anxious faces.

  Three days after the last northern farmers escaped to Rising, Larn followed in their wake. Two thousand Midlanders, two thousand horses. A sea of black-armored bodies, waiting to descend on Rising like Dea herself.

  That day, a day which threatened to rob Ennis of yet another life, she stood atop the battlements and watched the Midlanders make camp. There were so many, and the smell of horseflesh assaulted her nostrils even here. Their camps were orderly, their ranks flush. The bodies moving to and fro seemed a blight on the landscape, an unnatural blemish on an otherwise green land. It was what Manek had dreaded, had fought so hard to prevent, and Ennis had to keep herself from imagining flames eating through the wall, devouring all of Rising as her new home crumbled around her.

  But just as her heart began to stutter in panic, Manek’s hand slipped around hers. He stood beside her, his eyes sharp, almost gold in the afternoon sun.

  “It could be worse,” he said, surprising her.

  She didn’t answer him, fearing he was lying, only trying to reassure her.

  “We’ve had reports by bird—this isn’t the main force. Just the cavalry. He’s outpaced Verian and the main army by three or four days.”

  “It’s a sad day when two thousand cavalry is the good news.”

  He tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. She squeezed his hand, and together they stood on the battlements, the sound of Rising readying itself at their backs.

  More than three thousand souls clustered behind Rising’s wall. Everywhere she looked, Ennis saw tight, weary faces. Children wept silently; youth looked like old men. They all knew—this wall would not hold forever, not with two thousand Midlanders, soon to be five thousand, just outside. Intent on burning everything.

  Manek had twelve-hundred fighting men available and hoped to recruit at least three hundred more in the next few days. It would almost be even odds. Were it not for the two thousand horses. Were it not for three thousand more Midlanders just days away.

  It struck Ennis later as she sat with Manek and his parents over a quiet dinner—they couldn’t win. That truth sank into her flesh, down to the very marrow of her bones. They couldn’t win.

  Manek spoke of stalling for time. Few reinforcements had arrived from the other Lowland towns, but he hoped they might still come. Ennis wasn’t sure if he said these things to reassure them or himself. He knew such tactics were a double-edged sword. Stalling gave Verian and the main army time to catch up, and if they did, Rising was lost. But Manek thought they had little choice. He suspected Larn would wait to attack; he couldn’t know what awaited him behind Rising’s wall.

  Manek was proven right the second day when a messenger came to the gate demanding to see him. Ennis hung back, out of sight, but still heard the Midlander say that Larn didn’t want to have to punish his Lowlands and would speak with Manek, to see if they could reach some agreement.

  To Ennis’s surprise, Manek agreed.

  “It’ll be useful,” he said as they walked back towards the great house. “Might as well see what numbers he thinks we have. He fears a fair fight—despises them.”

  Ennis didn’t like it and said as much.

  “I don’t either, but if we keep up the pretense, we’ll buy ourselves some time.”

  “And Larn as well.”

  Manek shrugged helplessly. “Hopefully we’ll know more after meeting him. I’ll hold council tonight to make plans.” He took her hand in his and said, “I’d like you to be there, too.”

  “I’d planned on it.”

  That made him grin. “Good. If it’s as I suspect, and Larn’s waiting for greater numbers, then tomorrow would be the best time to make our move, reinforcements or no.”

  “You’d march out and meet him?”

  “Yes. He’ll never be weaker than he is now. And if we do, then…” His thumb made absent circles over the back of her hand as he looked at her, deciding something. “Then I’d like you to oversee Rising’s defenses.”

  She squared her jaw. She’d anticipated this, and while she knew it was a wise request, knew it was something she could do well, she still felt a pang of disappointment.

  He saw this and more cross her face; she didn’t try to conceal it.

  “You want to ride out with us.”

  “With you. Yes.”

  He held her gaze for a long, silent moment.

  “I won’t abandon you.”

  “You wouldn’t be,” he said, running his hand through her hair. “It’s you I want more than anyone at my back, protecting our home.”

  She made a show of grumbling a little more but knew she couldn’t deny him this. She’d protect her new home and keep it safe.

  “Who’ll go with you to meet him this afternoon?” she said.

  “Taryn, Beon, a few other captains. I’ll take more if—” He blinked at her. “Ennis, I don’t want him to see you.”

  Ennis didn’t particularly want to see Larn either, but that didn’t change that she wished to be by Manek’s side.

  She sighed. “You’re asking quite a lot of me today.”

/>   “I know,” he said, kissing her hair.

  “I expect a full account when you return.”

  “You’ll have it.”

  “Good.” She stood on her toes so she could wrap her arms around his neck as she said, “And if you should happen to stab him during negotiations, well then, I’ll count this a very productive day.”

  He laughed and gathered her to him, lifting her off her feet. “I’d no idea I was getting such a bloodthirsty wife.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” She slanted her mouth down over his, and as she kissed him that morning, the fine winter mist still clinging to the ground around them, Ennis couldn’t help feeling it was a stolen moment.

  When he set her down again, it was too soon. She left him at the base of the great house hill, catching the path leading to Lora’s cottage.

  Lora was in the main room with two other women, arranging the supplies that’d been donated in preparation for the services she’d administer soon. Linen, gauze, witch hazel, willow bark, poppy milk, needles, twine, smooth and serrated knives, and a bone saw were some of the items arranged around the room.

  Ennis had helped Lora move the large table from the center of the room earlier that morning, shoving it up against the southern wall. In its place were four long tables, spaced evenly apart, a stool with a wash basin standing beside each.

  It struck Ennis as a grim reminder of what was to come.

  Lora smiled at her in greeting, but her face was tired, her skin sallow and eyes sunken.

  “You should rest for a while,” Ennis said low enough so only Lora would hear.

  “There will be time later.”

  “Still, it wouldn’t do for you to fall asleep on your patients,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  But Lora wouldn’t hear of it, so Ennis her burden and helped with the work. With the other two women, one of them a midwife named Marika and the other Lora’s neighbor Sabella, they spent the better part of the morning converting the cottage into a healing house.

  By midday, all was ready, and Marika and Sabella left with promises to return with more supplies.