“I’m no philosopher, Aaron, and the gods know I’m just about as far from a priest as a man can be, but it seems to me that that’s mostly what hope is—lies. Stories we tell ourselves so we can go to bed at night, so we can get up each day and take on whatever shit the world’s cooked up for us while we were sleepin’. People breathe air, they eat food, and they drink water, but they live on hope. They hope tomorrow will be better than today, they hope even the worst storm will pass. It’s a good thing, hope.”
“And if it’s false hope?”
Brandon shrugged. “To be honest with you, I don’t even know what that means. All hope is false, ain’t it? If it weren’t, well, it wouldn’t be called hope, it’d be called knowledge, truth, maybe. Hope is a single lantern shining in the darkness, believing—true or not—that its light is enough to chase away the shadows. And, if you ask me, considerin’ what we’re going to be marching against, hope is something we need right now. If the price of those men,”—he paused, gesturing to the guards whispering excitedly—“being able to laugh and face what’s coming with courage and smiles on their faces is you being a bit uncomfortable, well, that’s a trade I’d make any day.”
Aaron sighed. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
The captain grinned. “I’ve been told as much. Don’t exactly change the facts though, does it?”
“No,” Aaron muttered. “No, it doesn’t. Anyway, how’s the army coming?”
“Going alright, so far. I received word from Lady Tanarest that all of Grinner’s men have been dealt with, leastways all those we know about, and as per Queen Adina’s order, we’ve been getting everything prepared. I reckon we’ll be ready to march by tomorrow mornin’.”
Aaron gazed out over the wall at the gathered armies, even now setting about the tasks of loading materials onto supply carts prepared for the purpose. Hundreds, thousands of men and women, all of them come to fight against an enemy out of legend, ready to stand against an army of unnatural creatures, ones which they had, at best, heard stories of but had never actually seen. Even from this distance, he could feel their emotions through the bond, a storm of them. There was fear, of course, not just for themselves but for the families they left behind, those who were counting on them. But there was also courage, and a willingness to see the thing through, whatever came. “One day,” he said. “Then it begins, in truth.”
“Yes,” the captain said, following his gaze. “Then it begins in truth. And we will show that ancient bastard of a mage that the world is not so easily destroyed as he might think, that its people are not so easily broken.”
“Another lie, Captain?”
Brandon grinned. “Call it hope.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Adina stared into the looking glass of the room she and Aaron shared. She’d woken early or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say that she had risen from where she lay in bed shifting restlessly, and had begun dressing for the day ahead.
It had taken her longer than it would have on a normal day, for whatever else it was, today was far from normal. Today, they would march on Baresh, would set their feet on the path that would inevitably lead to a battle with Kevlane and his creatures. Despite the earliness of the hour, she could hear the sounds of the army preparing for the journey ahead, soldiers hastily packing their tents and belongings, finishing the final touches before marching to war.
A war in which they expected her to lead them. Adina frowned at her reflection. She had discovered something in the last few hours. Her upbringing within her father’s castle had afforded her many opportunities, and her tutors had taught her much of the world, her nursemaid educating her on the proper way a lady of her rank should act and conduct herself, what fork to use at dinner, how to address noblemen and noblewomen of all stations and backgrounds.
All useful lessons serving to teach her how to comport herself, how to lead the life of a princess. The problem, of course, was that she was no longer a princess but a queen and, what’s more, a queen preparing to lead not just one army to war, but three. She knew, from her childhood lessons, what dress or gown she would wear for occasions ranging anywhere from a formal dinner to a ball to meeting with visiting dignitaries, yet none of her lessons had covered the proper attire for marching to war.
It doesn’t matter, a part of her thought, no one will care about your clothes.
But of course they would. Another of the lessons her nursemaid had taught her at a young age, had instilled in her, was that people had certain expectations of their rulers, were guided by their actions, their words and, yes, their dress. Wearing a lacy, colorful dress would project the idea that she did not take the war—and therefore, the lives of the soldiers following her—seriously. On the other hand, something more somber might seem far too much like funeral attire and would inspire fear when it was her job to inspire confidence.
This, then, was the reason she had spent the last several hours trying on and discarding one outfit after another until finally she had settled on what she now wore—simple well-made tunic and trousers and boots, clothes she would have worn for a long day’s ride on horseback. Her nursemaid, she knew, would have been scandalized. She could picture the woman now, scolding her, explaining that princesses wore dresses, not trousers. But, then, the woman had never led an army to battle. If only I were as lucky.
There was a knock on the door, and she was so engrossed in her own thoughts, in studying her reflection in the mirror, that she jumped, nearly crying out in her surprise. And wouldn’t that be just perfect? she thought. After all, what projects more confidence than a queen who screams at every sound?
Of course, the people of Perennia had another queen, her sister Isabelle, but since Adina and the others had returned, wresting power of the city back from the crime boss, her sister had said little. Now, she spent her days flinching at every raised voice. When she spoke, she did so in a weak, timid tone, barely audible at all. It was up to Adina, then, to be brave where her sister was scared, to stand tall while her sister cowered. Or, at least, to appear so. The truth was she was terrified, for the coming battle would decide not just her fate, but the fate of every man, woman, and child in Telrear.
“Yes?”
“It’s Gryle, Queen Adina.”
“Please, come in.”
The chamberlain stepped inside, closing the door shut behind him. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Majesty, but General Envelar sent me to inform you that your escort is prepared.”
Adina nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was really happening, then. They were about to march to war against an army of creatures from nightmares. A war that she herself had insisted on, had fought for. How many men and women would die because of it? How many children would be left without fathers, without mothers? “Thank you, Gryle,” she said.
She considered asking the chamberlain’s thoughts on her attire, but decided against it, for if he had another suggestion there was no time to change now. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing her eyes away from the mirror to Gryle. “Any word from Urek?”
“Sorry, Majesty, but so far at least, there has been no news.”
Which meant that it was possible she would walk out into the city only to find Councilman Arkrest, and Avarest’s army, marching not toward the war, but away from it. She swallowed, forcing a calm into her voice she did not feel. “Very well. I’m sure that we will know whether he was successful or not soon.” If he wasn’t, your army will lose thousands before the battle has even begun. And if he was? If he was, then you are a murderer, and never mind that it wasn’t your blade that spilled blood.
The chamberlain studied her with a compassionate expression as if he could see the direction of her thoughts. “Of course, Majesty. And, Majesty…if you’ll forgive me for saying so…about Councilman Arkrest. You had no other choice.”
And how many murderers, how many tyrants, have told themselves as much? she thought. But the time for doubt, for uncertainty, had passed. Now, she
had to be strong, to be the queen the world needed her to be. “Thank you, Gryle,” she said. “You are a true friend.” She took one last glance at the mirror, at the woman staring back at her. You are enough. But the woman in the mirror seemed uncertain, and she turned away quickly.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m ready.”
***
Wendell sat his horse, along with the twelve other soldiers—all members of Envelar’s Ghosts—chosen as Queen Adina’s honor guard. They waited outside the castle gate for the queen’s appearance, all of them looking regal in their fine armor, each of the soldiers obviously proud to be part of the queen’s escort. For his part, Wendell was too busy trying not to ruin the image by puking all over himself or his horse to feel much pride at all.
News had come the day before that they would be leaving the city in the morning, marching to Baresh, and Wendell had done what—under the circumstances—had seemed the only reasonable thing to do. He’d gotten drunk. Hopelessly, terribly, drunk. It had seemed sensible enough at the time, but now, sitting his horse with the sun shining directly in his eyes no matter which way he turned, with his stomach roiling unpleasantly, up to a bit of mischief that promised to show itself soon, he thought that, just maybe, a good night’s sleep would have been better.
The noise from the crowd lining the street did little to improve his headache. It looked to him as if everyone in the city had come out to witness the army’s departure, to see their queen escorted to the head of that army, and Wendell couldn’t help but remember that the last time such a crowd had gathered it had been to see Hale and May executed. His stomach gave a kick, and Wendell brought a hand to his mouth, covering a belch that promised more—and worse—to come.
“Everything alright, Sergeant Wendell?”
He turned to scowl at the swordmaster, Darrell. The man was also part of the queen’s escort, and though he’d been at the same tavern Wendell had, along with Leomin, the older man seemed none the worse for wear. He’d seen the Parnen earlier and he, too, had seemed unaffected by their night spent drinking. Wendell was beginning to suspect that the bastards had tricked him somehow, seeking revenge for the shit cart as if it was somehow his fault they’d been too big of fools to get out of the way.
“Just fine,” Wendell said. You bastard. But the swordmaster’s answering grin seemed to indicate he knew well enough the issues plaguing the sergeant, and was getting some pleasure at his discomfort. “Ain’t never felt better.”
“You’re certain?” the swordmaster asked, his smile widening. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look a little…green. Almost as if you might be sick. I’d hate to think you weren’t feeling well.”
Wendell opened his mouth to tell the man his mind, but abruptly the castle doors opened, and the crowd erupted in cheers so loud, so piercing, that all of his attention was pulled to the sharp, pounding in his head, growing worse by the second. Abruptly, he was too busy concentrating on not showing the gathered people last night’s dinner to care about the smug swordmaster.
After a moment, the worst of the pain subsided, and Wendell noted the queen and the chamberlain moving toward the gate. Despite his discomfort, Wendell couldn’t help but be impressed. He’d seen and spoken to the queen plenty of times, of course—more than a man like him had any right to, in truth—but he was still impressed by the figure she struck. She sat tall in her saddle, her long hair falling across her shoulders, and on her face was a confidence, an assurance, that did nearly as much to set Wendell’s mind at ease about the coming battle as the drink had done and, he suspected, with none of the more unfortunate side effects.
The crowd must have been impressed as well, for they cheered all the louder as she drew close to the gate. The guards stationed there swung it open, bowing low as she and the chamberlain made their way past. “We couldn’t have asked for a nobler queen to lead us,” Darrell said, his eyes dancing with what Wendell took to be amusement. Then, he gave a pull on his reins and started toward the queen and the chamberlain.
Bastard, Wendell thought again, but he gave his own horse a kick and followed.
***
“They seem excited enough,” a voice said beside him, but Aaron was barely listening. He was too busy watching Adina approach, surrounded by her honor guard. If ever a woman looked the part of a queen, it was she. She sat her saddle proudly, waving at the people she passed and projecting a confidence that Aaron knew she didn’t feel.
Gods, she’s beautiful. Whenever he considered it, he was still shocked a woman like her—a queen like her—would want anything to do with a man such as himself. What could a woman like that see in him? How could such a one love a man who had spent his life skittering along Avarest’s underbelly, caring only for himself? Yet, for reasons beyond his understanding, she did.
You are not that man any longer, Co said. You have changed, Aaron.
“We’ve all changed,” he muttered.
“Mr. Envelar?”
Aaron started, pulled from his thoughts by the voice, and turned to Leomin. The Parnen sat his horse on the sellsword’s left while Captain Brandon Gant waited on his right. General Yalleck sat atop his own horse on the other side of the captain. Beside Leomin, Urek, squatted uncomfortably on his own mount, obviously embarrassed to be included in the spectacle. Not that Aaron blamed him—he was embarrassed himself, had been made even more so by the chanting that had arisen in the crowd when he’d arrived. A ship captain, a criminal, a sellsword, and a general. This is who the city must rely on to lead them. Gods save us. “I’m sorry, Leomin,” he said, turning to the Parnen. “What did you say?”
“Nothing of any consequence, Mr. Envelar. I only remarked that the crowd seems excited enough. They seem…brave.”
Sure, they do, Aaron thought. It’s an easy enough thing to be brave when the monsters are still miles away, and the journey not yet begun. I wonder, how many of those shouts of adoration will turn to screams of fear before long? How many of those faces, smiling like the army’s departure was some Fairday celebration, will be frozen in death before the month is out? “Yes,” he said. “They do seem brave.”
Adina and the chamberlain finally arrived, their honor guard spreading out to surround Aaron and the others while Adina rode up beside Aaron, the chamberlain—perhaps unsurprisingly—taking a spot on the end, as far away from the center of things as possible. An even greater cheer went up from the multitude of people at their gathered leaders.
What do they see, when they look at us, I wonder? he thought. Is it salvation? Do they see a group of men and women who will lead them against what’s coming? A group capable of defeating a legendary evil, of driving it back into the shadows? And, if they do…how?
They see hope, Aaron Envelar, Co said into his mind. And hope, in such dark times, is a thing well worth celebrating.
Aaron grunted. Hope. He wondered if maybe any of those in the crowd had some to spare, some he could borrow for a time, for his own thoughts were dark, shadowy things, and there was no hope within them. Leomin cleared his throat, looking at him expectantly. The sellsword frowned, beginning to ask what he wanted, but then he realized it wasn’t just the Parnen that was studying him, but all of those gathered. Adina, General Yalleck, Brandon with a grin on his face, and even Urek, his own malicious smile doing little to hide the obvious relief he felt at not being the center of attention. And, of course, the thousands lining the street, all staring at him and waiting for something.
Gods, what do they want of me? he thought.
You know, Aaron, the Virtue said.
Aaron did his best to hide his wince as he cleared his throat and gave his reins a tug, relieved when his horse didn’t decide to spill him on his ass in front of all the people—and wouldn’t that be the perfect way to begin the thing?—but took a few steps forward, as he’d wished. A fresh roar went up from the crowd at that, and once again the chanting began. En-ve-lar. En-ve-lar. The sound of his name thundered in the morning air, echoing through the city
streets, and Aaron reflected, for a moment, that he had never thought to hear his name called by the voices of so many, with so much passion. At least, that was, unless they were attending his execution, demanding his head. But one look at the hopeful, almost worshipful faces of those gathered showed that it wasn’t his head they were after, but something much more difficult, something he feared he could not give them.
Good men try, he told himself, deciding to forget, for the moment, that though they tried, good men often failed as well. He cleared his throat again. He held his hand up for silence—feeling all the while like the worst kind of impostor, feeling certain that, any second now, someone would step forward and call him down: You are not the man we want. You are just a sellsword, a thug for hire. A man who has murdered dozens of people—not a hero at all but a villain. And if someone did step forward and say such things, what could he say in return?
To his surprise, though, no one challenged him. The cheering subsided as if by magic, and they only stood watching him expectantly. Aaron took a slow, deep breath, feeling as if he were dreaming. “People of Perennia,” he began, raising his voice to be heard, but he needn’t have bothered, for an almost supernatural silence had fallen on the city as virtually all its inhabitants waited on what he would say. He winced, rubbing at his chin. “Maybe, it’s better to say ‘people of all Telrear.’ For what we do now, we do not just for ourselves, and when we march it will not be for the glory of any one city, any one kingdom. Instead, we’ll march—we’ll fight—for all of Telrear and its people.”
The crowd roared in approval, clapping and cheering, shouting his name as if he were some great king instead of a fool well and truly out of his element and trying his best not to make an ass of himself. Wincing, he raised his hand again, and once more the crowd quieted. “I want to thank you all, for your support,” Never mind that, barely more than a week ago, many of you were going to execute one of my closest friends and would have been all too thrilled to do the same to me. “We thank you,” he said, gesturing back to where Adina and the others sat atop their horses. “The coming days won’t be easy—the gods know the truth of that. We have all had to sacrifice in these past weeks; we have all lost something or someone.” And that, too, was true. Few in the city had not lost a loved one when Belgarin and his army had attacked—one needed only to look at the city walls, still stained with the blood of its defenders, to know it. “And we will have to sacrifice more yet,” he added, taking in the somber faces of the crowd.
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