A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “Go!” Onika said, and Kal sprinted through the gap.

  Thus he went ahead, following Onika’s commands. The air smelled of cooked meat, campfire smoke, and oil from burning torches. Twice her warnings saved him from walking right in front of guards, and in a very short time Kal found himself crouched behind a pale tent, looking at a dark one she claimed was her own.

  It did indeed have two guards outside the entrance. They were talking casually to one another as if confident of the easy task they’d been given.

  “Is anyone in the tent with you?” Kal asked.

  “No,” Onika said. “If you sneak under the canvas in back, no one will see you.”

  Kal much preferred that plan. He backtracked and approached the tent from behind. He dropped to his stomach on the cold grass and rolled underneath the canvas wall. It was very dark inside as he hopped to his feet and slowly stood. The fire in the center of the tent had burned down to orange embers. His eyes adjusted. He spied a mat on the other side of the tent and took slow, careful steps around the fire pit, eyes locked on the still form under a wool blanket.

  Something small moved in the darkness. A familiar hiss made Kal smile. He crouched and held out his hand. “Hello, Rustian,” he whispered. “I’ve come to help Onika.”

  The dune cat approached, sniffed Kal’s fingers, then pushed its head under his palm, purring heavily.

  “You remember me, don’t you?” Kal indulged the animal with a lengthy scratch behind its ears, then stood and continued toward the mat. Rustian ran ahead and plopped down beside the body. As Kal neared, he was able to make out Onika’s unique features: nearly white hair, pale skin, the curve of her eyebrows, her slender nose, and pink lips.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her.

  “I think the same as I look at you,” she said. “Eyes see differently than hands. You were handsome when my hands first felt your face, and you are magnificent to my eyes now.”

  Such words. Kal swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “My body cannot move on its own while my consciousness is in the Veil. If you carry me, I will subdue the guards myself.”

  “I would rather you didn’t. Besides, who’s the Rescuer here? Me or you? Return to your body long enough to crawl under the canvas wall. That will make things easier.”

  “Very well.” A breath later, Onika’s body shifted and she opened her eyes.

  “Hello,” Kal said, breathless at the sight of those silvery blue orbs.

  She smiled and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Rustian can lead me when we’re outside,” she whispered, “but you must help me out of the tent. Also, remember that in my body, I cannot see shadir. If any spot us, they will warn their masters.”

  The audible sound of her voice so mesmerized him, it took him a moment to register what she’d said. “Did you see any shadir when we came in?”

  “A few,” she said slowly. “There are normally hundreds in this camp. Most likely went north with Rogedoth.”

  Kal took hold of her hand and hauled them both to their feet. He led her around the fire pit toward the back of the tent. “Stand here a moment.” He dropped into a crouch and peeked under the canvas. The night appeared dark and still. He saw no movement. He stood, lifting the canvas as he rose. He again found Onika’s hand. “Duck and step forward.”

  Onika obeyed, and Kal pulled her under the wall. Once they were outside, he let the canvas fall back into place. He looked for the dune cat and found the animal at its post against Onika’s right leg. Good cat.

  Kal drew his sword, just in case, then took Onika’s hand with his left. They circled a small tent and came face-to-face with a gray-haired soldier holding a mug.

  “Intruders!” The soldier dropped the mug and drew his sword. “Throw down that weapon and kneel, hands out where I can see them.”

  Kal shoved Onika behind him. “Stay down!” He’d have to kill this guard before reinforcements came. He lunged forward to scare the old man, but the guard met his stroke, then lashed out with a strike of his own just as a second guard arrived on the scene.

  Kal cursed his bad luck as he blocked the strike and barely managed to dodge out of the path of the second guard’s sword.

  Kal was rusty, and fighting two guards was always challenging. He held steady, though, until three more guards rushed into the fray. Kal managed to clip the shoulder of his first attacker. At the sound of the man’s anguished cry, Kal’s sword arm began to tingle.

  “Onika, it’s happening!” he yelled. “My arm!”

  “I will fight them, Sir Kalenek, but you must carry my body.”

  Her comment confused him—how would she fight?—but he could do nothing but focus on his own circumstances. The five men came upon him with such force, they quickly pushed him back against the tent. Rustian darted in and hissed, tripping one of the men and scratching another. On the edge of Kal’s vision, he saw Onika fall.

  “No!” He glanced back to see who had dared strike a defenseless woman, but no one was there. His hesitation enabled the soldiers to seize him. They wrestled him to the ground. He yelled, panicked by the idea that Onika would be here for the full moon—that he had failed her.

  Someone pushed a knee into his back. “I need some rope to bind him.”

  Kal needed to escape before they bound his hands. Before he could come up with a plan, one of his attackers collapsed to the ground beside him, eyes glassy.

  What in blazes had happened to him?

  Overhead, his attackers cried out in surprise. A sudden weight fell onto Kal’s back.

  “What’s happening?” a man asked, his voice laced in terror.

  Kal struggled to his knees and threw off the limp body. He regarded the two men on the ground, then the three staring at him, swords pointed his way.

  “You’re a mantic, aren’t you?” one of them asked.

  “Not me.” Kal’s sword was within reach, so he grabbed it and stood to face the men.

  The nearest lunged at him. Kal deflected the blow. Another jabbed his blade toward Kal, and just as Kal blocked it, the man fainted away.

  The last two soldiers swept back, eyes wide and searching the shadows. One collapsed, leaving the other standing over the bodies of his comrades, a look of confused shock on his face.

  Kal couldn’t blame him.

  “See to my body, Sir Kalenek.” Onika’s voice was back in his head. “This man is about to yield.”

  Kal sheathed his sword and tossed Onika’s limp body over his shoulder. By the time he turned around, the last soldier lay on the ground as if dead.

  “I’d love to know how you accomplished that,” he said.

  “We will have time to talk later, Sir Kalenek.”

  Kal stepped carefully over the felled soldiers, then picked up speed. Rustian padded beside him, ears perked up. They had created so much commotion that they met guards at every turn, but Onika attacked each before Kal ever had need to draw his blade. A curious fear at her power prickled his arms in gooseflesh. Huge men swooned at the sight of them as if an invisible storm had blown away each life. Kal wove around their bodies, uncertain if they were dead or merely sleeping. In this manner they made their way out of the camp. They reached Kal’s horse, and he pushed Onika’s body up, then mounted behind her. It wasn’t until he was riding hard for the trees that he remembered Shanek was in Rurekau with Empress Jazlyn—that he had been coming to help the boy. Kal couldn’t go back now. Apparently he had made his choice.

  Trevn

  Trevn awoke, alert yet confused. Had there been a noise? His chamber was dark. He sensed no one here but Mielle, and from the steady cadence of her breathing, she was still asleep.

  “Oli Agoros.”

  Ah. Oli must have been knocking, but why at this hour?

  Trevn yawned and lowered his shields. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  A rush of relief filled the connection between them. “I’m sorry if I awakened you, Your Highness, but my mother
just voiced me and I wanted to tell you all she said.”

  Trevn’s heart lurched and he pushed to sitting. “Please do so.”

  “She not only confided in me the names of several noble families who she claims are loyal to her cause, she confirmed her plan to attack Armanguard, to kill you, and to make me king of Armania. She is awaiting my response as to whether or not I will help her.”

  A nightmare come to life. “Could this be some kind of trick?” Trevn asked.

  “I think not, Your Highness,” Oli said.

  “You have my undivided attention, Your Grace. Tell me everything.”

  “The Greenore’s location is still a mystery,” Trevn told the council the next morning. “Master Grayson will inform me the moment he finds them.”

  “Who are these traitors Sârah Jemesha named?” Barek asked.

  “Tace Edekk, Gunrik Koll, Allain Ortropp, and the Wallingtons,” Trevn said. Clearly some of the noble families had sided with the enemy in hopes that Trevn might be killed and Oli promoted in his place. Trevn watched the man now, vexed that he could never sense his emotions. He well knew that if Oli Agoros wanted the throne of Armania, he could take it without much difficulty. Trevn simply had to trust that the duke was on his side.

  “We cannot let those men and their armies fight alongside the rest of us,” Lord Idez said.

  “Why would they fight when they could stay home and let us be slaughtered?” Barek said.

  “Slaughtered by a compelled Puru force of five hundred?” General Ensley said. “Do you really have so little faith in our army?”

  “But Sârah Jemesha has magic,” Barek added.

  “Had magic,” Danek said. “Master Grayson destroyed their root.”

  “Then how is she hiding the Greenore?” Marshal Winstone asked.

  “She must be expending her reserves to shield their ship,” Captain Veralla said.

  “Either way, the traitors should be arrested,” Lord Idez said.

  “I won’t arrest anyone or label them traitor without evidence of wrongdoing,” Trevn said. “General Ensley, keep an eye on those families named and their armies. But unless you see acts of treason, let them fight.”

  Ensley nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Oli, please inform the council what we can expect from your father.” Trevn purposely used the duke’s first name, hoping to remind him that they were all of them friends here.

  “My father will shoot fire arrows inside the castle to smoke us out. If that fails, then he may try laying siege to Castle Armanguard.”

  “We mustn’t let it come to that,” Captain Veralla said. “Castle sieges are long, drawn-out affairs. A standoff could last months or even years. The general would cut off our food and water supply until we surrendered or starved to death.”

  “We have the lake,” Lord Idez said. “With fish and plenty of water. Plus snow to melt in the meantime and food for several months. Longer if we evicted the commoners to safety.”

  “There will be no safety for our people outside these walls,” Oli said. “My father’s army will rape and pillage the city, burn fields to destroy crops, slaughter the herds—”

  “Why would he do that if he looks to rule?” Barek asked.

  “My father rules by fear alone,” Oli said.

  “Then we don’t let him reach the castle,” Trevn said. “Avoid a siege at all costs. General, can we attack first?”

  “Certainly, Your Highness,” General Ensley said, “but until the ship is located, we don’t know which direction around the lake he’ll come. Where would I assemble the men?”

  “Divide them between the nearest coastlines,” Captain Veralla said. “Half on the north side of the lake, half on the west. Grayson can warn us which way they’re coming from, then you’ll have time to move the rest.”

  “Won’t that leave the city defenseless?” Lord Idez asked.

  “The garrison will remain with me in the castle,” Trevn said.

  “Actually, Your Highness,” General Ensley said, “you must ride out with the army. Your First Arm can lead the garrison against any who might get past our defenses.”

  Leave Oli Agoros the castle? Was that wise?

  “If you’re leading the army, General, why can’t the king remain here?” Lord Idez asked.

  “The army belongs to the king, not me,” Ensley said. “He should lead them.”

  This had been the plan all along—the reason Trevn had been going to the practice field each day. To hear it said so calmly made him feel woefully inadequate. And while he trusted Oli, it would be wise to leave another trustworthy man here, just in case.

  “Very well,” Trevn said, “but as I have no command experience, I will defer to your tactical wisdom, General. Captain Veralla, I put you in charge of Duke Canden’s security. See that my First Arm is kept safe. The moment we get word from Grayson, I will ride out and join the army.”

  Oli met Trevn’s gaze. “Go with Arman, Your Highness.”

  “You as well. General Ensley, call the army to prepare for battle. We shall see who comes and who does not. Meeting adjourned.”

  Grayson awoke Trevn before dawn. The Greenore had dropped its anchor off the coast of Er’Rets, directly east from the castle, about five leagues up the coast from the Port of Armania. Trevn quickly passed along the news, then called Ottee. As the boy set about dressing Trevn for battle, Mielle became frantic. She alternated between frustration over not being able to fight, lamenting as to what might become of her if Trevn were killed, assuring him he would have victory, and fighting through bouts of gut-wrenching tears. Through their soul-binding, the woman’s emotions were making Trevn’s spin. He finally kissed her goodbye and ordered Lady Pia and Bero to take her to Rosârah Brelenah so he might have some peace.

  When Trevn was ready, he took the stairs to the roof, where he stood with Oli Agoros, Captain Veralla, Nietz, and Cadoc, helm in hand, looking across the partially frozen lake toward the southeast. The men’s combined emotions were much more stable than his wife’s had been, and Trevn was finally able to prepare himself for what was coming.

  We are in need of your protection today, Arman. Help us prevail.

  Trevn had been expecting war since Wilek had become king, but it was strange to be facing someone other than Rogedoth. He couldn’t believe that the former general and his wife—Trevn’s aunt—would not only commit treason against Armania but would betray Barthel Rogedoth after all their years of supporting his cause.

  “Grayson, give me an update,” he voiced.

  “They’re unloading the ship now,” Grayson said, “and the Puru soldiers are marching in a line toward Armanguard. Shall I stay here?”

  “Yes,” said Trevn. “I’ll have Miss Onika advance with the soldiers. Keep me apprised of everything. And watch General Agoros and his wife and daughter closely.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Grayson believed he had destroyed all the evenroot aboard the Greenore after Hinck had killed Rosârah Laviel, but was there truly any way to know? That Sârah Jemesha might attack with magic was Trevn’s greatest fear. It was the only possibility for which he had no defense.

  Trevn voiced Miss Onika next. Sir Kalenek had rescued her from Rogedoth’s camp—they were on their way back. She assured him she could enter the Veil to help and that Sir Kalenek would ride on with her body. Trevn didn’t know how he would deal with the man Wilek had publicly declared a traitor for having killed Janek. But that was a problem for another day. Trevn asked Miss Onika to follow the enemy’s march and keep him informed as to their location.

  He looked through his grow lens. Nothing. “Grayson says they are coming.” He studied the western bank, where half the army was to report. Scattered groups of soldiers stood on the snowy field, looking bored. To the north he found a similar showing. “Is this all our men?”

  “General Ensley said they are missing over half,” Oli said, breath clouding as he spoke.

  Half of two thousand? “Why so many?”<
br />
  “Either not all the soldiers received the message that Armanguard is about to be attacked,” Oli said, “or they did get the message and have chosen to ignore it.”

  Trevn stiffened, incensed by the latter possibility. “Even combined, the suspected traitors’ armies are no more than five hundred. Where are the others?”

  “It could be that men simply don’t want to risk their lives anymore.”

  Both options made fury well inside Trevn’s gut. “Well, perhaps this man would be pleased to send a thousand deserters to the pole.”

  “Maybe not all one thousand, Your Highness,” Captain Veralla said. “Find out who those missing men report to. It could be that those officers are the ones who openly defied your order, not their men.”

  That seemed logical. “Cadoc, Nietz, let’s go find out, shall we?” Trevn said, walking toward the stairs. He nodded to Captain Veralla, then looked to Oli. “Guard the castle well, Your Grace.”

  When Trevn stepped off the barge, he found his horse saddled and waiting, snorting steamy gusts into the frigid air. Trevn greeted Seeker, put on his helm, and mounted. The metal felt cold on his head, but his breath quickly warmed it. He rode hard with Cadoc, Nietz, Rzasa, Novan, and Bonds over the slushy snow toward what would soon become a battlefield. The sky was dark gray and cloudy. Trevn hoped it wouldn’t storm.

  “Grayson? Give me an update,” he voiced.

  “The general divided the soldiers into three units and sent them north around the top of the lake,” he said. “The first has already set out. The second is nearly gone. They’re not all Puru. About twenty in each group are Kinsman.”

  “Did you overhear any of the general’s plans?”

  “He wants to reach the castle quickly and lay siege.”

  “He’s too late for that. Stay with him and inform me of anything you think important.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trevn checked in with Miss Onika and received a similar report, though she had spotted several shadir among the Puru army. She couldn’t tell whether or not they were bonded to anyone in particular. It could be they were simply drawn to the possibility of bloodshed.