A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  Trevn and his men approached a long line of foot soldiers stretched out along the top of a small hill facing southeast. They steered their mounts toward the center back, where General Ensley was positioned on a horse with Marshal Winstone and a few mounted officers. Trevn recognized Sir Keshton Veralla, Gunrik Koll, and Sir Jarmyn Koll. Interesting that Lord Blackpool and his son had come. Trevn had been certain they would have been numbered among the deserters.

  “I thought we were going to meet the enemy on the plains, General,” Trevn said.

  “The plains would give Agoros too easy an approach, Your Highness,” Ensley said. “Plus, that snow will become a miry bog in no time, so I’ve assembled the army across the top of this ridge. They’ll form a shield wall, seven men deep with our best men in the front. The enemy will exhaust themselves in futile attacks against our defensive line.”

  Trevn nodded, seeing the wisdom in Ensley’s plan. “How many men do we have?”

  “Near fifteen hundred, Your Highness.”

  A few more had decided to come after all. Good. “Any idea which men have failed to report?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” the general said. “All of my officers and lords are accounted for. In all honesty, with only one night to spread the word, it’s likely those missing didn’t get the message.”

  That possibility lifted Trevn’s spirits. He took out his grow lens and peered in the direction Ensley had indicated. The first division of General Agoros’s pale army was drawing near, the line stretching out into the distance. No more than five hundred total, Hinck had said. Archers were at the front. The others seemed to be carrying pikes.

  “Their archers will shoot first, I assume?” Trevn asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Ensley said. “General Agoros will try to break our formation with his archers, then attack with his infantry to create gaps in our line. My guess is his Kinsman men will try to get past us and head toward the castle. We’ll stop them, though.” Ensley looked through his own grow lens. “They look fuddled. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Trevn peered through his lens at the nearest Puru. Many were snarling like animals; some looked to be talking to themselves. “Hinck said Rogedoth compelled them to believe we have wronged them. My guess is they will be passionate fighters.”

  “That’s unfortunate, Your Highness,” Ensley said. “And terribly sad.”

  “Yes,” Trevn said. “I do not wish to kill these Puru.”

  “Retreat would bring dishonor.”

  “Oh, we will not retreat,” Trevn said. “We’ll put our hope in Arman and trust in his will.”

  “I usually ride up and down the line to encourage the men, Your Highness,” Ensley said. “Might you like the honor instead?”

  “I would.” He regarded the spread of soldiers, then glanced at his personal guards. “Ride with me.” He steered Seeker out to the front of the line and was heartened to see the glossy blue shields blazoned in black paint with his own sigil of five Nesher birds in flight. The shields ran out into the distance, one locked against another as far as he could see.

  Trevn sat as tall as he could in his saddle and spurred his horse forward. “Soldiers of Armania!” he yelled as he rode slowly along the front line. Some heads turned toward him. “Arman is with us. The same Arman who brought the Five Woes upon our former home. The same Arman who wrought judgment upon my father and his Pontiff advisor for their sins against him. The same Arman who led us across the seas to this new land. A land he has given us to protect.”

  The men near him had grown silent. They were listening.

  “We fight today for our wives, our children, and our families. We fight for those who have fought before us. We fight for the life Arman has provided. The life Rogedoth and other traitors continue to threaten. Our attackers today are but pawns. They serve our enemy out of force, not devotion. They will come hard against us, so protect yourselves well. Do not wither or retreat from battle but fight to the last. Defend our home with the power Arman provides. We are brave. We are courageous. We are strong. We are Armania!”

  The soldiers cheered. Some lifted swords or poleaxes in the air. Trevn continued down the line, encouraging the men. He gave his speech a few more times and eventually passed around the other end of the shield wall and returned along the back side of the line.

  Across the ranks, blue banners bearing Trevn’s sigil whipped about in the chill wind. Though the day was bitter cold and the sky gray, the sun shone down through a patch of pale blue and gleamed against the oiled armor and polished weapons. As Trevn regarded his army, a measure of pride welled within him. These men had obeyed his call.

  May we honor you this day, Arman, if such a thing is possible in war. We fight against the evil we brought here. Help us banish it for good.

  Trevn and his guards finally reached General Ensley again. It seemed odd to wait for the enemy to arrive. His instinct was to send the army out now, before the enemy had a chance to fall into ranks. He voiced the question to Cadoc.

  “An army has strength when it acts as one,” Cadoc said.

  Trevn tried to imagine what Cadoc meant, but then the left wing of the Puru, who were the only enemy division fully assembled, attacked prematurely. Their archers fired on the Armanian line, and the Puru infantry charged past the archers, following the path of the artillery.

  A shout from General Ensley, and the Armanians lifted their shields.

  “They’re doing exactly what I was tempted to do,” Trevn voiced to Cadoc.

  “Yes, and it’s a foolish act, as you’ll see soon enough. They should hold their position and wait for the rest of their forces to arrive. Unite their whole army. Watch and see how it affects the outcome. My guess is the attack will be short.”

  The slope of the hill and the flat trajectory of the arrows rendered the artillery fire ineffective. Most of the arrows stuck into the snowy ground dozens of paces from the front line. The few that did manage to reach the shield wall thunked into wood as if the Puru archers were merely exercising target practice.

  “Not very good aim, are they?” Trevn asked, silently thanking Hinck for his poor tutelage.

  “Perhaps not,” Ensley said, “or it could be the cold. It dampens taut bowstrings and makes the fingers stiff.”

  Brandishing their pikes like enraged animals, the charging Puru infantry slogged up the incline toward the Armanian shield wall. They jabbed at the shields and tried to stab through gaps. General Ensley gave the order to hold the position, and the shield wall remained solid, a united force that easily halted the attack. Not one Armanian soldier broke away to engage the Puru, who could find no way through the defense. Some lost patience and lobbed their pikes over the wall, but with nothing to aim at, the weapons were wasted.

  It was a strange kind of assault: one side frenzied and out of control, the other calmly rooted to the ground like trees. The Puru infantry, unable to create a single gap in the shield wall, finally retreated just as the second division of Puru arrived. Seeing their comrades beaten, some of the newcomers turned and took flight. For a moment it looked as if the battle might end right then, but the Puru slowly reformed themselves into two separate divisions as the third approached the field.

  “Where would General Agoros put himself?” Trevn asked General Ensley.

  “In the back of the center division, I would guess.”

  “Miss Onika?” Trevn voiced. “Do you see the general?”

  “I don’t know what he looks like, Your Highness, though it appears that the commanders are standing in a wagon at the back of the third section of Puru.”

  Trevn looked through his grow lens and studied the enemy line until he spotted a wagon approaching the left side of the center division. “I believe General Agoros is there,” he said, pointing to the wagon. “Can we take him out?”

  “Sir Jarmyn has the best archers,” Ensley said. “I’ll have him send a squad around to attack from the back. If we take out the general, there will be no one to order the comp
elled.”

  “Make it happen,” Trevn said, liking that idea and hoping Sir Jarmyn would prove loyal.

  General Ensley sent his onesent riding away to deliver the order.

  “Grayson, give me a report,” Trevn voiced.

  “General Agoros is yelling at some of his captains to keep the men together.”

  Why had the boy left the ship? “What of Eudora and Sârah Jemesha?” Trevn asked, still concerned about the possibility of magic.

  “You told me to stay with the general.”

  Had he? Trevn had intended for Miss Onika to move ahead with the army and Grayson to stay with the ship, but it could be he had miscommunicated that desire.

  “Last I saw Sârah Jemesha, she was standing on the main deck of the ship,” Grayson said, “watching some sailors haul a dinghy onto land.”

  “Why would they do that?” Trevn asked.

  “To keep the boats from freezing in the sea?” Grayson said.

  Impossible this far south. “Go back to the ship and see what my cousin and aunt are doing. Now, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The silence in Trevn’s mind left him feeling vulnerable. Fool boy. Why would he not tell Trevn something so odd as men hauling ashore a dinghy? In fact—

  “Oli,” Trevn voiced. “Grayson said the enemy was carrying a dinghy ashore. I’m concerned they might try to use them to come at the castle over the lake. Be on your guard.”

  “I will, Your Highness,” Oli said. “How fares the battle?”

  “They failed their first attempt to break our shield wall.”

  “If our men stay focused, they won’t ever break it,” Oli voiced, just as the entire Puru army advanced as one.

  The arrows came again, still too low, followed by a frenzied infantry charge. The clash lasted longer this time, or perhaps the Puru, in their compelled state, were unable to give up.

  Trevn worked his fingers, still cold despite the two pairs of gloves he wore under his gauntlets. When the Puru again retreated from the unbroken shield wall, he was unsurprised and proud of his army. Until an Armanian man ran forward, waving his sword and yelling. Two followed him, and soon men poured through a sudden gap in the wall like water from a pitcher.

  “No! No!” Ensley screamed. “Hold your positions!”

  “Back! Get back in position!” Marshal Winstone yelled, riding toward the rift. “Reform the wall!”

  But the line continued to break as the Armanians gave chase, pursuing the fleeing Puru.

  “What’s happening?” Trevn asked.

  “Looks like a feigned retreat,” Ensley said. “General Agoros is well-known for them. One of our men fell for it, broke the wall, and led a pursuit. Unfortunately those around them joined in like sheep.”

  Sure enough, the fleeing Puru suddenly wheeled around and brandished their spears to a surprised Armanian infantry. The two sides collided in a melee.

  Trevn stared at the dark mass of the two armies locked in combat. In mere seconds men were collapsing into the snow, and what once had been a field of pristine white become mottled with bodies and blood. The sun cast spears of light across the leaden sky, which was now dropping fat snowflakes upon the scene.

  “It’s time, Your Highness,” Ensley said, “if you still wish to ride with the cavalry.”

  Trevn spurred Seeker forward, his guardsmen riding on either side. He had just kicked the horse into a canter when Grayson’s breathless voice burst into his mind.

  “Lady Eudora is locked in her cabin aboard the ship, Your Highness, but Sârah Jemesha is in a dinghy.”

  “Crossing the lake?”

  “Yes, sir. She had her men carry some dinghies over land and ice and put into the lake. I’m sorry, but they are approaching the castle from behind.”

  As Trevn had feared. He growled his frustration. If only he had thought to ask about his aunt sooner. “How many, Grayson? And how close are they to the castle?”

  “There are thirty-two in her boat. Six boats total. I can’t see how close they are to the castle because the snow is so thick.”

  “Go to the boathouse and see if it has been breached.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Where had they gotten additional men? “Oli,” Trevn voiced as his horse carried him toward the melee. “Your mother and nearly two hundred men are coming to see you by way of the lake. Be ready to receive them.”

  Then he lifted his sword and yelled, “Defend this land for Armania!”

  Oli

  That Oli’s mother might have used him to give false information to the king . . . He should have known better. They all should have.

  He squinted through the falling snow, straining to see out over the surface of Lake Arman. Looking through his grow lens did not help. “I see no sign of anyone,” he said.

  Captain Veralla stood beside him. “Could be they’re still too far out.”

  “Where are my mother’s boats now?” Oli voiced Grayson.

  “One moment, Your Grace, and I will check.”

  Anger pulsed through Oli’s chest. “I thought you were in my mother’s boat.”

  “The king asked me to check the boathouse,” Grayson said.

  Oli expelled his frustration in a puff of cloudy breath. “Fool boy left the boat.”

  “The guards are at their posts,” Veralla said. “No one can breach the castle.”

  Oli knew that, but he also knew his mother. The woman’s tenacity had no limit. “What if she has evenroot?”

  “Master Grayson said he disposed of it all.”

  Oli highly doubted that his mother would have agreed to attack the castle without magic. His father might take such risks, but she would not.

  “They’re still in the boats,” Grayson said. “I can’t see the castle yet. Just snow and fog.”

  Good enough. For now. “Thank you, Master Grayson. Please stay in my mother’s boat.” He remembered his rank and added, “Unless the king has further need of you.”

  “I will, sir.”

  Oli relayed the update to Captain Veralla.

  “Then there is nothing to fear,” the man said. “Why not go inside and warm yourself while you wait?”

  Oli was not the type to sit while men were dying. He wished he could have gone with the king to the battlefield, but he did no good standing here in the wet snow. He turned suddenly, sending a gust of icy air up his cloak, and strode inside the castle. He followed the circular staircase down to the third floor and entered the council chambers. Danek Faluk and Lord Idez had gone to fight, so Barek Hadar was entertaining the women alone. Rosârahs Mielle and Zeroah, Lady Brisa, and three maids sat around one end of the table, talking softly to each other. Lady Pia stood near the door with Bero and Zeroah’s guards.

  Oli’s entrance captured their attention, and Rosârah Mielle stood.

  “Any sign of them?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Master Grayson is in my mother’s boat. He will notify me when the castle comes into view.”

  “The king has entered the battle,” Barek said. “He voiced the queen.”

  From the sober mood, this must have been the topic of conversation prior to his arrival.

  “I sense his fear,” Rosârah Mielle said, “though he’s trying not to show it.”

  Oli gaped at the woman, embarrassed on behalf of the king that she would say such a thing aloud. “Fear is a perfectly normal reaction,” he said, “like breathing, or jumping when one is surprised. It’s what a man does with his fear that makes him brave, and we know our king does not back down from a challenge. Besides, the battle rage will come over him soon enough.”

  “What is battle rage?” Rosârah Zeroah asked, her golden eyes fixed on his.

  Oli circled the table. “It often claims a man in the midst of war, energizes him, makes him eager to kill lest he be killed himself.” He took hold of the queen’s chair and nodded to it.

  “Eager to kill?” Mielle asked, sitting down. “That sounds dreadful.”

  “B
attle rage is both horrible and a gift,” Oli said. “Without it, for some, every kill becomes a moral debate. Others freeze up and fail to defend themselves. Such men are not ready for battle because they’re unable to fight quickly enough, or even react to defend themselves.”

  The women stared at Oli with expressions of reverent horror—all but Lady Pia, who had killed as many or more than most of the soldiers would on the battlefield today.

  A maid entered and curtsied beside Rosârah Mielle’s chair. “Beg your pardon, Your Highness, but Princess Vallah is asking for you.”

  “Poor girl is missing her mother.” The queen stood. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “Shall I come with you?” Zeroah asked.

  “No. I’ll only be a moment.” Mielle smiled at Oli on her way out the door. She had been almost friendly lately. He wondered what Trevn had said to inspire the change.

  “Won’t you sit, Your Grace?” Zeroah asked.

  “I prefer to stand.” The women were staring, so he went on, wanting to say something positive after his macabre speech. “We are fortunate to have this new magic,” he said. “That we can communicate with the battlefield from here is an incredible asset.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace, you are right about that,” Barek said. “A blessing, indeed.”

  “You seem worried, Your Grace,” Zeroah said to Oli.

  Lest she try to pull forth his memories, he checked his shields and found them solid. “I’m anxious to stop whatever madness my mother has planned.” He paced to the opposite end of the table. “That she omitted her part in the attack tells me she knew I would not side with her—that I would tell Rosâr Trevn all she had—”

  A woman’s scream sounded out in the hall. The queen. Oli tore out of the chamber but saw no one. He ran around the circular landing, glancing into each open door he passed by.

  “Your Highness?” he yelled.

  No answer came.

  He reached out with his mind-speak ability, sensed the rosârah’s mind, and easily pushed inside. “Your Highness, are you well?”