“We were just about to get breakfast,” Mira said, unmoved by Ferret’s excitement.
Ferret stared at her a long moment before her head swiveled to look at Taren. He got the impression of astonishment from the girl. “You what? Then go grab a quick snack. If we hurry, we can watch them all marching into the city. The queen and everybody else already left for the gates to greet them.”
Taren’s stomach might not have agreed, but he was curious to take the measure of their hopeful allies. “Come to think of it, it does seem rather quiet around here.”
None of the routine training and drilling of guardsmen that usually was taking place was happening. In fact, the bailey was nearly deserted, very odd for midmorning. Only a few guards were in sight to man the castle, the majority apparently escorting Sianna and her retinue.
“Exactly. We’re the only ones not there.” Ferret regarded him as if that were some great injustice.
Taren exchanged a glance with Mira, then both laughed. “Well, if you require an escort, milady, I shall be happy to oblige.” He bowed and offered up his arm to Ferret.
She looked at him with what might have passed for an irritated glare at first, but couldn’t resist giggling after a moment. She gamely accepted his arm. They passed back through the gates, receiving polite nods from the guards.
“Will we even be able to see anything?” Mira asked. “If the entire city is there to watch…”
“Why do you think I wanted to find you two? Taren can magick us out there, right?”
Taren realized Mira was right, for the streets around the castle were deserted, which meant the vicinity of the city gates would be packed with spectators. “Well…”
“Oh, even better—why don’t you fly us out over the city wall? Then we can see the actual meeting taking place outside the city.” Ferret’s grip on his arm tightened painfully in her excitement.
Might as well use my talent for something besides destroying things for a change. “Fine, but I won’t be able to if you break my arm.”
“Oops, sorry.” Ferret released her grip.
“Is Creel with the queen?” Taren asked.
“Nay. He’s down at that tavern he likes,” Ferret said sourly. “Says he has no interest in such ‘grand pomposity.’”
Taren chuckled. “Sounds just like him. All right, stand close.”
He formed a disc of force as he had done previously, a relatively simple manipulation of his magic. When the three of them stepped on, he sent the disc levitating high up into the air. They rose swiftly, and the expanding view was spectacular as the castle and city shrank down like a detailed model. Buildings looked like a child’s arranged blocks, with a confusing labyrinth of streets winding between them. Boats bobbed out on the broad expanse of Zoph Lake, and he could see the main street culminating near the city gates. A tremendous mob of people crowded the streets and rooftops for blocks around the gates, all trying to get a view of the popular young queen treating with the visiting dignitaries.
They glided toward the city wall and, at Ferret’s urging to go faster, soon were scudding well above rooftops and then past the city wall itself. Up there, the wind was cold and cutting, and Taren clutched his cloak more tightly about himself. Unsurprisingly, Ferret was unaffected by the cold, but he hadn’t expected Mira to be similarly unconcerned.
I need to work on a magical solution to this, he thought with a tinge of jealousy.
He took them into a sweeping curve to the northwest, and there lines of troops appeared, moving toward the city.
Nearer to the city, a smaller, less orderly host of elves moved along in their graceful, loping strides, quicker than a comfortable pace for a human. Several riders led the procession on horseback. The elves numbered roughly a thousand, Taren guessed.
Farther to the north marched a neat, orderly column of dwarves, the sun glinting off their armor and weapons. As he brought the three of them closer, he could hear their baritone voices raised in some marching song. He estimated their numbers at around six thousand, likely the combined hosts of both King Stonefist’s and Queen Hammerhelm’s warriors.
“Do you think such a force will be enough to defeat the Nebarans?” Ferret asked. “Assuming they all agree to join the war?”
Taren thought on that a moment, running the numbers in his head. “I’m no military expert, but even if all the elves and dwarves agree to join us, we’d still be short a few thousand troops. No telling what actually will happen when battle is joined, however. A solid battle plan and motivation to defend home and hearth could make up the difference. I’ll bring us back around.”
They arced around to the west, curving southward until they neared the road leading to the city gates. Taren brought them down a few hundred paces south of all the activity around the gates to avoid drawing too much attention to themselves, landing between the army camp and the crowd. Already, he could see Sianna, Nardual, Lanthas, and a number of others formed up to greet the arrivals, surrounded by ranks of city guardsmen keeping the refugees and crowds at bay.
“This looks like a nice spot, wouldn’t you ladies agree?” Taren sat on a large stone beside the road.
“Yes, this will do nicely.” Mira joined him.
Ferret seemed disappointed at not getting closer but settled for climbing a nearby oak tree, where she found a perch in the boughs.
In spite of the sunshine, Taren’s face was numb, and he blew into his cold hands to try to warm them. He hadn’t expected how cold it would be up in the air, exposed to the full brunt of the raw wind.
“I don’t suppose you have any extra warmth to spare?” he asked Mira jokingly, noting she still seemed to be ignoring the cold.
“I’ve never tried, but now I’m curious.” Mira scooted nearer until their shoulders were touching, then she took his hand in hers. She closed her eyes for a few moments, then he felt warmth gradually flow into him, first his hand, then up his arm and into his chest. Soon, he was warm and comfortable, as if sitting indoors beside a hearth. Even a stiff gust of wind seemed to not touch him.
“That’s marvelous, Mira!” He noted with his second sight they were surrounded by a soft white glow, her ki encompassing the two of them. “If it’s too much effort, then don’t tire yourself.”
She smiled. “No, it’s not much different than fortifying my own body. Just a bit of additional ki expenditure, but not much at all.”
By that time, the elven delegation from Lothloras of the Silverwood Forest had arrived at the gates. They were led by Queen Shalaera, a tall, stately elf wearing a plum-colored riding dress. She could have been a statue carved of marble, for her skin was pale and flawless, her hair so white it nearly glowed in the sunlight.
Taren was more interested in watching Sianna, however. The queen wore a riding dress of the blue-and-white of her royal house. Over the top, she wore a shiny breastplate with a falcon emblazoned on it, as well as her short sword on her hip. Her auburn hair shone like newly minted copper in the afternoon sun, pulled into a long tail at her neck.
Sianna and the elven queen exchanged words, then Nardual and Lanthas greeted her also. From that distance, Taren couldn’t hear any of the conversation, but the two elves seemed quite cool toward each other. After a few minutes of conversation, Sianna and the others turned and led the Queen Shalaera’s delegation into the city.
“I’m missing that breakfast right about now,” Taren muttered when his stomach grumbled. “I knew I should have gotten something to eat first.”
“If you two lovebirds are done holding hands,” Ferret shouted, “we’ve got company approaching!”
Taren blinked in surprise, having forgotten his and Mira’s hands were clasped. He let go of her hand and stood up on the rock. Riding toward them from the direction of the army camp were Kulnor, his friend Harbek, and their contingent of dwarves mounted on their stout ponies.
Ferret leaped from the tree bough, paying no heed to the twenty-foot drop, then walked over to join them, leaving deep depressions where
her metal feet had struck the loam.
“Ho there, me friends,” Kulnor called heartily as they rode up. “Seems ye’ve the right idea to avoid the crowds.”
The priest and his group of warriors looked sharp with their crisp surcoats and polished armor and weapons. Harbek carried a dark-blue standard with a large silver anvil device upon it, the colors matching their uniforms.
“Aye, Taren magicked us so we could fly over the crowds,” Ferret said.
“That so?” Kulnor’s eyebrows rose. “Did ye get a look at where me queen and her army is at?”
“I’d say about another hour or two at their current pace,” Taren replied. “They were a fair distance behind the elves.”
“And rightly so,” Harbek grumbled. “Our people want as little to do with ’em as possible. The old witch leadin’ that Silverwood lot is about as pleasant as a starvin’ orc, from what I’ve heard tell.”
“Speakin’ of starvin’,” Kulnor said, “I reckon it’s lunchtime. Would ye care to join us? We got bread and cheese and sausages. Plenty to go around.” He motioned to several of his men, who began unloading their saddlebags.
“And ale,” Harbek added with a grin. He patted a wooden cask strapped to the back of his pony.
Taren smiled. “Like a blessing sent from the gods. Thank you—that would be perfect.”
***
Mira smiled when she recognized Queen Sioned Hammerhelm at the head of the host of dwarves. She had encountered the fiery queen months earlier in the foothills of the Giantspear Mountains when she began her quest with Brother Cerador.
Hard to believe that was only this past summer—feels as if years have passed.
Kulnor and his dwarves had ridden out a short time before to meet Sioned and provide an escort as her honor guard.
“I like dwarven picnics,” Ferret remarked. “But I’d like it even better if I could eat and drink.”
“You learned some new songs though, didn’t you?” Taren asked.
“Aye. And some salty ones at that.”
Mira had to smile. The dwarves’ picnic had been little different from any meal they might have shared in a tavern, save for being under the open sky. The boisterous group drank ale and sang songs, and a few of the warriors even diced while they awaited their queen’s arrival. None overimbibed, however.
As if by some unknown signal, Harbek got to his feet and barked an order. The warriors efficiently stowed their remaining supplies of food and the ale cask back on their ponies and were back in the saddle within moments, ready to ride to their queen. Once they spotted her across the field, they had spurred their ponies into action with excited shouts and whoops.
Ferret climbed her tree again for a good vantage point, leaving Mira standing beside Taren, who had pulled his elven cloak tightly around himself, the unusual material mirroring his surroundings and making him hard to see from certain angles.
“Shall I fortify you against the cold again?” she offered.
“That would be nice, thanks.” He smiled and sat on the large rock again.
She returned his smile, happy to make her abilities of use to him as well. Discovering new ways to apply her talents was as exciting as it was enlightening. She gripped his hand and again extended her ki until his body was fortified as hers, performing the feat even more easily this time.
“I need to find a way to do this magically,” Taren said. “I could heat this rock, but that wouldn’t do anything about the wind. Unless I directed the air around us…” His eyes took on that thoughtful look they often did when he was reading or working through a problem.
Sianna and her retinue had returned to the city gates some time before, to receive the dwarves. Kulnor and his men rode proudly at the head of the dwarven host as they approached. At a shouted command, the column of warriors halted about a hundred paces from Sianna’s group, save for their leaders, who continued on to meet the queen. Leading them were Sioned and another dwarf, quite old, who wore ornate plate mail, his helm fashioned in the shape of a crown at the top. A shield was slung across his back and a large axe holstered on his saddle. His thick gray beard was plaited and tucked into his belt over a substantial belly. Yet nothing was soft about the old warrior—Rukk Stonefist, King of Stonespur Citadel, as Kulnor had identified him earlier.
Sioned Hammerhelm was equally striking in appearance. The queen might have been only a quarter of King Stonefist’s age. Her blond-brown hair was braided in a thick tail that stuck out below her helm and went down to her waist. Her plate armor gleamed in the sunlight, and a mighty warhammer was strapped to her saddle. She rode on a shaggy mountain goat with spiral horns, while Rukk rode a sturdy pony.
The reception appeared much more informal than the one with Queen Shalaera earlier. The dwarves each clasped hands with Sianna cordially, and after speaking a few moments, they accompanied her into the city with their retinue of advisors and retainers. Due to the size of the dwarven host, orders were given to move about a quarter mile west of the gates in order to prepare camp near the city walls.
“I don’t think there’s much else to see, your ladyship,” Taren called up to Ferret. “Shall we escort you back to the castle?”
Ferret leaped from the tree, landing a couple of paces from where Taren and Mira were sitting. The ground shook from the impact, but the clockwork girl was unfazed.
“Aye, milord thaumaturge. As you say. Another flight would be much appreciated—perhaps over the lake this time?”
Taren grinned. “I aim to please. Best hope my magic doesn’t expire midflight though, or we might be swimming home.”
“Huh. I suspect I won’t be doing much swimming—sinking like an anchor, more like.” Despite her momentarily sour tone, Ferret seemed eager to fly again.
Mira had to admit the sensation was quite interesting. She remembered her startling first experience spirit walking, when she had to change her form to a bird and fly back to her body, but that hadn’t felt as exhilarating as flying in the flesh did.
As they rose off the ground on the magical disc Taren conjured, she allowed herself to relax her guard for a bit and found herself smiling as joyously as she imagined Ferret might have been.
Chapter 22
Sianna sat in the window alcove of her sitting room, staring out at Zoph Lake below. She barely noticed the picturesque sight of the morning sunlight sparkling on the blue waters.
Instead, she was busy struggling to keep her meager breakfast down, for her stomach roiled with nerves at the impending conclave. She had sent Lorena away after her cousin got her bathed, groomed, and dressed appropriately for her appearance. The slim circlet that Lord Lanthas had presented her with a short time earlier felt heavy on her brow despite its light weight and graceful design. How he’d managed to have that crafted at such short notice, she didn’t know.
“‘Thus begins the arduous climb out of the Abyss,’” she murmured, reciting the words of some sage she had read as part of her studies with Master Aered. She couldn’t recall the author but could appreciate the sentiment.
She had clearly sunken to the depths of her own personal Abyss. After the loss of her family and home, the kingdom at war, the assassination attempt, her capture and subsequent witness of the deaths of brave men trying to rescue her, Sir Edwin’s betrayal, and lastly, her personal torment at the hands of Nesnys, she knew she couldn’t possibly sink any lower. The naive girl who had accepted a rose in the courtyard and given her token to a dashing knight was broken irrevocably. This new Sianna, cobbled together from the pieces, must climb back from the Abyss and face the moment of truth.
All I must do is forge an alliance and build an army, then defeat the invaders and save the kingdom. No pressure at all.
She gave a bitter laugh that was choked off. The circlet on her head felt very heavy indeed at that moment.
At least the pageantry of her touring the city and meeting personally with guards and officials seemed to have had a positive effect. Lanthas told her that recruiting had spiked i
n the past few days as inspired youths volunteered to enlist and defend their kingdom. The officers were hoping to reach a thousand new recruits, though time wouldn’t allow them to become very well trained come the fighting. She tried not to think on the fact that many were only going to their deaths.
“Your Majesty, are you ready?”
She started at the voice and turned to find Rafe—Sir Rafe now, she had to remind herself—poking his head inside the door, hesitating at the threshold.
“Apologies, but Iris told me they are ready for you,” he said sympathetically.
Sianna waved him inside, and he shut the door behind him. The city tailors must have been working overtime to outfit her and all her royal guards and trusted advisors in new garments. Rafe wore a crisp and well-fitting new uniform, with tunic and breeches striped with the Atreus blue and white and the royal falcon engraved on a shiny breastplate, much like the one she had commissioned earlier. As she studied him, she realized her friend’s frame had turned to muscle as he’d shed fat over the intervening months since first having met him. Rigorous training and exercise with the Castle Llantry guard force, followed by their time on the road, had worked wonders. He was neatly groomed, hair and beard trimmed, and looked every bit the commander of her royal guard.
Jahn had declined that honor, claiming he was merely a simple grunt and not officer material. Sianna disagreed with that sentiment, although she’d given Rafe the deserving position, for which the big man was truly humbled. She had other plans for Jahn that she thought might be more suitable. Once she reclaimed Castle Llantry, it would need a new captain of the guard.
Iris got Rafe cleaned up nicely. Hopefully, I’ve been transformed half so well—into a queen that they’ll take seriously.
She smiled at the sight of her friend. “I suppose I must be ready, Rafe. Not like I have the luxury not to be. I’ll give my compliments to Iris on the fine job getting you cleaned up and dressed properly.”
Rafe flushed at the mention of Iris but looked pleased. “You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 19