by R. J. Larson
He grabbed Kien and shook him, grinning.
Until Pet nipped his arm.
Jon leaped backward and half drew his sword. “Is this beast a menace?”
“Only if he believes you’re a threat to us,” Ela murmured. “Please, sir, don’t draw your sword.”
“Us?” Kien frowned. “I’m now your destroyer’s friend?”
Ela shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “In a way. I think Pet . . . Scythe . . . won’t tolerate strangers using their fists on you. And he won’t be happy if Commander Thel draws his sword.”
Jon replaced his sword and stared at Ela. Kien cleared his throat. “Jon, this is Ela Roeh of Parne. I owe her my life several times over. And this is her little sister, Tzana.”
Ela nodded to Jon and he bowed his head. “We are in your debt, Ela Roeh. Thank you.” He smiled at Tzana’s tiny shadowed form. Kien braced himself to stomp Jon’s foot if he used the “Unfortunate” idiom, but Jon simply said, “Welcome. Ah. Here’s the general. And my fellow commanders.”
Other soldiers were gathering around now, their stances revealing less than friendly attitudes. The general, thin, silver-haired, and laden with a gold-garnished cloak, snapped, “Thel!” He made a vicious cutting motion, unmistakable even in the dim light. Jon grimaced and hushed.
Kien stifled a growl of frustration. Wasn’t this general one of his own father’s friends—a Lantec supporter?
The self-important man glared. “At least one of you is a spy, so you’ll have to talk fast if you expect to live. Tell me, Ela of Parne, how did you learn of our battle plans?”
20
Ela studied the black-clad Traceland commanders and their general. Not a welcoming bunch, with their hands resting on sword hilts, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. Even Pet, hovering behind her like a menacing tempest, did not lessen their hostility.
Were all Tracelanders so foolhardy—or brave? Ela lifted her chin. “The Infinite, our Creator, has shown me what will happen during this battle.”
The thin, silver-haired general’s voice was dangerously quiet. “We don’t believe in the Infinite.”
“You don’t have to believe, sir. You don’t even have to obey. However, if you do obey, you’ll survive. And, though their forces outnumber yours, you’ll defeat Istgard.”
“How?” one of the younger commanders asked.
His general interrupted, “Ror, we will not discuss tactics with a possible spy!”
“If you believe I’m a spy, then fulfill your duty,” Ela dared the Tracelanders. Her words made the general and his men uncomfortable. Not one of them looked at her.
“She is not a spy!” Kien challenged his countrymen. “And the Tracelands does not condemn suspects without an investigation. The law states—”
“This is war,” the general interrupted, his voice and gaze becoming remote. “War crimes are separate from civil charges, and we cannot trust her. Under such circumstances, I’m required to have spies executed immediately.”
“No!” Kien stepped toward his countrymen and lifted his hands, pleading, “She’s saved my life more than once, and the Istgardians have tried to kill her at least three times. You will not do this!”
The general glared at him. “Control yourself, Lantec! Did I say we would kill her now? This is a unique situation. She will be considered a prisoner until after the battle. If we lose, the Istgardians must deal with her. If we triumph, we’ll investigate her then. Now, however, we don’t have time.”
“Thank you,” Ela told the general. His silvered eyebrows shot up in evident surprise. Ela persisted. “Let’s not waste time arguing about me. You must gather your forces and attack now to take the Istgardians by surprise so they’ll make mistakes. Most of their charioteers are young. They’ll fail to enter the battle if you take them by surprise. Please, just place me under guard and proceed with your attack immediately.”
The general didn’t respond to her plea. Instead, he motioned at the trio who’d initially kept watch over Ela and Kien. “Tie her and guard her.”
Kien was shaking his head. “She’s not a spy! Why won’t you—”
“Kien,” Ela pleaded, “arguing will only waste time, and you must take charge of . . .” She flicked what she hoped was an imperceptible nod and eye-roll toward Pet. The destroyer rumbled and stomped, sending a tremor through the soil. Ela growled and stomped in turn. She faced her gigantic protector. “Obey! Go with him now.”
Pet huffed and lowered his big head. Ela caught his halter and tugged him toward Kien. She had to send the destroyer away before she was bound, lest the sight send Pet into a murderous fury. “Go! All of you, hurry. Why are you waiting?”
A wind rushed through the forest’s canopy, with a roar that made everyone look upward. Ela heard what the Tracelanders did not.
Obey.
She smiled, watching the commanders disband, unknowingly scattered by a Supreme General they’d never heard, much less believed.
While the general barked orders to subordinates who lingered beneath the shadows of the trees, Kien stared at Ela. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about me—whatever happens, I’ll be fine. Now prepare yourself for battle. Your friend is waiting.” She nodded toward Jon Thel, who was watching them from a short distance.
Kien scowled. “He wasn’t much of a friend just now.”
“Why should he defend me when he’s not sure he trusts me? You must forgive him,” Ela murmured. “As I have.”
Kien exhaled, then nodded. He took her hand—still smudged with ashes—and bent to kiss her fingers like a courtier. So reverent—so sweet. She blinked away tears. If there’d been any hope of a future with him . . . Resisting the impulse to touch his whiskered face or to kiss him, Ela smiled. “Thank you. Be safe.”
“You be safe,” he commanded.
Pet nudged her and huffed into her hair. Ela turned to her gloomy destroyer and smoothed his black muzzle. “Dear rascal, don’t worry about me—just go.” Whispering, she added, “Protect him always! Even if you must disobey to save his life.”
Pet sighed, gusting grain-scented air into her face.
She watched Kien walk away with Commander Jon Thel and her unhappy destroyer. The trio of disgruntled Traceland soldiers remained, watching her as if their lives depended on it. She’d expected their hostility, but her knees were shaking so hard that she had to cling to the branch. A reaction to her confrontation with the commanders? To the horrors of the coming battle and the uncertainty surrounding her death? Or to Kien’s protectiveness and his reverent kiss?
Abruptly, she sat on the thick carpet of leaves and scooped Tzana into her lap. But the guards approached to tie Ela’s ankles, then her wrists—bound behind her back, the branch in her grasp.
Wide-eyed, Tzana pressed her small, gnarled fingers on either side of Ela’s face and begged, “What’s happening?”
“The Infinite’s will.” Clenching the branch, Ela began to pray.
Inside his tent, Jon shoved a bundle of garments at Kien. “Here. Use these. I have an extra helmet, but we’re scouring the camp for spare armor.”
Too angry to speak, Kien folded a thick, protective scarf around his throat, then secured a padded vest over his black tunic. Just as Kien finished the last knot, Jon’s attendant returned and offered Kien greaves and a heavy, segmented coat of armor. A bit too small, perhaps, but they would do. Kien accepted the armor with a nod of thanks.
Kien fastened the greaves over his shins. As he knotted the armor down his chest and torso, Jon said, “You’ve made your point. I don’t think you’ve ever remained silent for so long in your entire life.”
“You haven’t been in prison with me for the past few months.” Kien buckled his sword belt.
While buckling his own sword, Jon said, “You have to forgive me sometime.”
“So I’ve been told. Ela agrees with you.”
“But you don’t? Kien—”
“What!” Kien glared. “You
might have offered a few words in her favor, Jon!”
“I knew it would be useless! None of the others favored releasing her, or didn’t you notice? We were outvoted before either of us spoke. At least they’ve excused you.”
“Perhaps your comrades have excused me, but they don’t trust me, do they? And although you trust me, you don’t trust Ela despite the fact that I’ve vouched for her honorable intentions. She’s saved my life as well—not that it means anything.”
“I’d never met her until now!” Jon retorted. “And she knows our battle plans. What was I to think, except to wonder if she’s a spy?”
“She said those were your feelings. But I’d like to think my best friend has enough courage to speak his mind even if the odds are against him.”
Hands fisted, Jon turned away. The tent remained silent except for the clatter of their armor as they fastened daggers to their belts, then laced on their helmets.
At last, Jon said, “You’re going to have to deal with your anger, Kien. I’m not only your friend now; I’m your brother. Beka and I were married last month.”
Jon and Beka? “What?”
“When I told Beka I’d be leaving with the army, she told me that if I left without marrying her, she would never speak to me again.”
A year ago, Kien would have celebrated this news. Not now. He turned, prepared to leave the tent. “I wonder what Beka would think of you this morning.” Before Jon could protest, Kien said, “We’ll talk later. If we survive. If Ela survives.”
“That’s unworthy of you!” Jon crossed to the tent’s entry. “Let’s at least declare a truce in case we die.”
Memories of his last squabble with Wal rose to the surface of Kien’s thoughts. They’d parted angrily. And Kien hadn’t forgiven himself for that anger—which had added to his grief after Wal’s death.
Unworthy, Jon had said. A valid assessment. “You’re right.” Kien offered his hand. “I spoke in haste, and I’m sorry. But we’re going to argue over this later. And if Ela is investigated, you will speak on her behalf. We’ll insist she be defended before the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly.”
“Agreed.”
Quietly, Kien asked, “How is my family?”
Jon grinned. “We are fine—now that we know you’ve survived—thank you.”
“You’re persistent with this ‘brother’ detail.”
“Naturally. It’s in my best interests right now.”
“Stay alive, Jon.” Kien went outside and found Pet ripping the last leaves off a tender sapling. Numerous saplings and shrubs nearby were also stripped of leaves. Other soldiers, prepared for battle, were admiring the destroyer from a respectful distance. Kien acknowledged them with a touch to his helmet, then grabbed Pet’s halter and muttered, “You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. But we’re going to work together this morning. Do you hear me?”
The black monster huffed and nipped at another hapless sprout of a tree. Watching him chomp down the leaves made Kien’s stomach growl. Loudly. Wonderful. He was going into battle half starved. He muttered to the Infinite, “If You’re there, protect me, and Ela, please.”
As if he had a right to expect any sort of response. Why should he? He was nothing to the Infinite. Anyway, most of the Istgardians would probably fight on empty stomachs this morning.
“Kien!” Jon pitched a small cloth bag at Kien the instant he turned. As Kien caught the bag, Jon said, “Work on this while we wait. That’s half my morning’s ration, so you’d better appreciate it. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Kien tugged open the bag and stared down at a clutch of smoked dried meat.
Was this a sign? An affirming answer to his unspoken test? “Thank You.”
He shoved a chunk of meat into his mouth, chewed, then glared up at the massive destroyer in the grayish dawnlight. He’d seen enough Istgardian soldiers riding these beasts to know how they used the straps and handles built into a destroyer’s elaborate body collar.
First, however, he had to climb onto the animal’s back. And manage his shield. He swallowed, then said, “Jon! Give me a hand with my gear.”
“Of course.” Jon grabbed Kien’s shield. “But if he bites me, you’re on your own.”
Her bound arms aching, Ela sat beneath the sheltering trees that rimmed the huge field east of Ytar. Black-clad soldiers gathered nearby, their armor muted in the shadows. Ela shut her eyes and watched the silver-haired general motion the Tracelanders to take their positions within the forest. Contingents of archers stealthily scaled the stands of trees overlooking the encampments—as they’d done the evening before, Ela knew. She’d seen them in her thoughts. Felt them watching. Now she prayed for their safety.
Tzana shifted in her lap. Ela opened her eyes and rested her cheek against her sister’s curls, then kissed her. “Do you remember the prayers Mother said with us each night?”
Just a bit grumpy, Tzana answered, “’Course I do!”
“Say them now.” Ela bumped Tzana off her lap, adding another kiss. “When you run out of prayers, then say all the verses you remember from the ancient scrolls.”
“Verses? What if I only remember one?”
“Just pray. And—” Ela softened her voice to a whisper—“I love you! Whatever happens—if I leave, or if I return and . . . fall asleep . . . just stay here. Watch our guards, and wait for Kien. Promise me?”
“I promise,” Tzana whispered. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes. Wait here. I love you.” Ela kissed Tzana again, then felt the branch taking fire, no doubt brilliant as white-hot metal against her palms. In her thoughts, the general raised his sword and signaled. A trumpet sounded. Ela tensed. She didn’t understand what was about to happen—or exactly how she would die. Even so, she would obey her Creator. Sweat prickled over her skin. Branchlight glimmered through Ela’s body, freeing her of the still-tied ropes around her wrists and ankles. Amazing.
Clutching the radiant branch, Ela stood and walked out from beneath the trees toward Ytar. The clouds roiled above her, their ash-darkness emphasizing the branch’s dazzling light. Scattered cries and trumpet blasts echoed from the Istgardian encampments, yet no one paid her heed. How could they not see her?
The first ranks of the Tracelandic army dashed into the open field. The Istgardians’ outcries multiplied.
Perfectly aligned with her vision, Ela saw the first green-fletched arrow slicing toward her through the air. “Infinite . . . !”
Standing in the sumptuous green royal pavilion, Tsir Aun fought down the impulse to shake the heir and his father. The heir—with Tek An’s slap mark livid on his cheek—sneered at the king. “You expected me to stay in Riyan like a coward? When I rule, no man will be able to say I’ve failed my country!”
Tek An cursed and struck his son again. “You will never rule! How can a disobedient cur be my son? You’ve walked into that Parnian’s prophecy!”
A distant trumpet blast beckoned Tsir Aun. He strode from the tent, the blood quickening in his veins. “It’s begun.”
Confirming his fear, more trumpets sounded from Ytar’s eastern boundaries. With distant cries of panic. “Tracelanders! To arms!”
Tsir Aun motioned to the king’s servants, who’d been sent from the pavilion when he dragged the heir in to Tek An. “Get inside, immediately! Arm your king and the heir now!”
“Sir,” the chief steward protested, “we’ve been ordered out.”
Tsir Aun drew his sword and motioned the man and his quavering minions inside. “I’ve reversed that order! Arm the king and yourselves before I kill you!”
Tek An’s servants hustled into the pavilion.
Istgard’s noblemen were peering from their tents, some looking as if they’d just wakened, others dazed with terror. Tsir Aun roared, “Fools! Arm yourselves or die! Move! Hurry!”
His countrymen were full of nothing but talk. Their wobble-legged fear shamed him. The crown commander stomped through the encampments, snapping orders and unleashing destroyer
s, hoping the beasts would urge their pledged masters onward to save their lives.
Useless. Hadn’t Ela warned him of Istgard’s defeat?
“Infinite,” Tsir Aun pleaded, “be with us.” He felt his prayer’s futility even as it left his lips. Heartsick, he shut his eyes and regathered his thoughts. “Be with those who trust You!”
A wave of sensing swept him. Opening his eyes, Tsir Aun saw the encampment altered. Huge, unfamiliar soldiers—seemingly made of light as dazzling as Ela’s branch—were patrolling the camp, protecting some of the shaken Istgardians, but silently obstructing most.
Beads of sweat slithered down Tsir Aun’s face. Before his eyes, Istgard’s army was being judged and condemned. He could not stay with such a dishonored nation.
Would not.
He returned to his campsite and unleashed his destroyer. Instantly, the beast shied and fled in an unprecedented panic. “Wrath—!”
He tore after his terrified steed in a futile attempt to catch the beast. A blue-white blaze of light matched Tsir Aun’s every move. Unnerved, the crown commander halted and looked up.
Into an immortal warrior’s sun-brilliant face.
21
The green Istgardian arrow gouged the soil at Ela’s feet, directly beside the branch’s white-blue blaze. Did the branch draw the arrow to itself? Even in the vision, she’d been mystified. “Infinite?”
He didn’t reply. Yet she felt His encompassing Presence.
The Infinite’s warriors—messengers, Tzana called them—now controlled the battlefield. Each immortal soldier loomed terrifyingly large and lightning-fierce amid the battle, armed with swords matching the branch’s almost unbearable glow. The Istgardians’ destroyers were terrorized, clearly sensing their presence. If Ela hadn’t known the celestial warriors were fighting for the Infinite, she would have died of fear the instant she saw them.