“That is what I mean.” Wharton mumbled. “I failed him most of all.”
“Stop!” Ashland said with more force than intended. “Dwelling on the past and assigning blame will do neither of us good. We must focus on the future and find our way beyond the troubles affecting Kantaria, both inside and outside her borders.”
Ashland realized her hand was clenched in a fist, the statement eliciting more passion than she had expected.
Wharton’s stoic expression softened to a wry smile. “Well said, my Queen.”
She gaped at him. “You did that on purpose.”
He shrugged. “I do not know what you mean, Your Highness.”
Ashland laughed in return, shifting to take a seat on the throne. She leaned the cane against it and took a deep, contemplative breath. “What must I do first, Wharton? Where do I begin?”
The man reached into his coat and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.
“As I was saying, I am concerned about the elite guard. I am trying to fill positions, yet more than ever, I find myself doubting new recruits.” He extended the paper toward her. “A new potential guard arrived today with this letter. He claims that you will know him and can trust him.”
She accepted the note, still sealed with a drop of red wax. “What is his name?”
“Randall or something. He wouldn’t tell me his last name.”
“Randall? I don’t know anyone with that name.” Her brow furrowed. “Not revealing his last name hardly sounds trustworthy.”
“I told him as much. Regardless, he requested that you read the missive and decide for yourself.”
Curious, Ashland opened the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting inside. A smile crossed her face, and tears filled her eyes as she read it to herself. When finished, she wiped her eyes clear and held the note to her chest.
“Are you all right, my Queen?” Wharton asked.
She laughed, happier than she had been in days. “Yes. I’m fine. Please bring this young man in. I would very much like to meet him.”
12
Tension
Jonah Selbin maintained his connection with his own source of Order, simultaneously coaxing the latent Order surrounding him into the breastplate, trapping the Chaos bound within it. The process was tedious and exhausting. Worse, successfully completing an Infusion lacked the sense of accomplishment one might feel from actually crafting something.
With a groan, he opened his eyes and frowned at the armor.
“Who would have thought that enchanting would end up being so boring?”
Torney set his own breastplate aside with a sigh. “I know. After three weeks of this, I never want to see another sword or a piece of armor as long as I live.”
“I agree. I almost wish the Empire would attack just to end the monotony.”
Torney grunted in response.
Jonah turned toward the cluster of soldiers who sat around the dormant fire, three of them running their blades across whetstones while the others told stories. During their stay at the garrison, Jonah had discovered that soldiers enjoyed telling raunchy stories, each with an obvious effort to outdo the others. He had also learned that the women were the worst of the lot. His ears still turned red when he recalled the things he had heard.
“Olusk!” Jonah shouted. The squat, muscular man turned toward him. “Your armor is ready.”
The soldier set his whetstone aside, sheathed his blade, and strolled over. Olusk’s brow furrowed beneath an expansive forehead that met his shorn hair. He wore a grimace as he stared at the breastplate. Gripping it, Olusk picked it up and grunted.
“Feels odd, like it’s hollow or something.”
“That’s the idea,” Jonah replied. “I made it lighter. It won’t wear you down while you’re fighting.”
“Will it break?”
Jonah struck it with the side of his fist. Rather than a clang, the sound was a deep thump with a hint of a metallic ring at the end.
“It’s just as strong as before, but I added an Elastic augmentation. Most weapons will bounce right off it. It would take a massive blow to cut through it. Even with blunt weapons, you should feel a fraction of the impact.”
The soldier stared at Jonah for a long moment before a grin spread across his face. With his deep-set, dark eyes and facial scar, the expression was more creepy than friendly. Olusk thumped Jonah on the back, the blow forcing him to cough.
“You’re not half bad, Ginger,” Olusk said as he spun away.
Jonah frowned at the name but chose not to poke the bear while he was happy. “Thanks.”
Olusk walked over to the other soldiers and struck one on the head with the armor. It bounced off, undamaged, although the man brought a hand to his head and glared at Olusk.
“What’s that for?” the soldier grumbled.
“Just testin’ it is all,” Olusk said before reclaiming his seat.
“Someone’s approaching from the east!” a female guard cried from the scaffold along the wall. “They appear injured!”
Jonah glanced toward Torney, who appeared deep in meditation as he worked on another enchantment. Deciding that someone might be in need of healing, and thinking that any diversion from enchanting sounded good, Jonah jogged toward the gate.
A group of guards had gathered there, listening to Sergeant Rios. He issued a series of orders and called for the gate to open. The eight soldiers shuffled out while the archers manning the wall nocked their bows. Jonah slid in behind the soldiers who were stepping outside.
A half-mile down the road, Jonah saw two people – one of whom leaned heavily on the other. With the morning sun still low in the sky behind them, the people were shadowy silhouettes and difficult to see properly. Yet, in two breaths, Jonah realized who it was.
He burst past the soldiers and ran down the road.
“Get back here!” Rios ordered.
Jonah didn’t listen. Instead, he ran faster. When he reached the barricade of stakes, secured in the ground and pointing east, he slipped through and resumed his run. As he drew closer, he was able to see more clearly.
Chuli’s arm was covered in blood, her face dirty and streaked from sweat. Worse, Thiron’s normally dark skin had paled, his eyes at half-mast. An arrow stuck out from his abdomen and blood covered his thigh. Thiron stumbled and fell to his knees, twisting as Chuli clung to him. Then, Jonah saw a second arrow protruding from his shoulder.
Jonah rushed forward and knelt beside Thiron.
“What happened?”
“He took an arrow in the back when we passed through the Empire barricade.” Chuli gasped for air. “I thought we would make it, but we ran into an ambush a mile back. Two bowmen. They’re dead, but…they got him in the process.”
Jonah nodded toward Chuli’s bloody arm. “What about you?”
She shook her head. “It’s just a graze, from a bowshot that likely would have killed me. I stumbled over a rock when the ambush struck, and the arrow sliced my arm instead.”
Turning back to Thiron, Jonah considered the two arrows and decided on a course of action.
“Sorry, Thiron. This is going to hurt, but we don’t have time to waste. We are going to pull the arrow from your shoulder and then lay you down to pull the one from your stomach. I can heal you once they are both removed.”
The man grunted. “Do…it.”
Jonah drew his knife – the only weapon he carried – and sliced through Thiron’s bowstring.
“What are you doing?” Chuli asked, clearly appalled.
“Saving his life.”
Jonah slid his blade beneath the strap of Thiron’s pack and water skin, cutting both free. Last was the quiver, which required more effort before the knife cut through the leather strap.
“Hold him tightly, Chuli.”
Circling behind Thiron, Jonah wrapped his fingers around the broken shaft, twisted it, and yanked it free. A cry of pain came from the wounded man, joined by groans and ragged breathing through clenched teeth. Jo
nah cringed at the broken arrow in his hand, flesh still clinging to the arrowhead. Disgusted, he tossed the arrow aside.
“Lay him down,” he said. “We have little time.”
Jonah and Chuli helped Thiron to a sitting position before laying him down. The man’s eyes were pinned shut, his face contorted in pain.
The guards arrived, surrounding the trio while Jonah put one hand on the arrow sticking from Thiron’s abdomen, his other hand on the man’s bare arm.
“Hold him down, Chuli.” Jonah winced when he looked down at the arrow, the front of Thiron’s jerkin soaked in blood. “Sorry, Thiron, but it’s the only way.”
Giving it a quick jerk, the arrow moved, but didn’t come free. Thiron cried out, his back arching as he gasped a ragged breath. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp.
“He fainted,” Chuli said.
Jonah clenched his teeth, twisted the arrow, and pulled as hard as he could.
The arrow came free in a trail of blood. Tossing it aside, Jonah pushed the heel of his hand against the oozing wound and closed his eyes. In moments, he settled into a meditative state and found his center. Through the hand resting on Thiron’s arm, Jonah extended his awareness into the injured man and sought Thiron’s source of Order.
It was weak, far dimmer than it should be. In contrast, Thiron’s wounds raged with a bright red glow. Stoking the man’s source of Order the best he could, Jonah first attacked the abdomen wound, smothering the Chaos lurking there while mending his arrow-mangled innards. The complexity of the injury, combined with the weak condition of Thiron’s life force, made the process a long and tortuous one. Only when the area was free of Chaos did Jonah turn his attention to the wound in the man’s back. While not as grievous as the stomach wound, Thiron’s life force was even weaker than before. Jonah slowed the process, working cautiously, gently, to reduce the Chaos in the area without completely draining Thiron of his life force. With the injury only half healed, Jonah released the connection and opened his eyes.
Chuli’s pleaded. “Were you able to heal him? Will he live?”
“I did the best I could, Chuli. He is weak. I fear if I push any further, he won’t survive it.”
Jonah studied the guards standing around him. Their faces were somber…even Sergeant Rios. Rising to his feet, Jonah found his hands stained with blood. His stomach lurched with a threat to revolt.
“His stomach wound is healed. The arrow hole in his back is not. We must move him to a bed and bandage him up.”
“You heard him,” Rios said, pointing toward the soldiers. “Four of you, pick the man up and carry him to the infirmary.”
Soldiers shifted about as Chuli and Jonah backed away to give them room. Gripping Thiron’s arms and legs, they lifted him and headed back toward the garrison.
Rios patted Jonah on the shoulder. “You did what you could, son. It’s now down to the man’s will and Issal’s blessing.”
The sergeant and his soldiers marched toward the garrison with Jonah watching in silence. A soft touch on his arm drew his attention. He turned toward Chuli, meeting her dark eyes.
“Thank you, Jonah.” Her tone was earnest, emotional. “You saved his life…again.”
An internal struggle waged inside Jonah. He considered hugging her and fought the urge to cry. As usual, he turned it around and made a wry face, burying such emotions.
“It almost makes my complaining worth it, huh?”
She chuckled, and his weariness lifted like a sunrise.
“Almost.”
Jonah sat at the table in Captain Marcella’s office, watching Chuli clean dried blood from her arm with a damp rag. With the gash in her arm healed, cleaning it erased any evidence of its existence. Jonah realized how dangerous Chuli’s mission had been and how lucky she was to have returned safely.
In the chair beside Jonah, Torney fidgeted nervously. He ran his hand through his wavy red hair, his eyes continuously surveying the room.
Rios stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his barrel chest. The sergeant’s glare and frown might have made Jonah fidget as well if he weren’t so exhausted. Enchanting and healing both required more energy than one might guess. It was not quite time for lunch, and Jonah was already looking forward to sleep.
The door opened and Marcella stepped into the room.
“How is he?” Chuli asked.
“The medicus is…uncertain. His wound appears minor at this point, but he has lost a lot of blood.” Marcella gripped Jonah’s shoulder. “He most assuredly would have died without the healing, but the cost was high.”
Jonah nodded in silence. He knew he had pressed Thiron’s life force close to the edge. The gap between overtaxing Thiron’s resources and sufficiently healing the man’s wounds was narrow at best…a hairline crack, impossible to navigate, at worst.
Marcella strode across the room and pulled out a chair, sitting and waving for Rios to join them.
“We must set our worries about Thiron aside.” Marcella stared at Chuli. “What have you discovered?”
Chuli’s eyes narrowed as she stared into space. “Their force is more significant than we thought. Thiron and I estimate more than three thousand soldiers gathered in the woods north of Yarth.”
Marcella glanced toward Rios. “Even if the squads Chadwick was to supply had arrived, we wouldn’t have enough soldiers to hold off a force that size, not without a proper keep and far superior battlements.”
Rios shook his head. “No. Not a chance.”
“There is more,” Chuli said. “We suspected they had access to explosives, but what we face now appears worse than what we feared. The Empire has found new ways to use this…flash powder. In addition, they have steam carriages towing catapults. I overheard a man talking about using them to launch flash bombs – something that could blow up a building.”
Marcella stared at Chuli in silence, a long, uncomfortable silence. “You make it sound as if we are trapped here, waiting to die.”
“Honestly, I believe that is what will happen if we remain. Thiron thought so as well. When we decided to head back, it was to warn you…to let you know that you had no hope of defeating what you faced.”
Marcella pounded a fist on the table as she rose to her feet. “My duty is to prevent the Empire from advancing into Kantaria.”
“What if that outcome is impossible?” Jonah asked. “Is it your duty to throw away soldiers’ lives without hope or anything to gain?”
Backing away from the table, Marcella began pacing with her hands clasped behind her back. “If we fight, perhaps we can wound them, reduce their numbers. What would you have me do? Abandon the garrison and let the Empire army just march on past without us striking a blow?”
Jonah knew that their situation was dire, like a rat caught in a trap with no way to escape. A trap, he repeated in his mind as an idea began to form. His worried face turned to a grin. “Abandoning the garrison is exactly what we must do.”
The captain stopped pacing to scowl at Jonah. “There was a reason King Brock entrusted me with this post. He knew I would not bend to our enemy’s will.”
Jonah shook his head. “You don’t understand.” He stood, facing the group. “My parents own a farm outside of Nor Torin. About eight years back, we had problems with a particularly smart coyote who would raid us of our livestock. Despite locking the barn up at night, we would come out in the morning to find a calf missing or a pig dead. My father finally had enough and moved the remaining livestock out before climbing into the barn loft and waiting with a crossbow. Sure enough, the coyote appeared, wiggling through a gap below a wall, a narrow tunnel hidden by a pile of hay. While the animal sniffed around, my father shot it and ended the coyote’s reign of terror.”
Jonah grinned as he waited for the story to sink in. Confused expressions were all he received until Rios threw his arms in the air.
“What the blazes are you talking about?” Rios was incredulous. “We are discussing war, and you tell stories ab
out coyotes and livestock?”
Jonah waved his hands in an attempt to calm the sergeant. “Hold on. Hear me out.” He turned toward Marcella. “As you told us earlier, the Empire is watching us. The ambush on Chuli and Thiron, just a mile away, proves it. They know we’re here and likely know how many soldiers we have gathered.”
“Yes. And…”
“And they will believe we are still here even if we evacuate.” Jonah pointed toward the north. “They don’t know about the tunnel. We can send soldiers through, one squad at a time, until all are out except a core group who will be used as bait.”
Jonah turned toward Chuli. “How long before the Empire army arrives?”
Chuli’s brow furrowed. “They likely need a day to break camp. A force that size won’t move very fast, and they have twenty miles to cover. The soonest they’ll arrive is mid-day, tomorrow. More likely, tomorrow evening.”
Jonah turned toward Marcella. “That doesn’t leave us much time, but I have some ideas. If we start now, we can turn this place into a deathtrap before they arrive.”
Seconds passed before Marcella’s grimace softened and morphed into a smirk. “Rios, get me an inventory list that covers weapons, food, armor, supplies…everything. We have plans to make and little time to execute them.”
13
Dire Straits
Everson took a deep breath and knocked. Shuffling sounds came from inside, followed by approaching footsteps. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged man, clean shaven and wearing rectangular spectacles. Smoothing his thick, dark hair with one hand, the man gave Everson an affable grin.
“Everson. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Master Hedgewick.” Everson kneaded his hands and glanced down the corridor. It remained empty but for him. “I’m seeking specific information, and I believe you are the best source.”
An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3) Page 11