“That wasn’t the response I expected.”
Telenar watched the man go. “Even old holy men get tired of watching their people became strangers to the Prysm. He has seen many a soul fly to Zyreio.”
“Because of this war?”
“More than the war, I think. Wars only separate men’s souls from their bodies. Obsidian has bigger plans than that. Dead men are no good to Amarian unless he’s already won their hearts and minds. And you can be certain that is what he is trying to do with the remainder of Relgaré’s army. I wonder how our good friend is holding up.”
__________
The scout was soaking wet, but then, they all were. The rain had not let up for several days; the grumbling of Chiyo’s men was beginning to turn into bold complaint. Some of them even postulated that they had contracted skin disease from over-exposure to moisture. Hunoi wanted to discipline them for their whining, but Chiyo had only laughed, merely assigning them an extra load to relieve the voyoté.
Despite the scout’s report that he had not seen any Cylini, and despite his suspicion that he was leading his men into a trap, Chiyo felt optimistic. Perhaps it was his relief to leave behind the king’s unwelcome ally; getting as far away from Amarian’s smothering presence as possible had become the general’s secret mission. By now, he had no intention of returning his small band to the main force. Let all of Keroul be deceived by Commander Hull; he and his men would fight the good fight while they could. Of course, that still left the problem of what to do in the meantime. Sloshing around in a swamp full of enemies was a waste of time, though Chiyo would much rather brave the Cylini than Amarian’s forces. So they had adopted a course that led them gently west, through the marshes but in the direction of the plains preceding the Plains of Jasimor.
There was a polite cough from Hunoi. “Yes, Captain?”
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but another scout has returned. He says he’s found some sort of village just southeast of here. It’s Cylini, of course. He says that—” A soft thwack interrupted his sentence, causing him to look down. To his surprise, an arrow protruded from his chest. He felt his extremities grow cold, heard Chiyo’s cry, and then, with a moan, slid to the ground. Half a second later, the wet sky was filled with Cylini arrows.
Chiyo wheeled his voyoté around. “Shields up, swords out! Stay together!”
The men didn’t need to hear the orders to obey. Soon the officers’ voyoté had scattered into the trees until they could be of more service, while cavalry and infantry combined to overlap their shields. The result was two tortoise-shells, impenetrable from a distance and deadly at close range. The formation was both effective for offense on an open battle field and useful for buying time in tight quarters. The marshes, however, were unforgiving, and the troops could go nowhere with the water up to their thighs and the enemy closing in. The arrows battered against them for what seemed like an eternity. Did the Cylini have an endless supply of them? Chiyo knew that without reinforcements they would shortly have no choice but to surrender or be slaughtered. He pondered it for a moment. Better to yield sooner than later—they had already lost several men in the initial barrage. He waited until a break in the onslaught, then thrust out his arm through the shields and plunged his sword into the mud and water. The hilt was hardly visible above the sludge, so he waited a few breaths until the symbol could be recognized. Then he stepped out with his hands raised high.
“Mercy!”
Several arrows continued to whiz by; those Cylini who had crept close looked tempted to take advantage of an unarmed, high-ranking officer. But it did not take long for one of their commanders to acknowledge the gesture. He barked an order and his men began to form a restless circle around the troops, who maintained their defensive position. Pointing to the two shells, the commander addressed Chiyo in stilted Keroulian.
“Do they give up, too?”
Chiyo nodded and shouted back to the ranks. “Lower your shields! We surrender this time!” As the shells obediently disintegrated, he turned back to the commander.
“We surrender. What are your terms?”
The Cylini leader eyed his enemy through the downpour. When he finally spoke, his demand was unconditional surrender. Chiyo nodded, ordering the Keroulians to hand over their weapons, which the marsh warriors took eagerly enough. Stripped of their arms, he and his men were led in the direction from which the second scout had come.
It was a long, depressing march. The vision of Hunoi disappearing beneath the water kept replaying in Chiyo’s mind. It had all happened so quickly. One minute, his captain was speaking to him, the next, he was dead. Chiyo shook his head; he couldn’t process or grieve over Hunoi’s death right now. That would have to wait until he had secured the safety of those still alive.
Before long, they arrived at a village. Chiyo eyed its fenced platforms with concern. Surely the Cylini would not have resources for almost fifty prisoners. Had he ordered his men to surrender only to face execution? He had no time to consider this possibility before the gate to the compound opened and their captor exchanged a few words with a man inside. Even with his decent grasp of the Cylini language and the lightening rain, Chiyo could only pick out parts of what the men were saying. What he did hear, however, startled him.
The Cylini word for Keroulians was “Nwcherov” or “the winded ones,” referring both to the high winds that could race across the region north of the Duvarian Range and to the extensive (and uncalled for, to many minds) spread of Keroulian culture. The Cylini commander mentioned this term a few times while he indicated captives, but to Chiyo’s surprise, the other man repeatedly pointed inside to the “Nwcherov.” Were there other Keroulians here? Chiyo assumed that his band had been the first scouting mission Relgaré had sent into the swamp, but maybe he had been mistaken. He watched with interest as a priest joined the discussion, began to vigorously shake his head, and pointed like the other man to the huts behind him. Meanwhile, the Cylini warriors were growing impatient: standing guard in the water when warmth and rest were only a few steps away was beginning to make them irritable. Finally, the triumvirate at the gate made some sort of decision. Chiyo and his men then were led to up onto a smaller, adjacent walled platform. It was empty of any comfort or furniture, but at least it was dry. As the Keroualians clamored inside, several surly guards remained to ensure their good behavior.
As curious as he was about the other Keroulians in the camp, Chiyo first had to concern himself with his men. The ambush had taken its toll. Three dead, including Hunoi, one arrow wound in the thigh, one in the shoulder, a nasty slash on the arm, and some scratches where arrows had almost made their mark. Still, given the nature of the attack, Chiyo was surprised that more of his men were not killed: the Cylini must have been more interested in captives than corpses, although why, he had no clue. Still, if they wanted living prisoners, they would have to provide more than just a dry surface to lay on.
Holding the gaze of the closest guard, he rose slowly to his feet. Then he pointed to his wounded and asked, in Cylinic, if he could request medical help for them. To his indignation, the guard shook his head.
“Paran?” If the normal rules of war were not going to be observed, Chiyo wanted to know why.
The guard did not answer, but he neither did he object when Chiyo ordered some of his men to staunch the bleeding and field dress the wounds. The man’s indifference revived in Chiyo’s mind the unpleasant vision of a staged execution. But mass executions were not usually the Cylini way, unless Amarian had managed to taint them as quickly as he had the Keroulian leaders.
Chiyo was again trying to push that option out his mind when the guards snapped to attention. He looked up to see the same Cylini commander who had captured them. The man gruffly ordered him to rise and follow, which Chiyo did, but not before establishing a second-in-command. Then he followed the commander across a narrow swinging bridge to the nearest large platform, then to a small building on his right, where the man gestured for Chiyo to enter. Ch
iyo nodded, approached the ill-fitted door, and knocked. A young girl immediately opened it, bidding him to come inside and sit by the fire. This he did most willingly; his clothes were soaked from the marsh and the rain. Except for the fire, himself, and the girl, the room was empty. But the moment he had seated himself, the door opened a second time, and the figure who entered was wonderfully familiar.
“Telenar? What are you doing here?”
Telenar adjusted his spectacles and peered into the shadows. The late afternoon light was fading fast, but he wanted to see the source of the voice before he confirmed its identity. “Chiyo?”
In response, Chiyo bounded to his feet and rushed his old friend. “You’re alive! You must have received my message. Where’s Vancien? How did you get here? Are you prisoners like us? Do they mean to execute you, too?”
Telenar eagerly returned the embrace, but he had a hard time keeping up with the questions; Chiyo was more animated than he had ever seen him. What must he have been through, Telenar wondered, that the sight of a friend caused him such relief? Aloud, he begged Chiyo to sit down again by the fire and get warm. Then he called to the servant girl.
“Elai, tra’oon tai ‘nthro bertra frau verstra.”
She nodded, running off to perform her errand. Satisfied, Telenar sat down next to a grateful but amused Chiyo.
“I don’t need new clothes, Telenar. These will dry soon enough.”
But Telenar was pleased to offer the small favor. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a change. Besides, some Cylini clothes may come in handy.”
“I notice you’ve found them to your liking.”
Telenar glanced down at his own rough garments. “They’re better suited to the climate. Besides, ours weren’t much good, what with the blood and all.”
“Blood? I guess we had better start with your story first. Vancien is well?”
Nodding, Telenar briefly recounted what his small group had been through. When he had finished, Chiyo told his tale. By the time all the news had been exchanged, the dry clothes had arrived and Chiyo was feeling much better, although the news of Relgaré’s death hit him harder than he would have thought.
“He was a good king. For a time.”
Telenar nodded.
“Now Amarian’s in charge of the army. That dragon of his has probably eaten half our voyoté. Plus those Sentries. . .” He stopped. “My men! They must be half frozen by now. Do you think you can talk the Cylini into giving them a fire and some food?”
“Of course. But then we must speak with the priests: we have to convince the warriors on both sides that this fight is no longer between the Keroulians and the Cylini. Vancien’s going to need us fighting together.”
Chiyo shook his head. “That’ll be a challenge, but we don’t have a choice, do we? Now that my men and the Cylini have seen what Amarian can do, hopefully they won’t see an alternative either.” He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “But our first step should be to get out of this wretched swamp.”
Telenar smiled. “It’s not so bad. But yes, we’ll have to leave soon. Vancien has healed well enough to ride, though Nagab is not ready to bear him. Were your men mounted?”
“They were until the attack. The voyoté fled under the arrows, but I’m sure they’ve regrouped somewhere nearby. As soon as we’re on the move and they sense it’s safe, they’ll return.”
“Good enough.” Telenar stood, brushing off his robes. “Would you like to come see the others?”
__________
It took some work to convince the Cylini not only to let scores of Keroulian soldiers go free, but also to send some of their own men to fight with them. Their hesitancy deepened when Telenar had to admit to the council that he would be taking the small force to the Plains of Jasimor. Several burly chiefs crossed their arms and protested loudly. What if Commander Hull attacked while the warriors were away? Who would protect the women and children? The people of the West had never treated the Cylini with kindness: why would that change now? Telenar had no good answers to any of these concerns, although Chiyo vouched for the welcome—or at least a cessation of hostilities—on behalf of his homeland. In the end, the chiefs refused to actively commission a fighting force, but agreed to let any volunteers depart with the Nwcherov. This announcement produced a doubtful murmur among those Cylini present at the meeting. With the threat of Commander Hull and his dragon lurking over the swamp, understandably few warriors were willing to leave their families unprotected. But Telenar did secure a small diplomatic victory: upon assurances of the native priests that Vancien was indeed the Advocate, the chiefs unanimously agreed that they would be ready to march with Vancien when he called upon them, provided Hull had turned his attentions elsewhere.
With such success, the meeting dispersed. Chiyo departed to prepare his men and round up the few Cylini who had opted for this new adventure. Telenar accompanied him, suspecting that he had more on his mind than the council’s decision, and as he suspected, Chiyo soon stopped on a swinging bridge, far outside of anybody’s earshot. Telenar waited patiently for him to start the conversation.
“I don’t want to speak ill of any in your company, Telenar, but I’m grateful you forbade that Verial girl to attend the council.”
Telenar nodded in agreement. “She is Obsidian’s eyes and ears.”
“Then perhaps we should blindfold her and stop her ears.”
“Not a bad idea. Not at all. But Vancien insists that we not treat her like an enemy. He pities her.”
Chiyo grunted. “Vancien may be the Advocate, but he’s also a young man who sees a chance to help a pretty girl. A woman. A spy. Surely Kynell does not expect us to aid and abet the enemy?”
“I wouldn't think so. But if we alienate her, we alienate Vance, which is bad both for him and for us. The Dedication is coming up quickly; I need to keep track of him as long as I can.” He stopped to watch Chiyo scrape a piece of bark off the wooden railing, then toss it into the water. “All the same, we must be careful what we say. Even Vancien doesn’t trust her.”
__________
Vancien had been delighted to hear of Chiyo’s arrival. His enthusiasm doubled as the plans were finalized for the Keroulian troop to accompany his small band. It helped that he had also made several friends among the young Cylini warriors, some of whom had jumped at the opportunity to leave the marsh. Though he would never admit it, Vancien missed his old friends from Win, South of the Glade. He had the companionship of Telenar and N’vonne, certainly, but they were more like parents than colleagues—not to mention the fact that Telenar could not tell a joke from the hole in the ground. At times, Vancien even missed ribbing old Sirin, whom he had not seen since that first fateful day in Lascombe. The rambunctiousness of his new comrades was therefore a welcome change. Day after day, as his shoulder healed, he had watched them swing from the trees, throw each other into the marsh, and ruthlessly pull pranks on unsuspecting targets. As soon as he could manage it, he was up there with them, sneaking orbmoss into the young women’s seat cushions and learning how to tell a solid branch from a “fewchan”—a limb that, despite its strong appearances, would readily send you tumbling.
If Vancien had feared his welcome would fade after his new friends learned of his advocacy, his fears were unfounded. Though they were at first surprised, the news only fed their eagerness to both tease and enlist him. Still, the language barrier was significant. For conversation, he found himself turning to young Bren, Chiyo’s aide, who filled him in on all the details of a soldier’s life (what little a boy of eleven cycles could experience), the arrival of Hull and his dragon, and the ambush that had brought them to the village. Vancien drank in everything, remembering his days of training with the general and wishing his fight could be as direct as Chiyo’s. When he shared this thought with Chiyo himself, though, the general only laughed.
“Your fight will soon be direct enough, young Vancien. And my time of fighting is over, at least for the moment. Now we must bide our time, make new
allies, and await the Dedication.”
“Will you be with us all the way to Jasimor?”
Chiyo nodded vigorously. “If Kynell allows, we won’t let you out of our sight.”
Vancien was no coward, but Chiyo’s determination was comforting. He had often thought that Kynell might make him carry out this battle on his own—a prospect he was ready to consider but didn’t want. As he watched the army forming around him, he wondered how Telenar could think it insufficient. For Vancien, it seemed like a force large and loyal enough to take on anything Zyreio could throw at them.
The waters receded after a few more days and they were on the move again. Chiyo and Telenar rode lead, then Vancien and Bren, then N’vonne and Verial. The final two said very little; after Verial’s disclosure that Zyreio saw, heard, and spoke through her, no one had much inclination to engage her in conversation. Chiyo’s jest that she be blindfolded was carried out at the insistence of none other than Vancien. Telenar did not argue, although he suspected that Vancien was being too charitable when he claimed that the blindfolding would be for the girl’s own protection. Behind the six rode forty-seven Keroulian soldiers and twenty-three Cylini men.
None of them noticed the blotch in the sky far above them. Such a small force, the Dark One thought as he hovered far above the thinning marsh trees. It was not difficult to estimate their size from the air: the Keroulians with their bright armor and the Cylini with their loud talk made the entire group painfully conspicuous. With a nudge, he urged Ovna toward the ground, a safe distance away from the diminutive army. They were already on the edges of the marsh and would be well into the western plains by the next day; it would be an easy thing to slip Verial away from her companions. He needed a diversion before the little prince came.
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