Raith led the way. Unlike the golds at the Hellgate, sentries guarded the perimeter of the wilder encampment, three blues standing watch near the wardstones. The camp inside the magic shield was still and quiet, the people huddled in groups on the ground or standing watch. They stirred at the sight of Corwin and the others, hushed whispers breaking out like a wind gust.
Corwin eyed the people, his heart sinking at the sight of so many women and children among the men. Some of the youngest were barely old enough to be left unattended, let alone go into battle. Several of the women had infants with them. Another looked ready to give birth at any moment, her belly swollen and heavy with child. How will we ever take the fortress with such a small group? For surely the pregnant women and the children couldn’t be put in such danger as they would soon face. Then again, Corwin reminded himself, this was Raith’s army to command, not his.
That became clear within minutes of their joining the camp. Raith issued orders, selecting several of the men to help interrogate the prisoner while sending the rest as far away as the barrier would allow. Corwin understood. There was nothing pleasant about forcing a person to divulge secrets. They laid the gold on the ground inside a cluster of trees, the best buffer to muffle his screams.
Retreating as far as he dared, Corwin leaned against a tree to watch and listen. Raith did most of the work, using the spells in his magestones to inflict pain, while a wilder named Francis held the gold up, arms pinned behind his back. To Corwin’s relief it didn’t take long, such was the power of Raith’s magic. Corwin closed his eyes during the worst of it, the man’s screams like the crack of a whip. But finally, at last, the gold began to talk, and Corwin moved in closer to hear.
“Yes, the wilders are inside,” the man said, panting. “Some of them.”
Behind him, Francis slowly lowered the gold to the ground, then retreated a step, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of one meaty arm. Even still his face glistened in the light of the torches nearby.
“Who?” Raith said, squatting in front of the gold, who seemed barely able to remain upright by his own strength.
“Kate Brighton, the gunsmith Bonner. That’s all.”
Standing opposite Corwin, Dal took a step forward, fist clenched. “What about Signe?”
The gold glanced up at him and nodded once. “The Eshian’s there, too.”
Francis stooped toward the gold, and the man cowered away from him. “And the others taken during the raid on the Sacred Sword?”
The gold covered his face, his words muffled behind his hands. “They were here but they’re gone.”
“Where?” Francis wrapped a large hand around the man’s shoulder, right at the base of the neck, and squeezed.
“They’re on a ship from Penlocke, on the way to Seva.”
Corwin’s spine stiffened at the news. He stepped nearer the gold. “Why Seva?”
The gold raised his gaze to Corwin, the whites of his eyes smeared with blood from whatever Raith had done to him. “Weapons for the Godking’s army.”
“An army of wilders,” Raith said, rising to his feet. He glanced at Corwin, fear etched across his face.
Corwin felt the same fear echo through him. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but surely never this. The golds were serving Magnar Fane? Despite his incredulity, it wasn’t impossible to believe that Seva was involved. The Godking had been a young man when he sent his army to invade Rime all those years ago. It was his first taste of failure, a defeat he’d never gotten over. It was only a matter of time before he tried again. And now thanks to the golds, he would have magic to help him.
“The daydrake attacks,” Corwin said, his mind making a new connection. He turned to Raith. “Most of them were near rivers and waterways, allowing easy transport to Seva.” He’d missed the pattern all along, but now it seemed obvious.
“That explains why they would attack Thornewall, as well,” Dal said. “The smuggling caves lead right to the river. With wilder magic it would be easy to open them again.”
“And he has Signe and Bonner, too,” Corwin said. “All he needs to give Seva the revolvers.” Again, he felt as if the pieces of the puzzle were sliding into place. All except for the most important one. Corwin knelt before the gold as Raith had done a moment before. “Who leads you? Is it Grand Master Storr?”
The man laughed, his lips parting to reveal bloody teeth. “Storr is just a pawn in the game of a god.”
Francis grabbed the man around the neck again. “Leave the riddles out of this.”
“Who then?” Corwin stared into the gold’s eyes, desperate for the answer.
“I serve the Lord Ascender. He is god made flesh.”
Worried the pain might’ve driven the man mad, Corwin said, “Even gods have names. What is his?”
“He was once the Nameless One,” the gold replied. Then he laughed again. “But he’s had many names. Too many to count.”
Fear pulsed inside Corwin, electrifying his nerves. The Nameless One. “The only man with that title is long dead. He would’ve died years ago.”
The gold shook his head, his expression emphatic now. “He lives. He lives forever. God made flesh.”
With a grunt of disgust, Francis grabbed the gold by the shoulders and hoisted him into the air. “What’s his name now?” Francis began to squeeze, as if he meant to crush the man with his bare hands.
The gold cried out, head thrown backward, the cords in his neck popping out. “Rendborne,” he said, gasping. “Minister Rendborne.”
Francis dropped the man, letting him hit the ground hard. Francis turned to Raith and Corwin, eying them both. “Do you think he says the truth?”
Neither spoke. Corwin couldn’t make the idea fit inside his head, incapable of reconciling the Rendborne he knew as the minister of trade—charming, forthright, a man of the people—as the traitor responsible for the daydrake attacks and sending wilders to Seva. That was until he remembered Rendborne telling him that the Nameless One had killed his own uror sign. He claimed he’d read about it, but what if . . . ?
A shiver clawed down Corwin’s spine. The uror sign is pure magic, Rendborne had said. What happened to the person who killed one? Did the magic release? Could it be captured somehow like the way the magists embedded spells on stones? Corwin wanted to ask Raith but didn’t dare in front of so many people. Not when there was a living, breathing uror in the castle stables right this moment.
Instead he said, “I’ve reason to believe it might be true.” He gestured at Dal. “We know Rendborne’s also close with Maestra Vikas. Dal and I saw them having a secret tryst.”
“Very well,” said Raith, shocked resignation in his voice. “We now have a name for our enemy. But we need more.”
Corwin stepped back, letting Raith resume the interroga-tion. His thoughts remained on Rendborne. The truth brought no satisfaction—not when he couldn’t understand the why. If Rendborne was the Nameless One, brother of Morwen, son of Rowan, then he was a Tormane, Corwin’s ancestor. Why would he betray Rime to Seva? How could he still be alive? Unless he truly is a god. But no, Corwin refused to believe it.
Knowing there would be no answers to his questions tonight, Corwin returned his attention to the interrogation. Raith was pressing the gold for details about the fortress itself, ways in and out, where they were keeping Kate and the others, and where Rendborne was likely to be.
“What do we do with him now?” Dal asked once they’d wrung the last bit of information from the gold.
“We take him back to Norgard as our prisoner,” Raith said. “He’s proof of the golds’ treachery, and of Rendborne’s.”
Ready to voice his agreement, Corwin stopped short as across from him, Francis drew the sword at his hip and thrust it straight through the gold’s heart. The man let out a liquid gasp, then fell to the ground. Corwin stared at Francis, shock thrumming through him at such cold violence.
“We aren’t going back to Norgard.” Francis fixed a defiant gaze on Raith. “
The Rising is done waiting and hiding. We don’t need proof—we’re here to fight, to end this threat.”
“This is the high prince.” Raith motioned to Corwin with a vigorous shake of his hand. “He can end the threat of the Inquisition diplomatically, without the need for fighting and more death. There’s been enough already.”
“The Errant Prince will never be king now, not when he’s joined with us.” Francis jammed his hands down on his hips. “We must bring about our own change. It’s time to fight.”
I haven’t joined with you, Corwin thought. Not yet. But the man’s fury stirred something inside him. This was different from Edwin’s hate. This was the result of suffering and subjugation.
Raith gave a resigned sigh. “First we must succeed in rescuing Kate, Bonner, and Signe before Rendborne can use them to arm himself and Seva. That’s the immediate threat. Once they’re all safe, we will decide what to do next.”
Corwin held his breath, expecting Francis to argue, but the big man remained silent. Even still, tension seemed to hum in the air around him and Raith. Feeling it, Corwin guessed that this wasn’t the first time the two had clashed like this.
A moment later, Raith asked Corwin for a private word. They retreated to where the horses were tethered, the only place with no one near enough to overhear.
“Will you help me in this, your highness?” Raith said.
“With what? If you mean the Rising, I—”
“No, not that.” Raith cut him off with an upraised hand. “I’ve no idea how we get into the fortress tomorrow and out again. And as you can see, there are many lives to protect.” He gestured to the camp, which was louder now than before, the people whispering about what had happened as they spread out bedrolls or passed around bread and salted meat or flasks of wine.
Corwin traced the scar on his chin, feeling a quake in his belly. “You want me to lead?”
Raith nodded. “You’re better suited than I. You know strategy, and my strength is to defend, not attack.”
“But you heard Francis. All they see in me is the Errant Prince.”
Raith fixed a fierce gaze on him. “Then you must show them you are something more.”
“How?” Corwin said, frustration and doubt making him want to pace. He turned to Nightbringer instead, finding comfort in the horse’s presence, something steadfast in this upheaving world around him.
“By showing that you hear them, your highness. That’s the only way to lead.” Raith sighed, and when Corwin turned toward the sound, he found the magist examining his blackened fingertips.
Raith looked up, his expression dark with some unknown emotion. “You can’t let others define who you should be. That’s a lesson I’ve been learning since birth.” Raith gestured to the mark of the Shade Born on his face. “When people see this, they see something they should fear. My parents believed in the superstition so much that they took me outside the city wall when I was just a babe and left me in the snow to die. I almost did.” Raith waggled his fingers, and Corwin realized frostbite must have turned them that color.
Swallowing the hard knot of pity in his throat, he said, “What happened?”
“A magist found me. A master healer, one skilled enough that I managed not to lose all my fingers and toes.” Raith smiled, a wet sheen in his eyes. “Master Janus brought me to an orphanage. They took me in, but only because he was a magist and insisted. Every year afterward, he checked in on me to make sure I was being treated fairly. I wasn’t, of course. But Janus told me repeatedly that the only way for me to be more than what the gods had marked me for was to stay true to who I was. To make my own fate by making my own decisions. And here I am.” Raith motioned to the camp. “A magist helping wilders. That lesson is why I’ve risked all that I have to make a better life for these people. Wilders can be more than the power they are born with, if we are willing to hear their words, see them for who they are—what they do, not what they can do. And you, Prince Corwin, can be more than your title. You just have to rise up and become it. Lead us.”
All the reasons he should say no flooded Corwin’s mind. He saw the faces of his Shieldhawk brothers, heard their names whispered in his ear. He saw the Sevan soldier boy, for once remembering him clearly, without the fog of his feelings. Maybe Dal had been right—maybe the boy hadn’t betrayed them. Maybe there’d been no way to avoid what happened that night. It was a lesson he’d been taught often by his tutors and even his father: battles can only be fought and won or fought and lost. It was a risk you took every time you went in.
“Do you really believe they will follow me?” Corwin asked.
“If you show them that you understand them, and take the first step, they will take the second,” Raith said. “Tomorrow they will watch you risk your life to save wilders. You will become more than the Errant Prince in their eyes. You will become our prince. And one day you will be our king. Rime will never be whole when we stand so divided, wilder against magist. But you have the power to unite us.”
Corwin heard his unspoken words—be the king who sets the wilders free, who ends their suffering. Who makes Rime whole again.
He glanced at his tingling palm, the uror brand clear and striking. He lowered his hand, resting it on the revolver belted at his waist.
“We’ll need to work fast,” Corwin said. “We attack at dawn.”
36
Kate
RENDBORNE PROVED TRUE TO HIS word. Once Kate retrieved the secret of the black-powder formula from Signe’s mind, he healed most of her wounds. Those that could be healed, that was. Kate knew without asking that Signe would bear the scar on her face forever, and no magic could put back the shattered bones in her foot completely.
While Rendborne worked on Signe, the golds returned Kate and Bonner to their cages. Neither spoke. Bonner seemed beyond words. Even though Kate couldn’t hear his thoughts with the collar back in place, she still sensed something vital inside him had broken with his father’s death. He seemed ready to lie down and let go. Kate understood the urge. It was her fault Bonner’s father was dead, her defiance that had cost her friend so much.
She fought the feeling back. This was not the end of all things. So long as she could breathe and think and act, there was a chance to survive. She had Signe to thank for the hope still left alive inside her. When Kate invaded her friend’s mind, she found herself being welcomed in, the bright glow of her essence mesmerizing even through her pain. At first Signe’s pain overwhelmed Kate, but then she managed to bear it, and soon she found herself sharing it. It hurt, but the relief she sensed in Signe gave her the strength to endure.
I’m so sorry, Kate thought, sending the words right into Signe’s mind.
Don’t be, her answer came back at once. We must be strong. We must fight.
Signe’s resilience, even now, after all she had suffered, lent Kate strength.
But it was quickly waning—even more so when two golds appeared, carrying Signe between them. Her foot had been bandaged with enough wraps that it looked twice its normal size. Signe seemed to have fainted again, her head lolling. The golds deposited her in the empty cage next to Kate’s, dropping her like a sack of grain. Kate clamped her mouth shut to keep from screaming at them.
Once they were gone, Kate scooted to the edge of her cage. “Signe, are you okay?”
No answer.
Kate pressed her face against the bars, the metal like cold, dull teeth against her skin. “Signe, please be okay.”
“I’m not,” Signe replied, her voice low and sluggish. “But I will be. Once we’re out of here.”
How? Kate bit her lip to keep from saying it aloud, afraid of letting Signe hear her despair.
“This might help us do it.” Signe scooted toward her and held out a key, the kind that would unlock their collars.
Kate’s breath caught, and for a second she was too stunned to move. “Where did you get that?”
“Rendborne is an arrogant fool. He should’ve broken my hand instead of my foot.”
Then Kate understood. “You stole it off the gold just now?”
“Easy as juggling a knife.”
“Signe, I could kiss you,” Kate said.
“Later. We need to get out of here first.”
With shaking hands, Kate took the key from Signe’s fingers. She raised it to the back of her neck and prodded until she found the keyhole. The key slid in with some resistance, but when she turned it, she heard the click of the mechanism unlocking. The collar loosened at her throat and almost fell. She grabbed it and held it in place while beyond the cage a gold walked by. Once he was gone, she lowered the collar, savoring the freedom from its weight. She could sense her magic again, although it was dormant with the late hour. Come morning, though, she would be able to use it again.
Giddy with hope, Kate refastened the collar so no one walking by would notice. Then she edged to the other side of the cage and called for Bonner. He was lying down, his head away from her, face hidden in his arms.
When he didn’t answer, she called again, her voice cracking. “Bonner, Signe stole a collar key. We can escape, but we need your help.”
Still no answer.
“Please, Bonner. We can’t do it without you. Please.”
Bonner drew a loud breath, then slowly sat up. “What do you want me to do?”
The sound of his voice made Kate flinch. This wasn’t her ever-hopeful, ever-optimistic friend but a dark, forlorn creature, alien and unknowable. Ignoring the ache beneath her breastbone, she slid the key through the bars to him. For a second she feared he wouldn’t take it, but then he reached out and grasped it between his rough fingers. A moment later, he pulled the collar from around his neck.
“Will you be able to bend the bars come morning?” Kate said.
“Yes, but we need to think this through. We can’t fight our way free with so many golds, and Signe isn’t walking out of here on her own.”
Kate sat back, her mind racing. Bonner was right. They would never make it out fighting, and the going would be slow with one of them carrying Signe. They needed a way to distract the golds while they escaped. If only Vianne were still here. She could set the place on fire, but she and Kiran must be far away by now.
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