Matrinka appreciated that all of the princesses and princes of Béarn were safely installed on the upper floor of Béarn Castle instructed to go nowhere else other than the rooftop. Arturo had argued he belonged on the battle lines, only to be rebuffed by the healers who proclaimed him medically unstable. He had aspired to become a naval commander before fate had intervened.
Barrindar had not progressed far enough in his weapons training. Though he tried hard to focus and learn, even putting in additional time, he had no natural grace or talent. A much better swordsman, Marisole was trained specifically as a bodyguard, and she felt duty-bound to remain with the other heirs of Béarn, watching over them as the curse demanded while Darris attended the king. No one expected her to answer to any general.
Matrinka recognized other things separating this war from the previous one. Friendly warships prowled the shore, some Béarnian, others the dragon-prowed creations of the Northmen, a few from other Western countries and even one single-masted Eastern craft that appeared clunky and out-of-place. Goods and services tended to move in a westerly direction, and overland travel worked better for the Eastlanders.
Though she could not spot them, Matrinka also knew several more elves had secreted themselves on either side of the beachhead, beyond the armies, along with the dozen Myrcidians who had agreed to help. Those had argued bitterly with the elves regarding the safety and security of various positions before finally, reluctantly, agreeing to the current arrangement.
Matrinka understood the first stage of the plan. Using his Box of Farseeing, and probably some additional magic, Captain had pinpointed the arrival of the enemy ships to this day. The first line of the continent’s defense involved the warships, and Matrinka found her gaze repeatedly drawn to the ocean. She had overheard one of the Béarnian captains telling her husband that the western winds, blowing toward the east, gave the enemy a decided advantage in naval warfare. It would speed their arrows and obviate the need to shoot against nature. Matrinka wondered whether chance or the gods favored the giants, or if the Kjempemagiska controlled the direction of the wind through magic.
Thinking of Ra-khir and Darby, Matrinka searched for the Knights of Erythane, finding them among the cavalry flanking the Erythanian army. Even from this great distance, she recognized the knights as a group, resplendent, precision in their every movement, their white steeds like beacons amid the many browns, chestnuts, and bays.
Another gust of wind tore down Matrinka’s hood, spilling her coarse black hair and sending it flying in tendrils. She grasped for the errant fabric with both hands, hauling the hood back over her head with such force it shadowed her face, momentarily blinding her. Bleak thoughts emerged in this manufactured darkness. The seething mass of humanity on the beach disappeared from her sight, and she could only see them, still and lifeless on scarlet-stained sand. Of the thousands of warriors, how many would return to their families intact? How many would have families to return to?
Suddenly driven to gather her friends and children close, Matrinka resisted the urge. Even if she could find them all amid the preparations, she had no right to do so. Everyone made sacrifices, even the queen of Béarn, and she would only be interfering with the strategies and tactics of generals far more skilled than herself. In a war of this type, there was no real safety, neither for the soldiers nor the civilians. For all their size and strength, the Kjempemagiska’s most formidable weapon was their magic, and that was still mostly unknown. A single giant might have the power to take down Béarn Castle with an incantation, sending those atop her tumbling helplessly through the air to die on the shattered remnants of her stonework.
Once in Matrinka’s mind, the idea would not be banished. Repeatedly, she imagined herself falling, screaming, entangled with the bodies of elves and heirs, buffeted by hunks of granite, landing with skull-shattering force on the rubble of the once great castle and knowing nothing more. Flicking the cloth from her eyes, she looked upon the massed armies once more, reveling in their movements, in every indication they still lived. She plucked individuals from among the groups: this one pacing, that one resting, another addressing his troops. Every one represented a human being loved by a mother, a wife, a child. So many would not come home. If they even have homes to come back to.
Matrinka despised herself for nearly falling prey to despair. She had to believe they would win because, to do otherwise meant surrendering to hopelessness. To survive, they had to keep morale up, to find every positive in a bleak situation. In that, at least, she could play a role. So long as they believed in the possibility of victory, it still existed; and she could keep her mind, and others’, busy finding fresh ideas and solutions. No matter how low she felt, no matter how much the images dizzied her, she had to at least pretend to believe the continent would triumph, even in her darkest hours. Not because their survival was an inevitable gift of the gods, but because they had the strength and cleverness to make it happen.
Matrinka’s thoughts did not buoy her, but she knew they would in time, if she forced her focus onto them. Whether or not she succeeded in steeling her own resolve, she promised to maintain this aura of positive assurance. If it helped just one other, allowed him or her to find the path to enlightenment, it was worth any amount of effort. With this in mind, she turned to face Griff, only to find him in frenzied conversation with Weile Kahn. She had not seen Tae’s father arrive, nor heard the trapdoor open to admit him, and could not help wondering if he had the same strange and dangerous habit of clambering up walls as his son.
However Weile Kahn had arrived, Griff appeared agitated by their conversation. His hands flailed wildly, his usually friendly features oddly grim. Matrinka headed toward them. Then, Weile pointed suddenly toward the ocean, and she stopped dead in her tracks to look.
A horde of enormous ships streamed toward them. Matrinka had seen them before, through Captain’s device on the Sea Skimmer, but that had scarcely prepared her for their size and breadth. Though nearer to shore and with the benefit of perspective, the continental ships looked like toys compared to the massive objects floating toward them. When she had last seen the Kjempemagiska warships, the sails were furled and the triple masts rose like skeletal arms beseeching the sky. Now, they held sheets dyed a deep purple-red. At the center of each one, someone had painted a creature Matrinka could not recognize, at least from that distance. It appeared furry and compact, patchy black and white or gray.
Griff dashed to the edge of the roof, Weile at his heels. For one sickening moment, Matrinka thought he might forget to stop, charging into empty air and falling to his death on the crags below. But Griff halted a safe distance from the edge, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the wind tearing at his hair, beard, and cloak. Far below, the armies fell into alert ranks as, one by one, the commanders saw or received word of the impending battle.
The elves edged forward, just far enough to gain an unimpeded look at the Western Sea and the troops massing on Béarn’s beach. The world went oddly still, as if everyone had stopped breathing simultaneously. Then, a hint of dizziness touched Matrinka’s senses and she realized she, at least, had done so. She forced herself to suck in a deep breath. She could not afford to turn lightheaded or stagger while she stood on the palace roof.
Moments dragged into hours, or so it seemed to Matrinka, as the massive ships glided toward the shore and the lined-up warships belonging to the continent. Smaller and more streamlined, the Northern ships had superior maneuverability. These could have easily left the Béarnian ships behind to engage the enemy first, but they did not. They joined the ranks of the larger warships, waiting for the giants to arrive.
Finally, they drew within range of one another’s arrows. By then, Matrinka’s heart was hammering; she had expected some grand magical display by the Kjempemagiska, something that would blow the Béarnian warships sky high or render them into matchsticks in a moment. But nothing of that sort happened. She could scarcely see the
volley of arrows arching from their own ships, made visible only because several of them were flaming. These appeared to land on the lead ship of the invaders.
For a moment, nothing happened. Uncertain what to expect, Matrinka found herself holding her breath again. A myriad of thoughts flooded her mind. Perhaps the enemy ships also required magical weapons to strike them, and the continental arrows bounced off like so many harmless twigs. Perhaps some magical shield sent the arrows flinging back toward their archers or, maybe, deflected them harmlessly into the sea. Then, just as Matrinka thought nothing at all would happen, the lead ship of the Kjempemagiska disappeared. More arrows flew, and two more massive warships winked out as if they had never existed.
As one, the elves gasped.
“What!” the king shouted. Matrinka could not recall the last time she had seen him so agitated. He whirled suddenly on the elves. “What just happened? What did I see?” His gaze sought Captain among the others. “Did those ships just turn transparent?”
Captain stared out over the scene, yellow eyes flashing. “No, Sire. They’re not invisible; they’re gone.”
“How?” Griff demanded. He spun back toward the ocean. Several more of the giants’ ships had disappeared. “Where are they going?”
Captain turned toward the other elves, but no one said anything aloud. “They’re not going anywhere, Your Majesty. They never existed. These ships . . . aren’t real. They’re illusions.”
“Illusions,” Griff repeated.
“To fool us, Majesty. They have no other purpose.”
Once again, Griff whirled to face the elf. “Can they harm us?”
“No,” Captain assured him. “No matter how real they appear, they have no corporeal form, nothing legitimate or solid. The moment something unnatural touches them, the magic breaks and the image dissipates.” He pointed at them. “Watch.”
“It’s a trick, Your Majesty,” Weile said suddenly. “The real ships docked near the twin cities. As we speak, the enemy is overtaking Corpa Schaul and Frist.”
Griff released a moan of deep pain. Matrinka suddenly realized Weile had come specifically to bring news of the attack on the twin cities. That was, most likely, what he had been discussing with Griff when the illusory ships arrived. She bit her lip to keep from shouting what the men already knew. Unless they did something quick and desperate, Frist and Corpa Schaul would fall. Any troops they had were currently in Béarn, leaving their civilians and, perhaps, a skeletal force that had no hope against the advance of an army.
Images sprang into Matrinka’s mind, women and children pleading for their lives, then chopped to pieces, their bodies strewn through city streets like broken toys. She pictured the faces of loved ones: her children, her lover, her friends. Fires consuming the once-great cities of the continent. Giants crushing homes and shops and parks beneath their massive feet, kicking aside bloody, half-charred bodies with stoved-in faces and empty eye sockets. Tears flooded Matrinka’s eyes. “We have to save them! We have to get there!”
Griff said nothing; it would not do for the great king of Béarn to become desperate or sob like a child.
Weile said softly, “It’s too late for the twin cities, but we may still save the rest of the world.”
When Griff finally spoke, he addressed Captain again. “Can you move us there quickly?”
“No, Sire.” Captain shook his head while the other elves looked on in silence. “We would need at least a couple of elves at the arrival spot, and those could only travel by conventional means. Even then, to open the way would take extensive magic that would surely draw the full attention of the Kjempemagiska and put every elfin life at simultaneous risk. Your men would also be entirely vulnerable as they emerged from the portal.”
Matrinka glanced toward the ocean. As the illusory ships drew nearer, she could imagine the captains of the continental ships desperately preparing for ramming. “Captain, can your khohlar reach the ships?”
Captain’s gaze flicked to Matrinka. “The beach, at least, Your Majesty.”
Griff caught on. “Tell them about the ships, Captain, please.”
The call went out immediately, *These enemy ships aren’t real; they can’t hurt you. When they touch you, they’ll vanish.* He looked at Griff. “Good, Sire?”
Griff looked out to sea. The first of the giant’s ships reached the Béarnian warships and disappeared in a rain of arrows. “Tell them to conserve their ammunition but stay alert.” He paused. “Wait. Is it possible some of those ships are real?”
Elfin heads bobbed; but, standing in front of them, Captain was not in a position to see them. “It’s not impossible, Your Majesty.” He grew notably thoughtful, canted eyes narrowing, a finger stroking his cheek.
Matrinka expected more and, from their silence, she knew the men around her did as well. When Captain said nothing further, Griff prodded, “Would there be some way to tell real from illusion?”
“With magic? Easily. But it would waste some energy better used for other things.”
Matrinka understood the details beyond Captain’s point. Strictly by body count, they outnumbered the Kjempemagiska, probably a hundred-to-one according to Tae. However, when it came to magic, the giants were all able to use it, while the defenders were limited to fewer than seventy elves and twelve Myrcidians. They could not squander a bit. “What about by sight?”
Captain had an answer for that as well. “An experienced seaman might notice something. Whoever created the illusionary ships couldn’t account for all the subtleties of the weather. If someone with sea eyes studied the flotilla, they might see tiny differences that could reveal an imposter hidden among them. It’s even possible someone has to remain nearby to keep the illusion alive, which would necessitate one actual ship or, at least, someone hidden on the beach.”
A shiver racked Matrinka at the thought a giant magician might have sneaked into Béarnian territory without notice.
“Possible?” Griff pressed. “Or necessary?”
Captain lifted his lithe shoulders, then dropped them. “I couldn’t say, Sire. We would need to do that, but the Kjempemagiska may not. It depends on how their magic works.”
Weile sighed. “Doesn’t magic have any rules that apply to everyone?”
It was clearly a rhetorical question, but Captain took it literally. “Of course, but you have to keep in mind the basis of magic is chaos. Or, rather, the harnessing of it. And the gods emphasized different aspects for their own creations. We are what Frey made us.”
Now was not the time for lectures on gods and creation. As the images of crumpled bodies and rivers of blood descended on Matrinka again, she reminded softly, “The longer we take, the more lives are lost.”
That galvanized Griff. “Captain, please inform the men of the possibility of a real ship and also what to look for. I’m going to gather the generals. We need to quickly mobilize the armies.” He headed toward the trapdoor opening into the castle.
Weile caught up to him in two quick strides. “Your Majesty, I have another idea, if you’ll indulge me.”
Griff nodded as he walked. Matrinka chased after them, needing to hear what they said. Likely, they would leave her behind; the more knowledge she had, the better she could assist in preventing panic, in keeping the kingdom and its most vulnerable citizens safe.
Weile glanced at her but continued speaking. “We’ll need a battlefield. It’s best to pick somewhere between Béarn and the twin cities.”
Griff did not speculate but gestured for the Easterner to continue as Darris trotted ahead and reached for the latch.
Weile continued, “My men and I move a lot faster than any army.” He did not have to demonstrate; his ability to bring Griff knowledge of the battle quicker than Corpa Schaul could send a messenger spoke volumes. “We can empty the towns and cities next in line for attack, especially Pudar, lead the nonmilitary citizenry aw
ay and toward the East. We can slow the giants with traps and trickery, steer them toward your chosen site of battle without them even knowing it.”
Griff made a noise of consideration. “What’s to stop them from chasing the women and children? From destroying the empty villages?”
“Nothing,” Weile admitted, “but I don’t think they will.”
Darris stopped with the hatch partway open. Weile had his attention as well.
“Smashing buildings takes unnecessary time and effort they can’t afford to waste. They’re probably relying on the fact that we’re not expecting them to come overland. They might even have managed to flank our armies before we knew they were coming, if not for my . . . sources. But even if the giants didn’t expect to catch us unaware, they don’t want to give us any extra time to prepare. Once they’ve defeated our front line combat troops, they figure they can wipe out whoever remains with relative ease.”
Darris threw open the hatchway, and the men funneled through it. The moment they did, Captain sent the promised mental message to everyone, followed by a request. *Please let us know how the generals choose to handle this.*
Griff could not reply by the same means; only elves used khohlar. Matrinka suggested in his stead, “Captain, you or any representative you choose is welcome to join the meeting. We must keep the elves informed.”
A moment later, the head of a young page appeared through the trapdoor. “Lord elf, King Griff has requested you attend the General’s meeting.”
In less horrific circumstances, Matrinka would have laughed. She watched Captain hurry toward the young man, disappear through the opening, and let the panel fall behind him. A gust stole her hood again, and the wind blasted through her ears, sharply painful. Out on the vast, sapphire expanse of the Western Ocean, illusory ships popped and disappeared like wayward bubbles.
Fields of Wrath Page 60