Stormcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  So he stood, forcing his muscles to relax, meeting the gaze of anyone who chose to look at him. “I understand, Your Majesty,” he said. “But I beg you to move quickly. Once Celestine gains a foothold in the Realms . . .” He trailed off, because he could see that the queen was being distracted by a commotion at the door—raised voices, and a small crowd of bluejackets milling about.

  “See what that’s about, Captain Byrne,” the queen snapped. Turning to another one of her guards, she said, “Clear everyone else out of the room. I think this party is over, anyway, and we don’t need a lot of tongues wagging before we get this sorted out.”

  Captain Byrne wavered, as if unsure whether to leave the queen in Evan’s company to investigate. Finally, he crossed the room to the door as the room emptied.

  Moments later, he returned, accompanied by a travel-worn soldier, who was still muddied from the road. She was a woman, but she dwarfed nearly everyone else in the room.

  “Corporal Talbot!” the queen said. “What are you doing here?” A look of hope dawned in her eyes. “Did—did Captain Gray come back with you?” She looked past the newcomer as if she expected this Captain Gray to be right behind.

  “Your Majesty,” the soldier said, saluting, her expression haggard and grim. “I bring bad news from Chalk Cliffs. After a fierce battle, the city has fallen.”

  Queen Raisa went pale, her green eyes wide. “Chalk Cliffs . . . has fallen? But . . . how did this happen?”

  “We were caught between an army from the west and warships from seaward. And clearly there were traitors within the walls that opened the gates to them.”

  The queen glanced at Evan, then back to the distraught soldier. “An army? Was it Arden or—?”

  Talbot shook her head. “They sailed for someone called Empress Celestine, and they fought like—like demons. Even if we hadn’t been massively outnumbered, they were all but impossible to kill.”

  Evan’s heart sank like a stone. This was exactly the disaster he’d hoped to prevent. It was little solace that the empress’s arrival lent credence to his warning.

  Queen Raisa straightened, clenched her fists, and lifted her chin. “What about survivors?”

  Talbot hung her head, as if ashamed to be among them. “A small group of us took a boat out of the water gate, and we managed to get out of the bay and down the shoreline a bit. But one of the enemy ships gave chase and ran us down.”

  “Captain Gray?” the queen said, her voice flat.

  Talbot looked around, as if to see who was within earshot. “We need to speak privately, Your Majesty.”

  23

  KINGS AND PAWNS

  Hal’s few days at home were less than satisfying. None of the people he wanted to see were there, and the familiar surroundings only brought back memories of what he stood to lose. His mother had always taken great pride in her gardens. Now the borders were blurred, overrun by thistle, the flowers blown and gone to seed.

  At the center stood the massive spreading white oak, symbol of their house. Legend said that it predated the Breaking and the Montaigne line of kings. His little sister Harper used to lurk within its branches to avoid her scripture tutor and to intercept her brothers on their way to adventures outside the walls. Eventually, she talked the blacksmith’s boy into setting iron bars into the wall of the back garden so that she could engineer her own escapes.

  No doubt, even now, she was scheming to escape her current predicament.

  Wait for me, Harper, Hal thought. He would not rest until he’d got them back.

  The prospect of seeing the empress’s hordes come riding down the western slopes of the Heartfangs lent a special urgency to his mission. It was fortunate that the empress’s obsession with finding the magemarked busker had sent her north instead of south. But he was under no illusion that she would be satisfied with the Fells.

  His father had been in the field for months, so Hal was swarmed with petitioners and requests to settle disputes or make decisions on matters that had been deferred for too long. He’d spent so much time away that he was of little help in directing the household or answering questions from the farm managers and rent collectors. He was, however, a convenient target for complaints about shortages of, well, nearly everything, from wine to salt to fodder to men to work in the fields.

  This even though the larders were overflowing compared to what he’d seen in the queendom of the Fells.

  Rolande was a nuisance as well. Since Hal was the highest-ranking person he could get at, the thaneling was constantly at his heels, offering silly advice on all topics.

  At least Rolande had birds on hand to communicate with the rebel forces. Hal sent a message to his father in the code they’d used since he was a boy.

  It’s Halston. I’m at White Oaks. Orders?

  A message came back the next day, in his father’s usual effusive style.

  Glad to hear it. You’re needed. Report to Temple Church as soon as able.

  As soon as Hal could extract himself, he was riding hard toward Temple Church, where the rebellious thanes had gathered. Rolande was, of course, eager to come along, but Hal ordered him to stay behind on pain of court-martial.

  Temple Church was a good strategic position—astride the North Road so that they had a good road straight to the enemy should they choose to use it. The same could be said for the king’s forces, of course. Prior to the fall of Delphi, such a position would also have blocked access to the weapons factories and mines in the north.

  Now, with Delphi at their backs, hills to the east, and Tamron Forest to their west, it wouldn’t be easy to come at the thanes from any direction other than the south.

  Ordinarily, Hal might have actually looked forward to fighting in the flatlands for the first time in a long time. But this time, he’d be pushing for diplomacy and negotiation, tasks he had no skills for.

  There had always been a small garrison house and other military facilities at Temple Church. Hal arrived after sunset, and it seemed that campfires and tents spread across the plains as far as he could see. That was good news—up to a point. Armies are not good at waiting around with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

  Hal guessed that the command post would be in the garrison house; if not, those posted there would be able to tell him where to find his father.

  As it happened, he didn’t have to do any fast talking to get in to see his father. The first person he encountered after handing off his horse was Jan Rives, who was walking the paddocks, a list in his hand. Rives had been one of the first officers Hal served under when he joined the army, before he’d got his growth.

  “Why, it’s Little Hal, I believe,” Rives said, a smile breaking across his face. “Lord Matelon told me that you’d survived that hellhole in Delphi after all.”

  After Rives had lost an arm during an uprising in Bruinswallow, Lord Matelon had taken him on as quartermaster for White Oaks. Hal still called him Sergeant, and Rives still called him Little Hal, though Hal towered over him now.

  Rives was the only one allowed to call him that, as Hal had made clear to some of his fellow soldiers who’d tried to follow suit.

  “Sergeant Rives,” Hal said, grinning and clapping him on the back. “Can you tell me where to find my father?”

  “He’s in with some of the other lords, fighting toe to toe as usual,” Rives said. “It’ll do him good to see you.”

  “I hope so,” Hal said, wishing he could meet privately with his father and win him over before springing his news on the other thanes.

  He heard voices before he reached the door of the meeting room.

  “My men need to get home and into the fields or we’ll have no harvest at all this year,” someone was saying. It was a voice Hal didn’t recognize. “The buds are already breaking, and with the vines not properly trellised, the quality of the—”

  “Blood of the Martyr, DeLacroix, can you give it a rest?” That was his father’s unmistakable bass rumble. So the first speaker was Pascal DeLacroix, Rola
nde’s father, until recently a firm ally of the king. “If we don’t strike now, when we have the advantage, you won’t have to worry about your swiving harvest this fall. Someone else will be drinking your wine.”

  “All I’m asking for is a few weeks to get the estates in order,” DeLacroix said, his tone suggesting that he was trying to reason with the unreasonable. “I don’t understand why you say we have the advantage when the king still holds our families hostage. We should attempt to negotiate their release before we—”

  “Jarat is stalling,” Matelon growled. “We both know that. He wants to put us off until the marching season is over in the north so he can commit his full army to dealing with us. Better to go now, when his forces are divided.”

  Bloody hell, Hal thought. I’m coming in on the wrong side already. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

  There were a half dozen thanes in the room, and all heads turned as he entered. He recognized DeLacroix, young Lord Heresford, Lord Henri Tourant, and his father, huddled around a battered wooden table. Dirty cups and plates around them suggested they had been at it for a while.

  Hal brought his fist to his chest in a salute. “Captain Halston Matelon, reporting as ordered, sir,” he said.

  Wood scraped on wood as his father shoved his chair back and stood. He crossed the room and roughly embraced Hal, murmuring in his ear, “Good to have you home, Son.” Holding him out at arm’s length, he looked him up and down. “You need a shave,” he said.

  “I know, sir,” Hal said. “But you said to come as soon as I was able.”

  Sliding his arm around Hal, Matelon turned him to face the other thanes. “I believe you all know my son Captain Matelon,” he said. “He was taken prisoner in the fall of Delphi. By the grace of the Maker, he’s escaped and come back to us.”

  They all stared at him. From the look on their faces, none of the others had been alerted to his recent resurrection. Which meant that his father didn’t trust any of them to know.

  Finally, DeLacroix said, “I was told that you and everyone under your command were killed at Delphi.”

  “A few of us were taken prisoner, sir,” Hal said.

  “My son Armond was with you at Delphi,” Tourant said eagerly. “Was he captured as well?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Hal said. “I didn’t see him among the prisoners, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t survive. There were thirty men being held in Delphi, but there may have been some prisoners held separately from me.”

  “You didn’t even ask about the soldiers in your own command?” DeLacroix raised an eyebrow. DeLacroix, who’d managed to avoid any military service up to now.

  Wrestling with his temper, Hal gritted his teeth. “I did ask, and I was told that there were few survivors,” he said. “I didn’t know whether to believe them or not. Then I was moved to Chalk Cliffs, where I was the only Ardenine prisoner.”

  “And you’ve been a captive in the north for three months?” It was as if DeLacroix was suggesting that any soldier worth his salt would have escaped before now. As if Hal had taken advantage of the situation to enjoy a three-month vacation. “And now you’re the only one to escape.” The thane tapped his fingers together as if this was significant.

  “Quit interrogating him,” Heresford said. “We should be welcoming him home, not grilling him about how he came to survive. We’re going to need him if it comes to a fight with Jarat.”

  “It will come to a fight, Heresford, you know it will,” Matelon said. “I’ve seen nothing in the son that makes me think otherwise.”

  “Half the boy king’s army will come over to us when they find out Captain Matelon is with us,” Heresford said, grinning.

  Hal cleared his throat. “I have some news about events in the north that might have bearing on a decision about whether this is the right time to take the fight to King Jarat.”

  Hal’s father raised both hands, giving Hal a warning look. “Gentlemen, we’ve been at it since early this morning,” he said. “This is a good time to break for the day, so we can all take a piss and have a bite and I can debrief my son about events in the north. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.”

  24

  KILLING THE MESSENGER

  Hal knew going in that persuading his father to make peace with King Jarat in order to unite against a common enemy would be a hard sell. He hadn’t expected it to be impossible.

  He booked a room at the inn where his father and Robert were staying. It seemed like his little brother had aged a year and grown an inch in three months. He kept staring at Hal as if he might disappear. Apparently, he’d blamed himself for being elsewhere when the city fell.

  Over dinner, Hal relayed what had happened since the fall of Delphi. Well, not everything. Traitorous or not, he did not choose to share Captain Gray’s true identity, or dwell on the bond that had grown between them during his time in the north. That would make his motivations even more suspect than they already were.

  His father asked few questions until Hal described his meeting with the wolf queen, and her hope that the death of King Gerard might signal a new opportunity to end the war between the Realms.

  “If she wants peace, she should be sending word to the fledgling hawk in Ardenscourt,” his father said. “That’s how this whole thing started. After the fall of Delphi, I informed Gerard that I would not be spending more men and money to further his grudge match with the witch in the north. That’s when he took our families hostage.”

  “Queen Raisa is not just asking for a truce, Father,” Hal said. “She wants an alliance against an enemy who threatens us both.”

  “Who? Jarat?” His father snorted. “Isn’t it enough that we’re no longer supporting the war? She cannot expect us to turn traitor against our homeland.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are we even talking about this? Are you here as her emissary or what?”

  “I’m not her emissary, and I’m not talking about Jarat. I’m talking about the empress in the east. Celestine.”

  His father frowned. “Celestine. Isn’t she the Carthian pirate that promised Gerard an army of mages? I was never sure she really existed except in the king’s imagination. I haven’t heard another word about her since he died.”

  “She’s real,” Hal said. “She’s taken Chalk Cliffs. It looks like she’s here to stay.”

  His father stared at him. “Where did you hear that? It’s news to me.”

  “I was there,” Hal said. “Being held prisoner in the keep there. I saw it happen.”

  “Did she bring an army of mages, as promised?”

  “If her soldiers are mages, they’re not the kind we’re used to.”

  “What do you mean?” Robert stuffed an end of bread in his mouth and chased it with a swallow of ale. “What are they like?”

  “They’re nearly impossible to kill. They don’t have amulets, and I don’t think they use magic in the way our mages do.”

  “Really,” his father said. “Do you know that from personal experience? Were you in on the fighting?”

  “Yes,” Hal said. Then thought a moment. “Well, actually, no. One of them . . . ah . . . dropped out of the sky when I was up on the battlements.”

  “Dropped out of the sky?” Matelon reared back in his chair, as if Hal might have something catching. “They can fly?”

  Hal realized how implausible that sounded. “Well, no, I don’t think so. There was a beast, or a bird, that dropped him.”

  “A beast or bird. Dropped a soldier on you.” From the skepticism in his father’s face, Hal knew he was losing ground. There wasn’t even a question there.

  Robert was instantly on board, of course. “What did it look like? Did it have scales or feathers? Was it a gryphon or a dragon or—?”

  “Robert.” Their father shook his head as if saying, Don’t encourage him. “So you didn’t actually see the battle,” he said to Hal.

  Hal shook his head. “I was locked in the keep during the fighting, but I could hear it well enough.”<
br />
  “How did you escape?”

  “We . . . we left through the water gate during the battle.”

  “We?” His father raised an eyebrow.

  “Me and another prisoner,” Hal said. He saw no reason to get into the details and thereby raise more questions than he already had.

  Matelon sighed heavily. He drummed his fingers on the table, looking at him from under his bushy brows. “I’m sorry, Son. It sounds to me like the witch queen fed you a story and let you go.”

  “She didn’t let me go,” Hal said.

  Or had she?

  I’m no good at this, he thought. Words are not my weapons of choice. Nobody in her right mind would choose me as an emissary.

  “If this was staged for my benefit, the queen went to a lot of trouble,” Hal said. “After the battle, the entire harbor was crowded with ships flying the empress’s siren banner. They were offloading soldiers and weapons and supplies. A huge army. I saw that with my own eyes.”

  “Could it have been conjury of some kind?”

  “It was not conjury. I spoke afterwards to some who were in the battle, and interrogated one of the Carthian fighters.”

  “How did you come to interrogate—?”

  “I took a mount from the Carthian horse-line,” Hal said. “I questioned one of their sentries before I killed him.”

  “So they are killable?”

  Hal nodded. “They are. But it’s not easy. I ran one of them through and he kept right on fighting. The only thing that brought him down was cutting off his head.”

  His father studied him. “You’re a good soldier, Son, and a savvy officer, possibly the best in the empire, but you are no politician. Apparently I did not pass on the gene for connivery and subterfuge. Always look for the simplest explanation. If what you’re saying is true, that the Fells is under attack by a Carthian army—”

  “Why would Hal lie about that?” Robert put in, then subsided under his father’s withering gaze.

  “—the most likely explanation is that either Gerard or Jarat struck a deal with this Celestine,” Matelon went on. “While she sends her armies into the north, it frees Jarat to come after us. Even if there is no collusion between them, he will move against us when word reaches him that the wolf queen is otherwise occupied. So. It behooves us to march on the capital sooner rather than later.”