Ban and Lyduk nodded, and all three lay down on the top of the pillar, resting.
Tor thought about his brother. Sek would be in a rage when he returned to the Kel’madden camp. He would probably gather the rest of the Gaw and head straight for the palace. Tor doubted that even the witch would be able to calm him down. No, they couldn’t wait long. Even if it meant him staying put, Ban and Lyduk had to return and warn the others
The salty water stung his wounds as he lay there wondering what to do next. Maybe he should gather the Gan and take the fight to Sek. They were evenly matched, now that he’d killed one and injured another. Ban and Lyduk made twelve each. It might be worth it, to get it over with; if they waited, more Gaw might show up.
First things first, though. He had to get back to Bailryn. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths.
CHAPTER 16
Best Laid Plans
Vila’slae sat behind her desk. Picking up the Shard, she rubbed the surface, watching as the faint lines of blue and red and green danced around her fingertips. This Shard was more powerful than her last. She thought she might be able to summon Ash’mael, so strong was its pull on the Voice. Ash’mael, Fa’rann, the Karakin: any of them could turn the battle in her favour—especially the demon, Fa’rann—but dare she use them? Would they let her go this time? No! If the Cinnè’arth had not been there one-hundred and twenty years ago—if she hadn’t deflected the curse onto him—she might still be in the tunnels. Absently, she wondered if Arlyn Gan’ifael remembered that he had once saved her life. A smile creased her lips. The Cinnè’arth had entered Barais’gin to kill her, and yet she would not have survived had he simply stayed away.
Still, dangerous or not, it was good to know she could call on the ancient Oracles. But she was not that desperate, yet. And wouldn’t be, if Turasan would just do his job.
Vila closed her eyes but then opened them quickly. Since hearing that Voice, she had not been able to rest without seeing vivid images of the silver beast. Not complete images, just constant flashes that made her feel sick. Oh, she knew what it was, but not where he was—or where he was going. For all she knew, the Cinnè’arth could still be in Eiras, although that was doubtful. But if it was in Aleras, how had he travelled back so quickly?
Apart from the sickness, the visions were clouding her view of the dragons. She could see most of them, but had no idea where Sek was, or what he was up to. At best, the dragons had been making a nuisance of themselves; hitting small targets, forcing the Cren to spread their archers. Sek should have been there, coordinated attacks, bringing the city to its knees. It was infuriating. But there was nothing she could do with the sickness hanging over her. Threat or not, she wished she knew where the Cinnè’arth was. If nothing else, killing him would stop those nauseating visions. She smiled at the thought; putting an end to Arlyn Gan’ifael would be almost as gratifying as defeating the House of Eidred—almost.
“It would appear, General, that your report concerning Bailryn’s eagerness to embrace a republic was… exaggerated. If what I am hearing is true, thousands—thousands—of citizens stood by the King and defeated our first wave,” Vila said when Turasan entered her tent.
She put the Shard in its box—a sturdy metal box, chained to her desk; she would not lose this one—and regarded the general with a sideways glance before tidying her desk of the now-useless plans spread all over it.
Turasan said nothing. Instead, he straightened his tunic and pulled back his shoulders. The man was probably wondering who he could blame for today’s debacle.
Vila continued, “And now you tell me that the Toyans can’t be trusted, that one of their captains has deserted her post along with a dozen of her officers. And what’s this I’m reading, that her men pulled her off the gallows and killed thirty Kel’madden in the process? How, by the gods, did they manage that?”
“She was a coward,” Turasan said. “Refused to do her duty. Her men caught our troopers by surprise, firing on them from the trees, ma’am.”
“Well, as it would seem her duty was to divert the Surabhan away from Highgate by providing them an easy target. I would say Captain Duran has come to her senses and realised she was being used. I take it having them mount a useless attack on the east wall was your idea, too.”
“The Toyans can’t be trusted with important works. Their actions today have proven that much. Surely you need no more proof of their irrelevance.”
Vila laughed. “A self-fulfilling prophecy, if I’ve ever heard one. They can’t be trusted because you used them, General. The fact that they came to their senses is to their credit. Why do you think I had Nana included in my inner circle? Why do you think I promised the Merchant’s Council the rights to Whitecliff Harbour? You have to nurture allies, General, not literally throw them to the wolves. I’m only surprised that the rest of them didn’t follow her.”
Again, the general said nothing.
Vila made a pile of the last stack of papers and turned to look at Turasan. Should she kill him? Have him hung, as an example? Maybe, if she thought it would do any good. No, it was too late in the day to change commanders. Besides, who would she choose to replace him; Colonel Nezan? She shook her head at the thought of that man taking charge. Better to take her chances with Ash’mael or Fa’rann. Why had all her commanders turned out to be such fools?
Vila continued: “Too late to worry about it now. Have the remaining Toyan forces assemble at the valley east of the bog. There’s only one way in or out of there. Make something up if you have to; tell them they’re being sent to strengthen our eastern flank. None of them knows the land well enough to argue. But do it quickly, before they get any more ideas.”
The general managed an efficient bow before leaving. She would not be surprised if the man marched over there himself and watched every last Toyan leave the camp. Well, so long as he was out of her way for a while…
She walked to the opening and looked over her camp. They should have been in Bailryn by now. It wasn’t really Turasan’s fault, she knew that for a fact, but she could hardly blame herself. Using the Toyans as a cheap diversion was a good idea. If she had full control of the dragons, it would more than likely have worked. But as it was, the dragons had to return to her to receive their orders. It was slow going, for both the dragons and her troopers. Gods knew what the regulars were thinking of it all; probably that she had failed again.
No, not failed, not by a long way. This was only the first day, and even without the Toyans she still outnumbered the Surabhan by almost three to one. They would just have to do better next time. It galled her that next time wasn’t now, and that she had to deal with the Toyans and reform her lines. Still, the Highgate was destroyed, the Surabhan wouldn’t be able to fix that by morning, and that meant a near free run into the city. Yes, tomorrow would be different.
A sergeant approached. “A message from the cliffs, ma’am. The Toyan ships have weighed anchor short of Bailryn harbour and are awaiting instructions. Their captain says that the palace have turned their trebuchets in their direction, but not to worry, the deal still stands—whatever that means, ma’am.”
“Never you mind what it means, Sergeant,” Vila said. “Good, a bit late, but good. Flag them to begin their landing at first light. We aim for the palace, all or nothing. Tomorrow, Eidred will fall.” At least the Toyans were useful for something.
A day… she could wait another day. This time tomorrow, she would be sitting on Eidred’s throne as the leader of the Moyan republic. It was worth a day.
* * *
Grady was waiting in a hollow for Toban to return. The wolf was scouting ahead—a wolf in the wild wasn’t unusual, but two men on horseback…
Toban had already delivered one report to Rarshman, telling him that the Black Hand were in a field with only one exit to the south. Since then, Grady and the others had made their way north of where the mercenaries were camped. There was no way for the enemy to ride out from their current location without appro
aching the Great Western Road. Which was good news—very good news. A few wolves would be all that was needed to keep an eye on the Black Hand, and alert Rarshman of the enemy’s movements before they could harass local farmers or merchants. With any luck, the mercenaries would stay put for a while, and give Rarshman the opportunity to aid Mikelmoor. Between them, they might even gather enough men and wolves to attack the Kel’madden, instead of waiting to be attacked themselves.
“Do you really think all this is worth the effort?” Si’eth asked.
“It’s a good idea. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. Besides, it’s better than sitting listening to talk; I’d rather be out here doing something.”
“But how are we going to get information back in time for it to be of any use? These wolves Toban has brought back with him aren’t that fast,” Si’eth said.
“They won’t need to run; Toban has brought Qiel and half a dozen wildlings.”
“Oh, the… Voice, again.” Si’eth peered over his shoulder at the four wolves that were still with them. “Don’t know if I trust that. I mean, what’s to stop the witch, or an enemy wolf—if there are any—from listening in?”
“You worry too much, Si’eth. The Broan wolves have their own way of talking. The witch will just think they’re a pack of wolves hunting along the river.”
Si’eth hitched around in his saddle and looked to where they had left the last of the wildlings. “A line of wolves, five leagues long, all talking to each other. I’ll admit, if this does work, it will be very useful. But how will Ker handle being in Bailryn, taking orders from Mikelmoor? That one’s worse than Farnok when it comes to working with humans.”
“He’s agreed to help, and they are not really orders. He’ll just be relaying what we say to Qiel.”
The hollow was two leagues north of the Colaroy River, close to where it turned to the east. They were ten miles northwest of Bailryn, and three miles north of the Kel’madden camp. To their left was open country all the way to the Tunnels of Aldregair. In front, Grady could just about make out the treetops of Barais’coi. If all went to plan, they should meet up with the coast road and then turn south, leave their horses, and climb around the cliffs back into Bailryn. Hopefully with a line of wildling spies safely in place behind them. If it worked, it would forever change the way battles were fought; to have spy in an enemy camp was one thing, but a spy who could relay an enemy’s movements instantly… Yes, it would change battles forever—assuming they could persuade the wildlings to continue to work with humans, which was far from certain.
“There’s Toban,” Si’eth said, pointing along a hedgerow.
The wolf was trotting along with Qiel on his heels. “There’s something strange going on up ahead,” Toban said. “Around six thousand of their troops are pulling back into the valley east of the bog.”
“That’s not that strange,” Si’eth said. “They might be repositioning their forces.”
The wolf shook his head. “There’s only one way in or out of that valley, and there’s nothing there, except a small stream, and there are plenty of streams about. Also, the troopers look different to the others, darker skinned and shorter.”
“They sound like Toyans, to me,” Grady said. “You see, Si’eth, I told you this would be worth it. Seems the Toyans are splitting off from the main group.”
Si’eth nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly. “We’ll still need to get closer, see if we can find out exactly what is going on. If the Kel’madden have lost six thousand troops… Yes, that could change everything. Assuming it’s not a trick of some sort.”
Grady nodded. It could be a trick, but to what end? Why move so many troopers into a field with only one way in or out?
“Come on,” Grady said. “We’re not going to find any answers sitting here.”
* * *
Daric knocked on the door to the Princess’s apartments. It had taken him half an hour to get here. He had needed a stamped letter from Evin to get onto this floor. After what had happened to the King, the guards were not taking anything for granted, and even with the note they looked at him sideways, hands ready on the hilts of their swords. A thought occurred to Daric: if they had been this alert two nights ago, maybe Olam would not have been killed. Daric wanted to say as much, but it wasn’t the guards’ fault. He was as much to blame as anyone. Still, he didn’t like coming back to the palace. If it wasn’t for Gialyn…
A woman in her middle years opened the door. She had long, curly, black hair and deep brown eyes. She wasn’t tall, but her expression made her seem it.
“And you are?” the woman said in a challenging tone.
“I am Major Daric Re’adh, ma’am. I was told my son, Gialyn, was here.”
“Oh.” She looked him up and down. “It’s about time you got here. We’ve been back for hours.”
“I was busy,” Daric said in a dry tone as he took a step forward.
The woman hesitated before moving aside. “He’s through here.” She gestured towards a long corridor.
The anteroom was a mess when Daric walked through from the small hallway. It looked like someone had been fighting; a shattered chair lay strewn around the floor, another was up-ended, and there was dust everywhere. “What happened in here?” Daric asked.
“A dragon, haven’t you heard?”
“A dragon didn’t break the chair,” Daric said. The woman was starting to annoy him.
“Well, no, I suppose it didn’t. That happened when your son brought us to Bailryn. It’s seems one of the staff wasn’t happy that Olivia was helping him.”
As answers go, that wasn’t any clearer, but Daric left it there.
“I am Elucia, by the way. First of the Twelve, Head of the Witches’ Council—and a few more titles. You can call me Elucia.”
Daric nodded. “Very well, Elucia. Now, if I could see my son, please.” Despite his annoyance, he gave her his best bow.
Elucia seemed to appreciate it. She opened the door to what must be the bedroom.
Daric saw a young woman sitting by a bed, and then Gialyn, lying in the bed—asleep, by the look of him.
He put a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to wake him,” he told the girl.
“I’m awake,” Gialyn said. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Hello, Father, I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Never mind me, boy, how are you?” He looked him over. “I’ll admit, you look better than I thought you would. They’re telling me you were attacked by that mad woman, stabbed you with her knife.”
“One of her guards, actually.” Gialyn rolled the blanket back to expose a large white bandage. Blood had stained it in a straight line.”
Daric bit his tongue; he wanted to shout. “Shouldn’t that be re-dressed? It will get infected.”
“Oh hush,” the older woman said. “The doctor changed it not twenty minutes ago.”
Daric stared at the wound. “Then why is it still bleeding if this happened two days ago? What have you been doing to him?”
Elucia opened her mouth, but Gialyn answered first. “They’ve done nothing; it was my choice, Father.”
“‘Your choice…’ and what would be so important that you would risk death?” Daric asked. He pulled a stool over from beside a small table and sat next to the bed, opposite the young girl—who he assumed must be the princess.
He bowed to her. “Pardon, me, uh, Princess Olivia, is it?”
“Don’t mind me, Mr. Re’adh. Olivia will do.”
“Then I’m Daric. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“It is my honour to help, Daric. Please, think no more of it.” She nodded back at him.
Daric felt Gialyn’s forehead for fever. He was warm, but not hot, and he had to admit, other than the blood, the bandage was clean. Even so, “You haven’t answered my question: why risk yourself?”
“It was important that Brea made it back in time. As we speak, she is meeting with Sek. With luck, they will turn the Black Dragon away from Vil
a’slae; break the bond she has over him. You must know what an advantage it would be if the dragons were no longer fighting for her.”
Daric blinked. Closing his mouth, he said, “Advantage or not, she’s as stupid as you. Where is she? I’ll send help.”
“It’s too late for that,” Gialyn said. “Besides, she’ll either succeed, or she won’t. Sek will not kill an Oracle. She’s safe enough, for now.”
Daric ran his hand through his hair. Was this his Gialyn he was talking to? He sounded different, older. “What have they done to you, boy? You sound more like Mikelmoor than my son.”
“I’ve been given a gift,” Gialyn said, “and considering the choice, it was a very welcome gift.”
Daric sighed. “Gifts… choices… you see what I mean, you’re making no sense. Tell me what happened.”
Daric listened while Gialyn explained everything. Ten minutes later, he still wasn’t sure if he understood it all. But if what he heard was true, it was either this or having to bury his son. In that, at least, he felt grateful for this… gift.
“Very well,” Daric said. “I accept what you have told me, but I’m not moving you down to the Hungry Fisherman. If you have anything to add that might help through this… link you have with the Voice, you can just as easily send a runner.”
“But, Father, what I see might not wait for—”
Gialyn’s face turned white, and he gaped at the small window. “It hasn’t worked. Sek can’t be changed, Brea is in danger.”
Daric jumped up. “Gods, boy, I told you. Where is she?” He pulled his buckle tight and made ready to run for the guards.
Gialyn appeared to relax. “That won’t be necessary. Sek has gone, Tor is after him.”
Daric slumped back onto the stool and rubbed his palms into his tired eyes. Had Gialyn actually seen that? He had to admit, a gift such as this could prove very useful. “All right, Gialyn. We will move you to the Fisherman, but you will be carried on a cot, and you will stay upstairs in my room. No, don’t argue with me. It’s that or nothing.”
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