Gialyn could see the wolf searching around for him.
It’s me, Gialyn.
Gialyn! I heard what happened to you, but I never thought… Never mind, it’s good to hear your voice. What is going on in Bailryn?
Father will be leading them out shortly. You will get the signal any minute now.
That’s good. This waiting is torture. And whose idea was it to attack at night in the middle of a storm?
Mikelmoor’s, I think. Why, is there a problem?
Not for us, but the humans are having trouble seeing ten feet in front of them.
Gialyn hadn’t thought of that. He wondered if Mikelmoor had.
I’ll let him know, but I think it’s already too late to do anything. You’ll have to keep an eye out, help them across the river.
Help them across the river. You do realise wolves are not the best swimmers. We should have gone to the bridge. Thank the gods it’s not very deep here.
Can you see the enemy?
Just. They are on the slope oppos— Have to go. Toban is giving out orders.
All right, Mott. And good luck.
You too.
Gialyn moved south to the Halem Road. The dragons had congregated a few miles from the city wall. It had begun to rain here, too, and it seemed the dragons were relieved that it was.
“At least they’ll not be setting fire to anything,” Lyduk was saying when Gialyn moved to his side.
What are you doing here, boy? Another dragon, one that Gialyn didn’t recognise, asked him.
How did you…? Can you tell I’m here?
Of course we can, the dragon said. His reply was abrupt. Rude, even. We are dragons, not wolves.
Gialyn wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
He was about to ask, when Lyduk said, “Never mind all that, Eratas. Gialyn, you can tell the general that we are ready.” The dragon spoke out loud.
Thank you, Lyduk.
Gialyn didn’t wait around. The dragons appeared to be in no mood to talk.
So… he couldn’t risk travelling to the Gaw dragons to find out what they were doing. That was something Bausamon should have mentioned; he could have ruined everything. Not that he was looking forward to visiting the enemy camp, but it would have been useful. Still, between him and the wildlings, he knew the King would have a good advantage. The White Dragon had said, “Knowledge is the key; it’s what makes the Voice such a gift.” He couldn’t argue with that.
Slowing himself down from his blurred travel, Gialyn moved into the common room of the Hungry Fisherman. Ker, the wildlings’ alpha, was there, standing in a space of his own. Gialyn approached him.
The dragons are ready, he sent. He knew he didn’t have to mention the others; Ker would have already spoken to Qiel, Farnok, and the wildlings.
“Very good,” Ker said. “Wait here a minute.” Ker detached himself from the Voice while he spoke to Mikelmoor. A moment later, he said, Stay with the lead dragons and listen for Qiel. I might be busy with the main offensive. I’ve told Qiel to contact you if he can’t find me.
This is it. Gialyn thought. With Ker’s words, he suddenly became aware that this was all real, and more importantly, he had a job to do. Somehow, he knew he would not fail them. But then again, that was easy for him to say; he was resting in bed, miles away from the fighting. He wished Elspeth was with him. How could she have been so careless? It was as if she went looking for trouble. He could only hope that she would be safe. Thank the gods the others were there; Grady would keep her out of trouble—he had to.
* * *
“They are going to know we’re coming,” Cal said.
Daric had to laugh. The two men were standing by the outer wall, at the head of a column of thousands, with the Bailryn trebuchets pounding the Crescent. “I don’t think there’s much doubt of that,” he said. “Nothing we can do, though, we need the high ground.”
Cal sighed. “You know this rain is not good for the bowstrings. We’ll be spending half our time waxing them.”
Daric blinked up at the man. If he didn’t know better, he would say the huge Cren was nervous. Somehow, it made him feel better about his own nerves.
“And you have wax?” Daric asked.
“Of course, we always carry wax.”
“Then that’s a problem you don’t need to worry about.”
Cal remained quiet for a moment, and then, “I’m just saying, it would be better if it weren’t raining.”
Yes, the man was definitely nervous. Daric reached up and patted him on the shoulder, and then took a step forward.
“Ready on the line,” he shouted. He heard his words repeated along the column. “Forward to the Crescent. Fast march.”
As one, the long line that stretched along the north wall began to move forward. The boulders from the trebuchets were still flying overhead. They had orders to halt, once the line reached the base of the Crescent. Absently, Daric hoped that the men using them could see that far. It would be a short offensive if they couldn’t.
Daric moved a few paces in front. “Slow run!” he shouted.
The noise of clanking armour increased as the six thousand guards and soldiers sped up to match his pace. Over the noise, he could hear some men drawing swords. He shouted an order to put up weapons, followed by another not to rush. He didn’t want men falling over in the dark. Despite the rain, the ground underfoot was still solid, and there were more than a few potholes and troughs in the broad field between the wall and the Crescent. Some were deep enough to break a leg… if a man was running too fast.
Hard ground or not, it was difficult to run. His armour was chafing under his arms and around his neck, and his boots were too big. Luckily, the helmet fitted him just right. He’d found a good spear at the blacksmith’s, and was using it to keep balance, hoping all the while that nobody would notice. It wouldn’t do for their major to look out of place. Easing the armour from his neck, he made a note to visit the quartermaster’s office. The man must have some better fitting clothes.
Ignoring the discomfort, Daric raised his hand when they reached the base of the Crescent. After a quick look back, to make sure the trebuchets had stopped, he led the line up the steep slope.
The rain pelted his back as he leaned into the climb. Daric looked up; the top seemed a very long way off. If they didn’t hurry, the Kel’madden might beat them to it. Digging his spear into the ground, he increased his stride and waved the others forward. The cool air bit at his throat as he forced one foot in front of the other. Breathing as steadily as he could, he tried to listen out for any sign that the enemy was approaching, but the wind stopped any chance of that.
Finally, they neared the top of the Crescent. Slowing down, Daric signalled for caution. He crept up the last few feet and eyed left and right across the narrow area of flat ground. Nobody was there.
“Hurry!” he said, waving the line on.
A few moments later, all six thousand were standing on top of the man-made defence.
Daric moved to the far side and looked down. The Kel’madden were nowhere to be seen. At least, not on the North Slope. He could see their covered campfires and the reflections they made against the enemy tents, though.
“What are they doing?” Cal asked.
Daric shrugged. “I’d guess they don’t want us to have the advantage. It’s a good plan; we’ll have to go down there and meet them on a level field.”
“Well, at least it’s downhill from here.”
Daric chuckled. “And I thought you’d lost your sense of humour.”
CHAPTER 20
Little Steps
General Turasan thumped his desk, hard enough for his goblet to jump, splashing wine on his map of eastern Aleras. “What do you mean, you retreated from the Crescent? You’ve left them the high ground,” he shouted at the captain standing in front him.
Turasan could not remember the foolish man’s name—another one of those high-born twollocs Vila had insisted on promoting. He was short, with an ar
rogant smirk creasing his lips. Standing at attention, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, the fool must have thought he was Turasan’s equal. The general drummed his fingers, waiting for a response.
“We moved off the southern field, sir. They don’t have the high ground. We’ll crush them on the flats.”
Turasan sat back in his chair. That made sense, he admitted to himself. They could circle the Surabhan, cutting them off from the city. Yes, a good plan; though he was hardly going to say as much to the captain. “Better if you had forced them to fight their way up the hill.” He raised his hand when the captain opened his mouth to talk. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Get back to your men and hold that line.”
The captain saluted and withdrew—marching out of the command tent as if it was his idea to leave. Turasan growled under his breath. Why had Vila trusted the nobles? No; not trusted them. Why had she needed them at all? The campaign would have run much smoother if he had had his own officers in charge.
Add that to the Toyan debacle…
The Toyans: he would need to bring them back to hold their eastern flank. Would anything go right?
Cursing under his breath, he called through to Captain Reidi. At least he could trust him, he hoped.
The captain stood in front of Turasan’s desk and saluted.
“I need you to go to the Toyans camp, Captain,” Turasan said. “Tell them to move forward and protect the eastern flank.” He pointed at the map on his desk, at where the bog met a short scarp that ran along the river. “Tell them to hold that ground.” He prodded the map several times with a stiff finger.
“Aye, sir,” Reidi said. “Should I take a unit of troopers?”
Turasan looked up at him. It might be a good idea to have the troopers watch the Toyans, but could he spare any when the troopers were the only units he trusted to do their job properly. “No,” Turasan said. “You can take your lower guard and twenty men. I need the troopers where they are.”
Reidi just nodded, and when Turasan said nothing, the captain about-faced and marched out of the tent.
Bring the Toyans back… Ha! Wait until Vila hears about that!
That reminded him; he had best go and see her, give the woman his report—not that there was much to say. Still, maybe she would listen to him, now that her high-born debutants had, yet again, failed to follow orders. It was unlikely, but…
Vila’s maid announced him as he walked into her tent. Vila was sitting at her desk, staring at that Shard, and looking annoyed. What had gone wrong now? He cleared his throat as he stood in front of her.
Vila didn’t even raise her eyes. “You don’t need to tell me, General. The enemy are attacking us. I can hear them from here.”
She turned the Shard over in her hand and rubbed it with her thumb. “Have you seen Sek?” she asked.
Her question surprised him; if anyone should know where the dragons were, it was her.
“No, ma’am,” Turasan told her. “He’s not… dead, is he?”
Vila did look up at that. “Of course not,” she said. “I can feel him, but something is wrong. Either he’s too far away, or he can’t hear me. Maybe that girl is interrupting my Voice.”
“Perhaps,” Turasan said. “She’ll probably be in the palace. Do you want me to—?”
“Yes! Yes, send four,” Vila interrupted. “The best you have, and make sure they have her description.”
Turasan turned to leave. In her present mood, it seemed prudent not to mention the Toyans. But…
“General,” Vila said. She sounded hesitant. “Perhaps we should bring the Toyans back, just until this attack is dealt with.”
Turasan hid a smile. “Good idea, ma’am. I’ll see to it as soon as I have sent the assassins to the palace.”
Saluting, Turasan left Vila’s tent, happier than he had been when he entered. “Four assassins”, he would send ten! The girl, the King, the princesses; with all this fuss, they might just kill them all.
* * *
Elspeth was sitting under a tree, watching, as the Toyan captain paced back and forth. Beyond Nana, the Toyans were still busy pretending to make camp—keeping up the illusion of passive behaviour for any Kel’madden who might be watching. Everything seemed to be going to plan. So why did Nana look so nervous?
“Sit down, woman,” Skelk told her. The funny little man appeared to have no respect for authority. He was busy making tea, ostensibly ignoring the rush of activity to his right, as the main body of Toyans pitched tents, built fires, and surreptitiously stored weapons, ready for an attack on the Kel’madden. “You’ll wear yourself out before we start.”
Nana took in a heavy breath and turned away from the valley. “I doubt we can trust a quarter of them,” she said, rubbing her fingers hard across her temple. “They want to go home. Gods, half of them didn’t want to come in the first place. And now that Vila has let them go…”
“Then we’ll take the quarter who we can trust,” Skelk said. “And while we’re talking, do you really think Vila has ‘let us go’? I don’t, not for a minute. She led us into this dead-end valley for good reason; she wants to keep us under control. If you ask me, best we get to the Surabhan, and quick.”
Nana shook her head. “The Surabhan! Ha! They’ll probably attack soon as look at us.”
“No they won’t,” Grady told her. “They know you’re with us,” he said. Then shot a quick glance at Qiel. “They do know, yes?” he asked the big wolf.
“Of course they do,” the wolf growled. “Do you take me for a liar?”
Grady shook his head, vigorously. “No, no, it’s just… No, I don’t think you’re a liar. I don’t trust this Voice as much as you seem to.”
“It is our Voice, Grady Daleman. It had been ours long before the witches knew what it was.” Qiel let his teeth show as he sat up. “If you don’t trust us, we can always leave you to your fate. I, for one, would rather be back with the Darkin than sitting here, waiting for gods know what.”
The big wolf turned his attention on Nana. “Why are we waiting? I have no doubt that even you can hear the sounds of battle coming from the west. We should move—now.”
Skelk looked angry. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nana stopped him.
“As we have told you,” she said, “We’re waiting for the Kel’madden to break south so we can push around behind. If we leave now, we’ll run right into the troopers. Not even you would wish to be there, wolf. The troopers are not like us; they have one goal—to move forward. They don’t care who, or what, is in front of them.”
For a moment, Qiel appeared a little unsettled. Then: “We’ll see how much they want to move forward when a thousand Darkin are running at them.”
“A thousand!” Elspeth squeaked. “I didn’t know there was a thousand of you.”
A feeling of hope welled up in her chest. A thousand Darkin! That was enough for ten thousand wildlings. How could they lose, with that many of the huge wolves on their side?
“Wipe off your grin, girl,” Qiel said. “An arrow will stop a Darkin just the same as any other. And we make for a big target. This won’t be as easy as you think.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be—”
A shout from the valley interrupted Elspeth. All eyes turned to the opening in the trees. A man was running up the shallow slope.
“What is it, Sergeant?” Nana asked him.
“Captain Reidi has come with thirty others. They’re asking us to move to the eastern flank.”
Elspeth saw a smile bloom on Nana’s face.
“Then we go,” the captain said.
The man looked confused. So was Elspeth; if she had to admit it.
Nana explained. “The eastern flank is halfway to where we need to be, Sergeant. Pass the word, quietly, that we follow until we reach the scarp. We’ll deal with Reidi once we’re there.”
The sergeant grinned as Nana’s plan sunk in. After a quick salute, that Nana told him off for—they were supposed to be hiding, not advertising w
ho they were to anyone watching—the sergeant ran back into the valley. Elspeth watched as he darted into the first of a dozen large tents.
“Well,” Skelk said, pouring a pan of water over the fire. “Time to see if you’re right. We should know soon enough just how many Toyans are with us.”
Nana said nothing. Instead, she stared across the valley to where Captain Reidi and the Kel’madden would be waiting. Elspeth thought the woman was planning how to kill them quietly, or maybe she was wondering how much she could trust her own compatriots.
Another thought occurred to her; she was suddenly glad that she hadn’t told Nana about the Toyan ships heading towards Bailryn harbour. Knowing their countrymen were on the way might well be enough to send half the valley scurrying back to Vila. Gathering her things, she longed for the moment when they would meet up with the Surabhan—any Surabhan.
* * *
Arfael hid behind a tree. Crouching low, he watched as a small troop of Kel’madden marched back to their camp. He wished they would hurry up…
Forcing himself to breathe quietly, he could sense the blood coursing through his body. He felt drunk with the Power. He should have waited until later before changing into the Cinnè’arth, waited until he was closer to Vila’slae; it was a struggle not to attack every trooper he had come across.
He relaxed when the troop moved out of sight. Then he startled, when a Kel’madden officer stumbled out from behind a tree. The officer—a lieutenant, from his uniform—glanced around slyly, doing up the buttons on his breeches, before straightening his half-armour and gathered his belongings. The man then walked right past Arfael, carrying his spear over his shoulder.
Arfael sat back on his heels and let out the breath he was holding. The officer stopped dead, not four paces away, furtively looking around, squinting left and right across the dark field. Still watching, Arfael eased back, further behind the tree. The officer looked over his shoulder, straight at him. Arfael growled, and before he could stop himself, he leaped forward and took off the trooper’s head with a single swipe of his long talons.
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