A Draw of Kings

by Patrick W. Carr

  The wounded spawn, eyes red with hatred, bayed and fled. The watchmen ignored the fleeing canis, concentrated on the spawn coming from the defile, and braced for impact.

  Adora could make out men on the other side of the pack now, dim figures with short desperate moves within the canyon—they appeared to be fighting the dogs as well.

  She returned to the cart for more lances, but when she saw the diminished pile, her mouth went dry. Would there be enough?

  Ferrals came again from the defile, but many appeared to be injured and seemed fearful. With a shout, Liam ordered the formation to charge. A dozen men on each flank drew swords to protect the sortie. Most of the dogs turned in retreat.

  Horses with empty saddles ran across the field, fouling the battle line. Waterson tossed a lance to the closest watchman and pulled his horse close to hers, shielding her.

  With a shout Adora imagined could be heard half a mile away, Liam called for a change in formation. It seemed he hoped to draw what was left of the dogs and finish them off. The watchmen packed themselves in a double ring around Adora and Liam. The outer ring held lances at ready. In the gaps between them, the men of the inner ring fired arrows at any of the spawn that came close. And then it was over. With a clear line of retreat, shadowlanders poured from the defile, running to clear the way.

  Adora gaped.

  One shadowlander, his horse hobbling, made for them. Dust caked his face, and blood ran from a jagged rip down his jawline. Adora pulled her horse next to Liam’s.

  The man looked at the ring of black-garbed watchmen. “Who is in charge?”

  Adora pointed to Liam. “Captain Liam of the watch runs the battle line, but the mission to secure the alliance with Haven is in my care. I’m Adora, niece to King Rodran.”

  The man bowed in his saddle, spraying droplets of blood on the ground. “I’m Hadrian Alba, commander of the vanguard of the army of the council of the solis.”

  “How long will it take to clear the defile, Commander?” Liam asked. “And what can you tell me of the battle on your rearguard?”

  “Nearly a hundred thousand people fill the canyon, Captain,” Alba said. “Though we are outnumbered, the rearguard will hold. The land narrows leading into the defile on the southern side as well, so the Merakhi cannot use their greater numbers to flank us.” Alba pointed to the cliffs at the top of the canyon. “We must get my men up there.”

  “Why?”

  Alba gave Adora a vicious smile, stretching the blood caked on his face. “We’ve rigged the passage. At my order, my men will cause an avalanche that will seal off the canyon. The Merakhi won’t be able to follow us.”

  Liam nodded his approval. “Is the canyon rigged at both ends?”

  Alba shook his head.

  Liam clenched his jaw. “Which end?”

  “This one.”

  Adora watched as Liam digested the news, staring toward the defile that spewed soldiers and civilians like so much debris in a flood. Carts clogged the canyon as people pressed to escape. Movement through the passage looked on the verge of grinding to a halt.

  “The Merakhi will chew into your soldiers all the way through the passage.” Liam snapped an order to the nearest lieutenant of the watch, a gangly redhead. “Royce, gather two squads of men and follow me. We’ll need ropes.”

  Liam turned to leave, but Alba grabbed him by the arm. “There’s more, Captain.” He ran a hand through sweat-stained hair. “The Merakhi have brought spawn with them. Some of them can fly.”

  Liam’s jaw muscle jumped at the news, but his voice was controlled when he spoke. “Alba, set up a defensive perimeter around the mouth of the canyon. There are still canis about. Use the rest of your men to move your people out of the canyon as quickly as possible. Lieutenant Royce, you’re with me.”

  Adora kicked her mount, prepared to override Liam’s inevitable objection to her presence. Yet when she pulled alongside, it was Rokha who approached her, pitching her voice so only Adora could hear.

  “You would jeopardize the mission, Princess?”

  Adora stiffened at the rebuke but refused to be swayed. “There is more than this mission at stake.” She nodded toward Liam. “If he dies, the hope of all Illustra dies with him.”

  Rokha’s brown eyes flashed. “You think he is to be the soteregia, then?”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The herbwomen said both he and Errol had to be there. Liam must live through this, and if anything happens to you on the heights, there will be no one to tend his injuries.”

  Rokha opened her mouth to respond but just shook her head and motioned Adora toward Liam.

  “You’ve given this thought?” he asked.

  She nodded, trying to keep the flush of embarrassment from her face. “You may need more than one healer. There is more than just the mission to the shadow lands at stake here.”

  He nodded, but whether in comprehension or acquiescence, she didn’t know.

  “I hope you know how to climb, Your Highness.”

  She glanced at the towers of rock that defined the walls of the defile and gripped the reins. Heights unnerved her. Under Rokha’s scrutiny, she forced her expression toward neutrality.

  They dismounted at the foot of the plateau, where a crack in the stone a pace wide ran from top to bottom. One of the watchmen, a sandy-haired Gascon, whose thin frame belied his whiplike strength, began the climb trailing a skein of rope after him. He ascended the wall at a steady pace, his movements confident and sure. In minutes his outline diminished to a black speck against the russet stone.

  Adora swallowed. Somewhere beneath her stomach, a tremble started, threatening to move to her arms and legs. She jerked at a touch on her arm.

  Rokha smiled, eyes gently mocking. “If you can kill two men to gain your freedom, you should be able to face down a pile of rock. Just don’t look down.”

  Surprised laughter burst from her, but the sound turned tremulous. Liam signaled men to go up one by one. Halfway through, he nodded toward Rokha, who brushed Adora’s elbow as she left.

  Then he sent the rest of the watchmen until only he and Adora were left. With a nod, he held the rope out to her. “You begin. I will come behind. Keep your eyes on the rock in front of you and the climb above.”

  A part of her wanted to protest that she did not need his safeguarding, but the vertical stretch of stone yawned before her, dizzying and threatening to dash her against the base of the plateau. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

  The rough fibers dug into her hands. A year ago they would have blistered in moments, but months of work with the sword had placed calluses in her palms and secured her from such hurts. On her right hand, anyway. Less than halfway up, the skin on her left hand broke, and the rope tore into the flesh beneath. With a growl, she braced her legs against the sides of the column and wrapped a bit of cloth around her palm. Ooze and blood wet the fabric.

  Then she looked down.

  Without warning, vertigo assaulted her and the world pitched sideways, her feet slipping from their hold on the rock. She squeezed her eyes shut as terror claimed her. Desperate to still the sensation of falling, she wrapped her arms and legs around the rope as soft whimpers clogged her throat.

  The touch of a hand on her foot sent her into a panic, and she screamed before a voice intruded on her awareness.

  “Highness, lift your head and open your eyes.”

  Adora pulled her face out of her arms and forced her eyelids to unclench. A blur of rock, nothing more than a violent swirl of color showed before her. Tremors shook her, and her hands slipped a fraction. Liam’s hand clamped like a vise on her thigh, halting the slide.

  “I can’t get the world to stop spinning.”

  Liam didn’t respond, and an irrational fear blossomed in her heart that he no longer shared the rope with her, had never been there at all, and she would eventually tire and fall to her death.

  She peered down through slits. He wasn’t there.

&n
bsp; Sobs choked her.

  The rope jerked, and her sobs threatened to grow to a wail. “I’m here,” Liam said. His voice sounded close, as though his mouth rested scant inches from her ear. An arm powerful enough to bend iron closed around her waist, pulling her into a rough embrace.

  “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “I’d have to let go of the rope to do that.”

  The arm compressing her midsection squeezed tighter. “Do you think I would dare let you fall? Errol would beat me black and blue with that stick of his.”

  A laugh, hysterical at the edges, slipped from Adora and echoed from the rock. She opened her eyes just enough to verify Liam’s presence and threw her arms around his neck. He grunted at the sudden shift in weight and began climbing his way upward.

  “Let me know if your arms get tired,” he said into her ear. “I’ll stop so you can rest. We should be at the top in a few minutes.”

  She nodded, smearing tears into his neck with her nose. Fatigue was the least of her worries. Enough panic-driven energy throbbed through her veins for her to hold Liam for hours if need be. Noises drifted to her from the floor of the canyon below as shadowlanders poured from the passage and soldiers screamed, urging them to move faster.

  “We’re almost there, Your Highness.”

  A shriek sounded above her, the noise tearing the wind as if a hawk had been given a human voice. Liam cursed, set his feet. One arm found her waist, moved her to his left hip. A second later the rasp of steel sounded as he drew. The thrum of a half dozen bows sounded, and the creature screeched again.

  Adora forced her eyes open to see a monstrous shape coming at them, talons extended, mouth agape with pointed teeth, as though a bat had somehow managed to mate with a bird of prey. It dove in close, then wheeled away as Liam flicked his sword at it. Adora caught a glimpse of crazed yellow eyes, filled with insanity and intelligence. A flight of arrows kept the thing at bay as Liam sheathed his sword and pulled his way to the top of the plateau.

  Adora rolled away, her hands embracing the security of the dirt and rock beneath her. A hand gripped her wrist, pulling her upright.

  “Get up, Princess,” Rokha said. “We’re going to need every sword.”

  Adora lurched to her feet, weaving like a drunkard in the aftermath of her vertigo. Around her, watchmen battled flying spawn that filled the sky with talons and teeth. She yanked her sword loose as she stumbled. A shriek behind her caught her off guard, but before she could coax her feet to turn toward the threat, Rokha leapt, her sword whistling through the air above Adora’s head.

  The cry of the spawn turned into a wail, and the thing fell at Adora’s feet, its wings beating the ground before going still.

  Pairs of watchmen filled the northern end of the plateau, fighting back to back. None of the men were down, but those who’d been the first to climb bore grievous injuries. Dead spawn lay everywhere.

  Adora spotted a shock of bright red hair. Lieutenant Royce fought with Liam, the two of them working their way to the cliff’s edge, where ropes and nets held tons of rock. Liam’s sword disappeared and reappeared in time to the lightning-fast flicks of his wrist, and a trail of dead and dying spawn appeared in his wake.

  Adora felt a tug at her back and sensed Rokha’s intention. They trailed after Liam, the cloud of spawn growing thicker as the bulk of the Merakhi army approached. The chasm that defined the passage yawned open just ahead, and she stopped as vertigo threatened to reclaim her.

  “I can’t,” she yelled.

  Rokha beckoned the nearest team of watchmen, who wove their way toward them with a flurry of sword strokes. At a signal Adora failed to see, Rokha and one of the watchmen swapped places.

  “Do not fail to keep her safe,” Rokha said. Her voice carried an edge to match her sword.

  Adora’s arm began to tire. Fear could only drive her for so long. “Who are you?”

  “Sergeant Kirik.”

  Adora searched her memory, pulled the face of the squat Bellian before her. Kirik didn’t boast the quickest blade, but he possessed the stubborn endurance common to his people.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can go, Sergeant.”

  Kirik put two fingers between his lips and whistled another pair of watchmen toward them. “Rest, Your Highness,” Kirik said. “We will form the points of a triangle around you. When you’ve recovered enough to swing your sword again, one of us will rest in your place.”

  Squatting in the rock and dirt, Adora watched as Liam stalked the edge of the plateau, his eyes on the battle raging in the defile. He stood next to a large pile of rock, bound with a net of ropes. His attention on the floor of the passage never wavered, but his sword seemed to move of its own volition.

  Time dragged by. Adora rose, ordered one of the watchmen guarding her to rest, and then rested herself when her turn came around again. Still Liam watched the edge. She lost count of the number of times she’d switched and had just sat again on the dirt in tearful fatigue when the air stilled with an abruptness that snatched her head from its resting place on her arms.

  The last of the spawn twitched in its death throes at Liam’s feet.

  Adora’s lungs heaved, and her arms hung like dead weights at her side. A carpet of dead ferrals covered the cliff top. “What kind of enemy do we face that they would throw away so many?”

  No one answered. She forced herself to the edge, heedless of the dizziness that threatened to claim her, drawn by a change in Liam’s posture. The captain signaled Lieutenant Royce, who moved to the other end of the netted rock the shadowlanders had placed above the defile to secure their escape.

  The pair of them swung, swords flashing in the air, and the ring of metal against stone knelled a thrill of victory through Adora’s chest. A cascade of tumbling rock poured into the passage, gaining momentum. Through the sound of its thunder, the shrill cries of dying men, animals, and spawn could be heard. And still it went on. Adora exulted. They’d done it. The army of the shadow lands had been secured.

  Liam spun from the defile, turning Adora’s cries of victory to ashes in her mouth. Far from expressing satisfaction or victory, his expression was set in lines of determination and his eyes flared with dire resolve. He walked past her toward the rope leading back to the floor of the canyon without a word.

  Rokha trailed in his wake, her lips pursed in bitterness, her healer’s kit in her hands. “I’ll need your help. Some of these men should be tended before they attempt the descent. Watchmen are thickheaded. You’ll probably have to use your authority to make them accept treatment.”

  Adora grabbed Rokha’s arm as she came within reach. “What did he see?”

  Rokha’s brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, found hers. “The shadow land’s army is gone. The vanguard is all we will have to take with us back to Illustra. The rest died in the passage fighting to get their people free.”

  Adora gaped, her mind refusing to accept Rokha’s pronouncement, but Ru’s daughter went on. “We’ve gained little more than a multitude of refugees.”

  22

  Ongol

  TWO WEEKS AFTER their escape from the maelstrom, the landscape to port began to change. Errol watched sand and rock give way to scattered trees that grew more dense with each passing league. Soon the vegetation became an impenetrable morass.

  The air turned heavy, laden with water, and heat that had been oppressive became unbearable. Crew and passengers alike shed tunics to go about bare-chested. Sweat ran as freely as water in the quiet air. Where before the sails had billowed and popped, now they seldom bellied and often hung limp before filling again.

  Then the wind stopped altogether, stranding their ship in the calm as if it were dry-docked. Tek stared at the slack canvas that hung lifeless from the masts and chewed his sailor’s vocabulary through gritted teeth. The coast lay less than a mile distant, teasing them. After two days in which tempers grew thin, Tek called a conference on deck.

  “We’re becalmed, gentlemen, and no d
oubt.”

  Rale nodded, the motion sending drops of sweat onto the deck to join similar splatters from the rest of them. “The question is, will we stay that way?”

  Tek shrugged. “There be no way of knowing for sure. My charts and maps tell no tales of anything past the whirlpool.” He sighed. “But the sea itself gives us a sign and a bad one at that.”

  “How so?” Rale asked.

  “No boats, man.” Tek pointed. “We haven’t seen a fishing vessel or any sort of boat since we started along the western edge of the continent.”

  “The tiamat and other sea spawn could explain that, Captain,” Merodach said. His skin had turned darker under the sun’s onslaught, and his ice-blue eyes seemed lit from within.

  “Aye.” Tek scratched his chin. “But we’ve seen no sign of spawn for days. I think we be at the end of the wind, and it be gone for longer than we can wait for it to return. We need to put ashore.”

  Rale turned to scan the coastline. “We don’t know where we are, Captain.”

  “How were we ever going to know?” Errol asked. The heat lent his question a harsh edge.

  “By the rivers, lad,” Tek said. “Soon or late, rivers run into the sea, and when they do, people build cities there.”

  “Or fishing villages, at the least,” Merodach said.

  Rale looked at him, his heavy brows raised. “Errol?”

  He started. “What?”

  His teacher chuckled. “The Judica placed the mission in your hands. What should we do?”

  He looked across the security and safety of the ship’s rail to the wall of green that crowded the coast. No road or path or even animal track led from the beach. If they landed, they would be as lost and without bearings as they were on the ship, but they’d have no shelter.

  “If the decision is up to me, I say we wait three days. If there’s still no wind, you, Merodach, and I will put ashore with all the provisions we can carry and move south until we find people. When we do, I hope to Deas they’re Ongolese.”