The Misted Cliffs

by Catherine Asaro

  Nothing.

  She envisioned rubies sparkling on red velvet.

  Nothing.

  She thought of cherries and apples, rosy and round, and red leaves on the trees in autumn.

  Nothing.

  Moisture filled her eyes. It had been this way ever since that night she had collapsed after trying to warn her parents about the Chamberlight invasion. No spells. She couldn’t manage even the simplest, a little warmth, a little light. That night in the Sphere Tower, had she incinerated the essence that infused her as a mage? She closed her eyes and squeezed back the tears. Although she had always valued her magecraft, she had never before realized how much she based her sense of herself on her ability to perform spells. She had never heard of a mage losing her power this way, nor did she have any idea how to heal herself. She didn’t even know if it was possible. Without her abilities, she felt shorn and reduced.

  “It’s a lovely view, Your Highness,” a voice said.

  Mel opened her eyes. Colonel Leo Tumbler stood about five paces away, where the end of the ledge met the path coming up from the castle. His yellow hair curled on his forehead and his demeanor was friendly. Ever since she had spoken to him at the dinner on the afternoon of Stonebreaker’s arrival, he had been courteous to her. He seemed unfazed by the rumors of her purportedly evil magics. Mel knew Cobalt had asked him to watch over her, but she didn’t understand why her taciturn husband trusted him. Leo Tumbler was among Stonebreaker’s top officers. Cobalt would reveal nothing of his reasons or even admit Tumbler was guarding her.

  “Greetings of the morning,” she said.

  “May I join you?” Tumbler asked.

  Mel indicated the ledge. “I’ve no chair to offer, but you are welcome to sit here if you would like.” Dryly she added, “Though I thought bodyguards were supposed to stand.”

  Tumbler smiled slightly. “Ah, well.” He didn’t deny being her bodyguard.

  He came closer, to within about three paces, but he did remain standing, his gaze flicking around the area. Mel rose to her feet so he wouldn’t loom over her. “Leo, I was wondering if you would mind my asking you a question.”

  He regarded her curiously. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Have you ridden with the Chamberlight army for long?”

  “For years.”

  “Always with Stonebreaker?”

  His face became guarded. “Always with the House of Chamberlight.”

  His evasive answer only made her more curious. “Cobalt is a Chamberlight by blood.”

  “So he is.”

  “Did you ever know Cobalt before?”

  His expression was carefully neutral. “Ever since we were boys together at the Diamond Palace.”

  Interesting. Apparently they had a long history. “He must be glad to see you.”

  “I am always glad to see my prince.”

  So. This was beginning to make sense. “It must be useful for Cobalt to have someone he knows well in Stonebreaker’s army.” Like a spy.

  He almost smiled that time. “It is an honor to serve the royal House.”

  Based on what she had seen of the Chamberlight king, she doubted he would have brought Tumbler here if he had realized Cobalt trusted the colonel. Her respect for Tumbler’s courage increased even more. King Stonebreaker imprisoned suspected spies and executed those convicted of the crime.

  “Are you impatient to ride to Harsdown?” Mel asked. “It’s been so many weeks since you all arrived.” The staff at the castle had been sending stores down to the main body of the military force gathered at the base of the cliffs, and they were organizing which servants would go as support for the army.

  “It would be foolish to leave before we are ready,” Tumbler said. Then he released a long breath. “But, aye, Your Highness, I grow restless.”

  Mel couldn’t say the same. She had tried every argument she knew to change Cobalt’s mind, with no success. Soon his forces would move inexorably into Harsdown—and beyond.

  The Chamberlight army headed out on a morning late in the winter when all moisture had frozen out of the air and the sky arched overhead in an icy blue dome. Mel rode Smoke. An honor guard of six officers surrounded her, including Leo Tumbler. She wore a sturdy tunic and leggings, all light blue, with leather armor. Her sword hung on its sheath on her belt.

  Mel avoided Cobalt. She couldn’t bear to ride with him. She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t look at him. Dancer rode a dappled mare alongside her son up ahead, separated from Mel by about fifty riders in the column of mounted warriors. The cavalry and troops were happy to be moving out. Their spirits were high. Mel’s could go no lower.

  The army consisted of six thousand men, about one thousand more than the combined forces of Aronsdale and Harsdown, three times the size of the Shazire army. Two thousand were cavalry and the rest marched as troops. They brought food and other supplies, and many horses, including packhorses and chargers for battle, and carts drawn by plow horses. The army flowed from the base of the Misted Cliffs across the borderlands, a great ocean of people rolling inexorably toward Harsdown.

  Mel’s honor guard formed a hexagon around her. Had she still been able to act as a mage, she could have filled the hexagon with spells to encourage and support the soldiers, just as her ancestors had done before her. She died a bit more each time she thought of her lost abilities. This army would go into battle without mages—and because of that, more men would die. Maybe Cobalt. She didn’t want to fear for his survival, but nothing could stop the pain that came when she realized his life could end. She was falling in love with her warlord husband and no amount of self-reproach could stop it from happening.

  Magnificent in his armor and plumed helmet, Varqelle rode at the head of the great column, flanked by six standard-bearers. Three sat on white stallions and carried the banner of the House of Chamberlight, the blue sphere on a white background. The reins of their horses were strips of blue leather braided together, and silver tassels hung from the bridles. The other three rode black stallions and carried Escar banners with the black jaguar on a dark blue field. Cobalt and Dancer rode behind Varqelle, surrounded by another honor guard. In his dark armor and chain mail, Cobalt made an imposing figure next to his mother, who wore a riding tunic and leggings with no armor to shield her slight form.

  Whatever Cobalt claimed, everyone could see the hostile message this sent, that the Chamberlight army entered Harsdown with that country’s deposed king and queen. Mel knew her father might have spies in the Misted Cliffs, but Stonebreaker was obsessive about secrecy. A good chance existed that Muller hadn’t known this army was preparing to ride on Harsdown. When her father learned of the march, he would mobilize his forces. Was this an act of war? If the Chamberlight army attacked, Aronsdale would come to the defense of Harsdown, but by the time they arrived, thousands of people could have died.

  Mel didn’t trust Varqelle to honor the treaty established by her marriage to his son. She wasn’t even certain about Cobalt anymore. He hungered for a campaign of conquest, and it wasn’t only his desire for his father’s approval. It was him. Whatever drove Varqelle burned even hotter within Cobalt.

  He gave his word. Whenever Mel began to brood, she reminded herself of Cobalt’s promise to honor the treaty. She had to believe him; otherwise, she was riding against her own family.

  The cavalry crossed the borderlands throughout the morning. Mel had brought Fog in a large basket strapped to her saddlebags. He liked to ride that way, lulled to sleep by the rocking motion. Horse-drawn carts rolled past, heaped with provisions: dried meat and fruits, grains, piles of gourds, feed for the horses, barrels of water and ale, and mounds of other foodstuffs. Women from the Diamond Palace guided the carts, cooks who would prepare the food and other servants who would tend to the needs of the army.

  A cluster of young warriors rode by and glanced at Mel, their dark eyes curious. She had already realized the people of the Misted Cliffs considered her yellow hair exotic. The youths looked back
at her after they had passed, and one smiled shyly. Colonel Tumbler scowled at him, and the boy flushed and quickly rode on, soon swallowed up in the surging mass of humanity.

  After several hours, they stopped to rest the horses and let the foot soldiers catch up. Mel fed the kitten and played with him until the army set off again. At this pace, it would take more than a day to reach the woods where she had lain with Cobalt for the first time. She didn’t want to remember, but she couldn’t stop herself. Even now she wanted him, and she despised herself for that weakness.

  As the hours passed, clouds gradually spread across the sky. By afternoon, the day had darkened. A fog bank appeared in the south, and a few drops of rain pelted Mel’s face. The soldiers continued to ride, and the fog swelled on the horizon, stretching from east to west, dark and dense.

  Then Mel realized it wasn’t fog.

  It was another army.

  Mel spurred Smoke forward. Her guards came with her, Leo Tumbler at her side. They passed armored men with swords at their hips or strapped across their backs. A few wore their helmets, angular affairs that covered most of the face, with slits for eyes, but most had lashed the helmets to their gear. Their mounts raised clouds of dust.

  Mel slowed as she neared Cobalt. Her guards fell back, leaving her room to join her husband. Dancer was riding on his other side. She turned a cool gaze to Mel, but said nothing. Nor did she make any attempt to ride with Varqelle. She seemed to prefer even Mel’s company to that of her estranged husband.

  Cobalt glanced at Mel. “Do you recognize them?”

  She knew he meant the other army. “They’re too far away.” They both had a good guess about who it was, though. “You gave your word not to attack my people.”

  He spoke tightly. “As did they, for my people.”

  Her pulse beat hard. “What will you do?”

  He answered in a careful voice. “I will not violate the treaty first.”

  First. If he believed her father’s army was attacking his, she had no doubt he would respond in kind. She had never been sure she believed in the saints of nature and color revered by her people, but now she silently petitioned every one she could think of to keep everyone calm, both Cobalt’s men and those who rode from the south to meet them.

  The two forces drew nearer throughout the afternoon, and the “fog” resolved into columns of warriors. After several hours, the armies reached a long, narrow valley that stretched from east to west, separating the two forces. There they halted. Men poured in throughout the evening, thousands of riders, archers, foot soldiers, grooms, and support. Cobalt’s people gathered on the northern crest of the valley and the other army gathered on its southern crest. They filled the land as far as Mel could see in either direction.

  Mel recognized the banners carried by the standard-bearers for the other army—the violet and white pennant of the House of Dawnfield. Her family. Then her breath caught. Her father was with them, seated on his white charger, tall and imposing. Gone was the well-dressed country gentleman; this man wore armor with a burnished breastplate and plumed helmet. His shield gleamed even in the overcast day. He had become a war leader, a stranger to her.

  Somehow Mel managed to speak calmly, though her heartbeat felt as if it had doubled. “I would speak with him.”

  “Yes.” Cobalt didn’t have to ask who. He prodded Admiral forward and they rode to where Varqelle sat on his mount, flanked by the Escar and Chamberlight standard-bearers. His gaze was hard and his attention fixed on his counterpart across the valley, the man who had taken his throne.

  Cobalt drew alongside Varqelle. Mel stayed on the other side of her husband, keeping him between her and his father. Varqelle didn’t look at them; he continued to watch the other army.

  “They are many,” he said.

  “About six thousand, I would estimate.” Cobalt studied the Dawnfield forces as they continued to amass along the ridge across the valley. Neither army was setting up tents or looking after the many needs of a force that size as it settled in for the night. Foot soldiers stood at attention and cavalrymen gathered in geometric formations, ready to fight.

  “They must have had warning,” Cobalt said.

  Varqelle scowled. “How? No one left the keep. In the borderlands, you can see for leagues. We watched. No one came to or left the army.”

  “Even so,” Cobalt said. “Someone told them.”

  Mel’s pulse hammered. Had her warning succeeded? If so, it had been worth burning out her mage talent.

  “Well, it seems we must negotiate,” Varqelle muttered.

  Cobalt cocked an eyebrow at him. “As was always the plan.”

  When Varqelle didn’t answer, a chill went up Mel’s back. She hated to think what might have happened if her father hadn’t been prepared to meet this force. Cobalt had sworn to her that he would honor the treaty, but his father had not. The Chamberlight army followed Cobalt, for he was the crown prince of the Misted Cliffs, but they knew he acted as general for his sire, who had once ruled this land. She wasn’t certain they—or Cobalt—would have refused Varqelle if he had ordered them to fight against Harsdown.

  Cobalt laid his hand on Mel’s arm. “Will you talk with your father?”

  She nodded, aware of Varqelle’s hard gaze. “Do I have your word that you ask only for safe passage through Harsdown? No combat?”

  “Yes.”

  Mel looked from him to his father. Two men with predator’s eyes. “Both of your words?”

  Varqelle’s mouth twisted. She knew he thought she had gone too far. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t negotiate for them without his guarantee.

  Varqelle glanced at Cobalt, and his son met his gaze. After a moment, Varqelle said, “You have my word.” He looked as if he had eaten a sour fruit.

  Mel exhaled, but she strove to hide her relief. The less Varqelle could read from her, the better. She urged Smoke into a trot, and he made his way down the slope of the valley. He seemed to flow beneath her, strong and sure, though his hooves tore up the wild grasses. He gathered speed as the slope leveled out. When they reached the creek at the bottom, he jumped it without hesitation, his leap so fluid she barely felt a change in his pace. Within moments, they were climbing the southern slope.

  Mel slowed as she neared her father. As she approached, he came forward with Sphere-General Fieldson and Hexahedron-Lieutenant Jason Windcrier. Officers in the Dawnfield army had ranks based on the geometric hierarchy of spells. They weren’t mages, but the custom originated in the mages who had ridden with the military in past eras. The shapes subdivided each rank, with triangle as lowest and sphere as highest. A square-lieutenant held a higher rank than a triangle-lieutenant; however, he still had a lower rank than a triangle-captain because all captains outranked all lieutenants. No one ranked above a sphere-general. Fieldson was the only one in either Harsdown or Aronsdale, and was another reason Muller had a strong military.

  Seeing her father, Mel wanted to jump off Smoke and run to him. But she held back, determined to retain her dignity. As they came up alongside each other, he pulled off his helmet and held it under his arm. She saw the moisture in his eyes. Neither of them would cry, not here with so many people watching, but it was all she could do to hold back her tears, for both her joy in seeing him and her grief in the circumstances.

  His voice caught. “Greetings, Daughter.”

  “It is good to see you, Papa.” She heard the tremor in her words.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Fine.” She scowled. “My husband is sending me home. For my safety.”

  A startled smile flashed on his face and he seemed to drop ten years. “You are coming home?”

  “Aye, Papa.” Mel took a deep breath. “My husband, Cobalt of the House of Chamberlight, does ask if you honor the treaty our countries have signed.”

  “If I honor it?” His voice hardened. “He is the one who brought an army.”

  “He gave me his word. He wishes only safe passage through Ha
rsdown.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “They go to Shazire.”

  Muller spoke grimly. “Why?”

  “Ah, gods, Father,” she said, miserable. “Why do you think? My husband is his father’s son.”

  Muller gazed out at the Chamberlight army blanketing the countryside. “We cannot stand by while he invades Shazire.”

  “If you fight them, you void the treaty. It goes both ways. When the House of Chamberlight swore never to attack the House of Dawnfield, we swore never to attack them.”

  He made an incredulous noise. “They expect us to let them through so they can subjugate another country?”

  “It is part of the Misted Cliffs.”

  His face paled. “So was part of Harsdown.”

  “Cobalt swears they will leave here in peace. But if you try to stop them, they will call it a violation of the treaty and attack Harsdown.” Her hands clenched the reins. “Varqelle seeks the Jaguar Throne. He will not hesitate to kill for it.” She left unspoken what they both knew—that the man he wanted to kill was her father.

  Muller was shaking his head. “The treaty was meant to give peace among our countries.”

  “And it does.” Mel felt heavy. Tired. “But it said nothing of Blueshire, Shazire, Jazid, or Taka Mal.”

  Muller looked ill. He faced a horrendous choice: sacrifice the well-being of his own country, possibly his throne and his life, to defend other lands; or keep his people safe and stand by while Cobalt brought those other lands to their knees.

  Muller blew out a gust of air. “I must think.”

  “I understand.” Mel hesitated. “I would ask one thing of you.”

  “Yes?”

  “The Escar queen rides with us. She is my companion.” That was probably pushing their relationship too far, but it would have to do. “She has no wish to see her estranged husband wage war and she desires no part in his campaign. I would ask that you accept her into our home as you accept me.”