“Actually, it was the other way around. They recruited me. And it’s not just the Thieves’ Guild. There’s a lot of empty bellies out there. We’ve got most of the other guilds working with us now. They’re all willing to help get their people to safety.”
“And what prompted this remarkable act of civic generosity by the guilds? Are you sure this isn’t an elaborate ruse to empty the city so the Thieves’ Guild has a free hand emptying all those soon-to-be-abandoned houses of their valuables?”
He shrugged. “It has something to do with Starros being healed by the God of Thieves after Mahkas tortured him. Apparently he’s now required to honour his god in a fairly substantial way to return the favour.”
She raised a suspicious brow at him. “Emptying all those soon-to-be-abandoned houses of their valuables would achieve that goal rather impressively, don’t you think?”
“It’s not like that, Luci. I’ve spoken to Starros a number of times. He’s not planning anything underhanded.”
“He’s joined the Thieves’ Guild, Xanda. By definition, any plan they come up with is going to be underhanded. But even if I believe Starros is driven by the noblest of motives, evacuating Krakandar honours Dacendaran how, exactly?”
He grinned at her. “By stealing the population from Mahkas.”
Luciena thought about it and then shrugged, thinking there was actually a twisted sort of logic in there somewhere. “I see. And while you and Starros are stealing the population of Krakandar for the greater glory of the God of Thieves, what will I be doing?”
“You’ll be among the first out through the sewers,” he informed her in that tone he used when he wasn’t willing to negotiate. “You, our children, the Lionsclaw boys, Aleesha, and whatever help you need getting them out of the city. We’ve already had Thieves’ Guild messengers going through the tunnels carrying dispatches and checking the route. Not that he can do much if he’s in the middle of a war, but I’ve sent word to Damin about what’s happening, and to my brother in Walsark. Travin’s with us. He’ll be waiting for you on the other side. Once the children are safe, you’ll need his help to get the rest of the people away.”
“And you?”
“I’m staying here to help organise the evacuation.”
“What happens if the Raiders try to stop you?”
“More than half the troops in the city are with us, Luciena. The rest of them … well … we’ve made arrangements …”
She frowned. “What does that mean? You’re not going to kill them, are you?”
“Not if we can avoid it. But they will need to be confined. We can’t risk Mahkas discovering what’s going on and having him call up the remaining loyal troops to put a stop to it.”
“Loyal?” Luciena wondered grimly. “Or afraid of him?”
Her husband shrugged. “If the end result is the same, what difference does it make?”
“This is absurdly dangerous, Xanda.”
“So is every day we spend in this palace,” he pointed out. “As you so frequently remind me.”
Luciena brushed the hair from his forehead. “So you decided to do something insanely heroic to stop me nagging you? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Xanda kissed her lightly. “Greater deeds have been done for lesser reason, you know.”
“I can’t think of any off the top of my head,” she replied. “And I’m not leaving you here to face that maniac alone when he realises what’s happened, either. You must come with us, Xanda. Mahkas will kill you.”
“Why would Uncle Mahkas kill Papa?”
Both Luciena and Xanda jumped with fright.
“Emilie!” Luciena scolded, her heart pounding, as she wondered how much her daughter had overheard. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the slaveways,” she informed them, her face creased with concern. “Is Uncle Mahkas mad at Papa about something?”
“No, darling,” she assured the child. “Of course not. What do you want?”
“But you just said—”
“What do you want, Emilie?” Luciena cut in. “Your father and I are busy.”
“Um …” Emilie stammered, her confidence waning in the face of her mother’s growing impatience. “I’ve just been to visit Uncle Mahkas …”
“I thought we told you to leave Uncle Mahkas alone?” Xanda reminded her. He let Luciena go and squatted down in front of their daughter, his expression serious. Luciena marvelled at Xanda’s patience with their children. She wasn’t nearly so tolerant when they defied her. “Uncle Mahkas isn’t well, Em,” he explained. “You know that. You really should leave him alone so he can get better.”
“But he says he likes having me around. He says I remind him of Leila.”
Before she could utter a sound, Xanda turned to glare at Luciena, warning her to silence. He then turned back to his daughter. “I’m sure you do remind him of Leila, sweetheart, but that’s part of the problem. Leila’s death still hurts Uncle Mahkas a great deal. Sometimes it’s painful to remind somebody of people they’re still grieving for.”
“But I feel so sorry for him, Papa. His eyes are so sad. And he’s really sick.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Luciena muttered. She understood why Xanda was dealing with Emilie this way. At the same time, she wished she could just yell and scream and confine the child to her room in order to keep her safe from her dangerously insane uncle.
“I know, Em,” Xanda agreed, “But in time …”
“No,” Emilie objected. “I mean he’s really sick. That’s what I came to tell you. He’s in his office and he’s all hot and sweaty and mumbling stuff I don’t understand and his arm’s all swollen and burning …”
Xanda glanced up at Luciena. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“I tried telling Aunt Bylinda, Mama,” Emilie added, “but she just said something about the gods and about making people keep their oaths. I didn’t really understand what she was saying, either. But Uncle Mahkas is really sick, Papa. I think he needs a physician.”
Xanda nodded and stood up. “And we’ll see he gets one, Em. Now how about you get back to the nursery, eh? Aleesha will be panicking about you being lost again. Don’t you worry about anything. Your mother and I will see to Uncle Mahkas.”
“He’s not going to die, is he?”
“Probably not,” Luciena assured her daughter. Then she added sourly under her breath, “More’s the pity.”
Emilie looked up at her curiously. “What do you mean, Mama?”
“Your mother doesn’t mean anything,” Xanda assured her, with a look of stem disapproval in Luciena’s direction. “Now back to the nursery with you, my girl, so we can see to Uncle Mahkas.”
Without any further objections, Emilie did as her father ordered, leaving Luciena and Xanda alone again. He turned to Luciena with a frown. “You shouldn’t be so hard on her.”
“You shouldn’t be so lenient. Do you think Mahkas is really ill?”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s been complaining about his arm being sore for years and he worries at it like a dog with a rag doll when he’s upset. Maybe it’s infected. I suppose we’d better check on him.”
Luciena sighed wistfully. “Sure you don’t want to wait a little while? You know … until it’s too late to save him?”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she assured him with conviction.
He pulled her close, offering her what comfort he could in his arms. “It’ll all be over soon, Luciena, I promise.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“When?”
She looked up at him. “Our wedding night?”
He frowned at her. “You really think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”
“I’m teetering on the very edge of hysteria here, Xanda. Allow me a little leeway.”
He hugged her even tighter. “You’ll be safe soon, Luciena, I promise.”
“But what abou
t you?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I spent two years in the High Prince’s Palace Guard with Cyrus Eaglespike as my captain. If I can survive that, I can survive anything.” He held her for a moment or two longer and then gently pushed her away. “I’d better check on Mahkas.”
Luciena slid her arm around his neck again and kissed him soundly, while her other hand ventured further south. “Are you sure you wouldn’t stay here with me for a while longer?” she teased.
Xanda pushed her away again, smiling at her suggestion. “You are shameless, Luciena. Unfair delaying tactics aren’t going to work on me.”
“Go then,” she ordered, feigning disdain. “See to your precious uncle. I’ll just have to find a court’esa to keep me entertained while you’re gone, if you’re too busy to do your husbandly duty.”
“You do that,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek again, and promised, “I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I know.”
Luciena nodded to reassure him she understood, watching him leave the bedroom with a heavy heart. She wished he had stayed and made love to her almost as much as she wished they didn’t have to keep Mahkas alive.
“I’m not shameless, Xanda,” she murmured as he closed the door behind him. “I’m afraid.”
CHAPTER 59
Damin broke the news about the destruction of the Widowmaker two days after Rorin Mariner returned to Cabradell. By then Renulus was safely tucked away in a dungeon and the various conspirators in their dangerous plan had had time to get their stories straight.
As far as everyone was concerned, Lord Terin Lionsclaw was back from Winternest but had been wounded in the rock fall that closed the Widowmaker and only his remarkable bravery had allowed the intelligence to get through to Cabradell. Everyone believed he was being attended by his wife and would join the other Warlords as soon as he was sufficiently recovered.
At his nephew’s prompting, Lernen announced he would reward the Warlord of Sunrise’s valour with a prize of inestimable value, and in a private ceremony, with Tejay’s physician, Canath Roe, posing as the wounded (and heavily bandaged) Warlord, Lernen Wolfblade made a florid speech and, more importantly, a gift of the High Prince’s distinctive jewelled and gilded armour to the man he assumed was Terin Lionsclaw.
Other than the physician, the only other new conspirators now privy to Damin’s ruse were his brother, Narvell Hawksword, Tejay’s brother, Rogan Bearbow, and oddly enough, Kendra Warhaft. Damin had been loudly opposed. to bringing her into the fold, until Narvell pointed out that trying to fool everyone into believing Terin was alive simply wasn’t enough. They also needed to convince everyone that Lady Lionsclaw was acting no differently from any other Warlord’s wife. Lady Kendra would be invaluable when it came to keeping up the illusion that Lady Tejay was back in her tent attending to her embroidery, when in fact she was out fighting a battle.
Damin had been reluctant in the extreme to trust such a secret to someone he barely knew, but Narvell trusted her and as Rorin pointed out, technically she was still under the Sorcerers’ Collective’s protection until Lernen gave them an answer—something he’d shown no inclination to do thus far—and would have to accompany Rorin to the front in any case until the matter was settled. It was easier to have her helping them keep the secret than have her discover it.
With the news the Widowmaker was blocked, the mood of the army improved noticeably. When Damin finally gave the order—in Lernen’s name—to move from Cabradell to the hills surrounding the chosen battlefield at Lasting Drift, it was with a sense of excitement and anticipation that the Warlords broke camp and turned their armies south. For the first time since the news had filtered through from Fardohnya that Hablet intended to invade, there was some hope they might prevail. They were outnumbered two to one, admittedly, but that news didn’t bother the Hythrun. A hardfought victory was always better than an easy one and a much better way to honour the God of War.
Besides, with the Widowmaker closed, a victory for the Fardohnyans would be a hollow one. Lord Regis and his invading army couldn’t take Hythria with thirty thousand men, and even if—by some miracle—they managed to prevail, they couldn’t hold on to it.
But neither could they turn around and go home. Realising this, the biggest fear many of the Hythrun warriors held now was that Axelle Regis would recognise the bitter truth and order his army to throw down their weapons, avoiding unnecessary bloodshed. Damin thought it unlikely, however. Although Lord Regis had very few options open to him now, giving up wasn’t likely to be high on the list. And Damin didn’t really blame him. In his place, Damin thought he’d probably seek a glorious death in battle, too, rather than the ignominy of surrender, being held for ransom and eventually being sent home in disgrace.
“Your highness?”
He glanced up from the map table to find Kendra Warhaft standing at the entrance of the tent. She smiled at him nervously—apparently he scared her a little, according to Narvell—and curtseyed with unconscious court-bred grace.
“Lady Kendra! What can I do for you?”
“Good evening, your highness, my lords. Lady Lionsclaw sends her compliments, your highness, and requests you call on her and her husband in their tent at your earliest convenience.”
Damin glanced across the table at Cyrus Eaglespike and Toren Foxtalon who were also studying the layout of the battlefield. Cyrus looked across at Kendra with a frown. “Is Terin Lionsclaw planning to join us at some point in this conflict, or is he going to let his underlings …” he asked with a scowl at Rorin Mariner, who was standing beside Conin Falconlance on the opposite side of the table, “ … do all the work for him?”
“He’s still not fully recovered from his injuries yet, my lord,” Kendra lied smoothly. “I’m sure once he’s well again, he’ll be happy to join your council.”
“The man’s an idiot anyway,” Conin complained. “I say we’re better off without him. Show me again where you hope to conceal my cavalry, Damin.”
“Here and here,” Damin told him, pointing to the map. Then he glanced across at Kendra. “Tell Lord Lionsclaw I’ll come by as soon as I’m able. And give Lady Lionsclaw my regards.”
“Of course, my lord.” She curtsied again and left the tent, leaving Cyrus shaking his head.
“A battlefield is no place for a woman,” the Warlord of Dregian grumbled. “We’ll be wasting valuable men protecting them come the day of the engagement.”
“Lady Kendra is here under the protection of the Sorcerers’ Collective and Lady Lionsclaw is attending her husband until he recovers. Neither is in the war camp for frivolous reasons, Cyrus.”
Toren Foxtalon, the Warlord of Pentamor, frowned at him. He was a close friend of Cyrus Eaglespike and the two of them together were about as much fun as a couple of driedup old virgins at a court’esa’s picnic, Narvell had remarked to his brother only the day before. Since then, every time Damin had looked at the two of them standing side by side, he’d wanted to burst out laughing, which wasn’t helping his battle planning.
“A man who brings court’esa to the front with him to keep himself amused is hardly in a position to judge what might be frivolous, your highness.”
Damin grinned at Toren’s censorious tone. “Sure you’re not just annoyed that you forgot to bring your own?”
Cyrus Eaglespike was not amused either. “If we lose this battle, Damin Wolfblade, and your court’esa end up raped, beaten and rendered completely worthless by the Fardohnyans, you may not think the idea quite so entertaining.”
“I’m curious. What concerns you most? That they might be raped and beaten, or that they’ll be damaged goods and I might lose money on them?”
“I’m sure your first consideration is their value,” the Dregian Warlord replied. “You Wolfblades aren’t renowned for caring about the physical welfare of your slaves. And I hear you take after your uncle in that regard.”
Damin wondered, for a wistful moment, if relocating Cyrus Eaglespike�
��s face to the other side of his head with something blunt and heavy would feel anywhere near as satisfying as he hoped it might. Even as a child—when Damin was little more than a toddler, Cyrus in his early youth—and Alija had brought her sons to Marla’s house to play, he’d disliked him. That feeling had hardly altered at all in the intervening twenty years. Cyrus was still an arrogant mummy’s boy. He’d not made a move since he learned to walk, in Damin’s opinion, that he hadn’t consulted Alija about first. What made him dangerous was the temptation to think that also made him a fool. Cyrus wasn’t a fool and Damin had to keep reminding himself that any man well past the age of majority still following the advice of his mother was nothing to be sneered at if the mother was someone as treacherous as Alija Eaglespike.
“What I do with my court’ esa is actually none of your business, my lords,” he said, turning his attention back to the map. Perhaps only Rorin guessed how close Damin was to giving in to the temptation to rearrange the Warlord of Dregian’s face.
“I suspect the details would turn our stomachs, in any case,” Toren Foxtalon remarked, determined to get the last word in.
“Your highness, did you say you wanted the Sunrise archers here or here?” Rorin asked, giving Damin a graceful way to ignore the taunt. “I want there to be no mistake when I relay your instructions back to Lord Lionsclaw.”
“We want them across here,” Damin explained, turning his back on Cyrus and Toren. “You’ll have to make certain they understand their mission is to put up a token resistance and then run, but they’re to regroup back here, so we have them in reserve if we need them.”
Rorin looked around the table at the Warlords. “In view of my lord’s incapacity at present, perhaps one of you gentlemen should address his troops?”
Damin looked at Rorin in surprise. This wasn’t part of their agreed strategy. The plan, as far as Damin knew, was to keep the other Warlords away from the Sunrise Raiders. It certainly wasn’t to invite one of them to speak to the men.
“Can’t Terin see to his own troops?” Cyrus asked. “Or do we have to do that for him, too?”
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