“Beyond me,” Boden panted. “Likely beyond them too.”
Whitt didn’t know the men from either side of the conflict, and they all dressed in the same plain camgras shirts and trousers. Those loyal to Sianna wore russet armbands but not to a man. He couldn’t fight anyone with confidence until they noticed his greens and smiled or attacked. The hesitation had cost him, his arms and legs marked with red cuts. A gash across his eyebrow finally stopped dripping into his eye and blinding him.
The corridor belched them into the open plaza beyond the tier’s edge. Influence slammed into Whitt’s chest like a brick. Tier archers pelted the combatants with black bolts. Grounded archers loosed in a panic, their arrows clattering to the pavers at his feet. Influence flew with equal ferocity from the tiers as it did from the yard’s cluttered sprawl, erupting in a swill of fear and pain, indiscriminate in its target.
Whitt staggered in the chaos. His skin blistered with terror, anger sizzling at the insanity. In a lane at the market’s fringe, men clubbed each other with shattered wood and metal pipes. He searched for greens, but the night shrouded all hues in gray. With nowhere to flee, a horde of Sianna’s guards backed into the square. Boden grabbed Whitt’s arm, yanking him backward. Whitt jerked his arm free and swung at the guardian’s head. Boden blocked, his eyes wild.
Whitt juddered, grasping at reason like a madman clinging to a crumbling precipice. “The warrens. Go!” He spun away, and they ran for the shadows, hounds of fear lunging for their necks.
Sianna’s army backed into the warrens after them, dragging the fight with them. Freed of influence, the sides solidified. The battle deepened, more deliberate but no less deadly. Sianna was losing the war and hadn’t surrendered. The Nor-Bis warrens fought for their home even if it counted a slum beneath the high ward’s feet.
Whitt heaved in a breath and whipped his staff at the approaching line, thwacking a man in the neck and jabbing for a bulging gut. The hulking man threw himself sideways out of the attack, and Boden finished him with a knife to the ribs. A club hammered down on Whitt’s shoulder, skidding off the mail as he twisted but smarting like a kick from a terran horse. He flipped the end of his staff and caught the offender under the chin.
Defenders fell to the longer blades of Sianna’s army, and Whitt swore that if he survived, he’d master Guardian swords. Outnumbered, he backed up with the bulk of the Nor-Bis men. They peeled off and ran. Boden breathed on Whitt’s neck as he darted up an alley that dead-ended at a wooden wall. “Balls Almighty!” Boden spat and reversed direction. “Where are we?”
“Lost.” Whitt whirled, reversing his sprint. Boden was no help, the two of them fuddled by the labyrinth of alleyways that reeked of smoke, sweat, and urine. Whitt’s sense of direction spun on its head and crossed his eyes. Backtracking brought him to a twisted lane that branched in three directions, none of them familiar. Boden angled his head to the left, toward the better light and the sounds of conflict. Whitt loped into the dim alley. If he guessed correctly, they headed back to the shipyards and river, but it only counted a guess.
The fight clogged an intersection and spilled into a tipple house. Whitt, at least, recognized the spot. He jumped into the fray, metal staff swinging and knocking the legs out from under a man who’d bothered with an armband. His staff swung around and rapped a knife-wielder on the wrist, reversed and smacked him on the jaw. The man landed on his back and didn’t get up when a wiry fighter stabbed him in the gut. Boden slashed a toothless man in the belly, and his guts spilled. Whitt stepped back from the blood and stink and open-mouthed screams.
A spear jabbed toward his chest. He deflected and backhanded, striking the side of the bearded man’s face. He tried to bring the pole around and scraped the wall, slowing his momentum. The spearman responded faster, thrusting again as Whitt swayed back. He fought for balance, swung a weak sweep against the attacker’s chest, not enough to hurt him but enough to buy him a reprieve. The spear jabbed again. It caught Whitt’s sleeve and gashed his arm. He grabbed the weapon, yanked it toward him, and head-butted the man in the face. Blood shot from the broken nose and rolled down the beard in crimson globs.
Two grappling fighters fell between them. Whitt flipped his staff to break his enemy’s wrist and send the man’s long knife tumbling. The rear of his weapon struck a mass behind him, and the blade intended for his back glided over the mail protecting his ribs. He spun and sucked in a breath, the corridor filling with men, his weapon increasingly useless in the tight quarters.
Boden fought at the other end of the congested intersection, knives in both hands, blood spattering his face. He caught Whitt’s eye, and the space between them exploded with battle. A spear rammed into the guardian’s neck.
“Boden!” Whitt shouted. A knife swiped at his face. He blocked and backed into an alley, four men following him in. A blade flickered as it flipped through the air. The hilt thumped his chest and dropped to the ground. Whitt stooped to pick it up, feinted, and lunged, jamming the end of his pole into the lead man’s thigh. The other three leapt toward him. A spear caught his short cloak. Whitt twisted and the clasp burst open. He spun out of the garment and ran.
The alley bled into a wider lane. Whitt veered left, three pursuers grunting as they barreled after him. The lane spilled onto the pavers of the shipyard market. Influence bloomed in his skin. Terror ripped him apart, blended with pleasure and pain, building into an eruption of rage. The three hulks pounded after him, roaring with fury. He spun, belted one across the head, and jumped a pile of scrap. His ankle twisted, dipped him to a knee, and he scarcely noticed.
He darted into the shipyard at a limping run, ducked into a moonlit alley, and met another group of men. Death clawed at his back. He flailed with his staff, striking at anyone who came near. The weapon screamed and struck a man across the back, laying him flat. A club hammered into Whitt’s arm from nowhere, the crack shooting a bolt of agony into his brain. His metal pole clattered against a wall. Near him, an archer let a bolt fly. Whitt grabbed the crossbow and swung, missing and stumbling. Blood splattered on his face as a man grabbed his shoulders, eye’s wide and mouth gaping like a fish, gore pumping from the gash in his neck. Whitt staggered backward, the dying man clinging to him, bleeding on him, claws grasping at his jerkin and belt.
Horror overtook him, and his voice joined the others in a chorus of screaming. He ran, fell, and clambered to his feet. Scrambled over the yard’s detritus and tumbled down a stony bank into the river. Luminescence retracted and then gathered around him, prickling his wounded skin. Creatures rose from the deep, sliding through the light toward him. He thrashed in the water, fighting for footing in the muck, certain that death hunted him. His hands in fists, he bellowed his rage at the moons.
Then it was over. In an instant the fear fled, his fury melted like Summertide snow. The panic that had driven him morphed into tranquility. Panting, he looked up at the tiers, glimmering petals beneath the starry vault of the moonlit sky. Guards stood at ease in the warm glow, and though the sounds of battle continued, they fell to a whisper.
Fatigue engulfed him, and he waded to shore, lay on the bank, and breathed. As he rested by the cold river, what remained of the war surrendered to the immense power of love. In the heart of his heart, he knew Catling had arrived.
Chapter Forty-Five
Brightest Night brought flood tides. The Cull Sea birthed mountains of luminous swells. They exploded against the sea walls in fountains of light. Waves rolled deep into the delta, flattening new grasses and old trees. The floating docks around Elan-Sia rose and rocked, and the occasional boat swamped in the swirling currents. Come nightfall, three full moons would bedeck the sky in pastels and echo in the gleaming sea.
Catling stood at the window of the royal hall listening to Gannon’s plucky account of his adventures in the east. Lelaine listened, enrapt, her queendom restored.
“The terms of agreement for your imperial seal,” Gannon said, the spiritedness in his tale ceded to the s
ober presentation. Catling pivoted to watch the historic moment.
Sunlight and luminescence lit the hall. Lelaine sat at her council table, enjoying a goblet of wine. Her councilors relaxed, rumps creasing the ornate chairs, the war officially concluded. Oaron-Elan glanced over the queen’s shoulder with fatherly pride, and Edark-Rho smiled behind his steepled fingers. Colton stood guard at Lelaine’s back, hands resting lightly on the hilt at his belt.
Gannon presented Lelaine with the first document. “From Rho-Dania.”
“Must I read it or will you all vouch for its merits?” Lelaine thumped her chest, squeezing out a soft burp.
“Oh, it’s quite satisfactory,” Oaron stated.
“Well drafted.” Edark nodded his assent.
“It’s exactly as I reported.” Gannon smiled, looked up, and winked at Catling, his gray eyes twinkling. Everything about him radiated pride.
“Very well.” Lelaine signed it and did the same with the agreement for Lim-Mistral. “What of Bes-Strea and Nor-Bis?”
“Bes-Strea’s agreement is coming by sea.” Oaron settled into his chair and patted his bulge.
“And Nor-Bis?” Lelaine asked.
Laris-Kar, the third to approve the documents, folded her hands. “High Ward Jullien will comply with time. His city is in shambles.”
“I suppose our assistance may depend on it.” Lelaine grinned at Gannon and reached for his hand.
Catling smiled at the two of them. She left the window and slipped into a chair. Just the sight and smell of the food adorning the table left her queasy. She poured a glass of luminescence, the only beverage that passed her lips and didn’t return for a second taste, aside from an occasional cup of tea. Those in attendance hardly noticed anymore, and the raised eyebrows had ceased climbing foreheads weeks ago.
The massive doors at the hall’s end slid open. A guard stepped inside and announced the new arrivals, “Kadan-Mur, High Ward of Mur-Vallis, and Whitt of Guardian.”
A smile bloomed on Catling’s face. She swiveled in her chair. Kadan had returned with her by sea, but his wound had kept him bed-bound until that morning. The arrow’s iron head would have taken half his sight if not for her administration of influence. A straight white scar traveled from the corner of his eye and across his temple before disappearing in his hair. He would leave Elan-Sia for Mur-Vallis and sweep up Minessa on his way.
Mur-Vallis would change. In Ava-Grea, the influencers would elevate a new doyen. Ellegeance would don an entirely different face in the matter of a season.
Whitt walked with a slight limp. He looked older, harder, seasoned by battle at the ripe old age of seventeen. He smiled, studying her, and she knew then that Kadan had told him of Algar and what occurred. The child would arrive near the end of Harvest.
“My respects, Your Grace,” Whitt said and bowed, Kadan echoing his words and gesture.
“The High Ward of Mur-Vallis lives,” Gannon said, nodding to Kadan. “Welcome, Whitt.”
“A high ward with a city of work ahead.” Kadan laughed. “With your permission, I’d like to review the new agreements and steal a bit of practical advice.”
Gannon deferred to the queen. Lelaine lifted her goblet. “You may. With Gannon’s eager assistance. He is a spout of wisdom.”
“I bring the agreement from Bes-Strea for your review.” Whitt presented the ribboned scrolls, and Gannon stepped forward to accept them. He joined Kadan at the table’s end and broke the seal while Whitt continued with his report. “Sianna-Bes is in Guardian’s care, resigned to her fate. High Ward Rordan, her son, begs mercy for her but concedes her role in the aggression on Nor-Bis and the deaths of hundreds. Commander Jagur awaits your instructions.”
Lelaine twirled a ringlet of golden hair. “Unless anyone convinces me otherwise, she will spend some untold years laundering in Guardian’s cellars. She’ll learn humility, and her son will reward my mercy with a peaceful rule.”
No one objected, and Whitt dipped his chin. “I’ll relay your orders to the commander.”
“Where is the commander now?” Lelaine asked. “I expected his presence.”
“Ava-Grea,” Whitt replied. “He suffered an injury but has recovered.” Catling waited for more, some word of Vianne, but none was forthcoming. She would pry details from him when they were alone.
“And your wounds?” Lelaine asked politely. “You limped across my floor.”
“I broke my ankle, Your Grace. It’s healing.”
Lelaine twirled her goblet and sighed. “Please convey my deepest gratitude to the commander for Guardian’s role in preserving the realm. Without Guardian, Ellegeance would have splintered. Without the sacrifices of every warrior, more of our citizens would have come to harm. I owe a debt. Advise him, Whitt, that he is free to petition me for whatever Guardian requires. I shall not disappoint him.”
His hands clasped behind his back, Whitt glanced at Catling and faced the queen. He cleared his throat. “The commander asks you to consider releasing Catling from her vow, so she might return with me to Guardian.”
Catling’s heart leapt, and she held her breath. The request loosed a deluge of longing from the very core of the soul. Her face flushed and she shifted her gaze from Whitt to the queen, afraid to hope, her dreams suspended in the salty sunlight like glittering motes of dust.
“I see.” Lelaine’s lips thinned, and her blue eyes didn’t leave Whitt’s face. She handed her goblet to Oaron to fill. “The commander is a romantic.”
The council sat quietly. Gannon and Kadan peered up from the curled papers. Neither of them smiled, their lips silently mirroring the queen’s. The look in their eyes was far from optimistic. Lelaine lifted her chin. “Tell your commander he will never convince me that Guardian requires Catling. At the same time, her presence here is vital to Ellegeance. My answer is no. Catling has an oath, just as you do.”
“Are there any conditions that might lead you to reconsider?” Whitt asked, his tone a plea.
Catling stared at the queen, her hands wringing beneath the table. The war had ended. She carried a child. She and Lelaine shared an intimate friendship. Catling’s tattered past and dreams were no secret. Surely, those factors mattered.
Lelaine sipped her wine. “No.”
***
The Rose Shield continues with Book III: Farlanders’ Law
Farlanders’ Law
The Rose Shield: Book III
Immune to influence, the Cull Tarr infiltrate the tier cities, and the Shiplord plies the queen for a bond that will cede her realm. Catling’s daughter, Rose, becomes collateral in a game of power, and the only way to save her is to lose her. Oathbreaker and lawbreaker, Catling rebels, and her power grows more deadly.
In the frozen lands of the Far Wolds, treaties collapse. Forced to choose sides, Whitt betrays his oath. Fugitives, he and young Rose traverse the realm and enter the rebel world of the Farlanders. The brief tranquility of their lives crumbles as Ellegean aggression escalates. Sent by the queen to broker a lasting peace, Gannon proposes a risky strategy—to win the battle for the Far Wolds, Whitt and the people he loves must lose the war.
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About the Author
I am humbled and grateful to every reader who took a chance on a fledgling writer and her book. This vocation is a solitary one, a pouring out of one’s heart to an unknown audience with fingers crossed. If you found my little creation worthy, a review would bring a huge smile.
About me? I started writing late in life when other demands on my time eased. I live in the coastal mountains of Oregon amid the moss and rain and giant forests. I share a log cabin with my husband, two dogs, and Pinky the cat.
For excerpts and updates on books, sales, maps, and book club questions, visit: http://dwallacepeachbooks.com
For my blog of writerly musings, writing tips, and a glimpse into a writer’s life, visit: http://mythsofthemirror.com
Books by D. Wallace Peach
The Melding of Aeris
Sunwielder
The Sorcerer’s Garden
The Bone Wall
The Dragon Soul Quartet:
Myths of the Mirror
Eye of Fire
Eye of Blind
Eye of Sun
The Rose Shield Tetralogy:
Catling’s Bane
Oathbreakers’ Guild
Farlanders’ Law
Kari’s Reckoning
Oathbreakers' Guild (The Rose Shield Book 2) Page 32