“Done, but what of Endra?”
“It would be best for her too, but she will have to make her own choice. I cannot speak for her. Maybe you can make her see the sense of it,” Kian said with just a hint of irritation.
“I will do my best,” K’xarr said, pacifying the swordsman. He was more than happy to say whatever he needed to placate Kian, but he had no intention of getting too involved in the Slayer and the shield-maiden’s dispute. That battle would be far too dangerous.
***
Rhys had been all over town searching for ingredients to mix up some salves and tonics for the upcoming battle. Bandages and the other supplies he would need had already been stockpiled in a warehouse near the docks. Achillus had ordered several men to assist him in his preparations and they had all been scouring the city for any provisions or materials that might aid them in the coming fight. The work was a welcome distraction. It kept him too busy to dwell on Rachael’s death and Morgana’s pregnancy.
The baby would come soon, he thought. It was just speculation, though. Cromwell was black-blooded and he knew from experience that setting a date for a child’s birth was problematic at best when one of the parents had that darkness pumping through their veins. Morgana had grown very large, the baby would be big and he wanted to make sure he was around when the time came. Not only was he unsure when his sister would deliver, but now K’xarr had decided to continue his damn war and he was afraid of getting tied up with the wounded when Morgana need him the most.
She was a strong woman and most likely would do well, but it was her first child. He had been under so much stress that he hadn’t even examined her properly. Rhys knew he could never bear to lose Morgana, not after Rachael. It would destroy him.
As he turned onto the next street, he heard sounds coming from a very narrow alley between two vacant shops. Rhys recognized the sound: someone was sick. He could hear them retching and gagging. He cautiously walked into the dark, narrow space. A woman was bent over with her hands braced against the walls of the two buildings. “Can I help you, lady?” he offered.
The woman rose up slowly and faced him. He could see her eyes were red and filled with tears.
“There is no help for me, Rhys,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe the vomit from her mouth.
“Endra, what has happened? Are you ill?” he stammered.
Right there in that dark alley, she told him the story of her captivity, everything, even what the lord justice and the Fist had done to her. “I carry Milara’s child, Rhys. The vile thing rests in my belly like a spiteful sickness. I can’t bear it.”
Rhys held the distraught woman as she wept silently in his arms. “Have you told anyone else?” he asked.
She looked at him wild-eyed. “No, and you can’t either. You must find a way to rid me of this thing. Please, Rhys, you have to help me.”
The healer stroked her hair and held her at arm’s length. “If that is your choice, then what you ask is not a difficult thing. You don’t look too far along, but it’s hard to tell with those who carry the blood. I can make a tonic that will purge you of the child, though it goes against everything I believe, and I will keep silent as long as you wish it.”
She touched his face softly. “You are a true friend, Rhys. I will not forget this.”
He nodded solemnly. “I must ask that you reconsider your decision. In time, you might regret the choice you made. ”
Endra tried to look Rhys in the eyes but she couldn’t. “What choice do I have? There is Kian to think of and what if…Milara found out? The lord justice of the Church with a black-blooded child, that bastard would go to any lengths to hide what he had done. There would be no place on Saree this child would be safe.”
Rhys put his hand on her shoulder. “This is your child, Endra. Even though it was conceived in violence with a man you hate, it is still your child. Think on that before you rid yourself of it. Vadin was taken from you. Could you live with losing another child, even if it is Milara’s?”
Endra was quiet for a moment. “Make the tonic, Rhys.”
***
K’xarr and Achillus were standing on the wall watching the citizens they had conscripted to their cause working to seal off the harbor district from the rest of the city. The people used crates, wagons, and whatever they could find to start blocking all three main streets that led to King's Head Harbor, as well as a few smaller thoroughfares.
The waterfront district took up nearly the entire eastern section of the city. The Camiran had decided it was the best place to make a stand, although no one else agreed with him or knew why he had chosen that area, other than it possessed access to the sea.
K’xarr had convinced Achillus that his idea was sound and had ignored the warnings everyone else had given him that the barricades would never hold. Now the two had begun orchestrating the construction of crude barriers at every entrance they could find. The wall to the north would offer a good defense, but the barricades would be their weak point, even K’xarr had grudgingly admitted that.
Kian was watching all the activity from a vantage point on the wall. K’xarr waved him over to where he and the Masarian general stood. “Achillus, I have not formally introduced you. This is Kian Cardan. Kian, this is General Achillus.”
“I have heard a great deal about you, Kian. I look forward to seeing you in the field,” Achillus said, extending his hand.
The swordsman hesitantly took the general’s hand. “I am no soldier.”
“He isn’t a big talker, Achillus,” K’xarr said, frowning at Kian.
“Nor am I. A man should choose his words carefully before he speaks,” Achillus replied.
“Then you two should get along well. Kian chooses his words as carefully as an Asconan horse trader chooses his stock.” K’xarr grinned.
Rhys and Endra joined the group of men on the wall. K’xarr thought Endra looked pale and his healer still wore a somber expression, but he said nothing about either observation. “Rhys, is everything ready on your end?”
“Yes, I think I have taken everything I can from the city and brought it inside the area you have cordoned off.”
“Everything is being made ready, K’xarr,” Cromwell yelled, trotting down the wall’s narrow walkway to where they had gathered, Rufio on his heels. “It’s the best we can do till Ivan and the army gets here. Then we’ll have a little more manpower.” Cromwell put his arm on Rufio’s shoulder.
“Good, Bull, just keep them working. When Ivan arrives, he can take over.”
K’xarr turned his attention to his Dragitan lieutenant. Rufio’s visage still showed the pain of his recent loss. K’xarr thought that Rachael’s death might always haunt the man’s face. “How about you? Is everything in place?”
The Dragitan put his fist to his chest in salute. “All will be done as you ordered, Captain.”
“I have no doubt about that.” K’xarr knew he could trust Rufio to follow his commands to the letter, and keep quiet about it. He wasn’t ready to let the others know what he was planning.
“What is Rufio up to anyway? Because he sure hasn’t been helping me with the barricades.” Cromwell said, pointing his thumb at the shorter man.
“I have him tending to something else, and he won’t be standing the wall with us when the Quintarans come either, just so you know,” K’xarr answered curtly.
“We will need every sword we can get. Rufio is a fine warrior, I do not see the sense of leaving him out of the fight,” the Toran snipped back.
“You don’t need to see the sense, only I do. When we meet this prince and the army he leads, all you need to do is what you do best: kill as many of the enemy as you can. Leave making sense of things to me.”
“I was just pointing out we would miss Rufio’s sword arm.”
“That is true, Bull, but I need him for another purpose right now. Just tend to what I have assigned to you.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the Toran said with a shrug.
&nbs
p; K’xarr laughed. “I always know what I’m doing; it’s the rest of you that doesn’t always know what I’m about.”
Cromwell shook his head. “That is what worries me.”
The rider was letting his winded horse drink from one of the garrison’s water troughs while Ivan stood in the doorway of the stable reading the message from K’xarr. He ran his hand through his dark hair as he quickly scanned the missive.
All the Masarian forces were to return to Gallio at speed. An army composed of the remains of the papal troops and a large force of Quintarans were ready to cross the border. If the message was accurate, they would not only be outnumbered, but facing magic as well. The captain wanted him to relay the communication to Achillus's officers at all the garrisons across northern Masaria.
Ivan would waste no time sending riders out to the other garrisons as soon as he finished the dispatch. If they didn’t evacuate the north at once, the men in the forts would be trapped and the Masarian fortifications would fall one by one.
The captain had also wanted the enemy scouted and a full report ready when Ivan returned to the city. Beck and some of the Sons could handle that. He had little time to round up the Masarians and warn their commanders about the impending invasion. By the time he got them all heading south, the Quintaran forces would be on their heels.
Beck and Hastings came towards him dragging the prisoner they had captured earlier in the week. The man had been recently beaten, blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and there was a nasty gash on his forehead. “What’s going on? I told you to keep that man chained to one of the wagons sitting on the parade grounds.”
Beck nodded to Hastings and the two men threw the prisoner on the ground at Ivan’s feet. “He was chained, Lieutenant. When we sent Lucan to feed him this morning, the bastard caught the boy off guard and nearly strangled him to death with the damn chain. We wanted to see if we could just go ahead and kill him now,” Beck asked causally.
“No, damn it, chain him back up and give him no slack this time. I am sure K’xarr will want to question him.”
“He won’t get anything out of this one,” Beck said, slapping the prisoner on the back of the head. “We have been beating the hell out of him since we caught him trying to sneak past our lines and all we got was his name. Bastard was too damn proud of it to keep it to himself.”
Ivan looked down at the bloody man. “I am sure the captain will be interested to find out why General Kattan here was running from his own men.”
The prisoner looked up at the mercenary and spit.
Glancing at his breast plate, Ivan coolly wiped the saliva away. “I will advise you now, General, you may wish to refrain from such things when you speak to Captain Strom. He is not as even-tempered as I am.”
The prisoner glared at him but said nothing.
“Hurry and get him secured. I have a job for some of you.” The two mercenaries picked the prisoner up under his arms and began to drag him back towards the supply wagons. Ivan wondered if K’xarr would ever get to question the renegade general, or if Beck and the others would kill the man before they got back.
***
Traveling with Prince Cullen was maddening for the grand inquisitor. He liked promptness and efficiency. Laziness and sloth were sins always to be rejected, and the prince was guilty of both offenses. Sometimes the army didn’t move until nearly midday and stopped well before dark, and Clovis’s patience was beginning to wear thin. The prince was indolent and a braggart. The more time he spent with Cullen the more he thought the pope might have been too swift to rid the army of Kattan. Clovis had only met the half-Sidian general on a few occasions, but he was easy to read. The man was a tiger, predatory by nature and a killer. He may have been somewhat insubordinate, but he couldn’t be any worse than the prince. He would just have to keep Cullen focused on their task. Surely with the odds so heavily in their favor, even Hugo’s shiftless son could fulfill the pope’s wishes.
Two of the Blessed had been sent to spy on the enemy. He didn’t think the prince would make much of the information, but it was proper to at least share it with the imbecile. He could point out the importance of the monks' report to Cullen himself.
As he approached the large pavilion where the prince lounged, he could hear the man regaling his officers with another one of his vastly embellished stories. This one involved the daughter of an Illairian duke that, by God’s grace, was well developed. The Quintaran officers all stood outside the massive tent while their prince entertained them with his tasteless tale, drinking wine and laughing as if they were on a boar hunt back in Quintar.
“May I have a word, Highness?”
The prince took a sip of his wine and waved his officers away. Cullen was a fool, but he well knew to respect the office of the grand inquisitor. “What is the latest, Eminence?” the prince asked as he smoothed his cowlick.
“Reports say that the Masarians are moving south and abandoning their garrisons in the north. I believe they are going back to the capital. We have also found out neither Captain Strom nor General Achillus are with the Masarian army. This will leave the enemy at a great disadvantage. If we could attack before they reach the walls of Gallio, we could destroy their entire army out in the open and then the capital could easily be taken. With the bulk of their fighting men gone, what little resistance remained in the city would be of no consequence,” Clovis pointed out.
Cullen tapped his lips with his finger. “We are not yet close enough to make an attack in force, Eminence. It may be several days before we are able to launch a full attack,” Cullen said, taking another draw on his goblet. “Besides, it would be difficult to attack while they are on the move. We would have to overtake them somehow.”
Clovis took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “That’s why I would recommend a forced march, Highness. We could be upon them in two days if we left now and moved through the night.”
The prince shook his head with an impertinent look on his face. “Nonsense, the men would be worn out when we engaged the enemy. The soldiers would need rest after a march like that. I don’t see what difference it makes if we face them in Gallio or in the field. My army will sweep them away with little trouble like the trash they are.”
Gritting his teeth, the priest tried to remain amicable. “Some of this trash, as you call them, managed to defeat King Havalon and his sons, restore Queen Raygan to her throne, and stay alive for the last two years with the forces of the Hand hunting them. I would say Strom and his mercenaries are quite formidable, not to mention Achillus and the Wardogs. It would be a mistake to underestimate either of them.”
“Perhaps you're right, Eminence. I will have the men strike camp and we will leave at once. I would like to get this business concluded as soon as possible anyway. I am to be married when winter comes.”
Clovis inclined his head to the prince. Maybe the man wasn’t a complete idiot after all. He had gotten his way, but couldn’t resist one more jab at Cullen. “Oh, by the way, Highness, you might get your wish. I have been informed that the Slayer is in Gallio. You will get your chance to cross swords with that fiend after all. That would be a fine tale to tell at your upcoming nuptials, don’t you think?” Clovis smiled as he watched the color drain from the prince’s face.
***
Ivan had ordered them to get close to the enemy and get some idea of the disposition of the army they would soon be facing. The Wardogs from the garrison where they had been posted were already on the move towards the capital, but the former Asconan knight wanted as much information as he could get before he sent the Sons south.
Summer was over and the air was refreshingly cool. Thick clouds covered the moon and made the night pitch black. Their stealthy movements would not be easily be detected. Beck and Hastings had gone to the east. Upton had taken Lucan with him to the west.
At first, he had to coax Lucan a bit to go along with him, but with a little friendly prodding, he had finally agreed. The boy moved well in the dark. Lucan’s s
kill had come a long way in his short time with the Sons. He still wasn’t much of a fighter, but he had gained a good deal of insight on how things should be done.
The Masarian landscape offered them little cover. Trees and scrub were sparse in the area. A few boulders and large rocks were all that could be found to hide their approach. Between the few locations of concealment, they had to crawl on their bellies across the rocky ground and let the darkness be their shelter.
Upton didn’t think they could ever get close enough to get much knowledge about the enemy. It was just as well, because he didn’t intend to get anywhere near the Quintarans. This was his chance to end the turmoil in his mind. The battle inside his head had to stop. It was getting harder to hide his sister, and if he didn’t take action soon, Ursula would.
He loved Ashlyn. He had from the moment he laid eyes on the beautiful circus performer and the same was true for Ursula and Lucan. Her desire had grown with each moment she spent in the company of the young man from Gallio. One of them had to die. There was simply no other choice. Ursula would be inconsolable with Lucan gone, but he had to save Ashlyn. His sister would kill her without hesitation to win Lucan’s affections. She had always been more ruthless than he was, but this time there was too much at stake to let her win.
The decision had been made and there was nothing he could do but see it through. Lucan trusted him fully, so it would be a simple thing to end the stable boy’s life. It was a despicable act, to be sure, but there was just no other way.
Upton tapped Lucan and pointed to a large outcropping of rock with a shallow gully running beside it. The two men crawled over and slid down into the rock-strewn depression. As long as they stayed low, it would conceal their movements. “I don’t think we should get much closer with so little cover,” Upton whispered.
“It’s so dark I don’t think they could see us if we stood right in front of them,” Lucan countered with a muted chuckle. “Besides, Ivan was clear. We need to find out what the Quintarans were up to.”
Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Page 40