by Lucy Hounsom
She sniffed. ‘You are of an age, older even than is proper.’ She paused, tilted her head as she seemed to do when thinking. ‘Iliven perhaps, or Samastara. Though Iliven would be better. Any offspring of mine needs a strong hand.’
His jaw hung open; Char closed it with a snap. ‘I don’t think it’s the time for … that. We’ve a war to win.’
‘The humans have a war to win.’
‘No,’ Char said firmly. ‘It involves everyone, every race that calls Acre home. We’ve been through this.’
Ekaar regarded him closely. ‘Does this protest have something to do with the Starborn?’ He caught a distinct whiff of disapproval.
Char looked away across the peaks. The first stars were appearing between spider-web clouds and Kyndra’s name stuck in his throat. They had chosen their paths – which might for a while run parallel, but would never meet. ‘I need time,’ he heard himself say.
‘Time is something we have had all too much of,’ his mother said. ‘But it is a reasonable request, Orkaan. Remember, however, that the longer you hold yourself apart from us, the harder it will be to adjust. We are your home now, your people.’
‘I understand,’ he replied and this time, instead of the warmth of belonging, her words woke a strange melancholy. The cloud webbing thickened overhead, slowly obscuring the stars. A patch of clear sky remained in the north and a star burned alone there, cold and distant.
Char was still staring at it long after Ekaar had gone. He was still staring when the moon rose somewhere behind the clouds and a presence came to stand beside him. He knew who it was by her scent.
Kyndra smelt like the cracking of ice, the slow shift of winter. She smelt like rock and the fires that ran deep underground. She smelt like the wind when it blew from the east, the Rairam wind, carrying forests and plains and distant cities forever sundered. Char shivered. Only one word could encompass so much: Starborn.
She laid a hand on his leg and they remained there silent for a time until he said, ‘That star in the north – what is it?’
‘Noruri,’ she answered at once. ‘One of the compass stars.’ She paused. ‘It’s the star closest to humans. We’ve used it as a guide for thousands of years.’
He noticed she included herself among the humans, but that term could no longer be used to describe either of them. ‘What was it like?’ he asked softly. ‘In the past, without your power.’
She drew a breath, but didn’t speak.
‘That bad?’
‘It was a shock. I had forgotten so much. My parents … I needed to see them, to talk to them. Though it seems foolish now.’
‘Why is that foolish? They’re your parents. Don’t you care about them?’
‘They’re just two people. We have bigger concerns.’
Char regarded her. Outwardly, she was the Kyndra he’d first met; inwardly, she was not. ‘You didn’t think that in the past.’
‘I think it now,’ she said with a little heat and then seemed surprised at her own reaction. ‘What matters is that I stopped the eldest.’
‘You’re frightened,’ he said abruptly, watching her eyes narrow. ‘You’re frightened of going back, of losing your power, of being Kyndra again.’
‘I’m still Kyndra.’
‘No, you’re not.’
She was silent. ‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘I’m not. Does it bother you?’
‘You know it does.’
‘Why?’
Char swallowed, turned his head away. It was easier to gaze at the darkness. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s done. These are choices we can’t reverse.’
‘Do you regret becoming Lleu-yelin?’
‘I was always Lleu-yelin, even if I didn’t know it. But this?’ He held out a clawed leg, flexed his talons. ‘I can’t pretend it’s easy. Or that it wasn’t devastating.’
Kyndra took her hand away. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We –’ He couldn’t say it, not to her, not without the warmth in her face, in eyes which now reflected nothing but the stars. And it wasn’t only her – he couldn’t say it to himself. This body, this form … he suddenly felt like a human trapped in a dragon’s skin.
‘Oh,’ she said softly. Once a blush might have touched her cheeks; now she was marble-faced and distant. ‘That was just momentary, a distraction.’
Char felt cold. ‘Not to me.’
‘I see.’
She didn’t, though, that much was obvious. ‘Ekaar wants me to choose a mate,’ he said flatly.
‘I suppose she does,’ Kyndra replied.
‘That doesn’t trouble you?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Should it?’
Suddenly Char hated himself for starting this ludicrous conversation. What had he hoped to gain by it? Sympathy? Understanding? She wasn’t capable of either, not any more. And clearly, he meant nothing at all to her.
His throat burned with ambertrix or tears – he wasn’t sure if his dragon’s body could cry. He wasn’t sure of anything except that Kyndra was lost to him. But she’d been lost since that day in Samaya, when the emperor’s sword had pierced his chest and awoken his heritage. It was time he accepted it.
Without warning, Char took a few steps away and threw himself upwards. The sky called to him, cleansing and cool, but it could not soothe the turmoil in his chest. He let it out with a great roar that struck the surrounding peaks; like sonorous bells, they echoed his voice back to him, a stone song worthy of a dragon’s grief.
26
Brégenne
‘Do you really think the Sartyans will hold to the oaths they swore?’
Hagdon looked up at Nediah’s question, one scarred hand resting on a map of north-eastern Acre. Brégenne could see the place where it bordered Rairam, the only world she’d known. Now she found her gaze roaming, following the contours of other lands, the inked coasts of seas that had once existed only in history books. She felt dwarfed by these shreds of paper; each one proclaimed how small she was, how vast the world. Their goal of taking Parakat, which had once seemed so important, shrank before the might of Acre.
‘They’ll hold,’ Mercia said, slamming the door behind her. She shed her gloves, shook the snow off her shoulders and threw her feathered cloak over a chair back.
Nediah turned to her. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because Hagdon’s right,’ Mercia said. ‘Iresonté will see them as damaged goods. They’ve nowhere to go except to become outlaws at the mercy of both the Fist and the Republic.’
‘I’m more worried about them stabbing us in the back,’ Nediah replied.
Mercia’s smile was chilly. ‘We outnumber them now, even without the aberrations.’ She eyed him squarely. ‘And we have you and your friends. Would you try to stab a Wielder in the back?’
Nediah did not look wholly convinced, but he dropped the subject. His eyes met Brégenne’s and she felt herself flush. They hadn’t had another chance to speak. Their days had been taken up with caring for the injured, cleaning the fortress of battle and blood, laying the fallen to rest. She herself had helped to dig the graves, using the Lunar to soften the frozen earth. Hagdon had stood over Hu’s, Avery at his side, and listened as she spoke a rite of parting. Only his eyes betrayed his feeling; his scarred soldier’s face remained as hard as ever.
The rest of her time had been taken up by Reuven and Cowie, who seemed to be the aberrations’ unofficial leaders. Reuven she could work with, but Brégenne didn’t like Cowie at all. The sandy-haired young man seemed strange to her, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. There was just something odd about him, she thought, something tightly coiled that set her teeth on edge. But he was ever polite, ever helpful. He’d aided Nediah in his makeshift infirmary, taken bucket and brush to the floors, inventoried Parakat’s storerooms and supplied Hagdon with detailed lists. Brégenne shook her head, pushing her doubts aside. Both Reuven and Cowie would be valuable ambassadors when she was ready to introduce the aberrations to Naris.
Nedia
h was still looking at her, a look that was not going unnoticed by Kait. The tall woman sat in a corner, one foot propped on a stool. She held a goblet of wine loosely on her knee. When Brégenne met her eyes, Kait hid her expression in another sip.
‘Has there been any word from Kyndra?’
Hagdon’s question jolted her out of her reverie. ‘No,’ Brégenne said, ‘but we only sent the envoi yesterday.’
The Republic’s commander flattened his hands across the map. ‘We could do with reconvening. It feels as if we’re fighting two separate battles, one of which I know nothing about.’
‘Since we’re all still here, I think it’s safe to assume the Khronostians haven’t succeeded in altering history.’
‘Yet,’ Kait added pointedly from her corner.
‘I’d like that confirmed.’ Hagdon glanced up, dark eyes sweeping the room. If he was searching for Irilin, he wouldn’t find her; Brégenne knew she was down in the lower bailey with a couple of the Republic, doing her best to avoid him. Something had clearly happened between them, but Brégenne hadn’t found a chance to ask Irilin about it.
Hagdon’s gaze finally settled on Avery. ‘And Taske?’
‘He’s gathered the cells from western Causca,’ the auburn-haired woman reported. She wore a new scar like a battle trophy, a sword slash across the meat of her cheek. Nediah had offered to heal it, but Avery refused, murmuring that she would keep it in memory of Hu. ‘Amon should be here any day,’ she added, ‘but the snows are deepening in the passes. He might be delayed.’
Hagdon nodded, returning his gaze to the map. ‘According to Jauler’s sergeant, Iresonté has split the Fist. She’ll lead the greater southern arm, while the northern arm is under the command of Captain Mattias. They’re currently camped at the source of the Orba River around here.’ He jabbed the map and then looked up at Brégenne. ‘Does that tally with the envoi you received from Gareth?’
She nodded. ‘They flew over them on their way to Ümvast. He estimates their number at about ten thousand.’
Hagdon grimaced. ‘I’ve heard of Mattias. He might be loyal to Iresonté, but he’s no fool. He won’t attempt the crossing until the thaw. The ice fields are too dangerous. Unfortunately for us, Iresonté has full access to the Cargarac ports.’ He moved his finger down the map until it rested along the southern coast. ‘The season’s against her, but we must assume she’ll land in Rairam before the spring. And she’ll land in force. Sartyan galleys can hold up to five hundred men.’
‘The Wielders are the south’s only defence,’ Brégenne said. She moved to the map, tapped a place with her fingertip. ‘Naris is here. We’ve the Badlands between us and the coast. Iresonté could wreak havoc before we reach her. If we reach her,’ she added, thinking of Veeta and Gend. Perhaps they’d only believe her warnings when they saw the Fist with their own eyes. And by then it would be too late.
‘What about the north?’
‘Gareth’s people,’ she said. ‘But they’re weakened by the early winter and the wyvern attacks. I doubt they could stand up to an army as well equipped as the Fist. But if Gareth can reach them …’
Hagdon frowned. ‘You think one man will make a difference?’
‘The difference he might make frightens me,’ Brégenne said, remembering the eldritch light in Gareth’s eyes.
Hagdon didn’t look entirely convinced. She couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t travelled with Gareth, hadn’t watched the gauntlet strip the novice of life. He hadn’t seen Gareth die and return, or enter the haunted barrows of Ben-haugr. Hagdon had only seen him emerge, bearing the twin gauntlets: a force to reckon with, but a human force nonetheless.
Nediah moved closer to the map. ‘Why this focus on Rairam, Hagdon? Is Iresonté so confident of her hold here in Acre?’
‘Understand,’ Hagdon said heavily, ‘that Sartya bled the Heartland dry. Not only the Heartland, but a greater part of Causca and Baior too. You saw Baior for yourselves – a dusty wasteland where people barely have the strength to plough the land. Invading Rairam serves two purposes.’ He held up corresponding fingers. ‘First –’ he curled one down – ‘Rairam is a rich country with resources the Heartland desperately needs. And without a military presence, it’s a sitting duck. Even if the Republic mustered the manpower to seize New Sartya, we wouldn’t be able to hold it. Iresonté can easily establish a new capital in Rairam and march on us whenever she desires. Second –’ he curled another finger down to make a fist – ‘such a campaign cements Iresonté’s control of the army. You heard Jauler. Many are angry at the Starborn and seek vengeance. What better way to channel it than to march on her homeland – our ancient enemy?’
As if to punctuate his words, the tower door banged open. Brégenne jumped. She wasn’t the only one. Kait’s wine slopped over the rim of her goblet; Avery spun to face the entrance; Hagdon’s hand went immediately to his sword.
Clutching his chest, Varlan looked at Mercia. ‘Lieutenant, there’s a force approaching. And I’ve done quite enough dashing around,’ he added in a mutter.
‘This Taske of yours?’ Mercia asked Hagdon.
‘Let’s hope so,’ he answered tensely. Brégenne noticed his hand was still curled around the hilt of his sword. ‘Numbers, Varlan. Are they carrying a standard?’
‘No standard,’ the old soldier croaked, still panting from his run. ‘And perhaps as many as a thousand.’
Hagdon swore. ‘Are the gates closed?’
‘Of course.’
‘Come with me,’ Hagdon barked. He led them out of the circular tower room, along a corridor newly adorned with the firebird heraldry of the Republic, through a reinforced door and onto the battlements above the curtain wall. From here they could clearly see a force, marching with military precision. Hagdon squinted into the early morning sun. ‘Sartyans, I think but …’
There was a shout and a lone horseman broke away from the group, cantering across the bridge and well into arrow range. A moment later, a ragged standard was raised among the bulk of the force, a great plumed bird rippling against a midnight field. ‘The Republic …’ Brégenne heard Hagdon murmur, ‘but that means—’
‘Are you going to let us in, Hagdon?’ the rider shouted, although the wind did its howling best to whip his words away.
‘Taske!’ Hagdon looked the happiest he had in days. ‘What have you brought me?’
Amon Taske tipped back his hood; the grey-haired commandant stared up at them.
‘Get me a pint of ale and I’ll tell you.’
‘Open the gates!’ Hagdon called.
‘We could have used your help a few days ago,’ Avery said somewhat ruefully when Taske had joined them in the tower room, promised ale in hand. ‘Parakat was better garrisoned than we anticipated.’
‘You seem to have managed.’ With a content sigh, Taske shifted his chair closer to the fire. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to feel warm.’
‘Twelve hundred Sartyans,’ Hagdon said for the third time. He was still smiling. It transformed his face, Brégenne thought. She’d become used to the surly, serious commander, who seemed to approach each day as his last.
‘And another five thousand pledged,’ Taske said with a touch of smugness. ‘Didn’t I say there were still soldiers loyal to you?’
‘You did, but I never thought—’
‘They would follow you against Iresonté?’ Taske rubbed a hand over his unshaven face. ‘Many wouldn’t. I had to do some fast talking on occasion, but I was careful. We put feelers out before approaching a garrison. And it didn’t help that Iresonté has stripped the east bare. Most of these soldiers were stationed in the Heartland.’
Brégenne glanced up as the door opened. Irilin stood there, Reuven at her shoulder. She looked a little weary. ‘Hello, Amon,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Hagdon was across the room in an instant. He seized Irilin’s hands in his, looking, for a moment, as if he wanted to whirl her around. ‘Taske’s brought us reinforcements. Sartyans, no l
ess.’
Irilin gazed at him in astonishment – clearly this new jubilant Hagdon surprised her too – before her eyes narrowed and she pulled deliberately away. ‘That’s … excellent news.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Hagdon glanced down at their unlinked hands, as if wondering how they’d got that way. Then he looked swiftly back at Taske. ‘I think I owe you some ken?’
Taske waved their bet aside. ‘I’ll take this fortress over ken.’
‘Amon, this is Reuven,’ Irilin said. ‘He speaks for those formerly imprisoned here. Reuven, this is Amon Taske of the Republic.’
Brégenne watched the two men size each other up. ‘Another erstwhile Sartyan?’ Reuven asked coolly.
‘Most of us are.’ Taske matched him stare for stare.
‘Change comes from the top?’
‘Be grateful it does.’ Taske grimaced. ‘We are not the Defiant with their hit-and-run code, their slogans and their propaganda. We are an invisible network stretching from Cymenza to Kilkerain, people united in a desire to see the end of Sartyan rule. Acre was once a free world. It will take time, ken and dedication, but we will restore independence to all territories.’ He paused. ‘And it will take sacrifice. We do not pretend otherwise. If you wish to join us, that is the price.’
‘We have paid the price already,’ Reuven said, clenching one cracked fist. ‘Whether we wanted to or not. We and all those before us, whose bodies now lie in the black below our feet.’ He looked at Hagdon. ‘Why should we give more?’
‘No one is forcing you to,’ Brégenne heard herself say. ‘You have a choice. If you wish to return home, you are free to do so. But if you wish to stay and learn, to take your places among the descendants of Solinaris, you will have to stand with us.’
‘We have no homes,’ Reuven said harshly. ‘They were burned or taken from us. We are not free to do any such thing.’
‘You are free to fight for the right to rebuild them.’ Taske stepped back. ‘It may not sound like a choice, but it is the only one we can offer. It is more than Sartya has given you.’
Silence reigned among them. Hagdon was once again sober. Taske waited grim-faced. Avery and Mercia both stood with arms folded. Kait idly wound a stray bootlace about her finger, but Brégenne could tell she was listening. Nediah stared at Reuven, a small frown between his brows.