“Well?” Draken said, lifting his chin. “I assume you’re either here to make friends or make terms. Which is it?”
“Neither. I am Lowild of the Oscher Clan.” His first flinch, very slight, but Draken was watching for it. “I come to help you. Indeed, I’ve done already. But I intend to continue.”
Draken’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“To stop war between our peoples.”
“Isn’t that treason, rather?” Tyrolean urged his horse up a step. “At least against your own kind?”
I’m not sure a priest can commit treason.
Lowild lifted his chin. “Is it treason when one seeks peace for one’s kind and kingdom?”
Draken turned this over in his mind. Bruche remained quiet but to slide his hand to the blade at his belt. “That depends. What is the right way to make peace? And who gets to decide?”
“In this case, you, Khel Szi.” Another bow, shallower this time, but a gesture of unmistakeable respect. “I’ve heard tavern tales of your own search for peace.”
“That was a long time ago.” It seemed it, anyway. Draken pried his hand free of the blade hilt and swung down from his horse. “And my time is too short to dance around whatever it is you’ve got to say.”
“You search for your sister.”
Remarkably well-informed, this one.
“Among other things.”
“Please walk with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, Lowild turned and started walking, using his spear as a walking stick, moving slowly. His head bowed as if in thought. When they got out of direct earshot of Draken’s party, save Halmar who followed in close silence, Lowild said, “I gave you the scout.”
“The scout …?” What in the Seven was he talking about?
Drae, he means the dead one.
“I wondered if it was a Moonling who delivered it so neatly,” Draken said, ignorning Bruche’s snort. “But why? Being dead, he wasn’t of much use to us.”
“He wasn’t dead a short while before your arrival.”
“I realize that. The blood was fresh.”
“Meaning one of you killed him.”
Draken gave him a sharp look. “That’s a serious accusation—”
“It is truth, Khel Szi. One of yours killed him. They must have done. I just don’t know who.” Lowild hesitated, then stopped walking to look up at Draken. Draken fought the urge to take a knee so they would be eye level. Actually, he wasn’t sure they would be eye level even then. Lowild was one of the smaller Moonlings he’d ever seen.
“How can you be certain it was one of us if you don’t know who?”
“It was no Moonling spear that cut him so.”
Draken nodded. He’d already decided that for himself.
“And no one else walked these woods but yourselves and the foreigners. They carry those long knives—”
“Seaxes.”
Lowild repeated the word as if tasting it on his tongue. His accent made quick work of mangling it. “They would not cause wounds like that.”
“No. It was a dagger that did it, clearly.”
Moonlings know their woods. They know everything that goes on. They talk to the ruddy trees for all I know. But if he says no one else was in the woods to kill that man, I’m inclined to believe.
And that was good enough for Draken. Unfortunately. “Thank you for telling me.”
His armor felt very heavy of a sudden, the cloak dragging at his shoulders. He glanced back at the others. Tyrolean kept watching him. Halmar and Konnan, as well. Galbrait spoke lowly with Setia and Osias. And Aarinnaie … missing.
“Traitors abound, it seems, Khel Szi,” Lowild said.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I told you. To keep you from war.”
“Your people could win a war against us.” He hesitated and then took a chance. “The Abeyance is a formidable weapon. I’ve been warned it will be wielded against me.”
Lowild’s dappled brow creased. “Why?”
“Coersion to free the Moonling slaves.”
A soft snort. “Ideology is a crueler slavemaster than any Akrasian. But some of my people do not see things that way. They see only help against enemies and a reverence for magic the Akrasians do not have.”
Hmm. Oddly wise for one so young.
That was a diversion of thought Draken didn’t need at the moment. He was still trying to work out whether he could trust Lowild, or if he even wanted to. He dragged his meandering twin minds back to the conversation at hand. “You mean the Ashen.”
A solemn nod.
“Lowild. Are you alone in this … action to help me?”
Lowild kept walking as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Another thing.”
Draken sighed. There was more?
“I know where your sister is. Come. I will take you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They walked a dirt trail that Draken would call an animal water path, except it didn’t lead to water. Instead the land swept upward in the woods, a hill ringed with nearly bare ground encircling a few great trees on top. To Draken it looked like a Norvern Wilde burial mound, but one thing the Akrasian myriad of peoples had in common was burial at sea. There were deadpaths all over the country, and for a fee sundry deadmongers would cart a family’s deceased to coastal temples built for the purpose. One job sundry could do to spare themselves slavery, though they only made a pittance hauling the dead.
Quit thinking about the dead. She’s fine. She’s Aarinnaie, Mance-trained crown assassin.
Bruche had a point.
Besides, she’s probably annoyed them enough with her incessant talking they all ran away screaming.
Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Draken said grimly. If something happens to her this war will escalate quickly.
Draken. The old warrior took on a patronizing tone. It already is escalated. Thousands of Ashen are trying to get to the Gods through you. You have to protect the Seven.
Draken snorted. He had to protect the gods? What about their protecting him? I think the Gods can fair take care of themselves.
They drew up and gazed up at the hill Lowild led them to. It was broad and the height of two horses stacked. Atop it was a sizeable, mortared cairn. Moss had stained the stones dull green and rippled in shredded strips over the rounded structure. Perhaps it was a waystation for a deadtrail, or an old guard hut. Two Monoeans stood guard, arrows on the string, by a doorway framed in thick logs. The cairn was too high to see inside but a faint light flickered. No voices from within. A thin ribbon of smoke snaked out the top. Halmar and Konnan started to edge in front of Draken. He sighed and pushed ahead of them. “Who is in charge? I want to speak to them about my royal sister, Szirin of Brîn.”
He spoke in a clear, firm tone, hoping Aarinnaie would hear him and his presence might ease her fears. If she ever had such a thing.
One of the guards stiffened. He glanced behind himself. None in Draken’s immediate party moved but more Khein servii were surrounding the hill, hooves and boots rustling in the undergrowth like a low, eerie wind.
An Ashen ducked out of the doorway, nearly knocking his shoulder on the low lintel as he straightened. Grime and worse stained his dull grey armor, which he probably hadn’t been out of in days. Their rank odor filtered through the distance.
“You are?” Draken asked. If the Ashen didn’t know who he was then this might end badly and quickly.
“Captain Brace. Your Highness.” He bowed, then turned his head to eye the Kheinian servii surrounding his little hill.
The hypocrisy of courtesy grated on Draken. With difficulty he kept his voice even. “Aarinnaie. Is she well?”
“Well enough.”
Draken eased a breath from his tight chest. He had no reason not to believe Brace. It was easily discoverable enough, and their lives were forfeit without Aarinnaie’s, surrounded as they were. “Obviously I want her back. What do you want in exchange?”
“You, of course.
”
Draken didn’t roll his eyes, but he did stretch his neck and straighten his shoulders. “Not going to happen. I won’t be your pawn in your war against the gods.”
“Ours is a war for the gods.”
“Oh, had a nice chat with them, did you? They’ve taken the Ashen on as their army?”
Brace lifted his chin. “The scrolls say—”
“Hang the bloody scrolls! The scrolls don’t say to take my sister, do they?”
“The scrolls said the godsworn must be brought to heel.”
“Even if that were true, and if the godsworn is me, the Seven and I have history of disagreeing. At any rate, we’ve got you surrounded. Outnumbered by dozens. If you bring her out I’ll turn you over unharmed to your army.” Which meant little since he intended on routing said army.
“May the will of the Seven become the will of all.”
Draken sighed. “How are we supposed to negotiate when you spout off idioms every other sentence?”
More to the point, how are you to resist killing him just out of irritation, Draken? Bruche moved his hand to his sword hilt.
“Negotiate this.” A low feminine growl as Aarinnaie emerged from the cairn and darted up to Captain Brace from behind. Not a breath later, blood was spouting from his throat. Brace gaped at Draken and made wet choking noises before he was spun toward one of the Ashen guards with bows. An arrow aimed for Aarinnaie sank deep into Brace’s body. Bowstrings thrummed from behind Draken and the two Ashen archers fell, one screaming. Aarinnaie shoved Brace, now dead, away from her and silenced the screaming with a flash of her blade.
The Kheinian soldiers sat in silence. Draken could taste their shock on the air.
“Never send an army to do a Princess’s work,” Draken said. “Is there a reason you’re just now killing them and escaping, Szirin?”
“First time they’ve left me alone to give me a chance to get out of my bonds. Used a rigger knot.”
Draken snorted. Any self-respecting sailor could slip that knot with a couple of tugs. “Just these three?”
Aarinnaie nodded and started to climb down. She was filthy, her clothes were torn and stained, and leaves and grasses stuck in her many braids. He wrinkled his nose as she drew near: waste and smoke odors thick enough to gag a Reschanian pelt trader surrounded her in an invisible fog. She was also one of the most beautiful sights Draken had ever seen. He offered her his hand.
She grabbed it, stepped up on a root, and swung a leg over the rump of his horse. Her arms encircled his waist, tighter than just to steady herself. Her cheek rested a moment against his armored shoulder before she loosened her grip. Draken bid a few of his soldiers to clean up the dead and extinguish the fire in the cairn before wheeling his horse back for the fortress. At some point during the scuffle, Lowild had disappeared. Damned Moonlings, but he had helped them find Aarinnaie, so Draken couldn’t complain too much.
“Are you all right?” he asked lowly
“They didn’t harm me, Drae.”
“Learn anything besides their philosophy?”
“Aye. It’s as we thought. They’re holding Auwaer. They seem confident Elena is there.”
He cursed softly and urged his horse a little ahead. He stared straight between his horse’s ears. “And the child?”
She rested her chin on his shoulder again. “No. They might not be privy. Or they don’t care.”
Or the child was dead.
You’re mistaking cynicism for intelligence again.
Draken ignored his swordhand. “We must go to Auwaer.”
“May I have a bath first?”
He snorted. “Or don’t and hold yourself as a weapon. You could eviscerate the whole Ashen army with your reek.”
Galbrait rode up near them. He waited to speak until Draken gave him a nod. His eyes were wide as they rested on her, his cheeks pale. “That was very well done, Aarinnaie. I am glad to see you whole.”
She met him with silence for a long moment. “I am sorry for your countrymen. It couldn’t be helped.”
“I’m sorry as well.” Galbrait fell back to ride next to Tyrolean.
The land outside the Khein Fortress wall was largely cleared, tents in folded stacks to be removed into the fortress, foodstuffs—not a great deal of that—and unclaimed weapons in untidy, pointy heaps. Servii moved items into the fortress in a steady line and others tended the fires to burn the dead. Draken had suggested carting them to the sea—it wasn’t so far off. But Geffen had argued that since they’d had to burn their own dead from the start of the siege, it was only fair the Ashen burn too. Draken relented, though he privately wondered if he’d just set loose several hundred banes. Osias was still unavailable for advice on that front.
Aarinnaie hissed a breath when she saw the fires and lack of prisoners. “You killed them all.”
He was surprised at her reaction. “You think I am incapable of killing?”
“No, brother. I just thought you had no taste for it.”
“I’ve little taste for the gods, either. Some things are inescapable.”
Draken delivered her to the inner bailey and waited for Galbrait and Tyrolean to dismount and come forward. “Aarin has learned the Ashen believed Elena is at Auwaer, and there is definitely a siege there.”
“You don’t think it could be a trap?” Tyrolean said, his gaze following Aarinnaie as she trudged through the gate between the bemused guards and disappeaered up the steps into the fortress. “They might have baited her with false information.”
“And died for the pleasure?” He started for the same gate Aarinnaie had taken, but took the stairs up to the maproom. He opened the door to the windowless chamber and went to throw himself into a chair by the table.
“Some Moonminster faithful believe martyrdom is way to embrace inevitable death,” Tyrolean said. “I saw it during a Gadye uprising at Reschan.”
“All death is inevitable. Martyrdom makes it valuable.”
Galbrait stared at him. Draken ignored him and leaned forward, tugged a map idly toward him, eyed it, then shoved it away. “Hang the strategy or tactics, then, if it’s about people who will die for their cause.”
“We can give all of them that.” Tyrolean sat by him and laid his arm on the table. Grime stained his usually fastidious hands and his fitted leather trousers were hairy from sitting a horse so much in the previous few days.
“Like we did with Aarinnaie’s attackers. Like we did here at Khein.” Like he had strangled the two officers when they wouldn’t talk. Draken toyed with the edge of another map scroll, curling it and then flattening it with his fingertips. His fingers were relatively clean at the moment. Gods knew it meant little enough.
“What if they’re right?” Galbrait said. “What if you are the emissary to the gods?”
“Fools all! It doesn’t matter. The Ashen are on our land, an invading army. My Queen is held siege. We are going to free her. If you would revoke your loyalty to me, now is the time, Galbrait.”
Galbrait’s lips parted as if he might speak again, then his brows dropped. Draken watched him until he dropped his chin and murmured, “Your Highness.”
Draken kept staring at him until Bruche murmured, I’m not certain I like what you’re thinking.
Draken averted his gaze, shifted it to the Auwaer map that meant nothing to his strategy. We can use him. You know we can. He doesn’t have to die for it.
You already used him once. You would do it again?
An entire country for the life of one Prince? No match.
Ah, but Draken. He is not the Prince they want.
But Galbrait was the one they were going to get. “We need to make our plan to roust these Ashen from our shores and protect the Queen.”
#
Their first order of business was to collect and feed the Ashen from the Bane. He sent his soldiers straightaway to do so, reckoning to give them two days’ rest while they saw to arming and preparing the Kheinians. It was a short march to Auwaer and he wante
d his soldiers ready to fight.
“We need scouts, too,” he told Geffen, leaning on his hands over the maps table. “Three of your best. Horse and arm them well. I won’t have them waylaid this time. I think they can take this route, here. Should be off the beaten track enough to keep them from getting caught.” It had worked well enough for him when he had first arrived in Akrasia, an exile with nothing but rags on his back.
“Of course, my lord.” Geffen had taken to calling him lord. Draken didn’t mind; it was a title more suited to soldiers. Highness made him think of some fop in rustling satins carrying a pretty, unnotched sword.
“Your Highness, the Lord Mance is here to see you.” The messenger dipped a knee to Draken.
He almost sputtered. “It’s about bloody time. Show him in.”
Osias glided through the door, silvery as a moon glowing in a newly darkened sky. The windowless room was dim and a little smokey from torches and the fire. Draken tightened. Something about Osias this day set his teeth on edge. Ugliness rippled across him as if someone had tossed a pebble into the pond of his beauty. To look so serene when Draken had killed Monoeans, fretted and worried over Elena, run round the woods searching out his sister, and then jumped into planning a major attack … “Thank you for the honor of your presence, Lord Mance.”
Osias kept his tranquil smile but behind him, Setia winced. “We went to Auwaer.”
Geffen glanced from the Mance to Draken. “I will see to the scouts. Pardon.” She slipped out quietly.
It wasn’t necessary; she would be leading the army to Aawaer and would need to know the lay of the land. But Osias’s demeanor felt more careful than calm, and Setia’s gaze flitted around the room as if it were prison with no escape.
Draken’s throat tightened. Easy, mate. “And?”
Osias moved closer to him. “Things are not so well there. May I?” He gestured to a chair. Draken nodded and they both sat. Setia went to pour cups of wine for the three of them. Osias drank most of his before speaking. “We were right. The bulk of the army went to Auwaer. Some thousands strong. The city is surrounded but the Palisade holds.”
“And Elena?”
“A Moonling called Lowild was there.” It wasn’t quite a question.
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