Voren blinked. Save for him and Kael, the balcony was empty. The slaughter of the crowd had diminished, and the square was a scattered mess of broken bodies, bone and flesh and bloody swaths of shredded clothes. The stillness of death hung over like a miasma. Anything living had long since fled.
But my day of redemption has not yet come.
Perhaps it never will.
Chapter 10
SNOW FELL, AND Draevenus set fire to the last wagon. Ten gathered around him to bask in the warmth of the blaze.
He would not call them good men. Those volunteering for their particular brand of service were rarely men of high moral standards. Greedy, lustful, scum of the world—these were the words that usually came to mind. Most did not belie this conception.
These ten, though . . . Draevenus would not entrust them with much. But after spending a week among those he had freed, they were the best he had to work with. Men, he hoped, who would at least keep their word.
At least so long as he paid well.
Draevenus threw down the last of the coin sacks that had belonged to the daeloth. “This should keep you for a while. Spend it well.”
They dug in, greedily, dividing the contents among themselves. Perfectly evenly, he was sure.
Once the gold had all disappeared into each man’s preferred hiding place, one of them had the courage to ask a question. “You ready to tell us what the abyss this is all about, honored one?”
Draevenus sighed. When he had first taken over the convoy, he had told them that he had saved them from a fate worse than death and that their only hope of survival was to do exactly as he said.
Fear, greed, curiosity, and deeply ingrained obedience had all served to keep them in line. Now, however, he owed them the truth. Most of it, anyway.
“When you were chosen for this,” Draevenus said, “what were you told it was for?”
They all chuckled. “Them daeloth said some horny mierothi women needed fresh studs to keep them entertained for the winter,” said one of the men.
“Said we’d have every luxury imaginable, so long as we kept them satisfied,” said another.
“And once they grew bored with us, a fat purse o’ gold for our service.” This drew another round of laughter.
Draevenus gritted his teeth. So close to the truth, yet still so deceiving. “A hard bargain to reject. But this was, of course, a lie.”
Grumbles of “thought as much” and “I knew it!” and “told ya’ so” were murmured among his listeners. “What was waiting for us, then?” the first one asked.
“A dark fate. One that may well be worse than death. But this I cannot say for certain, for I have never experienced either, myself.”
The mutterings took on a bleaker, quieter tone.
Finally, one man, the youngest of the bunch, asked, “Why did you save us?”
Draevenus sighed. How much to tell them? “I can’t reveal too much, you understand. When you do not arrive, people may come looking. They likely have already been sent. If I tell you my plans . . .” he raised his arms, a gesture of helplessness.
A chorus of nods answered, urging him to continue.
“Still,” he continued. “I didn’t want to leave you unaware of the danger. Nor without means of surviving the winter.
“You see . . . I,” Draevenus paused. “I need your help.”
Confused, they looked at each other. “What for?”
“I’ve spread three hundred men among the towns and villages of this region. Ten different locations. They have enough money to last a week. You ten have the rest of it. Long-distance travel is suicide this far south with winter already in its fury.”
Though not men of brilliance, realization was slowly dawning on their faces.
One of them piped up. “You want us to stay here and keep the rest in place. We get it. Still don’t answer why, though.”
Draevenus closed his eyes. “If all goes well, I may need you to fulfill part of your original service arrangement. Though not in the way you might expect.”
Silence fell as befuddlement struck their faces. He could almost see their imaginations running rampant with possibilities of both the tempting and spine-chilling varieties.
“And if you do as I ask, you will find yourself with the deep, personal gratitude of a mierothi . . .”
Lean them over a precipice. . .
“ . . . and, of course, a fat purse of gold for your . . . service.”
. . . and push them off the edge.
Draevenus lined them up and shook each of their hands, gathering their solemn oaths in the process. When the last had passed, he said to them, “You’ve each given your promise, and you have mine in return. So long as I draw breath, and so long as you keep your end, I will fulfill this bargain.”
He reached down and took up his travel pack and took two steps away from the fire. “Oh, and if any man chooses not to keep his word, and decides to take the money I have already given you and run? I will hunt you down and kill you. And when it comes to the business of death, there is no better, in all this world, than I.”
Smiling, Draevenus left them, heading deeper into the woods. Farther south. Farther towards danger. Farther towards the hope his people so desperately needed.
AROUND THE FIRE were gathered his fellow victors, all basking in the glow of each other’s company. Yandumar couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like it. The joy, camaraderie, the gratefulness to be alive—he’d missed it all.
There was too little of it these days, and not just among the soldiers of the revolution. It was as if the whole continent held its breath, waiting for the bad times to pass, forgetting what it was to celebrate—to live.
Now the ripples of their victory were spreading out. Hopes and dreams were newly awakened from their long sleep, manifesting into conscious thoughts of freedom.
And so, they came.
They’d left Thorull with less than nine hundred, and by the time all the groups had rendezvoused, they numbered greater than four thousand. The four other raids had succeeded, numerically, far greater than the main group. Mevon had lost only six of his Elite, and less than a hundred other soldiers paid the final price. For that, twelve mierothi, forty-eight daeloth, and six hundred darkwatch met their end. A good exchange by any measure.
But their losses were dwarfed by the number of new recruits. They now stood at fifteen thousand, just in the main army, with almost three thousand more operating as listeners, recruiters, spies and scouts, and supply runners. Gilshamed had also dispatched a few hundred special messengers, sending instructions to the sleeper cells prepositioned in every corner of the empire.
And even with all that, this surge of fresh troops was only the beginning.
Yandumar smiled as he thought about what came next. About what would happen at the end.
“Thinking about your lady friend again, father?”
Yandumar started. Mevon had crept up on him though he had no idea how a man of his size managed that. His son sat on the fallen log next to him, holding a plate brimming with steaming meat. The savor of the aroma drove his belly to grumbling.
“Ha! I don’t think she’d take too kindly to you calling her ‘lady,’ son. And no, it wasn’t her I was thinking about.”
“What then?” Mevon took a mouthful, which consisted of nearly half a leg of turkey.
Yandumar sighed. “Been thinking ’bout the end of all this. When we done what needs doing, and all my promises have been fulfilled.”
“Promises? You mean the ones you made to Gilshamed?”
Yandumar tensed up. “Yes. Of course.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Abyss take your perceptiveness. “Nothing. It’s . . .”
He stopped, as a woman had walked up and halted before them. Yandumar was thankful for the interruption. “Be
llanis?” he said. “What can I do for ya’?”
She blinked over at him. “Oh! Yandumar. Hello.” Though it was hard to tell in the firelight, Yandumar thought she was blushing. “I just came to, um, congratulate Mevon.” She turned back, locking eyes with his son.
“Yes . . . Bellanis,” Mevon said, as if trying out her name. “Thank you again for heeding my instructions at Thorull.”
“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “I watched you the entire battle. The way you fought . . . it was spectacular.”
Mevon smiled. “Thank you.”
Her eyes flashed over to Yandumar. I know how to take a hint, darling. He stood. “Well, I think it’s about time I got some food myself. You two enjoy yourselves.” He stepped away, and Bellanis immediately took the seat he had just vacated.
Watch yourself, son. This one has claws.
He laughed as he realized that was probably exactly how Mevon preferred them. Not that he blamed him. Yandumar liked his women the same way. Kaiera had had a temper to make the emperor cringe and a right hook to back it up. And Slick Ren . . .
Kaiera, dear. I’ll never stop loving you. Though you may curse me for a sentimental fool, I think I’m ready to let you go. Now, maybe, I could love someone else without tarnishing the memory of our time together.
He spotted Slick Ren at the next fire over, smiled, and began heading her way.
He was almost there when Jasside stepped in his way. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could utter a single word, Yandumar noticed her eyes flit past him to where Mevon was sitting. Mevon and Bellanis.
A look of outrage flared. It was quickly replaced by one of confusion. Then wonder. Then anger. Then sorrow.
Scorch me, the mind of a woman is a terrible thing. Yandumar cleared his throat. “You need something, Jasside?”
She almost jumped out of her skin, as if she had forgotten Yandumar was even there. “Yes. Sorry. I just wanted to give you the western-perimeter report.”
“Shouldn’t you be giving that to Gilshamed?” Yandumar pointed to the valynkar, who was standing with one hand on Orbrahn’s shoulder, gesticulating broadly with the other as he relived the events in the city. “He’s usually the one who handles you casters.”
“He’s”—she pressed her lips together—“occupied, at the moment.”
Yandumar sighed. “All right, I’ll take it then. What’s the status.”
“All pickets report clear. There’s been some trouble integrating the new recruits into rotations, but that should be worked out with time.”
“Sounds like you got your hands full. Just how many new casters do we have?”
“One hundred and ninety-seven.”
Yandumar let loose a low whistle.
Jasside shrugged. “What did you expect? With the mierothi dead, there’s no one to issue Sanctions. And without the ability to cast freely, they’re all without means of income. It was either us or go rogue.”
“Or both,” Yandumar said, eliciting a chirp of laughter from her. He stepped past her, patting her on the shoulder. “God bless ya’, Jasside Anglasco.”
Slowly, she said, “And God bless you too, Yandumar Daere.”
Yandumar turned back to her and they shared a smile.
Her eyes turned black. She stopped breathing, and her spine went rigid.
Yandumar stepped to her, grasping her by the upper arms. “Jasside? What is it?” Commune reports usually came by brush message. Forcing something through like this was only done in an emergency.
Not good.
A sudden hush fell. Yandumar looked over to Gilshamed’s fire, and saw Orbrahn in the same state as Jasside.
She came to, blinking and gasping. “Trouble,” she said.
Mevon appeared at their side. “What kind?”
Jasside took a deep breath and stood upright, shrugging off Yandumar’s grip. “One of our casters reported a disturbance. Their wards . . . vanished.”
Yandumar felt a chill that had nothing to do with the nearly freezing temperature. “Voided?”
She gulped. “Has to be.”
“Where?” Mevon asked.
“Straight west of here, two klicks out.”
“And him?” Mevon pointed to Orbrahn, who was now coming around as well. “What section was he monitoring?”
“He had the eastern perimeter.”
Mevon marched over towards the other fire, waving them after him. Yandumar followed, Jasside at his heels.
Mevon rushed into the circle of firelight. “Gilshamed, we’re under attack. Focus your defenses to the east.”
“What?” said Gilshamed. “How did you know? Orbrahn is just now saying . . .”
Mevon hushed them all with a sharp gesture. Just audible over the crackling flames was the sound of distant screaming, and the unmistakable clamor of battle.
“By Elos . . .” said Gilshamed softly.
Yandumar stepped up. “Go, Gilshamed. You can make the difference while we organize.”
Gilshamed ground his jaw a moment, but at last he nodded. He unfurled his wings and blasted into the sky, heading east.
Mevon stepped up to Jasside. He brushed her upper arm with a tenderness that shocked Yandumar. “Jasside,” said his son. “I need you now.”
She looked back at Mevon with wide eyes and shivered. “Of course.”
Yandumar grasped Mevon by the forearm. “Be careful, son.”
Mevon leaned in close. “Try not to engage them fully. I may be able to . . . persuade them. Somehow. I just need time.”
“If you can, then do it. And quickly.”
Mevon nodded to Jasside, and the two rushed off.
Yandumar turned to Orbrahn. “Time to save our asses. Again.”
Orbrahn smiled wryly. “Not to worry. She’s still pleased with our progress.”
“Shut your scorching mouth! Now let’s go!”
JASSIDE CLUNG TO Mevon’s back, which felt like stone beneath her grip. Quake’s hooves churned the soil, propelling them at breakneck speeds through a forest dappled by moonlight. Her pulse raced along with them.
Sooner than she had expected, they came to the picket. Jasside searched for the casters on duty, spotting one she recognized and three she did not. “Calla?” Jasside said. “You sent the report?”
“Yes, sorry about punching the message through. I thought it was urgent.” Calla fixed her eyes on Mevon. “Seems I was right.”
Jasside nodded. “You did well. Where did it happen?”
Calla pointed west. “Keep going that way. We spread out more wards, and they kept vanishing at the same spot. Looks like they aren’t moving.”
“Of course they’re not moving,” Mevon said. “They’re waiting for me.” He reached to pat Quake on the neck.
“Wait,” Calla said, stopping his hand. “Just the two of you?”
Mevon arched an eyebrow. Jasside could feel the confidence rolling off him in waves. Don’t put too much faith in me, Mevon. Or in yourself. She glanced back at Calla. “Go into commune and keep watch on me. If you feel . . .” She paused, taking a deep breath. “If you feel me die, pull everyone back. You won’t be able to face what will come for you.”
Calla gulped, then nodded.
They shot away, but more slowly than before. Mevon seemed to be exercising caution. “Jasside?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for being here with me.”
Stunned, she couldn’t speak. She started to nod, then, realizing he couldn’t see her, patted his shoulder instead.
“This will be hard enough, as it is,” he said. “Having you at my side . . . I don’t know. It’s . . . comforting I guess.”
You sure do know how to sweet-talk a girl. Jasside coughed to clear her throat and to make sure her voice still worked. “I’m the most qualified. Still,
if you wanted to, we could have brought more to help us.”
“No. I don’t think that would do,” he said. “Besides, that’s not the kind of difficulty I mean.”
Jasside furrowed her brow, unsure what he meant by that. He sounded . . . hesitant? Don’t you dare. You didn’t falter when you threw that blade into Brefand’s heart. Now is not the time to start second-guessing.
“I will do what I can,” said Jasside. “All that I am able.”
Mevon turned his head. She saw his jaw bunch and grind, but further conversation was cut short.
Quake stopped. On the other side of a narrow glade bisected by a low, babbling brook, three figures stood, illuminated by the light of the moon. Across each of their backs was strapped an Andun.
Jasside quivered.
GILSHAMED SWOOPED LOW, shooting flame out in front of him. The enemy squad jerked backwards. His spell scorched the ground in front of them, doing no harm, but it bought a group of his troops the moment they needed to withdraw.
He longed to gather his strength and melt their flesh from their bones, but he had not the time. He flew on, soon coming to another group of his allies, leaving a wake of their own dead behind as they retreated. He spotted the line of Elite and sprayed a hail of sorcerous arrows at them.
They bunched up, ducking behind those enormous bulwark shields. Gilshamed’s attack spattered into them but did not penetrate.
Abyss take that armor! The enchantments imbued into every piece took the bite out of his spells. And they were sturdy enough to withstand what made it through.
Gilshamed shook his head as he battered at another group of the enemy. What did you expect? We used sorcery to kill mierothi, so they send those best suited to the killing of casters. Why did you not plan for this kind of attack?
His anger at himself abated slightly when he saw one of the Elite fall before his onslaught. He cast another spell at the downed man, engulfing his body in flames.
His satisfaction was short-lived. Arrows streaked by, one cutting across his cheek. He had been too busy to keep his shield active.
Gilshamed resumed it now, casting a broad web of light out into the forest and scanning for the bowmen. Nothing. Even in the midst of battle, those rangers could avoid being seen if they wished.
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