Information. He shook his head, realizing where Ryliann and his men had gone. He had to admit, it was clever. He hadn’t thought Ewen had it in him. Ryliann’s men were the cause of the information leak. The humans could blend in with his army and then sneak away to inform the Siobani what they’d learned. Slowly, a smile stole over his features. He could fight fire with fire.
* * *
Droning voices stilled as Ewen entered the room. Sunshine streamed through windows open to warm summer air, highlighting all those waiting for him. The great hearth stood empty of all but a blackened grate.
“Nachiad,” Ewen said, nodding to the council members already gathered. He laid several parchments on the long table then looked up. “I thank you for coming at short notice. Much has happened since we last met. So far, our plan is a greater success than we could have hoped. The enemy is confused, unorganized and ineffective.” He scanned the room. “It will not last. I’ve commanded the warriors to prepare to march by next new moon.”
“Have you news?” Murtagh asked.
“No.” Ewen hesitated. “I can feel Bredych’s wrath stirring, as can Ilythra. It’s only a matter of time before it will be necessary to meet him face-to-face.”
“Will Bredych enter the field?” Sheenan asked.
“It’s unavoidable,” Ewen answered.
“You’re preparing for battle. How are we matched?” Manu asked.
Ewen glanced at his friend. “You ask what our chances of victory are? Only the One knows. Even with our many successes, we’re outnumbered but with no choice but to fight. We will head south past Isolden to Alerra. One of the benefits of our attacks has been that Bredych hasn’t had the time or resources to mount a siege on Alerra. Until now. My plan is to free Alerra and then ask the human king for an alliance. Along the way, we will mass as many humans as are willing to join us. Bredych’s main forces are near Edriel and south of the mountains, heading north.”
“Who’s to lead the warriors with Arien already on the field?” Sheenan asked.
Ewen took a deep breath. “I will lead them.”
* * *
“My hair still hasn’t stopped falling out.” A woman’s voice drifted to Ilythra as she approached the women.
“But you don’t have bugs anymore.” Ilythra recognized Miri’s voice, though the girl’s back was to her.
“No bugs and no hair!” the woman replied.
“And why do we have to walk all that way to dump the chamber pots? What’s wrong with downstream?” a younger voice asked.
“Ilythra explained, remember? Miri sounded tired. “She said it was one of the things that was making us sick.”
“I think she’s crazy.”
“It’s working, isn’t it?” Miri spoke.
Another woman spoke up. “You always defend her. I understand washing walls and sheets, but that soap she had us make ate a hole in my best skirt.”
“That’s because you left it soaking while you were flirting with Beale. You know you’re supposed to rinse immediately in cold water.”
“I’ve heard she’s a witch.” This voice was lower, cunning. The dark-haired woman. Martina. Ilythra remembered her name. A noble woman from some smaller kingdom in the south. She’d set Ilythra’s teeth on edge the moment she met her.
“I heard she has a Siobani lover,” another added.
“Don’t know about that, but she does live with them.”
“And you would be right. About living with the Dawn Children, that is,” Ilythra broke in.
The women jumped to their feet though their gazes failed to rise with them.
“Ilythra, I’m so...” Miri began.
Ilythra interrupted with a wave of her hand. “You all seem to have some time on your hands. Shall we begin training?”
Various expressions graced the women’s faces—shades of guilt mixed with fear in some, contempt in others.
“Fighting is men’s work.” Martina stood.
Ilythra faced her. “That’s your opinion, and I won’t try to change it. But what will you do if the camp is attacked? Wait for a man to defend you? Look around. There are very few men here. Even fewer who could fight. We are all we’ve got.” Anger born of frustration surged through Ilythra.
“Will we have to kill anyone?” Miri asked.
Ilythra considered the fear in the girl’s voice and softened her tone. “War is not a game. I hope it doesn’t come to it. But if the choice is kill or be killed, what will you do?”
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Ilythra turned toward the blonde who spoke. “Yes.”
A few women gasped.
She met each gaze. “After the midday meal, I’ll be near the corral.”
Ilythra headed toward the infirmary. There were a thousand other places she’d rather be. Many more people she could be helping, and she was stuck here, trying to teach ungrateful women and children how not to kill themselves. She’d started with simple hygiene and they’d complained about walking ten wheels downstream to dump the chamber pots. Every change she’d implemented had been met by stubborn resistance and ignorance. She was done with diplomacy.
“Don’t worry about Martina.” Miri scurried closer, attempting to match Ilythra’s longer strides. “She’s just mad because she’s not the prettiest one here anymore.”
“What?” Ilythra turned toward the younger girl.
“She doesn’t like that you’re prettier than she is.”
An image of Martina wavered in her mind. Miri was deluded. Martina was all feminine softness and curves. Ilythra could never compete with that. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
Miri shrugged. “All I know is that before the warrior took the men away, she spent most of her time trying to seduce one man or another. Didn’t care if they were married or not. She made a few enemies herself.”
Ilythra shook her head. Martina, and women like her, gave her a headache.
“She says she knows the warrior who took the men off. Do you?”
Ilythra nodded. “Yes.”
“He’s a prince.” Miri’s voice lowered, reminding Ilythra she was not much older than a child herself. She sighed. “He’s so handsome.”
Ilythra smiled. “I guess he is.”
“You guess! Are you blind?” Miri teased.
Ilythra pictured Ryliann as she’d last seen him. His eyes had glowed almost completely green, darkened with desire. She could almost feel the press of his lips against hers. As often as she tried to deny it, she missed him more than she thought possible. “Sometimes I think I am.”
* * *
Bredych leaned back in his chair, listening to the man who bowed before him. He closed his eyes and briefly shut out the image but not the messenger’s words.
Silence reined for several minutes after the man finished speaking.
“I see,” Bredych said.
He had sent for his faithful followers. There were only three dozen left, but he could make more. They were completely loyal to him with no thought of anything, save doing his will. He looked from the messenger to the robed men waiting by the door. Gold masks hid their faces except for the dark orbs of their eyes.
Their presence sent a surge of confidence through him. These had once been his priests when he was worshipped as a god. For too long he’d been without them. They’d arrived that morning in Edriel. The morning after the king’s death. He was now protector of the realm. Soon he would name himself king of Anatar.
He stood, moving to the Crist board. Ilythra had not visited him in a moon. What was she up to? Maybe he should pay her a visit. It wasn’t like her to remain inactive behind the chasm. But then, the Siobani had not been acting to character, either.
He touched one piece then another. Generals. They were a necessary
evil. But when they no longer became necessary, well then, what was the use? Anger burned hot, blurring the white pieces and tingeing them pink. He took a deep breath. He was strong, and nothing could stop him. He would go himself. Bredych turned back to the messenger.
The man remained kneeling on the floor, his head bowed in supplication. General Dima’s messenger. General Dima had failed him. Again.
“The truth of it is,” he said as though speaking to himself, “a job well done is one done yourself.” Bredych shot his hand from beneath his robe and grabbed the messenger by the neck. “And one should really do what one enjoys. Don’t you think?”
The man struggled, his feet brushing the floor, face crimson. A satisfying crack echoed in the darkened room. Power coursed through Bredych’s body. He was tired of useless people. He dropped the man’s lifeless body on the floor.
“Take care of that mess,” Bredych said to one of the robed figures as he swept out of the room. “I’ve work to do.”
* * *
Ilythra entered the long, low tent she’d constructed to house their sick. The caustic smell of lye brought tears to her eyes. Nodding to two women tending the patients, she moved along the narrow pathway between the newly constructed beds. Ilythra looked around in satisfaction. When she’d arrived, the patients had been lying on the floor. She’d cleared the room, washing everything with lye soap.
Rushes crunched beneath her feet as Ilythra moved toward the door at the opposite end of the room. Fresh grasses softened the medicinal smell. The mattresses were new. Ilythra inspected their construction. After the remaining men had finished digging the latrine outside camp, she’d instructed them to build platforms for the patients to sleep on. Grasses from the prairie beyond the camp filled the large cloth mattresses, each sewn by the women from mismatched fabrics. They lay on the platforms, colorful displays of memories in the dim enclosure.
Ilythra stepped into the bright daylight. A woman standing over a steaming kettle looked up when she approached, her wrinkled features breaking into a smile.
“Hello, Mother. How are you doing?” The term of respect fell easily from her lips.
“Fine, dearie. We’ll have another batch ready in no time.”
Ilythra glanced from the kettle back to the woman. Her decrepit arms moved the large stick in circles without fail. “Would you like me to help?”
“No, off with ye—I’ve been making soap for longer than ye’ve been alive.”
Ilythra smiled. If the old woman felt useful, she could make soap all day. “You need anything, let me know.”
At the woman’s nod, Ilythra walked toward her own tent. If no one needed her in the next few minutes, she would have time to bathe in the river. Ilythra grabbed a fresh change of clothes and made her way to a secluded area she’d found on a walk several days ago.
Long willow branches dusted the water’s surface, creating an enclosure. Ilythra peeled off her clothing and then sank to her neck in the cool stream. The water brushed her body, and she closed her eyes and relaxed, letting it hold her weight. Where was Arien? How was the war going? And where was Mohan? She hadn’t heard from him since shortly after returning to Siann after the war in Greton. He’d known the danger the Benai faced. Had he warned them? Had the Benai joined Ryliann’s men? Was Ryliann still alive? Her head shot up as tension returned to her body. Except for a message from Ewen, she’d no word from anyone, knew nothing about what was going on outside the camp.
If things were bad, Ewen would’ve sent word. But she still felt alone, cut adrift.
Although she enjoyed Miri’s company, there was no one here to talk to. No one who saw her as more than Ilythra, the legend, or the taskmaster sent by the Dawn Children. There was no one who cared.
Ewen’s message had claimed he was leading the army of Dawn Children into human lands. Frustration and anger mixed with a deep sadness. She should be marching by his side to protect him. Ewen was skilled; she’d sparred against him. But war was unpredictable. Ewen was too valuable for his life to be put at risk. The Dawn Children needed him, and he needed her. In many ways, Ewen had become the father she never knew. She’d lost her grandfather and Zeynel. She wouldn’t lose Ewen too.
Ilythra surged out of the water, frustrated by the feeling of helplessness. Female voices sounded in the distance, growing louder. Apparently, her hideaway was not as secluded as she’d imagined.
The voices stopped on the other side of the willow. The splashing and giggling of women soon followed. They must have finished their task and decided to escape the heat. She couldn’t blame them.
Ilythra began to scrub herself dry. She missed home, Ewen, familiar woods, long walks with Arien. She wanted again to sit in the library with Ryliann or argue with him about something silly. She wanted to kiss him, to experience that surge of passion again. Why had she kept him at arm’s length? The reasons didn’t seem as important now. The world remained in turmoil, and she’d never felt more alone than she did at that moment.
* * *
The great entourage drew to a stop. In unison, the warriors brought their weapons into resting position, thudding on the dusty ground. The sound of armor and adornments jangling disturbed the silence. They were only two days from Edriel, but already their ranks had swelled. Bredych added warriors to his army with every stop. His disjointed bands would unite as one and sweep across the plains, decimating any resistance. He had no more need for generals. Command was his and his alone.
Without glancing back, Bredych pictured the ranks of Rugians, the mounted Anatarian warriors, many from Edriel. Naked Creeian warriors arrayed behind them, their moon-shaped scythes atop long poles gleaming in the sun. Behind them, the Formori, bare-chested, their faces stony, held clubs made from the dense Miniona trees. There were fewer Formori than he’d hoped. The formidable warriors had sent only part of their forces. The rest had stayed behind on the Faisach to eradicate the free tribes. Rank upon rank of foot soldiers followed at the rear of the column; most of them were farmers or townsmen, fodder for the Siobani arrows. Those who didn’t fall in line and join him left their blood in the soil.
Bredych scanned the camp before him, then dismounted from his horse, ignoring the man bent at his feet, face to the ground. “Where’s your Commander?” he asked.
“He fled, my lord.” The bowed man lifted his face a fraction and then returned it to its sycophant position.
“Rise,” Bredych commanded.
The man stood, failing to brush the dust from his clothes or face.
Bredych examined him, studying his pupils as they slowly shrunk in the afternoon sun. He reconsidered his evaluation of Dima. Perhaps the general possessed more intellect than he had first thought. “And you have assumed leadership?”
“Yes, my lord. I-I was Dima’s second in command.”
“Oh, yes. Emlyn. I remember you.”
“I received word you were coming. I have prepared a tent.” Great drops of sweat rolled down the man’s tan face, wetting his collar.
“Thank you. I trust you’ll join me in a repast of sorts after I’ve settled?” He waved an arm in the general direction of his entourage. “See to their lodging. The best.”
“Yes. Of course, my lord.”
“Good. I’ll see you at sunset.” Bredych motioned to the two cloaked men behind him and followed Emlyn to the tent. It had been too long since he’d indulged himself. This was going to be fun.
Chapter Twenty-One
The hall was unnaturally silent as Ewen entered. The council was assembled, some dressed in their finest, others for war. The people of Siann had also gathered to bid their Riege farewell. Their faces held a mixture of expectancy and sorrow. Ewen exchanged glances with Manu. The elder had tried to convince Ewen that leading the Dawn Children was folly. It hadn’t worked, but the weight of leadership pressed more heavily on his shoulders than it had
since he’d first brought his people into these protected lands.
Ewen ran his hand over his breastplate, remembering other times, other places, other wars. His smile was grim. Despite all the battles the breastplate had seen, his strongest memory was of Ciera polishing it before the fire. He remembered her eyes catching the flames as she spotted him half-raised on the bed, watching her. A familiar pang pierced his chest. He missed her still.
Manu reached for Ewen, grasping his elbow. “May the One bring you swift victory over our enemies.” The familiar blessing fell from his lips, though his eyes were sad.
“And may peace guide your steps back home.” Maccrea placed a hand on Ewen’s shoulder.
Ewen glanced at the remaining members of the council. Sheenan and Tynan, Maccrea’s son, would join him; the others remained to govern the Dawn Children in his absence.
Emotion choked his words. He inclined his head in the Elderborn tradition of respect. His army waited beyond the gates of Siann. It was time. They were to march to Tyrol, within the protected lands, to gather three thousand more warriors. Six thousand, five hundred. Their lack of numbers never seemed so dire. From there, they would march out through the dark forest and eventually onto the Tir Rhos, where they would meet Bredych in battle. And this time, Ewen knew they would end it one way or another.
Once again he was about to alter the lives of all the Dawn Children. He placed a hand on Ealois, breathed in the soothing calm of its vibration and let it boost his confidence. He was walking in wisdom.
With a firm step, the Riege turned, followed by Tynan and Sheenan, and made his way out into the summer sun.
* * *
Bredych leaned against a pillow, sipping from his golden chalice. Candles lit the small enclosure, and shadows danced along the walls to Emlyn’s nervous throat-clearing. He’d never planned to keep his generals around for long. It was nothing personal. He didn’t share power. His followers would help him rule. They had no ambitions and were loyal to a fault. Something he’d been unable to say about any human. He’d left a few in Edriel and sent others farther south to assure nothing went amiss.
Journey of the Wanderer Page 23