* * *
Ryliann backpedaled to keep his balance. One part of his brain marveled that words could have the same impact as a blow. The messenger had returned from the refugee camp. Ryliann tried to process what was being said, but it seemed like nonsense. It had to be nonsense. He struggled to breathe.
“Ryliann?” Harlon stood, alarm clear on his face.
With effort, Ryliann cleared his throat. “Are you sure there were no survivors?” His voice sounded calm, controlled and like it belonged to someone else.
The messenger glanced to Harlon then back to Ryliann. “I am sure. We checked every tent. Every building.”
“They could have run.”
“Some did. Someone placed bodies in the tents.”
“So there were survivors?” Hope bloomed. She had to be alive.
The messenger shook his head slowly. “We found dead bodies up to fifty wheels away. If they survived the first onslaught, I don’t think they survived the second. The refugees put up a fight, but it was a massacre.”
Nausea gripped his stomach. She couldn’t be dead. Somehow he’d know. He swallowed bile. And Vann. Vann was in that camp. His stomach hollowed further. “Who was it? Who attacked the camp?” His throat felt raw.
The messenger shrugged. “Bandits, Bredych’s warriors. Hard to tell the difference. In the end it’s the same.”
Fury such as he’d never known consumed Ryliann. He knew who was to blame. Bredych. And he’d kill the monster with his own hands or die trying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The valley stretched out before him. Green grasses rippled against the caress of an eastern wind. To the southwest, the enemy was a moving mass of bodies. Ewen glanced at Dedrick, wondering if his vision was refined enough to see the enemy waiting for them. He didn’t think so.
He followed the human’s gaze. At the north end of the valley, row upon row of tents rippled in the breeze. Pennants bragged their colors against the summer sky. As they watched, the men began to form lines, preparing to march forward. Ewen did little more than glance at the humans assembling for war. His attention focused on the south. His hand found Ealois. He closed his eyes. Arien. It took every bit of his willpower not to send his horse thundering in that direction. “As the One wills, so may it be,” he whispered. “Shall we?” he asked Dedrick.
The young man turned awestruck eyes to him. “Are they all allies? There are so many.”
He hadn’t seen Bredych’s forces.
“Yes, they are, and we need to move.” Ewen gazed to the south. “There isn’t much time.”
* * *
Bredych rode astride a large white stallion. His dark robes rippled behind him in the slight breeze. His followers, in their masks and black robes, spread out in his wake. He could feel the current of fear they caused as they passed. He breathed in. Ilydearta and Ealois were near. Ilydearta’s song had not changed. Ilythra still bore the stone. It didn’t surprise him. Somehow she’d escaped the attack on the refugee camp. He lifted his lips in a sneer. Imagine, a stone keeper tending to refugees. He’d been shocked when he’d read the message. He hadn’t even considered the possibility she was the healer in the refugee camp.
She had no understanding of the power and respect that were her due. Still, he’d expected her to survive. That was what she seemed to do best. His trap was multilayered. She would not escape him for long. He breathed in the combined melodies. This was the closest the three stones had been in centuries. In a way, Ilythra, the Wanderer of legend, had accomplished her task.
He would meet her in battle and win Ilydearta. While back in camp, Arien would be the bait and his Rugians the teeth of the trap that finally snapped closed on Ewen. The Siobani treasured their offspring, and Ewen had already lost one. And had Bredych challenged Ilythra one-on-one, she would have refused. She knew the stones would be at risk. Challenging a weak human prince accomplished two goals. It assured Ryliann was there on the field and it would insult Ilythra’s pride, assuring she would be there as well. In essence, it would be Ilythra’s army and her use of the stone against his army and his superior knowledge and experience. They’d battled once before. The taste of that defeat was still bitter in his mouth.
The thrum of drums and steady thump of feet behind him filled him with exhilaration. Finally. After all this time. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Anatar was his. The stones were his.
He had let the prince determine where they’d battle. He’d chosen the valley. Bredych scanned the surrounding landscape. He could sense the archers on the heights, just close enough to send their arrows plummeting onto the valley floor. It would only take a sweep of his hand to render the weapons useless. Once he defeated the prince and broke the heart of the rebellion, the rest would be easy. It was a puny gathering. If this was all the resistance had to offer, he should have made the challenge long ago. Where was Ilythra? She was the real danger. His real opponent. He sensed along the winds of Teann, but Ilydearta’s song was still distant. Had she taken it off again? Somehow muted its song? Ealois was close, closer than it should be. A tremor of unease ran down his spine.
He paused in the middle of the field and waited. A man rode forward on a Siobani stallion. His armor gleamed in the midday sun.
Bredych smiled. Ryliann. He really should have killed him when he had the chance, but this would be so much more fun.
The prince paused a horse-length away. “Brishne. Or should I call you Bredych?”
“You can call me ‘master’ if you like. Makes things easier.” Bredych scanned the line of warriors behind the prince. Where was Ilythra? He spotted the ranks of Siobani warriors and recognized Ewen’s standard. Had the Riege left his son to die? The unease deepened. No, he couldn’t believe Ewen would sacrifice his only son, but there was something going on that he didn’t understand. His anger simmered below the surface.
“That I will not do.”
Bredych shrugged. “I’d offer greetings from your father, but I’m afraid he died believing you a traitor to not only the realm, but the entire race.”
A shadow crossed the prince’s face. “Do you wish to battle with words or swords?”
Bredych smiled. Not bad. The prince might have made a worthy opponent. But Bredych didn’t have the patience or time to play. He wanted to be there when the Rugians killed Arien in front of his father. “Swords? I believe I challenged you to a duel for an end to this war.” He glanced from his army to Ryliann’s. “You are outnumbered and outmatched. Lay down your sword now, and I may consider mercy for you and your warriors.” He scanned the crowd again. Where was Ilythra? Was she really going to let this boy fight him alone?
“Mercy? From you?” Ryliann’s nostrils flared. “These are my terms. If I defeat you, your men will stand down, go back to their lands and leave Anatar.”
Bredych smiled. “You certainly are bold. Too bad you don’t have sense to go along with it. My terms are thus.” He raised his voice. “When I kill you, your men will lay down their arms and return home. If they do not, I will kill each and every one of them.” He turned back to Ryliann and grinned. “But we both know they have orders to attack me. So I call deceit from the beginning of our match. But that’s okay, because I’m going to kill them all anyway simply for the audacity to oppose me.” He brushed his cloak to one side. “Shall we begin?”
He stared over the prince’s shoulder. Something didn’t feel right. He could still sense Ilydearta and Ealois, but Ilythra should have shown herself by now and Ealois’ song should be retreating. Had they done something to the stones? She’d played the trick on him once before. He wouldn’t fall for it again. Maybe she was waiting to see if the prince would weaken him before showing herself. He wouldn’t.
He turned his attention back to toward his camp. Ewen was out there, somewhere. Was he attempting to rescue Arien? Once again, the Dawn Children stood in oppositio
n to what he wanted. I think this will be the last time. Do you feel it? Your time is ending, Ewen. No more will you sit in pride and arrogance upon that throne of yours. By day’s end, I’ll have you on your knees and Ealois in my control. Will you exchange the pendant for love? Or will you watch your only living son die? It matters little. Victory is mine.
* * *
Ilythra stared down at Bredych’s camp. Melior chomped happily on grasses not far behind her. Organized in concentric circles, the tents wavered from a slight breeze. He’d chosen to set up at the mouth of the valley. From her position, the hilly landscape hid the valley floor from view. Was Ryliann challenging Bredych? For all she knew, Ryliann was already dead. An ache opened in her chest. She should be down there. Indecision gripped her with an iron grasp. No. Ryliann would delay Bredych long enough for her to trip whatever trap he’d laid for Ewen.
She breathed deeply. Despite the occasional shout below and a horse’s neigh, the world was silent. Relief rushed through her. The prince was still alive. Had Bredych defeated him, she’d hear the sounds of war, even from this distance. Below, a few men wandered in the alleys between the tents but for the most part, the camp appeared deserted. Somewhere, in one of the tents she’d find Arien.
Closing her eyes, she grasped Ilydearta and slipped into Teann. The stone throbbed in steady rhythm with her heart. “A way.” How was she to find Arien? Where would Bredych keep him? Somewhere deceptively easy. She felt along the winds of Teann. Anger, greed, fear and the tortured sounds of Crioch joined with the calming melody of Ealois. Ewen was near. Ilythra swallowed hard. I must rescue Arien before Bredych discovers I’m not on that field and Ewen is. She was trusting in Bredych’s pride to assume he knew them so well, they’d act out the roles he’d assigned to them without fail. She wondered if Ewen fought the urge to rush into the camp with the same ferocity she fought the urge to rush onto the field.
She turned toward Melior. “Stay here.”
The horse blinked and continued munching on grasses as though to confirm he wasn’t crazy enough to enter an enemy camp alone.
Ilythra crept through the tall grasses toward the tents. The grass had been cleared within four wheels of the tents. Ilythra scanned the structures. Her gaze kept going back to a tent just inside the outer ring. Why not? If she was wrong, she’d keep searching until she found him.
She raised her chin and marched into camp as though she belonged there, praying the deception would work long enough for her to find Arien and figure out a way to get them both out alive.
* * *
Ryliann dismounted and drew his sword. His stomach clenched. He hadn’t yet had time to tell Ewen that the refugee camp had been destroyed. He still couldn’t believe Ilythra had fallen there. On every level, his mind, heart and soul, it felt wrong.
Bredych approached. The man oozed confidence. Ryliann vibrated with the need to separate his head from his shoulders.
They circled each other.
“You know I could defeat you just like this.” Bredych raised his hand, and Ryliann’s sword vibrated in his hand. He retained his grip on the pommel, but it was a near thing.
Ryliann considered Bredych, gratified to see a flicker of irritation that his theatrics hadn’t worked. “You could. But only because you’re not man enough to meet me without your tricks. Are you afraid of me?”
Bredych’s jaw tensed. “Of a boy like you? Do you know how long I’ve been alive?”
“Oh, my pardons. I was taught to respect the aged. Are you saying you’re too feeble to fight me?”
Rage darkened his face. “I will see you fodder for the crows, boy.”
Bredych charged. It took all of Ryliann’s strength and every bit of the training he’d received under the Dawn Children to turn back the stone keeper’s advance. He was good. Very good. Ryliann’s sword blurred as he reacted on instinct.
“Who trained you?” Bredych asked.
“Many.”
“Who taught you that move?” he yelled.
Ryliann backpedaled, narrowly escaping the sweeping blade. He realized he’d been using techniques Ilythra had taught him from the art of Shi’ia. “The woman who will one day be my wife,” he answered.
Bredych’s face paled then darkened. Grass wove around Ryliann’s feet. He fell hard to the ground. The ground opened, partially swallowing him. One arm and leg were held immobile. He expected the bite of Bredych’s sword but when he managed to turn his head, Bredych was frozen as though listening to something.
“Gods be damned,” Bredych muttered. He turned toward his envoy. “Kill them all.” He stepped up to Ryliann. “It would have been nice to do this slowly, but I have more pressing business elsewhere.”
Ryliann struggled against the ground’s hold. Bredych’s sword flashed in the sun as it arched toward him.
* * *
Ilythra slowly made her way through the tents. Sweat dripped from her brow. Her heart pounded when two Rugians sauntered past, laughing, but either they didn’t expect any trouble or they were idiots. Maybe both. Ahead, a tent rippled in the light breeze. She wasn’t sure what made it different from the others, but it stood out. Ilythra placed a hand over Ilydearta.
She swallowed past a dry throat and withdrew both swords. The sound of steel against leather seemed loud in the quiet. She stood at the tent flap for a moment and narrowed her eyes so the light change inside the tent wouldn’t affect her. With a muttered prayer, she spun into the tent, swords ready. The tent walls were thick, allowing in less light than she’d anticipated. Shadows gathered in the corners. She blinked. A heap of blankets sat at one side and an abandoned pallet on the other. Maybe she had chosen the wrong tent. She turned to leave when the mound of blankets moved. Arien? She rushed toward the heap.
Arien lay on top of the blankets. His face had been beaten and bruises darkened his body. Anger coursed through her veins. He opened parched lips to speak but no sound came out.
Ilythra cursed and, unsheathing her knife, cut the ropes that bound him. As soon as his hands were free he pulled her close. “Trap, damn you. Run,” he rasped.
The shadows began to move.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Blinding pain seared through Ryliann. He blinked back disbelief. He was alive. He searched the field. Bredych was just gone. One moment he’d been standing there...and now. Gone. He fought back the stunned disbelief and pain. His left arm and leg were buried in crushing earth. The warmth of fresh blood wet his right arm. He tried and failed to move it, but the effort caused the sky to dim. He lifted his head to survey the surrounding land. He could only see blue sky. The earth thundered with the hooves of many horses. Either Bredych had miscalculated in his haste and missed his heart, or he’d intended a slow death for Ryliann after all. Getting trampled by a hundred horses was not the way he’d planned to die.
The ground began to vibrate even more, and a piercing scream broke through the air. Bredych’s hordes were attacking. He was trapped.
“Hold still,” Harlan yelled.
“I don’t have much choice.” Ryliann couldn’t see the approaching army yet, but the earth echoed with the thud of their feet.
With a flash of steel, Harlan cut away the grasses from Ryliann’s feet and began digging him out of the ground. The movement sent waves of pain through Ryliann’s body. The sky darkened. He fought nausea. I will not pass out. Not now. Someone grasped his wounded arm. Waves of fire rushed through the limb. He cried out, but as the fire receded, so did the pain. He stared into the hazel eyes of a Dawn Child.
“It is a surface healing. It will require more.” The Elderborn moved to help Harlan with the rocks and dirt. “But you will not bleed out.”
“Thank you.” Ryliann’s voice was only a whisper. He took a few breaths. The yells of the savages and hoofbeats grew louder, echoing the beat of his heart.
His men answered the challenge with a roar of their own. Ryliann’s heart swelled with pride.
“Leave me. It’s too late!” Ryliann yelled. The men didn’t reply. The weight on his left arm lessened. He redoubled his efforts to escape. The earth crumbled away. He sat up and helped dig the soil away from his legs. He stared at the approaching armies. “Remind me to give you a title for this.”
“Won’t do me any good if you’re dead, will it,” Harlan huffed. He tried to pull Ryliann free, but the prince didn’t budge. The Dawn Child moved to Ryliann’s back, placed his hands around the prince’s chest and pulled him from the earth.
Ryliann collapsed on the ground. The Dawn Child pulled him to his feet. “I owe you my life.”
The Elderborn warrior nodded his understanding and turned to face the approaching enemy.
Harlan threw Ryliann his sword. “You’re gonna need that.” He turned toward the masses. “About now!”
Ryliann caught his horse’s reins and swung up on its back. Pain radiated down his arm but not with the same intensity. “For Anatar!” he yelled.
The two forces crashed together in a cacophony of steel, bodies and screams of the dying and victorious. Cries of wounded men rose to his ears, a symphony of horse screams, swish of arrows and gentle thud of steel ripping flesh. The fluid language of the Dawn Children sounded somewhere behind him. Rugian, Creeians and those Anatarian under Bredych’s command swarmed over Ryliann’s front line. It wavered, and they stepped back.
“No!” Ryliann screamed. “Stand firm. Fight for your wives, your children, your future!”
A roar sounded from his men, and they surged forward. Already they marched over their own dead or dying and trampled summer grasses stained with blood.
Ryliann turned to meet the next onslaught. His blood-splattered hilt slipped in his hand. He missed the stroke. His enemy did not. Warmth seeped down his right leg. He didn’t pause to look at the wound but tightened his grip. The enemy warrior fell to his knees. One of his men pulled his sword from the Rugian’s back. He inclined his head, a warrior’s acknowledgment.
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