“Sian?” Ariana called sleepily.
“Yes, love?” He ran his warming palms close to her lower belly, where some of the fabric of her uniform remained damp.
“We’re very close to the darkness we seek. Very close.”
“I know.”
“I can feel it with every step my horse takes. I don’t fully understand what awaits us, but it’s close.”
“Don’t think about that tonight, love,” he said as he continued his work. She was almost completely dry.
“How can I not?”
“I will think about it for you while you rest for a while. I will stay right here, and any troubles you have, any worries or uncertainties, any thoughts of darkness, they are mine while you sleep.”
She sighed deeply. “Oh, that’s very nice.”
When Ariana woke, her troubles would be waiting for her. For tonight, they were his.
He did not have Ariana’s gift for protection, but he could share his power with her in hopes that it would strengthen her own abilities when she needed them most. In the days to come she would need tremendous strength to control Diella, and she would need much energy in order to shield herself when it was necessary. Sian projected his strength into the sleeping woman with a pulse of purple light that shimmered around her and then was absorbed. He shared with her all that he had, all that he was.
What he gave Ariana was more than illusion, more than a magician’s well-practiced tricks. What he gave her was a piece of himself.
How could she believe that he would ever take her life? Even if Diella took control, he would never accept that there was no hope of bringing Ariana back and expelling the evil empress. To purposely kill this woman who had become so important to him was impossible, and yet he could understand her request. If Diella had uncontrolled use of Ariana’s body, how much damage could she do during this all-important battle?
He began to chant in a lowered voice that no one beyond the tent would be able to hear. In the ancient language of the wizards he called for Ariana to be protected, to be strong, to be victorious. The Prophesy of the Firstborn doomed her, but that did not mean the days ahead were set in stone. With enough power... with enough light and love...
Sian’s fingers trembled and his hands jerked, as words from that damned prophesy came into his mind.
Those who are called must choose between love and death, between heart and intellect, between victory of the sword and victory of the soul.
Wasn’t that precisely what Ariana asked of him when she requested that he take her life if Diella took control? If these scribbled words were correct, then all those who had been called would face such a choice.
Did that mean Sian had been called to this war much as the firstborn had been, that he was, as Ariana had said more than once, meant to be here?
He draped his body over hers, as he felt his energy begin to wane. The choker at his throat burned, as the connection he and Ariana had forged deepened. He was inside her in a way he had never been before, as his light and hers merged. She did grow stronger.
So did he.
Chapter Thirteen
When they rode into what was left of the village, Sian was at Ariana’s side. He looked like himself again, dressed entirely in black and no longer foolishly attempting to hide his face from her. Even though she remained annoyed with the enchanter, she was very glad to have him so close.
She couldn’t afford to let the men who followed see how grateful she was to be able to draw from Sian’s strength. They might think it a female weakness, and she could not allow the sentinels to see any weakness from her, female or otherwise. Since calling Sian to her side she’d felt considerably stronger, and Diella had remained silent. Perhaps the empress was afraid of the enchanter.
When she’d noted this small village indicated on the stone map in the palace, glowing red and turning black and becoming red again before disappearing, she’d had no idea what the sign meant. Now, too late, she understood.
A battle of sorts had taken place here, perhaps the first battle in this war, but she and her army had arrived much too late to be of assistance. She’d led her sentinels here before taking the road into the Mountains of the North, but she hadn’t been fast enough.
Everything had been burned. Public buildings along the main thoroughfare, as well as homes which were spread just beyond, had been destroyed. Nothing had been spared the flame, but that was not what disturbed Ariana most as she rode down the center of the deserted street. She did not have the gift of sight, like Aunt Juliet or Keelia, so she could not see what had happened here. But as an empath, she could feel it.
Stark terror filled the air. The energy she had learned to feel—and sometimes see—reverberated with violence and fear and nightmarish screams. Men, women, even children... the innocent had suffered in the most horrible ways. The fire that had come at the end had been almost a relief for those who’d survived that long.
Beside and underneath that fear, there lurked another sort of energy, one that made Ariana tremble to her core. There was fiendish delight here, mingled with the thrill of a particularly nasty kill. There was hunger. Hunger of the most demonic sort. There was power. Dark, wicked power.
The destruction of this village had happened very quickly. She felt that in the way the emotions that surrounded her blended and changed with fast precision. In a matter of hours the villagers had gone from innocently unaware to horrified to mercifully dead.
“Ariana,” Sian said, and she suspected from the impatient and concerned tone of his voice that it was not the first time he’d called her name.
“Yes?” She turned to him as they stopped before one of many buildings that had been burned to the ground. His expression might’ve been unreadable to the others, but not to her. He was worried. Not about what had happened here, and not about the battle still to come. Those were past and future, and Sian lived very much in the present. He was worried about her. Only her.
“Ciro did this,” he said. It was a statement and a question, one she was obligated to answer.
“Yes, but he was not alone.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than our forty-three, I suspect.”
“Perhaps.”
Ariana’s eyes were drawn to the building directly before her. She felt something different from this site. Fear and hopelessness almost overpowered the new sensation, but could not mask it completely. She dismounted and stepped toward the ruins.
“Someone fought him here,” she said, a hint of hope in her voice. Maybe he was not yet invincible. Maybe Ciro could be defeated. “Someone did not...” She closed her eyes, trying to feel the energy as well as see it. “Someone did not succumb to his wishes. It was a small victory that took place here, to be sure, but it was victory.”
Sian dismounted, and Ariana suppressed the urge to run to him and throw her arms around his neck. The sentinels likely already wondered what sort of relationship she had with the enchanter. They spent a lot of time together, much of it alone.
Today Sian was only her counsel, not her lover, and no self respecting general would hug his wizard on discovering one tiny bit of good news. He placed one hand on her shoulder, feeding her power with his own so that she could see more clearly the energies that survived here. Even now, some darkness survived amid the devastation, as did more light than she had expected to find.
The sentinels who had followed her into the destroyed village studied the burned buildings with solemnity. Even though they did not feel what Ariana herself felt, they could see for themselves what had happened. Beyond some of the twisted and charred doorways of ruined buildings there lay twisted and charred bodies. It did not take empathic ability to understand what had transpired here.
Ariana walked away from Sian, and his hand dropped from her shoulder. She missed the connection, but she could not rely on him every moment of the day, much as she would like to do just that.
She smoothly mounted her horse
, and rode into the center of the street. “This is the work of our enemy,” she said, not shouting, but speaking loudly enough for all to hear. “We were called to this battle to stop atrocities such as this.” A few of the men nodded. “Look around you,” she ordered, as some of the sentinels, particularly the younger ones, were making an effort not to look too closely at the ruins. “Do not turn away. No one was spared here. Not women, not even children. We must stop them,” she added, her voice trembling with emotion. “We cannot rest until—”
“One was spared.”
Ariana spun her horse about so she could see the bearer of that news. Everyone turned to look, since the voice was decidedly female.
A slightly built woman with reddish brown hair stepped onto the street. Her clothes were ragged and torn and bloody. Her face was pale and marked with one ragged cut and smeared, dried blood on her left cheek. Tear tracks across her ashen face also marked her as a victim.
As did the fear that radiated from her as she walked toward Ariana’s army.
“I am looking for the woman in white,” she said, steering clear of the men as if she were afraid of them... and she was. She was terrified.
Ariana was not wearing her white uniform today, but she dismounted and walked toward the girl. She had a hundred questions. When precisely had this happened? How many were the enemy? Why had they allowed this one to live? To start she asked, “Why are you looking for me?”
The girl shied away. “You are not dressed in white. He said I was to speak only with the woman in white. It’s very important.”
Ariana nodded to Sian, and he understood her immediately. He dismounted, reached into Ariana’s saddlebag, and drew out the neatly folded white vest. He did not care for her white outfit. He said it marked her too clearly for the enemy. But he brought the vest to her now, with nothing more than a slightly annoyed expression on his face as he handed the garment to her.
Ariana slipped the vest on over her green uniform, and apparently that was enough to satisfy the girl.
“He let me live so I could deliver this message to you.” There was terror and a touch of strength in the girl’s blue eyes as they caught and held Ariana’s. She delivered the message, her voice almost dead as she repeated the words. “Turn back now, and he will let you live. Turn back now, and perhaps you will be spared a painful death at his hands. Turn back now, and your pathetic excuse of an army will not bleed into the battleground of his choosing, a battleground you will not see before you until the first head rolls. Turn back now, and your souls may be yours to keep.”
“Who sends this message to me?” Ariana asked calmly.
The girl stumbled and almost fell, and Ariana instinctively reached out to steady her. Still, all she felt from the girl—who did not look to be yet twenty years old—was fear. Fear and pain and a bitter relief that she remained alive when all others were dead. “Prince Ciro, he said his name was,” she whispered.
Ciro already knew of her and her army. She should not be surprised, but she had hoped that he was not yet aware of her part in this war.
Ariana continued to physically support the girl. “Do you have a place to go?”
She shook her head.
“Relatives in another village, perhaps.”
The girl shook her head more fiercely. “I am alone. All my family is dead. The man I was to marry in the summer... dead.” Pale, slender fingers gripped Ariana’s sleeve. “Take me with you. I heard you say you were going to fight the men who did this, and I want to be there. I want to take up a sword and... and kill the men who murdered everyone I love.”
Ariana shook her head gently. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“You’re going to fight. Why can’t I? I have nothing left, do you understand that? Nothing! I want to kill the brutes who did this to my home. I want to make them pay!”
The girl was no soldier, but Ariana couldn’t very well leave her here in what was left of the village that had once been home. It was possible they would find a place for her down the road. If there was anything left down the road.
“What’s your name?” Ariana asked.
“Lilia,” the girl whispered. “Lilia Mindel, daughter of the village blacksmith.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“How old are you?”
“Almost nineteen.” She said the words as if being closer to nineteen years than eighteen made her older and wiser.
“Well, Lilia, we will take you with us.” Ariana put her arm around Lilia’s shoulder and led the girl toward her own gray horse. “I cannot promise that you will get the opportunity to fight, but for now we will take care of you.”
“I was bound, cut, terrorized, and forced to watch my entire family die in the most horrible manner,” Lilia snapped, her voice harsh and her slender body tensing. “Everything I ever loved was destroyed in one night, and yet you tell me I do not have as much right as any man in this company to fight against those who wronged me?” Amid the fear there was now anger. Sharp, hot anger. “Who is in charge here? Who leads you? Surely he will see that I have the right to join you in every way.”
“I lead,” Ariana said simply. “I decide who joins us and who does not.” Heaven above, she did not want to take this child into battle. But Lilia had a good point. She had been wronged, and had a right to fight. If Lilia was with them now, did that mean that she was meant to be here?
Lilia cowered slightly. “I did not know a woman could lead an army.”
“Neither did I.” They did not have an extra horse, though it was likely one could be procured soon. Until then, Lilia would have to ride with another, and in order not to put too much strain on any one animal, she would have to switch horses often. Merin was closest. “Will you ride with my first in command?”
Lilia looked up at the solemn horseman and cowered. “Can’t I ride with you?” she asked softly.
Ariana sighed. The girl was naturally afraid of men, after all that had happened to her. Still, she could not ride with any one horseman constantly. “If you truly wish to join this army, you cannot be afraid of the men who will fight alongside you. Ride with me, if you must, and we will take you to the closest farmhouse and leave you there.”
A touch of fire flamed Lilia’s blue eyes. She stepped away from Ariana and lifted a slender arm to Merin. He took that arm and easily drew her up, depositing her before him in a position that had to be uncomfortable for them both.
“There’s nothing more to be done here,” Ariana said as she once again climbed into her own saddle.
That little voice she had grown accustomed to, a voice that had been silent for days, whispered, How can you trust one who survives such destruction?
Ciro left her alive so she could deliver his message. That’s why she survived.
You’re so gullible.
You trust no one.
It’s not a bad way to live. Trust no one, and you’ll never be disappointed.
That’s not who I am.
And see where it got you?
Ariana’s eyes were drawn to a silent Sian, who rode beside her. Yes, she had once trusted him completely. With her training, her body, and her heart. He had disappointed her.
Still, she would not trade what they’d shared for anything.
As I said. Gullible.
Ariana pushed the little voice deep. She and Sian had talked for many hours about controlling the demon inside her. The demon which scared him, the demon which she felt was necessary for facing Ciro. The enchanter had emphasized that Ariana could and must maintain control, so she effectively pushed Diella into a silent, powerless place.
Merin and Lilia rode just ahead. The girl held herself so as little as possible of her body touched the soldier, and her eyes remained on the road.
Sian surprised Ariana by echoing Diella’s warning in a lowered voice meant only for her ears. “Do not trust her entirely. Not yet.”
“Her pain is very real, I see that clearly. Ciro hurt her. Why should I not trust her?”
“Because i
n a war like this one, there will be times when nothing is as it seems to be. Don’t forget that.”
She would like to believe that everything and everyone was exactly as they seemed to be. That was the way she’d lived her life, after all. Good was good, and evil was evil, and it was supposed to be easy to tell the difference. Luckily for her, or unluckily perhaps, Sian and Diella were always around to remind her that much of what she’d always believed was no longer true.
***
Lilia drew into herself—conveniently so, Sian thought—when Merin and Ariana began to ask her specific questions about the destruction of her village. They had finally stopped for the night, and the camp’s routine was followed as usual. Some sentinels ate, a few slept, others kept watch. By dawn, they’d be on the road again. Everyone realized now, more acutely than ever, that there was little time to spare for resting.
The girl they had found alive sat by the fire as she was questioned, her knees drawn to her chest, her head down. Aside from the cut on her face she was pretty enough, as many of the sentinels had noticed, and there was a fragility about young Lilia that made them all want to protect her.
None who had been asked to share their mount with her during the day had complained.
It was entirely possible that every word of Lilia’s story was true. Her face was cut, though not terribly deeply, and her clothes had been torn. There was blood on her skirt—blood she said was not her own, but was that of her sister.
“How many men were in the party that raided your village?” Ariana asked, not for the first time. Her voice remained gentle. Patient.
Lilia shook her head. “I don’t know. I heard them outside the window, but I did not see them all. They sounded like... hundreds,” she whispered. “So many.”
“How many did you see?” Merin asked, not quite as kindly as Ariana.
“Five... no... six. Six were in my house. We were sleeping, and they burst in all at once and—”
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