by D A Godwin
Do you think they recognize me?
Probably not, but be ready.
One of the guards raised a hand and took a half step forward. “That’s close enough,” he barked.
“We are here to see Captain Deurmark,” she stated.
“The Commander isn’t taking visitors,” the guard said crossly, hand already on his weapon.
She looked momentarily furious, but Tormjere spoke up before she could respond.
“I’m a King’s Ranger,” Tormjere said. “We bring important word from Merallin, for the Marshal’s ears only. We were told that he fell, and Captain Deurmark was now in command.”
The guard glanced from Tormjere to Shalindra and back, then spoke over his shoulder. “Inform the Commander that messengers from Merallin are here.”
The soldier disappeared into the tent, and another shifted to take his place at the entrance.
A few moments later, Edward Deurmark emerged. He was taller than Tormjere, and thicker of build. He moved with the precision of a military man but carried his left arm gingerly at his side. A knight’s moustache hung from a gaunt face, and the firm set of his jaw made clear that the interruption was not appreciated.
He looked them over, then froze as recognition dawned on him.
“My lord,” Tormjere said quickly, before Edward could speak her name. “May I present Sister Shalindra, devotee of Eluria.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Kataria said with a small bow. “I carry an urgent message from our king.”
“I would hear it immediately,” Edward said, waving her forward. “You as well, Ranger,” he said sharply when Tormjere hesitated. “I have questions for you both.”
The interior of the tent was well furnished, with rugs and a stout campaign table surrounded by chairs. A bed was tucked behind chests at the back.
Edward ordered a pair of aides out, then turned on Kataria and Tormjere angrily.
“What in all the hells are you doing here?” he almost hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “And why have you allowed her to fall into this condition? Gods! What have you done to your hair?”
“Edward, please,” Kataria interjected. “My condition is my own doing, and he has kept me from far worse many times over.”
“Your father will be furious. It isn’t safe for you here.”
“It is not safe for me anywhere. We have been betrayed, cousin, by our most trusted of friends. Steward Erbac had designs to kidnap me and take me north, out of the Kingdom.”
“Erby?” he asked, using their childhood nickname for the steward. “Are you certain?”
Kataria nodded. “Without a doubt—he admitted it himself.”
Edward’s already angry face turned red, and he clenched his fist. “By my own hand, he shall pay for this treachery!”
Kataria glanced at Tormjere. “That will not be necessary. He has already answered for his crimes. It does, however, get worse. Members of the Legion were under his sway.”
Edward stiffened. “That isn’t possible.”
“I killed one of them myself. Nothing is impossible.”
“You killed a Legion guard?” Edward asked incredulously. He looked at Tormjere, who nodded.
“It is perhaps the least surprising thing that I have done on this journey.”
“This is ill news that I did not need and can scarcely believe. The Legion, what’s left of them here at least, compose my bodyguard. Tell me how this happened.”
Kataria quickly recounted the betrayal and their flight across the countryside. When she was finished, Edward shook his head.
“Were you not standing here before me, I would believe none of it.”
“I have lived through it and scarcely believe any of it myself,” she replied.
“Have you anything to add, Ranger?” he asked, turning to Tormjere.
Tormjere stepped to a map spread across the table. “Jonrin, Kenzing, and Fallhaven were all attacked by goblins not long after Ceringion struck. At least three hundred descended on Jonrin, from multiple clans. The city was partly put to the torch but most likely survived the assault, despite the garrison being stripped and sent east. Kenzing was—”
“I am less concerned about goblins than I am with where these Ceringions are,” Edward said impatiently.
“Apologies, my lord.”
Start at yesterday and work backwards.
“We saw part of yesterday’s battle from a hill to the north. The Ceringions had at least eight companies in a curved line opposite your positions, two of which are held in reserve. We saw no effort being put towards defenses. Their main camp appeared to be on a hill, about here. From what we saw I would estimate six thousand infantry, a thousand bows, and two thousand horse.”
“Reinforcements?”
“We saw none, but it’s unlikely that they would’ve followed our route.”
“Did you come from Tiridon?”
“Bexville was the last city we visited. A sizable force was being staged there but I do not know the number. Several thousand men departed towards Halisford.”
“Several thousand,” Edward said dismissively. “We need tens of thousands to match what Ceringion brings. You’re competent in your observations, at least. Our scouts have fared poorly of late, and we’ve been blind to the enemy’s movements for days.”
Edward stroked his mustache in thought, then swore. “We cannot prevail against Gymerius and these foul creatures if we remain unaware of the larger picture.”
“It has taken us weeks to get here,” Shalindra said. “What has happened?”
“War seemed a certainty this year, as you are no doubt aware, but we weren’t certain what form it would take. I don’t know how, but someone figured out where the main thrust would come, and we were well prepared. Or so we thought.” He pointed at the map near the Kingdom’s eastern border. “Hawtry sold out, the bastard. Gave them Saxalm without a fight and added his forces to theirs. We thought to hold them close to their own borders, but Braunton’s vaunted defenses fell in a matter of days, then Jarrett surrendered Galedon almost before the enemy was at their gates. We were stuck without a stronghold and surrounded by four times our number.
“Dukes Brouchard and Royston kept us together. We’ve held them at a near standstill here for more than a week now, keeping them from moving on Tiridon or Bexville. Neither side could gain an advantage, despite their numbers.” His eyes grew haunted. “Two days ago, through some foul sorcery, they sent the demon.
“It was a massive beast that came without warning, and without stopping. Arrows failed to pierce its hide, and swords were ineffective. Spears and lances only enraged it. It butchered every member of the senior leadership. Hundreds died defending them, but it was in vain.” He sighed in disgust. “I was with my men on the left and could do nothing but watch. Eventually, it retreated, but not because it was vanquished. We could do little to stop it.”
“And what happened to our uncle?” she asked softly.
“He fell with sword in hand, along with everyone else on that hill,” Edward said. “We lost everything then. Our forces became fragmented, and hundreds were cut off. Ridgewell wanted to assume the Marshal’s title—he’s always looked for an easy power grab—and it almost split our army between the two of us. The Legion and most of the others supported me as I’ve the more direct claim. He decided against coordinating with us in yesterday’s fighting and took his forces in a flanking maneuver. Not one man in twenty returned.”
“What of the Conclave?” Tormjere asked. Then, remembering his courtesies, he added “My lord.”
Edward frowned but ignored the slip. “I know the rumors, but we’ve not seen a wizard nor heard of anyone reliable who has. I’ve never seen a magician fighting alongside men at arms and wouldn’t allow it even if it was offered.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You should be in Merallin,” he said to Kataria. “Now I have to take care of the army as well as you. They will likely attack again today.”
“I
can take care of myself quite well, thank you.” She said it politely, but her voice carried a hint of annoyance.
“Your disguise is well thought out, if crude. We’ll keep up appearances. I can’t have anyone else knowing you’re here, and there’s no safe way to get you out.” He thought for a moment, then turned to Tormjere. “Aric is our lead Ranger. Check with him and see what you can do to help. He is likely in camp somewhere along our left. Kataria can stay here for now.”
“Who?” she asked pointedly.
“Your pardon. Shalindra.”
Will you be safe here?
She gave a slight nod.
Edward took note of Tormjere’s hesitation and spoke forcefully. “Your efforts to keep my cousin safe may have been effective but are less than acceptable. Regardless of whose orders you were under we are at war, and here you will follow the chain of command. That means you, like everyone else in this camp, answer to me.”
Even though a princess would outrank him?
Allow me to handle it.
“Yes, my lord,” Tormjere said with a small bow.
“I suggest you hurry. They usually attack before noon.”
Do not be gone long.
I won’t.
Once Tormjere had left the tent, Edward rubbed at his temples and poured himself a drink. Shalindra noticed for the first time that there was food sitting on the table. She hesitated, then grabbed a leg of mutton with both hands and tore into it. It was half gone before she realized her cousin was staring at her.
Edward chuckled at her embarrassment. “The last time I saw you, you were holding court in your finest gown, surrounded by the nobility of our kingdom and a gaggle of young lords seeking your favor. Now here you are, emerged from the forest like some wild creature. Whatever possessed you to take such a path?”
“Tormjere did his best, but we have not eaten well in many days.”
“Your Ranger? He seems quite devoted,” Deurmark said playfully. “Perhaps he even has aspirations. Have you been working your charms again?”
Shalindra dropped the mutton to the table and spun to face him, her fists clenched by her side. “He has saved my life more times than I care to remember, and never has he asked for so much as a thank you,” she said icily. “We have been alone more nights than I can count, and not once has he tried to lay hands on me. Without exception, he has placed my needs above his own, no matter the cost or consequence. I trust him more than any man in the entire Kingdom. Even more than you.”
Edward held up his hands. “You have changed. I hope your faith in him is not misplaced.”
“I am not who I was, and there is little else to have faith in right now,” she said, walking to where the map lay. The red marks showing the known locations of Ceringion forces were painfully deep inside their borders. She took a deep breath. “I do not want you to tell my father that I am here.”
“I’m not certain that’s wise. He is surely concerned for your safety, and while Lord Brouchard could have withstood his ire, I most certainly cannot.”
“If he learns of it, others will as well.”
Her bloodstained finger traced a path from Merallin to Locksall. The Gold Road it was named, for the quantity of goods that travelled over it. The towns along most of it were lightly defended, shielded by both the Ironspike mountains that made the road itself so necessary, and the dwarves that dwelled in those massive peaks. Should Locksall fall, there would be little to keep the enemy from the capital other than time.
She looked at him fearfully. “You know what will happen to me, should we lose.”
Edward’s face grew grim. “Lord Tynewark is a paranoid, unreliable, spiteful old prune of a man, who sent only a token force when your father called. His best remained with him at Locksall. It’s the most impregnable keep in the Kingdom. They won’t overcome him by force.”
“And if he is bought, as others have been?”
Edward hesitated. “My fate would be little better than yours. Very well. We shall keep it from him, for now.”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
“But what am I to do with you? Few here have ever seen you in person, but there are several who no doubt have. If you remain, eventually someone will discover your ruse, but I cannot send you away.”
“I left to become a Sister of Eluria, and a Sister of Eluria I shall be. I can help with the wounded.”
“Any such help would be most welcome. Ascerlon was Duke Brouchard’s mediturgeon and until recently was tasked with such efforts. A number of Eluria’s followers were caught up in one of our retreats several weeks back. Their leader, a Sister Kayala I believe, has now taken charge.” He took a deep drink, then paused to refill his glass. “Your Ranger may be the one you trust at your side, but it will be noticed if he isn’t put in the field with the others.”
“You could place him in charge of intelligence. You appear to be in need, and he knows far more than you would suspect.”
“He’s young for that, isn’t he? And he holds no rank or title and has no experience.”
“To the first I would agree, but the second I would dispute. He missed not the smallest detail during our flight. I would not sell him short if I were you.”
“I’ll consider it,” Edward said, “but I’d still need—”
He was interrupted as horns sounded in the distance, followed by the low rumble of drums. Outside the tent, the commotion of men rushing about could be heard.
“They move to attack again. I must prepare.”
* * *
Tormjere searched for Aric through the camp, unhappy with what he saw. The mood was dejected and quiet, not at all what men preparing for battle should be like. This war seemed to be going as poorly as the rumors had said.
A soft, melodic voice that was out of place amidst so many grim faces caught his attention. Following the sound, he came upon an elvish cleric of Eluria in sleeveless white robes, kneeling on the ground. Looking at the man laid before her, he did not need to understand the words to know their purpose.
The elf bowed her head and closed the man’s eyes with slender, delicate fingers.
“I am very sorry,” she said to his companions.
One of them reached in his pouch for a coin, but she waved it away tiredly.
Grim-faced, the men lifted their fallen companion and carried him off.
She brushed a strand of her completely white hair back over her upswept ear and looked up at him questioningly. Tormjere found himself staring into eyes as green as Shalindra’s were blue. Tired, red-rimmed eyes, that appeared older than the youthful smoothness of her face.
She stared back, equally captivated. His eyes were dark, wild, and deep, and somehow familiar. Her gaze drifted over his clothes, layered in the Silvalarian pattern, down to the deer hoof knife on his belt, then back to his face. Those dark eyes were there, waiting for her to finish.
He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. “Pleased to see you again, my lady.”
She expected him to kiss her hand—a disgusting human custom every other man here wanted to perform—but he released her fingers as soon as she stood. She still had to look up at him, as her head only reached his chin.
“I have seen you before,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t entirely a statement either.
“At your temple in Fallhaven, last spring.”
“Ah, with the priest? You looked so lost.”
He chuckled. “I suppose I did. I’m Tormjere.”
“I am named Ennathalerial,” she responded, then blinked. Why did I give him my formal name? “Here I am called Enna. Was your journey a success?”
“By most measures.”
There were nuances in that response that left her wanting to know more, but she didn’t press. “I could describe my own journey in a similar manner. I reached my destination, but it was a path filled with more sorrow than joy.”
“You didn’t come here for the war, did you?”
That was an as
tute observation. “No. We came to this place for more peaceful reasons. We placed ourselves where we were unprepared to be, and…” Her voice caught in her throat, and she looked away, fighting to contain her emotions. Like a raw wound freshly reopened, memories came pouring in. The acrid smell of sulfur. The screams.
“It killed your friends.”
She could only nod. It hurt. She had worked herself to exhaustion trying to escape it, but now the pent-up emotions surged, demanding release. Her words tumbled out as if someone else was speaking them.
“Valtilaniar asked your marshal if we could accompany him, to see if we could find signs of wizardry. The marshal agreed, I believe in the hopes that we would be a way to make new allies. He seemed a nice, if overly stern man, without the usual human prejudices. I remained behind, close to… the wounded. We had no way of knowing of the urtrifornu, nor that they were inadvertently placing themselves in its path. When it attacked, it… Both our Woodswardens did as they were able. Elvish weapons may be superior to those of humans, but in the end, it mattered little. It slaughtered everyone on the hill.”
She stopped. Why am I telling him all this?
“Why couldn’t you heal them?”
She had tried, so hard. The image of Trilaria’s body torn apart and broken on the ground was seared into her memory forever. An angry denial formed on her lips, but his eyes held no judgement.
“I ran to them the moment it was gone. But even for me, there was nothing that could be done. Flesh and bone I may repair, with Elurithlia’s blessing, but this creature, and indeed all urtrifarni, consume far more. They tear apart the very thing that makes you alive. No priest or priestess of any order can restore that.”
“You’re better able to heal than the other clerics?”
“Elves have always been superior in the healing arts. But that is because we devote many more years to study and prayer,” she added quickly, afraid that her statement might sound arrogant.