Once they were inside the estate, all but three soldiers disbanded. Gabrion, followed closely by the nursemaid, was brought to a sitting room with a lavish marble fireplace and veritable thrones carved of stone. They were padded well, though he still had Perrios on his back so he couldn’t sit down. Alosia poured herself a drink from a sidebar and stretched out in one of the oversized chairs.
“I’ll help you get that pack off so you can sit down,” she offered.
“I will say, you’re persistent.”
“Just trying to help,” she said, though her sneer said otherwise.
He had no idea how long they would be stuck in the room together with the three soldiers, who had taken up strategic posts around the perimeter of the room. Gabrion tried talking to them, but they refused to answer him, so he turned to Alosia. “What do you know about this place?”
“Just the basics.” She sipped her drink again. “The Undying Stone was an old fort at first. It was built centuries and centuries ago—millennia, if you’re silly enough to believe that version. There were no mages back then because it was in the time of the gods.” She choked back a laugh at the notion of gods overseeing their land. “There were wild animals everywhere and the people needed a place to be, and the ‘gods’ inspired them to create the fort of stone. Little by little, the people here added to the fort until it was a village, then a town, and now a bustling little city. Of course, magic became known in the land at some point in time, yet it was decided that this place would always be crafted by hand, in honor of those who first settled in.”
“Very noble.”
“Sentimental babble, if you ask me.”
Gabrion shook his head. “Nothing seems to please you. Don’t you even see the importance of their decision to add to this place with their own sweat and blood? They could have taken the easy way out and just called up their mages to shape the stone overnight, but no, they built it. They worked at it. It grew because they made it so. It may have taken longer and been harder to do, but they earned the protection this place affords, and they became stronger for it. And adhering to their traditions—”
“Stop there, sword boy,” Alosia interjected. “Don’t speak of traditions to me. You don’t follow them yourself, so hush.”
He couldn’t argue that point. “Still, they are strong because of what they’ve built here.”
She looked at the expression on his face as he tried to work out what he wanted to say next, though she understood well enough. “Oh I see. You’re saying that our kingdoms will also be as strong as this once we build a new future with our own hands. You’re so… clever.” Her tone belied her compliment.
“Stone and mortar are two very different things,” he said. “One is solid through and through and you can stack a pile of them up one on top of another. But they fall apart after a while. They settle over time and things fall between the cracks, quite literally. Mortar, on the other hand, is a pliable, malleable substance. On its own, it’s little more than putty and you can’t build a home out of it.”
“You’re a craftsman now?”
“A home made just out of stone will leak and eventually it will tumble down and crush you. A house of mortar won’t even stand. No, they’re very different. They each have their own uses. Yet it’s when you put the two together that they can make a place like this. Elegant, strong,” he fished for a word and found one from the name of the place, “undying. It will be the same with our two kingdoms.”
“Not a craftsman, then. A philosopher. A foolish one, but a philosopher nonetheless.”
Gabrion shook his head. “You’re so blind, you won’t even listen.”
“Blindness is a fault of the eyes,” Alosia mocked. “Deafness is that of the ears. Blindness doesn’t make anyone unable to hear.”
Gabrion grunted in frustration. “Listen to yourself. You’re so close-minded, nothing can get in. Not even a thought of something new. I’m not even asking you to accept the idea; just to think about it.”
She swirled her drink and then looked up at him. “I’m sorry, were you saying something important?”
He shook his head. “You wonder why I won’t let you take Perrios for any bit of time. I’ll tell you. He is the future of this land. He has to grow up with an open mind. He can’t be like you. One day he will need to make important decisions for the good of the people and he will need to be free to consider all the options available to him, not just the ones that have been laid in front of him. If you weren’t such a narrow thinker, then I’d have no qualms entrusting him to your hands. As it is, I won’t let you touch him ever again.”
Alosia stood up, enraged. “How dare you!”
Her cry awoke the baby again and when Alosia strode forward to tend to him, Gabrion shoved her away with one hand. “Open your mind. Consider a different view. Only then will I let you hold him.” He then bounced in place and hummed with his head cocked to the side. It took longer to settle the child, but he nodded off again.
Soon, though, Perrios would need to eat and then be changed, and it was with great relief that the page entered the room to escort them to their living quarters. A crib had been set up in one chamber and Gabrion insisted that Alosia be escorted to a different room, even though they had intended for her to stay with the baby.
When the arrangements were settled, Gabrion spent a while tending to Perrios’ needs. The child was restless, yet he slept well after all the time being jostled around on the journey. Gabrion sank into a chair beside the crib, and as he watched the cherubic face twitch periodically, his own eyelids grew heavy. He reached for the words of a song to help him stay awake for a little while longer to watch the peaceful sight of the infant nestled in his crib. He didn’t even realize what he was singing, just that he knew it from his heart.
Sleep my beloved for night has come to us.
Close your dear eyes and turn your thoughts inside.
Dream now, for there you will see the light and the hopes of your tender heart.
You will be at peace as you drift through clouds of wonder and harmony.
Rest now, my child.
You will be strong.
Rest now, my child.
One day you will shine.
No one can harm you while I am here by your side.
No shadows can fall here for I am your light.
Your dreams will guide you to your morrow and you will be safe with each step you take.
You will achieve all that you wish and all of your desires will be filled.
Chapter 20
In Support of Dariak’s Mission
Kitalla led the troops across the desert toward the front lines of the war. They met various beasts and she delegated each fight to the dominion of one of her five battalions. As they went, the soldiers grew more confident in their skills and they slowly came around to Kitalla’s decisions, though she still acted erratically at times. During the trek, she took advantage of Carrus’ offer on numerous occasions and always, after, she was both calmer and wilder, as if her conscience burned with conflict.
“We’ll be upon the war soon,” Carrus said one morning. “Perhaps even today. Are we ready?”
She stroked his chin. “All I have left now is making Dariak’s peace a reality. If that means we have to work a few sudden miracles, then that’s what we will do. So in short, yes, I’m ready. And if I’m ready, then we’re all ready.”
“I’m expecting trouble,” he cautioned. “Once these men meet up with their own kind, they may turn away from what you’ve done.”
Kitalla laughed slyly. “Do you really think Merrlis, who could barely tie his bootstrap two weeks ago, will cower and submit to the others now that he has been so successful leading his Eagles?”
“That’s why you picked the runts to take over, isn’t it? Build them up so they owe you fealty. Rather crafty.”
“I can’t take credit for the plan,” she admitted. “I stole it from Poltor. After all… it worked on me.”
He touched her
arm delicately. “You were never a runt.”
She smiled sadly and pulled her arm away. “Listen, Carrus,” she started, her voice serious, “you’ve been a great support to me these past weeks.”
“Shush,” he said. “I’m only saying you’ve never been a runt. Don’t get all sentimental now.” He kept his tone between sarcasm and honesty and she didn’t know how to read it. “It’s early yet and I doubt the Sparrows have food ready. We have some time.”
She eyed him narrowly, then, with a sharp twist, she shoved him back down and pounced upon him, a chuckle echoing quietly in her throat.
As the morning wore on, Kitalla led the group toward a haze in the east. From afar it appeared to be campfires lit, even in the daytime, which meant that shadowcrows were probably plaguing the area. Kitalla moved to the Eagles where she guided Merrlis onward. He obeyed her advice and offered suggestions of his own, which Kitalla accepted and told him to initiate. She then moved off to the Nightingales and gave instructions there that would fortify the gaps that Merrlis had inadvertently proposed in his plans. As she had come to expect, Datch sought to prove himself with adaptations of his own, and though they left the western flank exposed, Kitalla agreed enthusiastically.
Since Yllina of the Wrens was the meekest of the bunch, Kitalla first spoke to Paerra of the Sparrows and received his recommendations. As with the rest, Kitalla listened intently and then asked about the plan for the archers in the group, prompting the captain to consider actually using them in the event of a battle, and then she moved on to Yllina to lay out orders to cover the final weaknesses in the scattered plans.
Kitalla had realized early on that the five captains had little skill defending themselves or their groups, and they were unable to compromise coherently with each other over strategy, so she devised this technique of having them covering each other without even realizing it. Each one felt as if their words were heard and obeyed, and none realized they were being craftily manipulated.
Kitalla’s final task was to consult with Ferithor of the Ravens, and since he was enamored with Carrus, he never questioned anything he was asked to do, so long as Carrus was there when she delivered the news. Then, with all the plans set, Kitalla gave the final order to move out.
It took about three hours for them to reach the camp of Hathren soldiers. The commander greeted them skeptically. “Weapons at the ready!” he said to his men. “I am Commander Mzark of the Hathren army. Declare yourselves!”
“I am Kitalla and we come from Castle Hathreneir and from your king.”
Mzark raised an eyebrow. “‘Your’ king, you say? Is he not ‘our’ king?”
“I did not misspeak,” she said confidently, though in fact she hadn’t meant to phrase it that way. It set things on a tenuous opening that she had hoped to avoid. “You are likely aware of the events that have transpired at the castle and messengers advised you of the king’s political situation.”
“Indeed.” Mzark sneered. “Though the decree came on royal parchment, the messenger did not seem convinced of its… authenticity.”
Kitalla rolled her eyes in exaggerated fashion, and along the way she spied the locations of six archers, three mages, and a handful of soldiers peering out from behind various tents. Kitalla knew their approach could not be concealed, but the defenses in place set her hackles high. She hoped her captains were ready. To Mzark, she replied, “It is sincere.”
The commander propped his foot up on a rucksack in the sand and he set his thumbs on his belt, his belly overhanging in jolly fashion. “Were that so, the chancellor would have sent a proper emissary with your forces.”
“Oh!” Kitalla grinned. “Then worry not, for I am one of King Prethos’ chancellors. I orchestrated the lodgings after the castle was destroyed.” She focused her eyes on the man and tried to convince him to stand down.
“Destroyed… no doubt by you and your fellows here.”
“No, wait!” Merrlis shouted suddenly. “Wait, wait!” He ran forward, waving his arms. “It’s true what she says, the ki—” And he fell dead to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his throat.
Kitalla wasted no time giving the signal for her forces to enact their battle plan. She took the reins of the Eagles, issuing Merrlis’ flawed orders, knowing the other four groups would compensate for the weaknesses. The swordsmen rushed forward through the camp, barely hacking at any of the Hathren soldiers as they went. Their destination was the far edge, where the element of surprise would allow them to take the soldiers posted there. Kitalla ran with them for part of the way, stopping only to ensure the other groups were getting into position.
The Sparrows flew in toward the right, sweeping around and hunting down the Hathren fighters at their posts. Meanwhile their archers tracked the projectiles in the sky to determine their sources, then launched their own missiles in retaliation. Kitalla nodded; things were working out as planned. The Nightingales swept the northern edge of the camp, fanning out and knocking down tents, as part of Darch’s plan, whooping as they went. This, of course, left them more exposed to incoming projectiles, but Kitalla had compensated by sending two of the Ravens’ mages to assist. Soon, spells fluttered into the air and the fight was on in full.
Kitalla withdrew her daggers, her only goal to hunt down the commander and subdue him. All of her team was under orders not to kill any of these people, and they had been more than grateful at the demand, for these soldiers were their kin and this battle was only a misunderstanding.
Carrus’ battle cries echoed over the field as he swept his war hammer about, deflecting one attack after another. He brandished a shield on his left arm, using it to bash his opponents to the ground once their weapons were pushed aside. He plowed his way through six fighters easily, taking only minor cuts in the process.
Despite herself, Kitalla admired his skill and she pulled back against a tent to watch him. He wasn’t nearly as graceful in battle as Gabrion, but Carrus thundered with an immense power that told his foes they had no chance against him. He was a quiet man most of the time, but here on the battlefield, he howled like a tigroar as he pushed through.
Lightning exploded nearby and Kitalla scolded herself for letting her mind wander at a time like this. Hathren mages targeted her, their arms flailing in practiced unison as they combined their electric spells into a more powerful bolt. Kitalla watched carefully, flicking her eyes to the side to ensure she could escape, and when the mages opened their hands and the lightning flew, she dodged and rolled in the sand. The mages were quick, and they sent a shower of blinding sparks toward her, making it difficult to see anything at all, as if the sun was flitting down through millions of pieces of broken glass. Kitalla squinted against the effect and charged forward.
They hadn’t expected her to rise up so quickly or to push into their spell, and one of the mages panicked and ran off to a safer spot. The other growled in defiance and brought his arms up high, then swept them out to his sides and down. He shouted archaic words and the sand in front of Kitalla solidified into sharp spikes.
The first steps caught Kitalla unaware as her foot was pierced and she lost her balance. She couldn’t afford to fall, for she would be skewered. Whirling her arms around, she managed to keep upright, but her other foot was stabbed in the process. The mage worked another spell as Kitalla staggered across the spiked sand and took the only chance she had. With a quick flick of her wrist, she snapped one of her daggers forward, followed moments later by a second one. She then immediately pulled on the energies within her, projecting the image of an eaglon flying at the chanting mage. Her hands fluttered like wings as her legs strained to hold her position.
The mage launched a small lightning blast at the nearest eaglon and the dagger exploded with a blinding flash. The second dagger went unseen and it struck the mage in the shoulder, knocking him down. Despite her pain, Kitalla smiled. It was becoming easier and easier to throw images at unsuspecting victims.
“Get that fire out!” Mzark bellowed, and Kitall
a saw that the tents in the north were all ablaze. Apparently the Raven mages had gotten a bit overzealous in their efforts to keep the Nightingales safe. Kitalla had to wait for the spike trap spell to dissipate before she could go their aid, though she was surprised that the spell hadn’t ended when the mage went down.
Then she remembered the second mage who had scampered off, and as she turned her eyes, she saw that he was still sweeping his hands in front of himself and then poking them upward into the air, mimicking the very spikes themselves. He was clearly an accomplished earth mage since he was able to hold such sharp stakes together from a distance, especially as they were made of sand.
The spike field was too wide in all directions for her to escape and as she tried to move, the field shifted with her, with new spikes forming as she stepped. Her feet bled, reminding her that she was injured and trapped. Leaping away was clearly not an option, for she would land upon the stakes whichever way she pounced. The mage was too far away for a dagger throw, but perhaps not too far for her special skill.
Kitalla imagined that she was in three places at once and then she focused her thoughts on the mage. She needed to move the energies through her body to give power to the conjuration, and each step she took injured her foot in another spot, making it more and more difficult to concentrate on the image. But if the mage kept the trap intact, then an archer would easily be able to take her down, so she didn’t have a choice. Kitalla jumped forward a few paces, and blades lanced into her feet and calves as she landed. It was a necessary move, for the mage needed to believe that she was no longer in the same place she had started.
The imagery seemingly took hold, for the mage’s head turned erratically from left to right, tracking his prey. The spike field grew less dense as he tried to spread it over a larger area, and Kitalla found a soft patch of sand to stand on, though she was hardly idle. To keep the image active, she had to continuously channel the energies from within herself, so she needed to keep moving. Slowly, she took careful steps ahead, making the extra images of herself move in different directions to throw off the mage. When she was close enough, she slipped a dagger out of her boot and waited until the energies called for her arms to move upward, then released her weapon. It wasn’t a well-thrown dagger, for if she had stopped to aim it, the illusion would have ended immediately. Instead, the knife lobbed through the air and the hilt cracked against the man’s head, disrupting the spell. Kitalla shouted with each painful step as she ran to the mage and tackled him, rendering him inert.
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