Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Speaking of bone . . . “That was a boneheaded move!” she shouted. “What were you thinking? Are you trying to get us both killed?”

  Slayer fast flyer. Good fighter. Lyss see.

  The message came through as clear as could be.

  “So you were just showing off,” Lyss said, trying to be stern but not quite succeeding. Now that it was over, she had to admit that she’d much rather stomp on the empress than tiptoe around her.

  Slayer executed a fine barrel roll and arrowed straight for a cleft in the rocks. Turning nearly sideways, he slid through it at full speed with inches to spare. Then plunged earthward again, waiting until the last possible moment to put the brakes on so that he landed like a feather on a rocky ledge. It was on the other side of the mountain from their previous camp.

  Politely, he thrust out his wings again, an invitation for Lyss to dismount. In the process, he nearly knocked over his brothers and sisters, who were swarming toward them.

  Lyss all but rolled down his wing to the ground. Propping up on hands and knees, she hurled what remained of her supper into the dust. Emptied out, she flipped over onto her back and lay there, reliving the flight as images streamed through her mind. Slayer was sharing his adventures with his siblings, preening and striking poses. It was no wonder that he’d hoped to bring the mast back for a show-and-tell. Cas and Jenna were nowhere to be seen.

  Commanding a salvo of human soldiers was hard enough. Dragon wrangling was a whole other challenge.

  Soon the fledglings were scrapping with each other, rolling and tumbling across the ledge, taking short flights to gain a vantage point, and then stooping down on their littermates, spewing small gouts of flame. Lyss was beginning to realize that she was in danger of being trampled or charred if she stayed where she was. So she clambered up to a safe vantage point, wrapped her arms around her knees, and fell asleep.

  Lyss awoke to a clatter of claws, human voices, and dragon greetings. She crept forward to see that Jenna and Cas had returned and appeared to be interrogating the fledglings about something. That was when Lyss realized that her backpack was lying out in plain sight, the contents scattered all around it. Clearly, the young dragons had been digging through, looking for treats. Just as obviously, Cas and Jenna were demanding to know the whereabouts of its owner.

  “I’m here!” Lyss shouted, startling several of the fledglings into taking flight, circling around, and landing again.

  Jenna stood, hands on hips, looking up at her. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  Lyss slid a look at Slayer, who was crouched down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. If it was possible for a dragon to look sheepish, that was it.

  Well, she wasn’t going to give him away. The flight over the harbor was the most fun she’d had in a long time.

  “I’m—uh—fine,” Lyss said, scrambling down from her perch. “I was just taking a nap while I was waiting.”

  Jenna looked her up and down, frowning, then turned and confronted the fledglings. “You said the backpack fell out of the sky.”

  Now all of the dragons were trying to hide behind each other. Cas swung his tail, sweeping them all from the ledge. They tumbled, fluttering frantically until they landed back on the rocks. Dragon discipline.

  Lyss cleared her throat. “I came to the cave looking for you. When I saw you were gone, I worried that something had happened.”

  “You hadn’t been up for quite a while, and the dragons were getting too nosy about the harbor,” Jenna said. “I think they were looking for you. As their range expanded, they were encountering the empress’s people nearly every day. I was afraid Celestine would send a battalion up here to clear the heights. So we moved over here so they could hunt and practice flying without being seen. I didn’t want to leave a note for somebody else to find.” She paused. “So. How did you find us?”

  “Slayer found me at the old den,” Lyss said. “He brought me here.”

  Jenna turned and glared at the young dragon. “Slayer!”

  Slayer hung his head in shame.

  “It was supposed to be a surprise,” Jenna said. “We were trying out different flying techniques, and all of the fledglings were practicing maneuvering with a rider on board. We were going to put on a little show when you came back.”

  After weeks of walking on eggs, Lyss could relate to the young dragon’s desire to cut loose. She didn’t want to see him get into trouble because of it.

  “It’s my fault,” Lyss said quickly. “I begged Slayer for a ride when I saw he was wearing that gear.”

  You owe me, Slayer, she thought.

  “Hmm.” From the skeptical look on her face, Lyss knew Jenna wasn’t buying it. But she didn’t insist on gripping her hands to verify the truth. Instead, she looked from Lyss to Slayer and shrugged. “Well, no harm done. Let’s sit and eat, and then we’ll show you what we’ve learned.”

  22

  MUSTER AT TEMPLE CHURCH

  Hal had greeted his newly recruited officers—Mercier, Lereaux, LeFevre, and Remy—with mingled gratitude and guilt. They were grown men, and able to make their own decisions, but still—the Montaigne family was not known for showing mercy to any it viewed as its enemy. Especially former allies who could be labeled as traitors.

  That they understood the gravity of the decision they’d made, Hal had no doubt. He could see it in their faces, in the way they presented their arms. There was none of the usual saber-rattling bravado, or predictions of valor on the battlefield. There weren’t even any complaints about previous management, or explanations for why they were here. They knew they might be going up against men they’d led or served beside. They were the kind of soldiers who would remain loyal to their king until the king made it impossible to carry on.

  Having served the king himself, Hal knew that his former comrades weren’t exactly choosing risk over safety. And at least anyone who’d reported to him knew that he wouldn’t needlessly send them into harm’s way, or sabotage them to score a political point.

  The sun was just breaking over the Heartfangs as Hal, Robert, and Thad Mercier rode east from Temple Church to the muster point off the North Road. Mercier had fought beside Hal or under his command in three different campaigns in the borderlands. In fact, Mercier had been in camp near Swansea when word had come that his farm at Bittersweet Springs had been overrun by raiders from the Wastes and his entire family killed. Mercier was from the downrealms, where mourning was a visceral, vocal, cathartic process. Thirteen-year-old Hal had given Mercier the use of his tent for three days, where he could conduct his rituals in private. Mercier had emerged from his tent cleansed, and gone straight back to fighting. Ever since, his loyalty to Hal had been fierce and unwavering.

  Hal could tell they were nearing the encampment when he began to smell woodsmoke and horses, the scents that accompanied an army on the move. Here, the land sloped gradually upward to the foothills of the eastern mountains. They emerged from thick woods to where they could overlook the valley of the north fork of Ardenswater. Hal stared down at the camp, swarming with early morning activity.

  “Saints and martyrs,” Robert breathed. It had to be close to a thousand men, all wearing the buff of Arden.

  “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of a trap?” Hal said. “Or the advance guard of Jarat’s army?”

  Mercier smiled grimly. “You’ll see a lot of familiar faces here, sir. The first rule of warfare is you have to feed your army. The second rule is that you have to pay it. King Jarat doesn’t seem to understand that. Nobody believes his promises of estates in the north anymore. The only thing left to fight for is the True Faith and a place in heaven, but you have to be dead to collect.”

  Hal recalled what he’d said to his father. I don’t need an exorcism. I need an army. Well, he had his army now, and these were experienced soldiers, not the tenant militias he’d expected to be leading. Now he had to figure out what to do with it and how to feed it, pay it, and equip it.

  What he want
ed to do was leave the thanes on their own and march this army north. But he’d promised his father he’d take Ardenscourt first.

  Protect your rear.

  “Here come Remy and LeFevre,” Mercier said, pointing. Two more of his renegade officers were galloping toward him.

  “We had a bit of a problem, sir,” Remy said, saluting. “Everyone wanted to come. Had to draw straws to see who had to stay behind.”

  LeFevre nodded. “There’s a rumor going around that you died at Delphi but the witch queen brought you back to life because she fell in love with your dead body.”

  “What?” Hal stared at him, horrified, while Robert stifled laughter.

  “No worries, sir,” LeFevre said hastily. “I don’t think too many believed it.”

  “If anything, it enhanced your reputation,” Remy said, which set Robert off again.

  “Are there any mages down there?” Hal said, eager to change the subject.

  “Aye, sir, I believe we have four or five,” LeFevre said. He hesitated, then added, “All collared.”

  They’d been spotted now, because a roar went up from below.

  “I think we’d best ride down,” LeFevre said, “and let them know you’re flesh and blood and not a ghost.”

  Five days later, flesh-and-blood Hal found himself in yet another meeting with the rebel thanes, discussing battle strategy. He’d had Rives on the run for weeks, trying to inventory the cannon and siege engines on hand, while the thanes guarded them like badgers, bent on keeping them for their personal use. It was the same with horses, wagons, and other gear. Even his own father was resistant when Hal begged for a few small cannon to send with his own secret army.

  Hal was beginning to think that if Jarat had elected to send his army against the thanes instead of into the north, there was a really good chance he would have won.

  Let’s hope he doesn’t figure that out before this is over, he thought.

  “Matelon!” Rafe Heresford’s voice brought Hal back to the present.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “So you don’t think we should engage Jarat’s army on its way north?” Heresford said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Exactly,” Hal said. “Let them march on by, and spend their blood and fortune in the north. Once they’re well away, you’ll march south on the capital. By the time they return—if they return—they’ll find that we hold their city.”

  “Why would Jarat march north, leaving his capital at risk?” Heresford persisted.

  Hal liked Heresford, who was somewhat younger than the other thanes. He’d spent time in exile in the north, after Gerard executed his father and seized his estates. He’d come south again, to join the fight, when the rebellion began. He had fewer bannermen, and less to lose than the other thanes. That made him bolder.

  “Now that General Karn has been named a traitor,” Hal said, “the king seems to believe that the late general was the cause of years of failure. He has a new general and new hope in his heart.”

  “Someone named Bellamy, I hear,” DeLacroix said. “I don’t know that name. He must have come up through the ranks.” The subtext was, How good could he be?

  “Bellamy did come up through the ranks, and is probably the best leader and tactician in the king’s army,” Hal said. “Jarat is lucky to have him. I wish that we did.”

  “I know that we agreed to give you overall command of this operation,” Thane Henri Tourant said, “and I understand that you’ve persuaded some officers from the king’s army to come over to us. However, I prefer to lead my own liegemen in the field.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the other thanes, as if to say, First you want our cannon. Next thing we know, you’ll want to be taking over our armies and our fiefdoms as well.

  “That’s why we’re having this conversation,” Hal said. “You’ll all be leading your own bannermen in the attack on the city.”

  This was met with more approval, followed by suspicion. “Where will you be, then?” DeLacroix said, squinting at Hal. “I thought you were the military expert.”

  “By now, everyone in Ardenscourt has heard that I’m leading the rebel army,” Hal said. “In addition to the officers, we’ve had some soldiers come over to us, too. So I’m going to keep a small, maneuverable force here as a diversionary tactic, to keep Jarat honest. We’ll follow after him a little ways to make sure he keeps going north before we come south and join you.”

  This received a mixed reaction. Some, Hal knew, were just as glad to have the Matelon prodigal son out of the way while they staked their claims to the kingdom. Others seemed afraid that he was either up to something or getting out of something.

  “You’re going to lead from the rear?” DeLacroix said, his voice rich with disdain.

  “I would much rather be marching into Ardenscourt,” Hal said. “I took this duty because no one else seemed to want it, and because my father will lead the Matelon bannermen to the gates. If there is anyone who would like to volunteer to stay behind in my place, I would—”

  That earned a resounding no. None of the thanes wanted to give any of their competitors a head start.

  “Do you think Jarat will take his mages north?” Tourant said, “or will they be waiting for us in the capital?”

  “That we don’t know,” Hal said. “I imagine he’ll take some, to counter the mages in the north. He may not leave many in Ardenscourt. He’ll know we only have a few, if any at all, and he may rely on his perimeter walls to keep us out.”

  “Is there any way we can get some mages before we march on the city?” Tourant said, as if Hal could procure them like any other ordnance.

  “Not unless any of you have some socked away,” Hal said, looking around the circle.

  If any did, none would admit to it.

  “Do we know when Jarat will march?” Heresford said.

  “We know that preparations are under way,” Hal said. “We’ll have plenty of notice. You cannot move an army like that in secret. From what I’m hearing, they’ll march within the week.”

  23

  THE QUEEN’S COUNCIL

  “It seems to me,” Lila said, “that this is a risky business.” She stood in front of the looking glass in her quarters in Kendall House, trying to put her unruly hair into some kind of order.

  “Says the girl who spent three years spying on the king of Arden?” Shadow raised an eyebrow. “Says the girl who saved the prince of the realm from a pack of assassins? Says the girl who—”

  “I know how to spy on somebody,” Lila said crossly. “I don’t know how to represent a queen I’ve only met once.”

  “Pretend you’re spying on the queen’s council,” Shadow said.

  There came a knock on the door. Their bluejacket guard poked her head out, then turned back to them. “Captain Byrne wants to know if you’re ready,” she said.

  Lila smoothed down her curls one more time. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  Four bluejackets trailed them down the hall. It made Lila edgy.

  “If it’s not risky, then why do we have an escort?” Lila said.

  “Maybe your father is afraid we’ll bolt,” Shadow said.

  Captain Byrne was waiting for them outside the council chamber.

  “I have the writs for your appointments, signed by the queen,” Byrne said. “No one else on the council knows that Prince Adrian has gone to retrieve his sister. As far as they know, he’s tending his mother day and night. I don’t know how you’ll be received, but I suspect there’ll be some resistance—to you, especially, Lila, because they don’t know you. Just be firm and pleasant, and stick to your guns.”

  Guns, Lila thought. That’s what we need.

  “The membership of the council has shifted since the fall of Chalk Cliffs,” Byrne said. “General Dunedain, Shilo Trailblazer, and, of course, your father, Fire Dancer, are not here. They have been some of the queen’s most reliable allies.”

  Does a queen need allies on her own council? Lila tho
ught. Can’t she just boot off the ones who don’t cooperate?

  “Also, the High Wizard, Lord Bayar, is sitting in, though he’s not been attending regularly this year. He was wounded near Chalk Cliffs, and is home for the moment.”

  Lila scanned the list of council members for the thousandth time. Princess Mellony, sister to the queen. Lady Barrett, niece to the queen. Miranda Mander, representing wizards, also mother of Finn sul’Mander and soon-to-be mother-in-law of Julianna. Dimitri Fenwaeter, representing the Waterwalkers. Roff Jemson, speaker of the Cathedral Temple. Harriman Vega, commander over the health service. Randolph Howard, for the nobility.

  Maybe it would help to put them in alphabetical order, Lila thought. Shadow, at least, knew a few of them via his comings and goings at court.

  “The queen is in fragile health, remember,” Byrne said, “but you’ll carry any actionable items back to her. Avoid making commitments on your own.”

  “Got it,” Lila said. Just sit there and look pretty, she thought. Truth be told, it was kind of a relief to know she’d be on a short leash.

  “Let’s go,” Byrne said.

  The council no longer met in the royal wing of the castle, but had moved to what had been a library in the Cathedral Temple.

  When the door opened to the council chamber, Lila saw that it was a room with a high gallery running around the perimeter, and lined to the ceiling with books. Work desks had been moved to the side and replaced by a massive oak table. As Lila entered behind Shadow and Byrne, all conversation stopped.

  Byrne motioned them to the two empty chairs. All eyes followed them as they took their seats. Byrne remained standing, signaling that he didn’t mean to stay long. Noticing that everyone was still staring at the newcomers, Byrne said, “We can speak freely. Once we get started, I’ll deliver a message from the queen that will explain their presence.”

  Only one of the other council members was close to Lila’s age. She was a young woman with a scarf embossed with wolves. She seemed to recognize Shadow, because she smiled at him.