“We knew we were signing on for that when we joined up with Matelon,” DeJardin said.
“And it’s going to keep happening until we find a way to get to peace—on our terms,” Hal said.
“I understand how you feel,” Gray said. “I’m going to be attacking my home city. I have family there, if they’re not already dead. If Jarat finds out I’m in command of this army, he’ll target them to get to me.”
“I’ll be honest, it’s going to be hard for our men to fight alongside the bloodsworn,” Mercier said.
“Many of the bloodsworn were born here in the Realms,” Gray said, “but they were unfortunate enough to be taken alive.” She paused, giving that time to sink in. “I would love to have you in my chain of command. The bloodsworn tend to need a lot of direction. But I’ll understand if you want to stick with your own men. The truth is, Celestine won’t stop until she conquers the Realms from sea to sea. If we don’t stop her, you’ll be fighting against them, too.”
“Will we be wearing those pirate outfits?” Mercier said, making a face.
Gray looked stumped for a moment. “First come, first served,” she said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough for everyone.”
They all laughed. And, just like that, she’d won them over—men who’d never served with a female commander before. If Hal had forgotten, he was getting a quick reminder of why he’d pledged himself to the Gray Wolf queen after the fall of Chalk Cliffs.
Now, as they marched up the Way of the Queens toward the city of Fellsmarch, Hal realized that he had never been so close to the northern capital before.
It was eerie passing through the Vale without a challenge. No clan archers firing down from the heights, no magical traps awaiting them. Jarat hadn’t bothered to secure the uplands, concentrating his strength on the flatlands, where he felt more at home.
The Vale was green and lush, with wildflowers blooming everywhere. The river Dyrnnewater flowed through it, filled bank to bank with snowmelt from the mountains all around. To the west was the snowy peak of Hanalea, wreathed in cloud. And to the north was the sullen face of Gray Lady, stronghold of wizards.
No wonder its citizens are willing to fight and die for this, he thought.
Back in Delphi, the empress’s siren banner now flew from the ramparts, above the Matelon tree and the Delphian pick and hammer, in case any spying eyes were checking up on the empress’s wetland general. In truth, the city was under the joint control of Matelon’s men and the Patriots. Gray had sent word to Celestine that Delphi had fallen, and she was on her way to seize the northern capital.
Hal had been fighting for Arden since he was eleven years old; he’d been a captain since he was fifteen, but he’d never marched at the head of such a large army. It was ten thousand strong, of which only about five hundred were his own soldiers and officers. The rest of his men he’d left in Delphi.
The bloodsworn were tireless. They had to slow their pace to accommodate Hal’s soldiers and their need to rest, eat, and sleep. Hal was impressed with the way Gray worked with them. As she’d said, they required a great deal of tending, being unsuited to decision-making on their own. She treated them with patience and respect and stubborn persistence, and Hal could see that they were responding to it.
They met a large force of Jarat’s stripers midway through the Vale. Some fought bravely, but others ran like rabbits when they saw what they were up against. Mercenaries tended to do that when they realized that they were unlikely to survive to spend their blood money.
After that, the joined armies marched ahead unchallenged until they stood within sight of the walls of the city. Though it was late, the sun had not quite set, since it was nearly midsummer.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful,” Hal said, unable to hide his surprise. After all the tales he’d been told in his youth, he still half-expected it to be a dark, sinister place. But it was set like a jewel on the slopes of the mountains, temple spires reflecting the setting sun.
“Yes,” Gray said. “It is.” The closer they’d come to the city, the less she’d had to say. Now she sat on her horse, her Fellsian officers around her, the breeze teasing her hair out of its customary fighting braid. She was toying with the pendant that had belonged to her brother.
“Thank the Maker,” her officer, Farrow, said. “I never thought I would see this city again.”
“Any suggestions for how to proceed?” Hal asked Gray.
“Tell them we want to speak with the queen,” Gray said. “See how they respond.”
59
RED-EYE FLIGHT
In consideration of the young dragons and their novice human flyers, Cas and Jenna planned a course consisting of short hops from island to island until they reached the westernmost of the Sisters, where they prepared for the final passage. They often flew at night, so as to avoid being seen by ships or spotters in the area.
The Weeping Sisters resembled dark scabs on the water, laced with jagged ribbons of light where lava leaked through the earth’s dark surface like clotting blood from a wound.
Adam Wolf—Ash, as he now called himself—had said that his upland name was Speaks to Horses, reflecting his ability to communicate with them in a direct, visual way. The dragons were highly amused by the notion of a wolf speaking to horses, and he’d already developed an easy relationship with them. Goat in particular never forgot that first point of contact, when he was tangled in a web of rigging, and Ash had soothed him and then freed him. Now they were learning to fly together. If they survived this first water crossing, they would be great friends.
Goat was curious and intelligent, scrappy and impulsive. At times he forgot to make allowances for the limitations of his human passenger. When straight, direct flight grew boring, Goat would engage in mock aerial battles with his nestmates, with Ash hanging on as best he could. When fishing, he’d skim the water’s surface, slicing through swells, sending up spray that soaked Ash to the skin.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sasha said to Pricker. They were using Jenna’s saddle and harness—the set she’d commissioned for Cas. On their first flight from Celesgarde, Sasha took a white-knuckled grip on Pricker’s breast strap and squeezed her eyes shut. Fortunately, Pricker was calm and steady and not prone to airborne showing off, and Sasha gradually relaxed.
At first, they saw few ships, mostly fishing vessels and single-masted smugglers. During the last leg of their journey, from the westernmost of the Weeping Sisters to Wizard Head, they began to see more ships hugging the shoreline, most flying the empress’s siren banner.
Burn ships? Cas said, dropping lower for a better look.
“Not yet,” Jenna said.
They finally made landfall southwest of Fortress Rocks, where the mountains met the flatlands along the coast. After a long sleep, Goat and Slayer went hunting. Sasha mounted Pricker, and Ash and Jenna both mounted Cas. They flew along the eastern slope of the Spirit Mountains, looking for the war.
Jenna was learning to manage her response to the feeling of Ash’s body against hers, his scent in her nose, his soft voice in her ear, his breath in her hair.
You can’t spend the rest of your life in a hammock, she thought.
Still. She tightened her knees against Cas’s sides and pushed herself back, into his embrace, into the welcome of his body. She could have that, at least.
They found the war in the pass that led from Wizard Head to Queen Court Vale. The eastern slopes were swarming with bloodsworn, so thick that it seemed as if the ground itself were moving. Their numbers were huge, but they were forced to funnel through the narrow pass under withering fire from upland archers on the heights. Unable to get through the pass, they flowed north and south like floodwaters seeking a channel.
These troops resembled a mob in search of a fight compared to the honed discipline of the Ardenine army. Then again, the battle-honed Ardenine army had always had trouble getting through these mountains, too.
The invaders had brought cannon up from Chalk Cli
ffs and were bombarding the escarpment in what appeared to be a random fashion, setting off a series of blasts at the base of the cliffs.
Tunnel under mountains like moles? Cas suggested.
“Maybe,” Ash replied. “That should take a few hundred years.”
Still, the empress had thousands of bloodsworn to fling at the pass, while every soldier the queendom lost was significant. Eventually, they would bully their way through into the flatlands of the Vale, where their numbers would be more effective.
The Fellsian forces were barely visible, both the Highlanders with their spattercloth uniforms and the clans in their earth-tone leggings and shirts. The leading edge of the bloodsworn was obvious.
“Do you think Lyssa is down there?” Jenna asked.
“No,” Sasha said. “She’s smarter than that.” She closed her eyes, as if searching with her sixth sense. “She’s here, though, in the Realms. From what I can tell, she’s far to the south and west.”
“Hmm,” Jenna mused, her eyes fixed on the ground. “They’re fusing charges together and laying them against the walls of the pass.”
“If you say so.” Ash didn’t bother to look.
“I assume they’re trying to knock the archers off the heights,” Jenna said. “I have an idea.”
She leaned forward and whispered something to Cas. The dragon made a wide circle, passing over the western end of the pass.
“Keep your head down,” Jenna said to Ash. “We’re going to be flying through the pass at low altitude, and you aren’t as well armored as me.” She could feel her skin tighten and numb a little, signaling the appearance of her scales. They came on more quickly now, and more thickly at the prospect of a threat.
At first, they were skimming through the canyon, nearly level with the slopes to either side. Jenna found herself at eye level with a clan archer, who first leapt back in surprise, then recovered and nocked an arrow. Fortunately, they were far past her position before she could take her shot.
At the mouth of the pass, the bloodsworn had tied the fuses together so that they could ignite both sides with one bit of match. From her time as a saboteur and blastmaster in Delphi, Jenna knew the risks and benefits of that.
They crossed the no-man’s-land between the Highlanders and the bloodsworn. By now, they were barely over the heads of the empress’s soldiers, with Cas’s wings stretching from wall to wall, Pricker following close behind. Some of them threw their arms over their heads, while others landed flat on their faces in the dirt.
“No flame until we turn,” Jenna said. She and Cas were so accustomed to working together that it sometimes seemed that they were of one mind. Ash, Pricker, and Sasha needed a little more prompting.
Cas extended his clawed feet and snagged the fuse as they exited the canyon, dragging it behind them like a string of deadly beads, out of the canyon and into the midst of the battalions of bloodsworn on the slope beyond.
They continued eastward, nearly to the coast, made a turn, and came roaring back over the heads of the cowering bloodsworn.
“Now!” Jenna said. “Burn army. Cas to the left, Pricker to the right.”
Cas bathed the troops on the left with flame, while Pricker swept the right-hand side, sending torrents of flame blasting into the massed soldiers.
“Up—up—up—up!” she shouted, and the two dragons gained altitude, their great wingbeats fanning the flames. Still, when the fused charges went off, the force of the explosions sent them tumbling tail over head so that Ash tightened his grip around Jenna’s waist, struggling to hold on.
“Don’t you dare fall off, Wolf,” she said.
When they circled back, Jenna could see major holes in what had been a sea of bloodsworn. The soldiers still on their feet were running about like ants from a kicked anthill.
Sasha roared in triumph. The look on her face was nothing less than euphoric. “Take that, you gutter-swiving zealots! You’re killable after all.” She shook her fist. “Again!” she shouted.
Leaning sideways, Jenna yanked a battle-ax from a boot attached to Cas’s harness. Her blood was up. Flames flickered over her skin, and her hair seethed and burned. This time, she would sweep in low and kill the bloodsworn up close and personal, so that their life’s blood splashed over her.
Ash shifted behind her, reading her thoughts. “Jenna! Sasha! Hey, now. We’ve done a lot of damage already. It’s better if the officers don’t get a good look at us and send word to the empress.”
“What?” Sasha growled, irritated at this unwanted interference. “I want her to know what happens when she kidnaps our queen and—”
“Jenna. Let’s go and find the Highlander officers and find out what’s going on. We don’t want to accidentally kill our own soldiers. Also, they may be able to tell us where Celestine is. And if anyone has seen Lyss.”
That finally penetrated through Jenna’s bloodlust. “All right, Wolf,” she said, searching for calm, feeling her skin change as the scales disappeared. “Let’s go find your commanders and see what they know.”
The Highlander camp was just to the west of the pass, in a place Ash called Queen Court Vale. To Jenna, it looked like the northern soldiers had converted the ruins of a falling-down palace to a field hospital, and a forest of tents had sprouted around it.
At the western end of the Vale was a refugee camp. A large corral held livestock of all kinds, and many of the residents appeared to have set up small workshops to supply items the army needed, take care of the livestock, and do whatever else civilians could do to help the war effort.
Cas and Pricker were eager to attend the meet-up, but Jenna persuaded them that a pair of dragons landing in the center of the Vale was likely to cause widespread panic and invite an immediate attack by their own side.
“We don’t want to fight them,” she said. “We want to fight the empress.” So they landed in the mountains north of the Vale, as close as they could without being spotted. Ash, Jenna, and Sasha hiked the rest of the way in. They were still in the fringe of trees when they came upon three young women picking berries.
In an instant, they dropped their berry baskets. Two of them nocked arrows and aimed at the three newcomers. The third produced a wicked-looking knife.
“Drop your weapons,” one of the archers said. “Or I will shoot you.” She spoke Common, but she and the other archer were obviously clan. The girl with the knife had straight black hair braided and coiled clan-style, adorned with feathers, but she was too fair to be an uplander.
Ash, Jenna, and Sasha dropped knives, swords, and battle-axes to the ground.
“Harper,” the spokesperson said. “Fetch the duty officer.”
The knife wielder took off running.
Since neither of her companions seemed willing to speak up, Sasha said, “You can put your bows down. I’m Captain Sasha Talbot of the queen’s Gray Wolf guard.”
The young archers looked her up and down, taking in her Carthian head wrap, pirate slops, and sailor-knit sweater. “We will wait for the duty officer,” she said.
The four of them stood in awkward silence. The spokesperson looked familiar, and she kept eyeing Jenna, head cocked, as if confronting a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.
“Why are you picking bloodberries?” Ash said in Clan. He gestured toward the baskets.
The spokesperson blinked at him. “What?”
“They’re poisonous,” he said. “So I wondered what you planned to do with them.”
Her chin came up. “How do you know our language, drylander?”
“Because I’m not a drylander,” Ash said. “I was born in the Vale. I fostered at Marisa Pines and Demonai Camps every summer since I was a lýtling, working with Willo Watersong.” He hesitated. “Tell me—is Willo Cennestre well?”
Cennestre was a title denoting wisdom in the uplands.
“She is well,” the spokesperson said grudgingly. She lowered the bow, relaxing the string, but keeping the arrow nocked. “The bloodberries are for dye. They produc
e a long-lasting red.”
“I always used bloodroot for red,” Ash said.
“I used to, but now we can’t get the mordant. I use burnt juniper to mordant the bloodberries.”
Jenna shifted from foot to foot, impatient with this conversation about berries in a language she could barely understand.
“What are you dyeing?” Ash continued.
“Leather,” the girl said. She pointed at Jenna and said in Common, “I made that jacket, months ago. See the red along the seams? It’s still rich as the day it was made.”
Jenna stared at the girl, the puzzle piece snapping into place. “You were in Fortress Rocks. You’re . . . Sparrow.”
She nodded. “You were with Shadow. You said your name was Riley.” The way she said it told Ash that she didn’t believe it. “You were buying riding clothes and a harness for a—a gryphon.” She smiled halfway. “How does your gryphon like his new clothes?”
At that moment, Harper burst out of the trees with six clan warriors at her heels.
Ash leaned toward Jenna. “Demonai warriors, elite fighters of the clans. That’s Shilo Trailblazer, matriarch of the camp and commander of the upland fighting forces.”
Trailblazer was a weather-beaten woman of middle age, her hair done up in tiny braids all over her head. She looked the three of them up and down, then fixed on Sasha. “Why are you dressed like that, Talbot?” she said. He gestured toward Ash and Jenna. “Who are they?”
“I’m Adrian sul’Han, son of Raisa ana’Marianna and Han Alister,” Ash said. “Known as Speaks to Horses in the uplands.”
“Ah. I see it now,” Trailblazer said, studying him through narrowed eyes. “I heard you were dead.”
“It’s a long story. Can you tell me where I can find my mother?”
“She’s in the command tent,” Trailblazer said, pointing. “There.”
“Is she well?”
“She grows stronger each day, thanks to you.”
Ash turned and gripped Jenna’s hand, tugging her toward the tent. “Would you like to meet my mother?”
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