Overhearing them, Lord Bahlen strode up, carrying a hunk of bread in his hand. “Cerus would have been in the thick of the hottest battle, no matter what happened. I might have died myself, if Urok hadn’t protected me.”
His bonded Brava stood at his side and gave only a quiet nod in acknowledgment.
Bandages wrapped Bahlen’s left forearm and more bound his ribs, but he shrugged off any questions, claiming that his injuries were too minor to be of note. “I brought all my able-bodied workers for the fight at Lake Bakal, Sire, but much work remains to fortify my old wreth city.” He bowed slightly. “I beg your leave to return so I can make the ruins defensible and protect my people.”
Mayor Cleff and his Yanton townspeople clung together, many of them in shock. “Four dead. I will have to tell their families when we get home. Four dead…” Cleff forced an uncertain smile. “But the rest of them lived, and they can tell the stories. We have all earned a grand legacy.”
Shadri bustled over with her book in hand. “The queen and I saw what Lord Bahlen has done in the old city, Sire. He is making great progress.”
“Not enough progress,” Bahlen said. “The eastern perimeter wall has gaps. We don’t know how much time we have, now that we have attacked the frostwreth fortress.”
Elliel considered, glanced at Thon. “We can assist him if you wish, Sire.”
“Yes, we can,” Shadri said, lifting her book. “As soon as I gather more stories from these soldiers.”
“I will join them in the wreth city,” said Thon. “The place … resonates with me.”
A frown of doubt wrinkled Kollanan’s brow. “I may need you here at Fellstaff if the frostwreths return.”
“Then I can come back. It is only a few hours’ ride,” Thon said. “But for now I am required to go to Lord Bahlen’s city.”
“Why is that?” the queen asked.
Thon spread his hands as if the answer were obvious. “Because Elliel is going there.”
Pokle pulled a firewood cart into the great hall and loaded the fireplace, making the blaze roar, even though crowds already filled the chamber with warmth and boisterous noise. Ogno pounded his beefy, bandaged fist on the table and offered a loud toast for the fallen Lord Cerus.
One of other soldiers added in a hoarse voice, “And my brother Nathan! He died saving me from a wreth warrior. A cheer for him, too! Long life and a great legacy.”
The others echoed, “Long life and a great legacy!” Someone named another fallen warrior, and then the fighters named more, until the hall resounded with names and memories. Koll felt uplifted by such bravery and loyalty, yet weighed down by the cost in blood. So many dead, so many other lives affected.
Shadri scribbled down the names as they were called out, and Koll saw the city’s legacier Thooma and others doing the same. As king, he vowed that his slain heroes would not be forgotten, no matter how long this war lasted.
The main feast arrived, three stags that had been roasted all day over the coals in the castle kitchens. As the fighters ate, some remarked on the unusual seasonings Queen Tafira used—peppers and spices crusted over the meat to diminish the gamey flavor. Some of the outsiders reacted favorably, while others frowned in distaste.
Amid the noise and cheers and stories, Captain Rondo presented himself to the king, formal and grave despite the celebration all around him. He was respectful, as a soldier of the Commonwealth army should be, but the respect did not penetrate to his eyes. “King Kollanan, I took part in your attack on Lake Bakal, as you insisted. Since it is over, I must make a formal request.”
Koll stroked his beard. Beside him, he could sense Tafira’s sudden tension. “A formal request, Captain? Now that you’ve seen the frostwreth threat with your own eyes, I hope your attitude has changed.”
Rondo remained ramrod straight. “My loyalty to the konag does not change like the clouds in the sky. My escort soldiers remained in Norterra at your insistence, and three of my men died in your attack on the ice fortress. I shall never forget that.”
“Many people died, Captain.” Kollanan grew more wary by the moment. “It only emphasizes the danger the wreths pose.”
“The fortress was destroyed, and the frostwreths defeated, Sire.” Rondo inhaled deeply. “Therefore, your hold on my soldiers is done. We know the roads are open over the mountains, particularly the northern route. My men can ride home … and there is no reason your armies cannot march with us. Konag Mandan has summoned the soldiers of Norterra to join the war against Ishara. His orders outweigh your local squabbles.” He added the last word seemingly under duress. “Sire.”
Tafira squeezed Koll’s hand so hard his bones creaked. With a mighty effort, he kept his temper in check. “The konag is also bound by law to send troops to defend any one of the three kingdoms when such aid is requested. I have made that request, and reminded him of the terms of the Commonwealth charter. I am still waiting for his response, but in the meantime I consider your men to be only the first of the reinforcements I expect him to send. You should make yourself at home.”
Rondo’s face reddened, but he did not look surprised. “So you refuse to let my men obey our rightful konag? The Commonwealth is at war with Ishara, King Kollanan—for the murder of your own brother. Will you commit treason against the konag?”
Kollanan knew there was great tension among Rondo’s soldiers, but he also felt that young Mandan—almost certainly under the influence of Utho—was not acting for the good of the three kingdoms or of the human race. His judgment was clouded. Rondo’s attitude was only making Koll more stubborn.
“My war is here in Norterra, Captain.”
He had hoped the escort troops would become his allies after seeing the frostwreths, but they seemed to be blind to facts that did not fit into the framework of their already-formed opinion. He had intended for them to convince Mandan to send help to Norterra, but now he feared the opposite. Because they lived in the barracks, the escort soldiers were aware of Kollanan’s military preparations, the size of the Norterran army, their weapons. If he sent Rondo’s men back to Convera, they would bring vital intelligence with them.
With that invaluable information, petulant Mandan might well issue even more forceful demands that the entire Norterran military be conscripted and sent off to Ishara. He could not let Captain Rondo and his men act as spies.
Koll’s wife took his hand. A spark of anger flashed deep in Tafira’s eyes. Her voice was dry and sweet. “Why start a new war, Captain, when one has already landed on our doorstep? You prefer vengeance over survival?”
Rondo sneered. “Of course you would speak to protect Ishara. I know where your true loyalties lie.” He swirled his blue cape as he turned to leave. “Just as I know where mine are.”
80
STANDING on the observation deck of Bannriya Castle, Adan thought not of the end of the world, but of Penda. He spent his days meeting with war ministers and the commanders of his army divisions; he inspected and inspired his foot soldiers and his cavalry; he received reports from the armorers incorporating shadowglass into their blades and shields. He learned how his vassal lords were building up defenses and training fighters across his fifteen counties—exactly as Queen Voo expected him to do. But he wasn’t doing it for her.
Now Mandan had demanded that he send the Suderran army to fight in the new Isharan war, but Adan would not march his only defenses away, if for no other reason than fear of retaliation from Queen Voo. She considered the army hers, and the sandwreth queen was a greater danger than his capricious brother.…
Alone after dusk, Adan wanted a moment for peaceful thoughts as he watched the awakening stars. He hoped Penda was safe, confident that Hale Orr and the Utauks would protect her. But he still missed her. Penda was a bastion of strength, a sounding board who gave him a balanced perspective and made him a much better king. Adan did not lack for reports, reconnaissance, encouragement, or sobering frankness from his numerous advisors, but his wife was worth more than a thousand advi
sors. He felt as if he had abandoned her, leaving her alone when they should have been together, closer than ever before. It had been too long since he last heard from her, so he didn’t even know if their baby had been born yet.
He mapped out the star patterns in his mind, tracing lines from one bright point to another, as he and his father used to do. A shooting star sketched a quick bright line across the night, and he smiled, wondering if it was an omen, perhaps a message. That thought came with a bittersweet pang as he once again realized that Conndur the Brave would never get to see his first grandchild.…
His brother had declared war against the Isharans, rallied all three kingdoms in the name of revenge. If not for the clear wreth threat, Adan would also be demanding Isharan blood, but Conndur had told him so many stories about the grueling and ultimately pointless war thirty years ago. Would this be any different? Adan could not leave his people vulnerable.
He also knew Mandan well. If he responded with a blatant refusal to provide the requested soldiers, then his brother would be forced to respond, probably in a petulant way. He wished he knew how Kollanan had answered, for he had surely received the same decree. For now, with the long travel times across the continent, and the damaged roads in the Dragonspine Mountains, Adan decided he could justify a little longer delay. He would not answer yet.
Against the silent night, he heard a flutter of wings, and the clicking and warbling that marked the creature as a ska. It circled with a flash of pale green feathers, and he raised his hand. “Xar, it’s you!”
The reptile bird swooped past him as if teasing, perhaps annoyed that it had flown so far just to find this human. Xar landed on one of the star-watching benches, turned his faceted eyes toward Adan, then preened himself.
Adan stepped closer. “Did Penda send you?” Xar skittishly moved away as the king reached for him. The reptile bird jerked his head forward, poking with his scaly snout, but Adan didn’t flinch away. “You’ve been with her, haven’t you? Do you bring news?”
The ska made a humming sound and strutted along the bench. Adan spotted a strip of paper banded to his leg. Since only Utauks could access the mothertear images from the collar, Penda had chosen a more primitive way to send him a message. He reached for the ska’s leg. “Now don’t you skitter away! You know she sent that message for me.”
As if surrendering, the ska lifted his head, aloof. Adan fumbled with the knot on the tiny string, while Xar clicked, impatient with the king’s clumsiness. Finally, he unfurled the note. In the dark under the stars, he couldn’t read the tiny letters, so he lit a nearby lantern. When the flame grew strong and steady, he held the strip of paper close and read words as tiny as the sharpest quill could make them.
“Starfall, our baby’s time is near. First contractions started. Only a few more days.” His heart leaped and he tried to calculate how long it had taken Xar to fly to Bannriya. How much time remained? “Utauk camp near Norterra border. With Shella din Orr.” She described the rivers and the valley, giving directions on where to find her. “If you come to me in time, we will both welcome our new baby. I love you.”
He skimmed the message again, then glanced at the ska. “You did well, Xar. Now we have to go.” He snatched the lantern and rushed to the door. There would be no more stargazing tonight.
He ran through the halls, shouting to rouse Hom. “Pack my things! We leave within the hour.” The reptile bird flew after Adan, following them down the corridors.
The squire bustled after him, bleary-eyed. “Is it a long ride, Sire? Where are we going? Am I coming along?”
“Yes, and we’ll bring your brother Seenan, even Captain Elcior. We are going to join the queen.”
“The queen?” Hom brightened. “Oh, the queen! Is it the baby?”
As the boy threw necessary traveling clothes into a pack, Adan roused the Banner guards and sent orders for horses to be saddled. All his soldiers had been trained for going to war, and they responded without hesitation.
The night was still dark, hours before dawn, when the small party galloped away from Bannriya. At last Adan was doing something he wanted to do. He hoped he would not arrive too late.
81
TWO more Brava riders came to the training village on war mounts, grim and ready for battle, as if the fires of vengeance had been stoked within them. Master Onzu extended a traditional greeting to the visitors as they came out of the forest, and the children clustered closer, curious.
Tytan, a male Brava with shoulders so broad they made his head look small despite his thick neck, sat with his heavy black cape behind him; his polished ramer was at his belt and a large broadsword hung from his right hip. The black-garbed woman beside him, Jennae, wore a perpetual sour expression that would have made her unattractive even with more elegant facial features.
Tytan looked down from his saddle. “We have ridden hard and will stop here only a few hours. We are on our way to the war.”
Jennae looked at Onzu as if disappointed to find him here. “You may join us if you like. You always talk of your prowess in battle, and the vengewar could use you.” She frowned at the young trainees, then looked back at the bald master. “Are you packed?”
“I heard Utho’s call for Brava fighters, but we have other callings as well.” Onzu gestured to the children. “The fate of the next generation is in my hands.”
“If you had trained them faster, they could join us now and fight, as Bravas should,” Jennae added. Her horse snorted as if in agreement.
The big warrior sniffed. “Why not bring the children? They can still fight. They are young but they are Bravas.”
Jennae muttered, “Unless your training is weak. It doesn’t always take.” She looked away as heat flared in Onzu’s cheeks.
He knew they were referring to his son Onder. “I wasn’t there. I do not know what he experienced or why he did what he did.”
According to the stories, Onder had panicked under the onslaught of the godling that attacked Mirrabay. The young Brava had run for his life, leaving Utho to fight the ravening deity by himself.
“I was present when he received the rune of forgetting,” said Jennae. “Onder did not deny the accusations. He accepted the tattoo, and he walked away broken, with no memory and no longer a Brava.” Her voice had no sympathy, and Onzu couldn’t tell if she was challenging him or accusing him.
“We know Utho tells many stories. Sometimes they mean nothing,” Tytan said, sounding oddly conciliatory. “We will need food and water, but we cannot stay the night. We can ride for miles in the hours of sunlight that remain.”
“We will provide what you need,” Onzu said. “But I stay here.”
The Brava children watched curiously as both visitors swung down from their mounts. Onzu gestured with his chin, and two of the oldest boys grabbed the reins and led the horses off, hitching them to a post near the wooden statue of the ancient Brava pioneer Olan.
“Let us eat and be on our way.” Jennae strode toward one of the main dwellings. The two Brava riders were sweaty and weary from their long ride.
Onzu barked at the gawking children, “All of you back to your chores. And if you have no assigned gardening or firewood gathering, then train! You can never stop getting better.”
Joining the two visitors in his dwelling, the master prepared a quick and hearty meal. He removed smoked sausages and ham from the larder, along with old bread and some late-season apples. Tytan and Jennae wolfed down the food. Onzu filled their goblets from a water pitcher.
“Utho has called all able-bodied Bravas to prepare for the all-out invasion of Ishara,” Jennae said. “We have broken our terms of service with sworn lords because the vengewar takes precedence.” She gave him a hard glance. “All Bravas.”
“Yes, I heard Utho’s tale,” Onzu said. “But perhaps you have not heard all the tales. Remember the wreths and the dragon Ossus. You must be aware of the stirring beneath the Dragonspine Mountains, the eruption of Mount Vada?”
“We also rememb
er Valaera and the slaughter of Bravas,” Tytan said, spearing a large slice of ham with his dagger. “That is more personal than an ancient myth.”
“Utho didn’t believe me either,” Onzu muttered. “What did you mean that he tells many stories?”
Tytan pursed his lips, unsettled. “There was a letter … sent by King Kollanan.” He looked at Jennae, who was clearly displeased that he would reveal such a thing. The burly man laced his fingers together and rested fists like rocks on the rough table. “Kollanan’s letter was intended for Conndur, but it arrived after the Isharans murdered the konag. Mandan received it instead. Utho called it a distraction and he convinced Mandan to dismiss it, but word leaked out anyway.”
“I place no stock in the message,” Jennae said, biting one of the apples in half, core and all. “We have priorities other than the wild tales of yet another disgraced and fallen Brava.”
Onzu set his sausage and dry bread aside as a flash of Onder crossed his mind. The eager young man had gone out to become a paladin with bright dreams of an enduring legacy for himself. Onzu had never seen his son after his downfall, with the complex tattoo on his face, the rune of forgetting.… “What other disgraced Brava do you mean?”
“How many do you know?” Jennae quipped, challenging him.
“Elliel,” Tytan answered.
Onzu was surprised. “The woman who murdered children up in Lord Cade’s holding?”
“That is what Utho claimed,” Tytan replied.
“That is what she did,” Jennae said. “Utho’s word is good enough for me.”
“King Kollanan’s letter said otherwise.” The big Brava man was obviously not happy with the knowledge. “Elliel has since found a way to overcome her rune of forgetting, and now she accuses Utho of using her as a scapegoat. She says that Lord Cade ravished her and that Lady Almeda threatened to expose their secret Isharan slaves who harvest the saltpearls.”
“Not much of a secret,” Jennae said with a snort.
Vengewar Page 40