Book 5: Chapter Twenty-Six

“You didn’t bring Risingwind?” Corec asked while he and Shavala circled the village, examining the work being done.

“He’ll stay with Zhailai for now—the last thing I want is for him to see a battle. She’s going back to the forest to warn the elders about the army. They’re far enough away that it shouldn’t be a problem, but we still need to let them know.”

“Then you’re planning to stick around this time?”

“We’ve done as much as we can for the farmers, and Sarette told me the mercenaries were only a week away. I’ll be here until …” She gestured vaguely to the west.

“It’ll be good to have you back.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” she said. “Risingwind is doing well enough with people, but he’s getting bigger and I don’t always know how he’ll react to larger groups.”

“I know. I’ve missed you—Katrin has, too—but we understood. The work you’ve been doing … well, you and Zhailai might be the reason we make it through the winter.”

She gave him a small smile, but didn’t reply.

They stopped at a group of workers who were digging around the edges of the hill where the earth had settled over time, providing too gentle and welcoming of a slope. So far they’d cleared a fifty-foot length, leaving a three-foot-tall vertical barrier where the new edge of the hill rose over the surrounding area.

“How’s it coming along?” Corec asked Enzo, who was overseeing the work crew.

“This won’t slow ‘em down much,” the soldier replied.

“No, but every little bit counts. And they won’t be able to get siege weapons up close unless they build ramps.”

It wasn’t much of a solution—the catapults and ballistae would still have the range to reach the fortress from beyond the hill—but with the distance and the lower elevation, the weapons would be less effective.

“How many entrances should we leave?” Enzo asked.

“Just the main road leading to the bridge. If we’re lucky, maybe we can convince the commander to funnel all his siege equipment through that one spot, and then Sarette can take it all out at once.”

Shavala, who’d been listening to their conversation, spoke up. “You decided not to build a wooden palisade?”

That was one of the earlier plans they’d discussed.

Corec shook his head. “Surrounding the entire hill would have been too much work for how little benefit it would give us. We don’t have enough archers to protect a palisade, and the ones we do have will be way back on the fortress walls, so they won’t have a clear shot. The mercenaries could just set the whole thing on fire or pull it down one log at a time.”

The logic made sense, but Corec was still debating whether he’d made the right decision. And now there wasn’t enough time left to change his mind.

Shavala looked thoughtful for a moment, then dug around in a pouch she wore at her waist until she found a small brown twig. She dropped it at her feet and unstrapped the staff from her back, grasping it in both hands and closing her eyes.

The twig grew tendrils which dug into the ground, and then new shoots of green sprouted from the other side, rapidly expanding into a tall shrub of a sort Corec didn’t recognize, with tightly intertwined branches sporting two-inch thorns. Dozens more of the shrubs burst up through the soil, making the work crew jump back with startled oaths.

The plants grew close to each other in a dense thicket, entangling their branches together to form a single hedge ten feet wide and ten feet tall, extending for the full length of the area the workers had cleared.

“That’s green enough that it won’t burn easily,” Shavala said. “Sarette and I can keep it that way with some rain.”

Enzo was just staring at it, wide-eyed.

“That …” Corec started, then shook his head. “We talked about blocking the road, but it never even occurred to me you could build a wall that way.” It was like a hedgerow for keeping livestock in an enclosed area, but much thicker and more impenetrable—and it hadn’t taken years to grow.

“This one’s called blackthorn,” she said. “You’ll have to warn everyone to be careful around it—the thorns can break off into the skin and cause an infection. Will it be useful? Should I keep going?”

“Yes!” Corec said. “If you can do that, it’s going to …” He trailed off. “Enzo, keep doing what you’re doing, and then Shavala, you can come back after they’re done.”

The thorn bush would be the more effective of the two efforts, but doing both would be even better, hopefully slowing down the enemy soldiers enough for Corec’s small army to mount a defense. Perhaps it would even make sense to move his siege weapons outside the fortress walls now to improve their accuracy … but then that would put them in the enemy’s hands once they did breach the hill. No, best to leave the weapons where they were at, even if it meant they were less useful.

Enzo saluted and went to collect his workers while Corec and Shavala headed back to the main road leading into the village—soon to be the only road leading into the village.

“Sarette told me there were Matagorans here,” Shavala said. “They want to take back the keep?”

“They arrived yesterday with a bunch of documents from King Orlin,” Corec said. “I’ve been putting off speaking to them, but Bobo and I think we’ve worked out a plan to get rid of them.”

--

Bobo was the first to arrive in the meeting chamber. The new walls—still smelling of fresh-cut wood—separated the room from what used to be the great hall. He helped Boktar show Lord Alastair and Captain Elgin to their seats at the center of the table, one on either side.

Then, feeling mischievous, he took a position by the door to announce the others as they arrived.

“Lady Katrin of Tyrsall and Sister Treya of the Three Orders,” he started.

Katrin glared at him, though whether for the announcement or the fake title, he couldn’t be sure. He just winked at her.

The two women took seats near the head of the table, with Katrin sitting to the right and Treya to the left, facing each other—the traditional spots for a wife and concubine. Their warden binding runes glowed clear and bright, drawing the visitors’ attention. The group had spent a good hour discussing whose runes should be visible and whose should remain hidden.

“Stormrunner Sarette, Captain of the Guard.” That probably wasn’t how Sarette’s titles should be worded, but it was hard to combine them in a way that sounded impressive. Her rune was showing.

Alastair seemed uncertain how to react, settling for a brief nod. Had he ever seen a stormborn before?

“Sir Kevik, Knight of the Dragon.”

Kevik’s eyebrows shot up, but judging by the smile that played at his lips as he came through the door, he approved of the appellation.

“Mage Knight Ariadne of Cordaea.”

Ariadne was too touchy for Bobo to risk giving her a fake title, or to mention Tir Yadar. Her rune, too, was glowing, though it wasn’t quite the same shade as the others.

“The druid Shavala of Terrillia.” Shavala didn’t need a fake title, and her rune was hidden from sight.

Alastair’s eyes widened and he gave her a half bow from his seated position.

“Her Exalted Highness, the Lady Ellerie di’Valla, Royal Ambassador of Terevas.” Ellerie’s real titles were more impressive than anything Bobo could come up with, though no one was supposed to mention she was also Corec’s chancellor. She was wearing robes of state made from elven silk, and like Shavala, her rune wasn’t visible.

The baron’s face went pale and he lurched to his feet.

“Exalted,” he said with a deep bow. “I didn’t realize Terevas had sent a representative.”

“It’s been a long time, Lord Alastair,” Ellerie said, her voice cool.

“Yes, Exalted. Twenty years, I believe, since I served as ambassador to your mother. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

Ellerie acknowledged that with a nod. “And now my sister has sent me here to negotiate for our interests in the area. I certainly hope you don’t intend to make my job difficult.”

“I … pardon, Exalted, but is there truly a need for an ambassador here, of all places? A royal ambassador?”

As far as Bobo knew, the inclusion of the word royal just meant Ellerie was a member of the royal family, but perhaps to a diplomat it had some connotation beyond that.

“Of course,” Ellerie said. “Warden Corec is a close ally of the di’Valla family.”

Alastair swallowed. “I see.”

The two of them sat down, Ellerie taking her designated spot. Normally everyone sat on the benches along the sides, but for this meeting, she’d suggested bringing in two chairs—one for Corec at the head of the table and one for herself at the foot.

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That left one last participant for the meeting.

“Warden Corec Tarwen.” That title felt insufficient, but if Bobo got too creative with his lies, Corec might get annoyed and break the illusion they were trying to weave.

He was wearing a well-tailored gray vest that left his arms bare, the seven warden binding runes glowing blue. Bobo hadn’t realized Razai’s rune was active again—was this the third time Corec had bonded her? One spot remained open on his left arm, leaving room for an eighth rune. An invitation, but for whom?

The young man had come a long way since Bobo had first met him. Corec had always been reluctant to acknowledge his position as a leader, but, for now, that reluctance was nowhere to be seen. He carried himself with an air of command as he took his seat at the head of the table.

“Lord Alastair,” he started, “I’ve had a chance to discuss your proposal with my advisors. It appears to omit a few key details.”

“Which details would those be?” the baron asked.

“Matagor abandoned the area fifty-four years ago,” Corec said. “By free-lands tradition, any holdings here were up for grabs immediately. Even under Matagoran law, land owners who abandon their property lose any claim to it after ten years.” Bobo had provided him with that last detail.

“Abandoned land in Matagor reverts to the Crown,” Alastair pointed out. “Or to the local lord if it falls within their domain.”

“Within the borders of the kingdom, yes, but if you insist this land was part of Matagor itself, then the Crown holds a duty to protect its citizens. When you abandoned the area to the dragon, you also abandoned the people. By our estimate, over ten thousand families lost their homes, lands, and shops.”

Alastair scowled. “Matagor never claimed anywhere near that much territory. We’re not responsible for those outside our influence.”

Corec nodded. “A fair point. Four hundred families, then, for the region you did claim. There’s also the little matter of compensation. While your offer of one hundred gold coins for removing the dragon is generous, our actual costs came to just under seven hundred. Not to mention clearing the roads, which has been two hundred so far, and repairing severe damage to the curtain wall and the bridge. Let’s call that another two hundred.”

Repairing the stonework hadn’t been anywhere near that expensive, but Ellerie had insisted that stone-shaping should be priced according to what it was worth rather than what it cost her to do it.

“Eleven hundred gold?” the baron said. “You can’t be serious.”

“Maintaining a fortress in the free lands isn’t cheap,” Corec said. “I’ve heard your offer, so I’ll make one of my own. I’ll give up my claim to the region in exchange for full reimbursement of our expenses, plus appropriate compensation to the descendants of the four hundred families who lost their homes in Hilltop Village and the surrounding area.”

“It’s been fifty years!” Alastair protested. “How would we even know who they are?”

“Your clerks here kept detailed records, and some of those families have already returned,” Corec said. “In addition to the compensation, I require King Orlin’s pledge that he’ll protect the people of the region against any threat that may arise. If he fails to honor that pledge, the keep will revert to me if I’m available, and otherwise to your own Duke Lorvis.”

Alastair silently mouthed Lorvis’s name in confusion, but then shook his head. “Not that anyone will ever agree to your other demands, but of course the king would protect his own lands.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t do so well against the dragon, and Larso’s already got an army on the way.”

Lord Alastair stared at him. “Larso’s coming here? Now?”

“They’re a week out. If you’d like to relay my offer to King Orlin, we can have you back in Matagor today to request a response. In the meantime, Captain Elgin and his lancers will remain here, under my command, to defend the fortress. I’ll keep my own forces here long enough to help you repel the initial attack. That’ll give you time to raise an army to protect the region. Of course, it means Matagor will be going to war with Larso, but I suppose that’s your decision.”

The baron stood abruptly. “I … I’ll take the matter under advisement.” He snapped his fingers at Elgin and hurried out of the room, the officer following along behind. Elgin hadn’t spoken the entire time.

“I don’t think they’re going to take the offer,” Corec said.

Ellerie tilted her head to the side. “You almost sound like you want them to.”

“If they give us the money to start over again somewhere else, and they promise to protect the settlers from Larso …” Corec shrugged. “It’s not the worst idea. It would certainly annoy Rusol. Moving an army isn’t easy.”

“We’d need to bring our own soldiers with us,” Boktar pointed out. “They have families. With that many people, we’ll still need the household servants and the other workers, who also have families. And unless we leave our siege weapons and all of our supplies behind, we’re not going to move any faster than Rusol’s forces.”

Corec sighed. “I suppose not. Things were just so much easier when we had a smaller group. To answer the question, no, I don’t want them to take the offer—we’re settled in here and we’ve made promises to the people. But we can’t fight two wars at once, so I had to give the Matagorans a reason to back off, and an excuse that’ll let them pretend I’m not the one they’re backing down from.”

--

“Hey, Pardir, did ya hear that howling earlier?”

“Sure did,” Razai said, joining her squad around the camp fire. Or, rather, the squad to which her current disguise had belonged before she’d killed him. “Don’t know what’s out there, but it’s still hunting us. Probably why no one lives around here.”

“Cap’n says it’s just a mountain lion,” one of the men said.

“Doesn’t sound like any mountain lion I’ve ever heard before,” Razai told him. She had no idea what a mountain lion sounded like, but she’d been making the noises herself each night, sneaking away from camp after dark. Screaming, screeching, yowling—anything that would set the men on edge.

“Whatever it is, I hear it got Omar and Uldin last night,” someone added.

Razai had seen Uldin the night before. She’d been invisible, cutting through the rope coil on one of the ballistae, when he’d crept past, sneaking out of camp to join the ranks of the deserters.

He was just one of many. A dozen of the hillfolk had disappeared before Razai even arrived—slipping away when the army passed through their homeland.

Since reaching the free lands, the mercenaries’ morale had only grown worse, partly from the poor road conditions and the continued bad weather, but also from the idea of actually going to war. They’d spent the past two years doing nothing more dangerous than guarding the northern border, and they’d grown accustomed to a safer lifestyle.

Most of the desertions, though, were due to the wild stories and rumors circulating around the camp, only half of which Razai had started.

As for Omar, she hadn’t seen any sign of him, but that had to mean he’d deserted too. Her own target the night before had been a young lieutenant from Chondor by the name of Artur. She’d left his body hidden in a ditch. Competent and intelligent leaders were in short supply amongst the mercenaries, and Razai had been busy winnowing those ranks even further.

Gesturing to her squad mates, she leaned forward, making an obvious show of glancing around as if looking for someone who might overhear.

“I overheard some of the knights talking,” she said in a low voice. “They’re planning to throw us against the walls first. They won’t have to pay us if we’re dead, and then they can take all the credit. People say Tarwen killed a dragon by calling lightning down out of the sky, just like what happened to those catapults. What do you think’s gonna happen when he does the same thing to us?”

The Pardir identity she’d stolen might not have been a squad leader, but he was experienced enough that the other soldiers listened to him, and Razai had found it easier to spread rumors from the lower ranks. It was the fifth identity she’d taken on since infiltrating the mercenaries two weeks earlier.

Her squad mates muttered darkly to each other. Leaving them to think about their futures, Razai excused herself and headed farther into the camp, switching to another disguise—this one a young drunkard who didn’t appear on any of the army’s official records, but who’d made himself known as a talker.

Finding a group that was still out and about, taking advantage of the break in the rain, she started her spiel. “What’s Rusol need us for anyway now he’s king? He’s got the real army these days. Don’t you think it’s strange they’re not with us? I bet once we’re done with what we came to do, those knights’ll run us all down. They can get rid of us and Corec Tarwen at the same time.”

And then another campfire, this squad made up of Larsonian traditionalists. “Way I see it, we made the right choice,” she drawled. “We followed Rusol from the beginning, even before he killed his father. He knows he can trust us.” The soldiers exchanged angry glances. Marten had been a popular king, and Razai wasn’t the first member of the camp to suggest it was his son who’d killed him. She moved on from that group quickly. No sense in tempting fate.

She opted for a more serious disguise with the next squad. “Second watch last night, wind blew out my lantern. Before I could light it, I saw eyes staring back at me from the dark. Dozens of them, glowing bright red. Demons, they’ve got to be. They chased me, howling, just like the ones tonight. You heard ‘em, right? They’re picking us off one by one, a few each day. That’s what happened to Omar, from the Fourth Brigade. They got him last night.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” one of the men said. “I’m from the free lands. There aren’t any bloody demons out there! It was probably just a fox, and this Omar fellow’s another deserter.”

At the mention of deserters, the soldiers around the fire grew speculative, eyeing each other with suspicion.

That might actually work better for Razai’s purpose, but she still took note of the man who’d spoken up. Broad shoulders, dark hair, tall. A corporal by his insignia. He’d never know how lucky he’d gotten—he would have made a good addition to her list of targets, but this was her last night in camp.

Done with spreading rumors for the evening, Razai headed off in the direction of the supply wagons, seeking out the two that were being used to haul casks of pitch. She had to go invisible for the last fifty feet to avoid the guards, but once she was between the two wagons, they couldn’t see her.

Over the previous few days, she’d piled tinder and small, dry branches between the wooden casks near the centers of the wagon beds, hidden beneath the oiled canvas coverings that were draped over the contents. Now it was time to light her fires, trusting the canvas to hide them from view until it was too late to save the wagons’ contents.

As she snuck away from the camp for the last time, she heard the startled oaths and cries of the soldiers who discovered the flames.

At the tree line where she intended to make her escape, she came upon a young knight who’d apparently been too embarrassed to do his business at the latrine. Creeping up behind him, Razai took on her demon disguise and howled loudly enough to be heard back at the camp.

The squatting knight jerked upright and tried to run, immediately tripping over his pants which were still around his ankles. He scrambled to his feet, pulling the soiled clothing up as he hobbled away, peering back fearfully at whatever he could see of her disguised form in the darkness.

That would certainly add to the rumors.

--

“Leena figures they camped about thirty miles out last night,” Corec said.

“Then they’ve picked up the pace since I left,” Razai said. “You didn’t have any more surprises for them?”

“We did what we set out to do, so I don’t see much need to delay things further. You didn’t have to kill anyone, did you?”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I told you I wouldn’t!” she said. “There were enough deserters that I had my pick of disguises. They must have lost almost three hundred men already.”

“Three hundred? That’s impressive.” That meant the enemy forces were down nearly ten percent of their number before the battle had even begun.

“It wasn’t all me. A good chunk of the hillfolk just went home, and not all the mercenaries are interested in going to war. They don’t think the free lands will have enough loot to make it worthwhile.”

Corec nodded. “It’s still good work. Thank you.”

She appeared uncomfortable with the praise, so he asked his next question. “Were there any red-eyes?”

“If you mean anyone under a compulsion spell, I could smell it on some of the knights. Not all of them, but I couldn’t get close enough to count because of the priests. I’d guess less than half.”

“Do you know how many priests there were? Blessed priests, I mean?”

“More than one,” she said. “I just told you I couldn’t get close. They’d have found me out.”

“What about other mages?” Corec asked. “Sarette said she felt an elder mage trying to play with the weather a few times.”

Razai shook her head. “No luck there. I didn’t see any other mages, and no one mentioned any to me. It’s Larso—whoever it is, they’re probably in hiding.”

“I wish we knew for sure,” Corec said. “I’d like to know if we’re up against any of Rusol’s bondmates.”

A horn sounded faintly from the walls, causing Razai to wrinkle her brow.

“It means the watchtower just sent a signal that they caught sight of the army,” Corec said. “That puts them fifteen or twenty miles out, so it’s time to evacuate Hilltop.”

“How are you going to manage that?”

“They’ve already agreed, most of them. Ellerie’s sentinels are going to escort them to a camp we set up to the east.”

“You’re sending away an entire squad of trained fighters?” Razai asked.

“Can’t have Terevas fighting Larso,” Corec said. The horn sounded again. “Time to get to work.”