Book 5: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Pavan wasn’t at his apartment in the city, so Leena Traveled to his family’s camp in northeast Sanvar, in the Ushto region.

Unfortunately, she arrived during the gift-giving ceremony for his upcoming wedding to Kala, another Traveler from the city. When the bride-to-be saw her, the smile slipped off the woman’s face. She shot glares in Leena’s direction in between thanking friends and family members for wedding gifts.

Once the crowd of well-wishers had dwindled away, Kala stalked over. Pavan followed behind more sedately.

“You come here now?” the other woman hissed at Leena. “Today?”

The Zidari may have understood the importance of careful interbreeding of their bloodlines, but no woman wants to be reminded she was her groom’s second choice. Certainly not during the most important of the three marriage ceremonies.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t realize,” Leena said. “And it was too important to wait.”

“Kala, enough,” Pavan murmured, a note of warning in his voice. “It’s the Empress’s business.”

“Of course,” Kala said, her voice overly sweet. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with business.” She found her nearest group of friends and whispered something to them. They snuck glances at Leena as they laughed.

Pavan sighed. “You’ll have to forgive her,” he said. “This wasn’t a good time to come. I take it you’re here because Yelena chose a second bondmate?”

“No, I—what? She picked two?”

“You didn’t hear? Do you remember Indirah?”

“The girl from Ochal?”

“That’s the one. I’ve started training her and Fareed. I’ll send them up to you when they’re ready.”

Indirah was a quiet young woman from the jungle region of southern Sanvar, while Fareed was Pavan’s own cousin.

“Yelena only had two bonds left,” Leena said. “I didn’t think she’d use both of them. How is that going to work?”

“For taking two, she’ll basically be your business partner for the northern expansion. There’s a complicated contract you’ll have to look over about how everything is meant to work.”

Leena nodded. “I’ll read it when I can, but that’s not why I’m here. King Rusol’s army is almost to the keep. They’ll reach us tomorrow.”

Pavan was silent for a moment. “Your friends weren’t able to stop them?” he asked. He’d visited the keep to help with Udit’s training, and was aware of the dangers they were facing.

“I don’t think stopping them was ever part of the plan. Corec just wanted to slow them down and tire them out, and he says we managed that.”

“How bad do you think it’ll be?”

“It’ll come down to whether there are any mages we don’t know about. Or if something happens that we didn’t plan for.”

“I could—” Pavan started, then bit off what he’d been about to say.

“No, you can’t,” Leena said. “It’s bad enough that I’m there. We can’t have you get involved too. Besides, what would Kala think?”

“You’re right—but you’re not a fighter, so why stay? What about Udit?”

“I can get away anytime I need to, and Udit’s already here—I left him with my grandmother. But I need to ask for a favor.”

“Oh?”

“Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

Pavan glanced at his bride, who was still gossiping with her friends. “We’d better stay in sight,” he said. He led her to a tent pavilion where the remains of the gift-giving feast had already been cleared away.

Leena handed him the jade bracelet and her marked-up copy of Bobo’s map. “If something happens to me, you’ll need this. It’s how we’ll stop Snake from coming after our people.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Snake? You mean the snake cult?”

Leena shook her head. “No. Are there even any cult members left in Sanvar? And you’ve already taken out their largest stronghold in the Tablelands.” That had become a problem when the Council of Guardians—as the local warlords called themselves—had learned of it, but Empress Shereen had calmed them down and convinced them to join the hunt. “The cult’s not the real problem. We need to worry about whoever has been giving them their orders. Snake.”

“But there is no Snake. That’s just one of their delusions.”

“Why would any god allow so many of his or her priests to go around lying about who they serve?” Leena said. “They must have been telling the truth. There were eight old gods once—we learned that in Tir Yadar—and Snake was one of them. Four died, but Snake didn’t. That has to be what the bracelet’s for.”

“Eight? Who are the—” Pavan shook his head. “Never mind. What does the bracelet have to do with it?”

“It’s a way to Travel to different worlds.” She indicated the paper she’d given him. “That’s a map. See the three lines near the bottom? The middle one is our world, and the one above it is the demon world, or the demon realm, or hell. I’m not sure what to call it. I’ve been there a dozen times and it’s different every time. Don’t go there unless you have to—some of the demons are just curious, but others will try to kill you if they see you.”

“I don’t understand. What do demons have to do with Snake, if he actually exists?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I have a guess. If nobody knows about him besides his followers, maybe he’s in hiding, either in the demon world or one of the others. I just haven’t had enough time to finish exploring. The world below ours is nothing but gray fog, and the one that crosses through at an angle makes me sick to even try. I only managed it once.” Leena shivered, remembering the flashing lights and the way the land had shifted below her feet. “Stay away from that one. The creatures there didn’t like me much.”

The way the six-limbed beasts had followed and surrounded her had been more frightening than the demon encounters she’d faced.

“What about the other lines?” Pavan asked.

“I haven’t figured out how to get to them yet, and you shouldn’t try,” Leena said. “I just need to know the bracelet is safe. If something happens, you can take it to the others. Someone will be able to figure it out. Maybe Satyana.”

Pavan frowned down at the items in his hands. “I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it. You shouldn’t stay at the keep if you’re in danger.”

“You sound like Rohav. I’m the safest person there, remember?”

“I suppose,” he admitted. “You should know, Queen Yassi of Larso is here, in the city. She’s clan—the Sanva camp.” The zi-Dari Sanva were one of the founding families. The founding family, it could be said, though the early families were so interrelated that there wasn’t much distinction between them.

“Her name sounded Zidari to me, but I wasn’t sure. Why is she here?”

“It all seems to be a mystery. I wasn’t in a position to ask any questions when I met her, and Shereen’s being coy about it all. But I could try to get a message to her if it would help.”

Leena considered the possibility, then shook her head. “We’ve got an army on our doorstep right now, and Corec’s focused on dealing with that. We don’t know anything about the queen, but I can’t imagine she could do anything to stop a war between wardens. If we make it through the next few days, I’ll ask the empress for permission to speak with her.”

#

“Do you have everything you need?” Katrin asked, looking over the contents of the wagon.

“Enough to get by for a few weeks,” her brother replied. “Never even had a chance to move any of it to the new building.”

“It’ll still be here when you get back,” Katrin said. That was a wild hope at best. The new inn was outside the fortress walls, and even Corec, who was optimistic about their chances in the battle, wasn’t sure they could prevent the mercenaries from burning down the village.

“You should come with us,” Barz said.

“I can’t,” Katrin said. “I’ve got to stay, at least until I figure out whether there’s some way I can help.”

“Then maybe I’ll stay too. Patrig said he’d watch over Ana and Robby.”

Those were his words, but his gaze rested on his wife and new son—Katrin’s nephew. The two were waiting for him near the front of the wagon so the family could leave together in the final convoy of civilians who were evacuating Hilltop.

Katrin gave her brother the answer he needed to hear. “No, Barz, Ana needs you. Not someone else. And this isn’t a street fight. It’s a war, and you’re no soldier.”

“Neither are you!”

“I’ve killed men before,” she said. She’d never admitted that to him. “And if the worst happens, Leena will take me somewhere safe.” If she could.

“Promise me you’ll go if you need to.”

“Of course,” Katrin said, grinning broadly to hide her own uneasiness. “I grew up in the same neighborhood as you, remember? I don’t plan to die here—we’re not going to throw away our lives defending an old heap of rock. There’s always another way out, and we’ve still got plenty of cards left to play.”

After a few more reassurances, Barz headed on his way, helping Ana and the baby up to the wagon seat before leading the mules through the gatehouse tunnel so they could join with the rest of the convoy.

Katrin breathed a sigh of relief, then took a look around the courtyard. Nedley was giving the civilian militia members one final lesson before they departed as well.

“If it comes to a fight, do what the elven sentinels tell you!” the young man was saying. “Commander Alarein is in charge of military matters, and Patrig’s in charge of everything else. For anyone who hasn’t been out to the campsite yet, we’ve built some shelters there, but it won’t be enough for everyone. You’ll have to share, and hopefully you’ll all be back home before there’s time to build more.”

Before heading inside the keep, Katrin stopped to check the stable one last time to make sure the only animals left were the ones that were supposed to be there. The stables were Boktar’s responsibility, not hers, but the dwarven man had been locked in with Corec all afternoon going over variations in the battle plans.

Inside the stable, she found Harri grooming Dusty, Kevik’s warhorse.

“What are you doing here, Harri?” Katrin said. “You were supposed to leave an hour ago.” She’d watched him gather with the other workers to herd the few mules that didn’t have wagons to pull.

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“There’s plenty of grooms already gone,” the boy said. “Someone’s gotta take care of the animals here.”

“We’ll take care of them ourselves! You’re not supposed to be here! What about your sister?”

A very human-sounding squeak came from one of the stalls.

“Ditte!” Katrin snapped. “Get out here!”

Ditte shuffled out from her hiding place, trying to look innocent. Her nice pink dress was coated in a layer of dust.

“Young lady, how did you get away from Nallee? What’s that behind your back? Where did you get a knife?”

#

Corec stood with Treya and Kevik under a white parley flag at the entrance to the village. Priest Conley had joined them as well, wearing his order’s traditional black robes and carrying Pallisur’s battle standard. Corec was of two minds about having Conley at his side, but with both Kevik and the priest, it would have to raise some questions in the minds of the knights arrayed against them.

The group waited in the open, just outside the new thorn wall and well away from the safety of the fortress’s stone walls. Treya was maintaining protection spells against both fire and lightning, and from farther away, Ellerie had extended her arrow shield spell to reach them. She’d also added a new spell, one designed to protect against arcane magic attacks. While a Knight of Pallisur was unlikely to violate a parley, Corec wasn’t sure just how much control Rusol had over the enemy forces. It was best to be safe.

The four of them had taken their position as soon as the army had drawn close enough to see the flag, but it was another half hour before the enemy forces sent a delegation. Barat rode at their head, accompanied by a squad of mercenaries and a priest of his own, as well as Sir Cason and Sir Osbert. Cason had the grace to look embarrassed, giving Kevik and Corec a sheepish nod. Osbert seemed more confused than anything else. The delegation remained mounted even after bringing their horses to a halt.

Corec checked the visitors with his warden senses, finding that this particular priest wasn’t a mage. To his surprise, though, Barat was. Had Pallisur chosen him? Or did he have some other gift that he’d kept secret throughout his training, just as Corec had?

“Sir Barat, welcome to Warden’s Keep,” Corec said. “Might I ask why you’ve brought an invasion force into my lands?”

“You know answer already, I think,” Barat said in his rough accent. “Corec Tarwen, you did dark magic and … how say … treachery against throne. You sent assassin after king. You must answer for crimes.”

What game was Barat playing at? He must have had a reason for sending that warning months earlier, but it seemed clear he wasn’t going to acknowledge it in front of his men. Yet of all the knights he had at his disposal, why select the two who’d accompanied Corec against the dragon? He was offering some sort of message, but Corec couldn’t interpret the meaning.

“I’ve never sent any assassin against the king,” Corec said. “I sent an envoy in peace, an envoy who Rusol himself tried to murder for no reason. As for dark magic, I reject the charge, and I challenge you to name a single instance of it. I left Larso to avoid breaking your laws—laws which don’t apply in the free lands.”

“He speaks the truth,” Priest Conley said. “As the highest-ranking priest of Pallisur in the area, I say the Order has overstepped its bounds. If King Rusol wishes to wage war outside his own borders, he can’t hide behind Church law to do so. Where is the army? Why do the Knights of Pallisur cower behind mercenaries whose only loyalty is to coin?”

Perhaps Corec had underestimated the man.

Sir Cason spoke up. “What’s actually going on here?” he asked. “Sir Barat’s story doesn’t make any sense, but something must have happened between you and the king.” Barat didn’t react to the statement.

“Rusol wants to kill me because I know his secret,” Corec said. “He’s a mage himself, which makes him a false king. No mage shall be king nor peer of Larso upon pain of death, and that law still holds true today. By coming here, you’re following the commands of a fraud, a man who’s perverting the Order for his own gain. A man who murdered his own brother to ensure he would become king.”

Barat again didn’t contradict the statement, but Cason and Osbert shared a glance.

“He killed Prince Rikard?” Cason asked. “Are you sure of that?”

“As sure as I can be,” Corec said. Razai had said it was a common rumor in the enemy camp. If the rumor could help save lives, that was more important than knowing the truth of it. “On my honor, and as your comrade-in-arms, I swear that Rusol is a mage, a false king, and a liar.”

Under other circumstances, Corec might have applauded anyone who’d twisted the Order of Pallisur around as much as Rusol had, but right now that same Order was Corec’s best hope for stopping a war. If Barat wouldn’t listen, Cason and Osbert were the next best choice.

“Barat,” Cason started, “if he’s telling the truth, we can’t—”

Barat held up a hand to stop him. “On my honor as Knight of Pallisur, His Majesty is not mage,” he said, an indecipherable look passing over his face. “We are here to stop traitor Corec Tarwen.”

Treya made a quick, indrawn hiss of breath, but Corec couldn’t spare any attention for her. Not with the parley already going out of control.

“Sir Barat,” he said, “in memory of our friendship, I’ll allow your forces to depart in peace. If you choose to proceed with your misguided war, on the orders of a false king, we will stop you. Ask Cason and Osbert about it. Destroying your army won’t be any harder than bringing down a dragon in mid-flight. Rusol’s mercenaries have murdered dozens of innocent people—men, women, and children—in his previous attempts to kill me. End this now, before anyone else dies.”

Even Osbert eyed the mercenaries after that statement, but Barat was unmoved.

“If you do not surrender yourself, we have nothing to talk about,” the knight said.

“You’re making a mistake, Barat,” Kevik said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We’re done here,” Barat said and signaled his men. They nudged their horses around to leave.

“Barat, before you go, I have a question,” Corec said.

Barat looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“My cousin, Sir Jesson—did he accompany you?”

“Sir Jesson is too old for fighting, and he disagreed with my orders. I left him under guard at Fort Hightower.”

Under the circumstances, perhaps that was for the best. If Jesson had managed to get word to Ansel, Corec wasn’t sure how his father would have reacted.

Once the delegation was out of earshot, Corec turned to Treya. “Did you learn anything?” he asked.

“Sir Barat is under a demonic compulsion spell, but he’s the only one in this group. I wasn’t able to free him. It was different than the red-eyes, and I’m not sure why. I’ll need more time with him if I’m going to try again.”

Corec nodded. It helped to know his old friend wasn’t in control of his own actions. They’d half-expected it, considering Barat had been stationed in Telfort.

The compulsion wasn’t the only problem, though. Barat was a mage, and he’d been placed in command of the invasion force despite his relative youth. That all added up to the probability that he was one of Rusol’s bondmates, and thus likely the most dangerous threat they faced.

#

“What do you see?” Corec asked. Ellerie had just finished casting the mage-finding spell she’d discovered in Terevas.

“They’re very small from here,” she said. “I think there are … three? No, four, back at the far side of the camp. And another one near the big tents at the center.”

“That’ll be Barat,” Corec said. “Those are the command tents. Only five mages?” That was better than he’d feared, unless they all happened to be Rusol’s bondmates.

“That’s all I can see, but they just look like red dots from this far away. If two of them are standing right next to each other, I might not find them both.”

“Can you reach them from here?” Corec asked.

“Maybe, if they don’t move around while I’m aiming. Should I try? I might hit the wrong person, and everyone will be able to see what I’m doing.” Her beam spell wasn’t subtle.

Corec considered the options. Barat had been a friend once, but he was also a danger. Could they justify allowing him to live if it meant others might die? Yet … he’d sent that warning. What if Treya could save him?

“We’d better not,” Corec said. “Let’s give Cason and Osbert more time to pass the word around. I don’t want the knights to see us striking the first blow.” If the knights were going to abandon their cause, they’d have to believe they were making the right choice. Letting Barat and the priests live was a risk, but killing them from afar before the battle even began would be worse.

The army had settled into a defensive encampment, digging out long trenches like a moat and piling the dirt in tall mounds behind. The tactic was meant to foil enemy charges and force them into chokepoints, much like Shavala’s thorn wall, but what sort of offensive charge did Barat think Corec could pull off with seven warhorses? Not that the knight knew the exact numbers, but he must have had a reasonable guess.

The action suggested their opponents might be settling in for a siege rather than a direct assault, but would they have enough provisions for that? Did they have supply caravans on the way after all?

Under other circumstances, a long siege would be a problem for a small defensive force, but if that was Barat’s intention, Corec could modify his plan to match. The mercenaries might be out of bow range, but they weren’t far enough away to avoid Sarette or Shavala.

Still, Corec wanted his opponents to launch the initial assault, and he was relieved to see the knights wheeling their catapults and ballistae out of the camp and into range. They would only do that if they were intending to attack. For a siege, Barat would have left the weapons behind the trenches.

Dusk fell while the knights positioned their equipment. Ellerie went to warn the others what they were facing, but Corec remained up on the bastion, summoning mage lights and sending them out to line the thorn wall at regular intervals. That was more to watch over the hedgerow itself than to illuminate his opponents’ work, but each light caused the nearest knights to stop what they were doing and stare.

As the knights tested their weapons, a few ballista bolts streaked into the village, and a lucky catapult shot reached the fortress walls. Corec had to step behind a merlon to avoid the spray of stones. The small rocks weren’t much of a danger, though, and Ellerie had reinforced the walls with a warding spell to protect them once the enemy launched a real attack.

Over half of the siege weapons never fired a single shot, the knights pulling them from the line and moving them back out of the way.

“What are they up to?” Georg asked. He would command the northeast and northwest walls if Corec was needed elsewhere.

“Razai sabotaged every ballista she could get her hands on,” Corec said. “Some of the catapults too. They must have run out of spare parts.”

“You kept that quiet.”

“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. And they might still get them working, so let’s not go talking about it where people can hear.”

Ral jogged over to join them. “The men are getting nervous that we’re not firing back,” he said.

“They’re just doing ranging shots down there,” Corec said. “But I suppose we’ve let them waste enough time on it. Show them we can hit back; aim for their weapons. Don’t use any of the fortisteel bolts.”

As an exercise, it was unnecessary—Ral’s men had already ranged their own weapons—but the keep’s higher elevation gave them the advantage. The knights would either have to move their weapons farther back, making them less effective, or leave their crews within easy range of bombardment.

Ral nodded and left to inform his men.

The night grew darker, and the steady pounding of war drums began sounding out from the enemy camp. The knights used the instruments for issuing orders over the din and chaos of battle, but also to frighten their opponents. Corec thought that last idea was a bit silly—they were just drums—but the deep pounding still made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“I always hated those damned things,” Georg said. “Drums were my first job as a knight, back in the North Border War. It never bothered the barbarians—they’d start whooping and hollering every time we started. I think they enjoyed it.”

“If the drummers keep it up all night, no one’s getting any sleep,” Corec said. “Barat’s probably trying to even the odds after we tired out his men.”

“Dawn attack then, you think?”

“Or just before dawn, if he wants to be sneaky. We’ll have to keep a full watch.”

A night assault would be more dangerous for the attackers than the defenders, but Barat might be betting on the surprise to give him an edge. Sarette and Shavala were resting below, in the old tavern, in case they were needed earlier than expected.

Most likely, though, a nighttime attack would be limited to saboteurs attempting to dig out or burn down the thorn wall so Barat’s forces could sneak into the village and hide in the buildings under cover of darkness. Corec’s men would have to watch the entire perimeter all night long. Half of his archers and crossbowmen were on the wall now, but if the other half didn’t manage to get any rest, they’d all be exhausted by the time the actual attack came.

“It doesn’t seem right, planning how to fight our own brothers,” Georg muttered, staring out at the bits of activity they could still see in the darkness.

“Let’s just hope Cason and Osbert believed me,” Corec said. “Treya said they weren’t under compulsion.” After a moment, he added, “Would you rather be out there?” The older man’s loyalties were questionable.

Georg snorted. “My shield won’t block a lightning bolt, so … no. But I’ll hold you to your promise to save as many as we can.”

“It’s not really a promise,” Corec said. “If the knights don’t break, and if we can’t convince Barat to call off the attack, there’s not much else I can do about it.” They’d attempted to demoralize the enemy forces in advance, but once the battle began, they’d have to tip the scale quickly and decisively.

“Then we’ll see what we see,” Georg said. It wasn’t exactly a resounding affirmation of support. “Bloody hell, I wish they’d stop it with those drums!”

Then another instrument sounded—a harp. Katrin had dragged a chair up to a flat section of the keep’s roof, a spot once used as a pigeon aviary, and sat there alone, singing the sad but triumphant ballad she’d written in memory of Fergus, the headman of Jol’s Brook, who’d died battling snow beasts after nearly leading his people to safety.

She segued from that into one of the first songs Corec had ever heard her sing, a battle hymn praising the glory of Pallisur. Corec hated the song, but it might give the knights pause to hear it coming from their enemy’s position.

The drumming from the camp faltered as she finished the final notes and moved on to her next tune. It took Corec a moment to recognize it as the song she’d written about the battle against the dragon. He’d only heard pieces before, with Katrin always insisting it wasn’t ready.

Then more instruments joined in—a flute, a gittern, others that Corec couldn’t name. He looked back again, but Katrin was still on her own, with only the harp on her lap. She’d added the other sounds herself, weaving them into the false memories bards could create.

The bits of the song Corec had heard before had always seemed to be missing something, and now he realized why. Katrin had written it from the start to be played with multiple instruments, and now she played them all together using just her mind.

Along with the music came visions of the battle—Sarette’s diving strike in a burst of lightning, Nedley keeping his squad in place as the dragon’s fire washed over them, Corec and Boktar charging the beast with the knights following after.

Katrin hadn’t been present for the battle, and not all the details were accurate, but she’d crafted a story that could be told in visions—a story that might show their opponents what they were up against. And when that song ended, she began another.

She sang through the night.