The Sons of Hull (16 page)

Communication between the three was confined to signaled directions and shouted questions: the wind tore away everything else. Heads tucked into their hoods and frozen hands clutching the tails of the voyoté before them, they struggled and scrambled forward until they reached the relative quiet of Telenar’s camp. The small cave was warm enough with all three voyoté crowded inside. Exhausted, all of them collapsed in a deep slumber, from which they would not awaken until the night’s fall prevented further progress.

__________

The three sleepers could not have known they were being followed; the snow erased their footsteps as soon as they made them. For Corfe, it was a frustrating continuation of his task at Lascombe. Seeing without being seen—not a simple undertaking in any situation, but nearly impossible in a mountain snowstorm. The company of the Urabi Sentry made it doubly unpleasant, though Ranti was very effective.

“They have camped for the night,” the creature hissed, sliding into their small shelter.

Corfe nodded, choking down the revulsion he always felt at Ranti’s presence. With a sigh, he prepared to sleep, knowing the Sentry would watch them through the lunos hours. In the morning, he would disappear, presumably to rest, although Corfe doubted the creature needed any such human luxury. Then he would take up the watch himself. He occasionally wondered what Amarian would do if his mute servant were lost, deciding every time that Darkness would find someone else just as, if not more, useful, without bothering to discover his fate. It was an unpleasant job any way one looked at it, but the perks were undeniable: unlimited funds and the promise of unparalleled power were two temptations Corfe could not resist. He had an especially covetous eye toward the lord’s mistress. It was obvious Amarian cared nothing for the Lady Verial and did not even bother to benefit from her
attributes
. He crossed his arms over his chest. If the Dark One could not find a use for her, maybe his servant could. These thoughts and other unmentionables warmed him through the freezing night and on into the next morning, when his struggle of surveillance began again.

CHAPTER NINE

Thousands upon thousands of humans, all armed to the teeth, mounted on the fiercest of voyoté, and wearing Keroulian blue. Amarian smiled at the sight. Things were going well. Good King Relgaré had been more than willing to form an alliance—anything to stave off those dreadful Cylini. Amarian almost laughed out loud. Dreadful Cylini. Nothing more than a ragtag group of swamp dwellers who presented the king with a useful distraction. All of Keroul’s resources were being wasted on insignifant border wars; nothing could please Amarian more.

He allowed himself a few more laughs these days. Obsidian’s Advocate though he was, he still enjoyed the bright orblight of the lands west of Lascombe. It had been a tedious journey leading his forces over the Trmak desert, across the southern end of the Kingdom of Ulan, and through the farm fields of eastern Keroul. The journey, already long, was made longer still by the fact that he had to send emissaries ahead to the Ulanese royalty, assuring them that he was only passing through on Keroulian business and meant them no harm. The Ulanese had a difficult time believing his tale, given the past hostilities between their kingdom and the Eastern lands. In the end, it took a special dispatch from Relgaré to sort things out. The city of Lascombe had at least been forewarned of his coming, though even then he took the long way around, stringing his forces north of the city, through the trees, so as not to alarm the good people of Keroul.

Travel went more smoothly after he joined up with the king. Together, they had passed out of Keroul and into the barren no-man’s land that divided Keroul’s eastern border from the northern cities of the Mein peoples, more commonly referred to as the people of the West. The scenery was broad and desolate—wet but not fertile, flat but not smooth. Still, thanks to recent activity, it was now in the hands of King Relgaré. The Cylini had been driven out of their northern expansion, forced back across the mighty River Preshin into their cramped little swamp.

As Amarian rode out for inspection, the troops fell to ranks in front of him. Humans. Sentries. Fennels. All under one puppet banner, all under Obsidian. His thoughts turned toward the future as he passed the lines. When young Vancien rides out from his Dedication, Amarian told himself, he will look for an army and none will be found. There will be only the risen souls of Kynell to help him and those, Amarian was certain, would be no match for his own undead. He could already feel their fury kindled against the detested Prysm, the power responsible for their imprisonment. The Chasm was a harbor from which they could watch their enemies flounce their righteousness. But soon, the Chasm would open its gates, the vengeance and hatred of ten thousand score mornings and evenings would spill out, and all of Rhyvelad would be stained with its wrath.

“Good morning, Commander Hull!” hailed Relgaré as Amarian approached him. The king was in a fine military mood. The battle yesterday had given him control of Taggershack’s Loop, an important tradeway as well as a strategic fortress. All that was left was a bit of cleaning up on the northern end, then the army could proceed south into the marsh in one final, destructive sweep. The king had every reason to be content.

“Good morning, Sire.” Amarian nodded respectfully, but his insistence on staying mounted placed them on even ground. Relgaré noticed this obstinacy, though he did not remark on it. If the sullen commander wanted to have his quirks, he did not mind. He had just inherited an entire army.

“How are the Sentries doing? Have they recovered from their losses?”

“All three of them, yes. The Sentries are quite accustomed to battle, you’ll find. The loss of so many is exceptional. But the Cylini were numerous, as Your Majesty surely remembers.”

“Hm, yes. It’s hard not to. But our men were brave, eh?” Relgaré treated him to a comradely slap on the back, which Amarian took with a frosty smile.

“Yes, Sire. Very brave. The combination of our forces is mighty indeed.”

They were just finishing this gratuitous conversation when another rider joined them. Relgaré greeted him openly.

“Ah, General Chiyo. We were just talking about our fine achievement yesterday.”

“And with reason, Your Majesty,” Chiyo responded with forced enthusiasm. “It was certainly a memorable event.” Yesterday was a massacre, he knew. The Cylini were no match for the combined might of the Keroulian forces, Sentries, and fennels. The first charge had scattered their ranks, and the second was nothing but a bloodfest. He was sure the tribes had regrouped, but was just as certain that they would cause no trouble until the confrontations in the south. There would be a small period of peace, but at a great price.

Amarian did not fail to notice the general’s coolness, nor had he forgotten his brief encounter with the man in Lascombe. “You seem less than elated over yesterday’s victory, General Chiyo. Tell me, why is that?”

Chiyo’s response was logical and formulaic, a strategy he had learned quickly after the arrival of Obsidian. Any disdain or antagonism would be quickly recognized and he did not want to provoke a confrontation. . .yet. He still had some services to render, so he would aid Kynell by just staying alive for the moment.

“The policy of Keroul is always victory without bloodshed, if it is possible, Commander. Sadly, in this instance it was not. It is still allowable, under the Ages—Second Folio, line three hundred and forty seven—for a general to grieve within reason for any loss of life, even that of his enemy.”

Gutsy, quoting the Ages to Obsidian’s Advocate. But this was a non-controversial piece of evidence and Relgaré would stand by him on it.

The king was watching with amusement. “He’s right, Commander. If General Chiyo is a little soft of heart, he is still a fine soldier. Let him have his grief.”

Amarian nodded. “Of course, Sire. Perhaps we should proclaim a day of mourning for the lost Cylini.”

Relgaré laughed, taking the Amarian’s comment as barbed sarcasm and enjoying it. “Indeed, Commander, indeed! But I think I’d rather feast than fast! I’m sure the Cylini won’t mind that. Chiyo, stop this sober nonsense and call all the generals. I want a meeting in my tent by noon.”

Chiyo saluted, grateful to be sent away from Amarian’s presence. “Of course, my liege. We will be there.” With a nod to both men and a smart turn, he rode off to fulfill his orders. As he left, he muttered a quiet prayer for patience.

Amarian did not hear his supplication, but he suspected it nevertheless. That one, he had long since decided, would be a problem.

“General Chiyo is a faithful soldier, I can tell,” he commented casually.

Relgaré agreed. “He is my best. Chiyo’s service is more distinguished than any other man’s under my banner.”

“Have you ever had any trouble with him?”

The king was not so taken in by the Commander’s aid as to not be suspicious of his words. “Just what are you implying?”

Affecting surprise at Relgaré’s tone, Amarian shook his head. “Nothing, Sire. I want only to be more informed about my fellow commanders. These days, a completely faithful man without ambitions of his own is a rarity. But it is obvious that General Chiyo is an exception, or else you would not place so much confidence in him. Forgive me if I have offended you.”

Relgaré was not appeased by his fluid words. “You’ve offended one of my own, so you offend me. I trust that this will not be common practice between your men and mine?”

Amarian had to fight to keep his calm and appear subservient. With a respectful bow, he apologized. Relgaré accepted it gruffly, riding away without another word. The distasteful conversation soon disappeared from his mind as he prepared for the move south, but the shadow of misgiving remained.

__________

Verial despised hiverra and it was becoming obvious that it despised her. She and Gair were well into Keroulian lands by now, and the reports of the Sentries had directed them toward the Duvarian Range instead of Lascombe. When she heard the news, she was incredulous. How did Amarian expect her to play the seductress in a blizzard? Their journey had already taken them through the southern leg of the Trmak desert and now were camped in the woodlands south of the Eyestone Glade. If it wasn’t for the hiverran weather, the remaining portion of the trip would have been easy going. As it was, every day was a battle against cold and ice. And now they had nothing to look forward to at the end of their journey but more cold and ice. What beautiful symbolism for her life, Verial commented inwardly. Hiverra upon hiverra, as far as the mind could see.

Gair was breaking camp; a few more days and they would be at the Range. Then he would probably leave her. She would miss his company. The Sentries had taken their bait of night scouting so seriously that they now had every evening to talk as they willed. She was truly amazed by his optimism and energy. It seemed that the further away they journeyed from the fortress of Donech, the more he was inclined to share about his love of Kynell, as well as his affection for home and family (including his father, who was fully involved in Amarian’s service). He even discussed how he hoped to fall in love one day with some village girl. These were all amusing topics for Verial and all were just as far beyond her scope of understanding. Lust, maybe. Curiosity, often. But love? She did not care to know it.

It was their last evening before entering the Duvarian foothills when Amarian met them. Riding in quietly, he dismissed the Sentries (fortunately for Verial, they had not disappeared for the night) and ordered Gair to make his camp somewhere else. Gair hesitated, unwilling to leave the lady alone with such a beast, but he was given no choice.

“What, young man? You do not trust the lady with her master?” Amarian snapped, sensing his reluctance.

Gair quickly recovered. “No, lord. It is not that. I just wondered if I could be of further service to you before I left.”

“You may not. Now go.”

Gair saluted and departed. Kynell would have to protect his lady, for he could not.

Verial was not surprised at Amarian’s arrival, only curious that he took so long. “My lord, welcome to our camp. Have you dined?”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Have I dined? That’s a strange question from a lady who has gone so long without seeing her master. But perhaps,” he paused, so she could get the full impact of his meaning, “I’ll dine later on tonight.”

The words were not lost upon her, but she thought it an empty threat. He would not go this long without touching her only to start now, so close to the Dedication. She watched as he made himself comfortable around the fire and beckoned for her to sit next to him. When she had obliged, he leaned toward her, his arm gentle upon her shoulder.

“So, how goes the journey? I hear you are closing in on your mark.”

She nodded, adopting the submissive manner to which he was accustomed. “It goes well, my lord. I am sure you know they are in the mountains.”

“Yes, Ranti keeps us all well-informed.”

“Then you know too that there are three of them.”

He raised his eyebrow. “This concerns you?”

Staring steadfastly at the fire, she shook her head. “Of course not, my lord. I have no doubt your plans will succeed. I only wonder that they might suspect me. Telenar—”

“What do you know of Telenar?”

“Only what the Sentries tell me. That he is very suspicious.”

“Suspicious but human, my dear. I am sure your performance will convince them all.”

She did not respond, but the thought struck her that even if Vancien fell for her, what good would it do? After the Dedication, he would be barely human. How could she hold the attention of a man bordering on the divine.

As if reading her thoughts, he answered. “It is possible. He will still be fallible and your powers have been honed over generations. You might even convince yourself that you’re in love with him.”

That was something she did not expect. “You expect me to betray you?”