Crown of Vengeance (Dragon Prophecy) (73 page)

“You won’t argue me to your side now any more than you could before; stop trying,” Ivrulion said patronizingly. “Would you feel better if I told you the idiotic ‘council’ is as little inclined to follow my suggestions as it is to follow yours?”

“And you our father’s pet!” Runacarendalur jeered. “I’m shocked, Prince Ivrulion, I truly am.”

The horses had slowed to a walk now. Runacarendalur glanced behind him. The army was tiny with distance.
I’ve probably already covered as much ground as it will all day,
he thought in frustrated anger.

“All I say is—” Ivrulion broke off sharply.

Runacarendalur glanced quickly around, searching for some movement, some enemy. There was nothing. Then—

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward the trees.

“A problem,” his brother answered grimly.

They spurred their horses forward again.

*   *   *

“I don’t believe— How could she—?” Runacarendalur sputtered.

“If by that you mean to ask ‘Did Lord Vieliessar’s army come this way?’ the answer is yes,” Ivrulion answered. The undisguised irritation in his voice would have cheered Runacarendalur at any other time.

“How?” he repeated.

“Magic,” Ivrulion said shortly.

“Helpful,” Runacarendalur answered. “Look at this forest, ’Rulion,” he said, so shaken he forgot Ivrulion was his enemy. “Even if every single Landbond she has did nothing but chop at tree trunks morning till night, they couldn’t clear the half of this in a moonturn.”

They’d ridden to the break in the scrub Ivrulion had spotted. Beyond it, a broad, shining path of undisturbed snow led into what should have been dense forest. The corridor stretched straight as a bowshot until distance narrowed it into invisibility. They turned their horses into it. There must be tree stumps beneath the snow—surely there must!—so Runacarendalur sent Bentrain forward at a cautious walk, but the ground beneath the stallion’s hooves seemed smooth.

“Fortunately for her, she has Lightborn with her as well,” Ivrulion snarled. He reined his palfrey to a halt and swung down to wade through the snow-crust to the edge of the trees, then stopped and began digging. “Here. One of Niothramangh’s boundary stones. No wonder she vanished.”

“You’ve been tracking her?” Runacarendalur asked.

Ivrulion gave him a venomous look. “We didn’t have to. We could follow her Wards. A fortnight ago they seemed to disappear. The obvious assumption was that they’d decided to hide themselves. Obvious—and wrong.”

“Why not do both?” Runacarendalur asked.

“You can’t be as stupid as that question makes you sound,” Ivrulion said flatly. “Haven’t you been listening to anyone these past sennights? Or did you simply think you weren’t getting hot baths out of some perversity on the part of the Caerthalien Lightborn? There have never before been so many Lightborn gathered together in such a small area. Between her Lightborn and ours, the Light in Niothramangh is nearly gone. It will be moonturns, even years, before there’s enough of it here to draw on again.”

“But her Lightborn didn’t change their spells,” Runacarendalur said. “They simply crossed the bounds.”

“I knew you weren’t actually stupid,” Ivrulion said in tacit agreement. “And once they had … You cannot feel it, but I can: there is a Flower Forest here more vast than any in all of Jer-a-kalaliel. Untapped.”

“And that gave her Lightborn the power to do … what…?”

Ivrulion sighed heavily and walked back to his palfrey. “Transmutation, I suspect. Probably to sand; that’s what I’d do, if I had the power of a thousand Lightborn to direct as I chose and a wild Flower Forest to draw on. The tree becomes a heap of sand, her army rides over it, the snow covers it, there’s no trace she’s been there. Or reverse the spell afterward, and you have a heap of sawdust. They won’t lack for charcoal.”

“That’s … disturbing,” Runacarendalur said.

“Isn’t it?” Ivrulion said, swinging himself into the saddle once more. “Because I have no idea what’s in this direction, and no one else does either. What I
do
know is they had an easy passage over ground favorable to their wagons, so whatever’s there, she’s much closer to it than we are.”

“There isn’t anything out there,” Runacarendalur said, shaking his head. “Everyone knows that.”

“‘Everyone’ isn’t a madwoman being directed by an ancient prophecy,” Ivrulion answered, turning his mount back the way they’d come. “Come along, dear brother. We must tell Father what she has done.”

*   *   *

“We follow her of course,” Gallanillon Teramarise said flatly.

Runacarendalur moved to stand at Lord Bolecthindial’s shoulder, from which vantage point he could study the map that covered most of the table. It showed only the Uradabhur, from the Mystrals and the Dragon’s Gate in the west to the Bazrahils and the Nantirworiel Pass in the east. A line drawn between the two passes was a line drawn through the center of the valley. South of the Dragon’s Gate, the Southern Pass was also marked. But a line drawn due east from the Southern Pass was a line that passed through … nothingness.

“Into a trap, as I’m sure you meant to add, my dear Gallanillon,” Girelrian Cirandeiron said. She made an ostentatious show of settling herself more comfortably at the circular table. There were nearly forty people gathered in the gigantic War Pavilion, most standing. “Of course, perhaps you meant to say something else?”

“We’ve followed her this far—what’s changed?” Lord Gallanillon demanded belligerently.

“What’s
changed
is that there’s a Flower Forest beyond that border—as Ivrulion Lightbrother finally deigned to tell us,” Lady-Abeyant Dormorothon of Aramenthiali said.

“Do you imply I knew of it earlier?” Ivrulion asked.

“I? I imply nothing,” Dormorothon replied artlessly. “I only remark it is a great pity you could not be bothered to send anyone across the bounds before now. But I have long said the training under Helegondolrindir Astromancer was not all it should be. Celelioniel was her chosen successor, after all.”

“Then perhaps I am mistaken in believing Aramenthiali also saw no reason to do so. Or perhaps you did, and did not think it worth mentioning,” Ivrulion answered quickly. “Certainly that is to be expected from Aramenthiali—since the training under Famindesta Astromancer was not all it should have been.”

“Insolent Caerthalien whelp!” Dormorothon spat. “I should—”

“This gains us nothing!” Lord Bolecthindial shouted.

“Except to remind us Caerthalien breeds spineless cowards and fools,” Consort-Prince Irindandirion of Cirandeiron purred.

“Brave words, when you know you cannot be called to account for them,” Runacarendalur snapped.

The whispers and murmurs that had been private asides rose in volume as the War Princes and their consorts began to hurl accusations and demands at one another. Ivaloriel Telthorelandor and Ladyholder Edheleorn sat quietly, waiting. Runacarendalur could never look at them without remembering that Ivaloriel and Edheleorn were Bondmates. It always irritated him.

Chardararg Lalmilgethior slammed his goblet down on the table. Dregs of wine spattered over the wood. “I can hear this empty barking any night,” he said witheringly into the silence that followed. “My lords, Lord Vieliessar has done what she has done. Now
we
must decide what to do.”

But his words only brought another round of recriminations and demands. Teramarise favored pursuit. Cirandeiron thought they’d be riding into a trap. Aramenthiali kept bringing up the fact that the untapped Southern Flower Forest existed, but taking no other position. Inglethendragir and Vondaimieriel wanted to pursue
and
send a sortie party ahead of the army. Sarmiorion wanted to continue east to Utheleres and go south
then
.

Most of them are reluctant to take the army in a direction where there’s no possibility of remounts—or laborers,
Runacarendalur thought.
All the High Houses have client domains in the Uradabhur—only Telthorelandor does not. They still believe they can look to them for supplies.

“To follow Lord Vieliessar without knowing her destination would be ill-advised,” Lord Ivaloriel said yet again.

“Then why not make it impossible for her to reach it?” Ivrulion said. “It’s simple enough.” He stepped closer to Ladyholder Glorthiachiel and produced a thin, silvery stick of charcoal. “Here is the Southern Pass. We know she’s still north of … this line”—he drew a raking line across the map directly east from the Southern Pass—“because she can’t have crossed it in a few sennights. She’s still in the forest. Burn it.”

“That seems—” Finfemeras Vondaimieriel began.

“Completely unacceptable!” Lady-Abeyant Dormorothon said. “There is a Flower Forest to the south of the bounds!”

Something you have reminded us of a dozen times in the last candlemark,
Runacarendalur thought.

“You do not know it extends so far south,” Ivrulion said. “If she—”

“Nor do I know it does not,” Dormorothon interrupted. “Once we follow Lord Vieliessar across the bounds, our Lightborn may draw upon it as they choose. We cannot surrender such an advantage.”

“My Lady Mother Dormorothon is right—as always,” Sedreret Aramenthiali said grandly. “Aramenthiali does not choose to cast away such an advantage, whatever Caerthalien may wish.” He had become War Prince during the fighting in Jaeglenhend, but everyone knew who ruled Aramenthiali in truth.

“It’s hardly an
advantage
if Lord Vieliessar has claimed it first,” Lord Bolecthindial growled.

“But Lord Bolecthindial, how can she?” Ladyholder-Abeyant Dormorothon asked in tones of dulcet innocence. “One can only claim a Flower Forest by enclosing it within the bounds of one’s own domain.”

“Then—” Ivrulion began.

“I do not believe there is anything further you can tell us about what Lord Vieliessar has already done, Lightbrother,” Lord Sedreret said.

“I see there is not,” Ivrulion said, after a moment of silence. “Lord Bolecthindial, have I your leave to withdraw?”

Bolecthindial waved a hand irritably. “Go, go,” he said. “Both of you,” he added, as Runacarendalur opened his mouth to speak.

*   *   *

He had to run to catch up to Ivrulion, who was stalking up the North Road of the encampment as if he were the Starry Huntsman himself.

“I think that went well—don’t you?” Runacarendalur said. “Are you enjoying being brushed aside while Vieliessar Farcarinon does whatever she pleases? It must be galling to know she has done nothing save by your desire for the last four moonturns—”

“Be silent!” Ivrulion snapped.

Runacarendalur laughed. “Make me, dear brother.”

Ivrulion turned and glared at him. Runacarendalur smiled wolfishly. This was not an isolated camp on the Southern Pass Road. This was the main road through the Alliance encampment. Any spell Ivrulion cast would be sensed and noted by a dozen Lightborn, and if the spell’s target were not a lawful one …

Ivrulion snarled under his breath and turned away. Runacarendalur grabbed his arm. “Oh, but you must come and take a cup of wine to celebrate, for inevitably the War Council will choose your plan in the end. And now I’m imagining what Father will do to you when you finally have to tell him why it means my death as well. I’m sure it will be terribly painful.”

He wondered how long it would take the fire to sweep over Vieliessar’s army. Her Lightborn wouldn’t be able to stop it; the Lightborn who’d tried to halt the burning of Araphant had needed to summon rain to quench the flames, and no one could make it rain in winter. A blizzard intense enough to quench the fire would quench the army as well.

They’d die.
She’d
die. And he’d die. It would be worth it to know she was dead before him.

“Imagine what he’ll do if I don’t have to,” Ivrulion answered oracularly. “Oh, very well. I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing by playing the gracious host.”

“I’m patronizing you,
dear
brother. It’s something you should be used to by now,” Runacarendalur answered mockingly.

“Should I? And do your chains gall
you
, Heir-Prince Runacarendalur?”

“Perhaps,” Runacarendalur answered, still cheerful. “But if they do, I console myself with the knowledge it is not for much longer.”

But on the following dawn, when he dragged himself groggily from his bed, it was to discover that the War Council wasn’t going to burn the southern forest.

They were going to follow Vieliessar’s army into it.

*   *   *

In Snow Moon Vieliessar’s army crossed the southern bounds of Niothramangh and passed into the depths of a forest no
alfaljodthi
had ever seen. Vieliessar rode out ahead of the army every few miles to blaze their path. Those Lightborn who had Transmutation as their keystone spell followed. At their touch, great trees turned to sand and collapsed, to return to their native substance a few moments later. To destroy so much forest merely to make smooth their passage disturbed Vieliessar, for the farther they’d gone, the wider the path they cut, until by midday it was nearly a mile across. But if the decision had been hard, the choice had been simple: hundreds of miles of forest turned to dust—or the lives of everyone who rode with her.

Before she had crossed into Niothramangh, she had told Iardalaith to send Warhunt Mages south, for her tactics would depend on her resources. Iardalaith had gone himself, to come reeling into her pavilion giddy to the point of drunkenness with the bounteous Light of the Flower Forest he had discovered. It was to the south and west; Iardalaith could not accurately gauge the distance, he said, as it was stronger than any he had ever sensed. He named it
Janglanipaikharain
—star-bright forest. Perhaps it was the same one Lady Parmanaya had vanished into thousands of years before.

With this knowledge, Viliessar had made her plan.

They would cross the border a full sennight before the Alliance. When they turned southward, they would vanish to the senses of their Lightborn hunters, and until they saw the trail her army would inevitably leave behind it, the Alliance would think only that her people had drawn upon the Flower Forests of Niothramangh to hide them. Her own commanders had been so stunned at the thought of leaving the bounded Uradabhur that she knew the tactic would not occur to the Alliance. They would look at the forest and see a thing impassable.