Reader and Raelynx (35 page)

She heard a big-boned animal edging ahead and, even before the rider spoke, guessed it was Tayse moving to the lead. “Answer quietly,” he called in a low voice, “but everyone sound off.”

“Justin” was the immediate first response.

“Senneth.”

“Ellynor.”

The other soldiers reeled off their names. Senneth spared a moment to wonder, almost hysterically, whether an enemy soldier had managed to infiltrate their ranks and was even now continuing along invisibly with them, clever enough to remain silent during this roll call. She could not imagine such a spy would long survive the dissipation of magic.

“Anyone injured?”

There was a chorus of no’s.

“I think that went superbly!” Senneth exclaimed, allowing herself a moment of exuberance even while she was fleeing for her life. “We surprised them, we destroyed a few of their men, we confused them, and we escaped!”

“And we learned something else,” Ellynor added. She sounded a little breathless. Senneth wondered how much energy she was expending to wrap twenty-five individuals in a cloak of darkness. And what kind of headache Ellynor might have when it was all done. Senneth’s own skull was echoing with each hoofbeat, but on the whole she didn’t feel as bad as she had at Danan Hall. She’d managed to keep her anger in check; that was always the key to enduring the most punishing spells. “Even Halchon Gisseltess cannot penetrate Lirren magic.”

“I don’t think I handled him very well, though,” Senneth added. She sighed and tightened her hand on the reins. “I never do.”

“I couldn’t decide which of his offers was more attractive,” Tayse said, his voice smooth but his anger palpable. “The one to marry Amalie or the one to marry you.”

Senneth sighed again. “If I cannot bring myself to marry him to avert a war, I cannot ask her to marry one of his surely repulsive sons for the same reason. I think, ‘Gods, the lives that could be saved!’ And yet—and yet—”

“And yet Gillengaria would die a slow death under his reign,” Tayse said firmly. “I absolutely believe it.”

“Well, he would have killed all of us just now if he could have, even though he had agreed to parley in peace,” Justin said practically. “That gives you some idea of the promises he would make and keep if he became king.”

“He is not going to be king,” Tayse said. “That is why we are going to war.”

E
LLYNOR
had lifted her magic by the time they met up with Coeval and the others. Justin, Senneth was interested to see, had somehow managed to locate Ellynor despite the inconvenience of not being able to see her and was now riding beside her. He caught Senneth’s eyes on him and grinned.

“All well here?” Tayse asked Coeval.

“Yes. You?”

“As planned. Let’s break for a meal and ride out.”

Senneth was glad she didn’t have to rely solely on Riders for her conversation.

They were on their way again in fifteen minutes, traveling at a steady but somewhat less brutal pace. As always, Tayse rode ahead of the column to scout for trouble, and Justin dropped behind to watch their back trail. What was new was that Ellynor stayed with Justin. Senneth smiled to watch them until they abruptly winked from view. An even more effective rear guard, she thought—an invisible one. No chance any enemy would catch them unaware.

They rode late, camped for only long enough to give the horses a rest, then were on their way again before dawn. Senneth felt bleary-eyed and dull-minded, and her headache hadn’t been helped much by the insufficient sleep. A few of the royal soldiers were yawning in their saddles, and Ellynor looked about as weary as Senneth felt. But none of the Riders appeared fatigued, and no one else dared complain.

Two more days of traveling, two more nights of uncomfortable and oh-so-brief repose. “Do Riders never sleep?” Senneth demanded of Tayse the next morning before he kicked his horse ahead of the rest.

He affected surprise. “Weren’t you just sleeping? For at least three hours?”

“I will be too tired to make a fire, and then you’ll regret your haste.”

He smiled. “An army moves slowly, but it will be moving all the same,” he said. “I want to join up with our own forces while there is time to prepare.”

“We’re a day ahead of Halchon by now, surely.”

He shook his head. “Maybe. We can’t count on more than twelve hours.”

“Then let’s ride.”

But she cheered considerably a little before noon when two spring hawks spiraled down out of the sky and landed gracefully alongside the road. Senneth pulled her horse aside and waited as Kirra and Donnal materialized.

“Tayse pauses for no one, so tell me your news quickly so I can catch up,” she greeted them. The rest of the soldiers had already moved past her, traveling at a steady clip.

Donnal grinned. “I don’t have anything to tell, but Kirra wants to visit.” In his breathtakingly rapid fashion, he transformed himself into a sleek black horse, complete with reins and saddle, and Kirra swung herself onto his back.

“
You
look bedraggled and cranky,” she observed cheerfully as they jogged after the others. “Is that the result of hard travel or a failed mission?”

“Hard travel,” Senneth answered sourly. “Please tell me we’re close to Amalie, so I can lay down my head and die.”

Kirra laughed. “Another hour away, perhaps. Cammon told us you were near, so Donnal and I came to greet you.”

“And is our army deployed?”

Kirra nodded. “Acres and acres of soldiers. The Brassenthwaite troops found us yesterday, and Kiernan and Harris arrived straight from Danan Hall. Good news, though, you’ll only have to deal with one of your brothers, since Kiernan is about to send Harris back to Brassen Court to assist Nate. Romar’s got everyone very nicely organized—or so it seems to me, but you know battle strategy isn’t my strong suit—and you’ll like
this
a great deal. He’s ordered Cammon to stay with Amalie at all times in some little pavilion they’ve set up at the back of camp. But, of course, the regent wants to be on the front line, and he wants to communicate with Amalie—and he wants to communicate with Kiernan, and the captain of the Kianlever guard—and how do you think he proposes to do that?”

“Magic,” Senneth said.

“Magic, indeed! Romar has conscripted your old friend Jerril, who doesn’t seem to quite know what’s happened to him, and Jerril’s parceled out the Carrebos mystics who are particularly strong readers. None of them is as good as Cammon, of course, but
he
can hear all of them, and they can hear
him
, so he has been practicing relaying complicated messages all across the battlefield. We’ll see how well that holds in the stress of combat,” she added, “but it does seem like an advantage Halchon won’t have.”

“He has plenty of others,” Senneth said gloomily. “A few thousand Arberharst soldiers, for instance, who can ride right through my fires.”

“But they couldn’t see Ellynor, could they?”

Senneth brightened. “No.”

“Then you’ll like this news, too. This morning another couple hundred recruits showed up—from the Lirrens.”

Senneth felt both excitement and dread at that news. “Really! That’s wonderful—and terrible. If the Lirren men fall in a war that is not their own—”

“Donnal and I watched a few of them take an hour’s combat practice,” Kirra interrupted. “I can’t imagine any of them falling. Donnal said they’re not as good as Riders, but, Wild Mother watch me, they were pretty damn close.”

“I wonder if Ellynor’s brother is among them,” Senneth said. “I met him—I liked him—but what a brash young man he is.”

Kirra was grinning, and her blue eyes were alight with mischief. “Oh, her brother is here—two of her brothers—but what’s even more significant is that her
cousin
has also ridden to war.”

“Significant why?”

“Apparently Valri had something of a history with this young man before she crossed the Lireth Mountains and got herself named queen,” Kirra drawled.

“
Really!
A broken romance in Valri’s past! Well, it’s almost worth going to war to see how this will play out.”

Donnal tossed up his head till his mane flew, offering an equine laugh.

“Now all we have to do is hope Halchon dies in battle so that your brother Nate can marry Sabina Gisseltess, and everyone will be happy.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention it. Halchon and I managed a brief exchange of civilities just before Ellynor made us all vanish and we went racing off to find you,” Senneth said in a hard, bright voice.

“Did he renew his offer of marriage to you?”

“He did. Though when he thought about it, he decided it would put him closer to the throne to marry Amalie instead.”

Kirra choked and then pantomimed gagging over Donnal’s shoulder. “Someone really has to kill him,” she said when she had recovered.

“If he ever gets close enough to Tayse, I think it’ll happen,” Senneth said.

“And Coralinda? Was she there?”

“I saw her at the head of the troops, but I didn’t attempt any conversation,” Senneth said. “I sometimes wonder how that would work, you know. Halchon wants to marry me, but his sister wants to kill me. Do you suppose I would be murdered on my wedding day?”

“Well, many women equate marriage and death,” Kirra said blithely. “Why should you be different?”

That made Senneth laugh so hard that she almost gave up on conversation altogether.

Half an hour later, they came upon the royal armies of Gillengaria.

The sight was truly impressive, Senneth acknowledged, reining up to get a good look at the ranks of soldiers spread out over the rocky plains south of Brassenthwaite. Halchon might have assembled more men, but somehow these looked more beautiful to her—more earnest, more righteous, more passionate, more invincible. They were arranged by affiliation, grouped under their individual banners. The royal soldiers in their black-and-gold uniforms were deployed in the front. Behind them were the Brassenthwaite soldiers in dark blue, Merrenstow men with their black-and-white checkerboard sashes, Helven troops in their green and gold, Kianlever troops wearing sashes of plaited blue and green. Amid this welter of tents and banners, Senneth could not immediately pick out the royal pavilion, the cluster of Lirren warriors, the small blocks of mercenaries and individuals who always showed up for battles, offering their swords. She just saw the grand spectacle of an army preparing itself for war. It was the most awe-inspiring, the most heartbreaking display she had ever seen.

A
ND
then war came.

Spies had ridden in every hour to update the regent on the position of the enemy forces, but for days before they actually arrived Cammon had felt the march of thousands of feet. There were too many—he could not sort most of them into individuals—but a few broke through and made distinct patterns in his mind. Coralinda Gisseltess was as clear to him as if she stalked through the royal camp, her long black-and-silver braid streaming down her back. Twice he thought he actually saw her, standing amid the ranks of Riders, glancing around, counting up men. When he looked more closely, she was gone.

He did not have nearly as clear a picture of Halchon Gisseltess, but the force of the marlord’s desire was so strong he projected an intense and smoldering hunger, and Cammon was always aware of him.

There were others—possibly Rayson Fortunalt, possibly some of the captains of the various armies, or maybe just particularly fervent soldiers who lived for battle. Except for tracking how close the army was coming, Cammon tried to shut them all out.

And then the soldiers arrived, and it was impossible to think, to feel, to know anything except violence and rage.

That first day was horrific. He and Amalie had promised Romar that they would stay far behind the line of combat, and so they loitered near the pavilion that had been set up to accommodate the princess. Amalie could not sit still. She paced through the sprays of new grass, she swung herself onto one of the horses that had been saddled for her—in case she needed to make a hasty escape—and tried to force her eyes to understand the ebb and flow on the battlefield.

“What’s happening now?” she asked him every three minutes, jumping back to the ground.

He told her what he could piece together, but there was an onslaught in his head. Nightmare images chased each other through his mind—bloody swords, crashing bodies, horses trampling inert forms, whole lines of men giving way to a berserker wedge of attackers. He could not always be sure who was the enemy, who was the friend. He could not tell who was falling, who was fighting back. Battle lust settled like a red mist over both gathered armies; it was impossible to distinguish between them.

His responses were incomplete and halting. “Your uncle has successfully beaten back an attack…. Tayse is surrounded on all sides—no, Justin is there to aid him…. A troop of Brassenthwaite men is givingway to an assault from—I’m not sure—it must be the soldiers from Arberharst….”

“But are we winning? Are we losing?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

Frequently he heard Jerril’s voice in his head, strangely composed, conveying information from Romar to Amalie. Once he received an urgent but shaky message from the mystic assigned to Kiernan Brassenthwaite, sending an alarm about a flanking maneuver that was allowing enemy soldiers to breach a thin line of defense. Cammon didn’t know how to respond, so he broadcast the cry for help to all the Riders. He felt Justin and Tayse charge through the clashing ranks of soldiers and instantly engage.

He got no more pleas from Kiernan Brassenthwaite.

“What’s happening now?” Amalie asked a few minutes later.

“Riders have redeployed on the—the north side, I think. Holding the line there.”

“Where’s Senneth?”

He pointed. “There’s another spout of fire.”

Senneth’s day had been as rough and disjointed as Cammon’s. He could feel her frustration, her exhaustion, and her fury, all rolled into a hot ball of magic. She had known that her form of sorcery would only work intermittently on this particular foe, but he could tell she had hoped to have more success. Almost certainly in a move to thwart her, the Arberharst men had been strategically interwoven with the Gisseltess and Fortunalt forces; their imperviousness to magic had made it very hard for her mystic fires to take hold. Early in the battle, she had conjured up a line of flame right through the middle of the oncoming enemies, and that had caused turmoil for a short time. Yet somehow the Arberharst men were able to put the fire out, or hold the fire back—they created portals in the conflagration that allowed Gillengaria soldiers to pour through. So she let that fire die down, studied her ground, and flung up another one a half acre away.

Again, it was effective only briefly; again, the imported soldiers were able to beat it back just enough to open safe passage for native men.

She didn’t give up, though. Circling dangerously close to the front lines, she continued to fling fire randomly into the ranks of soldiers. Twice she was able to locate supply wagons that held only domestic grains and rations, and these she sent burning to the ground. More than once she isolated pockets of Fortunalt men, or Storian soldiers, and surrounded them with walls of weaving fire; many went screaming to their deaths.

But the effort was immense, and Cammon could feel her losing energy and strength as the awful day progressed. She could sustain a single fire for hours, but she was not used to having to call up fresh flames over and over. Cammon almost thought that she felt every stamping foot, every suffocating hand, as the Arberharst soldiers doused her fires. For her, it was a battle as physical and draining as a duel with swords.

“Where’s Donnal? Where’s Kirra?” Amalie wanted to know.

“At the back of the enemy army. They’re taking out men one by one. Kirra’s a lioness. Donnal’s a wolf. They’ve backed off a little, though—someone must have spotted them. That means someone’s defending the rear of the army.”

Both of them glanced at the raelynx, sitting at the edge of the pavilion in an alert position. Its narrow red face pointed straight toward the battle; its expressive tail slowly twitched from side to side.

“I’m afraid to let him loose,” Amalie said softly. “I’m not sure he can tell who is protecting me and who is endangering me. And I can’t direct him from this far away.”

“I think your uncle would prefer that you keep him beside you,” Cammon said. “In case any enemies break through and get close.”

She nodded, but she looked haunted. If enemies drew that close, they had surely lost already.

“Where are the Lirren men? Can you tell?”

That made him smile. “No! But about half an hour ago, I felt this—this outpouring of terror and surprise from a troop of Fortunalt men. I think the Lirren contingent had crept around to one side of the attacking army and just began slaughtering soldiers. No one saw them coming.” His smile faded, for emotions in that particular skirmish had been so strong that he had felt almost every blade and blow. “They killed a lot of men.”

Amalie’s face tightened. “Good.” Then she turned away and swung herself back up into the mare’s saddle.

There was no need to ask where Ellynor was. They had set up a hospital of sorts off to one side, and it was staffed by Ellynor, Valri, and a couple of the Carrebos mystics. Any wounded soldiers whole enough to move had staggered back there as the day wore on, and Ellynor had called upon her midnight goddess to help her heal them. Another few dozen, closer to dead, had been carried back by their bloodied comrades. Hundreds more still lay in the trampled fields, because no one could reach them, or because no one had time to drag them to shelter.

“I can’t see anything,” Amalie said impatiently, and slid out of the saddle. “What’s happening now?”

That was how the entire day went.

T
HEY
convened in Amalie’s pavilion that night, when it was too dark to fight, when both armies had withdrawn to count their losses, see to their wounded, and revise their strategies. Cammon thought “pavilion” was a grand word for a rather large tent erected over a raised wooden floor. There was a low bed, a washstand, a brazier, a few tall stools, and a pile of rugs on the floor to blunt the chill from the ground. Still, on the battlefield, this space constituted civilization, and so here they gathered: Tayse, Justin, Senneth, Valri, Kiernan, Romar, and Romar’s captain, Colton.

“Could have gone worse,” was Kiernan’s terse assessment.

“Could have gone better,” Romar shot back. “We lost a platoon of men in that flanking maneuver!”

Kiernan shrugged. “Would have lost half the camp if we hadn’t been able to communicate.” He nodded in Cammon’s direction. “Mark my words, that boy’s going to keep us in this game no matter what the odds.”

“What were our losses?” Amalie asked.

Colton reeled them off. Hundreds dead, more wounded. Cammon saw Amalie flinch at the totals.

“Brassenthwaite suffered the heaviest casualties,” Romar said. “So tomorrow we redistribute the forces. I will put some Merrenstow soldiers under your command.”

“Let’s discuss strategy,” Tayse said. “Can we expect a similar straightforward assault tomorrow as well, or do you think they’ll try a different approach?”

“I’d guess they’ll come at us straight on for another few days,” Kiernan said coolly. “Wear us down first through sheer numbers. When we’re weary and whittled down, then they’ll try new tactics.”

“I agree,” Romar said. “I expect our approach tomorrow should be much as it was today. Form a line, hold fast, and disrupt them where we can.”

Kiernan nodded at his sister. Senneth had taken a seat on the floor and leaned her head against the low mattress. Cammon could feel the pain in her skull as if it was inside his own. “Can you perform more of the same tricks tomorrow?” Kiernan asked her. “I don’t know how many days in a row mystics can call on their magic.”

“I can,” Senneth said, her voice hollow. “But I am disappointed to have had so little effect.”

“Well, you had a lot of effect as far as I could tell,” Justin answered. “I just looked for your flames and then I led a charge in. The other soldiers were so confused by the fire that we were able to cut down a dozen with hardly a fight.”

“What heartening news,” Senneth said. Cammon could read the struggle going on in her head.
I am using my magic to kill men, something I never wanted to do. But how can I let Halchon Gisseltess usurp Amalie’s throne?
Not as coherent as that.

“You might conserve your power,” Tayse suggested in a grave voice. “We do not want you wan and wasted by pouring out all your magic in a single day.”

“Can that happen?” Kiernan demanded. “You’re one of our most potent weapons. We do not want you rendered useless in case we need you later.”

“I’ll strive to bear that in mind,” she replied. “I will use flame only judiciously tomorrow.”

Romar pointed at Tayse. “What about the Riders? Our other impressive weapons. What damages did you sustain?”

Tayse shook his head. “None.”

Romar nodded. “Then the first day did not go so ill after all.”

They talked awhile longer, but Kiernan and Romar had plenty of other business to occupy them, and they soon ducked out through the door flap of the tent, Colton behind them. Cammon, who had been sitting next to Amalie on one of the stools, rolled to the floor beside Senneth and peered up into her face. Her eyes were closed, and she was practically gray with exhaustion.

“Go somewhere and sleep,” he told her. “You look ready to disintegrate.”

“Head hurts too much to sleep,” she mumbled. “And I need to eat something. Or I really won’t be able to function tomorrow.”

Tayse dropped to the floor on her other side and pulled her against him. “I’ll work on your headache,” he said. “Cammon, maybe you could see about getting us food?”

“It’s been ordered,” Amalie said. “I thought you would all come here so I—”

She hadn’t finished the sentence when Kirra poked her head through the tent flap. “Is it safe to join you? All done talking strategy?”

“The regent’s gone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Cammon said.

She made a face at him, then came inside. She was carrying a tray of food, and Donnal, behind her, carried another. A cook came in bearing pitchers of water. Kirra glanced around, but there was no table large enough to hold everything, so she shrugged and laid her burden on the floor. The others followed suit.

“Eat,” she said. “Justin, I’ve already had the cooks take a tray to Ellynor. She told me that whenever she performs a great deal of healing, she’s absolutely starving.”

He was biting off a huge chunk of bread, but he nodded. “I’ll go to her as soon as we’re done here and try to get her to sleep tonight,” he said. “But my guess is she won’t leave the wounded.”

Kirra nodded. “Senneth, what should I do?” she asked. “Return to the battlefield and fight, or stay with Ellynor tomorrow and heal?”

Senneth was lax in Tayse’s arms; her face was loose with relief. His hands had chased away at least most of the pain, Cammon thought. “Ask Valri,” she said.

The dark queen stirred, though she had been so quiet during the earlier conference that it had almost been possible for Cammon to forget she was there. Almost. “There are more wounded than we can care for, Ellynor and I and those other mystics. We could use your magic.”

Kirra nodded and glanced at Donnal. “Then if I’m not with you, you have to be particularly careful tomorrow.”

He grinned at her, his teeth white through his dark beard. “Serra, I always am.”

Cammon scooted across the rugs till he was beside Amalie’s stool again. “Majesty, you must eat,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, I—I think I’ll throw up if I do.” She glanced around the tent, her face apologetic, tears welling up. “I’m sorry. I know—I know it was much worse for all of you today. But I—these terrible things—and people
dying
—and more people dying tomorrow, and I—I feel so much at fault. People are dying for
me.
And with a few words, I could stop it, I could say, ‘Very well, I give it all up. Here is the crown, I will sail for Karyndein tomorrow.’”

“And the armies who have gathered in your name will be leaderless and lost, and have no will to fight, and Halchon Gisseltess’s men will swoop in and slaughter them all,” Tayse said quietly, speaking over Senneth’s shoulder. “Because marlord Halchon will never trust a Brassenthwaite man, or a Helven man, or a Kianlever man, and he will find it easier to dispose of them now than to let them disperse back to their Houses and plot against him once he’s on the throne.”