Sovereign (52 page)

'When I received Lynan's message that Jenrosa had died destroying Silona and saving his life,' she said, 'my first reaction was to wish it had been me who had died for him. In that moment I forgot I was a queen, that my life is never truly my own. Lynan has that power over me, you see.'

Gudon did not know what to say. He had never before heard love professed so earnestly, so honestly, and it made him feel ashamed.

'How up to date is Tomar's information on the Great Army?' Ager asked Lynan.

'Very. Largely heavy infantry; some archers, but not as many as they would have had if Chandra had contributed. Some cavalry, most light, a few medium regiments. Nothing like the knights, though.'

'So our lancers are the heaviest horse?'

'So far as Tomar knows.'

'That's good. And what exactly will Tomar contribute to our army?'

'I've asked mainly for infantry, especially the Arran Valley regiments. Otherwise mainly supply—food, wagons, ambulance carts and surgeons.'

'None of his cavalry or archers? They are very good.'

'They will be needed to hold Sparro and the surrounding countryside. If Areava has any military advisors worth their salt she'll try to take the province by sea. She has the only fleet left in Theare after we burned most of the Haxan navy at their docks.'

'What chance have we of stopping that?'

'None, but if we are forewarned then Tomar can prepare a warm welcome for any invasion.'

'And who will forewarn us?'

'I have an idea about that,' Lynan said.

'
I
assume that's why we're walking along the harbour.'

In answer, Lynan pointed to a ship tied to a dock about forty paces away. Ager squinted at it with his single eye. 'She looks trim. Whose is it?'

'Do you not recognise it?'

Ager shook his head. 'Should I? Is it one of my old berths?'

'You could say that.'

By now they were close enough for Ager to read the name on the bow. He laughed softly. 'The
Dry Land
?'

'Turn it around.'

'The
Land Dry
?' he asked, and Lynan groaned. 'Oh, I see. Dry for wet. Land for sea.' Something clicked in his brain and he laughed softly. 'Dry for spray. The
Seaspray
, of course!'

'If you look on the foredeck you'll see its owner waiting for us.'

'Grapnel! Grapnel Moorice!'

The man on the foredeck waved at the pair. When they reached the ship he gave them each a hand-up. After quickly embracing, Ager stepped back to take a good look at the man. He was tall, with closely cropped brown hair; huge gold earrings hung from each lobe, arid a white scar on each cheek that joined with the corners of his mouth made him look as if he was sardonically grinning at them.

'You haven't changed at all!' Ager said, smiling broadly.

'It's only been a year and a half since we last met,' Grapnel said.

Ager was surprised. 'God, it seems like ten years has passed. So much has happened.' His smile disappeared. 'I suppose Lynan's told you about Kumul and Jenrosa.'

Grapnel nodded grimly. 'I was sorry to hear it. I did not think anything could kill Kumul. I expected him to outlive us all. And though I only met Jenrosa the once, she seemed a brave lass. I am sorry for your loss.'

'What are you doing here?' Ager asked, quickly changing the subject. 'And what have you been doing?'

Grapnel shrugged. 'What else can a merchant do except play at trade? I lost my business in Kendra, of course, and knew I had to lie low. After I helped you lot make your escape from Kendra I headed out to sea as far as I dared. It was a Jong, hazardous journey, the telling of which I'll bore you with one night. Eventually we made Kolby. I stayed there for half a year, changed the name of the ship, and started plying the coastal waters between Haxus and here.'When word got around that Tomar had sided with Lynan, I went to the palace.'

'And was immediately conscripted for scouting duty,' Lynan finished. 'Ager, meet the admiral in charge of my fleet.'

'Admiral Moorice? And how many ships do you have it your disposal, Admiral?' Ager asked.

'One,' Grapnel said. 'But she's a beauty.'

Ager could not help grinning. 'Wonderful. Lynan's Royal Navy has one ship, and it's called the
Dry Land
.'

'
Dry Land
for not much longer,' Grapnel said gruffly. 'She'll be
Seaspray
again by this time tomorrow.'

'Grapnel will take
Seaspray
and stand out to sea; no other ship and crew in Theare has their experience on the wide ocean. Tomar will have plenty of warning should Areava's navy be ordered to attack Chandra.'

'Before that happens there's much to be done here,' Grapnel said. 'So if you will excuse me, my crew and I have work to do. When this is all over we can spend a night telling each other tall tales about our adventures.'

Lynan and Ager said goodbye to Grapnel and watched him board his ship. 'It's strange how close I feel to that man,' Ager said. 'I had not met him before that night we fled the palace, and talked with him only briefly for the short time we stayed in his home. And yet I feel about him the way I might feel about a brother I had not seen for many years.'

'We are bonded by our misfortune,' Lynan said sadly.

Ager put a hand on his shoulder. 'I cannot stop thinking about her, either.'

'She should be here with us. If I had fought Silona's control with greater determination and courage she might still be alive.'

'Taking that line, if you had commanded the army better in our first battle against Grenda Lear, Kumul would still be alive.'

Lynan looked up sharply at Ager, his face crestfallen.

'And if you take that line,' Ager continued, his voice angry, 'Berayma met his end when he did because you were too self-absorbed to see what Orkid and Dejanus were planning to do.'

'That isn't fair!' Lynan cried.

Ager jabbed him hard in the chest with a finger. 'And blaming yourself for Jenrosa's death is?'

Lynan blushed. 'I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did.'

Ager's anger bled out of him. 'No, but grief can make us say and do things we don't mean to.'

Ager wanted to say more, wanted to talk to Lynan about Kumul and Jenrosa, but Korigan and Gudon caught up with them and the moment to do so passed.

'What have you two been talking about so earnestly?' Gudon asked lightly.

Ager waved at the
Dry Land
. 'Our navy,' he said.

Gudon looked impressed. 'A beautiful ship. A good start.'

'Yes,' Ager agreed. 'A small start but a good one. Well, Lynan, that takes care of the seaward threat. How about the threat from the Great Army? How are you going to deal with that?'

'I'm going to attack, of course.'

'What numbers are we talking about?'

'With Tomar's contribution, our force will reach about twenty thousand.'

'And Areava's?'

Lynan shrugged. 'About forty thousand.'

The other three gaped at him.

'Give or take one or two thousand,' Lynan added. 'Some may have joined since Tomar's break from Areava.' He started walking back to Tomar's palace. 'Come on. We have a great deal of work to do.'

'What's the hurry?' Ager asked- 'We just got here.'

'I want to attack the Great Army before it grows any larger. If we destroy it, I think we can end the war before winter.'

CHAPTER 32

Makon kept his breathing as shallow as possible to keep out the stink of the burning bodies. He was crouching behind a low stone wall, and dangling in front of his eyes was the charred arm of an Amanite soldier, the fingers curled into claws. He glanced over his shoulder to find Eynon. The clan chief was still directing fire arrows into the palace to make sure Amanite archers could not see properly to shoot at Makon and his three troops of Red Hands when they made their charge. He risked peeping over the wall. There was an expanse of nearly sixty paces between him and the palace itself; the space was covered in bodies, draped like strange sculptures over hedges and fountains and garden beds. Impossible for cavalry to cross that distance across all the obstructions, which left the only Chett units trained to fight on foot—his command. Smoke drifted in front of the palace like low cloud. Some smoke poured from the palace itself.

If only Ager Parmer could see his Red Hands now
, Makon thought.
He'd be proud
. An enemy arrow thudded into the wall near his head and he ducked down again.
And shit scared
.

He and his Red Hands had been fighting now for three days, from the end of the pass across the mountains where they defeated the army sent to stop them, and then down to the capital, and then through Pila's streets to the palace itself. And now, after a long and bloody campaign, they had finally reached the end of vengeance. For what must have been the hundredth time, Makon again checked with Eynon. He saw that the archers had switched to normal arrows. Eynon looked at him and gave him the signal. No more waiting.

Makon stood up, raised his short sword above his head and screamed the cry of the White Wolf. He did not wait to see if the other Red Hands were with him, but jumped over the wall and ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards the palace. An Amanite soldier with a spear appeared from behind a hedge. Makon fell on him, plunging his sword into his chest as they hit the ground. He stood up, tugging his sword free, and started running again. Red Hands surged around him. Arrows whistled by his head. He heard screams, choking gurgles, cries, ignored them, barged through a fire-eaten wooden door shoulder first. He fell onto a stone floor and the wind was slammed out of him. Gasping he turned onto his back. A spear point clanged onto the floor between his legs. He swiped at the shaft with his sword and scuttled away, still on his back. The spear drove down again, snagged his poncho. He rolled, snapping the shaft under his weight, and kicked out. His foot connected with something soft and his head hit a wall. He shouted in pain and anger, sat up in time to see his opponent doubled up and holding his balls. Makon swiped at the man's head, slicing through an ear and hitting the skull. The enemy screamed, jumped back into the sword of a Red Hand and collapsed. Makon scrambled to his feet, looked around. He was in a narrow corridor with archways at either end. Red Hands poured through the exits. He heard weapons clashing, men grunting and wailing, bodies falling. He chose the exit on his right and charged through. A large room with bench seats on two sides. Ten of his men were pushing against as many Amanite spearmen, getting under the points of the enemy weapons and using their swords up close. The spearmen died. Two archers behind them fired one arrow each, dropped their bows and ran through another archway. One of the Red Hands fell with an arrow in his chest.

'Come on!' Makon cried and led the way through the second archway. They found themselves in a large hall. Light from windows high in the wall criss-crossed smoke from a fire consuming a wooden staircase that led to a second-floor gallery. Archers were lining the gallery. Makon swore under his breath and made for the staircase, hopping over flames, coughing and choking on the smoke, leaping three stairs at a time. He heard someone give orders to the archers, and they swung their bows around, but too quickly and tangled with each other. Some arrows were loosed from half-drawn strings and looped into the air to fall harmlessly below. Two archers fell with arrows in their backs. The remainder could not see through the smoke clearly to aim but loosed their arrows anyway. They whirred through the air. Then Makon and six Red Hands were upon them. The archers retreated on each other, pushed to get out of the way, fell screaming as they were stabbed in the back and then thrown over the gallery into the fire below.

More Red Hands were pouring into the hall now. 'Put out that fire!' Makon screamed at them, then led his band off the gallery into a corridor. Tapestries hung from stone walls. Diffused light from clerestories showed off their colours. Makon wanted to stop and wonder at them, and could not help thinking that his brother Gudon would love this place, but he pushed on.

There were doorways ahead; each was opened, each room checked for enemies. They started discovering servants and peasants, old people and children; one or two put up a fight and were quickly slain, the rest cowered and pleaded for mercy. Most of the time they got it. The corridor twisted and turned. More rooms, antechambers, libraries and offices. Makon felt he was getting closer to the most important section of the palace, the royal quarters and throne room, something confirmed when enemy soldiers appeared at the other end of the corridor and charged with the cry of the great bear. The Red Hands replied with their own war cry and met them with a bang of steel against steel. The enemy was armed with swords and bucklers and proved as good at fencing as the Red Hands. The battle in the corridor swung one way and then the next as advantage was won in the confined space and then lost again.

There was room for only three to fight shoulder to shoulder in the corridor, and as warriors tired or died they were replaced by those waiting behind them.

Eventually it came to push and shove, and the greater number of Red Hands started to tell. The enemy soldiers tripped or fell from sheer exhaustion and were trampled under foot, row after row. Red Hands bringing up the rear used their daggers to cut throats and stab through eyes. The floor was slick with blood and the stink of it was stronger than the smell of smoke. When the last enemy fell, the Red Hands could do nothing for a while except lean against the wall and regain their breath.

They all looked like bloody wraiths, and they grinned at the sight of each other, their teeth white against the gore.

'They were good,' one of them said, pointing his sword at the train of Amanite corpses behind them.

'Now they're just dead,' said another.

'Enough rest,' Makon gasped, struggling to stand upright. 'We haven't taken the palace yet.'

At the end of the corridor they came to another gallery, this time overlooking another great space. Makon looked down and saw it was the throne room, and that the throne room had become a battlefield. Chetts—Red Hands and clan warriors—led by Eynon, were hacking their way through the last of the Amanite defenders. At the rear, sitting on a great, basalt throne, sat a large, bearded warrior Makon assumed was King Marin himself. Resting under his two huge hands was the biggest battle-axe the Chett had ever seen. As he watched, Marin stood up and roared a command. His warriors retreated from the Chetts and rested their weapons. One or two were cut down by overeager Chetts before Eynon commanded them to halt, then took a step forward.