The Grand Crusade (30 page)

“Sorry.”

The Vorquelf turned to look at Kerrigan and while he wouldn’t let himself smile, he did his best to erase a grimace. “Oracle has said Will is waiting for us. She has no specific vision that tells us how we will find him, but the Norrington Prophecy itself suggests there must be a way, else it would not exist. It may be something as simple as Will being hidden and waiting to escape until we arrive. It may be that we have to do something more drastic. We have a lot of time to get there.”

“Okay, right. I have been thinking, though

”

“Would you like to share your thoughts?”

Kerrigan nodded, then looked down as he spoke. “Banausic has described

much of what he saw there. The rituals that bind someone to Vorquellyn sound very powerful.“

“They can destroy people if they go wrong.”

“I remember. Two key things, though: elves didn’t have to officiate at the ceremonies that worked.”

Resolute nodded. “It is Vorquellyn which accepts or rejects. That’s one thing. What’s the other?”

“I think that to go through the ritual, one only has to have been born there. I mean, I think Vorquellyn might accept me.”

A prickling feeling ran up Resolute’s spine. “Are you suggesting we perform the ritual on you so you can enter thecorüesci?”

“Well, yes. I was born there after Chytrine took the island, so I have a more recent connection than you do.”

“That was also true of thekryalniriBanausic said was rejected.”

“I know.” Kerrigan looked up at him, his green eyes wet. “But if

no,becauseWill is waiting there, I’m willing to take the risk to free him.”

“To atone for his death?”

“You say that like you think it’s stupid.”

Resolute shook his head and glanced up along the line of soldiers. “On one level it is stupid, Kerrigan. There is nothing to atone for.”

“How can you say that?” Kerrigan’s voice rose and tightened. “I could have prevented his death.”

“No, you could not have. Isn’t that true, Qwc?”

The Spritha huddled close against the sheepskin collar of the mage’s coat. “True, true.”

“What?”

“Kerrigan, the Spritha know where they are supposed to be at times of importance. You came late to the Council Chamber. Qwc flew immediately to the place where he caught Rymramoch’s Truestone. He knew where he had to be, and when the time was right, he was there again. Your job was to make certain that he would not fail to hold on to that Truestone.”

“But I should have caught the stone first.”

“No, and that is why there is nothing to atone for. Will knew what he was doing when he went for the stone. He was showing the dragons that we are willing to sacrifice ourselves for others. He saved a life where Nefrai-laysh only wanted to take one. That lesson was a vital one. Given that the dragons want to reassemble the Crown and that we had pledged to leave our piece of it there, they should have immediately joined with Chytrine. She has the most pieces. It only makes sense for them to do that, but they did not because of Will’s sacrifice.”

“How can they trust Chytrine?”

“They may feel forced to. She was Kirun’s apprentice. They might think she is the only one who can destroy it. Their reasons, however, are as immaterial as

they are misplaced. The prophecy is the key to all events and must be our guide.“

The Vorquelf glanced at him again. “There’s another thing to consider, and Oracle’s news confirms it. When the prophecy was uttered, we thought it applied to Lord Norrington, or to Leigh. Perhaps it did. Each of them underwent a transformation. We know Will is waiting for us, and death will have been quite a transformation. Perhaps he had to grow into being the Norrington of the prophecy, and his willingness to make that sacrifice was the last threshold he had to pass.”

Kerrigan looked over, searching his face. “Do you really think that is true?”

“I’ve spent a long time, Kerrigan, believing in only a few truths. One is that the more Aurolani I kill, the fewer will stand between me and getting my homeland back. Another is that I’ll succeed within Crow’s lifetime. Lastly, I accept that Will Norrington is going to be a part of getting my homeland back. The details around all that don’t matter.”

The mage shrugged his shoulders. “I guess not. You were really tough on him, you know.”

“I’m tough on everyone, Kerrigan.”

“Why?”

Resolute slowly felt a smile spread over his face. “Probably out of habit.”

“Not that I’m trying to pry, but it just seems

you’re being talkative today.”

The Vorquelf nodded slowly, even as a little laugh from Oracle reached his ears. The previous night, dancing with her, he’d felt things he’d not allowed himself to feel for over a century. For an evening he swam up through the lake of blood and flesh and vengeance that had been his life and drew in a clean breath. It had been intoxicating and dangerous—for his guard slipped. And while he didn’t actually abandon the burdens he’d shouldered, he had leaned them against a wall for a moment. And he had enjoyed it.

“I have lived a long time, Kerrigan. I saw the pain of the adults who survived the rape of Vorquellyn. I watched them leave. I have also seen many well-meaning people head out to deal with Chytrine or her creatures, and I have watched them die. When I am tough on people, either they get good, or they get hurt.”

Kerrigan nodded. “And they don’t get close to you until they are good, so they’re less likely to die.”

“Not always. I’m used to them dying. I just wish, for once, it would be of old age.”

The youth shook his head. “You choose not to have friends, and I was never allowed to have them. Will was really my first friend. I didn’t think he would be. I didn’t like him at first.”

“Will was like that.”

“But he grew on me, probably as he matured.” Kerrigan’s eyes flashed. “Do you think he’ll be angry?”

“Angry?”

“You know, for his dying?”

Resolute closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. “No. He made his choice and was content with it. I think he’ll be happy to be back. And, knowing him, he’ll come back with a fistful of treasure from Turic’s realm and stories to tell about his time there.”

Kerrigan laughed. “That’s true.”

“And I would not worry about his being angry with you. He likely won’t even recognize you.”

“I don’t care about his recognizing me. I just hope Chytrine won’t.”

Resolute’s lips peeled back in a predatory grin. “Oh, by the time we get to her, she’ll know us all.”

Kerrigan glanced back. “Seven against an empire.”

“Eight, counting Will.”

“Right.” Kerrigan’s voice shrank. “It will be eight, won’t it?”

The Vorquelf reached out and slapped a hand against Kerrigan’s shoulder. “That’s the only command I’ll give my little company: no dying.”

“Disobey that order and you’ll kill us?”

“Worse, I’ll bring you back.”

Kerrigan frowned. “If you go back to being quiet, will your sense of humor go away, too?”

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Okay, well, I think I’m all talked out now.”

Resolute laughed, and discovered he didn’t mind the sound, as alien as it felt rolling from his throat. “We will do what we must, Kerrigan. We may be the smallest force in this war, but our mission is the most vital. We can’t fail, so we won’t. Anyone who gets between us and our goal will discover I can be distinctly unfunny, and I won’t mind making that quite obvious to them.”

General Markus Adrogans found Pain’s quiescence mildly disturbing. It had been nearly a week since his troops had quitted Svarskya and begun the arduous trek into the mountains that separated Okrannel from the Ghost March. The Okrans in his command were able to spin out nightly stories of the battles fought in those fastnesses, both against the Aurolani and, before them, the Norivese. They made no attempt to disguise their contempt for those who had lost their nation at the same time Vorquellyn had fallen—though the stories of their battles left no question that the Norivese had once been formidable foes. Being from Jerana, Adrogans knew little of the Norivese. In times past they used to sail down the coast and do some raiding, but they seldom hit anything beyond rich Okrans ports. Their galleys had sported black sails with a big red ball in the middle and they had been savage enough raiders that the Jeranese had not mourned their conquest. Feelings toward them had been much hotter in Okrannel, since it was much more frequently a target of their raids. Though it did boggle his mind that the Aurolani could have been seen as an improvement by the Okrans, there was logic to it.

After all, the Aurolani had been content to let the Okrans occupy these mountains. Prior to that, the mountains had been something of a no-man’s-land. Both nations claimed it, and regularly fought over it, but seldom in anything more than a bloody skirmish or raid. The Norivese preferred to attack by the sea and the Okrans could call up enough troops quickly to fend off landward raids. When Noriva fell to the Aurolani, the Okrans occupied the mountains. Unfortunately for them, they arrayed themselves to defend against raids and when Chytrine came for Okrannel, she brought armies.

Standing in his stirrups, he studied the long line of men, horses, and equipment working its way through the mountain valley. He had scouts and outriders throughout the mountains, and Gyrkyme overhead to guard against surprises, but even knowing the path was clear did not allow him speed. Though winter would be retreating soon enough, in the mountains that far north it would be a slow process. So his troops still struggled through deep drifts and consumed a lot of food to keep up their strength.

And, ultimately, they could travel no faster than their supplies and equipment, and those moved along at the torpid pace of eight miles a day. The travel day was long as well, starting before dawn and ending after sunset, with the bonfires created by the forward scouts luring the men into camp.

The twenty dragonels were difficult to move because both they and their supplies were heavy. Soldiers grumbled because none of that stuff could be eaten, and they’d not seen the dragonels in use enough to realize their power. In fact, his troops tended to discount that power since they’d already defeated an enemy who had dragonels, conveniently forgetting that the weapons actually had not been used against them.

Despite the grumbling—and when was there ever an army that did not grumble about something—morale was high among the troops. But there was no reason it shouldn’t be, since these were the men and women who had fought a winter war and won against an enemy better used to winter than they were. One and all were ready to shed their heavy clothes and fight “in proper weather.” They very much liked the fact that they were violating nebulous orders from far Narriz. None of them were fighting for their countries; they were fighting for him and their comrades.

Phfas rode up beside him, letting a yellow-toothed grin split his leathery face. “The progress is good.”

“You are not worried about how quiet theyrunare?”

The Zhusk shaman shook his head. “This far from home they grow sleepy.”

Adrogans frowned. “I did not think they were tied to place asweirunare.”

“They are tied, as are you, to the place you were bound to them.” The skinny little man shrugged. “If you listen carefully, you will hear them.”

The Jeranese general passed a hand over his eyes. “They will not be as useful to me as they have been, then?”

Phfas shook his head curtly. “The Zhusk may venture far from home, but theyrundo not.”

A bubble of annoyance rose from the pit of his stomach. Pain had been terribly useful in pinpointing enemy formations based on the misery of the troops waiting for him. While he had not enjoyed her riding him as she glutted herself on the pain of a battlefield, the times she had let him project agony into creatures had been very useful and had saved countless lives.

He thought for a moment, rather surprised at his reaction. The loss of battlefield information was the most critical to his situation, for with that

information he became a better general. Knowledgeable about his enemy, the condition of the troops, the possibility of hidden reserves, all of those things let him issue orders that made his force more effective.

The ability to project pain, on the other hand, made him a better warrior—a superior warrior. On the surface that might seem a very good thing. It certainly had boded well for his people when faced with boombags at theSvar Bridge.Without that ability, serious damage would have been done to his troops and might have even prevented him from taking Svarskya.

What made him a superior warrior, however, would make him less of a good general. He had no fear of combat, and had seen more than his share of it in his long career. Even on the winter campaign, he had fought and been in personal jeopardy. Despite that, his true role was to rise above the skirling chaos of battle and issue orders that would win victories. Empowered by Pain or any otheryrun, he would forget what he was best at and forget what his people could do.

He glanced down at Phfas. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Another shrug, then a little grin. “I have never been so far from Zhusk.”

Adrogans laughed. “How does it feel to be mortal again?”

“I have been linked withyrunfor longer than I have not. I feel naked and old.”

“If that’s going to be a problem for you and your other people, I can arrange for you to head back to Okrannel.”

The little man rubbed a bony hand over his nose. “No. Some stories tell that the Zhusk came from the north. We hunted these lands before the Okrans. I want to see where we came from.”

“Do you think you will find another place to reconnect with theyrunV

Phfas shrugged. “It matters not. This is no longer theyrun’swar. It is no longer a Zhusk war.”

“Then why do you come?”

The shaman threw his head back and brayed out a sharp laugh. “Are you like the others, nephew?”

Adrogans growled. “Don’t speak in riddles.”

“Think clearly. It is no puzzle.”

Adrogans scraped a hand over the stubble on his jaw. The Zhusk were an aboriginal people who existed on the Zhusk Plateau, near the Okrans border with Jerana. They acknowledged no masters, paid no tribute, and in their homeland could be very nasty fighters. Adrogans had assumed that because he was half-Zhusk and had fought so long against the Aurolani that Phfas and the others had joined the fight out of a sense of personal loyalty. With their homeland no longer threatened, he wondered if they would return home.