The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (57 page)

“Tell your under-captains,” he said to Davydd and Lorna, “and I’ll send the word to mine. We attack at nightfall.”

They broke camp that afternoon, having stayed in place, hidden in the forest, so they could reach the city by night. Two patrols had come their way, and they’d been lucky enough to capture or kill all the members before they raised an alarm. So far, it looked as if they had arrived undetected. Their first sight of Formaux came as the sun was in the final stages of setting, lighting the walls with a deep red, making them look bloodstained.

The city itself, visible just over the walls, was almost heart-breaking in its beauty. It rested on top of a tall, wide hill, out of the mire of swamps surrounding it, where it sat majestically, capped by a beautiful palace made of soaring stone spires. The seat of a Prince indeed.

The walls were nothing compared to those of Banelyn – nothing compared to those of Roarke even. But that was because they didn’t have to be – if Tiffenal didn’t want you to leave, a random series of events would prevent you from ever doing so. Invaders would find inside the city that half their arrows went awry while each Formaux soldier was twice as accurate– an effect the Prince hoped the Raven Talisman would counteract. All told though, it was surprising that the city had walls at all. Quite possibly they were simply ornamental.

What will happen if we’re captured?

He shook his head to dispel the thought. He couldn’t think like that. If he started, he wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up once more in the dark places in his mind that seemed to wait, calling to him, whispering that all was hopeless, that he should give in to despair. He could not think about defeat – he had to think that they would be successful.

“Okay,” he said, turning to Autmaran. “We’re here. What’s the plan?”

“A diversion,” he responded immediately, his voice quiet, just like the Prince’s. Perhaps it was being so close to one of the capital cities, but speaking in anything louder than a whisper felt as if they were testing their luck … as if somehow Tiffenal could hear them.

“The Scouts are fast, and brilliant at ambushes,” the Commander continued. Davydd and Lorna came up and joined them then, and the four of them squatted down where they’d been standing. Autmaran began to draw in the dirt at their feet with a thick, calloused finger.

“Swamps ring Formaux to the north, south, and east,” Autmaran said. “If we commit enough troops to a ‘failed’ incursion against their walls, I’m willing to bet that it will be seen as an attempt to take the walls in the night. If we show our ‘army’ here along the tree line, and give whoever is watching a good glimpse of our force, but not
too
good of a glimpse, they’ll think we have more men than we truly have. Once the force at the gates ‘fails’ and falls back, we’ll sound a retreat, and I have no doubt they’ll ride out in force to follow us. Once they do, a second force, led by you three, can scale the walls here using the ladders.”

“Ladders?” Davydd asked, looking confused. “Since when do we have ladders?”

“My idea to bring them,” said the Prince, allowing himself a small, proud smile. “They’re rope ladders – something I saw a schematic for in the Fortress Libraries. You shoot arrows into the wooden roofs of guardhouses and use a simple pulley system to unfurl a rope ladder that reaches to the top of the wall. A few men scale it, tie the ladder off to something more secure, makes sure all is clear, and then they signal for the rest of us to make the ascent. It’s perfect for use in a place like this –”

“Particularly around the far side of the city,” Davydd finished, nodding. He was looking out at the far side of the city where the towers were the farthest apart. “It’s swamp territory over there isn’t it? No one will be watching for a smaller force sneaking in from that way.”

“Exactly,” said Autmaran

“When do we strike?” The Prince asked.

“No time like the present,” Davydd said, looking at the setting sun.

“Can our troops be ready so soon?” The Prince asked.

“We’ve been going at a crawl through this mist for days now,” the red-eyed man replied. “I don’t know about the Scouts, but if they’re anything like the Rangers I’ve brought they’re ready for some action
now
. They’re even fed – they ate in their saddles today because we weren’t sure when we’d be able to make camp this close to Formaux.”

“The Scouts are ready as well,” Autmaran said, eyeing the setting sun, looking at the distant guardhouses that framed the large gate at the end of the long road. “And time certainly is of the essence.”

“Moving so hastily makes me nervous,” the Prince said, feeling as though the safer course of action was to take more time to consider this. But then again, this way they had surprise on their side, and there was no chance they would be found before it was too late.

“What do you think Lorna?” Davydd asked, turning to the big woman, who’d been watching silently as the three men discussed the battle.

She didn’t say anything for almost a full minute, but finally she nodded.

“It is time,” she said. “The night favors us, we are best rested, and we have the element of surprise. We passed the perfect ambush position not far from here – a large grove of trees on high ground bordered by marshes.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Autmaran said. “That is where the main force will wait, hidden. So we are all agreed that we begin?”

He looked around at each of them, and one by one they nodded.

“Excellent,” Autmaran said, calling a man forward. “Send word to the Scout captains that they are to come to me for instructions. Eshendai Davydd and Ashandel Lorna will be in command of a smaller group Rangers and will lead them separately while the rest stay with the main force.”

The man ran off to gather the under-officers, and the plan was set in motion.
 
But as the Prince turned to go, following Davydd and Lorna, Autmaran held him back.

“When you are in the city,” Autmaran said quickly, “be sure to keep a close eye on Davydd. Tiffenal killed his father, and he hasn’t forgotten.”

The Prince flashed back to Davydd’s manic grin and bleak laughter when talking about the invasion.

“I’ll watch him,” the Prince said. Autmaran nodded and left.

Within the next hour, all the pieces were in place, and the “invasion” force was on its way toward the gates, just as the setting sun was fading away, leaving them in a dark twilight.

The Prince felt his heart in his throat the whole time. They were receiving reports from their various forces and all was going to plan, but still the whole affair was nerve-wracking. In the cover of the setting sun the preliminary force approached the walls … and were seen.

Immediately a cry went up along the city walls, and alarm bells began to ring as the Scout riders were spotted, charging forward surrounding a large troop of men that carried a hastily constructed battering ram, which was, in truth, nothing more than a piece of log covered in stretched hides. It looked
very
impressive from above, but would cause no damage whatsoever if its true intent had been to attack the gate.

As soon as the alarm bells sounded, arrows began to fly from the city walls, striking the battering ram as well as the men around it, but doing little, if any, real damage, due to the shields and armor with which the men had been equipped. After the first few volleys, the initial Scout “invasion” force retreated, scattering back into woods; Autmaran waved to Davydd, Lorna and the Prince, who were waiting further along the edge of the treeline at the beginning of the marshes that would eventually turn to swamp.

“That’s our sign,” Davydd whispered. “Let’s go.”

They started to run then – they had left their horses behind, as they would be no help in such an expedition. The Rangers moved through the forest in their dark greens and blacks with highlights of gold flashing now and then, clinging to the shadows, flitting from cover to cover, barely breathing, avoiding thick brush, ducking under branches that might shake, passing around deep mud that might leave too obvious a track.

The clash of arms came from the city’s gate – a sallying force of guards had come from inside the city to meet the attack. A Kindred trumpet sounded the retreat, and Imperial drums beat as the victorious cries of the Formaux soldiers spurred more of the city’s force to move out and attack the fleeing Exiles.

“It seems to be working,” Lorna said to the Prince, surprising him as she showed up right beside him with barely a sound.

“That makes me nervous,” the Prince said.

If they were lucky –
ironic,
he thought – the ambush would take the Kindred force outside the sphere of influence of the Fox. No one knew how wide that sphere really was … but the Prince didn’t think it would extend beyond the city.

If it does, then we’re all doomed anyway.

“Here comes the fun part,” he heard Davydd whisper.

“Our definitions of fun are not simpatico,” the Prince replied.

The marsh they’d been making their way through became a swamp, and suddenly they were wading through pools of water, some of which, unavoidably, began to seep through the Prince’s boots. Insects buzzed in the air, out in force in the dying heat of the day that still clung to the land after the sun’s departure. None of the Kindred grumbled – in fact they made no noise at all, but simply tied cloth over their exposed faces, pulled up hoods, and narrowed their eyes to slits. Complaining wouldn’t make the bugs go away – but it
would
raise an alarm.

As they crossed the swamps, they heard the last distant sounds of fighting fade away, and knew it was their time to act. They veered toward the walls, pulling themselves free of the muddy banks with rough squelching sounds.

Davydd and Lorna both motioned forward four sets of Ranger pairs, all of whom hailed from the forested areas of Vale and bore longbows as their weapons of choice. Without a sound, they approached the walls and peered up through the mists.

Davydd turned to the Prince and raised an eyebrow. He wanted to make sure there was no one on the walls.

The Prince reached through the Talisman and felt his mind expand out of his body, taking in the area. He felt lives around him – the Kindred – and lives on the other side of the wall, though they were made mute and indistinct by distance. If any of them were guards, he could not tell.

But one thing was for certain – there was no one manning this guard tower. It would appear their ruse was working, and all the guards had been drawn to the front gate.

He opened his eyes and nodded to Davydd, who immediately raised a hand, only to slash it back down. Arrows flew on his command, lancing up to hit the wooden roof of the guard tower with a series of dull thuds, the arrowheads twisting and imbedding themselves in the soft wood. The four lightest Eshendai stepped up – three women and one man, all of who looked like they barely reached five feet – and tested their weight on the ropes. All appeared solid.

Davydd motioned for their attention, then raised a single finger, pointing it at each one of them separately.

One by one
, the motion said. The Prince approved – there was no need to risk multiple lives at once.

The Eshendai nodded, and turned among each other, gesturing quickly. A decision was made, and the smallest among them, a tiny black-haired woman who was thin as a whip, grabbed onto her rope and began to walk up the side of the wall, using the slotted stones as footholds. She reached the top and scrambled over the ledge of the tower – leaving behind her only silence.

For a long time, they waited with bated breath. The Prince, wondering what was taking so long, reached through the Talisman to track her –

The blood drained from his face and panic flared in his gut – he couldn’t sense her, not even the tiniest hint. He jerked toward Davydd and pulled him close, so close that his lips were almost against the other man’s ear.