Page 19

‘Their sea raids are creeping west, Commander Elogast,’ Kyaum Yesef agreed.

Perhaps because her House had sided with Craier, but she had accepted his new title without a squeak, though she did the standard shortening from ‘commander general’ to just ‘commander’.

‘They do not care that they leave ruin, only that the ruin is theirs.’

‘I read the summaries of the reports from the veiga who saved the king,’ continued Crolle.

‘And from Yether to the south who begs, begs us to come and help. You may not know this, as you have been absent so long, but Talicia have no qualms over who they kill, and what they burn with their god. They can and will wreak havoc on our ships and harbours and destroy our power as a trading nation.’

There were nods around the room. He wasn’t wrong.

Elo wanted to return to Lesscia, run to Daesmouth, face the Talicians and chase them away.

Power on the Trade Sea was in filled ships, deep ports and fresh water.

Middren had the last safe docking points on the long journey west, but if they were lost, other nations would not blink before turning to Irisian alternatives or claiming the wreckage and rebuilding the ports in their own image.

But these were Yesef harbours, Crolle harbours. Were they truly making decisions based on the tactics of war, or the fear for their own wealth?

‘What else do they say?’ he asked.

Crolle frowned.

‘The reports you say I have not read, what do they say about the Talician forces?’

No one answered, all looking to each other, to Arren, who was keeping his expression carefully controlled, watching this play out and waiting for Elo to answer his own question. If Elo was the belligerent one, the dissenter, then it left room for Arren to be the calm voice, the ruler.

Elo answered his own question. ‘Talicia have sent a huge part of their force over the Bennites,’ he said, refocussing their attention on the tiny red flags that marked the long journey over the high peaks.

‘Many are young, undertrained, underslept and, considering how difficult it is to maintain supply over this terrain, hungry.’ He put his hand on the map, where Gefyrton spanned the river Daes, marking the turn from rocky terrain to arable land.

‘But their rulers, the Three, chose this route on purpose. If the army crosses at Gefyrton, they will access Middren’s heartlands, its food, its largest trading river.

If they are truly using our people for blood and offerings, do you wish to give them access to busy farming towns?

River traders? Cities? If they gain the crossing of Gefyrton, they will be able to crush our harbours from north and south.

We hold the bridge city, or we lose. It’s that simple. ’

Silence fell, as they all looked at the Bennite force, inching closer, a blade waiting to drop.

‘Lord Geralfi is certain the Gefyri fortifications will hold,’ said General Elemni.

‘They have barely been used in decades,’ said Elo. ‘Most are houses now. Furthermore, they are directed towards the eastern bank, not upriver. The docks themselves are poorly protected.’

Tiamh grunted. ‘How do you know this, commander?’

‘I passed through there recently,’ said Elogast. On an illegal pilgrimage for his king, but he would not mention that.

‘Our enemy use terror, gods and numbers, but they are inexperienced in war and have not won a brawl with us in over a century. We can stop them if we hold our mettle.’ Arren said nothing, but he was smiling slightly, and Elo knew, with a complicated twist of his heart, that they still understood each other. After all this time.

The others, even Crolle, appraised him in silence.

Listening. This, Elo had not expected. How many times had he been forced to shout for a room’s attention in the God War, when they had all been disparaging of a knight commander so young?

How often had his orders been evaded, or outright ignored?

To accept him so quickly, they must be very afraid.

Though Kissen had too much of an impact on Elo’s life not to press a nerve if he could.

‘Perhaps,’ he added, ‘we could have a better chance if we recruited gods once more to our side,’ he said. ‘There are some still worshipped in Middren, in the shadows. Sali, for instance, one of Gefyrton’s great founders.’

The cleric rose to her feet, incensed, and the other House emissaries dropped their eyes, cleared their throats. The alliances here were thinly wrought. How many would turn on Arren, if another way was offered?

Arren’s smile didn’t drop, but it tightened. ‘These gods are as like to join Hseth as to defend Middren,’ he said calmly, and nodded to Crolle, who looked about to burst a vein. ‘And all of them lack the power to defeat her.’

Would he not consider it, even as the map turned red and black with defeats? But Elo inclined his head.

‘At least, it seems,’ Arren continued, ‘the commander general has convinced you all of my plan. To Gefyrton, yes?

No one protested.

‘Then we should send a vanguard ahead,’ said Elo, seizing advantage while he still had it.

‘Support Geralfi, clear the trees upriver, and destroy Talician cover.’ He had spoken of this with Benjen and the others who had been to Gefyrton or Blenraden.

Failing to clear the Godsway of cover had allowed them to be ambushed once, and they had destroyed every shrine along it so it would not happen again.

‘We’re moving as fast as we can,’ said Elemni. ‘Our guards are exhausted. They want early summer feasts, not hard tack and broken horses. Twelve of my fighters grew sick five days last, I worry about it spreading.’

‘Your fighters drank from a stagnant pond,’ muttered Tiamh. ‘You’re lucky they didn’t shit themselves to death.’

‘You—’

‘An advance of five riders will travel at twice our speed,’ interrupted Kyaum Yesef, always pragmatic. She looked at Tiamh. ‘You have been boasting about your fast horses, General Tiamh.’

Tiamh’s chest expanded, ignoring the slight. ‘Curlish-bred, Middren trained,’ he said. ‘Travelling light, they’d make double speed.’

‘But what of the south?’ protested Crolle.

He turned to the king directly. ‘Sunbringer, if Lady Craier forsakes us for Irisia and Restish, if the Talicians turn their god on harbour after harbour, we will be like trapped rats with nowhere to run. Is it not better to relinquish the east and hold the west?’

Arren hesitated. Though his expression barely changed, Elo saw his vulnerability, his fear.

Recently, the House Crolle had been one of his most powerful and wealthy allies after rallying against one of their heirs who had tried to have Arren poisoned.

If they broke from him, the others would follow in a heartbeat.

‘Hold your faith instead,’ said the cleric, breaking her silence. The others turned to her. ‘Things may seem dire in Daesmouth, but the storm is darkest before it breaks. Trust your king. He has seen us through a war of many gods and destroyed them all. Hseth is only one.’

Ah, so this was why Arren had chosen her.

The zeal poured off her like a light, a beacon, showing them the way to true faith.

Arren lifted his chin expectantly, and the other nobles, captains, commanders, generals, put their hands on their chests, splaying out their fingers in the Sunbringer salute.

Elo swallowed his pride and did the same.

The fire in Arren’s chest flared, but quickly dimmed again.

‘General Crolle is right,’ the cleric continued. ‘It is high time for a summer feast when our Sunbringer must gather his power. We will make offerings, make prayers for Lessa Craier’s safe return and for our Fireheart to defeat Hseth’s fire of death.’

Offerings? Fireheart? Could they truly feast while they were on the edge of ruin? Then Elo understood: they would make use of the old traditions, allow the praying and dancing and hoping to chase away the fears of fire with the hope of warmth.

‘This council is adjourned,’ said Arren. ‘Go to your preparations. Methsme, I hope your new songs do well.’

‘I will have them crowing of your glory, Sunbringer,’ said the cleric with a bow, ‘before night is full dark.’

Elo turned with the others to depart, wishing heartily he’d never heard a note from the cleric’s poisonous mouth.

Even if Arren could overlook the fact that she had killed a fellow Middrenite, a captain no less, he could not.

He had done what Benjen wanted, now he wished for a warm meal and nameen to chase the bitterness of it away.

‘Not you, Commander Elogast,’ said Arren. ‘I would speak with you alone.’

‘Sunbringer?’ said Methsme quickly, turning back from the door before she followed Iuri outside. ‘Is that wise?’ The outside air was coming in, warm and muddy, clashing with the scents of the brazier.

Arren raised a brow at her, and she shut her mouth quickly. Elo begrudgingly let a certain kind of respect bloom in him. As a youth, his friend had been hot-headed, impulsive, and angry. Now, he had the confidence to command obedience without a word.

When the door fell closed the soft colours of Arren’s tent fell back in place, enclosing them in the dim light.

The king’s circlet was half hidden by his curling hair, and he was wearing less stylised armour than he did on the move, just a leather cuirass with antlers and rays stitched in gold across the front over the more protective plates.

He folded his arms, gazing at Elo with an inscrutable expression. Man to man, they beheld each other.

Elo broke the silence first. ‘Entertaining assassins in your close court now?’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said Arren, ‘I wondered how long it would take.’

‘For what?’

‘For you to unsheathe your sharp tongue at me.’

Elo sucked his teeth, coming closer to Arren’s map. It was a work of meticulous genius, using knights to collate information; Middren had never been recorded with such accuracy. Though Elo was pretty certain the northern part of their lands had been oriented further east.

‘She has her uses,’ said Arren after a moment. ‘You yourself used bards in the God War for recruitment and spirit.’

‘Bards, not murderers.’

‘Well … that depends on what you thought of their singing.’

He was making a joke. Not even a good one. Elo bit his cheek. Methsme might play in Arren’s favour, but Arren should know more than anyone how sour faith could turn.

‘Why are you here, Elo?’ said Arren when he didn’t answer, dropping formalities entirely. ‘I had given up on sending you invitations.’

‘I was made to realise that my silence was worse than my anger,’ said Elo. ‘Other people would fill it with sound.’

Arren huffed. ‘Your old squire Benjen is quite forgiving. Did you not stab him?’

Elo sucked his teeth, annoyed. ‘Are you having me followed, Arren?’

‘Yes.’

It wasn’t as if Elo could blame him. They had no reason to trust each other.

‘So,’ Arren’s mouth lifted in a half smile, ‘I can entreat you for weeks and Benjen can convince you in an evening? You have a vice in you, Elo. You would choose stick over sweetness. You’d rather be injured than cajoled.’

‘You should know,’ said Elo coldly. ‘You have tried both.’

Arren’s smile faltered. ‘Yet still you came.’

‘I have allied to you,’ said Elo, ‘but I will not grovel to you. I will call you king, but I will not pretend you are a god.’

Arren stepped away from the map and closer to Elo. ‘Don’t you know?’ Incense wafted between them, soft and sweet through the sour mud and warmth of the evening outside. ‘It’s all pretend, power. It’s make-believe and storytelling. Some people just make better stories.’

‘And the cleric will cloak the real you in the lies you desire,’ said Elo. Arren was too close. Dangerously close. But Elo didn’t step away.

Arren shook his head. ‘You knew me best, Elo,’ he said. ‘But even I don’t know how much was real. You never knew how much I loathed you, how much I loved you.’

Elo felt hot, discomfited. Was it fear or wanting? Even he didn’t know. Love and pain are not so different.

He stepped back. He didn’t want to talk about this, he didn’t want to crack open the vaults of their past, and the desires buried there. Arren smiled once more, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I have many regrets, Elo,’ said Arren. ‘But we are at war, and I must use every weapon we have to win it. Like the cleric. And like you.’