Page 65

THE FINAL WAR COUNCIL HAD JOINED TOGETHER WHEN the godkiller returned.

The armies had united, those that had guarded Daesmouth and Lesscia, and those that fought in Gefyrton.

Elo stood by Arren, moving pieces with Alianne Yether on the maps as she explained the last weeks’ movements around Daesmouth.

Her older brother, Lord Yether, sat sullenly by the fire with the new Captain Hafil and Captain Faroch, who appeared to be itching to get away from them.

He had given Elo round eyes when he saw him in armour and cloak, setting commands for the combined forces to be organised into shape, food, water, and shelter, ploughing the Movenna fields with their feet into dust and grass and mud.

If anyone noticed that he and Arren were acting differently, no one said a word. Still, Elo felt as if everyone knew. Every weighted look, every bow or salute. Perhaps they did. It was Elo now that Arren summoned to his right hand, to his chambers, to his war meetings. His general, his lover.

The wall more than a decade in the making had come crashing down between them, between prince and squire, between a king and his knight, between a rebel and his enemy.

Now the floodgates were open, Elo could no more resist Arren’s call than he could resist the rushing of his own blood, his hardening, his heartache.

If these were their last hours in this bitter world, they would spend them without shame.

Redemption was not possible. Forgiveness did not matter, Arren’s selfish tyranny and Elo’s bloody rebellion were joined in force against increasing certainty of defeat.

‘I have judged the Talician numbers to still be fifteen thousand,’ said Commander Yether. ‘Their god is indeed smaller than when she first came to Daesmouth, but she is still uncontrollable. Each time they summon her …’ Her voice tightened. ‘It is devastating.’

Elo had first known Alianne by a different name, but her new one suited her, and her title.

She was as steadfast as a leader could be having had her sister and city burned from beneath her by a god of flame.

While her brother had gone to prepare their ships to sail against the Restish, the commander had overseen the freeing of the Lesscian prisoners, the evacuation of the city.

Naiala. Elo’s fellow rebel must have been freed with the rest of the Lesscians. Perhaps she was there, in the army, already handing out pamphlets.

‘The commander held out bravely in Daesmouth,’ said Peta. ‘But with Lesscia abandoned, morale is low. And the Lesscians heading west are vulnerable.’

‘The Tiamh and Elemni lines have been advised,’ said Elo. ‘Camps are being set up across the inner towns, and Irisian support will soon be arriving.’ Additional help in the battle and in the defence, and additional ships to assist the volatile Beloris Yether.

Peta glared at him. Arren had been afraid she would loathe him for ordering the evacuation of Lesscia, but it was to Elo she had turned her ire. She spoke even to Methsme with more deference, telling the cleric how much she admired her songs.

‘And what has been offered to the Irisians in return for that support, commander general?’ Peta said, her tone dark and full of threat.

‘At present, it does not matter,’ said Elo, meeting her gaze.

‘I do not trust a traitor to—’

‘We are long past that, Knight Commander Peta,’ said Arren quietly. ‘Against all odds, Lessa Craier has done what she said she would. That is more than can be said of many allies, let alone previous enemies.’

‘And how do you know that she does not come with ships to usurp you?’ This was Methsme, and Peta nodded her agreement. ‘You are too close to your enemies , Fireheart.’

Elo tried not to look at Arren, though he found the back of his neck heating through the force of her implication. Methsme had not looked Arren in the eye since he had freed the Talician prisoners, and she instead addressed his chest, and the bright fire there.

‘Oh would you cease beating this drum, cleric?’ said Iuri Movenna, pushing their spectacles up their nose.

‘What do you say to the Vittosks? To the Yethers? The Geralfis? Who have lost land and people? That we should spit in the face of aid we sorely need, in case we lose the lands they are come to save?’

Lord Geralfi stood pale and grim by the incense brazier with Regent Graiis, another of Craier’s rebels, and a Captain Graiis, whom Elo had fought in Lesscia.

Lady Crolle, too, had come east, bringing forces to muster at Arren’s call.

Enemies rubbed shoulders with enemies; friends did not seem so friendly.

And it was him they looked to when the mood turned sour. He was the Lion of Lesscia; he had put a sword through the heart of the king; he had been there when the Reach of Sakre fell.

‘Hah,’ said Methsme. ‘Half of you here would have throned her after she toppled our great king. Would you still choose your silly little gods of wells and rivers over he who has united you? The true god in our midst?’

She was growing bolder, to Elo’s distaste, her palms freshly tattooed with the sun and flame, and a hearth and antlers inked high on her chest. Elo could smell the bitter alcohol she washed them with from half a camp away.

‘Methsme,’ said Arren quietly, and shook his head. She curled her lip, and gave a little sarcastic bow to Movenna, then sat down again. Arren looked towards his fractious command, his beleaguered nobles.

‘My friends,’ he said, ‘I appreciate that there are wrongs I have done in the past, and the enmities you have put aside to be here. But please, remember what we are fighting for: Middren. Our home. We have long been the heart of the Trade Sea, the hearth where all lands gather. We know this place better than a god who has barely lived, and we will not lose any more of it.’

Silence fell. Elo broke it.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I take it we are all done with bickering? Can we go back to planning a war?’

Lord Yether stood up, shaking, and it took every ounce of Elo’s self-restraint not to roll his eyes at the angry little man.

Yether looked at Alianne, who ignored him, then at Arren.

Then, it seemed, he decided against an argument, made the Sunbringer salute and went for the door, Captain Hafil quick on his heels.

‘Lord Yether,’ Arren called him back, and he stopped, looking hopeful, as if Arren were about to beg for his forgiveness. ‘Are your ships prepared?’

The lord’s face fell, and he made a bow. ‘Of course, my king.’

He looked over to Faroch, who hadn’t moved.

‘Captain Faroch,’ said Yether. ‘Come.’ He pointed to his side.

‘Apologies, my lord,’ said Faroch tightly. ‘I am no sea captain, and I can offer my assistance on the field. If you will not stay, then I will continue with the House of my own blood. Yesef.’ He nodded to Kyaum, who smiled in return.

Yether’s mouth worked, but then he turned on his heel and left without another word.

‘Anyone else?’ said Arren, and he looked at Peta, whose jaw hardened, her teeth grinding together. She believed in him, had believed in him fervently during Blenraden and all that followed, unlike Elo.

‘No, Sunbringer,’ she said, breaking eye contact and gazing down at the map, to which Iuri was now adding lines of information.

‘There’s a hidden valley down here,’ they said.

‘Where the canals join at the dam and the Arrenon river, before it connects with the Roan.’ With a charcoal piece, they marked the map.

‘The ridges here are steep.’ The notation was less neat than Arren might have liked, Elo could guess from the king’s slightly pursed lips.

A dam was marked with a hard line of black.

‘It’s not an easy retreat,’ said Graiis, coming over to look. ‘And we do not know how fast the Talicians can link their north and south forces. They may do so before following us.’

‘They won’t.’ The krka, Estefin, spoke up.

He was permitted to sit in the tent, quietly by the brazier, and given a healthy supply of Curlish wine and the king’s food.

In return, he had given them crumbs of information – some lies, some truths, but Elo and Arren had learned some more on Talician tactics, weaponry, planning.

‘They will think you are running, and they will follow. They have twenty thousand, not fifteen, in Daesmouth. There is barely anyone left back home.’ He glanced at the map, no remorse in his face.

Home it might be, but his anger at Hseth’s priesthood had eaten his loyalty into scraps.

‘And you’re right, they always follow the riverlines. They have no maps of Middren.’

It seemed Estefin much preferred being an imprisoned courtier than a krka under priest-generals.

‘Knight commander,’ said Arren, ‘how many do we have?’

‘Nine thousand at last count,’ said Peta. ‘Twelve hundred horses, fifteen hundred knights, two thousand trained guards; the rest are commonfolk; soldiers, mercenaries, armourers, blacksmiths. A few new recruits. Our losses have been heavy.’

There had been six thousand commonfolk soldiers in Arren’s parade on Lesscia, and their army at Gefyrton had another two. That meant over two thousand had died. Two thousand souls lost, and that did not include the knights, whose deaths had tallied even greater.

‘How are we preventing desertion?’ said Graiis. He had brought with him a strong number, including Craier guards and many other recruits from his land.

‘The old ways have held,’ said Peta. ‘Runaways caught have their non-dominant hand removed, the burn sealed shut with the king’s brand, and are put on the front line. I recommend we turn instead to hanging.’