Page 7

I shoved my bowl back onto the table, then ran over to the cabinet to grab my sword, bow, and quiver of regular arrows. The Ithican glass would be a better choice if the gilded birds were the source of the alarm, but I simply didn’t have enough of them.

Damon was shoving his feet into his boots, so I grabbed his sword and tossed it over once he was ready, then strode out, walking fast but calmly through the halls and down the stairs.

The guards had already sealed the main palace door, but they opened the smaller, hidden side entry for us. I slipped through, then paused, gaze scanning the orange-kissed skies, looking for but not seeing the gilded riders. Which might not mean anything if they were attacking the curtain wall rather than this upper one.

I ran through the courtyard, dodging both soldiers heading for their stations and the non-military personnel running for the underground shelters located in the deep caverns that ran under Esan, and took the metal steps two at a time.

“You don’t have to head to the wall?” Damon asked, obviously shortening his longer strides to keep beside me.

“Scouting teams are generally kept in reserve unless the attacking force is massive. If it was all hands to the wall, the two short blasts would have been accompanied by a longer blast.” I glanced at him. “I take it Zephrine doesn’t do that?”

“No, but we don’t have scouting teams as such, just regular military units with a specialist scout attached.”

Which made me wonder how he realistically intended to implement us becoming a part of those units. I couldn’t imagine him being a welcome addition to any fighting regiment, let alone me, given his death would probably bring their king’s wrath down on them. No matter what Damon thought of his father or how tenuous their relationship seemed to be, he was still heir.

The heavy metal mesh yetts—which were basically a metal gate—had already been swung into place over the building’s windows and half deployed over the entrance itself. The guards swung the remaining door open as we approached, then locked it fully down once we were through. We hurried on, our footsteps barely even registering against the babble of voices and the noise of lockdown procedures being implemented.

The war room’s shield—which was basically a solid piece of metal that rose at an angle from the floor and locked into place above the war room’s entrance, providing not only an additional barrier, but shelter for the guards and arrow slits through which they could fire—hadn’t yet been deployed but would be the minute any attack swept this way.

The war room itself was a hive of activity but surprisingly calm. Soldiers manned the various scribe stations and the long-viewing glasses, while others were at the troop movements table, making minor adjustments to match what those at the long-viewing stations were calling out. None of the other scouting captains were here, but that was not unexpected, given none of them lived in this upper level but rather the military section. They’d be gathered in the secondary operations center, which would now be under Vaya’s command. Jarin, as night watch commander, was here, standing beside my father in the middle of the front-facing windows.

Both glanced around as we approached. I saluted and said, “Who attacks?”

“The Mareritt.”

Jarin’s tone was abnormally calm—almost monotone—under attack conditions, so the fact it held just the slightest edge suggested this attack was anything but normal.

“How great a force?” I asked.

“Five hosts.”

“Sixty-five warriors is not what I would call a true threat to either Esan or her wall,” Damon said with a touch of surprise. “Why the full alarm?”

My father’s expression was grim. “Because they tested a device we’ve not seen before, and it partially destabilized a section of the wall.”

“What sort of device?” I said in alarm. “Magic or mechanical?”

“A mix of both is our best guess at this point,” Jarin said. “The five hosts attacked immediately after the destabilization and managed to partially climb the wall before we could beat them back.”

“They also,” my father added flatly, “had some sort of protective spell shielding the destabilized area, protecting their warriors from our regular weaponry. It was only when our mages started healing the breach that they fell away and retreated.”

“How far did they retreat, though?” Damon asked. “It’s generally not in their nature to do so.”

“They’ve set up a forward encampment several miles out,” Jarin said. “Hard to see what is going on at the moment, though, because there’s a heavy fog currently sitting over the bogs.”

I automatically looked out over the wall, even though several miles out would have put them well beyond the range of normal sight. Nothing moved in the areas I could see, which in itself was bad news. As Damon had said, they were not a race inclined to retreat until most of their forces had been spent.

“The air mages haven’t been able to move the fog?” Damon asked.

“No.”

“Which suggests magic is being employed, however natural that fog looks.”

“Indeed.” Jarin studied him for a moment. “Would you be able to destroy the pin they’re using to anchor that fog spell?”

“My magic is protective in nature rather than destructive, but I should be able to find its location. Once found, it’s easy enough to destroy the pin using a sword.” He paused. “May I use one of the viewers to check the area out?”

Jarin immediately ordered the soldier at the nearest viewer to step aside. Damon walked over and bent to peer through the eye piece. After a few minutes, he straightened and stepped away. “Given the very slight current eddying through the fog, I would guess that there’s three pins—one at each end of the concealment fog and the third centrally located, probably within the barrier itself.”

“Would destroying one erase enough of the spell for the fog to dissipate and allow us to see what lies hidden?” my father asked.

“In theory, yes.”

“Then let’s go out and check,” I said.

My father glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “You’ve new riders to break in. We’ve other squads who are more than capable.”

“I’m aware of that, Commander, but we can’t fly out for a few hours yet, and I?—”

“Have your father’s curiosity and need to uncover firsthand what is happening out there.”

My lips twitched. “Indeed, Commander, I do. But it also gives the drakkons extra time to hunt.”

“Which is no doubt a good thing,” Jarin commented somewhat wryly. “I can’t imagine it would be fun riding a hungry drakkon.”

“They’d only ever eat us under dire circumstances; we’re far too gristly for their liking,” I replied and somehow kept my amusement in check at his expression, which was now a mix of disbelief and horror.

Truth , Kaia said. Rua and Yara take Gria to hunt. I fly with you.

You should be with Gria, not me.

You fight. I fight.

The Mareritt aren’t your fight, Kaia.

Your enemy mine. Kin.

“Bryn?” my father was saying, “Everything okay?”

I started slightly. “Sorry, yes. I was talking to Kaia. If we go out to investigate, she’ll come with us and act as forward scout.”

Jarin glanced at my father. “That’s an advantage we should definitely make use of.”

My father hesitated for the briefest of moments, then nodded. “Go mount up. Your squad will meet you at the outer gate.”

I nodded, saluted, then headed out. With most nonessential personnel now having retreated to cavern shelters, the building was unnaturally quiet. Shadows danced thickly through the corridor, the lights having been extinguished and the tubes shuttered over in readiness. Anticipation and fear surged through me in equal amounts. I might have trained most of my life for battle, but to date I’d really only experienced what amounted to little more than minor skirmishes. Often fierce ones, granted, and sometimes against far greater numbers than our own, but still… Mom had once said that doubts before any major battle were natural and should, in fact, be welcome. With nerves came caution, and a cautious soldier was far less inclined to throw him or herself into the thick of it without thought, and therefore more likely to survive.

That, of course, led to one vital question—why did I think we would be riding into a major battle?

I didn’t know, but we’d find out soon enough whether it was based in foresight or simple fear.

We clattered down the steps and ran over to the stables. Though they weren’t normally guarded, with the sounding of the alarm, a squad would have been deployed to man the half dozen archer slots in the roof. While they weren’t obvious to a casual glance, if you scanned the roofline carefully enough, you’d see a curious number of gaps in the roofing where the tiles had been retracted. Coursers were a necessary and valuable part of our military and had to be protected.

I shoved the door open, grabbed some carrots from the tub near the door, then handed a couple to Damon and strode down the center aisle. A figure appeared high above and said, “What news, Captain?”

I glanced up, vaguely recognizing the woman’s face but not knowing her name. “At this point, it seems nothing more than a minor assault, but keep alert. We believe there’s a major force hunkered beyond our immediate line of sight.”

“Will do, Captain.”

As the woman disappeared back into the shadows, Desta stuck her head over the door and nickered softly. I gave her a carrot and rubbed her velvety nose, then motioned to the big chestnut in the stall opposite. “Damon, meet Red. He’s a good war mount—strong, fast, and reliable.”

“Unimaginative name for such a stunning-looking courser.” He offered the gelding a carrot before scratching behind his ears. “Where’s his gear?”

“This way.”

We continued on to the tack room. The smell of well-oiled leather hit the minute we walked in, and I breathed deep then sighed in contentment. There was no nicer smell in the world—except, perhaps, that of freshly brewed shamoke. Or the warm, spicy scent of the man walking beside me.

I found Red’s gear for Damon, then moved on to collect Desta’s. When I was riding for pleasure—or going to visit the drakkons’ hunting grounds—I usually went bareback, but that practice was far too dangerous when scouting. Desta and I could and did move as one, but I still needed the security of a saddle in the midst of a battle.

She moved about skittishly when I returned with her gear, anxious for a run after too many days spent cooped up in the stall. Once I’d placed the saddle on and cinched it up, I tied the saddle bags onto back loops, then slipped the halter on and threw the reins over her neck.

“Ready?” I asked Damon as I led her out.

He nodded and motioned me to continue. I hurried down to the doors, Desta all but dancing behind me. Once out, I hooked my foot into the stirrup and swung onto her back, quickly finding the other one before loosely gathering the reins. She half-reared, her thoughts filled with the need to fly over fields.

I patted her neck, promising her we’d run when it was safe, then bid her into a trot toward the gates. Damon swung his mount in beside us, the chestnut making Desta seem small by comparison, although she was in truth a standard height for courser.

“I seem overly large on this mount,” Damon commented, as two men came out of guard houses and began to raise the upper gate’s portcullis. “This wouldn’t be some evil plan to get rid of the unwanted husband by making me a target, would it?”

I laughed, and some of the tension in me shattered. Perhaps that’s what he’d intended. “You’ve proven your worth in the bedroom, dear husband, so there is no current plan to be rid of you.”

“Suggesting if I fail to meet said standards further down the line, said plan might well be introduced.”

“I do like to keep my options open.” I cast him an amused glance. “Especially considering said husband has a reputation for going through lovers with the voracity I consume shamoke.”

He laughed, a warm sound that caressed my senses but jarred uneasily against the tense air that held the fortress in its grip. “Not even I could keep up that sort of pace. Besides, I’m now a married man, and my playing days are over.”

I snorted softly. Time would certainly tell the truth of that statement. And yet, there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was serious, and as much as I knew I was a fool for believing it, part of me did.

I just had to hope that part wasn’t headed for heartbreak.

We clattered on, following the winding stone road through the various levels. Though it hadn’t been evident from the war room, a thin stream of whitish smoke drifted past the top of the curtain wall. There was a cluster of men and women nearby, some peering over the edge, others talking and gesturing animatedly, no doubt discussing the damage and means of preventing it in the future. Of course, until we were sure the area beyond the gates was clear, no one would be going out to make a real assessment.

The rest of my team—seven men and four women—were waiting near the portcullis covering this end of the tunnel that ran under the main wall, their mounts stomping and tossing their heads in anticipation. With Damon and me, that made thirteen, a number that some considered unlucky. I didn’t, but tension nevertheless slithered through me. Túxn, I suspected, would not ignore the unintended challenge.

Kerryn Vertale—my second, and one of the best trackers in the squad—nudged his mount forward slightly and saluted. “What’s our target, Captain?”

“An unidentified fog shield a couple of miles into the Barrain Ghost Forest. Damon is a mage and will accompany us to advise the best means of its disposal.”

His gaze scanned Damon curiously, though he was aware of my marriage and knew well enough Damon was heir to Zephrine. But all he said was, “Usual formation once beyond the wall?”

“Until we near the forest, yes.”

He nodded, and the team swept in behind us as we clattered through the now open portcullis and into the long dark tunnel that had further portcullis slots every twenty feet and regular murder slits in the ceiling. If the Mareritt ever managed to break through into the tunnel, they’d be greeted by boiling liquid.

Perhaps the awareness of that possibility was why they were now attempting to break the main wall itself.

The tunnel led out into the mountain pass known as the Eastern Slit—a deep, angular crevice created by a long-ago eruption that sliced right through the mountain’s heart. I twisted around once we were beyond the entrance, but even though I could see the tiny figures atop the wall, I really couldn’t see the damaged section, thanks in part to the still rising layer of smoke, and in part due to the heavy spray coming from the nearby waterfall. Once we made our way past its lake without seeing any sign of the Mareritt or their magic, I raised a fist to let those watching know the area was clear, then pushed Desta into a canter, leading the way through the valley’s twists and turns then out into the wasteland.

Am here , Kaia said.

I glanced up and spotted her high above, her wings outstretched as she soared on the breeze. Any movement visible across the plains?

No white hairs. No horned ones.

According to the accompanying image, the horned ones were what we called moosu, a large deer-like creature that was almost six feet tall, with multi-pronged horns and shaggy brown hair. They tended to live in Mareritten’s higher elevations, but came down to the plains to mate and raise their young in the milder spring and summer months. Their meat was gamey, but good eating when on a long line sweep and surviving on little more than trail rations.

Can you see the fog from up there?

Is fog false cloud?

Yes.

See. Looks like stinging cloud.

I hoped not, and not just because there were no handy seas or large expanses of water anywhere near this part of Mareritten but because it would be yet another sign that they might be working with our foe.

We fanned out and formed a V-shape, with me and Damon at the head, three riders either side of us, and the rest in a well-spaced line behind us. It was a formation that made it harder for the Mareritt to take everyone out in the one attack, and was so successful that we maintained a tighter version of it in the marshlands and forests. Kaia kept high, so as not to spook our mounts or draw unwanted attention from any sentries the Mareritt might have placed.

It took a couple of hours to reach the outskirts of the marshlands, and another half hour to reach the foothills of the Barrain Ghost Forest, which had gained its name because of the cloak of silver fronds that covered its twisted trees in summer and the soft, ghostlike moans they emitted whenever touched by the wind.

I called a halt and ordered everyone to take a mounted break, then nudged Desta closer to Damon’s mount. “Are you sensing anything untoward as yet?”

“I can feel magic thrumming ahead.” His gaze met mine, bright depths troubled. “But it’s more like the magic we found in the blue vein caverns than anything the Mareritten mages have ever produced.”

I frowned. “The Mareritt are surely too territorial for any sort of alliance.”

“I guess it would depend on how desperate they are to destroy Esan and claim at least one part of Arleeon.”

“I can’t imagine the gilded riders will be the type to share the spoils of victory. Besides, for an alliance to exist, that would mean they revealed themselves to the Mareritt long before they attacked Eastmead, and I just can’t see how that timeline is feasible.”

“Feasible or not, it’s a possibility we have to consider. You want me to take the lead?”

I nodded. He might not be familiar with this area, but he had been well trained militarily and was well used to riding out on investigative forays. He also had the extra benefit of being able to spot magical traps.

He nudged his mount into the lead, and we moved on, our formation by necessity tighter than it was out on the plains. The forest itself was hushed aside from the soft moan of trees teased to life by the wind and the occasional rustle of small creatures running through the soft undergrowth. But as we moved deeper into the forest, other sounds began to intrude—the sharp thwack of axes biting wood, the metallic song of metal against wood, the occasional wisp of guttural conversation.

It very much sounded like the Mareritt were digging themselves in.