A Cloak of Red, page 17
part #1 of The Tenth Kingdom Series
The chancellor stood stolidly at the wall, looking out over the battlefield, where the Dulmish army was now beginning to square off against the approaching Mystic forces. Theren walked over to stand beside him, her thoughts a roiling mess of emotions that she could not control.
“Why are they here?” The question had been bothering her. “They did not go to the trouble of taking Ulande just to send such a small force to Ammon, surely?”
He glanced at her as he folded his arms across his chest and scrutinized her face closely for a few moments. “Given the information available to us, it seems likely that they were sent after the people fleeing the city, to try to keep word from reaching us.”
“At least we saved some of them,” she managed to whisper, thinking of those refugees who had not been so lucky.
As she watched, the two groups of soldiers collided, like waves crashing into each other, their momentum stalling instantly as the lines met. She thought disjointedly that it felt so unreal from up here it could have been a pantomime, even though there were people she knew quite well and saw every day down there, fighting and possibly dying. She clenched her fists tightly, remembering Tinun, and tried not to think about how many more people she might never get a chance to know as more than brief acquaintances now.
“What will we do after this?” she asked, her throat dry, and Chancellor Karan sighed, his eyes fixed on the ongoing battle.
“I have sent messengers to the king of Feldemar, just in case no word has yet passed west to Yota. Once things are tidied up here, we will march southwest, either to meet the forces of Dahab, or wait with them for the king’s armies to arrive from the capital. Then, we shall retake Ulande.”
The process of “tidying up,” as the chancellor had called it, took much longer than Theren had expected. Though the fighting itself was over in a sickeningly short time, there were many bodies to be burned, many badges to be retrieved, and much mud to be searched through, so the whole of Ammon remained busy throughout the rest of the day and long into the night. The whole of Ammon except for Captain Menrad, of course, who had been relieved of his duties. He had apparently told the chancellor that he had always intended to open the gate, but not while Lilith was there, so that she did not get the idea that she could give the Mystics orders. It seemed that he had felt that Lilith’s suggestions were being given too much consideration, and feared that she would get them into the same kind of trouble as the last Yerrin girl had.
What few garbled details Theren had been able to pry out of anybody about this previous member of the family Yerrin included that she was much younger than Lilith—barely older than a child—and that the previous chancellor had told everyone furiously that she was partially responsible for the rebellion of Dorsea against the High King. Nobody quite knew how she had done this, just that the chancellor, Kal, had ranted and raged about it constantly, and the more accounts Theren heard, the more annoyed she was that any of the Mystics believed it.
A girl barely out of schooling years, affecting the fate of nations? Foolishness, even for the most cunning of goldbags.
The mood of the fortress and its occupants was changed once again, the previous tension replaced with a kind of weary implacability. Everyone was working—packing supplies, bringing what food and blankets they had in surplus to the refugees, digging graves or patrolling the walls, or even mundane things like taking inventory and making account of their losses—and no one thought of rest. Lilith spent half of her time helping the Feldemaran refugees, and the other half in consultation with Chancellor Karan about what extra supplies she believed she could negotiate from her family connections in Dahab.
True to his word, Karan ordered the Mystics to begin preparations to march the very next day, and many of the more experienced among them seemed to have been ready to go at a moment’s notice. A weremage in the form of a great, swift falcon arrived in the middle of the day, wearing livery of indigo trimmed in gold, the colors of the royal family of Feldemar. He told them quickly where they would meet the forces of Dahab, and that they would be led by Her Excellency Shorani, the heir to Feldemar’s throne, before taking off again almost immediately afterwards.
“Is it wise to send the next king to the front lines?” Theren asked Vivien curiously, as she helped load one of the carts with supplies for the march, using her magic to lift several boxes at once.
Vivien shrugged. “In Dulmun, the current king as well as their heirs will often take the field. And besides, if I am any judge, King Alim is likely feeling like a cornered wildcat. He can scarcely afford to hold back any weapons within his arsenal, if doing so will mean losing the throne itself for Shorani to inherit.”
That thought sobered Theren, wondering if the Dulmunsters were planning to push west towards the capital now that they had their foothold in Ulande, and she found herself searching out Lilith in the crowd, where she stood giving instructions to the refugees. When Karan had announced that they would be traveling with the Mystics, so as to be taken into the protection of the king’s soldiers before the battle, Lilith had insisted that she would accompany them as well, in order to watch over them. The chancellor had offered no argument to this, and Theren had begun to wonder if he was secretly relieved to have somebody else to handle civilian matters.
It was sunset by the time they were ready to leave, and such was the urgency of their journey that they marched for several hours through the night anyway, their way lit by torches and floating lights conjured by their elementalists. Lilith seemed to have passed into a state of controlled calm that was far more worrying than any emotional outburst could have been, a mask of serenity that did not quite hide the trembling of her hands. Theren had to beg her to come to bed that night instead of continuing to assist the refugees that were marching with them, and when she did sleep, she was as still as death.
Theren, on the contrary, was restless all night, and when she did manage to doze for a few hours, her dreams were filled with horrible screams of the dying Mystics on board their ship from the Seat and visions of battlefields laden with gruesome carnage, like nothing she had ever seen before. She woke with a start just after dawn, only to find to her dismay that they were being called to break camp and continue marching.
Not in all the stories she had read and all the accounts in her dusty old textbooks, she thought bitterly as she struggled out of her bedroll, had anyone ever mentioned that war was so very tiring.
It took three days of hard marching and being beaten down by merciless thunderstorms that made Theren’s bones ache with cold and covered the roads with yet more slick mud before they could rendezvous with the armies of Feldemar in their camp to the north of Ulande. They must have looked a sore and sorry lot, she thought, emerging disheveled and travel-worn from the jungles, especially compared to the Feldemaran warriors, who were resplendent in their royal colors and seemed much more used to the climate.
No sooner had they stopped walking than Chancellor Karan appeared before them, beckoning to Lilith. “Come with me. You, too, if you wish.” That afterthought came with a nod to Theren.
They exchanged a glance, and Theren saw the worry in Lilith’s eyes, reaching out to take her hand as they followed behind him. At his usual breakneck pace, he led them through the Mystic camp and into the Feldemaran one, not even stopping at the border that separated the two, both sets of guards hurrying aside to make way for him. From here, between the lines of deep blue tents, they could see Ulande: much of it was still smoldering, and at this distance the smoke was an acrid and ubiquitous presence on the wind, almost as aggravating as the green and white banners that had been hung from the walls in the direction facing the army camp.
The land below the rise that the camp had been set upon was razed, great swaths of jungle burned to cinders alongside the occasional farmhouses and stone storage buildings, now smoking ruins. Even at this distance, every misshapen clump of ashes made Theren feel nauseous, and the thought that such might have been the fate of the families of the people who had fled to Ammon refused to be dismissed from the forefront of her mind.
Eventually they passed so deep into the camp that they started seeing guards who were even more impressive than the rest of the Feldemaran soldiers, their heads covered by tall helms with golden plumes in them.
“The royal guard,” Lilith breathed, clearly in awe, and Theren swallowed hard, wondering where under the sky the chancellor was taking them.
He strode on, unperturbed, towards the largest tent in the camp, outside which many of the royal guard were stationed. The three of them were let in with only a curt nod, though Theren was sure she must have looked suspicious, given the sweat she felt trickling over her temples and down her back.
“Your Excellency,” Chancellor Karan said gravely, in greeting, and then, to Theren’s surprise, bowed low.
Lilith curtsied deeply, and Theren hastily bowed to match them both, though her eyes had not yet adjusted to the lamplight well enough to see the prince beyond a vague outline.
“Thank you, chancellor, but that is unnecessary,” a calm, authoritative voice said in response. “We do not have time for ceremony.”
Theren looked up to see a tall, fit woman in the same armor and indigo surcoat as the guards throughout the camp, though she also wore a wide golden coronet that was framed by a cloudlike bob of curly black hair. Her skin was a deep umber, darker than Lilith’s, and her wise brown eyes were rimmed in kohl that matched the color of her hair.
“This is the girl you spoke of in your messages?” the prince asked, directing an elegant hand in Lilith’s direction.
The chancellor nodded. “She is Lilith, and is of the family Yerrin, as you can no doubt tell.”
Theren risked a sideways glance at Lilith to see that she seemed to be utterly flabbergasted, staring at the prince in wide-eyed awe.
“And the other?”
“A bodyguard, of sorts,” Chancellor Karan replied phlegmatically, and Theren had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud at the implausibility of the entire situation.
Prince Shorani gave him a long, steady look, but he maintained his neutral expression, and eventually she nodded, waving to Lilith to step forwards.
“Mistress Yerrin, I am told that you have been acting as chaperone for the refugees we are to take into our care,” the prince began, at which Lilith lifted her chin proudly.
“Yes, Your Excellency. I have done my best, at least.”
“Have any of them spoken of what happened when Ulande fell?” the prince asked, studying her intensely. “We have conflicting information about the numbers of the Dulmish forces, and I wished to know if any of the people who fled the city could shed any light on the situation.”
Lilith frowned, and bit her lip, thinking. “I do not have … any definite numbers to give you. Many of the townspeople did not wish to speak of what had happened.”
“Anything you could tell us would be of great value,” Prince Shorani replied evenly, picking up a quill with which to take notes.
Theren wondered briefly why the prince did not have an aide on hand to write notes for her, and then realized that none of the other people in the tent with them seemed to be servants. Some of them may have been messengers, or simply guards, but they were all soldiers of some kind or other. Prince Shorani did not seem to match very well with the stories of royalty that Theren had been told as a child, and she found herself begrudgingly impressed.
“Well …” Lilith’s eyes lit up as an idea blossomed. “They did say that some of the raiders had left the city. Many of the refugees wished to travel west, to Dahab, as their first attempt to seek safety, but apparently some of the raiders took ship and made their way up the river in that direction, so they did not think it would be wise. Do you think that could be where the discrepancy about numbers comes from?”
The prince muttered something under her breath, scribbling rapidly on her parchment, and then turned to one of the men beside her. “Tell General Akomu to take a brigade of men along the river. If Dulmun thinks to attack Dahab while our forces are engaged here, they will learn not to underestimate us.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the man said, and saluted before hurrying out of the tent.
Theren shuddered, wondering what would have happened if Lilith had not been able to recall that information, or indeed if they had not brought her along, and then felt fiercely proud of her and all that she had done on this trip. The prince, too, seemed grateful, inclining her head gracefully in Lilith’s direction.
“You have my thanks, Mistress Yerrin. I have no doubt that your family could supply these refugees without feeling any loss if need be, but we have heard that the Mystics are not so rich in these days. Therefore, the crown will reimburse Ammon for their aid in the protection of Feldemar’s people, as a gesture of our gratitude.”
Chancellor Karan, looking as happy as Theren had ever seen him, bowed low once more. “You and your father are most generous, Your Excellency.”
“We honor those who show respect for our nation, Chancellor,” Prince Shorani replied, pointedly.
Staidly, he nodded. “I understand, Your Excellency. Please, let us know if there is anything more you need.”
She waved a hand graciously, indicating that they could leave, and Theren ducked out of the tent feeling as though she had just had an encounter with a rare creature of legend.
“Why did you bring me along?” Theren asked the chancellor, as she and Lilith hurried to keep up with him on their way back out of the Feldemaran camp.
“Our Mistress Yerrin would have told you everything that happened anyway,” he replied, with an exasperated snort. “Better to let the royals know there is another ear in the conversation than let them give away secrets carelessly. You know how they can be.”
Theren did not know, not particularly, but her heart lifted a little when Lilith giggled. “I suppose I would have told her, it is true.”
He stopped walking for a moment, once they had finally returned to the Mystics’ camp, and glared beadily at the two of them, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Now, you listen to me, both of you. You, Theren, have done far more to prove yourself than many of those who have been in the order longer, but I did not bring either of you with us here to Ulande to drag you onto the battlefield. You will remain here in the camp with the rear guard when the armies take the field, do you understand me? If I should catch even the tiniest glimpse of one or both of you tomorrow, I shall personally ship each of you back to the High King’s Seat wrapped up in silk and packed in crates full of rice in order to keep you out of trouble!”
Theren could not help but grin at the idea of them packaged up like delicate jade vases, but she tried to control her mirth, because she did not doubt he would do it. “Understood, Chancellor.”
Once he had stormed off, Lilith giggled. “That was unexpectedly fatherly of him.”
Theren just snorted. “If he lost you, he would have to do his own paperwork again. Not to mention he would have to speak with merchants. I think he fears conversation more than battle.”
Lilith sighed, her mood turning morose again at the mention of battle. “If only we could combine our strengths. I feel almost paralyzed by worry about tomorrow, and would welcome some courage in regard to it.”
“They will not lose,” Theren reassured her lightly, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Her Excellency’s forces seem mighty indeed, and with the Mystic mages, they will be unstoppable!”
Lilith smiled wryly at her. “How things have changed, from the days when we would tell ourselves that the redcloaks would not win.”
Theren wrinkled her nose. “I know. Embarrassing, is it not? I think they are rubbing off on me.”
She shuddered dramatically, making Lilith laugh, and then yawned, feeling all of the exhaustion that she had built up over the past five days or so come crashing down on her.
“This will make a fine letter for Ebon and Kalem,” she said wearily, as they began walking back to their tent. “It is not every day that one meets a prince.”
The next morning, Theren rose sometime before dawn and walked to the outskirts of the camp, though she made sure not to pass the lines of guards stationed at the edge. The moons shone like the stained glass of the Academy windows in the sky overhead, not dulled in the slightest by the storms or the smoke, and she thought how peaceful it must be, to look down on everything that was happening and be completely unaffected by it.
The thought soured in her mind as she remembered that High King Enalyn had been named after one of the moons, and wondered darkly if the name had been chosen on purpose for that reason. Like the moon of her namesake, Enalyn would look down on the events of tomorrow’s battle as nothing more than a few numbers, just a brief report and a final outcome to acknowledge, as distant from the whole thing as the moons were from the land.
Theren had no particular love for any nobles, but she felt that those like Prince Shorani, who were involved in what their people were doing and fighting for, must surely inspire greater confidence and trust than those who simply stayed put in their palaces, any number of leagues away. While the Feldemarians would fight alongside the woman who would one day be their king, the Mystics would go into battle tomorrow with only a distant silhouette and a name to keep them safe.
Theren hoped that it would be enough.
Unable to return to sleep, Theren wandered around the Mystics’ camp, surprised to see so many of them already arisen. Not because she expected them to sleep restfully on a night like this, of course, but because they were all so uncharacteristically quiet—nervously anticipating what was to come, no doubt. Their faces scared her, a hundred masks of resigned determination, eating what they knew might be their last meal with no complaint, just a weary acceptance.
She was about to return to her tent, unsettled, when she spied Vivien standing alone on a small ridge that looked out over the battlefield, her braids shifting idly in the breeze. The view as Theren drew nearer to her was even more grisly than it had been the day before. Under the pale light of foredawn, the blackened husks of tree stumps and withered, ashen ground looked like something out of a nightmare, and the Dulmish soldiers had prepared for the coming assault by lining the approach to the city with vicious wooden spikes.
