Breath of Heaven, page 45
“Tamaell Thaedoren!”
Moiran’s gaze fixed on the rider as he drew abreast of her position, then continued on toward the front ranks. The White Phalanx—what remained of it—and a portion of the Phalanxes from all of the remaining Houses led the column with Tamaell and the gathered lords. The ladies of the Houses followed, the rest of the Phalanx stretched out along the entire length of the column for protection.
She watched the rider as he made his way toward the Tamaell’s banner, noted that Thaedoren motioned the man forward but didn’t stop the slow progression southward.
A few days before, they’d reached the edge of Alvritshai lands, had passed through the last of the forests and into the rolling northern plains of dwarren lands. The bases of the mountain range the humans called the Teeth could be seen to the southwest, their peaks hidden in the clouds. They would have to begin bearing eastward soon.
Ahead, someone shouted orders and a moment later Daedelan and a large group of Phalanx plowed out ahead of the column. Moiran straightened in her saddle, glanced around at the rest of the riders near her—a few of the ladies of the Ilvaeren and their servants, all oblivious of the activity at the head of the column—and then caught the attention of Wodraen. She pointed with her chin toward Thaedoren, got a nod in acknowledgment, and the two began edging forward at a slightly faster pace.
Before they managed to reach Thaedoren, the White Phalanx closed protectively around the lead group, including Lords Saetor and Caeden. Brow furrowed in annoyance, Moiran angled toward Fedaureon instead, riding alongside Renaerd.
Her youngest son spotted her a moment before she pulled up alongside him, even though his attention was focused on the activity ahead.
“Mother,” he said.
“What’s going on?”
“We aren’t certain. The scouts have spotted a large group of humans headed in our direction.”
“An army?”
“It’s not large enough to be an army. Maybe a hundred men in all. Thaedoren has sent Daedelan to meet them.”
Moiran relaxed slightly. For a moment, she’d though the humans had somehow joined with the Wraith army, that they were simply walking into the teeth of another enemy. She doubted they would be able to survive such a turn of events, not physically or mentally. Everyone had suffered too much already. Another blow would break them all.
They’d lost sight of Daedelan, another snow squall blowing fat flakes across the plains. Orders were passed down the line, the Phalanx from behind coming forward to join those at the front. The rest of the Ilvaeren and their servants were sent back, although no one approached Moiran. She kept close to Fedaureon, ignoring the veiled warning looks from Wodraen until he finally gave up.
And then the skirl of snow fell away and Moiran gasped as she caught sight of Daedelan, his escort of Phalanx, and the group of men they’d gone to meet on a rise not far ahead.
“That’s GreatLord Went’s banner,” Renaerd said.
“But what is he doing this far north…and on dwarren lands?”
No one answered. Ahead, Thaedoren eyed the group and at a signal from Daedelan ordered the column to continue onward. Then, with Lords Saetor and Caeden in tow, along with another group of Phalanx, he broke away toward them.
Fedaureon hesitated. “Should we join them?”
“You’re a lord of the Evant,” Moiran said.
When he still paused, Renaerd kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks. “I intend to.”
They galloped forward, the horses’ feet kicking up clods of snow, slowing only when the drifts grew deeper off the column’s main path. Wodraen, Daevon, and Renaerd’s Protector followed behind.
“—see here is the remainder of our forces, those that have been able to join us since Caercaern’s fall,” Thaedoren was saying to GreatLord Went as they approached. “The rest are refugees from the Houses of the Alvritshai. Caercaern and our lands are lost. As Tamaell of the Alvritshai, voice of the remaining lords of the Evant, I humbly request the succor and sanctuary of the Provinces for my people.” Then Thaedoren bowed his head in submission.
A hush fell. No one dared to speak. Saetor and Caeden lowered their heads as well, followed by Daedelan, Fedaureon, and Renaerd. The rest of the Alvritshai, with a rustle of cloth and armor, were quick to mimic their lords, Moiran one of the last.
With head bowed and eyes closed, she listened to the huffing of the horses and the clatter of movement from the human delegation. She heard sudden whispered conversation, between Went and his captains, between his men.
It cut off abruptly, and Moiran risked a glance upwards, barely raising her head.
Went gathered the reins of his horse in one hand, eyes shifting nervously over the contingent of Alvritshai, then half coughed, half grunted and said, “Yes, well.”
Tamaell Thaedoren raised his head.
“On behalf of the Provinces, and in accordance with the Accord, we welcome you to seek sanctuary in Rendell.” He glanced back over the column of men and women still making its way southward and his lips pressed tightly together. “I’m not certain how many we can accommodate, but—”
“Any refuge and supplies you can spare would be appreciated.”
“We will do all that we can.” Went turned to one of his captains. “Brandon, send word to Rendell. Tell my wife to expect guests and have her prepare accommodations.”
“Yes, sir.” The Legion Commander began giving orders.
An older man to Went’s other side, another Legion Commander, but of superior rank and from a different Province, grabbed Went’s arm to catch his attention. “Rendell will not be able to support all of the Alvritshai.” He turned toward Thaedoren. “I am Uthur, Legion Commander of the northern Provinces. On behalf of King Justinian and his Legion, you will be welcome in all of the Provinces. Send those who are able to continue farther south. GreatLord Went and I will provide escort and written word to Corsair.”
“In that case, if you agree, GreatLord Went, I will leave those who are wounded or are sick here in Rendell and send the others farther south.”
“Of course.”
“Lord Saetor, head back to the column and inform the Phalanx. Have them spread the word.”
Saetor bowed his head once, then wheeled his mount and galloped back through the churned snow toward the column.
As soon as he’d departed, Thaedoren faced Went and Uthur. “We need to talk.”
“I agree. I have questions regarding this army who has seized Caercaern, such as who leads it, and what kind of creatures it is composed of. We were tracking it, until this storm obliterated any sign of its passage.”
“All of your questions will be answered. And I have questions of my own.”
“We will need privacy, and I am traveling with only the bare essentials.”
“I will have the Phalanx erect a tent—”
A faint horncry drifted out of the south, cutting Thaedoren off. Everyone shifted toward the sound, hands falling toward weapons as the horncry sounded again.
“What is it?” Thaedoren asked.
“One of my scouts. Brandon.”
Without any additional orders, Went’s Legion commander began spouting orders, the ranks of human Legionnaries on horseback springing into action. Within moments, they’d formed up defensive ranks between the oncoming scout tearing across the snowy slopes at a reckless pace and the Alvritshai and their GreatLord.
Thaedoren looked toward the Alvritshai column, Moiran turning to see that the Phalanx were already forming a protective wall between whatever the scout heralded and their own Alvritshai…and that the column had not stopped its march south. She did notice that it had begun angling toward Rendell.
Then cries of warning rose from the Legionnaires and she spun back to see the scout charging into the nearest ranks, men lurching out of the horse’s path as the scout jerked it to a halt and slid from the saddle. He patted the animal’s sweat-slicked sides as he tossed its reins aside and made his way straight toward GreatLord Went, dropping to one knee in the snow.
“Rise and report.”
The scout’s eyes darted toward the Alvritshai waiting to one side, but he didn’t hesitate. “GreatLord, there is a dwarren army coming up fast from the south, and another army heading southward to the east.”
“A dwarren army?” Uthur broke in, at the same time Brandon spat, “What army to the east?”
Went raised a closed fist and they both fell silent, although murmurs rustled through the Legion’s ranks behind them. “What army moves to the east?”
“Unknown. It was too distant to make out, but it was clear against the snow. Hatch sent me back to report. He went ahead to get a closer look. We were returning to report the dwarren army when we saw them.”
Went swore, eyes falling on Thaedoren. “Do you have any idea who it is?”
“It isn’t Alvritshai. As I said before, this is all that’s left of our Phalanx. Those of the other Houses died at Caercaern. It must be part of the Wraith army. We knew they were sending raids out from Caercaern when we began this march. They must have sent part of their force back south.”
“That must be why we haven’t had many refugees from Uslaen and Licaeta,” Caeden added. “They were cut off by this force.”
“Or killed.”
“If they’ve already seized Caercaern, and aren’t meeting any resistance from the Alvritshai, then where are they headed?” Went asked. “I’d think they’d be entrenching themselves behind its walls for the winter, not heading back out on march. Especially with this weather.”
The Alvritshai all bristled at the implied insult at the lack of resistance, even Thaedoren, but the Tamaell simply said, “I have no idea. We have had no word of what’s been happening to the south.”
“Neither have we. Not recently. The last we knew, the dwarren had vanished and Commander Roland had ordered the Legion to begin extensive training exercises and prepare for orders. He sent us to check out reports of signs of an army moving northward through dwarren lands.”
He contemplated in silence, then asked his scout, “How far away is the unknown army?
“Nearly a day. They’re too far east to have seen us.
“And the dwarren army?”
“Half a day’s ride through this snow. I don’t think they’re aware of us, the Alvritshai, or the other army.”
To Thaedoren: “Do you think they’re hostile? Could they have an alliance with the Wraiths?”
“Their entire religion is based on preservation of the Land. The Wraiths are nothing but destructive.”
Went nodded agreement. “Brandon, form an escort and go to meet the dwarren. Tell them we wish to speak. All of us. It’s time to find out exactly what’s happening on our lands, and how we intend to fight back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Uthur, I think it’s about time we called Rendell’s full Legion forth, don’t you?”
“Agreed.”
He turned to the waiting scout. “No rest for the wicked, as they say.”
The scout moaned, but stood and brushed himself off. “Orders?”
“Catch up to the messenger we’ve already sent to Rendell. Add the call to arms to his report.”
“Very well.”
The scout spun on his heel and snagged the reins of a fresh horse, swinging up into the saddle and charging off to the southwest.
Thaedoren edged forward, motioning Caeden with him. “I think it’s time we pulled the Phalanx away from protecting our refugees. They should be safe with a minimal guard between here and Rendell, especially if the main Wraith forces are to the east. With your permission, GreatLord, of course.”
“With so many armies on the field, I welcome the reinforcement.”
“Caeden, inform Saetor and have the Phalanx join us.”
The lord of House Nuant nodded and spun toward the column.
Moiran’s eyes shifted from his receding figure to the clouds and she gasped. “What is that?”
At almost the same moment, cries rose from the surrounding humans, many of them cursing, a few drawing weapons as their mounts jerked back, startled.
Above them, the low hanging clouds, perpetually gray and dark, even during daylight, were flashing with light, the pulses sheeting from west to east. Moiran thought at first it was lightning, but it couldn’t be. The light was an intense white, highlighting the rumpled contours of the clouds, and lightning didn’t flow in sheets like a wave across the ocean. It wasn’t even the harsh flashes of light inside one of the unnatural storms from the east, because this wasn’t accompanied by thunder. That simple absence of sound drew prickles from Moiran’s skin.
In the distance, the men and women in the column of refugees cowered beneath the display. A few horses broke free of their restraints and charged out into the snowfields in a panic.
And then the flashes of light subsided, the pulses growing weaker, before dying out altogether.
Moiran turned toward Thaedoren. “What—? What was that?”
“I do not know.” He shot a glance toward Went, the GreatLord still squinting up toward the now darkened clouds.
“Perhaps the dwarren will know.”
* * *
“Councilor Tyrik! Councilor Tyrik!”
“I don’t know what the flashing lights portend,” Tyrik snapped as he drew to a halt in the corridor. One of the Legion commanders strode down the hall toward him, the tension brought on by the strange lights in the sky in late morning clear around his eyes. The Legion had been forced to double their guard on the palace and send soldiers into the city to help quell riots from the spooked citizens of Corsair.
The Legionnaire came to a rigid halt before Tyrik, bowing his head slightly. “This isn’t about the lights, councilor.”
“Oh.” It took Tyrik a moment to divert his irritation. “Then what is it?”
“One of the servants found the dovecote warden dead.”
“The caretaker? I spoke with him just this morning.” A sudden sharp suspicion gouged into his side. “What happened?”
“It appears he fell down the stairs leading up to the roof. His neck snapped.”
“Show me.”
The Legionnaire led him back along the corridor and deeper into the palace. All along the way, Tyrik noticed the nervous tension in the servants and guards. Eyes flicking toward every sound, every movement. Startled gasps when one servant dropped a bucket onto the floor with a loud clang. The lights had set everyone on edge.
They rounded a corner, two guardsmen at the far end, their bodies blocking the opening to the stairwell to the roof. Tyrik could see someone on their knees, leaning over a body.
The two guards stepping aside to let him through. He drew in a ragged breath when he saw the odd angle of the caretaker’s neck, the skewed arms and legs making it appear even more distorted. The man’s face was deathly pale, a thin trickle of long-dried blood snaking out of his mouth. His eyes were open, but then the healer who knelt at the man’s side reached up and closed them, sitting back with a small shake of his head, his long grayed beard rustling against his chest.
“He never had a chance.”
“What do you mean?” Tyrik asked.
The healer squinted up at him. “I mean as soon as he lost his footing, he was doomed. Those stairs are too steep to recover from a fall.”
“So he died from the fall? Nothing else?”
“From all appearances. You were expecting something else?”
“No, not really.” And yet his suspicion still didn’t die. He glanced around the stairwell, looking for anything out of place.
The healer watched intently, standing and following when Tyrik began climbing the stairs. The Legionnaire who’d summoned Tyrik trailed behind. Both stood to one side as Tyrik scanned the area around the top of the stairs, but he found nothing.
He stared across the flat expanse to the dovecote with a frown.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” the healer hazarded, “but my guess would be that the caretaker died this morning, at about the same time as those lights lit up the sky. He probably saw them, was distracted, and didn’t realize how close he was to the stairs. He missed that first one and...” He made a tumbling motion with his hand, then stroked his beard. “As simple as that.”
“I don’t see anything to indicate otherwise. If you’re satisfied, remove the body and notify his family.”
The healer nodded and left. The Legionnaire stepped closer to Tyrik.
“Do you have reason to believe something else happened here?” he asked.
“Not really. I’m simply…unsettled.”
“We all are.”
Then, from the west, a low growl rumbled, growing in strength until Tyrik could feel it shuddering through the stone beneath his feet and in his teeth. He clamped them down hard, his hands closing into fists at his side. The sound rolled like thunder, faded the same way.
Behind, he heard the two guardsmen rattling up the stairs. They burst from the stairwell, the healer a step behind, their swords drawn.
“Are we under attack?” one of them gasped.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“It must have been thunder,” the healer said. His voice was hardened, with a plaintive edge, as if he were trying to convince himself more than the others. “It had to have been.”
Tyrik didn’t point out that there were few clouds in the sky at all.
He turned to the guardsmen instead. “Send word to your commander. Have him send more of the Legion into the city to reassure the populace again, if he has any more to spare. I’m certain this will have unsettled everyone even more so than they were before.”
Because, he thought to himself as the Legionnaires and the healer reluctantly departed, it means that whatever happened to the west—to Andover—isn’t over yet.
* * *
The sound rolled over them with a slow and building growl, shuddering in Moiran’s bones. Startled cries rose from the combined army of Phalanx and Legion surrounding her, Thaedoren, the lords of the Evant, and GreatLord Went. Orders were instantly sent out, the Legion forming up into defensive lines with impressive speed. The Phalanx reacted just as well, Moiran noted, everyone facing west as the rumbling escalated, then peaked and began to fade. The horses shifted restlessly beneath them, Moiran controlling hers with a few quick tugs at the reins and a reassuring pat on the neck.
