Neetra picked up the ring and fell back into his seat, ignoring the display in front of him. As he turned the band over in his fingers, the steward’s expression remained vapid. If he was celebrating victory, he did so discreetly. Hasain couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on inside Neetra’s tangled mind.
“Inan, come say goodbye to your brother,” Bailey commanded in a brittle voice.
A gasp drew Hasain’s attention. Inan had, at some point, wrapped his arms around a pillar and now clung to the marble column as if his life depended on it. The young lord’s cheeks shone with tear trails as he glanced toward his father with wide, terrified eyes.
Nawaz shook his head. “No. Stay put, Inan. He values your blind loyalty over your heart.”
Inan whispered a meek farewell but didn’t move.
Hasain had seen enough. Taking a deep breath, he stepped away from the wall and made his presence known to all inside the throne room. Neetra openly scowled, recoiling into the dead King’s chair, and Nawaz rushed to cover his shameful tears.
“Come, Nawaz,” Hasain pressed gently. “It’s time to leave.”
Nawaz nodded, wiping a sleeve across his face. “Yeah. Let’s go.” He gave Bailey’s shoulder one final squeeze and cupped his hands around Inez’s face before following Hasain from the room.
Hasain was surprised when Neetra didn’t fight for the last word. The silence at their backs helped propel them forward.
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
Tears welled in the corners of Lady Mrifa’s eyes, threatening to spill down her powdered cheeks. Standing beside the lady, Heidi Adelwijn sniffled and raised a kerchief to wipe at her own glistening face. Carmen, the youngest of the Adelwijn children, twisted the sleeve of her tunic and stared at her boots. A distraction, no doubt, but of the three women, her composure was undeniably the best.
It took all Joel’s strength to keep his own emotions in check as he said farewell to his family. He wasn’t ashamed to cry but knew it would be easier for his mother and sisters if he didn’t. They didn’t need to see how frightened he truly was.
Mrifa threw her arms around Joel’s neck so snugly he could barely breathe. “You only just returned from the Northern Empire, and now you’re being thrown into danger again. And your father—” She laid her face against his neck, and the tears, at last, did fall.
“I’ll be back,” Joel reassured her. “And Da too. It’s not going to be anything like the Northern Empire, I promise.”
Mrifa whimpered, the sound muffled by Joel’s long, raven hair. “It’s worse than the Northern Empire. It’s war!”
Joel rubbed her shoulders, trying to bring some small measure of comfort to his grief-stricken mother. “It is war, but Da and I will stay safe. More than likely, the Shirites will tuck their tails and run when they see Arden’s army approaching. What good would it do for their unorganized bands of militia to take on an army of our size?”
“Joel’s right, Mother,” Carmen added. “Arden’s army is ten times the size of Shiraz’s and much more competent. The enemy will be sent running all the way back behind the walls of Tahir. They don’t have a leg to stand on against us.”
Mrifa finally released her hold on Joel. “Koal said as much.” She sighed, taking up a strand of blonde hair and twirling it around one finger. “Forgive me for worrying.”
On all accounts, it did appear Arden had every advantage going into the campaign. Most of the troops were well trained: a mix of experienced veterans from the Northern War and young sentinels who’d taken lessons with Weapons Master Roland Korbin. Combined with roughly two hundred mages hired to fight and a team of skilled Healers, the size of the army swelled to an impressive ten thousand bodies.
Shiraz’s own forces numbered in the hundreds. They had fewer soldiers, fewer mages, and fewer resources. Their militia-styled army, made up of small brigands, was more suited to ambush attacks and small-scale battles. To meet Arden on the open field would spell disaster for them. But none of this did anything to soothe Joel.
The warriors of Shiraz knew their own land better than anyone from Arden ever would. They had lived in the arid wastelands for centuries. They knew how to survive the harsh climate. Arden’s forces would have to rely on supply trains for food and fresh water from the Nishika River. If access to either of those sources were disrupted, Shiraz would only need to wait patiently for their enemy to die of thirst or starvation. Stranded beneath the vehement desert sun, it wouldn’t take long.
And there was something else, too—a thought so dark it seized Joel’s body in terror.
There’s a very real possibility Shiraz won’t be acting alone. May The Two help us if the Northern Empire gets involved in this war.
He’d been there. He’d sat in that miserable, wicked chamber in Teivel and watched the Dhaki princes sign the treaty with Emperor Lichas Sarpedon. No matter how many times the High Council denied an alliance between Shiraz and the Northern Empire, Joel knew it was true. He’d seen it. Koal had seen it. Even Liro had been present—
And then Liro had the audacity to tell the other councilors there was nothing to worry about—that the treaty had only been an agreement allowing the Empire to utilize Shiraz’s trade routes—that Emperor Sarpedon had no interest in joining the campaign against Arden. And Neetra and the other councilors had believed him.
Horseshit! How can they be so blind to the truth? Sarpedon has been trying to weasel his way inside Arden for years! And how easy will it be if our military is destroyed? We can’t take on Shiraz and the Northern Empire and hope to survive. Why won’t my uncle see reason?
He couldn’t worry about it right now. Pushing the dark thoughts aside, Joel gave Carmen’s shoulder a firm clasp. “You take care of Mother and Heidi while we’re gone, okay?”
“I will. And the baby, too,” Carmen replied. “Remember, you might be an uncle by the time you return.”
Joel cast a forlorn smile at his other sister. Heidi’s pregnancy wasn’t showing yet, but that did little to ebb the grief she was surely experiencing. It wasn’t fair. Heidi and Nawaz were expecting their first child together, yet this pointless war was about to tear the new family apart. There was no telling when or even if Nawaz would lay eyes on his child.
Heidi’s eyes glistened as Joel embraced her. “Promise you’ll look after my husband. Make sure Nawaz stays safe.”
“I promise.” Joel meant the words wholeheartedly.
Readjusting the rucksack slung across his shoulder, Joel turned away from his family. It was time to go—and none too soon. He couldn’t bear to see their tears any longer.
Otos, longtime servant of the Adelwijn estate, held the door as Joel made his exit. The old man nodded, and Joel returned the gesture. Exchanges of words seemed unnecessary. Otos had been attending the family since Joel was a toddler. He’d care for Mrifa and the girls until his dying breath. That went without saying.
In the courtyard, Lady Mrifa’s handmaiden, Tabitha, stood waiting beside Joel’s horse, an energetic filly named Ivory. Tabitha offered him the reins. “Your horse, m’lord.”
Joel ran a hand up the length of Ivory’s braided leather bridle, grateful Tabitha had taken the time to saddle her already. “Thank you, Tabitha. Mother will need you inside the estate shortly. This—won’t be easy on her.”
“Of course, m’lord. I’ll go at once. May The Two keep you safe.” Tabitha gave a hasty curtsy before dashing toward the house.
As Joel watched her form disappear through the door, he wished to the Goddesses he could forsake his duty to Arden and run back inside too.
I don’t want to leave again! It’s not fair to them! They’re expected to pick up their lives and go on pretending everything’s all right when it’s not.
Ivory tossed her head and pawed at the cobblestones. Sighing, Joel gave the filly’s neck a pat. Her sleek, silver coat matched Joel’s mage robe so perfectly he had to pause and take a moment to stare in awe. Surely they’d
make an impressive pair on the battlefield: a flash of white lightning galloping across the golden sand dunes of Shiraz. Unfortunately, the imagery, lovely as it was, did nothing to calm his nerves.
“I hope you’re ready,” Joel whispered, words spoken more as a means to reassure himself than to make conversation with the horse.
Without sparing another backward glance, he led Ivory across the courtyard and through the wrought-iron gate that marked the edge of the Adelwijn property. When Joel closed his hands around the cold metal bars, the rusted hinges squealed as though the estate itself was protesting his departure.
He’d just finished securing his rucksack to the saddle when a timid voice rose above the din of the street, calling to him. “Joel!”
Joel spun around and blinked in confusion. “Kirk?”
The two friends had already said their goodbyes outside Marc’s office earlier that day, so it came with great surprise to see the Imperial mage trotting in Joel’s direction.
What in the two worlds is Kirk doing here?
Kirk appeared as though he’d run clear across the city. His deep brown hair was a disheveled mess, and his slight chest heaved from overexertion. “Oh, thank the Blessed Son you didn’t leave yet!”
“What are you doing here?” Joel asked. “Is something wrong?”
Kirk paused, still trying to catch his breath. “No, no. It’s just—I forgot to give this to you earlier.” He extended a hand. In his palm rested a small pendant, plated in silver dust and molded into the shape of a soaring bird. “This is for you.”
“What is—”
“A falcon.”
Joel smiled wistfully and pointed to the heirloom ring on his finger. “The Adelwijn family crest is represented by a falcon.”
“Then it’s fate you have this.” Kirk slipped the pendant into Joel’s hand. “The clans of free folk in the North—those who have avoided conquest by the Northern Empire—believe the falcon to be a symbol of protection and good luck. You’ll need both protection and luck while in Shiraz.”
Joel brought the metal token closer, examining it. The craftsmanship was beautiful, with special attention given to detail. Miniscule black and grey beads added texture to the falcon’s mighty wings, and a turquoise gem represented each of the bird’s eyes. He ran his thumb over the smooth, outer edge of the pendant in admiration. “Where did you get this? It’s lovely.”
“My mother gave it to me many years ago. She told me it would protect me from harm and lead me to good fortune. I suppose it’s done its job so far. I survived childhood in the streets of Teivel and was lucky enough to meet you—but I think you’ll need it more than I will now.” Kirk reached into a fold in his robe and pulled out a simple chain necklace. On reflex, Joel steadied his hand, watching as Kirk proceeded to loop the silver cord through the pendant. “This way you can wear it around your neck, close to your heart.” Kirk’s eyes darted to meet Joel’s.
Joel was surprised how swiftly warmth rushed to his face. “Kirk, I can’t take this. It belongs to you. If something were to happen and it was lost—”
“It’s a gift. Please take it.”
Joel froze as Kirk’s hands closed over his own and gently pushed the trinket toward him. The touch was warm, inviting, reminding Joel just how lonely he was—
No. He shook his head. I can’t afford to let myself get attached to Kirk or anyone else. Not when Arden’s on the brink of war. It can bring nothing good. Only heartache.
Joel slipped the pendant back into Kirk’s hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
With pained resignation, Kirk closed a fist around the rejected gift and drew it close to his chest. Unmasked hurt glazed his eyes, driving Joel to turn away.
You’ll thank me for doing this someday. It’s better this way. No attachments, no broken hearts.
Joel grasped the pommel with trembling fingers. “I should go.” He hoisted himself onto Ivory’s back. Settling into the saddle, he only managed to lift his face when Kirk approached from the side and handed him the reins.
“Safe travels, Joel Adelwijn.” Kirk’s deflated voice was barely audible above the clamor of the busy street. “I’ll do all I can to assist Dean Marc while you’re gone.”
Joel swallowed. Had he asked too much of his friend? While Joel was fighting the Shirites, Kirk would be waging a very different kind of war as he and Marc sought to dethrone Neetra. Both missions carried overwhelming risk and—should they fail—severe consequences.
“You stay safe as well,” Joel replied, his voice cumbersome as he worked to keep it steady. “My uncle is ruthless. Don’t let your guard down, not even for an instant.”
A fleeting smile crossed Kirk’s lips. He leaned closer, his torso pressing against Ivory’s saddle. “Don’t worry about me. I survived the Northern Empire, remember? Dean Marc and I will be fine.”
For the sake of his sanity, Joel forced himself to believe the words. He had to believe things would be all right in the end. Otherwise, what was there left to fight for?
Joel gripped the reins so tightly his knuckles began to go numb. He could feel time growing short. Like sand trickling through an hourglass, it slipped away, leaving him with only one thing left to do—say goodbye.
Joel sat tall in the saddle and cleared his throat. “Farewell.”
“Until we see each other again,” Kirk replied. “Goodbye.”
If. If we see each other again.
Agonizing despair drowned Joel’s mind until nothing remained except a dull ache. For the sake of his friend, he should have put on a valiant front, but Joel couldn’t bring himself to smile or offer any other such reassurances.
Joel jumped when he felt a hand clasp his forearm. He tried to tear his gaze away, but Kirk’s eyes were ablaze with conviction so undeniable they held Joel captivated. Everything else in the world faded away, if only for the moment.
“Joel, we will see each other again. I know it.”
Joel opened his mouth, but the lump in his throat prevented any words from flowing free. He didn’t know what to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to leave.
That decision wasn’t his to make. Kirk gave Ivory’s rump a firm slap, and the filly leapt into motion. Joel could only cling to the reins as he was carried away.
And I thought the barracks were a madhouse. This is complete and utter chaos.
A cart stacked with supply crates and pulled by two oxen bustled past Gib, the spoked wheels nearly running over his boots. Taking a deep breath, he pulled on Astora’s reins and directed the young mare through an opening in the congested war camp. How was he ever going to find Koal in this mess?
All around, men and women scurried like frenzied ants, pitching tents, amassing supplies, and fetching fodder for beasts. Kegs were being loaded onto wagons, the contents sloshing inside as the barrels rolled past. The smell of cheap ale burned Gib’s nostrils, and with great dismay, he realized he’d likely have to suffer drinking it for the next several moonturns.
Ah, you’ve become too privileged, Gibben Nemesio. This is your punishment. Six months of nothing but stale ale and moldy bread.
Gib moved along before he was yelled at for interrupting the flow of traffic. Close by, a swordsmith hovered tirelessly over a grinding wheel, whittling down a pile of swords in need of sharpening. Gib set a hand on his own weapon, still sheathed and tethered to Astora’s saddle. The blade was so dull he doubted it could even cut through a sheet of parchment paper, but getting it sharpened would have to wait. He was already tardy enough to warrant a harsh scolding. If he waited around to have his sword attended to, Koal might just flog him. Perhaps, though, the man might know where Gib could find the seneschal.
“Excuse me, sir,” Gib called out in a spirited voice. “Can you tell me where I might find the command post? I’m looking for Seneschal Koal—”
The swordsmith never glanced up from his work, but he grunted and flippantly waved a hand. Whether he was showing Gib the right direction or just trying to get him to leave,
he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t dare bother the man a second time and, with a dejected sigh, kept moving.
The air was thick with the smell of smoke, leather, and hay and the sound of yelling soldiers. A sea of faces surrounded him, but he recognized no one. He wished he knew where Liza was. His sister had always been wise beyond her years. Surely she could help him locate the seneschal. Hell, about now he’d even be happy to see Hasain, though the young Radek lord would no doubt ridicule Gib for losing his way.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t, Gib thought with a frown. Hasain hasn’t exactly been himself since King Rishi died.
The death of a father was not something easily forgotten or brushed aside. Gib knew firsthand how devastating it could be. His own father had been murdered, leaving Gib alone to care for his young siblings and look after the family farm. Hasain’s situation was different, of course, but certainly Gib could understand the pain the young lord must be feeling. Hasain would get through it, though. Everyone grieved at their own pace. King Rishi’s death was still a fresh, open wound, but in time, Hasain would find a way to stop his bleeding heart. They all would.
“Do my eyes deceive me? Is that you, Gibben Nemesio?”
A sheepish grin flashed across Gib’s face. He’d recognize Nage Nessuno’s voice anywhere.
Nage stood some twenty paces or so away, flanked by two young women. Dressed in uniform with brown hair trimmed and neatly slicked back, it was hard to imagine this was the same poor boy Gib befriended years ago. Nage had come to that first sentinel training class half-starved, in rags, barefoot, and, like Gib, with nothing to show for himself. It was ironic that now, as they prepared for war, both men had so much worth fighting for.
Even as Gib approached, Nage’s attention kept drifting toward his fiancée. Spirited and sharp-tongued, Nia Leal had long since eased her way into their core group of friends—and into Nage’s heart. Never before had Gib witnessed Nage so happy, and even with danger imminent, his spirit remained high. Gib envied his friend. What would Gib give to feel a sliver of hope again?
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 6
