Go on. Try something, you treacherous bastard.
But Morathi was no fool. He sneered so hard it looked more like a snarl, but he didn’t otherwise move, except to raise his flaring nose into the air.
“I trust you’ll be along when you’ve finished coddling the prince,” he jeered at Koal and, without awaiting a response, gave his warhorse a jab in the ribs. The beast leapt into motion. The long trail of the general’s cape was the last part of him to disappear from view.
Tular made a noise. It sounded like a growl, low and guttural. “Say the word, Koal. Just say the word, and I will end that son of a bitch so swiftly he won’t have time to beg for mercy.” The conviction in his words was enough to assure Gib that the red-headed lord could and would do it.
Koal, however, shook his head. “No, Tular. There are many things worth dying for, but killing him isn’t one of them.”
“If I die for it, it would be the best damn thing I’ll ever do.”
“No. Think, Tular. Think of Aodan and Gudrin’s safety, if not for your own. If you die, you jeopardize their lives, too. Neetra is already onto them. Your corpse would be all the proof he needs.”
A servant came forward then with Koal’s horse and held the palfrey steady while he mounted. Koal settled into the saddle, casting a final look down at Tular and Gib. “Go inside. Stay with Deegan until I return.”
Gib watched from within the command tent as Koal rode away. Joel hesitated for only a moment before following his father. Gib wanted to call out to the mage, to tell him to be careful, but he was already gone, lost to the darkness.
The pair of royal guardsmen Gib passed earlier moved closer, taking post just outside the tent. Soldiers ran past, shouting orders to make for the battlefront, but the guards remained steadfast in their vigil. Like Natori, they were bound to the royal family and would never leave Deegan’s side. Gib stayed just inside the entranceway, where he could still have a clear view of the happenings outside. He trusted the guardsmen, but another set of watchful eyes couldn’t hurt.
“I should have gone with them.” Deegan twisted his hands as he paced around the tent. The lanterns Koal and Morathi—in their haste to leave—must have left blazing cast dim light onto the prince’s contorted face. “I shouldn’t be hiding away like some spineless whelp. I’m the crown prince.”
“You’re a child,” Hasain said.
“Just because you’re afraid, Hasain—”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Enough,” Natori interjected. “We’re staying here because Seneschal Koal commanded it, not for lack of valor.”
Both brothers fell silent, and for a time, the only sounds were that of the skirmish, somewhere to the west. Gib tried not to worry about his friends and which of them might be out there battling the Shirites, but such thoughts plagued his restless mind whether he wanted them to or not. He could only hope the fight would end swiftly. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone else.
“I apologize,” Deegan said at long last. “You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
“And I was wrong to call you a child,” replied Hasain. “I’m sorry.”
Gib heard the patter of boots, and then Deegan appeared beside him. Together, they stared into the night.
“How many Shirites do you think there are?” Deegan asked.
Gib answered honestly. “Hard to say. My friend Gara, who’s a scout, told me that bands of mounted militia have been following us since we crossed the border.”
“Do they have the numbers to challenge our army?”
“No. They’ve all been small groups. Enemy scouts, in all probability. I’m sure they are reporting back to their war council, just as our scouts do.”
Deegan went back to pacing, and Gib couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times he’d watched King Rishi do the same.
“Why are they attacking if there’s no hope they can beat us?” the prince finally asked.
Tular let out a grunt. His astute eyes followed the prince’s every movement. “That’s a damn good question. Fifty men against ten thousand? It’s a suicide mission. I can’t imagine why they’d think it’s a good idea to engage us.”
“Unless they know something we don’t,” Natori said ominously.
The tiny hairs on the back of Gib’s arms stood on end. What could she mean by that?
A moment later, he had an answer.
A flash of light in the distance caught Gib’s attention. He turned, meaning to see what had caused such a blinding flare—and that’s when the first ear-splintering crackle reached him. He jumped back, nearly dropping Oathbinder into the dirt.
So loud. The sound was deafening, like a nest of hissing vipers trapped inside his skull.
“What was that?” Deegan asked amid a chorus of gasps. “Was that lightning?”
“No,” Natori rasped. She and Hasain had both gone rigid. “Magic. Enemy magic.”
A second flash lit the night, followed by a second thunderous roar.
Gib flew through the parted canvas, Tular and Hasain at his heels. Tendrils of fire reached toward the sky, turning the navy clouds blood red. The horizon was an inferno fueled by burning tents.
Gib could feel the blood draining from his face. “What’s going on?”
“Mage-fire,” Hasain choked. “They’re burning the encampment!”
“B–but I thought the Shirites were attacking the western flank. That’s not—that’s—”
Gib reeled.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
He’d just come from that direction. That’s where he’d left Kezra. And Nawaz. And that’s where—
Tular uttered the horrible truth first. “They’re hitting the Healers’ pavilion. They’re destroying our supplies!”
Another cluster of tents went up in flames. People were wailing for help. It took every ounce of discipline Gib possessed to stay put. “We need to do something!”
“No, Gib,” warned Hasain. “We can’t leave Deegan.”
Gib let out a frustrated cry, but he knew Hasain was right. Koal had made them swear they’d stay. The seneschal was counting on them. Deegan was counting on them.
So he waited, waited and watched as flames consumed one tent after another. Screams filled the night, but Gib could do nothing. He couldn’t help them: not Koal, not Joel, not Kezra, nor Zandi, Nage, Nawaz, or Gara. He could do nothing for them except beg The Two for their safety.
Every moment that passed felt like an eternity, and the longer Gib waited, the more convinced he became that time had somehow halted entirely. Was he trapped in some kind of alternative reality? Would he ever escape it?
Finally, Hasain made a sound, perhaps a whimper. He’d had his eyes squeezed shut for some time, but now he opened them. “I don’t feel the foreign magic now. It’s gone. I think—I think the enemy’s been slain.”
“Look!” Tular pointed at the smoldering skyline. “The fire’s not spreading anymore. They must have gotten it contained.”
Gib looked and saw Tular spoke the truth. Black smoke billowed against the sky, but the flames were guttering. The sight should have made him jump with joy, but it didn’t. He couldn’t celebrate until he knew his friends were safe and the food and medicine stores were intact. How would he survive if either had been destroyed? How would anyone survive?
The canvas rustled at Gib’s back, and Deegan peeked outside. “Is–is it over? Is the danger gone?”
Tular and Hasain exchanged somber glances. Gib knew what they were thinking. He knew because his thoughts were the same.
Was the skirmish over? Yes. Was the danger gone? That remained to be seen. When the fires were doused and the smoke had cleared, they might discover their doom awaited them in the ashes.
Smoke billowed all around, invading Kezra’s lungs and coating her tongue with bitter ash. It didn’t matter. Vague noises and frantic voices calling out crackled in her ears but never came to settle in her mind. It didn’t matter. Stepping over lifeless bodies, her fuzzy ey
es noted some were Ardenian and some were not. It didn’t matter.
The Healers’ pavilion lay in ruins, scorched and collapsing onto itself. Only small sections of cerulean canvas still stood, haphazardly, to defy the attack it had undergone. She bit the inside of her cheek until the taste of copper mixed with the soot. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter!
A strangled cry vented between her chest and throat. Where was he? She’d seen him go down near here. Even in the darkness, she should be able to see the bright blue of his Healer’s jerkin.
Where is he?
Soldiers and Healers moved through the ruined war camp, tending the wounded and collecting the dead, but Kezra could only think of one. She refused to worry for Zandi, for Gib, for all her friends. They were all fine. They had to be. She couldn’t possibly lose Nawaz and them both.
“Lookin’ for someone?”
Kezra spun on one heel, sword raised and ready to slay whatever creature it was that dared sound like him. She choked on a gasp as the moonlight caught the shine of azure eyes and a wide, toothy grin. Could it be—Yes.
Yes!
Nawaz watched her from within the remnants of the pavilion. Uniform marred with blood and dark hair tousled wildly about his alabaster face, he was a god, standing inside his broken temple of chaos.
Kezra reeled. He should be dead. She’d seen him go down. Yet here he was. Blood pooled around a gash to his left sleeve, but the grip on his crossbow was white-knuckled. He was alive. Alive, and as strong as he’d ever been.
Heart hammering, she flew at him, sword in one hand and the other clenched into a tight ball. “You son of a bitch! I thought you were dead!”
She swung her fist, wanting nothing more than to take out that lewd grin once and for all. How dare he frighten her like that? How dare he allow her to believe he was gone?
He caught her fist before she could reach him, ensnaring it in one large, calloused hand. His grip was vice-like and scorching hot. Kezra choked back a gasp. She’d forgotten how fast he could be.
“No,” he rasped into her ear.
Nawaz leaned over her, blue fire roaring behind his crazed orbs, more beautiful and terrifying than she’d ever known possible. And she could tell from the husk in his voice that he wasn’t himself just yet, that he was still the wild beast war demanded him to be.
Kezra thought to yank away, but already he was pulling her closer. She opened her mouth to lift a complaint, and his closed over hers.
And that was it. The emotions she’d been stifling, pushing down for moonturns, trying so desperately to ignore, exploded within her, drowning all sense of clarity and reducing her to the most primitive form. She was an animal, as feral and aching as he. A moan tore free from Kezra’s throat as she flung her sword aside and melted into his arms.
He tasted of ash, of rage, and of longing. His hands were on her, all over her, and now the longing blazed in her as well. Some feeble sense of dread brushed the edge of Kezra’s faltering sanity, but she shoved it aside. She knew they weren’t supposed to be doing this, but—why? They could both die tomorrow. Was it so selfish to have what they so fervently desired now?
Nawaz pushed her down into the tangled mess of what used to be the Healers’ pavilion. Kezra’s hands clawed at him and his clawed at her. She yanked and ripped until she could find skin beneath his ruined jerkin. He was filthy and on fire. So was she. They’d always balanced one another before, opposites in every imaginable way, but now they were the same, both aching. Two flames burning together.
Smoke hung in the air, thick like fog. It wafted into Joel’s nostrils and made his eyes water. It covered his clothing, dulling the white fabric to shoddy grey. There was no escaping it.
His hands were shaking. He looked down at them. He barely recognized his own fingertips, dirty and blanketed with ash.
Somewhere behind him, his father’s voice clashed with that of General Morathi’s. Joel blinked, trying to focus on the words, but his mind was as hazy as the encampment. His jaw ached from the tight clench he held, and his weary limbs screamed for reprieve, but he couldn’t rest now. He couldn’t even entertain the thought of it.
The skirmish had ended over a mark ago, and the cleanup effort was well underway. Soldiers and Healers alike were collecting the bodies of the fallen and tending to the wounded. Casualties on the Ardenian side were light. None of the enemies survived. But the Shirites had still won. They’d won in the biggest way possible.
“What would you have us do instead, Seneschal? Would you rather we slowly starve to death?”
Joel winced. The words weren’t directed at him, but Morathi’s accusation stung, regardless.
What were they going to do? The Healers’ pavilion was gone, burnt to the ground, all of its contents destroyed. Even worse, the majority of the army’s grain stores had also been incinerated. In a matter of moments, the enemy Firestarter had infiltrated the heart of the Ardenian war camp and taken out their two most precious commodities. Not even the barge was spared. Its blackened husk now rested at the bottom of the river.
They were alone—ten thousand soldiers, stranded in the middle of the desert.
Daya, help us.
Joel’s eyes wandered around the clearing. Koal and Morathi debated within light of the campfire. Deegan pressed close to the seneschal, while Natori and the prince’s royal guardsmen watched diligently from the shadows of the command tent. Other soldiers lingered nearby, awaiting orders or merely hoping to overhear good news. Their demoralized faces and hollow eyes made Joel’s stomach flop.
“Pillaging is no light decision,” Koal said, keeping a rigid hand on Deegan’s shoulder. “If we go into the homes of the innocent and start taking from them, they will have reason to hate us, too.”
Morathi had been storming back and forth before the fire, but as Koal finished speaking, the general stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. “The innocent? Do you have any idea where we are? There are no innocents in Shiraz!”
Joel glanced down at Gib, who shifted nervously. He sat on a bucket, the same one he’d been resting on before the skirmish broke out. His complexion was noticeably paler than was typical, and his hands were shaking in his lap. He didn’t say a word, but his desperate eyes kept scanning the faces of the gathered soldiers. He was looking for his friends, and for his companion.
Joel let out a sigh, equally worried. He hadn’t seen Nawaz since before the attack.
He’s busy helping the wounded. That’s why he isn’t here yet.
Joel couldn’t contemplate the alternative without growing faint. What if Nawaz were dead? What if Heidi were left a widow, and their unborn child brought into the world without a father?
No. He’s alive. He has to be.
“The village-folk in this region never asked to be part of this war,” said Koal.
Morathi’s voice climbed higher. “Those heathens invited themselves into this conflict when they decided to bury their heads in the sand while their leaders crossed our border and slaughtered our people. I say guilty by association!”
Murmurs of accession arose from the crowd. The tension in Joel’s jaw pulled tighter. This wasn’t boding well. The majority of the soldiers seemed to be agreeing with Morathi.
Without warning, Gib clambered to his feet.
“Gib?” Joel reached with one hand, but Gib was already making his way across the clearing.
Two people met him halfway there. One was Gara; Joel recognized her cropped hair and dappled scouting gear. Her uniform was soiled and torn in several places, but otherwise it seemed she’d made it through the skirmish unscathed.
She had an arm hooked around Zandi’s back, helping support the mage as he limped along. He clutched one blood-stained hand to his chest and his handsome face was twisted in a pained grimace.
Gib’s own expression flitted back and forth between relief and concern. He put a hand on Zandi’s arm. “Are you all right? Here, let me see your hand.”
“I’m fine.
It’s nothing, just a little scrape. H–have you seen Kezra?”
“Not yet. I’m sure she’s okay.”
Zandi went rigid, his eyes widening. “I have to find her.” He struggled against Gara’s hold. “Let me go!”
Gara only tightened her grip. “You need to rest. You’re exhausted.”
“B–but I have to find my sister!”
“I will go look for Kezra and Nage both,” Gara said firmly. “You’re going to pass out if you don’t sit down.”
Gib supported Zandi from the opposite side. “Come sit down. Please? Kezra will kill us if she finds out we let you go wandering off in this state.”
Zandi fought half-heartedly but allowed them to lead him. Gib pulled the overturned pail closer, and the mage slumped down onto it. Tears rolled down his pale cheeks faster than he could wipe them away.
“We came here to annihilate the threat to Arden!” Morathi’s voice boomed above all other sounds.
Koal sneered, an expression uncharacteristic of him. “So you’d raid goat herders and farmers? These people hardly have the means to feed themselves, let alone a foreign army.”
“These people are all the same! Dirty, savage, demon worshippers. Arden would be safer if we wiped all of them off the map.”
“I won’t allow for the slaughter of innocents. This is not Arden’s way.”
Zandi suddenly sat up straight, inhaling sharply, and Joel’s attention wavered from the debate.
A familiar figure materialized out of the gloom and, upon seeing Zandi, raced toward him.
Joel put a hand to his mouth. Kezra! She was alive!
Kezra met her brother with open arms, and he fell against her bosom, sobbing quietly. “I thought—I thought the worst. I thought you were dead.”
“I’m all right,” Kezra replied, stroking his long hair. She glanced up at Gib and Gara. Her eyes might have even been misty, or perhaps only Joel’s were. “Nage is okay, too. He was helping put out the fires when I last saw him.”
Gara let out a deep sigh. “Thank The Two.”
“What about Nawaz?” Joel blurted, unable to contain his apprehension any longer. He knew Kezra and the Healer were at odds, but that didn’t matter right now. He had to know that Nawaz was safe. “He was at the pavilion before the attack. Did you see him?”
Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden Page 25
