“So what’s the bow for?”
“In case you have time to shoot at a couple of catapults or ballistae. But focus on the trebuchets and siege towers. Make it a clean approach. Quick, quiet. I imagine you’ll be able to get at least two machines on the first run before they know what’s going on. Then you’ll have to lie low before you strike again. Dawn is still a few hours away, so we should have plenty of time to do some damage.”
Vancien nodded. His stomach was in knots.
“You will attack the northern machines first. Like I said, try to get two. They’re going to be confused by the first long enough to try a second. After that, disappear back over the woods. Then fly south around the back of the army. Keep your distance: we don’t want a chance arrow taking you down. There will be a force awaiting you in the trees south of the Obsidian forces. How strong is Thelámos’s sense of smell?”
“I think his sight is better.”
“Okay. I was hoping he’d be able to smell it before he could see it, but it should still work. Relgaré has requested to be in charge of the sortie. He’s been equipped with a tall metal tube that fits over a small campfire, so it’s only visible from the air.” He grimaced. “That’s the plan, anyway. We’re hoping you can see it and make contact with Relgaré.”
“Relgaré, huh? So how will I know it’s him and not a party of Chasmites camping out?”
Chiyo dug a small pouch out of his belt. He held it out to Vancien. Inside was a foul-smelling brown powder. “Chur-root. It’ll make the fire burn green for a few moments. They’ve been instructed to burn it every five to ten minutes. So watch for it. When you see the green, land, make contact, then take to the air again. All his men will be ready to move. The plan is for them to attack the southern flank of the Easterners a split second before you take down the engines on that side. When you hear their shouts, attack.”
Vancien looked dubiously at the bucket tied to Thelámos and the quiver in his hands. “And the retreat?”
“Do not try to take on the whole army by yourself. When you have taken down some more engines on the southern side, fly straight back to the wall. Just have Thelámos give a screech before you go. Relgaré knows to listen for it and retreat as soon as he hears it. We don’t expect his crew to do much damage; they are there as a diversion for you.”
Vancien shouldered the quiver and the bow and stepped toward the Ealatrophe. “Anything else?”
Chiyo did not respond immediately. He gave Vancien a thoughtful look before holding out his hand. “May Kynell keep you safe, Vancien. It has been a privilege to serve alongside you.”
They shook hands and Vancien led Thelámos out of the stall before his fear could show. Chiyo’s words reminded him again of how dangerous his mission was. But then he remembered his anger. What was it to Kynell if he died tonight? Would he even know, caught up as he was with his precious soaking crew? The thought made him shiver. He had never feared death before—especially after having gone through it—but this was different. Tonight of all nights, the god of the Prysm would not be with him. And Zyreio was in that army.
He shivered and leaned against Thelámos for warmth. Soon they had walked to a clear enough space that the great Ealatrophe could spread his wings. Without a further thought, Vancien swung himself up onto his back and gripped his neck tightly. Lascombe was counting on him—more than that, Chiyo had put his faith in him. Whatever Kynell might think, there was no backing down now.
Soon he was over the northern tree line. The air was cool and the night was cloudy. He was glad for his armor; the padding kept him from feeling the chill of the air as it rushed by him. Normally, he would have taken comfort in the steady whoosh of Thelámos’s wings, but tonight he couldn’t hear them, so great was the chaotic sound coming from the army as he drew near. Night did nothing to still their torment. He fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands; not only would that be unpractical, but he couldn’t think of a less manly way to enter battle.
He realized with a start that he had forgotten to light the gruel. With a frustrated grunt, he pulled Thelámos back and directed him into a circular path over the trees. Then he dug out the flint pieces to strike a spark. It took him a few tries: bending over Thelámos’s shoulder while reaching into a deep bucket proved awkward. Nor could he see what he was doing; the sudden heat on his hands, however, must mean that the gruel had caught. He leaned back, watching to see if flames would shoot out of the bucket’s top. They did not. He could barely discern even a faint glow. As usual, Chiyo had been right.
Now it was time to move. He closed his eyes and urged Thelámos forward, toward the campfires of the Easterners.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Ealatrophe had keen sight; even though the areas around the machines were poorly lit, he had no trouble finding the first one. As he drew near, Vancien grabbed an arrow from the quiver and thrust it into the bucket. Thelámos’s talons seized the tip of the engine—a trebuchet—and started to pull. Vancien jerked the arrow out of the bucket, leaned back behind Thelámos’s flapping wing, and lodged the incendiary in the machine’s top joint.
He heard a creaking and a quiet whoosh of flame, but before he could survey his handiwork, Thelámos was taking him to the next machine, this one a siege tower. It was much taller than the trebuchet, so Thelámos entered a steep climb while Vancien heard the chaos below him take on a sharper pitch—presumably in response to the falling trebuchet. He tried to ignore it and prepare the next arrow. But Thelámos hit the side of the tower a little hard and low. Recovering quickly, he scrambled to the top ledge, but he had lost all of his forward momentum and had to flap backwards, pulling with his legs. This made Vancien’s task that much more difficult, but he managed to get low enough over Thelámos’s shoulder to plant the arrow just as gravity began to take over. Another machine down.
Arrows were whizzing around them, but the Chasmite humans had little better vision than their mortal counterparts. As the second machine crashed to the ground, Thelámos was able to fly back to the trees. So far, so good. Vancien had never been so grateful for a cloudy night; if the Chasmites had been able to see him at all, there would have been holes in Thelámos’s wings. As it was, they remained intact and carried them far behind the army, then south to meet up with Relgaré’s men.
The Obsidian forces filled up the breadth of the wide, shallow valley that indicated the end of the plains and the beginning of Lascombe’s hinterland. Vancien had never realized how broad that valley was until he was crossing it in the echo of the Chasmites’ fury, counting the beat of Thelámos’s wings and looking for the tree-line that held the old king.
Finally, the air changed around them and Vancien could tell they had made it.
“All right, Thelámos,” he whispered, “look for the green fire.”
The great beast responded by dropping his altitude and humming low in his throat. It was a sound Vancien had never heard before this night, but one that he was beginning to associate with battle and stealth.
If he thought it had taken a long time to cross behind the army, he was unpleasantly surprised at the length of time it took to find that faint, green glimmer among the trees. Thelámos circled endlessly, adopting a sort of crisscross pattern to cover a wide area in the least amount of time. Just as Vancien thought it was impossible to find them before orbrise, Thelámos gave a tiny screech. Vancien rubbed his eyes and saw a green glimmer below and to his right. The Ealatrophe did not need any guidance; he headed straight for it. After hovering a moment far above the small flame to make sure all was well, he landed.
The atmosphere in the small camp was sober. All was dark, but he could hear the sound of swords being sharpened and voyoté shifting. He could hear quiet comments here and there, but could see scarcely anyone. Fortunately, Relgaré was right there to meet them. Vancien recognized his voice, and to his surprise, found it comforting.
“Vancien, it’s good to see you,” he said. “We were concerned that the night was waning too fast.”<
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Vancien returned the greeting and jumped to the ground. He needed to stretch his legs before the next attack. “Two machines are down.”
“Yes, we heard the pitch change about an hour ago.”
An hour? Was that all it had been? Vancien wiped his brow and realized he was hungry. “Do you have any food?”
“I’ll get you some. But first, come with me.” Vancien felt a hand on his arm, leading him away from the other sounds. He heard a whispered “Here he is” and felt the hand let go. Had Relgaré been speaking to him?
Then another voice, the source of which Vancien could not see, said “Thank you.” He felt another hand on his arm, pushing him gently toward the dim shadow of a log. “Please, sit.”
The night was horribly dark and Vancien wanted badly to see who was talking to him. Instead, he had to settle for a desperate guess. “Kynell?” he breathed.
He felt the warm hand again, insisting that he sit. “Hello, Vance. I’m glad to see you made it safely.”
Vancien stared in the direction of the voice; it was so dark that all he could see of Kynell’s face was a shadowy outline. “What are you doing here?” he blurted out. “I thought you were with the soakers.”
“I will return to them shortly,” Kynell responded. “They need me more than you might think.”
“I need you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“I know. That’s why I have come to talk with you. Vance, surely you know that you and ‘Ian are very dear to me.”
Vancien, still struggling with his anger and guilt, remained quiet.
“There is much I would say to you, but there is not much time. You have both been my Advocates. But I will be the Advocate now. What I’m about to do is something you could never do.”
Vancien, assuming he was talking about defeating the Chasmites, quickly interrupted. “I know I’m not you. I am too…little. But I had hoped to be by your side.”
There was a touch of cheer in Kynell’s voice. “That’s where I want you to be. But the time of the Advocates has passed. This new age will be my own.”
Vancien forgot his guilt as hope leapt up inside of him. “Then why are we talking about this in the dark? We should be shouting it from the rooftops! Surely your age would be better than all the others.”
“It will.”
“And Zyreio will be defeated?”
Kynell’s voice was low. “He will.”
“You sound upset.”
There was a pause, then, “Zyreio was once my creature. I will not delight in his downfall, but neither will I grieve over it. Since you ask, I will say that something else troubles me. Something that is coming very soon.”
“What is it, Lord? Tell me, and I will do what I can to help.”
He felt Kynell lean close. “Vance, never forget that justice demands a penalty for every wrong deed. I demand this penalty. But the price is too high for my loved ones to pay it and survive.”
Unbidden, the memory of Verial’s hand in his came back to him. It was a hand he should never have touched. There was a need to reconcile Kynell’s words and that image, but he had no time to figure it out. He could already hear footsteps behind him. It was Relgaré. He had some dried meat and water, which he pushed into Vancien’s hands. “I am sorry to interrupt, Lord” he whispered to Kynell. “But if we are going to do this, we should do it now.”
Vancien nodded. There would be more time to talk later. For now, he wanted to get this done and over with. Eating the meat on the way, he hurried to Thelámos and mounted. After checking to make sure the gruel was still burning, he urged him to flight. Kynell’s words still buzzed in his head, but he could not make sense of them. It was not possible that every wrong deed could demand a penalty. No one could pay such a high price. And to whom would it be paid? People could not be parsed out based on their actions; that made things too complicated. Instead, they were judged by their allegiance, which affected their actions. After all, the spiritual world of Rhyvelad consisted of one very simple dynamic: followers of Zyreio went to the Chasm, followers of Kynell went to be with him. That was how justice worked, and the fact that it worked was spread out on the ground under Vancien like a writhing, twitching blanket.
The enemy camp was mobilizing. From the circles of light cast by the campfires, he could see soldiers being beaten and forced into ranks. The normal din of sound had been reduced to a low murmur, interrupted by staccato commands, usually followed by the crack of a whip. In many ways, this concentrated activity was more disturbing than the previous chaos. It meant that the mob was capable of being directed, which served to remind Vancien of who was doing the directing. He shuddered, trying not to question the wisdom of Chiyo’s plan.
Thelámos had reached the closest machine. He circled above it, hopefully far out of the enemy’s sight. Only then did it occur to Vancien that the fennels and Sentries should be able to spot him, even on a cloudy night. Were they all stationed away from the machines? He had no time to pursue the thought; a shout from the trees meant that Relgaré was attacking. He took advantage of the moment and urged Thelámos into a dive. The Ealatrophe responded, folding his wings and plummeting them both down to the trebuchet below. He pulled up just before they reached it, snagged it with his talons, then waited until Vancien plunged another arrow tip into the gruel. Thelámos gave a mighty yank, Vancien fixed the arrow on the nearest piece of timber he could find, and down it went with a magnificent groan. As it fell, Vancien spotted a catapult close by, its wheels and trappings illuminated by another campfire. Without thinking twice, he unslung the bow, dipped an arrow into the gruel, and let off a shot. His aim was true. The Chasmites, with their attention torn between the falling siege engine and the ground attack, barely even noticed it go up in flames.
Vancien could only indulge in a brief moment of satisfaction. No sooner was the trebuchet on its way down than he heard a chorus of twangs below him. With a shout, he urged Thelámos upward as a hail of arrows rushed their direction. They escaped unscathed, but it was only a matter of time before a chance arrow would hit its target. He decided to attempt one more machine and then head for Lascombe.
The last engine went down with little trouble. The night was so dark that the Chasmites had no idea where he was or when he was going to attack. There was another volley of arrows as the fourth machine crashed to the ground, but again, with no damage. If so much had not been at stake, Vancien might have enjoyed watching the big, lumbering devices fall. But there was no time for that. He had to return to the city.
The sounds of the battle were still going strong. He resisted the urge to go help; Chiyo would never forgive him if he lost Thelámos on such a foolish venture. They would be of limited assistance in close ground combat, anyway. Instead, knowing that it would give away his position, he urged the Ealatrophe to let out his sharpest cry. Now Relgaré would know the mission was accomplished and he could retreat. Then he turned west for the short flight between Obsidian’s army and the walls of Lascombe.
But Thelámos had not gone far in that direction when he gave a small, alarmed screech.
“What is it, Thelámos?” he asked in a low voice. The Ealatrophe dipped his wings to the north in response, looking pointedly at the ground to their right. Vancien followed his gaze. Thelámos’ sharp vision had picked up on what no one else, either in the city or in the woods, could see: a dark, quiet mass of troops moving across no-man’s land. They had already dug their way under the barrier wall and were entering the second line of defense.
__________
Early in the morning before Vancien’s night-time flight, Gair, Ragger, and Verial were close enough to the army’s southern edge to hear the Chasmites’ groaning. At Gair’s request, Ragger had led them to within an arrow-shot of their southern flank. Gair had hoped to do something with the engines themselves, but they were too far off. Hastening through the woods for a better view, they beheld the Obsidian army spread out before them like an ocean.
“It’s horrific.” Verial hissed.
Ragger had already drawn his blade and was watching the Chasmites intently. His eagerness did not pass unnoticed by Verial.
“What do you think you’re doing, primate?”
Ragger gave her a dismissive glance. “I’m preparing to make a difference, what else?”
Gair, too, had already loosened his sword in his scabbard. As he opened his mouth to tell Verial to dismount and go hide in the woods, she held up a hand in exasperation.
“You two aren’t honestly planning to fight the Chasmites, are you?”
Gair’s pulse was already starting to race. On the ground, his legs would not support him. But on the back of a voyoté, he planned on being invincible. Why must that woman be a hindrance to everything?
“I bet we could do some sort of damage.”
“Yes, but look at them. What can you do against that?”
She had a point. The Chasmites writhed with an unholy energy. In an effort to release that energy, they pounded and beat at each other. The blows, even those delivered by sharp blades, had no effect, except to make the receiver angry.
“Ragger,” Gair breathed, “I think this fight is beyond us. Come on, let’s see what else we can do.”
But Ragger was silent. When Gair turned to look for him, the munkke-trophe and the voyoté were gone. Only he and Verial remained hidden in the trees.
“Where did he go?”
Verial was no longer watching the Chasmites. Her eyes were fixed in the opposite direction, toward a spot of darkness at the base of a tree.
Gair’s own voyoté began shaking underneath him. Then it began whining so piteously that he dismounted to have a look at it. No sooner had he touched the ground than it, too, abandoned him for the safety of the trees.
“Verial, what’s going on?”
“They’re escaping, Gair,” she said, in an uncharacteristically worried tone, “and I think you should, too.”
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