by Ryder Bailey
The next thing he knew, Coulta was forcefully pulling him from the bed. "Get dressed and we'll go wait for Shelton," he said as he went for his own clothes.
"How do you know he's not here yet?" Wildas asked.
"I don't." He started to reach for his sword belt, hesitated, then left it where it lay on one of the chairs.
Wildas dressed quickly and followed Coulta to the door. He distinctly heard Anil grumble, "Thank the gods" as they left.
Shelton's office door across the hall wasn't fully closed, so Wildas peaked inside and saw Yvona sitting at the fire with a book. He slipped quickly inside and waited for Coulta to follow.
"I wondered if you'd join me," Yvona commented. She tapped the arm of the chair beside hers with a thin smile. "Glad you spent some time in bed first."
Wildas chose to ignore the comment by taking a seat in the suggested chair, Coulta in the one on its other side.
"Do you know anything?" Wildas asked.
Yvona shook her head. "I wish I did."
Wildas sighed and leaned back in his chair, resting one foot on the low table in front of the fire. Yvona barely looked from her book when she smacked him in the knee.
"What –"
"You might be a king but I'm still your mother. I don't care what you do in your own rooms but respect others' furniture. Do you know how rare that wood is?"
"Now I do," he replied, removing his foot from the table with a sigh.
She glanced at Coulta and smiled. "At least your husband had the decency not to bring his weapons. Thank you."
Coulta nodded. "Of course."
"He has a dagger in each of his boots," Wildas told her.
Yvona frowned. Coulta kicked Wildas's foot.
"How's Anil?" Yvona finally asked with a sigh. "The babies?"
They passed the next few hours in idle conversation. It wasn't until nearly dawn when Shelton entered the room, bringing with him the heavy stench of burnt wood. He stopped when he saw Wildas and Coulta.
"You should be in bed," he stated.
"So should you," Wildas replied. "What happened?"
Shelton sighed as he pulled off the brown cloak that looked so odd on him. "Someone tried to burn the storehouses. When they didn't catch because of the spells on them, someone rode out to the mills and set them on fire. They're gone. Even the millers' houses were burned with the families trapped inside. We have some flour and plenty of grain, but no way to make more flour from the grain, not on a large scale to feed the entire city."
"We'll find a way," Yvona assured him. "Did you find who did this?"
He shook his head and sat down heavily in the remaining chair by the hearth. "No, and there was no evidence of any necromancy being involved. I have no doubt the suggestion to do it came from Dyrai, though. Once the mills are rebuilt, if we can find more people to run them, I'll be making certain they are spelled against fire as well."
"What will anyone do without bread?" Wildas questioned.
"It's our duty to feed the people," Yvona replied. "We'll find a way."
But, in the end, they didn't have long to worry about it.
18
Being anchored at the mouth of the river for so long was taking its toll on the sailors, much to Prince-General Pavle's dismay. From the start he'd been rotating patrols, sending two ships at a time out to see what the sea was like. The patrols lasted three days each and the reports were usually the same; nothing but some choppy seas and storms. They'd encountered pirates once, but had dealt with them easily. Apparently they hadn't been Kemale's privateers.
That still left five ships at anchor at any one time, and that was leading to restlessness. After the first few days he'd begun another rotation, making sure every one of his seven ships and crew had a day at shore every seven days. It allowed them to replenish their supplies at the nearby harbor city of Riem. It also gave the sailors freedom to enjoy the comforts of land, if not home. He'd heard that a few of the taverns and even the whorehouses had started extending credit to the sailors who had spent all their money already, as they couldn't be paid until they returned home.
"This is getting to be a problem," he grumbled to his lieutenant. "The Fox has reported another round of a coughing sickness. Half the sailors can hardly breathe just walking across the deck. I knew sending them ashore would cause more problems than it solved."
Lieutenant Falkner nodded. "And we found rats in our hold this morning."
Pavle ran a hand over his shaggy beard. Just what they needed, more disease carriers. "I hope you killed them."
"I saw to it." Falkner looked around the harbor, at the other ships sitting idle in the dawn light. "Still no sign of The Stag and The Hawk?"
Pavle shook his head. "They're two days late coming in now." The delay worried him not only for the lives of the sailors on board those two ships, but also because, if he didn't send the next ship to port soon for a day of leave, there was the chance of the crew threatening mutiny. Things were not looking good anymore.
"That's a strange storm coming in."
He looked out to where Falkner pointed. The horizon was draped in a sheet of dense fog and the sky was growing dark. But it was the speed at which the storm seemed to be approaching that confused him. In all his years at sea, he'd never seen something roll up that quickly.
The water in the harbor began to churn as it did in a storm, though there didn't seem to be much wind. The strangeness of the situation drew the crew from below and they all stood transfixed by the sight of the approaching storm.
Then Pavle noticed something floating in the water and he stepped to the rail to see it better. When the object finally floated close enough for him to make out what it was, his heart nearly stopped.
It was the great iron stag's head that had been the battering ram of The Stag. And on each of the six branches of its antlers was a body in the uniform of the Phelinian navy.
A coldness crept over him and it took him a moment to realize the fog had reached them. He glanced up, away from the horror before him, in time to see a dark shadow take shape in the fog. It was large, larger even than his ship, The Stallion, which was the largest ship in the fleet. This shadow seemed to tower over the deck.
He started to shout an order – to do what he wasn't even sure – but the deck suddenly pitched wildly under his feet with the sound of shattering wood. The last thing he saw was the the stag's head coming up to meet him through the deck.
***
Shelton was touring the recently-finished walls with Wildas and Coulta, studying the reinforcements that had just been finished. The magical mortar, along with the new gates, were supposed to be twice as strong as the old methods, and Shelton had to admit that he was in agreement. He was about to tell the engineers just that when he felt heat from the crystal around his neck.
As soon as he touched it, he was overcome with visions and sounds. Fire. Smoke. Splintering wood. Rushing waves. So many screams. He could practically taste the ash and the blood, could nearly smell the smoke and death as it consumed the city. All three of his contacts in Riem were communicating at once, and one by one they went silent.
The sounds and visions vanished and he opened his eyes to find Coulta and Wildas both holding him up. He carefully regained his footing and they released him.
"They broke through the blockade," he told them. His voice was rough and sounded strangely distant.
"How?" Wildas demanded. "Our entire navy –"
Shelton looked him in the eye as he declared, "We no longer have a navy."
***
As soon as the news reached the castle, there was a sense of urgency far greater than the last time they had faced battle outside the gates, but Anil was still reminded of that night. This time, however, she went to the nursery with the castle children and everyone else who couldn't fight or help the healers. Wildas had assigned three soldiers to the room, as well. It was all that could be spared, and in Anil's opinion more than enough. If attackers got to the nursery, the castle a
nd the city would likely have been taken already.
One of those soldiers was Jarlin, Wildas's brother who had only just learned he was Prince-Admiral of a navy with no ships and no sailors. He sat with his back to the wall beside the door, sword over his knees, and listened with the rest of them to the sounds of battle preparations going on around them.
Outside, a bell tolled across the city.
***
Jaimathan had gone over strategies with his hosts and the Shifters, and knew they were ready to put their plans into action. Shifters who fought on foot had already been stationed at the forest outside the city. Dragon sent a messenger to them and two other bird Shifters to scout the river. The rest took up places on the castle towers where the guilds had stored whatever they had that could be used as a projectile.
"And Fae will be with the healers?" Dragon asked once they had gone over the strategy once again.
Jaimathan nodded. "Braith will be with the mages."
"And you?"
He gave Dragon a grim smile. "I'll be trying to save our souls."
Dragon clasped his arm. "Fight well. You are strong."
"Thank you. You, as well."
He made his way to the courtyard, where he removed his shoes and gloves. At least the place was enchanted for the herbs and he wasn't likely to freeze. Spring was only beginning to set in and it was barely warm enough to keep the snow to a minimum. He settled in a place where he wouldn't disturb many plants and sunk his hands and feet into the soil. It allowed him to feel the souls both inside and outside the city walls, and he took a deep breath once the connection was made. He hadn't had the chance to practice this yet. He'd only just read about it in a book about the powers of Asirim. Whatever small part of him had doubted the power or the words of the book's writer was instantly relieved. Fairies fluttered curiously around him as he closed his eyes.
He followed the feeling of connection with the souls to the shifting Mist and rested there, waiting for his time to act, to do what he'd never tried before. How many souls he could steal away from the necromancers he didn't know, but he was going to try to save as many as possible. Even if he failed and could save no one, at least he had tried.
He waited.
***
Wildas was impressed by how quickly everyone responded to the alarm bells. The guilds sent their people to the walls almost immediately. The messenger who had gone to the farms had returned with most of the farmers on the fastest horses they owned. Others stayed to defend their lands.
The Shifter scouts returned then to say the ships would arrive before the afternoon. Wildas allowed Yvona to lead the army to the battlefield, followed by Rohan with the Royal Guard, and Shelton with the mages. Before following, he pulled Coulta aside.
"I know you'll be with Shelton, but take care," he said, fighting back his emotion. "I'm going to check on the guilds and Shifters before I join my mother."
Coulta pulled him in for a firm kiss, ignoring Wildas's armor. "You take care. I don't know if the soul-link will help me keep you safe like the curse did. I don't want to lose you. None of us do."
"I don't want to lose you, either." Wildas ran his gaze over Coulta, taking in his new armor. The black leathers were identical to what he usually wore, though slightly larger, he knew. It made Coulta look slightly bulkier, less his trim and agile self. He knew it was because Coulta wore a special chainmail shirt underneath, one that had to be worn against the skin for the magic to help him. Wildas hoped there was some comforting magic in the shirt's construction, because he was sure wearing it in such a way couldn't be all that pleasant. "I hope your new armor protects you."
"It will," Coulta assured him. "I hope your powers protect you."
Wildas kissed him again. "I love you."
"And I love you."
Wildas forced himself to step away and moved toward where Star stood with his horse. When he looked back, Coulta had gone for his own horse, but turned to meet his gaze with a nod. Wildas returned the nod, tucked his helmet under his arm, and turned his horse to begin his rounds.
The Shifters were in position, though Dragon was still giving commands in human form. The guilds had spread their people evenly about the walls. All members had the same style uniform on, and it seemed to allow them to communicate without the prejudice he'd witnessed during his meeting with the leaders. Along the wall were fires on which stood vats of things Wildas did not want to know about, all tended by guild members. In other places there were baskets filled with jars of other mysterious contents, much like the collection of items atop the towers for the Shifters to drop on the enemy. As long as they caused damage to the invaders, that was all Wildas cared about.
When he reached the battlefield he found the various parts of the defending force waiting in ranks. He took his position beside Yvona and nodded to her before strapping on his helmet. He didn't look for Coulta because he didn't dare.
It wasn't long at all before dark clouds drifted up from the south, and with them a feeling of dread. Wildas never saw the ships, but he saw the mass of soldiers as they climbed up from the river. As soon as they were within range, Yvona called for the archers to fire.
Wildas had expected an army like Varin's, filled with soldiers who would fight through mortal wounds unless pierced through the heart, decapitated, or set aflame. These soldiers went down as easily as unarmored mortals.
Despite losing soldiers, the enemy army continued to advance. Yvona nodded to him. In one smooth motion he spun his horse around to face the army and raised his sword above his head.
"For Phelin!" he yelled.
"For Phelin!" the army echoed in one great cry.
He spun his horse again and, with Yvona by his side, led the charge against the invaders.
The armies collided with full force, yelling and slashing with weapons. The horses of the defenders trampled the poorly armored attackers, and the attackers slashed around the armor plates on the horses to cut necks and bellies even as they were trampled into the frozen ground or cut down by mounted soldiers. The air was filled with cries of anger, defiance, pain, and death. The hand-to-hand fighting was mixed with flashes of magic and coordinated attacks by the Shifter army. Four-legged animals attacked with claws and teeth while birds swooped in with talons and beaks, or clutching makeshift weapons. Though the army appeared mortal, the soldiers still showed no fear, not even when a great roar sounded and Dragon decimated the ranks with flames. It was the number of soldiers coming at them that surprised Wildas. It was clear that the necromancers were in waiting, hoping to exhaust them with fighting before taking the field.
Slowly, Wildas began tapping into his magic. He understood the orders being yelled in the language of Dyrai and directed those around him to respond. He could hear when more soldiers were being marched in and when he'd been flanked in time to save himself and his horse.
But it wasn't until he heard the chanting far off in the distance that he truly understood the double purpose of the large mortal army.
***
Jaimathan hadn't even considered the idea that the necromancers would use a mortal army for the main attack. He had expected the altered and controlled soldiers he had been told were used in the previous attack. Necromancers could bind thousands to do their bidding with just a few mere drops of blood. But that wasn't what they were doing. They weren't fighting the way any of the people in Ryal had expected.
It was too late before he realized what was truly happening.
The necromancers stationed on their war ships on the river were growing stronger as they brought the power of so many souls into themselves. They were consuming them, using them to fuel their magic. But it wasn't the souls of the defenders they were depending on. They were harvesting the souls of their own soldiers.
He abandoned his search for the souls only of Phelin and the Shifters and began moving through the Mist and pulling all souls he could grasp away, pushing them forcefully into the Spirit Realm. Despite the chilly air he began to sweat. The fair
ies chattered around him and began to fan him gently with their wings.
***
Anil could hear the battle distantly from the castle. They all could. She cradled Kylar close to her breast and tried not to be too afraid for his sake. Beside her was one of the castle nurses with Kyla. The tiny princess was awake but quiet. Kylar, however, was whimpering. He wouldn't nurse and spit out the pacifier she tried to give him, and he wouldn't look away from one of the servants seated on the floor a short distance away from them. Every time the woman moved, Kylar would whine again.
Anil began to wonder if Coulta's magic had given the prince certain powers that might warn him when danger was near. The mark on Kylar's face did start at the corner of his silver eye. And, now that she thought about it, the servant gave her an uneasy feeling. She was dressed in a rough dress that was a bit too large for her, a black scarf hiding most of her face. Though it was winter and the woman could have come from outside the castle, it was still strange that she wouldn't have taken the scarf off upon entering the castle. But perhaps it was a style she enjoyed. There was also something strange about the woman's breasts, as if she had followed the style of some women and stuffed cloth into her bodice but without taking the time to do it well.
Still, maybe Anil was just interpreting her son's feelings. Surely that was some sort of power a mother would have that wasn't based in magic.
As she wondered this, the magic seemed to direct her to take action. She began to hum a soothing song. She wasn't sure what she wanted to happen, only that she wanted the servant to be stopped if she had some kind of sinister plan. As she hummed, she looked to the soldiers with them. The new Prince-Admiral met her gaze and began to rise, sword in hand.
The servant moved, allowing the scarf to fall from her face, revealing a beard and a glazed over expression. A dagger flashed toward Anil and Kylar, but she remained still and Kylar didn't flinch. Anil continued to hum.
