by Kris A Hiatt
It was widely accepted that there had to be an emotional connection with someone in order for magic to work. There was a plethora of evidence supporting that. For example, after Treace had lost his fight with Disdane, Kint had turned Disdane’s sword so hot that the large man couldn’t hold onto it. Kint couldn’t duplicate that magic at a later date and it was accepted that his love and fear for Kiril’s life was the emotional attachment needed to make the magic work on the inanimate sword. With the recent discovery, Treace no longer believed that to be true. How else would Kiril be able to burn a tree she’d never seen before or burn a crumpled parchment that held no meaning? If you didn’t need an emotional attachment to someone, or something, what were the true limitations of magic? Were they different for each emotion? There were many possibilities to explore.
“Not ordinary water,” Drevic clarified. “I mean magical water. I tried to merge Path of Tears with Path of Heart.”
A soldier barged into the room, interrupting them.
“Sir,” the man said to Treace. “You’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it?” Treace asked.
“One of Shamir’s men,” the man replied. “He has a message for our baron.”
“Why get me instead of Liernin then?” Treace asked, not believing the man would be so derelict in his duties.
“I’ve been to him already, sir. He sent me to get you.”
Treace felt badly for prematurely judging the man. He looked to his friends and silently nodded goodbye, pausing only long enough to give Kiril a quick kiss before leaving with the man.
“And Exodin?” he asked, following the man out into the cold.
“He was with Liernin.”
“And are they coming?” Treace asked.
“Once they receive word from the scouts that there are no others with the messenger.”
Liernin was being cautious. Overly so in Treace’s estimation. They would have long ago been notified if a sizeable force had been spotted close to the city. “So he came alone then?”
“He rode in by himself, yes,” the man replied.
The sky was darkening quickly as night approached. Either the messenger intended on staying here for the night or didn’t mind traveling by horseback in the dark. “Did the rider identify himself?”
“No, he just rode up waving a flag bearing Shamir’s emblem. He appears to be unarmed.”
“Appears? You didn’t search him?”
“No reason to,” the man replied. “He refuses to come in. He’s sitting on top of his horse waiting. He wouldn’t relay his message to anyone. He said Shamir gave specific instructions that it had to be given directly to Liernin.”
Treace followed the man through the streets, passing by Red’s establishment, the Palace Inn. He waved as he passed, more out of simple respect than actual thinking his old friend would see him. He wondered how business fared in the bar during these trying times. Well, he hoped.
As they got closer to the southern gate, it was evident to Treace that others had heard of the newest visitor and were curious to hear what he had to say. Many people had flocked to the gate and were huddled around braziers to keep warm. The soldiers on the ground kept as much of an eye on them as they did the man on the other side of the gate. The archers that were perched on top of the wall, however, had their eyes, and arrows, trained solely on Shamir’s emissary.
“Open it,” Treace commanded, parting people as he walked.
“But, sir—” a guard began.
“Open it,” Treace said again, interrupting the man and giving him a hard look. Since the men didn’t ensure the emissary wasn’t armed, Treace aimed to do so. He wasn’t going to take unnecessary risks with Liernin’s life.
The soldier opened his mouth as if he was going to say something but snapped it shut. He nodded and motioned for the others to open the gate. The men did as they were commanded and opened it far enough for Treace to squeeze through.
Treace peered through and couldn’t believe his eyes. Brental, his former magister, was the emissary. He wore heavy robes that were undoubtedly layered and his hood was pulled over his head, making only his face visible, but there was no mistaking the man that sat atop the horse.
Treace slid through the narrow opening.
“You are not Liernin,” Brental told him, his breath visible in the frigid air.
“Just as sharp as ever,” Treace remarked.
“My message is for the baron himself, not for his pet,” Brental said, flexing his hands inside of his gloves and ignoring Treace’s insult.
“And you aren’t getting anywhere near him until I ensure that you aren’t armed.”
“I have no weapon. Nor do I have need of one. I’m an emissary for Shamir.”
If Brental had figured out how to use magic at a distance like Treace had done, then he most assuredly would not need a weapon. Brental could simply burn Liernin alive. Treace decided that he would stand next to Brental when and if he met with the baron. But first, he was going to make sure Brental was telling the truth. “Off your horse.”
Brental frowned. “I think not.”
“You aren’t meeting with Liernin until I ensure you have no weapons.”
“I’ve already told you that I don’t have a weapon,” Brental replied, not moving from his saddle.
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Treace asked.
“Considering our history, yes,” Brental replied. “But if that’s not enough, I thought you’d remember how intelligent I am.”
If by ‘history’, Brental meant their secret, then he was going to be disappointed to know that Treace didn’t feel the same level of trust from that as Brental appeared to have. “What does your intelligence, or lack of, have to do with not having a weapon?”
“Who’s lacking?” Brental asked, leaning forward in his saddle and peering directly at Treace. “Clearly you are, not me, so let me explain it to you, as usual. You are, by most accounts, the greatest swordsman this world has seen. I am not stupid enough to think that I could land any type of mortal blow on Liernin before you could strike me down. Even if I did manage to somehow evade you and kill Liernin, what chance would I have against your archers above us?”
“What is it you want, Brental?” Archbishop Drevic asked from behind Treace.
Treace wasn’t surprised that Drevic had followed him out. Nor was he surprised to find that both Kiril and Heral had as well.
“Ah, the charlatan. Glad you could join us. It’s beginning to feel like a good old fashioned reunion out here, isn’t it?”
“And the useless insults show the quality of the man speaking them,” Drevic remarked, shaking his robes to remove the snow that had collected around the hem.
“Charlatan?” Heral asked. “He’s not the one who got his title by threats of murder.”
“Don’t play his games, Heral,” Drevic told him. “He’s here for no other reason than to stir up trouble.”
“I’m here to relay a message,” Brental began, grinning from ear to ear. “The difficulty you have in dealing with me is simply a bonus.”
“Then relay your message and be gone,” Liernin announced as he walked through the gate. “Else one of my archer’s arms may tire from waiting for you to finish babbling on. A tired arm has been known to accidentally loose an arrow.”
Brental glanced at the platform of archers above him before speaking. “Very well, I was quickly tiring of the conversation anyway.”
Before his former magister could continue, Treace spoke up. “No magic, no tricks. Close your eyes longer than it takes to blink and I’ll cut you down,” Treace warned. He pictured Brental closing his eyes to burn Liernin alive. The thought of his sword protruding from Brental’s chest was surprisingly pleasant.
Brental gave him a hard look but ultimately nodded his head in what Treace took for understanding. Whether the hard look was for being interrupted or for the threat, Treace wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered either way. Treace hoped Brental would tes
t his sincerity.
Brental looked over the crowd and then at Liernin. “The King has agreed to allow you to surrender to save the lives of everyone else,” Brental announced.
He was speaking to Liernin, but Brental was speaking so loudly that he could easily be heard by the gathered crowd on the other side of the gate. Treace guessed that was the real ploy here. Brental wanted to ensure the people knew well what decision lay before their baron.
“You surrender Haven to the King, in which he will rule from this day forward, and you’ll not lose a single warrior, servant, peasant, or subject. Refuse his offer and our army will take Haven by force. When it’s over, all of your people will be dead and he’ll still rule,” Brental continued to tell everyone.
Most people shook their heads, but there were a few in the gathering that looked to Treace to be mulling the idea over in their heads. Many turned to regard Liernin and seemed to hold their breath in anticipation of his answer.
“Then I am glad that I’m not a generous person, as you claim Shamir to be,” Liernin said loudly, matching Brental’s previous volume. “I wouldn’t want to be the one using generosity as a trick to get good, honest, hard-working people to capitulate to the wants of a tyrant.”
“It’s no trick, Liernin,” Brental argued. “Truth be told, the King’s first choice is to kill every soul living here, much like he did in Kilindric, and then burn Haven to the ground, dancing over your corpse. But he listened to my wise counsel and has once again given you an opportunity to save thousands of lives.”
Many gasps and murmurs filtered out throughout the crowd. Treace presumed them to be regarding the reminder of Kilindric’s fate, but it could also be at the thought of the carnage that they faced if Liernin didn’t yield. Treace was glad that Liernin had listened to his and Drevic’s advice to inform the people of what Shamir had done to the people of Kilindric. Hearing the news for the first time from an enemy could have been disastrous. Certainly it was still a painful reminder, but it wasn’t destructive.
“And you expect me to jump at the opportunity?” Liernin asked.
“I would think a good leader would save as many lives as he could,” Brental replied slyly.
“What do you know about being a good leader? You gained your title by murdering an innocent man,” Drevic shot back. “You simply throw those who oppose you from a two-story window.”
Brental shot Drevic a hateful glare but offered no verbal reply. Instead he set his eyes upon Liernin once again. “Do you submit?”
“Never,” came Liernin’s immediate reply.
Treace was glad to hear it. Not that he wanted to fight, but the offer wasn’t a sincere one anyway. Even if Liernin did give in, there was a very real chance Shamir would murder everyone he didn’t feel could be completely loyal to him. Given that the entire city loved Liernin, Treace doubted anyone in Haven would be alive for long once Liernin turned himself in. They may very well lose hundreds or thousands of men, but better to die fighting for what you believe in than to die in regret.
“I’m not surprised,” Brental said to Liernin before raising his voice and speaking to the crowd. “Your stubborn and selfish baron puts his life far above yours. Pray with your charlatan of an Archbishop that his folly won’t cost you your life if you want, but know that any who follow the fool will die a horrible death at the hands of the true King.”
“Archers!” Liernin called out. “If he utters another vile, acidic word, put an arrow into his throat so that his lies and deceit can no longer tempt our good people into believing that his words are anything other than falsities designed to strip them of their will to fight since his so-called King is too scared to match forces with us!”
The archers had their arrows trained upon Brental in an instant.
Brental took in his surroundings and opened his mouth to say something but instead closed it again.
“Please,” Liernin begged. “Use that slippery tongue of yours again and utter just a single word.”
Brental urged his horse into action and rode away.
“Tricks, people,” Liernin called out calmly yet with conviction. “They don’t want to match us fairly and evenly so they resort to tricks. Stay true, believe in us. We will get through this.”
Treace noticed that most of the people nodded their heads in agreement, but there were a few blank stares and lowered eyes in the crowd. Perhaps Brental’s plan wasn’t a failure. The man was shrewd, Treace gave him that. What if the plan wasn’t to get Liernin to surrender, but instead to simply plant the seed of doubt?
Chapter 22
Treace peered over the wall, scanning the white backdrop for movement. He hadn’t seen any movement this morning, not even from any animals. He wasn’t terribly surprised. It was shaping up to be yet another frigid day and even the wildlife seemed to dislike being out in this type of weather.
It had been three days since Brental had been unsuccessful at getting Liernin to surrender and Shamir’s attack could come at any moment. Granted, the more and more Treace thought about it, he thought Brental’s true mission was successful, at least at first. There were still a few murmurs here and there of discontent in Liernin’s decision, but most knew Brental’s offer to be a scam. There were only a few people who dared to be outspoken with their belief that Liernin should have turned himself over. The dissenters claimed that Liernin could save thousands of lives, much like Brental had said, but their opponents had stiffly rebuked their claims and quieted them quickly with reminders of what happened in Kilindric. Treace was glad that the soldiers didn’t have to intervene. Brental may have succeeded, but the victory was short lived.
“No movement?” Griffeth asked from beside him.
Treace was so focused on the events of the past that he didn’t hear her approach and was startled by her words.
“Whoa! Easy there,” Griffeth said, smiling ever so slightly. She placed her hands up in front of her in mock defense. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” Treace protested. “You surprised me.”
Moff, a handful of paces away, grinned at the exchange but kept quiet.
“They’re one and the same,” Griffeth argued, unsuccessfully stifling a giggle.
Something about that struck Treace then. “Most of the time they are.” But are they? You can be surprised and not scared. And you can be fearful without being surprised.
“It’s not every day you can sneak up and scare the boss,” Griffeth told him.
Had Treace truly heard her, he wouldn’t have bothered to respond, but he was busy thinking of the differences between being fearful and being surprised. So instead he gave her a simple reply of, “No, it isn’t.”
“Do you think he’s watching from his balcony?” Moff asked, looking back toward the center of the city.
Treace knew that Moff was speaking of Liernin. Moffred didn’t like the idea that Liernin was staying in the confines of his palace during the war. To Liernin’s credit, he wanted to be on the front lines, but Exodin had talked him out of it. He said a single stray arrow could end the whole thing. Exodin convinced Liernin it was better to let the fighting men fight while he remained with his family.
“Most likely,” Treace replied. He wondered if Liern, or perhaps even Kint or Tabor was with him on that balcony. Drevic had suggested that Kint remain with Liernin, to which both Kiril and Treace agreed upon. Kiril had thought she lost her father once, Treace understood her not wanting to chance it again. Of course Liernin would also have a small force surrounding him, mostly consisting of his original Elite Guard, but the bulk of the men were ready to prevent Shamir from getting anywhere near the palace.
“I’m going to warm my hands,” Moff announced a short while later.
Moff went behind Treace, patting him on the shoulder and offering a nod to Griffeth, who had perched herself on the railing to Treace’s left.
“Wait,” Griffeth told them, pointing off into the distance.
Both Treace and Moff
trained their eyes in the direction she was pointing.
“Rider,” Griffeth said a moment later.
Treace peered hard at the moving object and agreed with Griffeth. The horse was on a full run and headed directly for them.
Calls rang out from along the wall announcing the same.
“Good eye,” Treace told her and continued to watch the approaching rider. More specifically, behind the rider, looking for anyone that may be following.
“Ours?” Moff asked.
“They’re wearing red,” Griffeth remarked.
“Could still be a trick,” Treace reminded them, though he doubted it. There were at least a handful of mounted scouts on the lookout for Shamir’s forces that were roaming the area. “But we’ll see soon enough.”
Treace continued to watch the horizon for potential hostile forces following the rider. Only when the rider finally reached the gate did he dare take his eyes off the distance.
“He’s ours,” Griffeth assured them.
The rider slowed his horse and brought the animal to a halt only feet from the gate. The horse had to be well trained to have that kind of discipline. Treace knew that to be the case, considering the man riding the horse. Hinter was at least twice Treace’s age and, if the stories were to be believed, had spent most of his life either on top of or training a horse. Given Hinter’s ability, Treace didn’t doubt it. There was a reason that Liernin had convinced the man to lead his small group of cavalrymen.
“Four hours, at most,” Hinter said, looking up to Treace.
“At minimum?” Treace asked.
“Two and a half if they run.”
“How many?”
“Too many to count,” the older man replied.
“Guess then,” Treace instructed.
“Five thousand, maybe more.”
That drew gasps from those gathered. Treace wasn’t surprised. They were expecting as much. Those gasping knew the number as well, but Treace guessed hearing it from Hinter made it real for them. “With me, to Liernin,” Treace told the man.
Hinter nodded and stroked his horse and whispered to the animal before handing it off to the stable boy.
