The two light horse legions raced across the ford and spread out, driving the gibberers before them. Arrows struck here and there, as the elves chose specific targets. Some of the Horse Guards dismounted and swarmed over the mounds, rooting out hiding gibberers, and quickly the resistance came to an end.
Mistress Gilthalarwin, the leader of the Blackfeathers, waded through the ford. “I saw you go down. Are you hurt? I have a healer.”
Adrogans shook his head. “I am fine, though some of my people could likely use help. I thank you and your warriors. If not for you, this would have been much worse.”
The elf laughed. Her black hair had been drawn back into a long braid that slithered snakelike over her shoulders. “Ever arrogant, Adrogans. Without us you might not have taken the ford.”
“We would have because we had to. And that is not arrogance speaking. I know my people as well as you know yours.” He turned and looked at Phfas. “Thank you, Uncle, for saving my life.”
The shaman sat on the ground, his chest heaving, but he managed a weak smile. “Armoring you with air had to be done. That magick was strong.”
The general nodded. “Mistress, have you any idea what those were?”
“Another Aurolani abomination?” She shook her head. “I shall have it investigated. I will put some of my trackers on them, too, and see if there are more about.”
“Very good, thank you.” Adrogans waved the trumpeter over. “Sound a recall. Then get me two riders and send them back to the infantry. I want them here in three days to hold the ford.”
“Yes, General.”
The man stepped away and blew the recall. Troops began to return to their units and the officers began to take a toll of the casualties. Men helped battle-broken comrades, staunched wounds, and set bones. The first Blackfeathers crossing the river started to move among the cavalry, directing the most seriously wounded to the edge of the river, where their healer would begin casting spells to help them recover.
Adrogans squatted beside Phfas and felt Pain crowding against his back. “Well, Uncle, we’ve hurt him. I don’t know how long it will take him to learn that fact, but when he does he’ll react. Do I wait here and make him pay dearly to take this ford back or . . .”
The old man shook his head. “Ever forward; ever forward. If you remain here, you are a target. If you go on, he has to find you first.”
“Yes, and in war it is much better not to be hit at all.” Markus Adrogans stood again and bowed his back, feeling a crackling running from waist to neck. “On to Svarskya, then. I remember it having been pretty in the spring. Perhaps this year it shall be again.”
CHAPTER 28
W ill hated people treating him as if he were sick, because he really felt fine. Well, fine as long as he was bundled up in warm clothing. Growing up as a thief he’d preferred looser-fitting things, since he could slip out of them if someone made a grab for him, and because they provided ample hiding places for loot. Those same loose clothes suited him well now because he could wear thick woolen undergarments beneath them and have a chance of staying warm.
Despite the cold, he had been determined to leave his face bare. It still angered him that the court had chosen to listen to Nefrai-kesh speak against Crow. He’d have refused to attend the court that morning, even though Crow was supposed to be released, but Princess Alexia had some ambassador guy explain why it was important for him to be there.
And why it was important for him to wear a mask.
Will balked at the mask and was surprised to hear Resolute agree with him, but the ambassador pointed out that by being present, Will would again assert his claim to the title of Lord Norrington. Since Crow’s release would likely be conditional, having his liege lord there to accept custody of him would be important. In order to show respect for the customs of Oriosa, Will would need to wear his mask.
Sitting there in the court chamber beside Princess Alexia, Will did his best to kill a smile. The assembled spectators from Oriosa had seen him come in and a buzz had run through the crowd. Reactions varied, but he did see some firm nods of respect for his gesture.
Will reached up and adjusted the mask he wore. It was not the one King Scrainwood had given him, but a white lace courtesy mask, of the sort that King Augustus, Queen Carus, and Princess Alexia had been given. They were worn by non-Oriosans in respect for their station. The courtesy masks showed a respect for customs by the visitor, but also marked him as an outsider.
The mask the king had given him he wore on his upper right arm. Its dark green showed up nicely over the red velvet jacket he’d picked out, and the red in the eyeholes was perfect. He’d thought that solution up all by himself, and having both the ambassador and Resolute agree with it had pleased him no end.
When he’d taken his place beside the princess, Crow had looked over at him from the prisoner’s docket and knitted his brows with concern. Will winked at him and lifted his chin just enough for Crow to see the twin scars. The older man’s eyes tightened in a wince, but Will shook his head to dismiss the concern.
The sharp rap of a staff on the floor up on the tribunal’s dais quelled the chatter in the room. Through the open doors at the far end came the three judges. Queen Carus came first, wearing a gown of deep scarlet with triangular ivory panels pointing toward her waist in an hourglass formation. Her black hair had been pulled back and pinned up with golden sticks festooned with rubies.
Augustus came next, more martial than regal in bearing. His clothes mixed green and white with some gold trim, and had a military cut about them without being hopelessly severe. The half-horse, half-fish creature he’d chosen as his insignia appeared as the buckle on the wide white leather belt he wore around his waist. His courtesy mask had been cut from white lace and properly notched at the eyes to reflect the death of his parents.
Linchmere brought up the rear—and while Will knew this was because he was the most important figure in the tribunal, he found it fitting that the prince should be last. His slouched shoulders betokened a general sagging of his body, which resulted in a paunchy belly that jounced as he walked. Linchmere even moved each hip forward as he walked in a fat-man’s stroll, though he was not really that heavy.
Even Kerrigan carries himself better.
The tribunal took their places, then Linchmere stepped forward to address the court. Wroxter Dainn and his aides slipped from their seats and dropped to one knee, but Crow stayed in his chair. Will waited to see what Princess Alexia would do, and when she remained seated, he sat there with her.
The Oriosan Prince cleared his throat once, and once again. “Lord and Ladies, King and Queens, distinguished visitors, citizens. This proceeding has been conducted in a solemn manner. We have listened. The evidence has been weighed and we have discussed the truth of this matter.”
The prince spoke slowly and had lowered his voice for the sake of authority, but right from the first, right when he realized he should have said “Kings and Queens” before “Lord and Ladies,” anxiety beset him. Will could read it in his eyes and the nervous quiver running through Linchmere’s lower lip.
“The charges against Crow were charges made against Tarrant Hawkins a long time ago. He was charged with treason and tried. He was sentenced to death but that sentence was never carried out. This man, Crow, was identified as being Tarrant Hawkins. Because of his marriage to Princess Alexia, a new trial was required. A new verdict was sought.”
The prince chewed his lower lip for a moment. “In our deliberations, a flaw was noted in the prosecution case. The events took place twenty-five years ago, so the value of eyewitness testimony is questionable. Court sorcerers said their spells established a link between Crow and Hawkins, but the material alleged to have belonged to Hawkins has now gone missing, so their conclusions cannot be reviewed and proven to the satisfaction of the court. The only positive identification offered was that of Nefrai-kesh and, as an enemy, it is expected he lied.”
Will frowned, utterly confused. King Augustus h
ad greeted Crow as an old friend, and they had talked about knowing each other. Will hadn’t heard Crow admit that he was Hawkins, but he’d never denied it either. The whole question of Crow’s identity should have been beside the point.
As Will had understood things, Linchmere was supposed to get up and say that the charges hadn’t been proved and that Crow was free to go provided someone would assume responsibility for him. Will would do that, then slip his real mask on, everything would be fine, and they would be free to fight Chytrine.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled under his breath.
Alexia leaned slightly in his direction, her shoulder pressing against his. “I was afraid of this. Scrainwood is playing games. The wizards’ evidence that has vanished can reappear at any time and the charges can be reinstated. If Scrainwood gets his way, Crow will never be free from the threat of execution. He won’t do anything right now, though. King Augustus wouldn’t be here if King Scrainwood had gone back on his agreement.”
Will snorted. “Scrainwood is a snake.”
The princess smiled. “You’ve insulted snakes.”
Linchmere continued. “It is the opinion of the tribunal, then, that insufficient evidence exists to convict this man, Crow, of crimes ascribed to Tarrant Hawkins. You, sir, are free to . . .”
The doors at the far end of the room sailed open, shoved wide by a woman in red riding leathers and a billowing scarlet cloak. She wore a red leather mask that covered her from cheeks to forehead and right up to her hairline, though a lock of her long red hair did curve down over her right eye. The flesh of her lower face likewise was red with cold and windburn. Melting snow glistened on her cloak.
“Where is he?” She stopped in the center aisle and her cloak splashed against her back like a woolen wave. “Where is he?”
“W-who?” Linchmere started to take a half step forward, but he saved it when his voice broke. He lowered it to the serious tone from which it had risen. “Who are you?”
She thrust a finger at him. “You, sit. You’re not the one I want.” She looked around the room, her pale blue eyes lighting on Will for a second, then shifting away again before returning. “You, you’re the Norrington, aren’t you?”
Will stood slowly. “I am.”
She came forward, quickly, not as forcefully as before, and swept past the prisoner’s docket. She sank to one knee and took Will’s right hand in hers. Raising it to her mouth, she kissed it, sending a jolt through Will.
She glanced up and her gaze met his, sending another jolt through him. Her eyes burned with an intensity that threatened to ignite him. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying that, but it was something else in her, running deep in those eyes, that captivated him.
Will swallowed hard. “Who are you?”
“My lord, I am Princess Sayce of Muroso. I’ve come from Caledo to beg you to save my nation.” Desperation arced through her words. She bowed her head again, touching her forehead to his hand. “Please, my lord, you are our only hope.”
“I, um, I . . .” Will looked hopelessly at Alexia, Crow, and then King Augustus.
The Alcidese King rose to his feet. “Princess Sayce, you have interrupted a proceeding, one of some importance.”
The young woman stood abruptly and let Will’s hand slip from hers. “Important? This is important? You’re Augustus of Alcida and she’s Carus of Jerana. I have seen you before with my father. Finding Oriosa bound up with nonsense does not surprise me, but you? How could you be here?”
Her voice rose and bitterness crept into it. “Have you no idea of what is happening? Sebcia has collapsed. Chytrine’s troops laid siege to Lurrii with dragonels. They shattered the gates, toppled the walls, and the slaughter was beyond imagining. Refugees have been streaming south, but the snows catch and overwhelm them. Come spring, if there ever is a spring, we will find families who lay down in the cold together and died. Roads will be strewn with bodies. Yet here you sit, listening to people prattle on about little things that matter not when people are dying. Dying in the hundreds. In the thousands.”
Sayce turned and pointed a finger at Will. “I’ve come for the Norrington, to bring him to Caledo, so he can lead our troops and destroy Chytrine.”
“Wait a minute.” Will held his hands up. “I may be the Norrington, but you need Princess Alexia to lead the troops.” He nodded at Alexia. “She will win the fight for you.”
Sayce sniffed at the air, then cocked her head slightly. “You’re Alexia? Hmm. What a perfectly lovely dress. I hardly thought I would find you here when Aurolani needed killing. My nation will not fall as yours did.”
Alexia stood slowly. “I would not wish that on you, Princess, and will do all I can to prevent it.” Alexia raised her voice. “Prince Linchmere, I believe you were about to set Crow free.”
Linchmere roused himself from his throne and unsteadily took to his feet again. “Yes, Crow, you are free to go.”
Will clapped his hands. “Yes!”
Sayce turned and watched as Will and Crow shook hands, then embraced with much backslapping. “I am pleased for your friend, Lord Norrington, but every moment we delay makes the situation more grave.”
Will slipped out of Crow’s hug, then looked up at her. She stood about a fist taller than he and was lean like a wolf. Over the right breast of her leathers had been burned the bear rampant crest of the Murosan royal house. Her mask hid the upper half of her face, but her strong jaw and full lips suggested the beauty that hid beneath it.
“Princess, if you want me to head north with you, then Crow and Alexia and everyone else will have to come, too.”
“Everyone else?”
“My friends. Resolute and Dranae and Peri. There are more, they’ll help. We all got the DragonCrown fragment from Wruona.”
Sayce nodded solemnly. “Yes, we shall have all your companions. My men are out rounding up more horses—we fair killed ours on the ride here. Once we have fodder for them, and provisions for us, we must go.”
“I’ll be ready.” Will smiled at her, but beyond her Linchmere stiffened. The thief turned to follow the prince’s gaze, then began to snarl as he saw a familiar figure framed in the doorway.
King Scrainwood stood there smiling. “Ah, there you are, Princess Sayce. You shall be forgiven the affront of not visiting me first, since I understand you were under the impression the Norrington was to be found here.”
Sayce’s eyes tightened. “Forgive me, Highness, I meant no disrespect. The Norrington is here, so I have accomplished my purpose.”
“Alas, you have not. I would not have you or my sister nation to the north labor under the impression that this fraud is the Norrington.”
Will’s jaw shot open. “What?”
Scrainwood smiled. “Bosleigh Norrington did not go away without issue. Legitimate issue. His son shall arrive here in Meredo in a day or two. As it should be, an Oriosan noble, loyal and true, shall lead the world against Chytrine.”
CHAPTER 29
I saura breathed deeply of the crisp, clean air of her homeland. She drew it in as best she could, feeling it cool her head and throat and lungs, then exhaled slowly. She let the outgoing breath carry away as much of the taint of the Southlands as possible, though she secretly feared she would never be fully free of the stink of Meredo.
Slowly she wandered through the rime garden behind the citadel in which she lived. No walls separated it from the white tundra that stretched to the north. No vermin would wander in to nibble delicacies, for the treasures of the garden, while they did grow, sustained naught but the spirit of those who wandered amid its splendors.
Several times a year Neskartu’s students used magick to form a pellet of ice into which they worked a spell. The magick itself was something Isaura found fascinating because it used the imagery of an illusion and combined it with constructive elements to create wonderful things. Many young students, for example, might imbue their creation with the form of a creature—either realistic or an imagined beast.
Once that ice seed was planted in the garden, it would mature and grow up into the image the magicker had envisioned.
The more advanced students could do much more, and often competed for the most complex creations. As she walked through the garden she smiled and reached a hand out to caress the glassy petals of a rose. Made of ice, they had none of the softness of real flowers, but still they had the same delicate construction. A light flick of her finger would shatter the blossom, but Isaura refrained from doing the damage.
She turned from the bush that produced those flowers to another creation, which took on the form of a tree with outswept branches. It differed greatly from the bush, for that rosebush had been shaped by one of the students who had spent much of his life in the Southlands. He had seen rosebushes and was able to recall their details from life, which he then worked into his creation.
The tree, on the other hand, had been created by Corde, a woman barely older than Isaura herself. She’d been brought up as a babe from the south and had no memories of anything other than the Conservatory—at which her parents had studied until their deaths. Corde’s creation reflected her intelligence, as it had a tree’s shape but was formed from a lacey lattice of snowflakes. Each one of the snowflakes, which ranged in size from the palm of Isaura’s hand to something as large as a warrior’s shield, appeared to be unique. Moreover, if one peered closely at any one, it would be made up of smaller flakes, and they made up of smaller and smaller until Isaura could not detect them without the aid of magick.
Corde was one of Neskartu’s few students who began to get a glimmer of the true nature of magick. Her creation constantly shifted itself, as if the branches were swaying in an unfelt breeze. As Isaura drew closer to it, blossoms slowly opened, and in the flat blades of ice, Isaura’s image was magickally graven.
As wondrous as that tree was, it could have been so much more if Corde truly understood that magick was a river. The sorceress had been able to imbue her creation with a lot of energy, and energy from a very pure source, but there would be a point where that would be all used up. The tree would become nothing more than ice. Sunlight would evaporate branches and the winds would tear it apart.
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