Given the chance, Rake and his thugs would be plundering and terrorizing New Ruatha at this moment. No words would have persuaded him to turn aside. It was a grim thing, war.
As much as the memories of carnage and blood still haunted him, Alexander had come to terms with the battle. He’d killed so many, but far fewer than had died in Northport, fewer even than those who’d drowned in the air attack he’d just ordered against the Andalian fleet.
This battle felt different, though.
He’d done the killing. He’d been the weapon. He’d watched the dying.
This was why he hated evil people. They inevitably made good people do things they would come to regret.
Ratagan floated in for a graceful and gentle landing. With operations in the north, most of the wyverns were deployed, making for an easy approach to a nearly empty aerie. Alexander slipped to the ground and headed for the aid center. By the time he arrived, six Rangers had assumed royal guard duty, trailing along behind him.
“I’m Wizard Kreuk,” a tall, scraggly looking man with long stringy hair and unkempt charcoal robes said. “And who are you?”
“I have some people who need your help,” Alexander said, opening his Wizard’s Den.
Kreuk peered inside, then looked at Alexander with a bit of mischief. “Indeed, Lord Reishi, let’s get these people taken care of.” With that he swept into command of the infirmary staff, coordinating quarters, movement, treatment, and meals for each of the new patients with a fluid kind of order that was actually impressive. Within a few minutes, the wounded were moved into a ward and each patient was being individually assessed by Wizard Kreuk.
Jataan, Jack, and Anja were on their feet, though none were at fighting strength.
Duncan and Hanlon arrived shortly after they’d finished putting the Wizard’s Den back in order.
“I’m glad to see you’ve returned in one piece,” Duncan said. “Especially considering the stories I’m hearing.”
“I hear you took on the entire army … by yourself,” Hanlon said.
“The stories are exaggerated.”
“I would hope so,” Duncan said, taking Alexander by the shoulders. “Be more careful.”
Alexander nodded, looking down for a moment. “I hear what you’re saying, but men were counting on me and things didn’t work out as planned, so I did what I had to do.”
Duncan appraised his son, smiling gently to himself. “I understand … but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Come, let’s have a meal before you’re off again.”
“I could eat,” Jack said.
The fare was simple but hearty and there was plenty of it.
It felt good to just sit and have a conversation with his father. Before long, Alexander felt calmer and more centered than he had in a long time.
After saying goodnight to his father, he went to his magic circle. He needed guidance and the sovereigns were his first stop. After touching the Stone, he sat down at the Reishi Council table, offering greetings and a detailed report of recent events, with emphasis on his experiences in the firmament.
When he finished his account, Malachi burst out laughing, guffawing in his face.
“So this Rake character blasts your fortress into a heap of rubble, and then you destroy Cedric’s staff, a weapon that could have actually tipped the scales in this war. Sounds like you lost twice. And I won. It’s just so delicious watching the remnants of Barnabas Cedric vanish from the world.”
“Better destroyed than in enemy hands,” Demetrius said.
Alexander nodded, looking pointedly at Malachi. “I’m more interested in your thoughts about my experiences in the firmament.”
The table fell silent.
Balthazar shrugged, opening his hands helplessly. “I wish I had insight to offer, but this is beyond me. All I can provide is speculation.”
The rest of the table nodded in agreement, except Malachi, who was deliberately ignoring everyone else.
“So speculate.”
“The deep place of calm,” Constantine said. “Once there, did you attempt to reach out to Siduri?”
Alexander thought about it for a moment, slowly shaking his head. “No, I realized that I’d forgotten how long I’d been gone, so I went back.”
“Perhaps you must first master this state of mind, learn how to go there and maintain a sense of yourself, as well as the world of time and substance while you’re there. As with many of your other talents, practice may be the key.”
“This feels a lot more dangerous,” Alexander said.
“It is a lot more dangerous,” Balthazar said. “Take precautions and proceed with deliberate thought and planning.”
“I will.”
“Small steps, Alexander,” Balthazar said. “I mean it. The firmament is nothing to trifle with. It can literally swallow you whole.”
“I’ll be careful. Any thoughts about the attempt to let myself become scattered in the firmament?”
“I would advise caution there as well,” Balthazar said.
Malachi snorted derisively, shaking his head in disgust but holding his tongue.
“The description you’ve given of being scattered resembles some accounts of the loss of attachment to reality that wizards and witches suffer when they get lost in the firmament,” Balthazar said.
“I seem to be able to come back from it, where most wizards don’t.”
“True, but that could just be a matter of time spent with your mind scattered. At a certain point, I doubt you would be able to reassemble your psyche again.”
“Or, I might have to pass that point to realize my full potential,” Alexander said.
“Unfortunately, there’s only one sure way to find out, and if you’re wrong, you’re dead.”
“I’ll work on the deep peace for now,” Alexander said. “Any ideas about the box?”
The sovereigns looked at each other for a moment before Demetrius sat forward.
“It sounds like this box is similar to the one warding the keystone entrusted to House Fellenden. Perhaps a wizard skilled in the arts of divination would be able to learn its function.”
Malachi fell very still and silent.
“Do you have anything to add?” Alexander asked, leaning in toward him.
He scowled. “It will probably open with a drop of your blood. Cedric had a thing for bloodlines.”
“But why two blood locks?”
“I suspect that Mage Cedric is trying to tell you something about the contents of the box,” Balthazar said. “Perhaps you should seek more information before you attempt to open it.”
“You’re probably right,” Alexander said, stepping away from the table and returning to his body only briefly before slipping into the firmament to have a quick look at the state of the world.
Chapter 17
Anatoly looked out the window of the council chamber into a dreary sky that was spitting rain according to its whim. Behind him his two legion commanders and his newly minted court wizard discussed troop deployments. Anatoly held these meetings each week more as a formality than anything else. His command staff was young and inexperienced. He didn’t leave any of the important decisions up to them, though he always gave them the opportunity to offer an opinion before he made a decision.
His legion commanders, Watch Captain Iker and Commander Blake were both good men, lightly battle-tested, but neither of them was a general officer. Not in the sense of rank, but in the mindset of the men. They couldn’t see the whole board.
Wizard Oliver was really just a boy a couple of months past his trials with a few spells in his repertoire. Of course, Anatoly had to admit that Oliver could cast more spells than he could. Short, scrawny, and a bit timid, Oliver was also smart and thoughtful.
That left Liam, his squire. It had been the custom for the King of Fellenden to take a squire from the ranks of the nobility. Anatoly didn’t want a squire, he wasn’t the king, but the nobles kept pressuring him, so he held a competition and opened the pos
ition to all. Liam, an orphan, was the clear winner. A big, burly young man with curly blond hair and blue eyes, he was soft-spoken and gentle at heart, but a berserker on the battlefield with his two-handed sword.
Anatoly had chosen Liam mostly to establish some measure of dominance over the nobles, most of whom viewed him as an interloper and a foreigner come to plunder their lands through more peaceful means than Zuhl.
His tactic had been less successful than he’d hoped—rather than cowing them, they’d just become more resistant to his every move.
But it had also placed Liam in his care. Anatoly found it refreshing to have a charge again, someone to teach. Liam was a quick study, always alert and willing to put any new skill to work right away. He’d grown up on the streets, and the position of squire included room and board. Liam was as genuinely grateful as he was loyal. He was open about his hope to rise in status and wealth so that he would never again live with the poverty he’d suffered as a child. Anatoly admired that.
His real concern lay with his two other charges, both far beyond his protection. His worry for Alexander was ever-present. He was at the center of events and there were a lot of powerful people who would kill him if given the chance. But at the moment, Anatoly was worrying more about Abigail.
The dragon had arrived in Fellenden a few days before. It knew her name … it knew his. After a tense conversation, Anatoly had watched the beast fly south, toward Abigail. As he had every day since Zora came and went, Anatoly was hoping that he’d done the right thing. Few things could disturb his sleep—the knowledge that he might have killed Abigail was one of those things.
He played back that conversation again in his mind, saw himself standing before a great icy-blue creature crouched in the middle of the empty aerie, her tail poised to strike, her enormous jaws just a few feet from him, crystalline-blue catlike eyes staring right into him. The memories of those moments were a bit surreal, clouded by a visceral fear that seemed to grip his soul and squeeze just to the point of panic.
Zora had threatened him. He was willing to risk that, but then she’d threatened to destroy the city … and everyone in it. He’d hesitated, questioning her, demanding answers before making his decision to reveal Abigail’s location. He told himself that he didn’t have a choice, but he knew better. There was always a choice, a weighing of options. Risk Abigail or risk Fellenden City. He knew what she would have told him to do, but that didn’t make him worry about his decision any less.
His greatest hope was that the dragon had told the truth, that she was Ixabrax’s mate. Abigail might be able to work with that. Otherwise …
“Regent Grace,” Captain Iker said.
Anatoly pulled himself back to the moment and returned to the table, standing behind his chair, both hands on the back. He knew what was coming.
“I concur with Commander Blake, we should send his legion to the Gate. We would be far better positioned to defend the isle from there.”
“We’ve been through this, Iker.”
“Soldiers are only effective if deployed,” Blake said.
“Effective against whom?” Anatoly asked, assuming the mantle of the instructor.
“Well … Zuhl, of course,” Blake said.
“Conner already defeated Zuhl’s forces. There’s nobody there to fight.”
“But we’d be in a better position—” Iker started to say.
Anatoly cut him off. “No, we’d be moving soldiers for nothing, wearing them out and using up supplies. We don’t know where the next battle will be fought. Until we do, we’re staying right here.”
“It just doesn’t seem right,” Iker said.
“We’re at war and we’re just sitting here,” Blake said.
Both had made this argument frequently over the past weeks. Anatoly had been patient, trying to help them see the bigger picture, but both were so blinded by a desire to rush into battle that his words had no power to reach them. They were young officers from minor nobility, both joining the Fellenden Army after Torin put out the call, and both good men, but neither had actually seen much fighting, just a few minor skirmishes.
Most of the men in the two legions protecting Fellenden City had never been in a real battle. He did have a pretty good group of sergeants who’d come from the Ruathan units that had been fighting from the beginning. They’d been assigned to train his soldiers and develop a cadre of leadership within the two legions.
“That’s mostly what war is,” Anatoly said. “Waiting around for the killing and dying to start. No sense looking for it when it’ll find you soon enough.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a wyvern roared overhead, signifying that the rider was carrying important information. Anatoly closed his eyes.
“Perhaps Prince Conner has sent orders that we join him,” Blake said.
Anatoly opened his eyes and frowned, shaking his head as he went to the window and waited for the message rider to arrive. It didn’t take as long as he would have thought before the door burst open and a windblown, out-of-breath Sky Knight hurried into the room.
“The Gate is open—Zuhl’s coming through,” he said in a rush, stopping to catch his breath now that his message had been delivered.
“How is that possible?” Wizard Oliver asked. “Only Lord Reishi or someone wielding a Thinblade can open the Gate.”
At first, Anatoly was stunned by the news. Disbelief paralyzed him for a moment, but it passed quickly. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, using that simple human act to center and ground himself.
“Did you see it yourself?”
The Sky Knight nodded, still working on regaining his breath.
“How many men did you see?”
“A hundred thousand … maybe more, and the Gate was still open with more coming through when I left.”
Anatoly nodded to himself, turning back to the window. He could feel the tension in the room emanating from the people behind him, all of them looking to him for salvation. The problem was, he knew there was none, not from this. All he could do was all that he could do … and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Commander Blake, deploy your legion to the south,” Anatoly said, as calmly as he could. “Captain Iker, prepare to evacuate the city. Wizard Oliver, you’re with me from this point on.”
“Where are we going?” Oliver asked.
Anatoly ignored him, taking the Sky Knight by the arm and walking him back outside. Liam fell in behind them.
“How many Sky Knights are in the aerie right now?”
“Eight.”
Anatoly nodded, picking up the pace. Once he reached the courtyard, he trotted to the stables. Within minutes, the four of them were thundering down the road, scattering pedestrians out of their path. They arrived to an aerie on a war footing. The messenger had clearly told his fellow riders of the threat before coming to deliver the news to Anatoly.
A ranking Sky Knight rushed up to him when he arrived.
“Your orders?”
Anatoly dismounted.
“Send message riders to Conner, Bianca, and Abigail. Send the rest save one to warn nearby cities. Have your last man do another flyover and give me an update on Zuhl’s force strength and movements.”
“Understood, Regent Grace.”
“Also, prepare to flee south—we’re abandoning the city.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to stay?” the Sky Knight asked. “Some walls are better than no walls.”
“Walls won’t matter,” Anatoly said. “If the Gate’s open, there’s no end to him. We have to run or he’ll swallow us whole. Get your men in the air.”
Anatoly mounted back up and rode for the officers’ briefing room adjacent to the barracks. Most of the officers serving in his legions would be there by now. Blake and Iker would be relishing the thought of the battle to come. Anatoly suspected that both would find the truth of it a sour and unwelcome surprise.
Everyone in the room stood when he entered, sitting again when he waved them down.
Anatoly had no patience for formality or decorum. Of all the things he hated about being the Regent of Fellenden City, he hated the deference people paid to him the most. It always made his stomach turn just a bit when people bowed and scraped.
“Listen up,” he said, waiting for the room to fall silent and then waiting for a few moments more to draw out the tension.
“War will arrive on our doorstep within the day. We’re outmatched by this enemy in every way. We can’t win … so we run. We’ll head south with as many people as we can and we’ll fight a retreating action against any force Zuhl sends after us.
“Message riders have already gone out. If there’s any help to be had from our allies, they’ll send it when they can. Until then, it’s up to us to save as many lives as possible.”
He surveyed the officers in the room, most young, most inexperienced, most eager to be tested in battle. All too soon, they would have their wish. His mood darkened—he let it, embraced it even. He always felt better going into a fight when he was angry.
He walked out into the street, Liam and Oliver following after him. He had a plan in place for fleeing a large-scale attack, but now that he was actually facing the bulk of Zuhl’s army, his plan seemed woefully inadequate. He’d developed the plan because it was the responsible thing to do as regent—to have plans for possible threats. But this was more than a threat … this was doom marching.
Even if his plan worked flawlessly, it would only buy time. Given Zuhl’s numbers, he would inevitably take Fellenden. The question that occupied Anatoly’s mind was how many people would survive? Without help, without ships, many, many of the people he’d sworn to protect would die or be enslaved.
Conner had a sizable force, several legions, but nothing compared to the numbers Zuhl commanded, never mind the fact that Conner was well north of the Gate while Fellenden City was south. He wouldn’t be coming anytime soon, if he could escape Zuhl’s horde at all.
Help wouldn’t be coming through the Gate—not if Zuhl decided to hold it, anyway. That left help by sea and by air. Ithilian would send troops, but their navy had suffered serious damage against Zuhl’s warships. What they could send didn’t stand a chance against the sheer number of enemy soldiers.
Sovereign of the Seven Isles 7: Reishi Adept Page 20
