Storms of Destiny

by A. C. Crispin

  Jezzil bowed, quietly returned to his seat and said no more for the remainder of the briefing.

  That night he, Thia, Talis, and Khith attended the banquet given in honor of Prince Eregard’s homecoming. The Prince introduced his friends, and they all had to stand while Eregard told the gathered nobles and dignitaries a suitably edited version of how his friends and comrades had rescued him and helped him return home. The resulting applause made all of them, except for Khith, blush. Luckily, no one expected them to give a speech. Jezzil could tell that Talis and Thia were as intimidated as he was. Faced with these glittering courtiers in their jewels, silks, and satins, he felt dull, shabby, and tongue-tied.

  The sumptuous banquet hall was dazzling, lit by hundreds of candles in crystal chandeliers. Eregard had told Jezzil that the feast would be a subdued affair, by court standards, since the court was officially in mourning for the

  Queen. “Subdued” was not the word Jezzil would have used.

  The Chonao was awed by the tables groaning with food and the constant flow of wine. Even though he tried to be careful, he ate too much, and drank more than one goblet of the excellent Pelanese wine. By the time the feast ended, Jezzil was light-headed and had trouble finding his way back to the “visiting dignitaries” wing of the palace where he, Talis, Thia, and Khith had been quartered. He finally had to stop and ask his silent escort which of three possible corridors to take to reach his room.

  He reached his chamber and closed the door on his escort, glad to be alone at last. With a stifled groan, he sank down into a chair, struggling to take his high riding boots off. Why isn’t there a bootjack about when you need one? he thought disgustedly, panting and swaying slightly in the brocaded, gilded chair. Finally, with a sucking sound, the last boot yielded, and Jezzil slumped back in the chair, feeling exhaustion wash over him in waves.

  This court life is more wearying than taking point in an undercover attack, he thought grumpily, wishing he could go back to Ombal Pass and bed down there, in the waving grass, with his head resting on Falar’s neck. That was the way for a soldier to rest, not eating himself into a stupor and drinking until his head threatened to swim.

  He found himself thinking of his public dismissal by Salesin earlier in the day, and his cheeks reddened. Be damned to you, he thought sourly. What do I care if Kerezau’s flank attacks wipe out a bunch of Pelanese I never met?

  But he did care. He cared about Eregard, and Talis, and the King. If only there were some way to see the future, he thought. But Khith had already told him that it knew of no foolproof way to foresee future events.

  Jezzil sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping his bare feet on a leather-topped footstool. It was the plainest piece of furniture in the room, and even so, its legs and sides were carved to look like those of a fanciful beast. The candle burning on the table beside him gave a clear, smokeless light. Jezzil stared at it, half mesmerized by the dance and flicker of the flame.

  It was good today to be back in the company of soldiers, to deal only with what can be seen and touched, he mused.

  For so long now I have struggled to use avundi, but what place does it have on the battlefield?

  Of course the ability to Cast was useful for stealth opera-tions, assassinations, and such …

  As he gazed into the glow, Jezzil found himself envision-ing those mountain trails Eregard had described. Will Salesin’s precautions be enough? he wondered. Or will it be as I fear, that the Silent Ones will find ways around them?

  Thinking of the Pen Jav Dal made him recall his instructors. Sergeano Devini had been the most colorful of them all, faster on one leg and his crutch than many men with two good legs. His face was marked with two livid, pulpy scars, his front two teeth were missing, and he had a habit of whistling through them as he waited for some hapless student to give an answer.

  Jezzil remembered how terrified he’d been of the old one-eyed soldier when he’d first arrived at the seminary where the Pen Jav Dal candidates were taught. He’d been how old?

  Eight? Something like that.

  “Never neglect a potential advantage!” Devini had shouted, his harsh voice echoing in Jezzil’s ears.

  Never neglect a potential advantage.

  It was almost as though he could see Devini, hear the raspy growl that served him for a voice.

  Jezzil blinked, then looked away from the candle flame with an effort. “You’re right, Sergeano,” he muttered, climbing wearily to his feet. “You were always right.”

  Barefoot, he went to the door of his chamber and turned the knob. Two guardsmen stood outside. The sentries were wide awake, ready for action. Both tensed when they saw Jezzil, then relaxed somewhat when he held out both hands, palms up. “What can we get you, sir?” asked one.

  “Nothing,” Jezzil replied. “I just want to go next door.”

  The ranking guardsman nodded, and Jezzil went over to the Hthras’s door and tapped softly. “Master Khith?”

  From inside he heard the familiar voice. “Enter, Jezzil.”

  Jezzil went into the room, finding the little Hthras perched on a human-sized chair at the small table, scribbling busily on a sheet of parchment. The table was high, and Khith had to sit on a thick, gold-tassled pillow. Jezzil smiled, despite his agitation. The Hthras’s medical bag sat open, and various vials and bottles were ranged before it. “Thanks to the help of the Pelanese physicians, I have managed to replenish most of my lost supplies,” it said, not looking up. “They have some interesting variations on some common herbs used in tinctures. I am just making a few notes.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jezzil said.

  Something in the tone of his voice must have alerted the Hthras, for it put down its quill.

  “What is it, Jezzil? I sense that you are troubled?”

  He crossed over to sit beside the Hthras, and kept his voice low. “I’ve been thinking about the battle,” he said.

  “And I need you to teach me how to see with the eyes of a flying creature, as you did aboard The Pride of Pela before we made our escape.”

  Khith regarded its pupil curiously. “Very well,” it said, “but may I ask why?”

  “Let’s just say it could be a major advantage in battle to be able to see something miles away,” Jezzil said. “And my drill instructor taught me never to neglect a potential advantage.

  Will you teach me, Master?”

  “Of course,” Khith said. “Let us begin.”

  Jezzil and Eregard spent the next day in target practice, up on Ombal Pass. The day was hot, sultry, with heavy clouds hanging threateningly. They rode back slowly, sweating nearly as much as their horses. The silent guardsmen, as before, followed at a respectful distance.

  “Have you spoken to your father again?” Jezzil asked after they had ridden a long way in silence.

  “Yes. He has agreed not to lead the troops himself, but to allow General Osmando-Volon to lead the center brigade.

  He knows in his heart that he’s not fit for battle. He’s also been consumed with planning my mother’s lying-in-state and her funeral. He wants to do her all honor.”

  “When will it be? Soon?

  “Her … body …” Eregard’s voice faltered on the word, “has gone to the preservers. It is likely the obsequies will be delayed until after we have dealt with this invasion.”

  “Eregard,” Jezzil said, “I would like to ride by your side, if that is permitted. Guard your back.”

  The Prince smiled. “I could have no better protection, I know that. But it will be up to Salesin, as military commander, I fear.”

  Jezzil nodded, then glanced back at the mountains. “I wish the storm would come. The air is so thick, I can scarcely breathe.”

  Eregard nodded. “It’s probably storming up in the mountains, but I’ve known clouds to hang like that over the peaks for a day or more.”

  They lapsed into silence and did not speak again until they reached the stables. “Where now?” Jezzil asked. “If there is noth
ing more required of me, I will head off to clean my new weapons and adjust the fit on the cuirass your armorer supplied.”

  “There is another briefing,” Eregard said. “I must be there, but you don’t have to attend.”

  “I will go,” Jezzil said. “As my old Sergeano used to tell us, ‘Never miss a chance to gather knowledge about enemy movements.’ ”

  When they reached the conference room, they found the same group as before. Again King Agivir was not present.

  This time there was no waiting. Salesin immediately rose and took control of the council, discussing the final disposition of troops, the posting of scouts, and all the other details that went into a battle plan.

  Jezzil sat there, making notes, scribbling diagrams filled with arrows, and saw that Eregard had put on a pair of spectacles and was doing likewise.

  He heard a sound on the landing then—the running tread of booted feet, accompanied by shouts of greeting. Salesin broke off as the doors were flung open wide and a burly travel-stained man burst in, trailing several others in his wake. His bearded features were grimed with dust and gray with weariness, but his whole face changed when he looked across the room and saw Eregard. “Brother! May the Goddess be praised!”

  Eregard leaped to his feet with a glad cry. “Adranan!”

  The two princes flung themselves forward, then Eregard was enveloped in a bone-crushing embrace, lifted clean off his feet and spun in a circle by his brother. Their affection was so tangible that Jezzil smiled.

  Finally they broke apart, and Prince Adranan seemed to remember the formalities. He bowed to the Crown Prince.

  “Brother,” he said. “Forgive my lack of decorum. I have ridden without rest for the past two days to bring you the news from the North.”

  Salesin inclined his head. “Your news is most welcome.

  Please …” He waved at the head chair. “Be seated and make your report.”

  “I shall,” Adranan said. “And I fear my news is not good.

  But first, may I say that to arrive here and see my brother again has put new life into me.”

  He looked at Eregard. “When I came through Ombal Pass, they told me that you had returned.” His shoulders sagged. “And they also told me of our mother’s passing.”

  Eregard nodded silently.

  Adranan made his way to the head of the table and sank into the chair with a sigh. “The Chonao are coming,” he said without preamble. “We had to ride both day and night to stay ahead of them, so swiftly do they march. If they continue at the same rate of speed, they will reach Ombal Pass by early afternoon tomorrow.”

  “We shall be ready for them,” Salesin assured him. “What of their numbers? Their weapons? Give us all the details.”

  Adranan launched into a summary of the Chonao forces and weapons. He was able to fill in a few details they did not know. “When they first landed,” he said, “they had no more than six thousand horses, at best. But now, by dint of scour-ing the countryside and taking as they wished, they are in possession of every ridable mount between here and Gen, bringing their cavalry numbers to about ten thousand.”

  “We will be ready for them,” Salesin promised. “Our troops will be in place by mid-morn.”

  Hearing this, Jezzil urgently tapped a corner of Eregard’s parchment, and when the Prince turned to him, gave Eregard a despairing look, mouthing “No!”

  Eregard gave him a long, steady look, then rose, bowing to Salesin. “My brother,” he said. “Jezzil has important information for you.”

  Salesin’s mouth tightened, but seeing that his officers had turned to the Chonao, he nodded. “Speak, Jezzil,” he said brusquely.

  Jezzil rose and bowed deeply. “Your pardon, Your Highness. I would recommend having Pela’s troops in place by dawn. It is a favorite trick of Kerezau’s to take the enemy unaware by leading troops on an at-speed march during the last hours before battle. The Chonao will press on, double time, one hundred paces walking, one hundred paces running, throughout the night, hoping to fall upon Pela before they could reasonably be expected.”

  “And the Chonao can do this, and then still fight effectively?” Salesin was openly skeptical.

  “They can and they do,Your Highness,” Jezzil said. “I swear to you that I have been a part of such marches in the past.”

  Salesin inclined his head. “Very well, we thank you, Jezzil, for your counsel. Pela will stand ready for battle at dawn.”

  As he bowed again and sank back into his seat, Jezzil glanced at Eregard, and saw that he was pale with fury. He looked a question at the Prince.

  Eregard’s voice was shaking with fury as he whispered, under his breath, “My brother uses the royal we! He has no right … he is not King!”

  Jezzil gave him a sympathetic glance.

  Again they heard footsteps on the landing outside, and a

  moment later the doors were opened by bowing servants.

  “All rise for the King!” came the ringing announcement.

  King Agivir swept into the room just as Adranan sprang out his chair and went down on one knee to receive his father’s blessing. Agivir raised him and the two exchanged a few quiet words and embraced quickly.

  The King regarded the assembled company, then took his chair. “Be seated,” he said, and everyone sank back into their seats.

  “Let us say that we are grateful for the help of our Crown Prince in this difficult time, for taking over the planning of this battle,” Agivir said. “In order to see our dear, departed Queen given proper honor, we have been attending to planning her lying-in-state and funeral.” The King’s voice shook as he mentioned his dead wife.

  “But we thank the Goddess for our stalwart sons, who have taken up our duties with the army so capably,” Agivir continued. “We have heard that we face battle tomorrow. So be it. Pela shall prevail, this we swear to you!”

  Eregard leaped to his feet, drawing his sword, holding it out in salute across the table. The assembled officers followed his example, as did Prince Adranan. Last of all was Prince Salesin.

  “All hail Agivir, King of Pela!” Eregard shouted amidst the ring of the blades crossing over the long, timeworn table.

  “Hail King Agivir!” came the response, but Jezzil could not hear Salesin’s voice among the others, though the Prince’s lips moved.

  The King inclined his head graciously, obviously touched by Eregard’s tribute.

  As the last echoes of that heartfelt cheer faded away, Salesin stepped forward, his sword held straight up before his face in salute. “May the Goddess be praised that we have such a king to lead us into battle on the morrow.” He lowered his sword and turned to the assembled officers, smiling broadly. “Good news, comrades and friends! My father plans to personally lead the center brigade!”

  Eregard blinked, then stiffened, and Agivir looked up at Salesin, taken aback. Oh, this Crown Prince is devious, Jezzil thought, dismayed. By Arenar, there is now no way for Agivir to allow his general to lead in his stead, lest he seem to be a coward.

  “But … but I thought—” Eregard stammered, then broke off when Jezzil stepped down hard upon his foot. The Prince clamped his mouth shut, his eyes smoldering.

  Agivir cleared his throat. “Indeed, yes,” he said slowly.

  “We will, of course, lead our troops tomorrow.” He glanced at his servants. “See to it that our warhorse armor is polished and that Banner is suitably arrayed.”

  The servants bowed and withdrew.

  “And now, to business,” Agivir said. “We shall review the battle plan. Salesin, will you begin?”

  Eregard sank back into his seat, his features cold and impassive. But Jezzil saw his eyes before the Prince lowered them, and they were filled with fear.

  The Battle

  As she stood peering into the gloom of Ombal Pass in the predawn darkness, Talis shivered. The wind coming down from the mountains was chill, and she shivered again, worse than before. Like all of the cavalry, she was in uniform, cap, padded unde
rtunic, metal and leather cuirass, then her uniform jacket, breeches and high boots. It was summer … she shouldn’t have been cold. But she was.

  She cursed softly as she stood beside the horse she’d been assigned, a sedate, overfed chestnut mare that had to be kicked into a trot. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered to Jezzil, who was standing beside her, holding Falar. “My first bedamned battle, and do I get to fight? No! I get stuck back behind the lines with the First Battalion, Company Two, of the Royal Dragoons. Who are being held as reserves. And that means we’re downhill from the front lines, and we can’t even see. It’s not fair!”

  Jezzil grunted noncommittally.

  She shifted restlessly. “I feel like a mouse shut up in a corn bin. How do we know the enemy is even out there?”

  “Scouts,” Jezzil reminded her.

  “Scouts, yes, of course,” Talis admitted sourly. “But we’re back here, and we’ll be lucky if we can even see what’s happening. Much less get to fight. And after I spent all that time training with you. I should—” Hearing herself, she broke off with a faint snort of laughter. “Listen to me, I haven’t heard such whining since my horse stepped on the hound’s foot.”

  There was a long pause, then she sighed. “I can’t seem to stop talking,” she whispered. “Or shivering.”

  His head turned and he glanced at her. “You’re just keyed up,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

  Minutes crawled by as the reserve company stood to horse, waiting. A faint glow in the eastern sky appeared, growing steadily brighter. Finally, the commanding officer of their Cavalry Reserve Unit, Major Sir Arcoli q’Rindo, rode down the ranks. “Company Two, mount up!”

  Talis’s heart slammed in her chest, and she barely had the presence of mind to check the girth and tighten it. The mare, who went by the unimaginative name “Lady,” backed her ears and swung her head around as she felt the strap tighten.

  “Don’t even think about biting me,” Talis muttered, raising a fist. Chastened, Lady turned away.