Rain pattered along the outside of Ipid’s tent in a rhythm that overstated its misty intensity. He searched anxiously through the percussion of tiny drops for the sounds of battle in the distance. Any moment now, Thorold’s horn would mark the beginning of the Battle of Testing, and all he could do was sit, wait, and listen.
Yawn after yawn racked him, but he fought the sleep that weighed on him like a stone blanket, dragging down his eyelids, slumping his shoulders, and pressing his head time and again toward the ground. He had not slept in two nights, and the deprivation was starting to show. After two days and a night preparing the city for the testing, he had ridden through the worst downpour he remembered so that he could sit in an interminable Ashüt meeting. It had ended hours ago, and he had been fighting sleep ever since. He knew that if he slept, he would not wake, and he could not allow himself to miss the battle, even if he could only listen to it from the confines of his tent.
He had hoped that he would, at least, be allowed to be with the village boys during the testing, but Arin had told him that they were being punished because some of their number had murdered a clansman in an attempt to flee the camp. It was a crime that had been heavily debated by the Ashüt with Arin barely holding off the faction that would see the te-adeate killed for the crime. In the end, it was the Battle of Testing that saved them – te-adeate could be collectively punished for the crimes of their fellows but other classes could not – and that made what would happen in a few minutes all the more important. If the people of the Kingdoms remained te-adeate, it was likely all the village boys would be killed for the crimes of a foolish few.
Another jaw-popping yawn racked Ipid’s body. His eyes drifted relentlessly shut. He caught himself just as his head was dropping to the ground and pulled his eyes open. To keep himself awake, he thought about what he would see if he were watching the battlefield rather than the flap of a tent. The city had gotten word of the invaders almost a week before their arrival, and that had allowed them to gather and arm over ten thousand men, but only a fraction of those had any training beyond a week of siege preparation. The others were craftsmen, farmers, merchants, the too old, and the too young. They were poorly equipped and barely trained. Ipid had spoken with every unit, had told them why the battle was important, had told them everything he had seen, but they had enlisted to shuttle supplies, repair defenses, push back ladders, defend walls. As harrowing as that would be, it was a long cry from standing on an open field against the demon stoche, giant Darthur, and an army that outnumbered them many times over.
A ruffling sort of knock at the flap of his tent roused Ipid from his thoughts. He looked up in time to see a black hood duck inside. “May I join you?” a familiar voice said.
Before Ipid could respond, Eia stepped through the flap and deposited herself on the ground facing him with her knees almost touching his in the small space. “I promise not to kiss you, if that is your concern.” She pulled the hood back from her face. The sparse light of the tent radiated from her pale skin and wild curls of luminescent hair. Despite the rain falling outside, it did not look like a drop had touched her robes.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ipid managed to whisper. Arin had made it clear that he was supposed to wait in his tent alone.
“Do not worry.” Eia placed a hand on his knee – he could feel the chill of her fingers even through the wool of his pants. “The camp is as empty as the Great Waste. No one has seen me, and if I so desired, they would not see me even if they stuck their heads through this flap.” She closed her eyes and mumbled a few strange words. When she stopped, she faded from view until she was gone.
Ipid searched for her with his hand and found her heavy robes and the slender arm beneath. He held her arm in disbelief as he reached down to where her knee pressed against his. His groping hand came down on her slim thigh. Eia giggled and slowly reappeared.
“You have broken my spell.” She smiled around a giggle and a glance at his hand resting far too high on her thigh. “Touch me with two hands and I cannot maintain the deception. It is not a very good use of the gift. It does not work in full daylight or if several people look at me at the same time.”
Ipid snapped his hand back, but it was the least of his concerns. His mind swam. Things like that were not supposed to be possible, and if that was not a very good use of her power. . . . He wondered what else his new friend could do, and what her real motivations might be – he still remembered what Valati Lorenzo had said about the Exiles.
“Why are you here?” he asked more accusatory than he meant.
“Are you not happy to see me?” Eia made a false pout. “I told you I would not kiss you, you great prude.”
“I don’t have time for games,” Ipid snapped.
“I am sorry.” Eia found his hand and put hers on top of it – it was made of ice. “The Belab has asked me to keep you company this day. He has asked me to help you, and I gladly agreed.”
“I don’t want company. The people fighting out there are my friends, my servants, my workers, my countrymen. Please try to understand how that makes me feel.”
“You don’t think I understand?” Eia’s eyes blazed. “I was there when our order was slaughtered. I have the scars to prove it. If I had not chosen to stand with the Belab, I would have been butchered like the rest of those who held their oaths. It is a shame and a memory that I live with every day. Do not tell me that I do not understand. More than anyone, I understand, we understand.”
Ipid was set back as Eia’s flirtations turned cold. She did not raise her voice, but she did not have to. He did not know what to say. How could he have been so insensitive and selfish, especially after what Belab had told him? He stammered to apologize.
“You need not apologize.” Eia's face softened, malevolence gone as fast as it had come. “It is I that should apologize. I do understand what you are feeling. If I were you, I would not want me here either.” She paused, and Ipid thought that she might actually leave. Suddenly, he wanted nothing less. “But,” she raising her eyes to his, “I have something that may change your mind.”
Ipid opened his mouth to tell her that was not necessary. Her finger covered his lips to silence him. She began chanting in the strange language that seemed to be part of her magic. She put her hands over his eyes and held them there. A second later, a charge arched through his body in a single spasm. When it was gone, he was no longer looking at Eia or the tent. He was looking down on the Thoren common lands from a nearby hill. Horsemen surrounded him on all sides. The city folk were arrayed in the field in the distance, stacked in a series of long rows. At their sides were the few mounted men the city could muster. It was just as they had drawn it the day before.
Immediately in front of him was a mass of black that could only be the stoche. Their numbers were far more than Ipid would have guessed. There must have been thousands of the creatures stretching the entire length of the invaders’ line as far as the eye could see in each direction. The creatures churned in a frenzy that did not allow his eyes to fix on any one of the things. It made them look like a single entity with cruel blades, teeth, and claws each catching the sparse light in turn. It reminded him of something he had seen before, but he could not remember what or where. A mass of black with shining teeth, claws, and wicked eyes. . . .
He felt cold hands on his ears. Another spasm of power hit him just in time to hear the deafening peal of Thorold great horn. It was echoed by the sound of others from further along the line and then the roar of thousands of men all yelling together.
Looking behind him, Ipid saw the Darthur in row after row leading down the hill. Behind them were the non-Darthur warriors in every array and configuration. All told it was more armed men than he had ever seen assembled in one place or ever cared to see. All of those men were well-armed, able-bodied, and seasoned. The city folk did not stand a chance.
Turning his eyes forward, he s
aw the wave of stoche flying down the hill and across the field. "Do you think there will be any of them left by the time we get to them?” Suddenly terrified, Ipid turned to the familiar voice and looked into Arin’s clear blue eyes. What has Eia done? He tried to run. He rose to his feet, tripped backward, and nearly collapsed his tent as he fell into the back wall with a thud. When he hit the ground, the image was gone. He was looking at Eia. She was disoriented and rubbing her eyes.
“What . . . what happened?” He checked himself and his surroundings. He was still in the tent. Arin was nowhere to be found, and he was thoroughly confused.
“I used my power.” Eia sounded distant and tired. “I was allowing you to see the battle. When you pulled away, you broke the spell and created an influx in the power I was drawing upon.” She reached out and grabbed his hand in her soft, but ice-cold, grasp. “Please, calm down. It will help me recover.”
“How could you do that?” Ipid concentrated on slowing his panting breaths and pounding heart. “Did he see me?” The thought sent another wave of panic through him. Eia groaned in response.
“Please, be still,” she insisted. “I am very sensitive to the power right now, and you are creating it with your hysteria. Arin did not see you. You never left this tent.”
Ipid sighed in relief. “So what can’t you do with these powers of yours?”
Eia smiled, looking better. “My gift is nothing next to that of the Belab and the Belan Hilaal. These tricks are mere parlor games in comparison. I am Caliele Hilaal. My gift is to draw on the ebbs and flows of the power of Hilaal. I am not as strong as many of my fellows, but my gift is more subtle and I do not need as much power to use it.
“The Belan Hilaal, in comparison, draw on the full magnitude of Hilaal’s gift. They use vast amounts of energy but can only do so in short bursts. Their powers are far more profound than mine, but they need a much larger source to draw upon and tend to struggle with the more subtle aspects of our craft. In a battle such as the one taking place outside your city, their abilities are almost unlimited, but in a quiet forest grove or a sleeping village, they would be helpless.”
Eia looked at Ipid. He was not sure that he had understood a word of what she had said – what was this power anyway? But he suddenly remembered the battle raging so close by, and his questions seemed frivolous.
“It is all far more complicated than that, but you could probably care less.” Eia laughed. “I am sorry that I have bored you. Again, there are more pressing concerns than my philosophizing.”
“No. I actually have countless questions. I am sorry if I did not seem interested.” Ipid did have a thousand questions waiting on his tongue, but Eia was correct about more pressing concerns.
“Please. You do not need to apologize. I am feeling better now. If you would like to see the battle, I can use my gift again. This time, I will warn you. Please, stay calm, and keep hold of my hands. If you want to ask me questions, we can talk as normal. Remember, you are not there. You are only seeing and hearing what is there. No matter what happens, you are still here with me in this tent.”
“I understand.” Ipid nodded and moved closer so that they could comfortably hold hands. “Thank you for doing this. I am sorry I was short before.”
“Apology accepted.” Eia smiled then began mumbling. Ipid felt the power rush through him and was back on top of the hill, watching the battle. It was purest anarchy.
From Across the Clouded Range Page 103
