by Hal Emerson
The dagger pressed closer, and her eyes glowed hard and sharp and bright, two points of emerald fury. The Prince knew that the razor sharp metal was a bare fraction of pressure away from breaking the skin and drawing blood.
And then her mouth turned down again at the corners, and her face twitched. Suddenly the Prince saw through the mask of anger to the terrible grief that lay below, and he understood; all of it came together in a very simple way, like leaves falling from an autumn tree, leaving the easily seen silhouette of branches behind. And when he saw her, stripped of her masking anger, his heart broke for her.
“I don’t want to care for you anymore,” she said, breath coming in short, heavy sighs, lips twitching. “I don’t want to care for anyone. I want to be like a dagger, unable to feel anything, just sharp enough to cut. My father is dead, my brother is going to die in Formaux, and you … the one person that….”
She shook her head and broke off, gripping the dagger tighter, her eyes bright and piercing.
“I will see you again,” the Prince said quietly. “I swear it. If I have to cross continents and swim oceans, I will come for you.”
Her eyes flicked back and forth between his, trying to decide whether or not he was lying, trying to see if he meant it. And then the dagger was gone, fallen to the floor, and her hands were in his hair, her lips fiercely pressed against his. He reached unconsciously through the Raven Talisman and felt her life, the beautiful grace of her.
She pulled away, still barely inches from him, and looked him in the eye, one hand still buried in his hair, the other clutching his arm.
“You are mine,” she said, with all the ferocity of a wild thing, “and you will live, or I will cut my way through the heart of this world and beyond the veil to bring you back.”
And then she was gone, the only evidence of her departure the impression of her life on his mind, and the burning outline of the kiss on his lips.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Road to Formaux
The next day greeted them with mist and fog, which suited the Prince just fine. After the fight with the Daemon, the planning of the invasion, and the conversation with Leah, he had spent most of the night trying and failing to find sleep. When he’d finally retreated to his tent, after submitting to Elder Keri’s insistent ministrations, he’d only wound up staring at the cloth roof, listening to the wind blowing all around them, gusting so powerfully that it seemed ready to rip the tent up off the ground.
The farewells were few; they had all agreed that time was of the essence. The Prince and his smaller force of Scouts, led by Autmaran, and Rangers, led by Davydd and Lorna, needed to be gone immediately. As Spader carefully reminded him, the longer they waited until the dagger was back in the hands of the Elders the harder it would be to set the illusions back in place to protect the Kindred lands. As for saying goodbye to the rest of them – he didn’t trust himself in the presence of Leah, knowing that the sight of her might convince him not to leave at all.
The one man he did say goodbye to was Tomaz. The Prince had tried to come up with a way to include Tomaz and Leah in the expedition to Formaux, but had known from the outset they were needed with the main force: they were the only two who knew the secret way over the Black Walls of Banelyn.
“Take care of yourself my friend,” rumbled the big man. “I won’t be there to save you from roaming bands of Death Watchmen this time around.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said Davydd, coming up through the morning mist that cloaked the land, walking past them to the far side of the camp to where Autmaran was gathering their force.
“You can’t even take care of yourself!” Rumbled Tomaz with a grin. Once Davydd had passed on, however, the grin faded, and the giant looked down at the Prince with careful, solemn eyes.
“I am being serious though,” said Tomaz, his brow furrowed. “There is something about this that doesn’t feel right. I know the plan is sound – actually I think it’s the best plan we have. But there is still something that is bothering me … something that I can’t place.”
“I’ve learned by now to trust you,” the Prince said, watching and listening intently. “Your instincts are downright uncanny at times. What is it that you have misgivings about? The invasion? Banelyn?”
“No,” Tomaz said, shaking his head, his black hair and beard swirling the mists around them. “I have misgivings about Formaux.”
The Prince nodded slowly.
“I know the place is … somewhat of a taboo for the Kindred. But I know my brother … if anyone can get us in and out alive it’s me.”
“I know that,” Tomaz said, “and if you weren’t leading them, then I would be doing my best to stop the whole thing. I know why you’re going too, and I know it’s important; after all I’m the one who brought it up. But at the same time … I have the feeling it’s a trap. The Fox must know someone will come for the dagger.”
“I thought of that,” the Prince said grimly. “I’m not looking forward to working my way through the city.”
“Do you know anything about it?” Tomaz asked, looking at him with concern.
“I know the general layout, from books I read in the Fortress, as well as some things I overheard said ... but otherwise … no.”
The Prince wished he could have given a different answer, something that would have helped sooth Tomaz’s – and his own – anxiety, but he couldn’t lie to the big man, not even for a good reason. He knew Tomaz wouldn’t lie to him, or hold anything back, and he owed it to Tomaz to be equally frank.
“Well then,” Tomaz rumbled, “it will be an interesting trip.”
“I’ll be careful,” the Prince said, trying to invest as much confidence into the words as he could. “We’ll be in and out before he knows what happened.”
Tomaz nodded, though his eyes told the Prince he didn’t think it would be that way.
“I’ll see you in Banelyn,” he said to the giant. “And tell Leah … tell her I’ll see her there too.”
“You don’t want to say goodbye in person?”
“We … said goodbye yesterday.”
“Really? I didn’t think you in the tent that long.”
The Prince felt his cheeks turn bright red and Tomaz leered at him.
“That’s it,” the Prince said, turning and leaving, “I’m going to die just to spite you.”
Tomaz roared with laughter and then turned to help organize the rest of the army as it mobilized for Banelyn.
The Prince met with Autmaran, Davydd, and Lorna, found everything had been finalized, and so they began the journey to the east.
They traveled the road quickly, going through the pass that he had cleared the night before and then taking the branch of the main road that led east. The rest of the force would be close behind them, but they would head north, where the road became the long Imperial Road that stretched from Lucien all the way to Roarke. They had avoided this road at first because it was the most traveled, but now stealth was less important than moving quickly, and so they had decided to risk it.
The force of Scouts and Rangers, all mounted, moved at a constant trot, their horses fresh, as the days rolled by. They stopped each night to rest at sunset, but otherwise moved on through the day as far as they could go while there was light to see by. Now and then there were parties of travelers or Defenders who moved along the road, but the advanced scouts gave them plenty of warning, and their smaller force was able to fade quietly into the woods and marshes that surrounded the road to Formaux and remain undetected. The one time a group of Defenders grew suspicious and began to leave the road, they were dealt with quickly by the dead-eye marksmen among the Scouts. The Prince worried about the Defenders noticing some of their fellows were missing, but it couldn’t be helped. You could only conceal the presence of an army for so long.
But the weather helped certainly helped. As they moved farther north and east the land became forested, and increasingly humid. The journey, which had begun in fog, continued in fog, nearly thick enough to
mask them from all prying eyes, but also thick enough that it was becoming a visibility problem.
“You can’t get me a more accurate report on our surroundings?” Autmaran asked his men when they returned from scouting trips.
“I’m sorry sir,” said the Scout rider, “but I can barely see my own nose out there half the time.”
Autmaran nodded.
“I understand. Keep trying – and get us news as soon as you see another Defender patrol coming toward us. Three men were injured and one killed last time, we can’t afford that.”
“Yes, sir!”
As the man left, Autmaran turned to the Prince, Davydd and Lorna, who had gathered in the makeshift command tent they had set up for the night – it was barely an eighth the size of the larger tent the Generals had used with the main army, but it was large enough for the four of them and a map table, which was more than enough to serve the intended purpose. Autmaran’s customary Ashandel and Eshendai companions, Polim and Palum, had remained with the main army to serve under Tomaz and Leah.
“We know we’re here,” Autmaran said, placing a small white stone on the map where they, as best as they could deduce, had found themselves. It was about half the distance to Formaux – they still had another week’s worth of travel.
In this fog it may be twice that, thought the Prince, worried.
“But that is about the extent of our knowledge. We could be walking into an ambush for all we know and we’d be none the wiser. I apologize for the lack of information.”
“Oh shut up Auty,” said Davydd, “we know that if it were anyone but the Scouts we would be going in circles. We’re making better progress than could be expected in such circumstances – that’s what matters for now.”
They spent the next week lurking in mist and shadows that only increased as they continued down the road to Formaux. The Third Province was known for its bogs and swamps, and it seemed that the warm spring air was turning them into natural fog producers. The Kindred continued forward, hoping that through stealth and speed they would beat any news of their arrival from outposts or scouts, but they all began to worry. They saw no one and heard nothing from the swampy forests around them. It was eerie – the countryside was too empty. There were no farms, no outlying villages. The land was completely deserted.
And then the day came, finally, when their scouts returned and told them they were only an hour or two outside the city. Autmaran called the Prince, Davydd, and Lorna together once more, to make sure everything was in readiness.
“So you’re sure the Raven Talisman will keep us safe from the Fox?” Davydd asked.
“Yes,” the Prince said, with much more conviction than he felt. He knew the Talisman would protect him – but he didn’t know if it would really extend to those with him. Too much around Tiffenal was unpredictable – the natural laws of probability were completely skewed. All the games were rigged and all the dice were weighted.
“It’s the nature of the Fox Talisman,” he explained. There were a few more officers with them tonight, two lieutenants and Autmaran’s master sergeant, a lean, gaunt man named Crewd who looked tough enough to hammer in a nail with the side of his head. And from his scars, it looked as though he may have tried.
“What do you mean?” Asked Autmaran. His black skin, the color of dark, well-oiled wood, almost concealed him in the black night, only his eyes standing out in the flickering shadows of the oil lamp they used.
“The Fox Talisman tilts luck in Tiffenal’s favor,” the Prince said, “which means that anything that happens inside the city, any accident, is something that will turn out to help him. It has a wide range – the widest outside of Rikard’s Lion Talisman – and it’s been known to interfere with mine in the past.”
“Sometimes the Talismans clash,” the Prince continued, trying to find a way to explain it to them. “They’re all based in basic Bloodmagic, and because they’re each so powerful they sometimes make strange things happen.”
“When you fought Ramael though he had the full strength of the Ox Talisman,” Autmaran said. “So it didn’t work against him.”
“It might have actually,” the Prince said, thinking back. “Ramael was infamous for being so strong no blade could cut him if he saw it coming. The Ox Talisman strengthens the body – every part of the body – so even his skin would have become tough, like an extra layer of thick leather armor.”
“But you killed him,” Davydd said, “which means you think the Raven Talisman screwed with the Ox when you got close enough.”
“It’s possible,” the Prince said, “but it’s also possible that because I struck with Aemon’s Blade, which is Valerium, the Talismans weren’t playing off each other at all.”
“So it’s six dozen one way, half twelve the other,” said Davydd.
“You mean six one way, half dozen the other.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“So what I’m hearing,” Autmaran said, “is that if the Talismans don’t offset, then we need Valerium. Which means Lorna, you, and Davydd, are the ones that fight him.”
The Prince nodded.
“Us and anyone else that has Valerium – it confounds Bloodmagic, which the Empire doesn’t know about. How you’ve kept it a secret this long I can’t understand, but there you have it.”
“So,” Autmaran concluded, “we get to Formaux, see what the guard is like. Then we send a group in to infiltrate, maybe attack the city itself, and hope that the Raven Talisman helps us.”
The Prince nodded and looked around at the others. Davydd looked excited, and Lorna solemn, but neither had questions. Autmaran nodded.
“Tell your under-captains,” he said to Davydd and Lorna, “and I’ll send the word to mine. We attack at nightfall.”
They broke camp that afternoon, having stayed in place, hidden in the forest, so they could reach the city by night. Two patrols had come their way, and they’d been lucky enough to capture or kill all the members before they raised an alarm. So far, it looked as if they had arrived undetected. Their first sight of Formaux came as the sun was in the final stages of setting, lighting the walls with a deep red, making them look bloodstained.
The city itself, visible just over the walls, was almost heart-breaking in its beauty. It rested on top of a tall, wide hill, out of the mire of swamps surrounding it, where it sat majestically, capped by a beautiful palace made of soaring stone spires. The seat of a Prince indeed.
The walls were nothing compared to those of Banelyn – nothing compared to those of Roarke even. But that was because they didn’t have to be – if Tiffenal didn’t want you to leave, a random series of events would prevent you from ever doing so. Invaders would find inside the city that half their arrows went awry while each Formaux soldier was twice as accurate– an effect the Prince hoped the Raven Talisman would counteract. All told though, it was surprising that the city had walls at all. Quite possibly they were simply ornamental.
What will happen if we’re captured?
He shook his head to dispel the thought. He couldn’t think like that. If he started, he wouldn’t stop, and he’d end up once more in the dark places in his mind that seemed to wait, calling to him, whispering that all was hopeless, that he should give in to despair. He could not think about defeat – he had to think that they would be successful.
“Okay,” he said, turning to Autmaran. “We’re here. What’s the plan?”
“A diversion,” he responded immediately, his voice quiet, just like the Prince’s. Perhaps it was being so close to one of the capital cities, but speaking in anything louder than a whisper felt as if they were testing their luck … as if somehow Tiffenal could hear them.
“The Scouts are fast, and brilliant at ambushes,” the Commander continued. Davydd and Lorna came up and joined them then, and the four of them squatted down where they’d been standing. Autmaran began to draw in the dirt at their feet with a thick, calloused finger.
“Swamps ring Formaux to the north, south,
and east,” Autmaran said. “If we commit enough troops to a ‘failed’ incursion against their walls, I’m willing to bet that it will be seen as an attempt to take the walls in the night. If we show our ‘army’ here along the tree line, and give whoever is watching a good glimpse of our force, but not too good of a glimpse, they’ll think we have more men than we truly have. Once the force at the gates ‘fails’ and falls back, we’ll sound a retreat, and I have no doubt they’ll ride out in force to follow us. Once they do, a second force, led by you three, can scale the walls here using the ladders.”
“Ladders?” Davydd asked, looking confused. “Since when do we have ladders?”
“My idea to bring them,” said the Prince, allowing himself a small, proud smile. “They’re rope ladders – something I saw a schematic for in the Fortress Libraries. You shoot arrows into the wooden roofs of guardhouses and use a simple pulley system to unfurl a rope ladder that reaches to the top of the wall. A few men scale it, tie the ladder off to something more secure, makes sure all is clear, and then they signal for the rest of us to make the ascent. It’s perfect for use in a place like this –”
