Somehow, Shade rose, blood running from his mouth, eyes wide with fear. He struggled up the stairs. His cloak caught on the stone and pulled away from him. He left it behind.
Rowen fumbled blindly for his sword. Finally, his hands closed over the dragonbone hilt. It felt so hot he could barely touch it. He hefted the sword anyway. It felt alive in his grasp, even more so than it had in the depths of Cadavash.
He considered chasing down the sorcerer and finishing him. Instead, shielding his eyes with his free hand, he tried to locate Silwren through the glare. But all he saw was light—light and fire.
Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the light and fire vanished. Silwren stood in the corridor, a mad look in her eyes, the clothes burned from her body. She stared at him without recognition. He feared for a moment that she would kill him. Then she pitched forward, collapsing into a fragile heap. Beneath her, the floor of the jailhouse looked blackened, as though kissed by a dragon’s breath.
Captain Ferocles could hardly believe the story when he heard it. As nightfall spread over the city, a squad of soldiers had left the barracks for the jailhouse at shift change to relieve their comrades. Upon entering, they found guards and prisoners—all dead. They descended into the basement, swords drawn, and discovered Corporal Locke with the Shel’ai.
Ferocles was surprised his men did not kill them. Instead, they sent word. When he arrived, he ordered everyone else upstairs. Locke recounted his story. Despite the tale’s strangeness, Ferocles could tell by the look on Locke’s face that he was either too stunned to tell anything but the truth, or else he was the world’s greatest liar. Ferocles knew they had to act fast. So he sent a runner to the Knights.
“Who do I fetch, Captain?” the runner asked.
Ferocles grimaced at the thought of soliciting the help of Crovis Ammerhel. And Sir Vossmore was obviously no more than Ammerhel’s lapdog. “Find that pretty Knight of the Stag and bring her here.”
The runner’s eyes widened. “Captain... the woman?”
Ferocles shoved the man toward the door.
Aeko Shingawa appeared more quickly than he expected, a squad of her most trusted Knights in tow. Despite the abrupt summons, they appeared in full battle dress. Ferocles thought she would blanch when she saw the bloodshed. Instead, her almond eyes narrowed, one hand on her adamune. “Who did this?”
Ferocles said, “According to Locke, it was another Shel’ai.”
“Locke?”
“He’s in the basement, with the wytch and her friend, both of whom sleep like the dead.” He glanced at the blood and bodies still covering the jailhouse floor. “No disrespect to these poor bastards.”
“And where is the one who did this?”
“Fled.” Ferocles shrugged. “I’d like to think even sorcerers have trouble slipping past locked gates, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Have you sent men after him?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Ferocles was glad they had opened the windows. At least a little of the stench had cleared from the air, but his nerves were wearing thin. He gestured at the ghastly mess all around them. “These are my men, Knight! And those prisoners—no matter what they did—were still citizens of Lyos! I’ll flay this bastard’s guts if it takes the whole Red Watch to do it!”
“It might.” Aeko held up her hands. “Peace, Captain. I understand your anger. But our first duty is to keep word of this”—she hesitated, glancing around them—“incident from spreading throughout the city, unless you want another riot.”
Ferocles glowered at her. “I’d rather drink my men’s piss than admit you’re right.”
“But we both know I am,” Aeko said. “If the Light wills it, Captain, we will find and kill this sorcerer. I swear it. But first, we must look to the city.”
Ferocles stalked past her, barking orders to his men. Most of them milled uneasily outside the jailhouse, talking in frightened whispers. More than a few had already vomited there.
Waving off her loyal Knights, Aeko descended into the lower level to find Rowen Locke. The cells of the lower level were all empty, save for one that contained two prone figures. One—a woman—slept beneath a singed, bone-white cloak sewn in crimson greatwolves and splotched with blood. As Aeko drew nearer, she saw how, even in fitful sleep, Silwren resembled some exotic heroine from an ancient mural. No wonder Locke keeps risking his skin for her!
Then she noticed the cell itself. The door of iron bars was not open, as she first thought, but wrenched apart. Rowen Locke sat on the floor with his back to the cell, a sheathed sword across his knees. His head hung low. But he jumped at the sound of her approach, fumbling for his weapon.
“Peace, Locke. It’s just me.” She looked him over. “You’re wounded.”
Rowen rose with difficulty, using his sword as a crutch. Aeko’s eyes fell on his exquisite adamune and widened. That mattered little to her, but it seemed uncharacteristic of Rowen to violate one of the many laws of the Codex Viticus that he had so eagerly tried to learn on the Isles. She wondered how she hadn’t noticed the sword before. Shaking off this thought, she returned her attention to his wounds.
“Just some scratches,” Rowen said boldly, but she saw how he winced when he moved. “A cleric of Tier’Gothma already tended them.”
Aeko nodded and looked into the cell. She found it unnerving to be this close to Shel’ai. She had never seen them before. Silwren looked peaceful enough, despite the strangeness of the long, tapered ears emerging from her platinum tresses. Then she saw the other Shel’ai, the one who must be El’rash’lin.
The breath caught in her throat. “By the Light...” All that was visible of the man’s body was his face and hands, but that was enough. The skin looked as though it had been cut a dozen times then had healed as well as it could over a tattered tapestry of warts and sores. She thought back on Rowen’s strange tale—that these two had been infused with power like that of the Dragonkin, only to have that very magic threaten to devour them each time they used it.
Silwren appeared to be in the grasp of a nightmare, trembling fitfully beneath a bone-white cloak, but she was anything but ghastly. How convenient for Rowen. Did her beauty mean Silwren had not fully embraced her power or that the Shel’ai’s story was a lie?
Aeko decided not to press this for the moment. “I’ll hand you a silver cranáf if you can explain this in terms I’ll understand.”
Rowen answered with a chilling smile that seemed almost mad. She was glad when he sheathed his sword and laid it aside. “You won’t believe a word of it.”
Aeko said, “I swear by the Light to try.”
That was good enough. Rowen told her about arriving at the jailhouse to find the guards and prisoners dead. His pitched duel with the dark-garbed fighter. The sadistic Shel’ai who went down to the lower level, presumably to kill Silwren and El’rash’lin, only to be driven away.
Aeko looked at both Shel’ai again and sighed. Her hand rested on the hilt of her own adamune. In a low voice, she said, “Locke, I don’t have to tell you what a terrible mess we are in.”
Rowen said nothing.
“I sent word to Crovis. I had to. I’m sure by now, King Pelleas knows about this, too. There’s a good chance that neither will believe what you told me. In fact, they may have decided you helped these two kill everyone upstairs in an effort to escape.”
Rowen reached for his sword again. “Let them think what they like.”
Despite herself, Aeko had to conceal a smile. “You understand, they may come for you soon.” She gestured at the two sleeping Shel’ai. “You and these wytches.”
Rowen nodded tightly.
“And can you say with certainty that these two had no part in the slaughter upstairs?”
“Commander, I swear that on my life.”
Aeko nodded, satisfied. “Unfortunately, that changes nothing. At best, we are left with an army fueled by sorcery that will be laying siege to this city the day after t
omorrow. And our strongest allies appear to be two renegade wytches who refuse to fight.”
Rowen hesitated. She saw him look at Silwren again. By the Light, is he falling in love with her?
“They’ll fight with the time comes,” Rowen said. “I swear it, Commander.”
Aeko’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve sworn many things, Locke. Be careful that you do not overextend your honor.”
Rowen flinched.
Aeko looked into the cell again, eyeing the Shel’ai. “Two things must be done here,” she said at last. “To protect the wytches, we must get them out of here. Take them somewhere Crovis, the king, and the good captain will not find them.”
Rowen’s expression soured. “I know a place.”
Aeko nodded. “The second thing, then, is to protect you. I know of only one way to do that. I’ll waive your dismissal and make you my personal squire.”
Rowen’s eyes widened. “Commander...”
Aeko waved him off. “You’ll be under my charge, answerable only to me. By Shao law, Crovis cannot touch you without a trial. And King Pelleas will not move against you for fear of alienating me on the eve of battle. There are formal ceremonies and oaths, but we can dispense with those for the moment.” She added, “Don’t thank me yet, Squire. It remains to be seen whether or not I’ve done anything but prolong the inevitable.” She pointed at the unconscious sorcerers. “Now, remove these two from my sight.”
Rowen, roused from his daze, went into Silwren’s cell to wake her.
Aeko watched from the corridor, one hand still resting on her sword. Footsteps made her turn. A Knight of the Crane was bounding down the stairs toward her, his face flushed.
“Commander, they send for you. A patrol of Red Watch just clashed with the Throng’s vanguard!”
Aeko swore under her breath. She did not have to ask the Knight which side had won. “And Captain Ferocles?”
“Already left for the battlements.”
Good. She pointed at Rowen and told the Knight, “Help him. Whatever he needs, no matter how fey it sounds. Henceforth, he is my personal squire, subject only to my judgment.” She added, “Swear it on your honor.”
The Isle Knight’s eyes widened, but he nodded without hesitation. “On my honor.”
Aeko considered asking about Rowen’s adamune then decided she had more urgent concerns. She gave him a parting look of sympathy and rushed up the stairs, into the chaos that awaited her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
BROKEN OATHS
Torches blazed along the parapets like unfriendly jewels. The battlements bristled with soldiers of the Red Watch and Isle Knights, the latter gleaming in their cold steel mail. Archers and pikemen rushed to and fro, many of them wide-eyed and shouting, as though the siege had already begun. Aeko shook her head with disapproval. If the people see this, it’ll create a panic!
Sure enough, the people of Lyos were spilling from their homes. Mothers in simple Lyosi sarongs held their crying children while fathers stood agape. All wanted answers. Crowds were forming.
Aeko cursed, touching her sword’s hilt. There must already have been rumors flying around, after witnesses saw soldiers and Knights rushing to the jailhouse. Now this. She could assign the squires to help the Red Watch restore order again, but that would take time.
She turned her attention to the gates that opened onto King’s Bend. Wounded men streamed in, leading horses laden with the dead. Some of the men shouted. Others cried. Aeko spotted Captain Ferocles and ran to him. “What is this?”
The captain grimaced in the torch glow. “A gods-damned mess, that’s what it is! One of my patrols blundered right into the Throng’s vanguard. Their sergeant panicked. I’d have his head if the Throng hadn’t already taken it.” He pointed at a ghastly corpse in the distance, already being pulled down from a horse by a pair of soldiers.
Aeko asked, “How many casualties?”
“Ten dead at least, six more missing.” He grabbed Aeko’s arm and squeezed so tightly that she was tempted to break his wrist to make him release her. “It wasn’t even that demon of theirs! Just one Shel’ai and a vanguard. He cast some kind of devilry on my men’s horses—kept them from running. Then the Throng’s elite—those devil-fast warriors in black leathers—cut my men to ribbons.” His body shook, though Aeko could not tell if it was in rage or fear. “Gods, how are we supposed to fight that?”
Aeko twisted free of the captain’s grasp, acutely aware of soldiers and citizens alike eavesdropping on the captain’s every word. “Captain, lower your damn voice.”
Ferocles blinked. “Of course. You’re right.” He pointed to the gates, still open, revealing the dark, empty horizon beyond Pallantine Hill. “They’re not far now. Ammerhel was wrong. They’re not turning to face the Dhargots. They’re coming for us!”
“Tell the king,” Aeko said. Doubtless, the king already knew, but just then she wanted the captain—and his temper—somewhere else.
“No need. Pelleas knew your leader was wrong!” Nevertheless, the Captain of the Red Watch hurried off, toward the palace at the city’s eastern edge.
Aeko stood where he left her, fists clenched. She spotted Sir Crovis Ammerhel on the parapets above her. Sir Paltrick Vossmore stood with him. Both men were staring at her. Crovis had a faint smile on his face.
Aeko, swallowing her contempt, ascended the stairs and joined them. She bowed. Vossmore returned the gesture. Crovis did not. The latter said, “I thought he was going to strike you for a moment. I’d have taken his hand if he did.”
“Thank you, Captain Ammerhel. But I can take care of myself.”
Crovis glanced over the parapets, into the night. Aeko followed his gaze to stars and night-darkened plains, a few urusks grazing obliviously in the distance. No Throng, not yet. But she shuddered. She could feel them coming.
“It seems the wytches are even worse at strategy than I thought,” Crovis said. “First, they risk our ire with that foul business in the jailhouse. Now, they march on our protectorate, even as the Dhargots sweep up behind them.” He laughed. “All the better.”
Aeko turned to Sir Paltrick Vossmore instead. The young Isle Knight’s usual haughtiness had been replaced by naked fear. He looked back at her. She realized they were thinking the same thing.
Crovis turned to face her, breaking her attention. “We should look to the defenses,” he said. “I do not trust these Red Watch commanders to do their job, so you two will each command one third of the city’s force. We will allow Captain Ferocles to retain command of the rest.” He nodded at Paltrick. “Sir Vossmore, you have the honor of coordinating the courtyard’s defense. I will lend you fifty knights and a hundred squires to reinforce the ranks. You are charged with holding the enemy, should the gates be breached.”
Paltrick’s eyes widened. Then he bowed. “I am honored, Captain.”
Aeko’s fists clenched. That task should have been assigned to her. Paltrick was a good soldier but inexperienced. She wondered if Crovis was trying to insult her or keep her alive.
She cleared her throat. “Captain, who will command the rest of the company?”
“I will.”
Then Aeko understood. Crovis was thinking of the future. When they returned to the Lotus Isles, the story of this battle would be told and retold. Crovis would see to that. Everyone would know that while she lorded over a few squads of frightened footmen and Paltrick probably got himself killed in the courtyard, the great Crovis Ammerhel had acted as the linchpin of the city’s defenses.
Aeko wanted to shake him. She wanted to slap the confident smirk from his face. What future would they have if the city fell? Besides that, hadn’t the Knight of the Lotus seen the bodies of slain Red Watch? Did they mean nothing to him? But she said nothing.
“Do you think they will offer a parley?” Paltrick asked, voice wavering.
Crovis said, “According to rumors, the Throng offers no terms until the battle’s already won—and then, only so they can swell their ranks with co
nscripts. But this is one battle they will not win.” He confidently faced the horizon again. “We need only hold them at bay for a few days. Eventually, they will have to march west instead and brace to meet the Dhargots. Besides, we have the Light on our side.” He reached out and slapped Paltrick’s shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “Have no fear, young Vossmore. This will be like another day in the tilting yards.”
Aeko heard the sound of an entire squad’s footsteps and tensed. Sergeant Epheus joined them, flanked by men of the Red Watch. All held drawn swords. Aeko braced herself. The sergeant faced her, eyes livid. He leveled his sword at her.
Aeko did not move. Paltrick cried out, alarmed, and reached for his own blade. Crovis was faster. Shoving Aeko out of the way, he slapped the sergeant’s blade aside with one gauntleted fist. Then he drew his adamune, its curved blade gleaming lethally in the night. Sergeant Epheus stepped back. All around them, Isle Knights stared in confusion. Paltrick signaled, and they moved in, forming steely ranks behind their three officers.
Crovis never took his eyes off Epheus. “What in Jinn’s name are you doing?”
The sergeant pointed at Aeko. “Arresting her.”
“I think not, Sergeant. You have no authority over us. But if you have a grievance, voice it now.”
Epheus said, “Gladly. I just came from the jailhouse. This addle-brained bitch released the Shel’ai prisoners! She sent them off to gods-know-where with that daft corporal, Locke. For all we know, they’ve already joined up with the enemy.” Epheus started forward again.
Crovis blocked him even as he cast Aeko an icy glance. He did not have to ask her if the sergeant’s accusation was true. “I’ll take care of this myself, Sergeant. Look to your city.”
The sergeant opened his mouth to protest.
Crovis cut him off. “Everyone in the city must be placed under house arrest at once. And tell Captain Ferocles to get back here, where he belongs. You are about to have another riot on your hands.”
Wytchfire (Book 1) Page 29
