by K.M. Weiland
Chapter Thirty
The bad news came during dinner.
While the grim row of cannons stood sentinel before the camp, the leaders of Lael’s ragged army gathered in the king’s tent to toast their near escape and plot tomorrow’s stratagems. They had almost finished a meal of roast sweeta bird, some kind of baked fish, custard, and cheeses.
An orderly hurried to the head table and whispered in the king’s ear.
Most of the officers, lofting their goblets and shouting of the day’s exploits, didn’t even notice his entrance. Chris, who occupied a seat of honor between Tireus and Denegar, wouldn’t have paid him any heed either had he not seen Allara, on Tireus’s other side, recoil.
“. . . just arrived.”
Tireus’s goatee tightened around his frown. “Only one came back?”
“The others were left for dead. The man said he saw Lord Thyra fall.”
Chris stiffened. This was about Eroll? His patrol had left to pursue Mactalde a month ago. Surely he would have given it up and headed home long before then. Surely he would have known weeks ago that Mactalde was already heading off to rendezvous with his army at the Aiden.
Allara didn’t say anything, didn’t even move. Her eyes grew huge in her stricken face.
Tireus dropped his napkin beside his plate. “I’ll see to him directly.” He strode out of the room without a backward glance, but his hand brushed Allara’s shoulder as he passed.
For the space of a second, she looked at Chris. Emotions he couldn’t quite grasp churned in her face. Then she bowed her head, and her hair dropped in a dark curtain past her cheek. She was afraid, more afraid than he’d ever seen her, with the kind of mindless terror that only hit when a loved one was about to be snatched away. It was a terror he knew intimately. His heart beat a dull rhythm.
She loved Eroll. It had been obvious in her face when she’d been with him. It was obvious in her dread now. Something twisted in his stomach. Something that was partly jealousy, but mostly guilt. If Eroll was indeed dead, Chris was the only one to blame. Eroll had gone chasing Mactalde because of Chris’s mistakes, and Chris had just stabbed to the heart one of the best things in Allara’s life.
He rose to follow Tireus.
“Eh—” Denegar glanced up, chewing. “What’s this about?”
He didn’t answer. He passed Allara, but she didn’t raise her head.
A servant held aside the green curtain at the end of the tent’s partition and dropped it behind him, leaving him in the shadows of the hall. Voices to the left led him to a smaller room near the exit, where a soldier in the purple livery of Thyra sat on a settee, head in his hands. A surgeon sponged the shoulder-to-elbow gash on his other arm.
Tireus stood over the soldier and rested a hand on the man’s good arm. “I need to know what happened.”
Footsteps tromped up behind Chris, and Quinnon stopped beside him in the doorway. He studied the soldier inside, and his mouth worked back and forth.
The man drew a staggered breath. “They attacked us in the middle of the night. We followed them as silent as sleep. I don’t know how they knew we were there. It would’ve taken a Cherazim to have heard us.”
The surgeon drew his first stitch, and he flinched.
“Everyone was killed?” Quinnon asked.
“Except me.” He laughed, bitterly. “I think they let me go so I could come back and tell you. They hardly tried to stop me when I rode through their ranks.”
Tireus leaned in, his voice husky. “Tell me about young Lord Thyra.”
The soldier dropped his head and ran his good hand through his hair. “They shot him. In the back.”
“Where did it happen?”
“In the Glockamon Moors, just short of the first bend in the Northfall River.” He looked up. “How could this happen? How? Mactalde shouldn’t even be here!”
All of Chris’s energy balled inside his chest. His breath jammed.
Tireus jostled the soldier’s shoulder. His voice, still hoarse from the day’s shouting, cracked a bit. “Come now. No one blames you.”
Chris’s muscles jittered. “How do you know Lord Thyra’s dead?”
All three men looked at him.
Tireus turned around. Beneath his beard, hard lines etched his mouth. Whatever approval he had held for Chris disappeared. “Garek saw him fall.”
Chris took a breath. “Did you see him die?” He had to know.
Garek looked away. “No.”
Tireus stepped away from the settee, his eyes firm against Chris’s. “Enough. This isn’t Garek’s fault.” His tone left little doubt whom he blamed. “What’s done is done.” He glanced back at the surgeon. “Find him a private tent for the night. Longer if he needs it.”
He pushed through the door and held the flap, impatiently, as Quinnon and Chris followed. Then he dropped the door back in place and turned on Chris. His eyes were bloodshot from the battle smoke.
“You dare cast blame on that man? He did the only thing that could have been done. One could ask how things might be different had you done the same.” He glared at Chris long enough to drive the point home, then stepped into the murky evening beyond the awning.
Chris couldn’t halt the words that leapt to his tongue: “What if he’s alive?”
Tireus stopped short. “Don’t. You have no business with what’s happened here. Eroll Leighton’s death is a knife more than one of us will feel—Allara more than any, if that means a thing to you. But there isn’t a rotted jot we can do about it now. He’s a casualty of war. May the God of all bless his passing.”
Chris shook his head. “I’m going after him.” His mind had been made up even before he’d left Allara at the table.
Behind him, Quinnon stirred.
Tireus scoffed, but he did Chris the honor of taking his words seriously enough to turn around and face him. “You are daft. I loved Eroll Leighton like a son. I jest not when I say I would give my right arm to bring him back. But I’m not about to sacrifice a Gifted for a dead man.”
“You don’t need me right now. I helped you win the battle. I’ve done what you needed me to do here.”
“You won the battle.” Tireus hacked a laugh. “Yes, you won the great big bloody battle. But the army that won that battle for us is spent. For days now, they’ve been in one of the worst fights Lael has seen in a hundred years. We’ve suffered tremendous casualties. Without you, they would have caved in on themselves today, and we would not be standing here tonight.” He advanced on Chris. “Without you, they will have no confidence they can win and no reason to stay and fight.”
Desperation clawed Chris’s gut. He had to go. He wasn’t a soldier, and he certainly wasn’t a leader. That was Tireus’s job, and he was good at it. Chris had his own mistakes to deal with. Whatever fate Eroll had met out there was a direct result of Chris’s stupid decisions and failed responsibilities. Right now, that was the only thing he could think about. That was the first and most important thing he could do.
He met Tireus’s gaze. “If I leave tonight, I can probably be back before the next battle.”
Tireus stared at him. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s my fault. Because Eroll was the first friend I made in this place.” He hesitated. “And because I owe your daughter that much.”
“I respect your courage and your compassion.” His voice was flat. “But what you owe my daughter—what you owe Lael—is adherence to your duty as a Gifted. There’s a larger battle here than the life of a man who’s probably already dead.”
“I know.” The truth was he did know. But the other thing he knew was that if he knuckled under to Tireus right now, if he turned his back on Eroll without even trying, he would never be able to gain the respect of anyone in Lael, including himself. “You don’t need me right now.” Resolve filled his voice. “The army knows the Gifted is here, and if they don’t know I’ve gone, they’ll think I’m still here. The vast majority of them will never see me anyway. Ru
mors of my presence will have to be enough until I get back.”
“You’re presuming you come back.” Tireus dragged his teeth across his lower lip. “And what if I decide to put you under arrest?”
“Then do it. Because otherwise I’m going.”
For a long moment, Tireus watched him, the clicking of his thoughts almost audible. Finally, he raised a hand in an abrupt gesture, as if to wave Chris way. “Perhaps it’s better if you go, after all. Unwilling Gifted and I do not get on. But if I were certain I would need you, I hope you know I would keep you, willing or not. At any rate, if you do make it back, it’ll be good propaganda.”
Chris breathed out and turned to Quinnon. “Will you get together a small detail, maybe six men? And make sure somebody’s familiar with where I’m going.”
Quinnon regarded him for a long silent moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. “They’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” He turned and tramped through the flickering shadows of the hall toward the main room’s burst of light and noise.
“You know,” Tireus said, “there’s such a thing as fighting for the greater good.” His tone was thoughtful, but an edge cut through it. “Sooner or later, every leader learns sacrifices must be made.”
Chris turned back to him. “I’m not the leader you people are looking for. And I’m not going to let him die.”
Tireus shrugged. “Men always die. Sometimes even those who are very close to us. That is war. That is life. Temper your bravery with discretion. Otherwise, you will find, in the end, you will have killed more than you will ever be able to save.”
__________
After stocking his saddlebags and adding the extra layer of a padded gambeson under his leather jerkin, Chris trudged back across the campsite to the main tent.
His body ached. Aside from a few minor flesh wounds and a motley array of bruises, he hadn’t been injured during the battle. But he felt as if the Koraudians had dropped a skycar on him. Right now, the whole notion of sleep, even if curled up on the soggy ground, sounded luxurious. But he’d decided to leave tonight and get at least a few dozen miles behind them. Getting past the Koraudian lines unseen would be easiest in the dark. He would leave immediately, and sleep would have to wait until three or four hours down the trail.
He pushed through the flaps at the front of the king’s tent. Sequestered in the various partitions, officers and their adjutants pored over maps and argued strategy. Sleep wasn’t going to be an option for most of them either if they hoped to maneuver themselves into the most advantageous position by morning.
He followed the hallways to the royal quarters in the back.
An ancient Guardsman stepped forward from the canvas door he guarded. “Hold there.” His voice quavered with age. “This is the princess’s section. No one is allowed here without her invitation.”
“Well, ask her if she’ll invite me.” She probably wouldn’t want to even speak to him. He wouldn’t have wanted to talk to himself under the circumstances. But she needed to know why he was leaving.
The Guardsman glared. “I should say not. Don’t give me no cheek, youngster. Her highness is indisposed. You’ll have to wait until morning.”
“I’m the Gifted.” He strove for patience. “She’ll want to see me.”
The old Guardsman jutted his cleft chin. “When I say her highness is indisposed, I mean she is indisposed to anyone.” He hefted his pike away from his shoulder. “And certainly to you.”
Chris pondered diplomacy, then cast it aside. He didn’t have the time. He didn’t have the patience. And he was getting sick of everyone telling him what he could and couldn’t do around here. He reached for the door flap. “Is that so?”
The Guardsman snagged his sleeve. “What are you doing? I tell you, she wishes to be left alone!”
“Me too.” He pushed aside the door and slipped into the dark room.
The Guardsman scrambled after him, still clutching the pike. “What are you doing? Churl!”
He pushed a chair behind him to block the man’s way. “Allara?”
She didn’t respond. The large room was cold, and moonlight and a flutter of curtains marked a portico at the far end. Now that he was inside, he realized he should have at least let her know he was coming in. “Indisposed” could have any number of meanings.
“This is not the conduct of a gentleman!” the Guardsman wheezed. “I don’t care who you are!”
Chris ignored him and made his way through the big room with its lush appointments of tables, chairs, and looking glasses. Another partition led to a bedchamber. He glanced through the door, found the bed empty, and pushed on through to the open air beneath the awning.
Allara leaned against a support pole, her hair and the red brocade of her gown blown back by the wind. She turned to him, slowly, almost as if she hadn’t yet comprehended his presence. Or maybe she just didn’t care. A rigid calm sculpted her face. He had expected to find her in tears over Eroll’s fate, but she seemed stupefied.
He knew the feeling. The pain would come later.
“M’lady!” The Guardsman grabbed Chris’s arm. “He barged in here without my permission! I told him you were indisposed to see anyone, but he wouldn’t respect your wishes.”
She didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t have to.”
“What is it?” Her voice was flat.
“I’m leaving.”
For a moment, all the hurt he knew she was feeling surged into her face. Then, her expression hardened. “You can’t.”
He had expected her anger. That too would come before the grief. “Afraid I have to.”
“No.” She straightened away from the pole. Her chest heaved. “Why? Why would you leave? This here, right now, is why you’re here. This is the moment when everything we’ve given—everything we’ve lost—” Tears glassed her eyes, and she had to stop for a long moment. Then she surged ahead. “This is the moment when it actually matters. And at the first scent of danger you’re abandoning us? What about all your talk? Everything you said about making a difference?”
He had hoped she would understand. He had even hoped she might be thankful. Or at least as much as she could be since they both knew Eroll’s death was on his hands.
He drew a breath. “I’m taking a few men and going to the Northfall River.”
“Northfall?” She drew herself back. “Why?”
Raising false hope wasn’t such a great idea right, but it was better to just tell her. Besides, he didn’t have time to lie. “Turns out there’s a chance Eroll’s not dead.”
The white cloud of her breath surged in front of her face. “You’re what?” She shook her head, as if trying to catch herself. “But what about the army? They need you.” The words were too flimsy to sound convincing.
She wasn’t going to stop him, then. His going might be against her better judgment—maybe even against the conception of duty to which she clung so frantically. But she wouldn’t stop him. Eroll meant that much to her.
“The army doesn’t need me,” he said. “Eroll might.”
She clenched her hands at her sides. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice thickened. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for Eroll . . .and for me.”
“I have to.”
Allara Katadin was beautiful and brave—and desperately broken. So much of him wanted to be able to fix her. But he couldn’t. He was too broken himself. Saving Eroll was the best he could offer either of them right now.
“I’m going to bring him back,” he said. “Alive or dead, he’s coming back to you.”
Her eyes thanked him in a way her words never could. For the first time, hope lit her from the inside out.
But still she shook her head. “You shouldn’t do this. The most important thing you can do for Lael is listen to Quinnon and my father.”
“I’ll try to do that.” He offered half a smile and turned for the door. “When I get back.”
&nbs
p; The old Guardsman hacked. “Incorrigible.”
“Wait—” The swish of her skirt followed him. “Wait.”
He didn’t turn back. “I can’t wait. I’ve got men expecting me.”
“You’re not going to listen to reason?” She didn’t especially sound as if she wanted him to.
“Not at the moment.” He pushed aside the chair he had moved to block the Guardsman a few minutes ago.
“Then I have to go with you.”
He looked back at her through the shadows. Part of him had hoped she would be content to stay here in safety—or as much safety as a battlefield could offer. But, deep down, he hadn’t really expected her to.
She stood in the middle of the room, a black silhouette against the arch of moonlight. “Where the Gifted goes, so does the Searcher.”
“If I told you to stay, I don’t suppose it would do any good?”
She lifted her chin. “The lords of Lael may have sworn fealty to you. But I’m not a lord.”
“And if I talked to your father?” It was a last-ditch attempt and he knew it.
“I was proclaimed Searcher before I was born. My father would never question my responsibilities. That’s why I have Quinnon, to protect me wherever those duties may lead me.”
“Then you’d better hope Quinnon doesn’t mind going for a ride tonight.”
