Saanji remembered the spear thrust earlier in the battle. With his good, left hand, he touched his right ear. The pain made him wince. He looked at his fingers and saw blood. He laughed.
“Earless…”
The Lancers helped him along. Saanji went with them then stopped, twisting back so abruptly that his shoulder shifted and the pain made him scream. “Royce,” he muttered when he could, “my men… my bodyguards… are any alive?” When no one answered, he added, “Find out their names…”
He took a step and lost his balance. The Lancers tried to catch him, forced to grab his right arm. Broken bones shifted. Saanji whimpered, then his world went dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Mustering
Aeko stood on the shores of Armahg’s Tears and watched as the last of Atheion sailed out of sight, fading into a horizon dominated by high, snowy mountains. Though the houses and temples that rode on some of the skiffs had been reduced to charred ruins, the skiffs themselves were intact. They looked more like ships now, powered by weeping Noshan oarsmen. At the heart of the seafaring caravan floated what remained of the Scrollhouse, beneath an azure banner.
Aeko took a deep breath. Despite the cold, the smell of smoke and charred flesh filled her nostrils. They had finally finished burying the dead—not just their own but the Noshans and the Lochurites as well—but the smell remained. Aeko wondered if that smell would cling to the armor and tabards of Crovis’s followers, all the way back to the Lotus Isles, as she was sure it would cling to hers. She wondered, too, if anyone would stop congratulating Crovis long enough to notice.
She doubted it. Thanks to Crovis, what remained of Atheion’s treasure and people were about to become part of the Isles. “The Noshans think Crovis is giving them protection,” she muttered.
“In a way, he is,” Sang Wei answered from her right. “I heard there are still a couple tribes of Lochurites out there. If they come back, with Atheion like it is—”
“People who give up their freedom to men like Crovis never get it back. Ask the people of Lyos.”
“I will the next time I’m there,” Sang Wei answered. “I’ll be able to ask them, because you kept them safe.”
Aeko blinked. “I wasn’t aware the Codex Lotius showed the bright side of conquest.”
“It doesn’t, not really. But the Codex Viticus does.” Sang Wei cleared his throat. “But I don’t think that matters now.”
“No,” Aeko agreed. She turned in the saddle to study what remained of her company: twenty-three sour-faced Knights. All that she could convince to stay behind and continue the search for Rowen Locke rather than follow Crovis Ammerhel back to the Isles. By the looks on her Knights’ faces, none were especially confident in the wisdom of their decision.
Aeko turned to study the newly promoted Knight of the Stag beside her. Sang Wei looked only a little more certain than the others. She’d even thought for a moment that he meant to remain at Crovis’s side and sail with the remains of Atheion on Zet’s Blood, out to sea. The young Knight seemed to grasp what he was risking by staying behind.
Although Crovis had granted all of them permission to continue their search for Rowen Locke, the coldness in his eyes had made his intentions clear: once he got back to the Isles and assumed command of the remaining Knights there, he would drive out any remaining Jolym and install himself as Grand Marshal. But Aeko doubted he would stop there. The Knights would demand justice. Crovis would have to take his army onto the mainland in the guise of marching against Chorlga.
But he’ll stop at Lyos first. He’ll sack one Free City after another to finance his campaign… and he’ll do it all in the name of honor.
“And no one will say a word against him.”
Sang Wei looked at her. “Knight-Captain?”
“Nothing,” Aeko said. She turned to look at the stern-faced Dwarr seated on horseback to her left. At her suggestion, Jalist had kept out of sight until Crovis was gone. “Sure you don’t want to accompany us to Hesod? Should be great fun.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much, unless you manage to find an army between here and there.” Jalist tugged at the strap of his long axe. “Listen, I’ll ride with you until we reach the western mountains, but that’s as far as I can go. I told Locke I was going south.”
Aeko nodded. “And as I recall, you promised King Typherius that you’d go back to Lyos.”
Jalist scowled. “Your point?”
Aeko drummed her fingers on the hilt of her adamune. Finally, she said, “Oaths are made of air.”
Jalist’s dark eyes narrowed. “Strange thing for an Isle Knight to say.”
“I’m talking about oaths, not honor.”
“I thought Isle Knights saw those as basically the same thing.”
Aeko glanced at Sang Wei, who looked even more uncomfortable than before. She chided herself for having spoken so openly. “Never mind. We should go.”
She started to turn her horse about, but Jalist said, “What do you think you’re going to do when you get to Hesod? Start a siege? The Bloody Prince has an army the gods would envy. Don’t you know he’ll tear you to pieces in five seconds?”
“This isn’t my first campaign, Dwarr. I’m not foolish enough to think I can take Hesod with twenty-four swords. I’m just here to help Locke. If he made it out of the city with his friend, they’ll need help getting east in one piece.”
“Suppose he and Igrid didn’t make it out. Suppose Locke got captured. What then?”
Aeko smirked. “Then we’ll rescue him.”
Jalist’s eyes narrowed again. “Forgive me, but I don’t think sneaking into a city is your style, Knight-Captain.”
“My Knighthood doesn’t depend on my armor. This may surprise you, Dwarr, but I’m capable of fighting without it.”
“I don’t doubt that. But to get into Hesod, are you capable of posing as some heartless sellsword or a well-raped woman in chains? Are you capable of slitting sleeping men’s throats or stabbing them in the back?”
Aeko turned to Sang Wei. “Ride ahead of the column. I’m trusting you and your spyglass to alert us of any Dhargots or Lochurites between here and Hesod. We can’t flee in this snow, so if they see us before we see them, we’ll have to fight, no matter the odds. Understood?”
Sang Wei paled but nodded. “You can trust me, Knight-Captain.”
I hope so. “I know,” Aeko said.
Sang Wei turned his horse and rode ahead of the others. With a final glance at the disappearing azure banners flying over Atheion, Aeko rode down to join her Knights. At her approach, they stiffened in their saddles. In their stern expressions, Aeko saw loyalty tinged with doubt. She could hardly blame them.
“We are lost in a land of enemies,” she began. “Our brother, Sir Locke, is somewhere to the north, fighting alone. By now, all of you have heard about the sword he carries… where it came from, how he came to possess it. Some of you may believe that the Light is at work here. Others may not.”
Her Knights stirred uncomfortably. Since leaving the Lotus Isles, there had been almost no mention of Knightswrath from either Crovis or Aeko. While the former did not want to fuel faith and interest in a potential rival, Aeko had not wanted to risk her Knights’ loyalty by expressing belief in what many might regard as a superstition. She regretted that now.
“We have already buried many of our brothers and sisters in the cold ground… and before this is finished, it could be that there will be no one left to bury us.” Aeko paused. She saw her Knights’ discomfort grow. “I have no words to warm away the chill you’re feeling. But like you, I have memorized the words of the Codex Lotius… some of which Sir Wei repeated at my defense.”
A few Knights smiled.
“I do not pretend to know the will of the Light, the gods, or the shade of Fâyu Jinn. But let those wor
ds be the fire that warms your sword arm,” Aeko continued. “We will meet our enemies. We will find Sir Locke, and we will defend him with our hearts’ blood. I swear this oath on the graves of our comrades, on the ashes of my failures, and on the steel I still have strength to swing.” As she finished, her voice echoed in the morning air just as the snow began to fall.
For a few anxious seconds, no one spoke. Then her Knights cheered.
Aeko led them north, after Sang Wei. Jalist rode beside her. “I thought you didn’t put much stock in oaths,” he said in a low voice.
Aeko pretended not to hear him.
Rowen Locke had been prowling the streets of Hesod for days. He’d entered the city with every intention of marching straight to the palace, summoning Knightswrath’s full power, and avenging Igrid by killing the Bloody Prince—even if it cost him his life. But he’d put that aside when he heard about some two hundred Iron Sisters trapped in the temple. He decided to save them in Igrid’s honor.
He’d been tempted to use Knightswrath’s power to free them by carving and burning an escape route clean through the Dhargothi lines and perhaps even the walls of Hesod, but unleashing that much uncontrollable power was just as likely to kill the Iron Sisters as it was to destroy their enemies. So he’d rented a room at a nearby inn, hid his kingsteel armor under a loose floorboard, and gone out to assess the situation at the besieged temple.
He saw at once that the situation was hopeless. The Iron Sisters were trapped on all sides. At least a thousand Dhargots crowded the streets, huddled behind mantelets and overturned carts. Between storms of arrows unleashed into the temple, they hurled vile insults. Meanwhile, the Bloody Prince’s catapults fired day and night, as though their only purpose were to reduce the great temple to rubble, one stone at a time—and they were well on their way.
The temple walls bore cracks wide enough for a man to march through. Once in a while, an Iron Sister would appear and fire an arrow through the cracks, then disappear before scores of Dhargothi archers could return fire. The Iron Sisters were obviously outnumbered and all but beaten, and the Bloody Prince was just toying with them. Sooner or later, he would either flood the breached temple with warriors or have his catapults hurl enough smoke inside that the Iron Sisters would either suffocate or be forced to surrender.
Rowen thought of Igrid. They won’t surrender. They’ll die in battle if they can, but if it comes to it, they’ll cut their own throats before they let the Dhargots take them alive again.
He touched Knightswrath’s hilt through his cloak, readjusting the latter to make sure the telltale weapon was thoroughly hidden. He wondered again if he could sow some kind of rebellion within the city. He’d considered trying to fight his way to the dungeons in case any Iron Sisters had been caught and returned to their cells. But two nights earlier, he’d met a Dhargothi jailor at one of the taverns, caught the man in an alley afterward, and determined after harsh questioning that the dungeons of Hesod were empty.
After disposing of the jailor’s body, along with the body of another Dhargot who’d caught him dropping the corpse of the first into the sewers, he’d begun looking elsewhere for potential allies. The Bloody Prince had arrived in Hesod with plenty of slaves, mostly captives taken from Cassica and other cities. Rowen heard that some of them had risen up to support the Iron Sisters, to no avail. Rowen even considered freeing slaves by killing their masters, one at a time, then trying to convince the slaves to join him in saving the Iron Sisters trapped in the temple, but he quickly dismissed the idea as even more ludicrous than his determination to save the Iron Sisters in the first place.
As for the people of the city, it seemed that all the Hesodi with a will to fight had either been culled long ago or had died fighting beside the Iron Sisters when Igrid managed to spring them from the dungeons. Despite the grim sight of the besieged temple before him, the thought of Igrid’s accomplishment made him smile. It seemed almost impossible that she, alone, could have freed the Iron Sisters from imprisonment, but he’d heard the story in the streets. Besides, he could imagine no other scenario that could have thrown Hesod into such a commotion. Yet she had died, and the Iron Sisters’ freedom had been short lived.
Gods, Igrid, why didn’t you wait for me?
He wondered what he would have done had Igrid waited. Would he have helped her rescue the Iron Sisters or refused, saying that his first priority was aiding one of the other Free Cities, taking Knightswrath back to the Isles, or confronting Chorlga? He blushed, afraid he knew the answer.
But I’m here now. If I can just get those women out of the temple…
He shook his head. He could neither distract so many Dhargots, let alone defeat them, nor use the sewers to slip into the temple—if such a route existed, the Iron Sisters surely would have used it before. In fact, Rowen had already been in the sewers, and though he guessed that one of the tunnels did indeed run beneath the temple, no grate or cistern led upward. After searching and searching, he’d found nothing but a ceiling of solid rock.
Unless…
He touched Knightswrath’s hilt through his cloak again. A slow smile formed on his lips. He watched the siege a moment longer, said a quick prayer in Shao for the women trapped inside and an additional prayer that no more would die before he could get to them, and returned to the inn. He would have to wait until nightfall.
Saanji opened his eyes, blinked, then cursed. “Why in Zet’s name is the ground moving?”
Arnil Royce’s face appeared over him. The First Lancer wore clean, gilded armor. He smiled thinly. “Because you’re in a wagon.”
Saanji managed to sit up, pushing back a bearskin blanket to look for bandaged wounds. Though he was in his underclothes, he appeared uninjured. He tested his right arm. His shoulder ached, stinging so much when he moved it that tears welled in his eyes, but he kept moving it, and the muscles loosened. The pain subsided. Then he remembered his other injury. He lifted his hand and felt nothing but a nub where his right ear had been.
“Blame Zeia,” Royce said. “Or thank her, if you prefer. She healed your shoulder, but she said she couldn’t do anything about the ear besides dull the pain.”
Saanji blinked and looked around. He was surrounded by mounted Dhargots—his Earless. They beamed at the sight of him. Saanji made what he hoped was an unflappable expression and nodded at them. A few saluted. Others cheered. Saanji turned to Royce, who was still riding alongside the wagon.
“Where are we?”
“Riding south. Or have you forgotten how to tell direction?” Royce gestured to the slow-setting sun to his right.
“I mean, why am I in a damn wagon?”
“Because it’s rather difficult for an unconscious man in his underclothes to ride a horse.”
Saanji bit back a curse. “I mean, why am I not resting in a temple or a tavern, being nursed by some pretty cleric with a healthy bosom?”
Though Royce continued smiling, a glint of dark seriousness shown in his eyes. “The Cassicans wanted us gone… enough of them, anyway. We lost a handful of men, but thanks to Zeia, we didn’t have many wounded. Those who couldn’t travel I sent north under guard. Don’t worry. Your wounded Earless will be safe. Everyone else is with us.”
He made a sweeping gesture all around them. “We started out a few hours ago. I wanted to be well underway before the gods decide to throw a blizzard at us. Zeia said you were well enough to be moved. So we moved you.”
Saanji checked his hand—his opal ring was still there. His shortsword lay beside him, clean and sheathed. He spotted his armor lying at the far end of the wagon as well. “How many did we lose?”
Royce’s smile thinned even further. “Fifteen Earless, nineteen Lancers. You lost that officer of yours from the practice yards, too. He followed some of the Cassicans who were about to attack Zeia and forced them to start their rebellion a little early. I
t could have been worse.”
“Much worse without Zeia, I’m guessing.” Saanji spotted her in the distance. She wore armor over a plain fighting robe with long sleeves. She glanced his way and nodded, her face as expressionless as stone. Saanji nodded back, blushing. He tugged up the bearskin blanket to cover his soft, pale body, suddenly self-conscious. He noted that Zeia appeared to be guiding her horse with her heels. The reins had been looped around her saddlehorn. He was surprised that she had not summoned her hands of fire to hold them, then he reminded himself that such things drained her strength.
Royce said, “Things would have been much worse without you, too. The rebels wanted to assassinate the two of us, plus Zeia, before the rest of the attack began. Your Earless threw them off balance. And you held them in the street long enough for me to get some Lancers together.” Royce paused. “I’m told you did a bit of fighting yourself.”
Saanji snorted. “Just a few lucky swings. I’m only here because my men kept me alive.” Some of them died doing it, and I never even bothered to learn their names. He squinted, studying the long line of armored men stretching on behind his uncovered wagon. “How are our numbers?”
“Better than you’d think. Some desertions, but two hundred Cassicans volunteered to come with us. They want revenge on your brother, I think.”
“Don’t we all?” Saanji turned the opal ring on his finger. “By the way, is there a reason you didn’t put me in a covered wagon? I don’t relish the thought of getting dressed while half the army gawks at my backside.”
“It’s your fault for waking too early. Do you want me to surround the tent with shield-bearers? Or maybe I could find an elephant somewhere.”
Saanji glowered at him, wrapping the bearskin blanket around himself like a cloak as he sat on the edge of the wagon and pulled on his boots. The horses and footmen had worn a path through the snow, but the ground was still bumpy. His stomach twisted. “Royce, unless you think it will raise my men’s morale to see their commander retching over the side of a wagon, you best get me some food and wine.”
Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) Page 39
