by Cas Peace
* * * * *
“Why in the Void are you telling me this now, Heron?”
Sonten glared at his Artesan Commander, who stood in the light of the spitting fire. “Don’t you think I have more important things on my mind than some raw lieutenant’s jumpy nerves?”
The penetrating chill, the constant light rain, and the tense anticipation of the day’s events were playing on Sonten’s temper. Knowing how the Duke’s volatile mood had affected all his military leaders, Heron ignored the General’s anger.
“Lieutenant Arif isn’t given to nerves, my Lord. It would be a mistake to dismiss his information. He might not have seen evidence of prolonged occupation, but that doesn’t mean Anjer hasn’t stationed reserves nearby. The light was poor and he was pressed for time, but he saw enough to convince him that someone had been there recently. He said it was an ideal spot from which to observe the battlefield.”
Sonten scowled, irritated by the delay yet unwilling to dismiss this incident completely. If Arif’s suspicions were correct and Anjer had stationed reserves in the woods to the west of the Plains, then it was something to bear in mind. Yet Sonten was sufficiently familiar with the terrain to know that the land in question wasn’t ideal for concealing troops. There was too much open farmland and the woods were far too sparse. Any reserves coming from Gwayeth in the west would be on a forced march and unlikely to waste time by circling so far round. Sonten couldn’t imagine Anjer directing them away from the battlefield when the final offensive was in full swing.
Trusting his judgment, he made an instant decision. He was due in Rykan’s command tent to receive his final orders for the day’s battle and any delay would inflame the already irritable Duke.
“Keep a close eye on our western flank, Heron, and be alert for the possibility. I can’t spare a unit to investigate right now. Post a lookout to the west, that’s the best we can do. If word arrives of a flanking attack, send some of our boys to deal with it. Don’t rely on his Grace’s conscripts, they’re far too flaky. Now get back to your command and listen for the trumpets. There’s precious little time before dawn.”
Snapping a salute, Heron turned on his heel. The General heard Rykan’s angry voice and hurried toward the command tent, his own nerves strung tight. He dismissed Heron and his suspicions to the back of his mind.
* * * * *
Sullyan met with Robin on her way back from Marik’s room. The young man had taken time to dress properly and carried both their cloaks over his arm. He fell into step beside her and smiled as she told him the good news. Steering her away from their apartment, he said, “There have been developments outside, Major. I knew you’d want to see so I’ve asked them to bring food up to the battlements. Doubtless the Hierarch will be along soon.”
Taking the Tower steps two at a time, they emerged into a miserable, grey, drizzly morning. The clouds hung low over their heads, almost touching the tallest spire. The Hierarch’s standard hung limp and dripping from its pole. There wasn’t a breath of wind and it was depressingly cold. Servants brought braziers out to warm them, along with pots of fresh fellan and plates of hot food. They erected a canopy for shelter from the dreary rain, and Sullyan huddled gratefully beneath it, drinking from a steaming mug and eating warm bread dripping with honey.
The Hierarch soon joined them and raised his brows at the civilized arrangements. Robin glanced up at him. “I hope I didn’t overstep the mark, Majesty.”
Pharikian smiled. “No indeed, young man, it was a very thoughtful thing to do. We’ll probably be spending much time up here over the next couple of days, so a bit of comfort won’t go amiss.” Glancing at the Major, he said, “Brynne, my dear, this is a very considerate young man you have.”
She grasped Robin’s hand as he blushed. “Yes, Timar. I think so too.”
Moving closer to them beneath the purple canopy, Pharikian accepted fellan from Robin. He turned to Sullyan and cocked his head. “How are you, Brynne?”
“As well as I can be, Timar.”
He pursed his lips at the pallor of her face and noted the hand that had unconsciously strayed to her belly. Flicking a glance at Robin, he put an arm about her shoulders and drew her closer. She didn’t resist. “Maybe we should allow Rykan to withdraw his challenge after all. You don’t have to do this, child.”
She started beneath his hands and drew a sharp breath. “I wish your words were true, Timar, but it is my only hope. Even if the hope is forlorn, I would rather die knowing that Rykan is no threat to Albia and that I did all I could. There is no other way for me now.”
She turned back to the battle unfolding on the Plains, just catching the Hierarch’s glance at Robin, whose handsome features wore an expression of grief and pain. She was struck by sudden sadness as Pharikian reached to Robin’s psyche, giving him what strength and comfort he could. Silently, Robin accepted.
Preliminaries over, the fighting on the Plains intensified. Anjer, Kryp, and Ephan could be seen directing their own battalions, and there were also other generals, unknown to Sullyan, commanding the Hierarch’s reserves. The noise became deafening as the various units clashed, cavalry and foot troops all playing their part. The three on the battlements, joined after a short while by a taciturn, hard-eyed Vanyr, watched the struggle unfold before them.
* * * * *
On their small hill, Taran, Rienne, Cal, and Bull also stood in the drizzle, watching the drama playing out on the Plains. Taran didn’t need Robin’s eyes to see that the war was now raging in earnest. He could clearly hear the cries of the dying, the wounded men and horses, and see the black carrion birds and huge tangwyrs circling the skies above. Occasionally one would land, only to flap clumsily aloft again, carrying some dripping morsel in beak or talons.
Sharing watches with Bull, on constant guard against the threat of capture or discovery, Taran awaited the outcome of this war.
Three days later, it came.
Chapter Thirty
The weather turned milder. The bitter easterly winds dropped and the temperature climbed a few degrees above freezing. The ground on the Plains turned to mud with the constant churning of horses’ hooves and men’s boots. The armies slogged through its clinging stickiness as they fought, neither side gaining the upper hand for more than a few hours.
Anjer and his generals were tiring, as were their men. From the battlements, the Hierarch sent encouragement and support where he could. The healers were stretched to breaking point, as there were terrible losses on both sides and there were always more wounded than healers. Sullyan and Robin helped where they could, the Major feeling ever more useless as time went by.
She was unused to watching events unfold from afar and disliked having to rein in her powers and stay in safety. Had she not needed his comforting presence and strength so badly, she might have released Robin to join the fighting. She knew he was torn between his desire to fight and his need to stay close to his love.
The days of constant fretting were also taking their toll on Sullyan’s health. She tried hard to resist it, but she was losing vitality by the day. She set aside a few hours every morning for sword practice, and that helped to a certain extent. She even managed to cajole Ky-shan, Jay’el, and even Xeer into fencing with her, the challenge of new opponents doing much to engage her concentration. On Pharikian’s strict orders they used training foils instead of steel blades. She knew this was just as well, for she was often distracted and there would have been injuries had they used edged weapons.
Marik continued to improve, thanks largely to Deshan’s and Sullyan’s healing sessions, but he wasn’t yet well enough to rise from his bed. Idrimar was his constant companion, and there was a steady stream of other visitors when the infirmary wasn’t too frantic.
On the fourth day since the two armies clashed, Sullyan went up to the Tower walls at dawn, Almid and Kester by her side. Robin had gone to visit Marik, as the Count became irritable and restless if he didn’t receive constant updates on the battle’s progress.
Commander Vanyr was also pacing the battlements that morning, but he kept a healthy distance from Sullyan.
The fighting had recommenced at first light as usual, and despite the men’s exhaustion, it was intensifying by the hour. This escalation puzzled Sullyan and she scrutinized the battlefield intently. When she saw the reason for the change she turned, intending to send one of the twins in search of the Hierarch. Abruptly, a sharp pain ripped through her belly. A cry escaped her lips as intense agony sapped her strength and she was obliged to lean against the wall for support. Kester stepped close to help her, and even Vanyr glanced over, reluctantly curious.
The agonizing pain left Sullyan gasping for breath. Dizzy and sick, she slid down the wall. With Kester’s help, she rested her back against it while Almid ran to find either the Hierarch or Robin. Despite Kester’s huge presence and forbidding expression, Vanyr approached, drawn by the intensity of her pain. He ignored the giant’s looming hostility and eyed Sullyan.
“Major, is there anything I can do?”
Her utter amazement at both his concern and curt offer gave her the strength for a gasped reply. “I thank you, Commander, but I will be well when Robin comes.” She sat as quietly as she could, each breath coming at a price, her vast powers completely unable to numb the pain.
It seemed an age before Robin arrived, skidding to a stop beside her and going down on one knee. The Hierarch was right behind him, Deshan in tow. Vanyr moved back, but his awkward stance and stern mouth betrayed disquiet.
Lack of breath had turned Sullyan’s lips blue and she was shivering violently. “Bring her inside,” commanded the Hierarch, and Kester scooped her up before the distraught Robin could move. The giant carried her through the Tower doors to the top of the stairs, but as soon as the big double doors clanged shut behind him, Sullyan’s pain vanished as if it had never been. The tension constricting her lungs disappeared, and she could speak again.
“Put me down, Kester.”
The giant didn’t respond.
“Down!” she commanded, so firmly that he nearly dropped her. Robin and the Hierarch stared in amazement as she turned to face them. “The pain has gone,” she said slowly, a horrible suspicion growing in her heart. “There is something very strange happening here.” She shook her head, recalling what she had seen just before the pain struck. “Majesty, I was about to call for you when the pain hit me. The Duke of Kymer has finally taken to the field.”
“What?” Pharikian turned on his heel, pushing back through the doors to see for himself.
Robin took Sullyan’s arm, looking her over. “Are you alright?”
Her lips were no longer numb and the shivering had stopped. Regarding him frankly, she said, “I am at present, Robin, but I very much fear a complication I had not anticipated. Will you come with me back to the wall? I may need your help if the pain returns.”
“Is that wise, Major?” asked Deshan.
“Maybe not, but it is necessary. This could be very important. Kester, I might need you too.”
The giant followed as she pushed through the doors. She could see Vanyr watching her from his place by the wall, his face unreadable. She forgot him once she had taken two steps, though, because the pain was coming again. The nearer she got to the walls, the worse it grew. Soon she stopped, breathing heavily, and Pharikian turned from his scrutiny to watch her, anxiety plain on his face.
“Robin,” she said, her voice weak and fearful, “I need your help. I cannot use my metaforce to numb the pain.”
She sensed his alarm as he reached out, enveloping her mind with his own. His dismay was clear, but so was his relief when his strength seemed to help. Sighing as the pain eased, she moved nearer the wall. She made it almost as far as the wall itself before agony doubled her over once more. This time Pharikian added his strength to Robin’s, and after a few moments she was able to straighten. Leaning on Kester’s arm, she continued to the battlements. Her face felt pinched and tight, but she was able to bear it.
She saw Pharikian share a worried look with Deshan. Vanyr regarded her closely, mixed expressions warring in his strange white eyes. Breathing deeply, Sullyan leaned against the wall, trying to calm the panic rising in her heart. This was a complication she hadn’t even considered, and she was sure the Hierarch was ignorant of its cause. But she knew. Her eyes had fastened on Rykan’s dark form as he emerged from his command tent, and she had seen him turn toward the Citadel and fix his gaze hungrily on the Hierarch’s standard. As his glance brushed hers—and she knew he hadn’t even seen her, let alone recognized her at such distance—the agonizing pain had struck her down.
Rykan’s insidious poison had reacted to its maker’s presence.
Now, leaning against the cold stone, panic and fury in equal measure tearing through her heart, she watched the enemy lord brutally rally his troops for what had to be a final push. The Hierarch kept up a soothing cocoon of power around her, for her own vast store of energy seemed beyond her control. Robin helped direct both his and Pharikian’s strength to where it would do most good, but she could still feel the monarch’s dismay at this unforeseen setback. Bleakly, she wondered how—or even if—she could overcome it. If she could not, all their plans were lost.
As before, they spent the morning watching the two armies playing out the power struggle beneath them. It was soon obvious to Sullyan why Rykan had finally deigned to appear. He had kept some of his forces in reserve and now considered it necessary to deploy them. The dreadful losses sustained by both sides were testament to the valor of the men on the field, but it was also clear that despite the ferocity of the fighting, neither side could gain the upper hand. The morning wore on and Sullyan, who had managed to calm her earlier panic, became increasingly concerned.
Pharikian was beside her as he had been all morning, and Robin was still directing their flow of metaforce to shield her from Rykan’s influence. Vanyr had also stayed, keeping his distance as usual. Sullyan glanced up at the Hierarch, trying to gauge his mood and guess whether he had seen and recognized Rykan’s latest tactic. Anjer was on the battlefield directing his men. She was sure he was unaware of his enemy’s latest move. He had runners and dispatch riders, but the field was in chaos and it wasn’t easy for them to get through. Reluctant to interfere with the direction of the Citadel’s forces while its ruler and one of its commanders were standing beside her, Sullyan kept her counsel.
Time passed with still no countermeasures from Anjer, and Sullyan could stay silent no longer. Pharikian didn’t seem to have noticed the surge of Rykan’s fresh troops, and Vanyr hadn’t said anything either. If she didn’t speak now, she feared the battle could sway dangerously in Rykan’s favor. She felt very proud of Robin, who had nudged her arm some time ago to indicate that he had also seen the danger, although she had gestured for him to keep his peace.
Finally, she spoke. “Majesty?”
Pharikian turned, obviously thinking she was in trouble again. “Yes, child?”
“I trust the Lord General will not leave it too much longer before mobilizing his reserves?”
She saw Vanyr startle and the Hierarch stared at her. “What reserves, Brynne?”
She went cold. “He must have reserves, Majesty, surely?”
Pharikian frowned. “He does, but how do you know about them? They were kept a closely guarded secret to stop word of them reaching the enemy.”
Some of her tension eased. “The secret is safe, Majesty, never fear. I only know because it makes sound tactical sense.” Her gaze returned to the mass of men, struggling together on the Plains. “But if he does not deploy them soon, it will be too late.” She pointed, drawing the Hierarch’s eyes, and Vanyr craned over the battlements too, intent on the conflict below. “See how the Duke has worked those fresh units around to your left flank where General Kryp is weakest? If he breaks through your lines there, he has access to Anjer’s rear and could conceivably cut him off. So if the Lord General is waiting for a signal, Majesty, may I strongly suggest that yo
u give it?” She saw his stare and added, “With the greatest respect, of course.”
Pharikian glanced back down at the conflict, verifying the truth of her words. He shook his head. “You’re wasted as a major, Brynne.”
“Tell that to my General, Majesty.”
She smiled, but the expression faded swiftly as she realized there would be no point.
Pharikian’s face darkened and she heard him mutter, “Be sure that I will, child.”
He concentrated, sending the information to Anjer. They all saw the start Anjer gave on receiving his ruler’s message, and once he had instructed his runners he turned in his saddle to salute the watchers on the battlements.
“Anjer sends his compliments, Major, and thanks you for your timely observation,” Pharikian reported. He grinned and Sullyan smiled faintly back, allowing him to lighten her mood. Vanyr stood watching her with what could have been reluctant respect.
Over the next few hours, Anjer’s hidden forces came into play, countering Rykan’s final surprise tactic. Clearly furious at its failure and unwilling yet to surrender, the Duke whipped his men to an even greater frenzy. The mud of the battlefield disappeared beneath fallen bodies as the Hierarch’s troops surged forward to meet these desperate attacks, but as time wore on it became obvious that Rykan’s men couldn’t sustain this pace. They were exhausted and failing.
In the middle of the afternoon Princess Idrimar appeared, seeking the watchers on the Tower. She told Sullyan she had been sent by Marik, who had heard of the battle’s progress and was desperate to see it for himself. Since the healers wouldn’t let him rise from his bed, he thought Sullyan might be able to persuade them, knowing she would understand his need.
