by Cara Witter
“He’s trying to raise Maldorath, Erich,” Kenton said. “Where’s the stability in that?”
Erich shook his head. “Maldorath is the god of blood. The god of the soul, not the god of violence. He had it right all along—the Five Lands need to be united. The other gods would have us carved up into pieces. If people would just stop resisting—”
“You and I became soldiers to protect people,” Kenton said. “Not to put them down when they disagree with us.”
“We became soldiers to protect them by force. Or did you forget the way people opposed us at the battle of Berlaith? How many did you personally cut down, Kenton? How many did you kill for opposing Diamis’ will?”
Kenton glared at Erich—as much as he could out of only his right eye—but said nothing. Perhaps Kenton hadn’t changed. But Erich certainly had, and not for the better.
“I’m not interested in debating with you,” Erich said. “I may work for Diamis, but today I’m looking for what’s mine. So tell me where she is.”
Kenton hid his surprise behind a stone-faced façade. Kenton had already known of Erich’s obsession with Daniella, but for Erich to focus so intently on her at the expense of the others could be tantamount to treason. Diamis would want his weapon back, certainly. But he’d been looking for the last Drim for three decades, and finding the bearers was the only way to stop them from preventing Maldorath’s return.
“We could make a deal,” Kenton said. If Erich was going to reveal his weakness, Kenton was going to do his best to exploit it. “I’ll give you Daniella, and you let the rest of us go. We’ll run into Mortiche, and you can say that we got the best of you.”
Erich’s expression gave away nothing.
“The princess of Sevairn for a tavern boy and a bunch of no accounts,” Kenton said. “I’m surprised you have to think about it. Especially given your . . . attachment.”
“Because that trade worked out so well for me last time.”
Kenton smiled. He supposed even Erich wasn’t fool enough to fall for the same ploy twice.
“I know who you are,” Erich said. “All of you. The last of the Drim, plus three of the chosen. The rumor is that the other one has taken her place on the throne of Tirostaar. If it wouldn’t be giving you too much credit, I’d think that was your doing.”
Erich opened his mouth to continue, but a soldier burst in through Erich’s tent flaps, red-faced and breathing heavily. “Sir, forgive me the intrusion, but I have urgent information about Lady Daniella.”
Erich jumped to his feet, sending the chair rocking back with the motion. “You’ve found her.”
Kenton could instantly tell by his twitchy demeanor that the soldier did not have good news. Bad news for Erich meant good things for the rest of them.
“No, sir,” He shot another look at Kenton, unsure of whether to relate this sensitive information.
But Erich was clearly too desperate to care. “Out with it, then.”
“The swamps, sir,” the soldier said. “We beat it out of one of the villagers who saw them sneak past the docks. She and two of her companions made off through the swamps.”
Kenton smothered a smile. Well done, Jaeme. He, Sayvil and Daniella had all made it into the swamps, and from there they’d be able to push through to Haidshir—no matter Nikaenor’s fears.
Erich’s eyes flashed with anger again before he covered it. “And you went after her.”
“N-no, sir,” the soldier said. “It’s dark out there. We can try in the morning, but tonight we’ll never be able to find—”
Erich stared blank-faced at the man, who glanced over at Kenton with such a look of terror that Kenton thought he might actually be looking to him for help.
Then Erich gave a sharp nod. “You are dismissed,” he said. He sat back down in his chair.
The soldier didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and fled.
Erich turned his attention back to Kenton. “You,” he said, his voice tight, “sent my Ella through the swamp.”
“I didn’t send her anywhere,” Kenton said. “I’ve been your prisoner the whole time.”
Erich picked up a dagger from beneath the scrolls and twisted the hilt around in his hands, maintaining eye contact with Kenton. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“Do you?” At the moment, Kenton had been thinking that Erich was even more out of his mind than he’d previously thought, so he very much doubted it.
“You think she loves you. She’s made you believe it, and now you want to protect her.”
Kenton fully believed that Erich saw himself this way, as Daniella’s savior. Her protector—by force. And as much as Kenton wanted to goad him, he could see in Erich’s eyes that there would be no advantage gained by making the man believe that he felt the same.
“No,” Kenton said. “She doesn’t love me, nor I her. In fact, I don’t think she’s any more fond of me than you are right now. But the one she hates most is her father.”
“Well,” Erich said. “You have that in common, then.”
With that, Erich called in the guards to take Kenton away.
Eleven
Perchaya stood just inside the back door to the bar while Ronan took a look outside to make sure the way was clear. Feldan had gone to tuck Tam and Emaline back into bed—what little he could do for his family at the moment—but Aralie stood in the hall behind Perchaya, rubbing her arms nervously. The girl was a year or so younger than Nikaenor, but in that moment she looked even younger, her face pinched with fear.
“Do you think they’re still alive?” Aralie asked.
“I do,” Perchaya said. To think anything else would be unbearable.
Ronan ducked back inside. “The coast is clear. The guards are still searching houses, but we can move through the pasture. They aren’t interrogating the cows.”
“You should wait for Dad,” Aralie said. “He should go with you.”
“He should stay with you,” Ronan said. “And the little ones. He doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and I understand why.”
“He doesn’t want you to get hurt,” Aralie said. “He’s been in a war and you haven’t, and—”
“And it’s my turn.” Ronan turned fully toward her. “It’s my turn to protect my family. It’s my turn to do what has to be done.”
Aralie’s lip quivered, and Perchaya wanted to throw her arms around her. She wished she could promise that everyone Aralie loved was going to make it through this safe and sound.
But Perchaya had seen too much to make such promises, so she settled for putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing tight.
“I love you,” Ronan said to Aralie, giving his sister a kiss on her head. “But I’m going to go save Esta and Nikaenor and Mum. Da knows it has to be done as much as anyone, but I’m the one to do it.”
Then he held the door open for Perchaya, and they stepped out into the night.
Perchaya shivered, even though the night was still warm. The area around the inn had grown quiet, though Perchaya could hear yelling to the north.
“Where are we going first?” Perchaya asked.
“Delyn,” Ronan said. “He used to be a sergeant in the army back when we were still fighting against Diamis. He’s old now, and grumpy, but people respect him. Get Delyn on our side and half the town will follow.”
Perchaya rushed to keep up as Ronan took off around the back of a neighboring building. He walked with confidence, winding them through the narrowest and most remote of alleyways like only a person who’d grown up in the town could do. As they moved, she tried to focus on stealth and not on what might be happening to Kenton and Nikaenor—not to mention the little girl Esta, and Daniella’s group—while she dithered about marshaling forces. Kenton would certainly have been more efficient about all of this. Kenton wouldn’t have wasted precious time hiding in the bot
tom of the inn. He would have located her immediately and leapt into action to get her out.
But Perchaya was not Kenton. She couldn’t go in sword swinging—not if she wanted her friends out alive.
If they were still alive.
Ronan stopped, resting against the wall of a building. Behind them in the darkness, Perchaya could see the outline of a large forge, and made sure to give it a wide berth lest she bump into any tools and send them clattering to the stone.
Perchaya heard the sound of horses down the street, but they faded into the distance. “This is it,” Ronan said, gesturing to a door on the back of the building. “Delyn’s the smith. I’ll introduce you, but he’s known me since before I could crawl, so you’d better do the talking. No matter how much ale I serve the man, he’s always going to think of me as the child afraid of a thunderstorm.” Ronan cringed. “Which I’m not anymore,” he said firmly.
“Noted,” Perchaya said.
Ronan lifted his knuckles to the door and knocked softly.
For a minute, Perchaya thought Delyn might not have heard, but then the door cracked open, rattling against the chain, and a deep voice growled at them. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Ronan. And I brought a friend. We want to talk to you about the soldiers.”
Delyn paused for a long moment, and then a lantern brightened within, illuminating his face. The chain rattled as he unlocked the door, and then he opened it wider. “Son, get off the street before the bloody guards get you.”
They’d been hiding behind his house, not on the open street, but Perchaya thought better of arguing. Delyn ushered them inside, locking the door behind them. He was a bear of a man, his hair and mustache iron gray, his hands cracked and calloused. Perchaya guessed he was perhaps in his early fifties, but carried himself with the assurance of a much younger man. Perchaya could already tell that Ronan was right bringing her to him.
Delyn turned around on them, watching them carefully now that they were safely locked inside. “What’s this about the soldiers? They come to the inn?”
“They started there,” Ronan said. “Took my mum and Esta.” Ronan looked over at Perchaya. “And Nikaenor. They took Nikaenor, and we need to see that he’s released.”
Delyn looked surprised. “Nikaenor’s back? I thought that boy ran off with some girl.”
“He did,” Perchaya said. “But not to get married. He’s been working against Diamis. I’ve been working with him, and now we need the rest of the town to join us.”
“Well now,” Delyn said. He folded his arms. “That’s a pretty tall order.”
“It’s overdue,” Ronan said. “Those soldiers destroyed the tavern, beat my father, took my family. How long are we going to let them beat and kill our own before we stand up to them?”
Delyn’s jaw tightened, but Perchaya saw fire in his eyes. “You know I don’t like it. And this time it’s worse than usual.”
“Much worse,” Ronan said. “And it’ll just keep getting worse as long as we let it.”
Delyn nodded. “What did you have in mind?”
Ronan had an interesting way of letting her do the talking. “A revolt,” Perchaya said. “Both to push out the soldiers, and also as a diversion, so we can get to the prisoners.”
The blacksmith didn’t so much as flinch at Perchaya’s mention of revolt, just kept watching her steadily. She took that as a sign to continue.
“There must be someone in town who knows where the soldiers are camped,” she said. “There are too many of them to stay hidden completely, and they must have been waiting here for us. They won’t have arrived on exactly the same night.”
Delyn scratched at his chin. “Malvin was out checking his traps yesterday. He came back into town and said he’d come upon a soldier in the woods who seemed to be guarding something. Man didn’t care he was blocking Malvin from his traps—wouldn’t let him go through the woods to the south. Ordered him back to town.”
“That’ll be where they are, then,” Ronan said. “The north is too swampy for camping.”
Perchaya nodded. The ocean was to the east, so if they didn’t find the camp to the south, they could always head west. It was the only other option.
“All right,” Perchaya said. “So you’ll help us?”
Delyn paused for a moment, and Perchaya’s chest tightened. If this man wouldn’t help them, would anyone?
“The roads out of town are blocked,” he said finally. “I saw it myself, on my way home tonight. You’ll need quite the distraction. But a revolt? People will die. Lots of them.”
“Better to die fighting than live in fear,” Ronan said.
Delyn shook his head. “Boy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Perchaya looked over at Ronan. If Delyn wasn’t going to help them, that was going to make things difficult enough. But if he actively opposed them—
“Still,” Delyn said. “That don’t mean you aren’t right.” He arched a bushy eyebrow at them. “We’ll need to ambush them. It’s the only way we have a chance.”
Both Perchaya and Ronan smiled. “I have some ideas,” Perchaya said. “You could dress in the uniforms of the soldiers. There are a few dead at the Fish Hook. Some are bloody, but we could probably cobble together a few uniforms at least, especially since you’ll be wearing them at night. We’re going to need an army. Will the townspeople stand with us? If they don’t, then we’re dead before we begin.”
“I think they’ll stand with us,” Delyn said. “We’ve all resented the soldiers, and tonight’s display should be enough to push them over the edge.” He paused. “But you’ll have to convince more than me. You two go back for the uniforms. Give me an hour, and I’ll get some others to hear your case. If you can convince them, I think we’ll have something we can work with.”
Ronan nodded, grinning at Perchaya with a confidence she wished she shared.
Kenton would be able to do this, she thought. But since Kenton wasn’t here, the task fell to her.
She was going to do her best not to fail him.
Perchaya stood in the doorway to the storage room at the back of Delyn’s shop, which was illuminated by a single lantern. The pokers and hammers and other tools hanging from the ceiling cast menacing, jagged shadows against the far wall, where both Delyn and Ronan stood.
By the low light, she could make out the faces of farriers and merchants, fisherman and dock hands. Near the back, head ducked beneath her purple hood, stood a Vorgalian mage, though her cowl looked considerably more worn than those Perchaya had seen on the mages in Drepaine. She was beginning to wonder if any Vorgalian was truly apolitical. Though she supposed it would be difficult to live among people in times like these and not align yourself with one side or the other. Especially since standing idly by would mean supporting the cause of Diamis by default.
Delyn had handpicked the people he felt held the most influence in Ithale—at least those whose homes he could reach without being seen by the roving groups of soldiers. These people would listen to her pleas for aid and, if she swayed them, they would pass along her message to others. She prayed that the Four would guide her words, that they would protect them all. She prayed for courage, knowing that they walked a path that might yet prove deadly for all of these people.
And for her.
Delyn cleared his throat, and attention fixed on Perchaya. Her moment had arrived. There was no turning back.
Perchaya stepped into the room and steadied her nerves. The townsfolk’s faces held curiosity and expectation, though several turned hard when they saw her. A woman toward the front called out, “Who are you?” and a murmur echoed through the room. Another woman standing at the back waved her arms at Delyn. “You brought a stranger to speak to us?”
She gave them a weak smile. The people in her hometown of Dov would have reacted the same. “Thank you for coming. I know I
’m a stranger to you now, but I hope that you’ll hear what I have to say before you make any decisions about my character.”
A few of the townspeople grumbled, but no one loudly objected, and Perchaya knew that was the best she was going to get. “My name is Perchaya,” she said. “I’m staying with the Alwyn family, and I know that your town has suffered greatly under the rule of Diamis. Many people have, and you’ve borne that suffering long enough.”
A man with a wind-callused face sneered at her. “What do you know?”
But the people around him didn’t nod in agreement, so Perchaya continued.
“I know how powerless you have felt since the occupation began. You have struggled as he levied taxes. You have built secret sanctuaries when he outlawed your faith. I, too, have felt Diamis’ grip around my neck. These offenses alone are reason enough to fight back.”
The woman at the back turned fully to Delyn. “By the waves,” she said. “You haven’t risked our lives to bring us here to talk of breaking ourselves against the army’s wake?”
The crowd murmured again, but this time they seemed divided. The hum continued, some defending Delyn, others allying themselves with the woman.
Delyn had some support, though. That was good.
“The Lord General’s betrayal of his people runs far deeper,” Perchaya said, projecting her voice above the crowd. The room quieted and all eyes returned to her.
Perchaya drew a deep breath. “Diamis has sold us all into the service of the malevolent one. To Maldorath.”
At the back of the room, Delyn’s face tightened, and Perchaya wondered if she should have warned him. The others murmured, but no one spoke against her.
There were no lovers of Diamis here. They’d believe her, because they already hated the man. They were primed to think evil of him, even if it hadn’t been true.
The hatred in the air was palpable, but Perchaya needed more than hate. She needed them to fight in defense of her friends, in defense of their collective future. They needed hope.
