by Sharon Shinn
Amalie instantly turned toward the tent. “Of course. What’s his name?”
Justin glanced at Cammon, grinning. “I don’t want to tell you. I want to see if Cammon remembers him.”
Cammon was surprised. “This is someone I know?”
“Well, you only met him once, but it was a memorable experience.”
They stepped inside the tent. Instantly, the scents, sounds, and emotions of wounded men were intensified; Cammon had to pause a moment to fight for balance. A dozen men moaned and thrashed on low cots, or lay dangerously still. The air smelled of alcohol and wet linen and blood. Three branches of candles offered more than enough light to see by. Cammon wished he couldn’t see—or hear—or hear with his inner ear.
Justin pointed toward one of the sickbeds, and Amalie went to her knees beside the cot, surveying the soldier. He was maybe twenty years old, with thick black hair matted with blood, a wide peasant’s face, a full mouth crimped with pain. His eyes were shut tightly; his whole face was creased in an effort to hold on to consciousness.
Cammon stared at him, frowning. Familiar, and yet—
“I hear you fought very bravely today,” Amalie said in a coaxing voice. “Won’t you open your eyes and tell me your name?”
The young man’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Cammon looked over his clothing to see if it held any clues to his identity. Not really. He wore a black-and-white checkerboard sash, so he’d ridden in with the Merrenstow contingent, but he had a black-and-gold scarf tied around his upper arm. An indication that he rode for the royal army, or a leftover dressing from rough battlefield medicine? His uniform bunched up under his arms to make room for the great swaddling of bandages that covered his lower torso. Gut wound—unlikely to live.
“I know you must hurt a great deal,” Amalie said. “I’m not much of a healer, but perhaps my touch will bring you some peace.” She leaned closer and spread her fingers gently over his bandage.
Cammon felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach; he actually made a little whoofing noise as air punched out of him. He caught Justin’s questioning look but didn’t pause to explain. He was too absorbed in watching the patient’s face as that infusion of magic raced through his body. First the lips pursed in surprise, then the clenched muscles of the jaw relaxed. Then slowly the soldier’s eyes opened, and he looked straight up at Amalie, dazed and dazzled.
“Majesty,” he whispered.
Now Cammon could sense Justin’s intense curiosity, for the Rider had witnessed enough magic to realize when it was being worked in his presence. An even stronger emotion emanated from Amalie: fierce delight that her touch had eased this man’s pain. But she kept her voice in a soothing register. “You fought valiantly on the field today,” she said. “I want to thank you for riding to war on my behalf.”
“Princess,” the soldier said, still in a weak and thready voice. “I joined your father’s army to make reparation.”
She kept one hand on the bandage and used the other to smooth the dark hair back from his face. “And what were you atoning for?”
“I was stupid. I believed false promises. I—I joined the soldiers at Lumanen Convent because I believed the Daughters of the Pale Mother were good.”
That was the instant Cammon recognized him. “Kelti! You were with the Lestra’s soldiers the night Justin and I found you—” Found you torturing a mystic. “Found you near Neft,” he finished lamely. “So you left the convent and became a king’s man!”
“I told him to,” Justin said, sounding pleased with himself, that he had given advice, and it had been accepted, and it had turned out so well—unless you considered getting a blade through the belly a bad thing. He came a step closer and bent over a little. “You fought well,” he said to Kelti. “At least two others are alive today because of you.”
Kelti looked straight back at him, trusting the other soldier to tell him a hard truth. “Am I going to die?”
“Might,” Justin said. “It’s a bad wound. But we have some mystic healers here who can bring a man back from death’s doorstep.”
“I don’t mind dying,” Kelti said. “If it’s for something that matters.”
“It is for the noblest cause imaginable,” Amalie told him, stroking his cheek. She had not seemed so sure just an hour ago, but to reassure this young man, she had managed to summon true conviction. “To keep the kingdom safe and whole. To keep cruel men and women from gaining the power to kill and destroy at will.”
“I never did anything that mattered before,” Kelti said.
“And when you are recovered, will you still want to be a soldier in the royal army?” Amalie said. “Or have you seen enough of fighting?”
His dark eyes were shining with fervor—or possibly fever, Cammon wasn’t sure. “As long as you have need of me, I will fight for you,” he said.
“Then heal quickly, and come see me when you are whole again,” Amalie said. “I have need of a few more Riders. I would invite you to be one of them.”
Cammon heard Justin’s quick intake of breath, but when he looked over, Justin was grinning. This must be how it was done; suddenly, the monarch just knew. And if that wasn’t a kind of magic, Cammon had never seen a spell cast in his life.
“Majesty, I will be well in a few days. I’m sure of it.”
She smiled and came to her feet. “Look for me then, Kelti. I’ll be waiting.”
It was late, and tomorrow would be another punishing day. “Amalie, you have to go back to your own tent now,” Cammon said, leading her outside. She didn’t even protest; she was too exhausted.
Justin followed them, still grinning. “Good to see that you’re planning to quickly fill up the ranks of Riders again, Majesty,” he said.
She gave him a searching look. “Did I choose wisely? Will you be willing to ride alongside him?”
“He proved his courage today. His fighting skills need some improvement, but training is something we can give him.” Justin glanced at Cammon. “When we met him, he struck me as a man desperate to find a cause to give his whole heart to.”
Cammon nodded. “I agree.”
Justin continued, “And you’ve just offered him that cause. I believe he would be loyal to you to the death.”
She sighed. “Which I hope does not come tomorrow.”
Justin shook his head. “He won’t even need magic now. Someone has faith in him. A boy like that, faith’ll keep him alive for a long time.”
“You speak from experience, of course,” Cammon said in a polite voice.
Justin laughed. “I absolutely do.”
Justin stayed behind to coax Ellynor to take a rest, but Cammon and Amalie returned to her pavilion. “You’ll feel very tired when I give you back your pendant,” he warned. “You’ve been pulling magic from me, and it’s buoyed you up, but I think you’re going to feel pretty bad when I hand it back. So promise me you’ll just go to bed and worry about war again in the morning.”
“I promise,” she said, and held out her hand.
He laid the gold necklace in her palm, and she actually staggered. The glow that had seemed to sustain her flickered out. She dropped to the bed as if her legs suddenly could not support her.
“Ohhhh,” she breathed, “I didn’t think it would be quite so severe.”
“Just take off your dress and your shoes,” he said. “And I’ll pull up the blanket. Go straight to sleep.”
But she forced her eyes open. She hated anyone to think she might be weak. “What about you?” she asked.
He had slept in the tent with her since it was first erected. No one had commented on the arrangement. He actually thought Tayse might even be pleased about it—not because Tayse had any romantic notions about young love, but because Tayse considered Cammon a very good sort of weapon. “Yes, of course I will go to sleep, too,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. If I’ve been stealing your magic, are you exhausted too?”
He sat beside her and began unlacing he
r shoes, since she seemed incapable of performing that task for herself. “You haven’t been stealing it. I’ve given it to you. A present.”
“But has that gift left you drained and weak?”
He pushed her to her side so he could undo the buttons at the back of her dress. He figured it wouldn’t be long before she was demanding to wear men’s trousers, as Senneth did. A dress was clearly out of place on a battlefield. “No. I’m tired because this has been a dreadful day and I have not been able to shut out all the cries of pain and calls for help. But it didn’t make me especially weary to share my magic with you.”
He tugged the skirts of the dress up and had to half lift her to get it off over her head. “Why not?” she asked sleepily, lying back on the pillow.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Because I have a lot of power, I guess. I’ve never yet used it all up. Maybe that will happen someday—maybe it will happen during this war. But it didn’t happen today.”
“Good,” she said, and closed her eyes. “I’ll take some more of it tomorrow.”
THE second day of war was much like the first one. Brutal, arduous, tense, and exhausting. As before, Cammon and Amalie stayed well to the back, Amalie fretful and Cammon struggling to sort out the noises and emotions besieging him. He managed a little better this day. He was able to focus, as Jerril had taught him, only on the voices he wanted to hear while he shut out all the others. The various leaders of the defending army were beginning to realize what an asset he was, and this day messages came swiftly from the mystics attending Romar, Colton, Kiernan, and the captains of the other troops.
“We’re able to shift forces to any line exactly when we need them,” Romar said that night as they held another brief conference in Amalie’s tent. “Our numbers are smaller, but we’re able to deploy better. It’s almost an even trade-off.”
“I’d still like to see another thousand men ride up wearing Danalustrous red,” Kiernan said.
Senneth shook her head. “I don’t think that will happen. Malcolm seemed very certain he would not join the war.”
“Then we plan a strategy around the troops we have,” Tayse answered.
No one said that there weren’t enough troops, but Cammon could tell everyone was thinking it. They had lost more soldiers today; they were slowly being whittled down. Cammon saw Romar speculatively regarding his niece, and he could read the regent’s thought: How soon must we send her across the border to safety? Not that there was certain to be any safety for Amalie, even in the Lirrenlands.
That night, again, Amalie spent an hour outside the infirmary tents, moving between fallen soldiers, offering thanks and encouragement. Cammon could see two shapes inside the pavilions, shadows moving against the low interior light. One he guessed was Ellynor. The other he knew to be Valri, for he had sensed her there the entire day, moving among the wounded and the dying. She moved with a grim purposefulness, almost all of her attention on the sober task before her, but a small part of her—a tiny, hopeful, selfish part—was engaged in a celebration of joy. Cammon smiled to feel it. The reunion with Ellynor’s cousin must have proceeded rather well, he thought. He glanced around, in case he spotted the fellow lurking in the shadows, waiting for Valri to retire for the night.
There might have been a shape standing behind one of the tents, but it wasn’t a Lirren man. Cammon stared harder, trying to make out details. It seemed to be a woman, dark-haired, stocky, dressed in black and silver. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, but she was gone and he could pick up no sense of a lurking presence. Surely there had never been anyone there.
He bent his attention instead on someone who was in plain sight: Kirra, who had spent the day tending to fallen soldiers. She had been on the move the entire afternoon, but now she sat on a stool outside one of the tents, looking tired. Still, she had mustered enough energy to scowl at Cammon as she waved him over.
“You’re doing something,” she accused. “Amalie keeps looking back at you. You’re pouring some of your power into her, aren’t you?”
He opened his hand to show her Amalie’s pendant. “Pretty easy to feed energy to a thief mystic.”
Kirra pushed herself to her feet. “I want some. Give it to me.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “Well, that’s gracious.”
She hunted through her pockets until she found a small striated stone charm shaped like a lioness on the run. Kirra had found it last year in a deserted shrine set up to honor the Wild Mother, and she’d kept it as her personal token. “There are another five men in there who are so seriously wounded that they could die tonight,” she said in an uncharacteristically grim voice. “I’m too tired to help them. But if you lend me a little magic—”
His other hand closed around the lioness. “Of course I will.”
Kirra’s eyes closed. For a moment she looked as if she was luxuriating in a scented bath. For such a wild creature, Kirra was really a hedonist at heart. “Ah. This almost feels like healing itself. I could just stand here and soak up your energy.”
“Certainly. Do that. Don’t think about those lives you wanted to save.”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I never in all my days met a boy more irritating than you.”
He let surprise come to his face. “Not even Justin?”
That made her laugh. “Very well, you’re both irritating. But I must say, this is a very handy talent you have. I feel fresh as morning.”
“You’ll feel terrible once you’ve used up more magic and I give you back the lioness.”
She nodded briskly and turned for the tent flap. “I know. But let me first do a little good.”
Amalie had done a little good, too. Cammon could feel the soothing effects of her magic on a couple dozen of the wounded soldiers who had been suffering so mightily before she arrived. As before, the immediate impact on Amalie was both beneficial and powerful. Her hair owned a golden phosphorescence, and she glowed with a ghostly light as she picked her way through the pallets. But he still worried about the cumulative effects on her health, and he eventually insisted that she stop for the night and seek her bed.
“Kirra,” he called. “We’re leaving. I have to give you back your charm.”
Amalie leaned against him, tiring already. “But Kirra has so much charm,” she said sleepily. “How could you take it all away?”
A poor joke, but he laughed. “Well, I have special powers.”
Kirra emerged from the tent with a bouncy step. “Keep it until I find Donnal,” she said. “Because I know I’m going to collapse as soon as you return it to me.”
He nodded, and they made their way through the camp toward Amalie’s tent. Kirra and Donnal were billeted nearby—as were Senneth and Tayse, Justin and Ellynor. The other Riders were scattered strategically through the camp, and Romar and Kiernan slept near their men, but these six had chosen to stay near the princess and guard her even during their slumber.
Donnal had come looking for them, it turned out, and joined them before they were thirty paces from the hospital tents. “I just did one quick circuit over the enemy camp from the air,” he said. “Everything looked quiet.”
“Then put your arms around me and be prepared to help me back to my bedroll,” Kirra said, holding out her hand to Cammon. “I’m about to collapse.”
As soon as he placed the lioness in her palm, Kirra sagged against Donnal and seemed to shrink in size. Even her golden hair grew dull and a little lank. Donnal lifted her in his arms and carried her to their campsite.
“Time for all of us to go to bed,” Cammon said. “Tomorrow will be just as terrible as today.”
And it was.
CHAPTER
36
BAD news came late the next afternoon, dressed in Tilt livery. Justin found the man trying to sneak across the northern battle lines, and he escorted the messenger at knifepoint to Amalie’s tent. Kirra was at the royal pavilion because she had come looking for Cammon, saying she needed an infusion of magic.
/> “Why, Justin, look what you’ve found,” Kirra greeted the Rider. Of course she instantly recognized the aquamarine jewels on the man’s vest, though Cammon was still struggling to identify the color. “I do believe he must be a courier from Tilt.”
“He says he’s got news from marlord Gregory,” Justin said with a sneer.
Cammon could understand Justin’s contempt. The man was small and scrawny, probably in his midfifties, and appeared to be shivering where he stood. Clearly he’d never seen much combat in his life and was terrified to be this close to it. Not the sort of brave messenger you’d entrust with a vital secret.
Amalie stood before him with her arms crossed. This morning, for the first time, she had dressed in trousers and a close-fitting jacket, and the ensemble added a certain sternness to her demeanor. “Well? What does marlord Gregory have to tell me? Is he finally going to commit troops to my cause, or is he too much of a coward to take sides, even so late?”
The courier looked around nervously. “I was told to deliver my message to the regent.”
Amalie drew herself even taller. “I am the princess.”
“Yes, but I—”
Justin stepped close enough to lay the edge of his dagger against the man’s throat. “Tell the princess anything she asks,” he said in a threatening voice.
The courier coughed and swallowed and bobbed his head. “Yes. I will. Majesty, marlord Gregory wants you to know that Arberharst soldiers have sailed to the northern seas and are disembarking even now. He thinks they number close to a thousand. They will be joining marlord Halchon and marlord Rayson as soon as they can mobilize.”
Justin was so angry he almost lowered his blade. “Damnation!” he swore. “We’re worn thin as it is—and the last thing we need is more foreigners prancing around, immune to our magic.”
Amalie ignored him. “And why are these soldiers allowed access through Tilt waters and Tilt lands?” she demanded.
