Fortress Draconis (78 page)

“I am assuming a pace of ten miles a day. It’s four hundred miles to Oriosa, so that’s four weeks. It will take you a week to reach Sebcia, and I will send messages byarcanslata letting the appropriate authorities know you’re coming. You’ll carry supplies for two weeks with you, get more along the way.”

She nodded slowly. “It will take a week to clear the Black Marches. Chytrine won’t come after us until she has reduced this place. Her cavalry can make three days to our one. Hold out for four days and we will be deep enough in Sebcia to be safe.”

“I’d put the margin at five, but I concur.” Cavarre sighed. “I’ve taken some steps already to see to your safety. You’ll only have small units with you, but you are quite skilled in fighting with the same, aren’t you, Highness?”

“It seems I will be put to the ultimate test, my lord.”

The Draconis Baron nodded, then looked past her at Crow. “You know she will send asullanciri after you.”

“Its head or mine.” The white-haired man smiled grimly. “I’m honored that you trust me with your wife and children.”

“I’ve studied your exploits for a long time, Crow. I’ve never seen anything that gave me any reason to question your courage or dedication. We’re birds of a feather, and I entrust them to you without reservation.”

Cavarre opened his hands and gave them all a solemn nod. “I wish you good fortune and all speed.”

Crow offered the man his hand. “Confusion to Chytrine, and death to her troops.”

Alexia rose and placed her right hand on the top of their hands. “Death to her troops and more. Much more.”

Will finally found Resolute in the stone garden. He couldn’t believe the Vorquelf had eluded him so easily, but after a quick hunt he’d found him. He expected Resolute to bolt, but the elf simply regarded him with cold eyes and a colder sneer.

“Do you think I’m a coward, Will?”

“I didn’t think so before, but it looks like you are one now.” Will’s nostrils flared, brushing the edges of his mask. “So now you run and you blame it on me? Talk yourself into believing that you’ll be saving my life? Well, I want to be here. I want to fight her here. Didn’t you hear me when I said that?”

“Most clearly.”

“Then what is this running about? You’re not using me as an excuse for your heart going weak.”

The Vorquelf’s eyes narrowed as his chin came up. “Whenever you’re done, let me know.”

Something in the chilly tone of his voice warned Will off continuing. “Go ahead. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“The reason I will be leavingis your fault, but not because I have fears for your survival or mine. We could die here, we could die on the road. The chances of all of us making it to Sebcia are slender, and Oriosa is not really any better. I fear nothing, least of all death.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Early on in our journeys, you asked me why I fought with longknives. I told you I preferred them but there was more. Being an elven warrior is a great honor. When one is bound to a homeland, he knows his calling, knows what he must do, and being allowed to take up a sword is close to the greatest responsibility an elf can be given. Because I am not bound to my homeland, I knew I would never have the sense of being called upon to take up a sword, so I’ve not. I’ve studied them, trained with them, but never taken one as my own.”

Will frowned. “But you’re wearing one now.”

“I am.” Resolute slowly drew the long, slender blade. Without the basket-hilt and the leather wrapping it, Will almost didn’t recognize the sword as the one the Azure Spider had owned. “Long before you were born, before your father was born or his father before him, Oracle told me I would be given a sword by Vorquellyn’s redeemer. This is it. The sword’s name is Syverce. It’s old, very old.”

The thief pointed to the forte, right below the crosshilt. “It has a hole in the blade.”

“That’s the eye of the needle.” Resolute’s voice lost some of its volume and power. “A long time ago, when there were more elven homelands than there are now, each of the homelands had a Syverce. They were all made by the same swordsmith, from the same ore. They’re fashioned and named after the needle we use to sew shrouds for the dead.”

“But elves live forever.”

“Many do, or choose to move beyond this world, as did all the adults bound to Vorquellyn. Accidents do happen, and in those cases a normal Syverce will do to sew the shroud. The swords, however, call elves to do a terrible duty. An elf who takes one up does so to slay someone.”

“That’s an assassin’s sword?”

“Yes and no; mostly no. If an elf chose to go against the calling of his homeland, to rebel, well, only madness could be the cause or the result of such a thing. That elf becomes a danger and someone has to eliminate him.”

“Couldn’t one of the mad ones just pick up a Syverce and start killing himself?”

Resolute extended the sword to Will hilt first. “Take it.”

Will reached for the sword, but the second he touched it, he whipped his hand away and shook it hard to rid it of the terrible sting. He started to yell at Resolute for tricking him, but he dimly remembered having felt a similar but muted sting when he’d touched it before. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s part of the magick worked into the blade. If you’re not meant to have it, it hurts you. The Azure Spider had wrapped it up in leather and wore gloves to take most of the sting away.”

“Will it killsullancirP .”

The Vorquelf nodded. “I’m certain of it. Winfellis and Seethe will die beneath it.”

“Seethe is Myrall’mara, right? She’s here; you can kill her here.”

“I can’t, Will.” Resolute sighed. “Up until you gave me this sword, my focus was redeeming my homeland. The straight line to that was through Chytrine. It was a grand goal, a great goal, a worthy one; but it was also very selfish. Down through the decades I have done good in its pursuit, but that’s all been by happenstance. If people benefited from my killing Aurolani, fine. If people being in trouble attracted Aurolani for me to kill, better yet.”

“How did Syverce change that?”

“The blade doesn’t sting me. I’m supposed to have it, even though I’m not bound to a homeland. It’s odd, since the homeland it came from has long since vanished, so it has no home, same as me. What it tells me is this, Will: I have a greater responsibility than seeing to my selfish goal. Thwarting Chytrine by making others safe is more valuable, more powerful, than just killing her troops.”

Will shifted his mask up to the top of his head so he could give Resolute a proper frown. “You mean to tell me that after all this work to make me realize that I had this greater responsibility to the world, that you never saw that for yourself? You weren’t bound by the rules you had me playing by?”

Resolute laughed aloud. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it,

Will? Perhaps I was bound by them all along, but I just refused to acknowledge it.“ He played his fingertips over the flat of the blade, tracing them over Elvish sigils. ”I suspect the Azure Spider stole this blade from some collector and never knew what he had. He had to steal it, though, wasfated to steal it, so it would fall into my hands, courtesy of you.“

“You’re welcome.”

“Am I?” The Vorquelf gave him a sly look. “If you thought I was relentless about drilling home your greater responsibilities before, it will be as nothing now.”

The thief rolled his eyes. “I wonder if Chytrine is hiring? You can just stab me now and she can bring me back to life.”

“Won’t work that way, Will, not if I stab you with this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the magick on the sword. You’ve seen me reanimate the recently dead.”

Will shivered. “Yeah, I have.”

“Well, when someone dies, their thread in the tapestry of life is cut. The magick I use, the magick Chytrine uses, splices that line back together. It’s not as good as the original connection, hence the poor quality of life. Syverce, however, not only severs that connection, it knots it off— hence the needle’s eye. There’s no thread to splice. Die from Syverce and you are dead forever.”

“There’s something to look forward to.” Will sighed. “We have to go, then, huh?”

“Their children will live to sing of their glory.”

“Or avenge them?”

The Vorquelf nodded once. “Or avenge them, but only if you and I fail to accomplish the tasks fate has assigned us.”

Erlestoke knocked on the open door to Alexia’s chamber. “Forgive me, Highness. I wanted to return your sword.”

The pale blonde woman glanced over at him as she tightened the last strap on a saddlebag. “I sent it to you because I wanted you to have it.” She nodded toward Crow, who sat on the foot of her bed. “The Draconis Baron noted asullanciri will come after us and Crow can deal with it. That leaves at least two here, and Malarkex’s sword will let you kill any you face.”

The man smiled and stepped into the room. “I appreciate the gift, but you killed Malarkex. The blade is yours by right. It is too precious to be given away.”

Alexia straightened up and looked down her slender nose at him. “To tell you the truth, my lord, I don’t like the sword. It’s not to my taste, doesn’t feel good in the hand. Your armory here yielded me a suitable replacement. I insist you keep it.”

Erlestoke started to speak, but Crow eclipsed him. “Save your wind, Highness, for once she has made up her mind, she cannot be swayed. We know how savage things will be here. That sword will be an advantage and you will need all you can get.”

The Oriosan prince nodded to Crow. “It would be a pity, then, to lose it to the enemy.”

Alexia shouldered her saddlebags. “Chytrine created it; she can make more. I suspect creatingsullanciri is a bit more difficult. Killing them is bound to distract her.”

“I’d like to hope for something more than that, but I won’t complain if that is all I get.” Confidence surged in Erlestoke’s breast as Crow stood, then waved Alexia toward the door. “I’ll do your gift justice.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Your people will be safe. We’ll see to it.”

“And of that I have no doubt.” He smiled at her. “Safe journey.”

“All courage.” Alexia turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. “Do you have a message you want me to tell your father?”

Erlestoke started to shake his head, but hesitated. “Yes, I

suppose there is. Tell him for me, for the sake of his nation, not to live his whole life a coward.“

The Okrans princess blinked her violet eyes. “Those words, exactly?” -

“Anything less, he’d not notice.” Erlestoke sighed. “Anything less and he’d know they didn’t come from me.”

Alexia rode out in front of the refugee column and then pulled to the east a bit, keeping herself between the people and the Aurolani host. The sun blazed in the sky, making it unseasonably hot. The mail she wore over a padded gambeson weighed her down and kept her uncomfortably warm, but she wasn’t going to doff it for all Chytrine’s promises that she would let the refugees leave unmolested.

The noncombatants exited Fortress Draconis through the small southern gate. Chytrine’s southern wing had pulled back to give them ample passage to the south. The women and children who could walk did, many struggling with packs stuffed to overflowing with clothes, blankets, rice, dried meat, dried fish, and what few mementos they couldn’t bear to leave behind. Because so many of them were Oriosans, it was not uncommon to see them bearing the mask of the folks left behind, and to see those soldiers wearing makeshift masks.

Alexia understood that sacrifice on one level. Oriosans were often defined by their masks, and families kept those of relatives to marvel at and venerate, if not worship. By giving their life masks to the refugees, the Oriosan soldiers were escaping along with their families.An Oriosan without a mask is all but dead anyway. These warriors were ready to sell their lives dearly and already counted themselves among the dead.

The Oriosan soldiery had all been given leave to head south. Dothan Cavarre had, in fact, ordered the Oriosan Scouts to accompany the refugees, and had assigned ameckanshü legion made up of Oriosans to the column as well. Other Oriosan soldiers, either the very young with families, or the very old, joined the refugees, while the rest remained to fight. Often those who wanted to leave changed places with Scouts who wanted to remain, allowing everyone to suit themselves.

It struck Alexia as odd that the Okrannel campaign had begun on a cold, rainy day, yet everyone riding from Yslin had been of high spirits. Now, riding from Fortress Draconis, under a blistering sun, she felt hollow inside and knew from the expressions on various faces that she was not alone.

Crow rode out to where she waited. “We have roughly two thousand people: five hundred are soldiers, another hundred are adults who’ve seen battle before. The rest are women and children, just shy two bairns to each adult. Twenty wagons with supplies, a hundred horses, mostly draft.”

She looked at him. “Are you certain this is the right thing?”

He sighed. “I can’t say I’m certain about anything, but I know this has to be done. Cavarre wouldn’t have suggested it unless it was for the best. We have to make it work.”

Alexia rested a hand on his shoulder. “We will, Crow.”

The line of refugees snaked its way south, led by themeckanshü. They took up a position just inside the range of the southeast stronghold’s dragonels and the refugees were directed to move behind them and to the south. It seemed ridiculous that a hundred men and women, half flesh and metal, could stop the Aurolani forces if they chose to sweep down and crush the refugees, but their formation went unchallenged.

The only movement on the Aurolani side came from the golden dragon. It slithered toward the south, not deigning to take to wing. It kept its body back behind the line described by the most forward of the Aurolani troops, but jutted its muzzle out toward them. Nostrils widened, but no flame burst forth. The creature sniffed and pulled itself up in a very feline pose, even wrapping its tail around its feet. It watched closely but did nothing.

Back in the line Kerrigan, Lombo, and Qwc came through, shepherding a group of children. The little Spritha’s aerial antics delighted the kids, and Lombo provided transport for a couple of toddlers. Kerrigan had a walking staff and a cadre of a half-dozen tiny boys trailing in his wake, as if he was a goose and they his goslings. The portly magicker shouldered his own pack, and had those belonging to the two smallest kids hanging from it, but he kept his eyes warily fixed to the east. Were the Aurolani to come, Alyx felt certain Kerrigan would defend his charges unto death.