Reawakening (20 page)

“We didn’t want it to be all-out war then,” Tarn pointed out. “And we cannot wage it now. You have one dragon now, not fifty, and there is no knowing if any of my kin will wake, nor when they will rise.”

“But the Shadow is weak too,” Ia said. “It has no demon kings to command and has only been established in Tiallat a few decades. By the time you took the battle to Eyr last time, it had been entrenched there for centuries.”

“A decisive blow now?” Tarn asked. “To force it out? We don’t have the numbers to destroy its armies. It won’t face me directly until it has run out of troops to spend, but we could chase it out of Tiallat. That would win us time to prepare for its return.”

Myrtilis shook her head. “Can we win the battle and hold back the war until more dragons wake?”

Tarn considered it. “Perhaps, but I cannot guarantee any more of us will return. If they do wake, they will likely be more wounded than I was, and Drake Clan has left the north. Someone will have to go north to help them, and you will need me guarding this frontier, even if we win the first victory.”

“I can send word to my cloister if you have a pigeon that can reach Shara,” Ia said. “If that order comes from this city, every Myrtiline Daughter in the north will ride for dragon country.”

“See how handy it is to found your own religion,” Gard remarked lightly. “How very foresighted of you, Myrti.” When everyone turned to glare at him, he lifted his hands and said, more soberly, “A few decades is still time enough to build up significant defenses. Do we have the numbers for an assault on the capital?”

“Not from my girls alone,” Myrtilis said. “And the Selar tribes have been scattered by the dead.”

“How nomadic are they?” Tarn asked. “Will they consent to take shelter here?”

Myrtilis hesitated. “If we bring everyone in, the dead will descend on us.”

“You have stone walls,” Tarn pointed out, meeting her gaze. For a moment they glowered at each other.

Then Gard added lightly, “And a very grumpy dragon.”

Tarn transferred his scowl that way. “I will go with the attack on the Shadow, whatever form it takes.”

“No, no,” Gard said, shaking his head. “That’s what I’ll be doing, so you can’t possibly come along. You’d distract me.”

“I will not,” Tarn said, “because you will be here. Safe.”

Gard grinned, showing his teeth. “Oh, Tarn. I never thought you such an optimist.”

Tarn was about to argue when Ia flicked him in the ear, muttering, “Stop flirting, idiot. We’ve got a war to plan.”

Although it was Tarn’s ear that was stinging, Gard was the one who immediately sobered. “Have we heard anything out of Essam? If Tiallat shipped soldiers up the coast, they’d be vulnerable, but they’ve got a good control of the eastern trade routes, and a sea approach could help us.”

“I’ve had no word at all,” Myrtilis said. “Gard, can you reach them through the desert?”

Gard let out a noise of frustration. “Not in this form.”

“No,” said Tarn, before anyone could start the inevitable argument. “You are part of our strength, and you know too much to risk the Shadow creeping into your mind again. Myrtilis, have you got a message bird you can send that way?”

“I have,” Myrtilis said. “Even if the port is untouched, coordinating an attack when we are separated by miles of the restless dead will be a challenge.”

“You can ask them to send a warning through the rest of the north, though,” Ia pointed out. “The cities tend to assume that the desert and the sea are enough to protect them from the Savattin. They won’t be ready for the dead. Let’s put them on the defensive and see if we can call in any of my sisters who can break their contracts with their current employers. There are enough of us for an army, albeit a small one.”

“I wonder,” Aline said thoughtfully, her eyes distant, “if there is any worth in a storybook gambit?”

“What do you mean?” Gard demanded.

“The Shadow is bound to mortal form, aye? If we destroy its mortal body, it will need time to forge a new one, won’t it, and the Savattin hierarchy will collapse into disarray.”

“No outsider has ever seen the Fist of God,” Ia commented thoughtfully, “but the folks we trade with in Tiallat describe him as a young man. Would the Shadow wear a human face?”

“It prefers them,” Tarn said grimly. “It likes to steal innocents and ride inside their souls.”

Aline nodded sharply. “Well, then. Send, say, Tarn and Gard and me to creep in and strike at the Shadow directly. Can it be done?”

“It’s a storybook gambit because that’s the only place it works,” Ia growled.

Aline shrugged, slow and easy. “So the Shadow won’t expect it. It will be watching for action, so let’s bring the Selar in and start gathering an army in Essam. Make it look as if our move will come in a few months’ time. Gard can conceal a small group of travelers in a storm, I reckon, as long as there’s not too many of them. Strike before the Shadow is ready, and we can bring it down now and save ourselves countless generations of war.”

Chapter 21: Leaving

T
HE
ARRIVAL
of the Selar filled the halls of the citadel. Suddenly it felt less labyrinthine and echoing because there were children running shrieking through the halls and groups of solemn-faced adults congregating in the audience chambers and dining halls to confer in the low lilting language of the desert. Within two days, Tarn had eavesdropped enough to pick up some greetings, oaths, and compliments, which he was saving to surprise Gard with at some later point.

Gard himself had vanished into the mass of his people, as more and more of them gathered in response to Myrtilis’s call to sanctuary. Tarn wasn’t quite sure how they had managed to pass the message so fast, and everyone smiled and pretended not to understand him when he asked, but it had been effective. It felt like he was part of a real hoard again, one where chubby toddlers clung to his legs for balance and little grandmothers in black robes scolded him fiercely when he stepped across the wrong threshold, even as Myrtilis’s warriors tried frantically to explain to them who he was.

Whenever Tarn managed to catch up with him, Gard was in the middle of a crowd, listening to his people. He either flashed out enough charm to make them laugh, or stood solemn and grim with the Selar warriors. He rolled his eyes at Tarn every time he appeared but always paused to introduce him, and obviously did it seriously enough that the Selar began to treat Tarn with a certain amount of wary respect.

Today Tarn found him in the war room, watching a fierce three-way argument between Sethan, Cayl, and Ia. Gard was perched on the windowsill, his feet swinging, so Tarn sat down beside him, leaning in close enough that their shoulders brushed. Gard snorted faintly, but didn’t move, which meant he was in a good mood.

“Neither of you are soldiers!” Sethan was shouting, his voice stripped of its usual drawl.

“We don’t need to be, for this mission!” Cayl growled.

At the same moment, Ia snapped, “Have you forgotten what you pay me for? Of course I’m a fucking soldier.”

It descended into yelling after that, and Tarn couldn’t quite make sense of the overlapping anger. He brushed against Gard’s mind, murmuring softly,
“What’s this about?”

Gard shuddered quickly.
“What, this is a means of private gossip now? Aren’t you supposed to be above such things?”

“Gard.”

“Fine. Ia and Cayl want to come with us.”

Tarn hunched his shoulders, sharing Sethan’s distress. They were precious to him, those two, and it was vital he win them for his new hoard. He didn’t want to risk them.
“They should stay here. They should stay safe.”

“You think that about everyone. Your opinion doesn’t count.”
Gard looked up as Myrtilis came in. “Did he always try to lock his generals away?”

“It’s a known risk of fighting for a dragon,” she said, laughing. “Poor Killan used to have to fuck him senseless if he wanted to creep out and get near the front line.”

“Did you hear that, Cayl?” Gard asked brightly. “You just need to use your wicked wiles on your man there.”

Cayl stopped midroar and blinked at Gard. “What?”

“Or maybe it only works if you fuck Tarn,” Gard pondered aloud, his grin going sharp at the edges. “It’s a bit of a sacrifice, I know, but there are far worse things you could do for the sake of duty.”

Sethan’s eyes narrowed. “He will not be fucking Tarn. Ever. And don’t pretend you’d let him, little sandstorm.”

Gard chuckled, and Cayl, who was still gaping, said with sudden force, “I don’t want to fuck Tarn.”

“I am still here,” Tarn pointed out and sighed. Nobody seemed to want him. “So, one by one, convince me why I should risk losing you to the Shadow.”

“You need someone with common sense along,” Ia said, crossing her arms and glowering at him. “Neither of you really understand ordinary people, and we have to get through the city without attracting attention.”

“I agree,” Myrtilis said, as Gard opened his mouth, his face indignant. “Which is why I’m sending Aline with them.”

“You are?” Aline said from her usual place a step behind Myrtilis. “I didn’t realize you had decided.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Myrtilis said to her. “Not least because you and Ianthe are the two most sensible people in this place. Of the two of you, though, you are best placed on this mission and Ia most needed here.”

Tarn could see Ia’s annoyance warring with her respect for her queen, but she settled for a short, sharp, “Aye?”

“What was your mastery, Ianthe?”

“The Dragon Wars, which you’ve got more experts on than I could shake a stick at.”

Myrtilis arched an eyebrow. “That was your academic mastery, my daughter. You are not the first of your sisters to turn up here, and I know you have three. What are your strategic and combat masteries?”

“Logistics and battlemagic,” Ia admitted grudgingly.

“Have you noticed,” Myrtilis asked, her smile starting to grow, “how few practical people I have here? By our very nature, it is the dreamers and heroes who ride this way. The last woman I had who could organize a decent supply train died on the field at Astalor. I have one quartermaster, and I am desperately short of decent drill sergeants. I need someone with enough sense and skill to run a desertwide war. You and Aline are the only two I have. Her arm is younger and stronger in battle, and you will be far better at terrorizing reckless young captains who think ammunition is easy to come by in the desert.”

“Well, that’s true at least,” Ia admitted, and Tarn sighed. She would continue to grumble, he was sure, but that battle seemed won. He turned to Cayl next.

“And?” he said. “You, now.”

Cayl shrugged. “I’ve been to Tiallat before. I speak the language.” He glanced at Sethan apologetically. “And there’s the other thing, lover. Tarn might need someone with my particular talents along.”

Sethan’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” Cayl said steadily.

“What particular talents?” Myrtilis asked.

Gard laughed. “Oh, he may pretend to be a lawman, but he’s a rogue at heart, that one. I’d have them both along, if it were my choice.”

“I still don’t think you should be coming,” Tarn reminded him, and was put out when everyone laughed at him.

T
HAT
NIGHT
,
Tarn was woken from his sleep by the sound of arrows. He rose from his bed and staggered to the window, looking down into the canyon.

A few of the dead were burning there, stumbling blindly forward as they crumbled into ash. He could see the dim flares of further arrows waiting in the windows far below—Myrtilis’s guards on duty.

“How bad is it?” Gard asked from the doorway.

“Six,” Tarn said, counting. “What are you doing here?”

“My rooms look the other way, but I felt death among the sands.” He came forward to stand beside Tarn. “Six isn’t many.”

“There will be more.” Tarn hadn’t bothered dressing to sleep, not in the safety of the citadel, and he was very aware of his nakedness with Gard so close, leaning past his shoulder to squint into the night. Gard was partially covered, in a twist of undyed cloth that knotted at his shoulder and must have offered some warmth against the cold desert night.

It was ten steps to the bed, and Tarn knew he was warmer than any thin shawl.

“Gard,” he murmured, and couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush his hand against Gard’s hip, turning him.

Gard faced him, saying absently, “We have no more time to linger, do we? Tomorrow….”

“Gard,” Tarn said again and kissed him, as softly as he dared.

Gard returned the kiss, his mouth sweet and easy below Tarn’s, but then he pulled away. His voice was a little shaky, but he said, “We agreed to be friends.”

“That doesn’t stop me from wanting you.”

“We all want things we can’t have.”

“Come to bed, Gard. I’ll keep you warm.”

Gard’s laugh was a little less cynical than usual. “I’ve heard that promise from soldiers before. No, Tarn.”

“Fine,” Tarn murmured. “I won’t take you to bed. Just stand awhile and kiss me. Nothing more.”

“I don’t understand you,” Gard complained, but he let Tarn kiss him quietly, rubbing his lips gently over Gard’s as he held him close. When Gard’s arms slipped up around his neck, Tarn sighed and lost himself in the kiss. If he couldn’t have everything, he’d take what he could.

When Gard finally pulled away, his skin was flushed and his breathing unsteady. “I’m going to bed.
Don’t
ask me to stay.”

Tarn didn’t, but he stood and watched Gard as he backed out of the room, willing him to stop until he was out of sight. Then, when it became clear that Gard was not coming back, he retreated to his empty bed.

He had put the chess piece he had found in High Amel on the shelf behind his bed, a memory and a good-luck piece. Now, he stared at its antique face until sleep came, listening to the hiss of arrows from the windows below.