Sanctuary (37 page)

Tobazim raised his left hand, pressed the tip of the sixth finger to Iraayel’s forehead and created the link which could be used to save him if he ever got into trouble on the higher plane. It could also be used to breach his defences and drain him of his gift, if his all-father ever had cause to discipline him.

As Iraayel rose, Tobazim pulled the robe off his own shoulders and settled it around Iraayel’s. Then Tobazim’s hand-of-force drew her choice-son to stand behind his new brotherhood leaders.

Imoshen had to clear her throat before she could speak. ‘The day after tomorrow, we set sail. Prepare your ships to cross the Secluded Sea.’ Now she could legitimately meet Ardonyx’s eyes and call on him. ‘The renowned explorer, Captain Ardonyx, will explain what we face.’

The leaders of the T’Enatuath had all led such insular lives, some had never left the Celestial City. A few had journeyed to outlying estates, but none had sailed as far as the Lagoons of Perpetual Summer like Ardonyx.

‘We sail into winter,’ he said. ‘Although it is called the Secluded Sea, the winter storms can be vicious. Captains will only cross it at this time of year if there is great gain for them. Most would prefer to hug the coast of the mainland before crossing the southern channel to Ivernia. But this would leave us open to attack by any of the Mieren kingdoms still loyal to Chalcedonia.’ He cast Dretsun a look. ‘This is why we rescued Queen Jaraile. If we can’t trade with the kingdoms of the Secluded Sea, we can’t prosper. But until she retakes the throne and opens the ports to us, we can’t take the safest course. We’ll follow the mainland coast south, as far as mid-Navarone, before striking out south-south-west for Ivernia.’

‘Wouldn’t it be faster to sail through the islands?’ All-father Saskeyne asked. ‘I was looking at a map, and that’s certainly the shortest path.’

‘True, but those islands are a maze of perilous channels, home to sea-vermin, ruthless pirates who prey on the shipping lanes. There are passages through the maze that would shorten the voyage to Ivernia, but the fleet would sail in single file as we followed the deep channel, leaving us vulnerable.’

‘Surely they would not attack ships packed with warriors?’ Saskeyne said.

‘You think they wouldn’t risk their lives for ships packed with all the wealth of the Wyrds?’ Ardonyx countered. ‘Everyone knows we’ve been exiled. Down south they believe the palaces of the Celestial City are sheathed in gold. They know we must sail by winter’s cusp, and they know we sail south because there is nothing north of Chalcedonia but the ice-floes. Our fleet is enough to tempt even the sell-sword ships the great merchant houses hire to protect their trading vessels from sea-vermin.’

At this, there was muttering from the T’Enatuath leaders.

‘Saskeyne is right. Our ships are packed with warriors, but the children, old folks and nursing mothers outnumber the warriors four to one.’

‘Then we must make the journey as quickly as possible,’ Paragian said and others agreed.

‘We will, but we can only go at the pace of the smallest ships, so the greatest ships will reduce their sails.’

‘How long will it take?’ All-father Abeliode asked. Like Melisarone, he sailed a small three-masted vessel.

‘That depends on the winds. It can take twelve days, it can take twenty. Some ships never reach Ivernia.’

‘And the Sagoras have offered us sanctuary?’ Paragian asked Imoshen.

‘Yes.’ She lied; she had no other choice. Either her message hadn’t reached them, or their reply hadn’t reached her. Either way, her people had no choice but to set sail.

After that the all-council ended and the brotherhood leaders returned to their ships. Imoshen chose to escort them off the island. All-father Egrutz hung back. He was accompanied by his two seconds, his devotee and the younger T’En warrior he was training to replace him. It was an unusual arrangement for a brotherhood. When he sent the others down to the rowboat and turned to Imoshen, she was a little surprised. When he led her away from her two seconds, she was even more surprised.

He clasped one of her hands in both his. Though she was somewhat taken aback, she did not object to this familiarity.

‘I am old and no longer ambitious, so I can say what I like. I knew and respected your father. Rohaayel’s mind was sharp as a blade. It is rare for one of us to father a female child, but he had you and was inspired to break the covenant. He had a vision for the T’Enatuath, to unite the brotherhoods –’

‘He was ambitious and he used me.’ But he had loved her in the end, and she had never stopped loving him.

‘He did use you. The irony of it is that you have fulfilled his vision and more, Imoshen. He thought only of the brotherhoods. With the amendment to the covenant today, you have taken the first step to truly unite the T’Enatuath. As long as we bicker amongst ourselves we are weak.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I’ve lived long enough to see these problems coming, but I couldn’t see how to avert them, or how to save our people.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You have done Rohaayel proud, T’Imoshen.’

Releasing her hand, he shuffled over to his devotee, who helped him make the climb down to his rowboat.

A great weight lifted from Imoshen, and tears stung her eyes.

Egrayne came over to join her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’ Imoshen wiped her cheeks and turned to face her voice-of-reason.

‘What did he want?’

‘To tell me that I’ve done well.’

Egrayne snorted softly. ‘By the brotherhoods, perhaps.’

‘And he called me T’Imoshen.’

‘When no other brotherhood leader could hear him do it,’ Egrayne muttered. ‘But it’s a start. Now you’d better come back and smoothe some ruffled feathers. Athazi is not pleased.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

J
ARAILE LIFTED HER
arm so the servant could adjust the strap securing her chestplate. She felt excited and slightly nauseous, but then she always felt sick in the first stages of pregnancy. Every day she checked for blood, hoping to lose the child Eskarnor had forced on her, but other than the nausea, she was doing well. Every time she thought of Eskarnor’s smug smile, she wanted to throttle him.

The servant made one last adjustment so the plate wouldn’t chafe, then Jaraile dismissed him, picked up her helmet and turned to face her commanders.

They were so different: her dour kinsman, Baron Kerminzto; Baron Aingeru who had placed his faith in her for a better future for his family; and Baron Ramanol, who was fast becoming her least favourite person after Eskarnor and Charald.

Kerminzto and Ramanol would lead the two arms of the pincer movement. Aingeru would take the centre to lure Eskarnor’s men into the trap.

The three barons went down on one knee. The rest of her army were already lined up in the chill predawn. Last night, she had looked out across the fields towards the walls of Port Mirror-on-Sea and her heart had sunk at the sight of so many campfires. Then she’d remembered Sorne saying that battle was not like counting tithes.

Last night, when she rode through the camp, her followers had seemed determined, but they were armed with old, stolen or makeshift weapons and apart from the king’s guard and the barons, the mounted riders were an odd assortment of farmers and labourers mounted on borrowed horses. Not really what you could describe as elite cavalry. They did, however, have excellent archers. Chalcedonia was renowned for the quality of her archers.

Jaraile’s tent had been pitched on a small rise overlooking the fields and the port. She hadn’t seen Sorne since he rode off two nights ago, and wished he was here now.

‘You will do me proud this day,’ she told the barons.

Kerminzto came to his feet. ‘You’ll stay on your horse, Jaraile. You carry your helmet, so the men can see your face, and ride up and down on the crest of this hill in front of the royal banner.’

She’d been up half the night sewing the makeshift banner. She knew what she had to do.

‘I’ll be in the centre of our line, with my men,’ Aingeru said. ‘Young Baron Dekornz will play a Chalcedonian martial air to inspire our troops and irritate Eskarnor. He’ll want to capture you. I know his style of leadership. He’ll lead an assault on you, and that’s when my men will retreat and draw him in.’

Kerminzto nodded to Ramanol. ‘And we’ll close around his army.’

‘You can rely on us, my queen,’ Ramanol said.

She nodded and the three of them strode out of the tent. No, Ramanol hesitated. She prayed for patience.

‘Don’t worry, Queen Jaraile, this will all be over soon. Once you’re in the palace with your servants, life will return to normal,’ he assured her, then left.

The thought horrified her. Other than seeing her son, she had no reason to want to return to the palace. She’d never felt more alive since Eskarnor kidnapped her. No, since King Charald came back from besieging the Wyrd city.

Since Sorne came back.

The thought shocked her.

‘Jaraile?’

She turned to see him slip out of the private chamber of her tent. ‘Where’s your armour?’

‘This is what your average man-at-arms wears: leather vest, breeches and boots. I do have a helmet.’ He set it on the table, then adjusted her cloak on her shoulders, checking that the sprig of winter-bells was secure. ‘If this succeeds, you should add those flowers to your coat of arms.’

A surprised laugh escaped her.

Sorne sobered. ‘If it fails, be assured Eskarnor will not find your son. I told High Priest Faryx to change his name and rear him as a priest. So if our army loses, you ride and don’t look back. First chance you get, ditch the armour and change into the farmer’s garments I’ve hidden in your saddlebags.’

She was touched, but... ‘You don’t think I should raise another army and regain the throne for Cedon?’

He sighed. ‘If you lose this battle, Eskarnor will execute every high-ranking man who supported you. You’d have to go south to raise an army, and make promises you might not want to keep. For what? King Charald has spent his life defending his crown, constant battles and political manouvering. There is so much more to life.’

‘But your plan will work?’

‘Once the battle starts, plans have a way of going awry, so keep your wits about you.’

S
ORNE HAD SPENT
eight years travelling with King Charald on the Secluded Sea campaign, and a year quelling the rebels after the first Maygharian revolt, but he had never once been in a shield-wall.

You stood your ground, you hacked, you slashed and, if you were lucky, you survived.

He stood in the front ranks with Aingeru’s men. Behind him, the baron rode and up and down with his banner-men and honour guard. The warriors in the front ranks were hand-picked by Aingeru, men who could keep their heads and obey orders under pressure.

Sorne stamped his feet and waited, shoulder to shoulder with the True-men his life depended on. Down here, the battlefield looked vast. They’d spread themselves thin. It was that or be surrounded.

Down here in the centre of Queen Jaraile’s army, it was impossible to tell where everyone was. Sorne was used to standing on a hill, watching the ebb and flow, while Charald sent messengers with directions to send in the reserves or retreat. Often a whole battle rested on the charge of the cavalry, or the appearance of reserves when the enemy’s troops wavered. Charald had been a master at timing these things. Sorne missed him now: the father who had disowned him, then made use of him as a servant.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the rise where Jaraile’s tent was pitched. Their small body of mounted men lay in wait behind the hill. Scholar Mozteben would signal if the cavalry were needed.

As the sun rose behind them, long shafts of light speared across the fields into the eyes of Eskarnor’s men. They’d been lined up to mirror Queen Jaraile’s army, but their numbers were split so as to guard their backs against Commander Halargon opening the gates and making a surprise attack.

All Sorne could see of the enemy was the men directly opposite, just outside bowshot range. The sun glinted on their shields and helmets. Then he heard the pipes, as behind him, on the rise, young Baron Dekornz played a martial air. The music carried on the still dawn and Queen Jaraile’s warriors began to sing. Their deep voices filled Sorne with a sense of solidarity and safety, even though he knew it was an illusion.

Eskarnor’s own pipers started up and his men began shuffling forwards. Sorne felt the ripple of readiness as the men to each side of him shifted, adjusting their feet and their grip on their swords and shields. But they did not advance or give ground. Eskarnor’s men were going to have to come to them.

Each of Eskarnor’s barons rode with his foot soldiers, his banner and honour guard riding beside him. Sorne could see where the ground dipped by the way the line moved as the army advanced. Behind the front ranks, archers let loose a volley. Aingeru’s disciplined men raised their shields. Sorne heard the arrows strike. Very few men dropped.

Directly in front of him, he heard a thundering and felt the ground shake, as Eskarnor’s men-at-arms parted for the mounted warriors. They rode through, aiming straight for Aingeru’s forces. The cavalry were elite troops, riding armoured horses trained to bite and kick.

Sorne and the men in the front row dropped to their knees, locking shields, and the men behind them stepped up and did likewise, while the soldiers behind them tilted their lances forward, projecting a good body length beyond Sorne.

And then they waited.

He could feel the thunder of the horses’ hooves through his knees. It was the task of the first row to spring to their feet when the horses became entangled with the lances. They would gut the poor beasts and pull the riders off their saddles.

Sorne clenched his teeth and prayed he would not disgrace himself. Waiting for those flying hooves was the hardest thing he had ever done.

And then the cavalry collided with the line. The broad armoured chest of a war horse barrelled into Sorne, and he was knocked off his feet. The rider plunged through as far as the second row, driving the standing men apart and hacking at the lancers.