Smoke and Rain (16 page)

"She was like seeing a storm approach. Her guard was almost feral."

"A Rakos, Commander," Eras interrupted. "The Earth Shakers. He alone has great abilities, or could. Your Majesty, what do you think? What military news is there?" When Elian finished detailing his knowledge, Eras leaned forward. "We are already mobilizing several companies to the cities. The skirmishes on our borders were little threat, but 4000? Any word on Mirik's numbers beyond this force?" The Military aspects of her brain were clearly whirring and she had all but forgotten the others.

Elian shook his head. "Nothing. There are between 50 and 200 Miriken accompanying each group of Berrin, but I have yet to see anything that indicates Azirik himself."

"Lord King Azirik, Sir Elian," the queen reminded gently. "As mad as he may be, he is still a king."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty." He looked to the Commander."There has also been no word on the location of the Berrin navy or their numbers."

Eras sighed. "It makes me uneasy. Our intelligence from the island itself has been all but silent. Under King Brenteric their army neared 50,000. Whether it has grown or shrunk, I can't say. Your Majesty, I wish to increase patrols surrounding the border forts and vulnerable holdings." She leaned forward, "I was planning to visit Fort Stone to see about joining with some of the Bordermen warriors. Should I stay?"

"Increase where you see fit, general. The Lady Lyne'alea will be at Fort Hero within two weeks. Commander Dorcal, I would like you to escort her north. General, join the Commander when they pass on their way north."

"So we protect her?" The lines on the Commander's face deepened.

Tzatia drew a breath. "She offers alliance. I intend to take it."

The 47th Day of Glasmord, 1251

Southern Borderway, Athrolan

THE LINE OF RIDERS could have been anyone. An'thor picked out the double-file formation, too ordered to be Athrolani. His lips thinned.
Azirik is growing brazen.
Theriim's hooves shifted impatiently on the frozen hillock, but An'thor held him in check. “Not yet.”

He waited until the line of riders entered the forest and their campfires dotted the ridge at dusk. His own legs were stiff with cold when he finally nudged his gray down the hill. The charger's hooves ate up the rocky road and when An'thor burst into the Miriken camp it was at a thunderous lope. His chest heaved in the cold and his cheeks were flushed purple. Whistles sounded off, announcing an ally as he dismounted.

“Wanderer!” Azirik's rasping shout arched across the camp.

An'thor glanced over to where the king leaned on the ridgepole of his tent. “Milord King sir, forgive my lateness.”

“There's a lot more than that to forgive. My men will tend your horse. Get your arse in here.” The king whirled into his tent, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

An'thor refrained from rolling his eyes. He had known the man and his temper for the better part of the king's 45 years. He gathered his pack and crossed the camp, noting a few differences since his last visit. There were Berrin faces among the Miriken. He ducked under the tent flap and dropped his pack at his feet.

Azirik was pacing the width of his tent, brown hair fluttering about him like ruffled feathers. “Can you explain to me why Lieutenant Barrackborn reported that you were among the Laen's guards a month ago? And if you say he is mistaken I will have you executed on the spot. Your face is as recognizable as a broken nose.”

An'thor glanced up. “Sir, I have brought you inside information for twenty years. Surely you must understand what it takes to come by that information? The Laen are more secretive than yourself.” He watched the man pace. His strides were erratic and his eyes wider than usual. He had been a boy of great potential and singular drive. To see such traits twisted into genocide and insanity burned the small part of An'thor that had once cared about Azirik. “How did Barrackborn fare? I was unable to see the end of the battle.”

Azirik seemed to have been soothed by An'thor's excuse and glanced up. “Well. His troop killed them, including the chit they claimed to be the Dhoah' creature. She had guards other than yourself?”

“A few. I don't think any survived.”

“And you agree with Barrackborn that the girl was what we thought?”

“I never saw her power myself, sir, but they protected her above their own safety, and she was awfully young. I am confident your lieutenant's instincts were not wrong.”

A rap on the tent pole interrupted An'thor's next words. “Milord King, it is Lieutenant Barrackborn. The Border warriors are here. Should I send them in?”

An'thor ducked his head to hide his wince.
It isn't enough that Azirik allied with the largest navy this world has ever seen. Now he needs Border warriors?
“Milord king, should I return at a better time?”

Azirik's eyes flicked back to the pale man as if he had forgotten he was there. “No. Ride out. Bring me more news when you have it.”

“Sir there is one more thing.” When the king gestured impatiently, An'thor lowered his voice, “I fear Barrackborn knows, sir.”

“Knows what? There is nothing to know.” Azirik's voice sharpened, despite the denial.

“Knows who his father is, sir. I don't think he's happy about the lies.”

Azirik's eyes narrowed. “Get out.”

An'thor hid a grin as he left the tent. He had always liked a dramatic exit. It had been difficult to hide his true allegiance with Azirik's rising paranoia, but knowing the man since boyhood had been a great boon. He tightened Theriim's girth with a humorless laugh. He had sown a seed in Azirik's mind and with the fertile ground of distrust, he knew it would grow. One way or another he would get Bren out of Mirik's army. It was years late, but he would finally fulfill the promise he had made to Elle.

Φ

The 48th Day of Glasmord, 1251

The Province of Rodda, Athrolan

"The stew is good?" Arman slid into the seat next to her and pulled his plate closer. The month on the road had not been kind. Though both had hunted, game had been scarce.

Alea lifted a shoulder."After the past weeks I think muck-water would taste good."

Arman choked on his bite, his laughter sharp. "I think my manners are influencing you, milady." He slid a heavy key across the table to her. "They had only one room left, but I can take the hall."

"The inn is full? Her brows rose in surprise.

"The barkeep said the army is mobilized. Most folk are running north, those that can, at least. The soldiers like to get into town when they can to have food and women." Prices of the rooms show that well enough. I would not have paid half the cost a few weeks ago."

"We could have camped again."

"If I have to watch you slice mold from that hunk of cheese one more time I might go home, Rakos blood or not." He grinned.

"The army moves south?"

Arman was about to speculate when the barkeep paused at their table. He balanced a tray on his wide shoulders as he pulled a thick envelope from his belt. "Yer name was Wardyn? Are ye Aud'narman?" When Arman nodded he handed over the envelope. "Came this morning."

Arman thanked him, waiting until he was gone to look at the envelope's face. The heavy, expensive parchment was sealed with a large gob of blue wax. His eyes widened. "I think this is for you." He handed it to Alea. "Look at the crest."

She flipped the letter over to see the tower emblem of Athrolan. It was wrapped in some kind of flowering vine. "Are you finished?" She waved at the food.

Arman nodded and gathered their things before following her up to the room on the third floor. It was cramped, with two beds against the far wall and a single, narrow window. She sat on the nearest bed while Arman dumped their bags on the floor.

She patted the bed beside her. "Read it with me?"

He perched next to her, his heart pounding.

Dhoah Lyne'alea,

We received your letter with great interest and must express our deepest honor that you hope to ally yourself with us. We were informed of your route and will have our Naval Commander, Sir Raven Dorcal, awaiting you at Fort Hero. You must understand our wish to meet you and your guard for a formal ceremony in our capital.

It is our sincerest wish that together we can end the bloodshed threatening both our borders and your people. In the spirit of such, Athrolan has declared open war upon the lake nation of Berr and will do the same against their ally, Lord King Azirik, upon the swearing of our alliance to you and Rakos Wardyn.

Until we meet,

Her Majesty Queen Tzatia of Athrolan

Alea's shoulders sagged and the letter fell from her fingers. Arman frowned and picked it up, rereading it for himself. "What is it, milady? She said yes."

"I know." Alea's voice was quiet.

"You don't seem happy."

"I am. I'm proud. I'm relieved." She drew a breath. "At least, I know I'm supposed to feel all those things."

"But you don't?" He turned to look at her fully.

"It doesn't seem real, and the part of me that realizes it
is
real, feels guilty. I've caused war to be declared across the entire continent."

"It's not your fault." When Alea looked up, puzzled, he explained. "War. It's Azirik's fault, it's the fault of the men who follow him. It's even the fault of the gods, milady, but it's not yours. You will save the world from chaos. If that didn't cause a war, I'd be surprised." His gaze softened. "And besides, Athrolan's territory is almost half the continent."

Alea made a face. "I always liked the tales about people who
chose
their fate. It's not very heroic to make do with what you've got."

"I think that's exactly what being a hero is. None of us choose our fates, not at first. Out of sheer bad luck you were born with this power. Now you've got to deal with it. What you do, now that you know, is what will define you."

Alea smiled weakly. "I suppose." She glanced at the door. "I know you were staying in the hall, but there is another bed. Can you sleep here? I might rest better knowing you're nearby."

He shifted. The thought of that much power sleeping across the room made him nervous. "Of course." He left her to get ready for bed privately while he asked the barkeep to be sure their horses were ready just after dawn. When he returned she was curled under the covers and the candle was on his bedside. He tugged off his boots and jerkin before climbing under the covers of the other bed. He had blown out the candle and was relaxing into the mattress when Alea's voice surprised him.

"Arman, what do you know of Berr?"

"Only what traders told in the Cockerel. Why?"

"I was curious why Azirik chose them."

"They are a strong, stubborn people. They've only one main city, but hundreds of towns, all built on islands. Their city itself floats on rafts, I've heard. They trade in fish, mostly, and lamp oil, from the huge fish in their waters. I heard they sail in the eastern ocean when it's not locked by ice, but nothing certain." He paused, listening to her breathe, slow and even, in sleep.

He smiled. "Good dreams, milady." He closed his eyes only to have cold creep into his muscles. His eyes flew open and he sat up. The room was the same, deserted but for himself and Alea.
Something isn't right.
The cold was not the same as Alea's. It surprised him that he could tell the difference. “Who's there?” He pitched his voice low, so as not to disturb Alea if he was wrong. He peered at her. Her skin was dusted with silver fog.

He scrambled up and padded in stocking feet to the window. The full moon glittered on the frost-coated grass below. “Hello?”

“Settle down, boy.” The voice was low and even.

Arman turned slowly, his eyes picking out new shadows in the corners of the room where there had been none before. “Who are you?”

The woman's form shimmered as she smiled. “Don't you see the resemblance? I'm Elle. I birthed Alea.”

Arman scowled. “Took you long enough to find her.”

“Better to be late than never come at all, don't you think?”

“Why are you here? Why are you making her sleep? She has a right to meet you, finally, even if you're....” He waved his hand at her transparent form. “Are you here?”

“Not like you are. My mind is there, but my body is somewhere else. I'm moving north. I need to be among my people again to prepare them for her arrival.” The tenderness in her eyes surprised Arman.

He looked at Alea. “She did have a good life, you know, before the Miriken came. You chose her foster family well.”

Elle's eyes glimmered wistfully. “I hoped they would be kind.” Her eyes flicked to him. “As beautiful as she is, I didn't come for her. You need to choose fast. This isn't the fabled adventure your Ma read you. This is war and she is more precious than you can ever imagine. If you're going to help her then you need to make a promise.”

Arman glared. “I've as much a right to protect her as you!” Between the chill of Elle's mind and the steady cold waves that lapped from Alea, his nerves were stretched tight.

Elle's eyes flicked to the fangs protruding from his mouth. “Those are new.” Her head tilted “The Rakos are all dead.”

“We were. Milady woke the traits sleeping in my blood.”

Elle's sharp laugh was startling in the still room, and Alea tossed, frowning. “You are as much a Rakos as a Banis hare, boy. You are human dressing as a Rakos for a masquerade. You are a boy in a man's boots!” Her tone quickly changed to anger. “The Rakos are dead! If there were any left, tell me why they've slept while my people died!”

Arman glared at her. “Perhaps we haven't had the reason before now. Mock me all you like, but I am Rakos and I bear our Crown. Better to be late than never come at all, don't you think?” His eyes bored into hers with gold fire. “So what about a promise?”

“Perhaps the years made me too bitter.” The shadows around Elle's eyes deepened. “A promise to her. This war will shake your homeland, but if she rides alone none of us will survive. In the past each Rakos bound himself to a Laen. You will protect her until death.”

Arman's skin itched and the faint ache in his jaw deepened.
Forever bound?
Alea filled his mind, juxtaposed with memories of home and his friends, memories of Veredy.
Forever is a long time.
The image of Alea's eyes when she healed him sprang to his mind. It made his soul burn. He reached his hand out to Elle. “I will be her guard.” He did not know what he felt for her, but it gripped him stronger than anything ever had. His skin tingled as she cupped his hand, drawing a silver fingertip across the palm. It was not blood that dripped from the wound but blinding gold-white liquid. It was thick, like magma and pulsed slowly over his skin.

Elle gently took Alea's hand next, her touch tender on her daughter's skin. She drew the same line and waited until shadowed silver welled from the wound. She pressed their hands together, wincing at the sizzle that rose from the combination.