Steel and Sorrow (13 page)

But first, I need to study the texts I was told to look at.

He turned to the first page.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Drake jerked around and saw Lufflin standing in the narrow doorway. The mage leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. Drake clenched his jaw. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he said gesturing toward the book. “I’m about to start doing my research.”

“And you’re breaking every rule to do so.”

Drake looked around and didn’t see anything particularly dangerous or out of order. “What are you talking about? I’m not even using a lantern for light. Nothing can catch fire.”

Lufflin stormed across the room and the mage slammed shut a portal Drake opened earlier for light and fresh air. “No. But you’re letting all the salt air in. You’d just as soon burn the books if you’re going to do that.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do? I need to get through as much of this as I can
before
I reach Lyrosene.” Drake gestured to the stacks of texts around him.

Lufflin grimaced. “Then you’ll do it only when I’m available to prep the room so the elements won’t damage the books.” He paused. “This trip is going to be even more miserable stuck with you.”

“You could always get someone else to stay with me.”

“I’d love nothing better, but I only trust a couple of people to take my place and Krytien has them working on other things. Now shut up, and let me concentrate.”

Lufflin closed his eyes and Drake watched in silence. He didn’t see or feel anything special except the room filled with the same familiar glow from the library. After a few moments Lufflin opened his eyes. He went over and lay on Drake’s cot. “You can start. Be careful. Those books are worth far more than you.”

“You know, you could pass the time by helping me.”

Lufflin snorted. “Not a chance.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Now get to work and don’t screw anything up while I’m asleep.”

* * *

Estul Island faded out over the horizon and Kroke couldn’t be happier. The school had made him uncomfortable, and at least at sea, the upstart mages seemed far less confident in themselves.

Kroke had thought about those mages as he watched Krytien’s sullen posture at the stern of the ship. Their trip had impacted the Hell Patrol’s mage more than Kroke could have imagined—especially since Krytien insisted on taking most of the mages with them. Many of the obnoxious brats resented the decision, but none did more than vocalize their opinion after the initial confrontation. The ship carried over two dozen green and yellow mages.

At least he left the less experienced ones with Tristan. He’s the only one with any sort of head on his shoulders.

Kroke flipped a knife end over end as a light breeze whipped his face. He looked forward to seeing the rest of the Hell Patrol in Lyrosene. Even after all these years, it surprised him how much he could miss them.

Better than any family I ever had. It’ll be good to have a drink with Raker and give Rygar a hard time about Yanasi.
He flipped his knife again and smiled.
I’ll have to get Yanasi to play another round of bow versus knife.

As he stared out over the rolling sea, he found himself wondering what Elyse had been up to since his departure. Ever since he and Rygar had accompanied her to Ithanthul when she sought an alliance with Jeldor, the queen had regularly stayed in contact with him. He frowned, realizing he missed those casual conversations.

Odd.

Chapter 9

Standing near the wheel of the ship, Tobin admired the ease with which the sailor steered the great vessel. He had ridden on Nachun’s creations several times over the past year as shipwrights tested each in the bright waters surrounding the Blue Islands. Still, he marveled at their effectiveness.

Tobin looked over his shoulder. Each ship in his fleet held over two hundred warriors. With such a navy, no other clan could ever hope to challenge their supremacy at sea.

He took a deep breath. The coolness and the clean, salty, smell awakened his senses. They would arrive at the Gulf of Eurinul in three days.

Without Nachun’s ships, we’d still be marching along the Yellow Plain.

Many things, including his friend, had occupied Tobin’s mind since leaving Juanoq. Most he could do without—recollections of his disapproving father, Kaz’s ridicule, and Lucia’s behavior. Thankfully, he had been able to offset some of those harsh memories by evoking bits of wisdom from his Uncle Cef or through spending long nights with Odala in his arms.

Thoughts of Nachun nagged at him most. He had embarked on the campaign against his friend’s wishes. Tobin knew Nachun’s power would be a huge boon to their strategy, but as he told others, he could not wait for his friend. Besides the legitimate reasons he had voiced, he also wanted to prove he did not need the shaman to achieve success.

Unlike the fiasco with the Yellow Plain Clan, I cannot blame father’s poor planning if things go badly again.

Tobin walked toward the bow of the ship, passing busy crew members and stopped next to Ufer and Walor. They spoke with a young shaman.

“What have we heard from Mawkuk?” asked Tobin.

“Nothing,” said Ufer, scowling. “The shaman is useless.”

“It’s not that, Warleader,” said the shaman. “It’s nearly impossible to locate men in such a manner, especially an army who wishes to be hidden. Whatever Mawkuk’s shamans are doing to mask their presence from the Green Forest Clan is also working against us.”

That never bothered Nachun.

“When was the last message we received from Mawkuk?” asked Tobin.

“A week before we left,” said Walor. “He understood the plan and should be in place.” He paused. “Still, it would be nice if we knew for sure.”

“We must have faith in our allies,” said Tobin.

* * *

Shortly after dropping anchor, warrior-filled longboats began to fall unceremoniously into the water. Supplies would be transported in later after securing the shore.

Tobin’s boat touched the water lightly, swaying gently as rowers moved into position. He took his seat and eyed the twenty Kifzo aboard. Armor sat at their feet and would not be adorned until reaching the beach. He could smell their excitement, their anxiousness to enter battle. He shared those feelings.

Looking for that next challenge has been so ingrained in us.

As paddles dipped in and out of the water, Tobin wondered where he would find his challenges once he united the six major clans under his rule. He did not count the White Tundra Clan in his plans.

After centuries of war, the biggest challenge might be that of peace.

Tobin scanned the dark green forests lining the edges of the lush shores. Starting less than a hundred yards inland, thick evergreens could be seen for miles in either direction, climbing the sloping hills in the distance.

This will be like fighting in the jungles of the Blue Islands when Father warred with the other tribes and seized power so many years ago.

His oldest Kifzo would be invaluable to him now, having greater experience with such conditions.

Longboats slid quietly between protruding rocks, gliding onto the dark sand of the beach. Warriors spilled out of the vessels, their movement masked by lapping waves.

Something isn’t right.

He tensed and noticed that others around him did the same. Many ceased with lacing up armor and grabbed for their shields.

“Walor?” hissed Tobin. “Where is Mawkuk? He should be greeting us.”

Walor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A strange bird sound preceded a hail of arrows that ripped through the air. Two arrows struck Walor, one in the leg, the other in the shoulder. The warriors frantically sought cover, holding up shields while overturning boats. Tobin yanked Walor behind one of the boats as the second flight of arrows sped toward them. One pierced Tobin’s left bicep. He ignored the pain.

“You alright?” Tobin asked as blood pumped out of Walor’s thigh.

Walor removed the arrow and began a makeshift bandage despite the shaft in his shoulder. He winced. “For now, but it’ll need a healer.”

Tobin nodded.

Blue Island warriors fired off their own shots into the dense forest. Tobin watched most of the shafts disappear into the foliage or heard them
thump
into tree trunks.

With a grunt, Tobin removed the arrow from his arm as Ufer gathered warriors around him.

“Ufer! Stop!”

Ducking behind a longboat, Ufer raised his hand to steady the men. “Hold!” He looked at Tobin.

“Our losses will be too heavy with a blind charge into the woods. We’ve barely landed a fraction of our forces unarmored. We need to fall back to the ships.”

“We’ve never retreated,” said Ufer.

Tobin paused as doubt crept into his mind.
Neither Father nor Uncle Cef would have been happy with my decision. Kaz would rather have died than give ground. But none of them are here.

His men wouldn’t be happy, but he could deal with their anger later so long as they were alive.

“Fall back now!” he shouted. “Leave behind what can’t be easily gathered. Have the shamans focus on covering our withdrawal.”

Ufer scowled, but obeyed as he relayed the orders. Tobin turned and waved back those boats eager to reach the shore and help their brethren. He saw the confused looks on their faces as they peeked around the raised shields protecting them from arrow fire. Still, they turned their vessels about.

Boats began slipping back into the water. The Blue Island Clan took heavy losses from the initial strike.

Then Tobin heard it. A giant ram’s horn. It sounded like thunder crashing through the air, a low hum in his ears.

The call of the Red Mountain Clan.

Tobin watched warriors clad in bright red emerge from the trees alongside men in deep green. They opened their mouths and Tobin knew they screamed. Yet he could only hear the next horn blast.

He handed Walor off to a retreating Kifzo and ordered the man to get him out of there.

The approaching horde barreled down on him and his men.

* * *

A hand clasped Tobin’s forearm, pulling him on deck. Too many of the longboats remained ashore, forcing him to make his escape by swimming.

Dripping blood from multiple wounds, he could only think about one thing. “I want to know how many we lost. I want each and every one of their names,” he said in a voice like cold iron.

Ufer nodded. “It will be done. Early estimates are five hundred men, one hundred and fifty Kifzo.”

“And theirs?”

“Less than a quarter of that amount.” Ufer looked away in shame.

Tobin understood.

He walked past the man and unlaced the sword and shield from his back, dropping them to the deck. He had left his armor on shore.

The water dripping down his face and onto his lips tasted bitter. He strode to the railing and watched as the Red Mountain Clan and Green Forest Clan armies shouted from the shore in defiance. Tobin’s mouth filled with the humbling taste of defeat.

When he turned around, men waited for him to give orders. He scanned the other ships in his fleet and shouted. “These are inferior warriors. We grew too confident and underestimated what they were capable of. I take the blame for that. Raise the anchors!” he bellowed at the captain. “We’ll begin our assault in a different location than planned and be victorious all the same.” He pointed toward the shore. “Look at your enemy! The next time you see his face, your dagger will be in his throat.”

The shamans aboard his ship would relay his words to the other vessels.

He made his way below, leaving his men to their anger.

* * *

Pink water lapped against the shore as bodies drifted in and out with the waves. In the distance, countless ships raised anchors and sailed away. The Red Mountain and Green Forest Clan armies raised their weapons high in victory along the beach, taunting the Blue Island Clan from afar.

Though the council of the Green Forest Clan would be pleased by Charu’s early success, he knew better than to grow comfortable with the victory.

It’s only the beginning.

“Do you want me to stop them?” asked Gidan, his general, as if reading his thoughts.

“No. The Green Forest Clan needs to know that the Blue Island Clan is not invincible. And both armies need to revel in their united effort.”

Soft footsteps came from behind. “My congratulations, Warchief.”

Charu looked over his shoulder. “I told you to remain back.”

Melat bowed her head. “I did, Warchief. But once I heard the thunderous cheering from your men, I knew it was safe to come forward. You predicted the landing site perfectly.”

Charu took her meaning. Their informant had given them correct information. He caught Gidan casting a sour look at her. The general did not like him bringing Melat on the campaign. Yet, as warchief, no one would challenge his decision. And he would not deny her company after she had done so much for him already.

* * *

Tobin blocked out the pain as a healer treated his wounds. Walor lay on a pallet next to him, sleeping. The healer said Walor would make a full recovery, but needed his rest for now.

After stitching up the last of his cuts, Tobin rose and made his way out of the hull. Soyjid stood at an open doorway waiting for him.

“You blame my father, don’t you?” the boy asked.

“I absolutely blame your father. His orders were to secure the shore and he had more than enough time to do so. Many of my men want him killed.”

Soyjid frowned. Surprisingly, the boy seemed calm. “I understand. He did have an obligation to be here.”

That had not been the reaction Tobin expected. “So you aren’t here to make excuses for him?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m quite certain that his loyalty or intentions have nothing to do with any recent failings. He’s an old man, and like many his age, he is prone to mistakes. So, I only ask that you give him the chance to explain himself. And if you decide he’s not worthy to lead, still allow him to live.”