“Lillian,” Gavin said and watched another sigil appear over her division.
“Braden,” Gavin said, watching a sigil appear over the division between his own and Wynn’s.
“Mariana,” Gavin said, and a sigil appeared over the division north of Lillian’s position.
Only one remained, and Gavin himself spoke the Word. For the first time in over six thousand years, the battle standards of Kirloth and his Apprentices lit the sky.
From his position between Mariana and Wynn, Ovir beamed with pride as he looked at the glowing standards surrounding him, but he was not about to be left out. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Ovir whispered a prayer. Within moments, the glowing Seal of the Royal Priest of Tel joined the sigils of his fellows.
“You better have a damned good reason for making me climb up here,” Rufus said, as his head poked up through the trapdoor of the watchtower.
“Are we getting any reinforcements today?” Ackerley asked.
Rufus frowned, saying, “How should I know? They don’t tell me anything, except, ‘Here, take this to whomever.’ Why?”
Ackerley offered his friend a hand up and pointed as he said, “Look there!”
Rufus stood up to look just as a blazing, white light erupted off to the east. Rufus was from Vushaar, so the glowing symbol over the contingent of troops to the east meant nothing to him. Ackerley, though, recognized the Glyph at the symbol’s center in an instant and couldn’t stop the blood leaving his face.
“Roshan,” Ackerley whispered.
“What?” Rufus said, turning to face Ackerley, and saw a second symbol blaze into existence off to the west. “Ackerley, look!”
Ackerley spun and felt himself swallow hard, saying, “Mivar.”
More symbols appeared, and with each appearance, Ackerley felt his fear growing. It wasn’t until the fifth symbol appeared that Ackerley’s fear slipped over into true terror.
“Kirloth,” Ackerley said, his voice shaky. “By the gods…they’ve come for us.”
“Braden, Wynn, Lillian, and Mariana…take out the watchtowers,” Gavin said.
Gavin felt a resonance of Evocation cascade around the camp like dominoes, and four, seething orbs of blue-white fire erupted from the forefront of each of his apprentices’ formations. The orbs were the size of a large man’s fist, and they flew unerringly to their targets. The moment each orb reached a watchtower, they exploded, raining flaming bits of wood, sentries, and one courier down upon the surrounding area.
Gavin squared his shoulders and prepared to invoke the Word of Conjuration that would broadcast his voice across the mercenary camp. But then, Gavin froze. His eyes unfocused, and the color left his complexion. His skin turned clammy.
“I’ve decided I’m going to enjoy myself with that Mivar wench before I kill her,” Iosen said, whispering in Gavin’s ear, “and I think I’ll leave you alive to watch.”
Gavin hung from the chains, Iosen’s mouth so close to his ear Gavin could feel Iosen’s breath. Iosen moved the red-hot iron across Gavin’s bleeding form, and all Gavin could smell was his own burning flesh as he screamed.
“Gavin?” a woman’s voice said.
Gavin jerked and found Kiri’s right hand on his left. Kiri looked at him, her expression betraying her concern. Gavin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The images and memories tried to take him again, and he clutched Kiri’s hand.
“Ovir,” Gavin said, his voice almost a gasp, “call for the meeting.”
“I don’t think anyone has noticed,” Declan said, “though I’m sure some will wonder why you had Ovir contact the camp. No matter. Kiri take your hand back; you can’t be seen comforting him. Gavin, for the next few minutes, you need to be Kirloth: cold, aloof, utterly confident in your plan and your people, and equally ruthless. Can you do that?”
Gavin thought back to his confrontation with Iosen Sivas outside the manor, focusing on his mindset when he killed Sivas. A calm descended over him. His breathing slowed and evened out. His jaw stopped trembling.
Declan watched Gavin, his gaze intent. A few moments later, he said, “Good. Now, hold that.”
Ovir felt those around him look to him for an explanation when Gavin called for him to contact the camp. He said nothing, even though he suspected he knew the source of the shakiness in Gavin’s voice. Ovir bowed his head once more and whispered a prayer for Valthon to make his voice heard across the valley. Valthon’s favor was steady warmth rising out of the core of Ovir’s soul, and he felt the effect take hold.
“Mercenaries in the camp below,” Ovir said, his voice echoing across the valley, “I am Ovir Thatcherson, Royal Priest of Tel, and I call upon your leaders to confer with us under a flag of truce.”
Little time was required to set up a pavilion an equal distance between the Kirloth formation and the mercenary camp. Given that snow was starting to fall, Gavin instructed the soldiers to use his pavilion that was as pleasant as a summer evening inside.
The commanders of the various units stood at the back of the pavilion. Declan stood at Gavin’s right with Ovir on Gavin’s left. Kiri, Lillian, Wynn, and Braden stood in a line between Gavin and the formation commanders.
As they waited for the mercenary leadership to arrive, Declan leaned close to Gavin and whispered, “There is no need to demand the mercenaries’ surrender. Even without your recent acquisitions from the former House Sivas, you possess sufficient funds to hire this army yourself for several years. With the acquisitions from House Sivas, you need a guard force to maintain security at your new holdings.”
“If we follow your plan,” Gavin said, his voice a whisper as well, “I’d want…your associates…to serve as training cadre to whip them into shape and keep them there.”
“That can be arranged.”
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Ovir asked, his mouth quirking into a grin.
Before Gavin could answer, a soldier entered the pavilion and snapped to attention, saying, “Milord, your guests have arrived.”
Six arcanists-a man wearing a red robe with aquamarine runes of a Primagus, a woman wearing a white robe with the vermillion runes of a Semagus, a woman in a red robe with the silver runes of a Primagus, a man in a green robe with the amber runes of a Termagus, and a woman in a blue robe with the ruby runes of a Semagus-entered the pavilion, followed by six men and women wearing varying armor.
Gavin ignored the arcanists completely, focusing on the armored individuals.
“You are the leaders of the mercenaries?” Gavin asked.
“Yes, we are,” the red-robed woman said.
Gavin shifted his eyes to the arcanists. “I care nothing for the six of you. You traitors are the dead walking. I called for this conversation to speak with them.” Gavin indicated the mercenary leaders.
“What do you want with us?” a woman in half-plate asked.
“How’s the pay been? You looking for new employment? I can’t imagine the coin has been all that regular lately.”
The mercenary leaders looked to each other, their expressions thoughtful and considering.
“Now, see here! You work for us!” the red-robed man said.
“Maybe not,” the woman in half-plate said, looking back to Gavin. “What’s your offer?”
“I came into ownership of various pieces of property around Tel, and I find myself in need of a reliable guard force. You’ll be well-paid and have a housing allowance for those posts near the more settled regions. I will provide all arms and armor at no cost to the soldier. I accept resignations, and I’ll support the families of anyone who dies under my colors. But here’s the thing. I expect unwavering loyalty. Anyone who takes my coin had better not betray me or those under my care.” Gavin pointed to his medallion. “I trust I do not need to explain the fate traitors will face.”