Speaking of Bryce, where in the underworld is he?
A hand roughly grabbed her arm, and she flinched, almost driving the blade in her free hand into Peytr’s gut. Her husband stared at her, lips puffed out in impatience.
“You don’t need those,” he whispered, gesturing to the Twins. “Put them away.”
She jerked out of his grip. “No. Not unless you tell me what is going on here.”
For a moment Peytr appeared as if he might try to disarm her himself, but he obviously thought better of the idea and yielded.
“You’ll see,” he said. “But please, just promise me you won’t do anything rash.”
Rachida scowled. Peytr turned his attention back to the sea.
The first of the dinghies ran aground on Provincia’s rocky coast, followed by a second, then a third. Rachida gulped down her growing fear. Their township was well hidden, positioned below sea level, in a crater surrounded by black crags. The crags acted as natural walls that could be defended with arrow and pike; yet the position the survivors from Haven watched from was the mile-wide clearing five hundred feet away from their home. The ground beneath her was cracked and uneven, with occasional tufts of sea grass sprouting in the fissures. She cursed Peytr’s stupidity. They were out in the open here, vulnerable. If her husband had wanted to negotiate, he should have stowed all the people in their homes, where they stood a fighting chance should the worst happen.
Myriad soldiers stepped out of the dinghies, gathering into formation on the rocks. The captains, distinguishable with their great helms and oversized, spiked pauldrons, shouted orders. The men did not seem all that disciplined, which struck Rachida as queer. She had been there in Haven when Karak’s Army descended on the Temple of the Flesh, had seen how organized her former god’s forces were. Had it not been for Moira, Corton, Patrick DuTaureau, and ultimately Ashhur, all would have been lost. She wished they were all here with her now. Perhaps one look at Patrick’s massive sword would convince the soldiers to climb back aboard their boats and leave them alone. The natural father of her beloved child was indeed a fearsome warrior, and frightening when provoked.
When all the dinghies were emptied and ranks were formed, the twelve captains urged the soldiers onward. Six hundred booted feet clomped over the shoreline’s slippery rocks in uneven lines.
Peytr closed his eyes, took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and then took three steps forward. For a moment Rachida thought to join his side, but she hunkered down and held her swords at the ready instead.
When the twelve captains were fifty feet away from where Peytr stood, they halted their troops. One of them stepped to the forefront and lifted his great helm, revealing the face of a hard, middle-aged man with cold, ice-blue eyes that looked very much like Moira’s. The captain gave a signal and the soldiers fanned out in a single line, their armor clattering. Rachida found her view blocked by dented armor and scornful faces. The captain who had stepped forward then drew his sword.
“To what do I owe the honor?” asked Peytr with a mock bow. Amazingly, his tone sounded playful, without a hint of fear.
The captain acted as if he had never spoken. “Citizens of Haven!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the rocks. “You have been found guilty of blasphemy of the highest order. Because of your deceit, the mighty Karak, God of Order, the Divinity of the East, has sentenced you to die. But let none say Karak is without mercy! You have two options before you: Perish or submit. Those who bow, and give themselves back entirely to Karak, will be given the chance to serve the Divinity in his holy war against his bastard brother. The choice is yours.”
Rachida’s heart dropped when the man spoke. She remembered a time not so long ago when it had been her beloved brother Vulfram making similar proclamations. The memory brought worry crushing down on her soul. Though she had not spoken with a member of her family since she’d fled Neldar when Moira was banished by her father, they had never left her heart. Despite it all, she loved each of them dearly and hoped they had come through these trying times unscathed.
“I fear you have the wrong locale,” Peytr said, drawing Rachida’s attention. “This is Provincia, not Haven. I think you took a wrong turn somewhere or read the charts incorrectly. Best you be on your way.”
Behind Rachida, the people shifted nervously.
“Do not play coy with us!” the captain screamed. “It is well within our rights to storm these shores and put each of you to the sword.” He looked beyond Peytr, to the tired, frightened masses. “Again I will say, perish or submit. Choose wisely.”
Peytr shook his head. “What if we choose the third option?” he asked.
As the captain tensed, Peytr placed his thumb and pinky finger in the corners of his mouth and whistled. A soft rumbling sounded next, and the other captains turned, hunkering down as if they expected an unseen phalanx to fall upon them. From beneath the crags to Rachida’s right came Bryce, tugging along a wooden barrow covered with a thick blanket. It seemed all movement ceased as he guided his cargo across the rocky shoreline. Confounded, Rachida glanced at her husband’s back, wishing she could see what kind of expression he wore.
All eyes were on Bryce as he gave the massive throng of soldiers a wide berth until he reached his lover’s side. Peytr then stole a quick glance at Rachida before whipping the blanket off the barrow, revealing a shimmering mound of small yellow stones. A few dropped off the side of the barrow, tinkling on the ground. Gold. A huge mound of gold. Rachida’s breath was stolen away.
“What is this?” shouted the blue-eyed captain.
“This is negotiation,” Peytr shouted back at him. “What you see here is a token of what we have extracted from the caverns beneath this island. An untold fortune in gold. . ”
The soldiers behind the captains began to murmur.
“Karak’s faithful cannot be bought!” screamed a second captain, this one much younger than the first.
Rachida took a step forward, not able to take her disbelieving eyes off the heaping mound of gold. Lethal rage swelled in her bosom. A fortune before her, a fortune her husband had insisted they did not have when he gave Moira away as collateral. .
“I’m not speaking to the faithful,” Peytr said, grinning.
Rachida brought her gaze up to the captains. The one who had first spoken raised his sword above his head, and he looked ready to burst into laughter.
“You cannot bribe us, you damn fool. You’ll die, the whole lot of you, before we take everything we desire. Men, charge!”
A great howl erupted from the soldiers, the captains striding forward with menacing steps, ready to attack, and the rest followed. Rachida sensed her people cowering behind her, bawling apologies and turning to flee as the approaching horde made their way across the uneven rocks. Only Peytr and Bryce remained unmoved. Her fury at seeing the gold abated, giving way to bone-chilling fear. She hunkered down, holding one of the Twins out before her while lifting the other above her head, prepared to take out as many men as she could before her lifeblood leaked out onto the damp earth. I’m sorry, Moira, she thought as she watched rage-filled eyes glowering from beneath helms. I’m sorry, Patrick. Please, whatever gods still care, keep my son safe.