“Drawing the regiments out,” Galen said, nodding. “Then when the enemy is clear of the camp, we attack with the main part of our force. Wiping out the regiments should distract Salokan from the siege long enough for Sendarus to catch up with us. Then we can engage in a general battle with the main Haxus force.”
Salokan knew that the actual physical damage done to his army by Charion’s sortie was comparatively light—a few hundred dead, no more—but the damage to his army’s morale was considerably greater. Not only had they not yet breached the walls of Daavis, it seemed that Charion felt so little threatened by the siege that she could storm out of the city any time it took her fancy and wreak havoc.
Salokan knew that something had to be done urgently if Daavis was to be won ... indeed, if the campaign and thus the war was to be won. It seemed obvious to him that Ren-dle had failed in his mission—he should have delivered Lynan by now, and there had been that strange flight of pigeons from the west that bespoke unknown disaster to him—so everything now rested on taking the province’s capital. Subtlety had to be thrown aside and brute force applied to the problem. He ordered the catapults to work on the northeast wall where the crack had appeared. At the same time his sappers mined several tunnels under the same section of the wall, too many for the enemy to detect all of them in less than two days. In the night he mobilized his entire army—including the cavalry, which he dismounted—dividing them into three divisions, and moved them into position. They were given extra rations of wine that night.
His generals complained to him that if the morning’s assault was unsuccessful the entire army would be too exhausted to launch another attack for many days. Salokan told them he understood that, but that he also understood that the army could not be expected to endure continued failure.
“I believe we must win this battle now, or risk losing everything,” he told them, and they could not argue him out of it.
The next morning dawned fine, with the promise of a warm day ahead. Salokan was sure it boded well. Then the rider from the east came with the news that Kendran heavy cavalry had destroyed the best part of three of his regiments and recaptured two river towns. The enemy relief column, it would seem, was less than a day’s hard ride away. Soon after, two boats sailing upriver from the towns carrying the remnants of the garrisons that had managed to escape, brought the same news. Salokan was numb with shock. If the assault on Daavis failed, he would be caught between the city and a comparatively fresh army. If the assault succeeded, he would have less than a day to rebuild the walls and stock up for a long siege. Salokan had no choice, and the realization almost crushed him. His generals came to see why he had not ordered the assault and were sent back with instructions to break the camp and prepare for a retreat.
If they moved fast enough, the army could reach Haxus and some measure of safety in less than a month. But what then? Would the army of Grenda Lear come after Salokan? Almost certainly. He knew Areava would neither forget nor forgive his incursion. The king understood suddenly that he had started a war he might lose.
Chapter 26
The Chett army came to the Strangers’ Sooq. The inhabitants came out to stare, for they had never seen anything like it before, not even in the days of Korigan’s father. They did not cheer, but stood open-mouthed, amazed, seeing something they did not ever think they would see. An army of their own. For the first time many of them started thinking of themselves as Chetts and not simply as members of a clan. Their horizons had expanded, and the most far-sighted of them realized this meant their ambitions could expand, too.
As surprising as the army was its leader. Small, marble-white, scarred. He was like an ancient idol come to life, and as unapproachable. They did not know him well enough to welcome him, but just by seeing him, they felt they knew him well enough to be afraid of him. They already knew of Korigan—their own queen—and in the next few hours learned about Lynan’s other companions: the famous Kumul Alarn, the crookback Ager Parmer, the powerful magicker from the east with her entourage of Chett magickers, Gudon of the Red Hands—who resembled a certain barge pilot Jes Prado had taken prisoner only a few days before. It seemed as if the stuff of legend was coming alive in front of their very eyes.
The army and its leaders rode silently through the main street of the sooq, eventually halting before a single man who stood in their way. The inhabitants were surprised to see it was Kayakun, the most reticent and retiring merchant in the town. He stood before the terrible, pale Lynan and bowed, but not too deeply. They watched as Lynan dismounted and went to Kayakun and embraced him. Lynan was joined by Gudon, and then Korigan.
The people of the Strangers’ Sooq did not know what to make of it all, but they knew it was something they would remember for the rest of their days.
Jenrosa was squatting in the dirt. Lasthear sat opposite her. In between them, they had leveled the ground with the palms of their hands. Words appeared in the dirt, then an eddy would come and the words would disappear, and new words would take their place.
“I read Charion,” Lasthear said.
“And slaughter” Jenrosa added.
“The city of the river.”
“The retreat of an army.”
Lasthear again leveled the ground between them. “But whose army?” she asked aloud, and words appeared again, were erased, and were replaced with more words.
“ I am done, I am done, I am done,” Jenrosa read.
“The hanging sword,” Lasthear said.
“All march north.”
“All march north.”
The pair waited, but no more words came.
Jenrosa sighed heavily and leaned forward, her head in her hands.
“Is there pain again?” Lasthear asked.
“A little. It gets easier every time. Tell me, did we read what has happened or what will happen?”
Lasthear looked at her apologetically. “I am sorry. I wish I knew, but no one has performed this magic since the True-speaker’s day.”
“I am not the Truespeaker,” Jenrosa insisted.
“You continue to deny it, but every day I see you do things that only a Truespeaker could do.”
Jenrosa stood up unsteadily.
Lasthear watched her with concern. “What are you afraid of?”
“Why am I able to do so much so quickly? I could perform nothing but the simplest tricks before I came to the High Sooq ... before I met you.”
“Because you had no one to guide you, no one to show you the way, to let your natural talent mature.”
“But the theurgia—”
“Imprisoned you with their ceremonies and procedures and complex incantations. The way of magic is always simple, and always dangerous. From what you have told me, the theurgia want to convince you that magic is always complex and difficult, and about as dangerous as learning how to bake bread.”
“You make it sound as if the theurgia were created to control magic, not use it.”
“Maybe they were,” Lasthear said seriously. “Originally, at least. Do you wish to do more now?”
Jenrosa shook her head. “No. Not today.”
“Then we will meet again tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Jenrosa said without enthusiasm.
Lasthear stood up. “I told you the way was dangerous. I told you that courage was necessary.”
“You did not lie to me,” Jenrosa admitted. “What about the words in the sand? Should we tell someone?”
Lasthear considered the question, then said, “Perhaps you should tell Lynan. He may be able to make sense from them.”