“Careful,” Tobin warned.
“What it comes down to is that we can’t hold them off,” Lutha said, keeping his voice down. “We just don’t have enough men.”
Nikides nodded. “No one wants to say it yet, but Ero is lost.”
The rain had stopped at last and the clouds were breaking up and scudding west. Patches of stars showed through, so bright they cast shadows. Illior’s crescent hung over the city like a sharp, white claw.
Food was brought out from the palaces and temples, but the Companions had little appetite. Wrapped in their cloaks against the cold spring night, they sat on the stairs and sharpened their swords, awaiting orders.
Tired beyond words, Ki finally gave up and put his back against Tobin’s, resting his head on his knees. Caliel and the remaining Companions sat with them, but no one felt like talking.
We wanted battle, and we got it, Ki thought dully.
Lynx had moved off by himself and sat staring at a nearby fire. Nikides was grieving silently for Ruan, too, but Ki knew it wasn’t the same. A squire was pledged to die for his lord. To fail in that was to fail in everything. But it wasn’t Lynx’s fault; it had been madness on the walls.
How much comfort would that be for me, if I’d lost Tobin? he thought bitterly. What if that arrow had hit him in the throat instead of the shoulder? What if Iya hadn’t shown up when she did? At least then we’d all be dead together.
As Ki watched, Tharin emerged from the darkness and went to Lynx, draping a blanket over the younger man’s shoulders. He spoke quietly to him, too soft for Ki to hear. Lynx drew his knees up and hid his face in his arms.
Ki swallowed hard and rubbed at the sudden stinging behind his eyelids. Tharin understood better than any of them how Lynx felt right now.
“What will happen to him?” Tobin whispered, and Ki realized he’d been watching, too. “Do you think Korin will let him stay a Companion?”
Ki hadn’t thought of that. Lynx was one of them, and one of the best. “Not much for him to go home to. His father’s a lord, but Lynx is the fourth son.”
“Maybe he could be Nikides’ squire?”
“Maybe.” But Ki doubted Lynx would welcome such an offer just yet. He hadn’t just been loyal to Orneus; he’d loved the drunken braggart, though Ki had never understood why.
In the pavilion behind them the generals were still talking with the king. The Palatine was eerily quiet, and Ki could hear the steady drone of prayer in the Temple of the Four; the smell of incense and burnt offerings seemed to permeate the air. Ki looked up at the cold sliver moon, wondering where the gods had been today.
The wind shifted soon after, carrying the smell of smoke and death up from the harbor, and the faint sound of enemy voices singing.
Victory songs, thought Ki.
A touch on his shoulder startled Tobin out of a doze.
It was Moriel. “The king is asking for you, Prince Tobin.”
Ki and Tharin followed silently, and Tobin was glad of their company.
Tobin could smell brandywine and healing herbs on the king from ten feet away, but his uncle’s eyes were sharp as he motioned for Tobin to take a stool at his feet. Hylus, Rheynaris, and Niryn were still there, and Korin, too. All of them looked grim.
Erius extended his left hand for Tobin’s and looked into his face so intently Tobin suddenly felt afraid. He said nothing, listening to the rasp and hitch of the king’s breathing.
After a moment Erius released him and sank back in his chair. “Pigeons were sent out this morning to the coastal cities,” he whispered hoarsely. “Volchi has been worse hit by this pox. They have no one to send. Ylani can raise some men, but the garrison there is small to begin with.”
“What about Atyion? Solari must be on his way by now.”
“There’s been no reply,” Hylus told him. “Several birds were sent, but none has returned. Perhaps the enemy intercepted them. Whatever the case, we must assume Solari has not heard the news.”
“You must go, Tobin,” the king rasped. “We must have Atyion’s might! With the standing garrison, Solari’s men, and the surrounding towns, you might be able to raise three thousand. You must bring them, and quickly!”
“Of course, Uncle. But how will I get there? The city’s surrounded.”
“The enemy doesn’t have enough men to completely hem us in,” Rheynaris told him. “They’ve concentrated their main force along the eastern wall and at the gates. But they’re stretched thin between, especially on the north and west sides. A small group could get out. My scouts found a likely spot near the northwest wagon gate. We’ll lower you through a murder hole. You’ll have to find horses once you get outside.”
“What do you say, Tharin?” the king asked.
“Assuming we can find fresh mounts along the way, we could be there by midday tomorrow. But the trip back will be slower, with so many marching. It might be three days before we get back.”
“Too long!” Erius growled. “Force march, Tharin, as we did at Caloford. If you don’t, there’ll be no city left to save. Ero is the heart of Skala. If it falls, Skala falls.”
“How many should I take with me?” asked Tobin.
“The fewer the better,” Rheynaris advised. “You’ll be less likely to be seen.”
“Even less so if they go dressed as common soldiers,” Niryn said.
Tobin gave the wizard a grudging nod. “Tharin and Ki will go with me.” He paused, then added quickly, “And my guardsman, Koni. He’s one of my best riders.”
“And me! Take me!” his other men clamored from the shadows outside the pillars.
“I’ll go.” Lynx shouldered his way past the others and strode over to kneel at Korin’s feet. “Please, let me go with him.”
Korin whispered to his father and Erius nodded. “Very well.”
“And me!” Lutha cried, struggling through the press.
“No,” Erius said sternly. “Korin must take my place in the field tomorrow and needs his Companions around him. There are too few of you left as it is.”
Abashed, Lutha bowed low, fist to his chest.
“That’s it, then. You four accompany Prince Tobin,” Rheynaris said. “I’ll see that you have plain garments and an escort to the wall.”
Erius raised his hand as they turned to go. “A moment, nephew.”
Tobin sat down again. Motioning him to lean closer, Erius whispered, “You’re your father’s son, Tobin. I know you won’t fail me.”
Tobin caught his breath, unable to look up.
“No false modesty now,” Erius croaked, misreading him. “I’m going to say something now that I shouldn’t, and you’re not to repeat it, you hear?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“My son—” Erius leaned closer, grimacing in pain. “My son is not the warrior you are.”
“No, Uncle—”
Erius shook his head sadly. “It’s true, and you know it. But he will be king, and tomorrow he faces the enemy in my place. Hurry back with those reinforcements, then stay close to him, now and always. It will be you standing in Rheynaris’ place when he wears the crown, won’t it? Promise me, Tobin.”
“Yes, Uncle.” The memory of his mother’s face the day she’d died made the lie come easier. But as he hurried away to change clothes, he could not meet Korin’s eye.
Korin couldn’t hear what his father was saying to Tobin, but something in his father’s expression troubled him. His unease deepened when Tobin would not look at him.
“What’s the matter, Father?” he asked, going back to the king. “Don’t worry, Tobin won’t fail. And I won’t either.” Kneeling, he held out his hands for the sword. “Give me your blessing, Father, that I may lead as wisely as you.”
Erius’ grip tightened on the hilt and his eyes hardened. “You’re overly hasty, my son. Only one hand wields the Sword of Ghërilain. While I have breath in my body, I am still king. Be content with proving yourself worthy of it.”