Unsure if he ought to salute and not wanting to look a fool, Ovid only stood at attention as the others had done, chin high. “Understood, Commander Beck. The King’s Volunteers will not let you down.”
She studied him for one, final moment, then nodded.
Ovid started to turn, then paused. “One question, Commander.”
Her only reply was another arch of her eyebrow.
“The Legend-Born. Are they here, with the army? Are they still alive?”
Damia Beck smiled. “Collette is here. She and her brother both escaped from the dungeon in Palenque. The Lost Ones may go home, someday, Commander Tsing. Would that please you?”
She said it as though she wasn’t quite sure herself if it would be a good thing.
“I don’t know,” Ovid confessed, “but it would have given my mother great joy.”
The commander nodded. “For your mother, then.”
Ovid took Ufland’s horse. Carefully, not wanting to look clumsy, he slid one foot in the stirrup and threw the other leg over, settling into the saddle.
“Thank you for that, Commander Beck.”
The woman’s expression darkened. “Thank me tomorrow, at dusk.”
Unnerved, Ovid only nodded, turned the horse, and spurred it back toward the road and the King’s Volunteers.
Ty’Lis stood on the eastern shore of the Isthmus and watched the waves roll in. The gentle hush of water over sand and stone soothed him. His robes undulated with their own ebb and flow, but he calmed himself. Nothing would happen tonight. The eastern sky had begun to lighten and it filled him with anticipation.
At dawn, it would begin.
The warm ocean breeze ruffled his yellow hair and his robes. Even at this distance he could hear the flap of the sails of the glass ships. The sound lifted his gaze and he studied the beauty of those vessels. Amongst them the Kraken swam, its body surfacing in ripples and links. The legendary beast had followed the fleet of glass ships out of instinct, but it would be no use to Atlantis in the war. The Kraken was a sea creature and could not walk on land or fly.
Still, its presence was powerful. Ty’Lis was pleased the monstrosity had made the journey.
The sorcerer glanced along the shore and saw at least a dozen octopuses dragging their tentacles in the rushing surf. They would linger that way until commanded otherwise. Some floated higher, above the troops already, swimming with the air sharks. But most of the nearly two hundred that had accompanied the invasion force were arrayed all along the coast of the Isthmus. At dawn, they would be ready.
A smile touched the sorcerer’s lips. Ty’Lis had to fight the urge to look northward. Only a few miles distant, Hunyadi’s forces waited with the Borderkind abominations whose extermination he had hoped would precede this war. Not that it mattered. Far more than half of the Borderkind in the Two Kingdoms and beyond had been slaughtered at his instruction. When the conquest of Euphrasia had been completed, he would finish the job.
Far more worrisome were the Legend-Born. They offered hope to the Lost Ones. And much worse, if their legend was true. Ty’Lis had hoped to execute them publicly, on the battlefield, to demoralize the Euphrasians and destroy any resistance.
Now he had been forced to conceive another plan.
A lovely plan.
Again his robe began to undulate. He ran his hands over the fabric.
“Shhh. Quiet, darlings. Quietly now.”
A frisson of unease went through him and he realized what had disturbed him. Turning, Ty’Lis saw three sorcerers coming toward him, floating several inches above the ground, arms crossed in arrogance. The hems of their robes brushed the rocky earth that led down to the shore.
His nostrils flared. Ru’Lem could have come to speak to him alone. Instead, the leader of the High Council had brought two other councilors. They would speak down to him, of course. They always did, when more than one was present. Alone, none of them had the courage to treat him with disdain. Together, they were too proud to address him any other way.
The octopuses on either side of him drifted further along the shore, moving away, dragging snail trails in the wet sand with their tentacles. Ty’Lis clasped his hands in front of him, sleeves enveloping them, and waited for the councilors to arrive.
“You wander far, Ty’Lis,” said the sorceress amongst them, an ugly crone called Nya’To, her skin and hair a tainted piss yellow.
Ru’Lem held up a hand and glanced at her, obviously displeased that she had spoken before him. The councilor on his right, a dark-bearded sycophant named Ha’Kar after his father, said nothing, watching the Council leader for any cue that he ought to speak or gesture or dance like the puppet that he was.
“Perhaps you ought to remain with us,” Ru’Lem said. His silver hair had thinned with age to nothing but wisps, but his beard remained thick and knotted with iron rings. “When the battle begins, it will be swift.”
Ty’Lis glanced at the sky. “We have a little time, yet.”
How dare they? None of this would have been possible without his efforts. He had gathered the Myth Hunters. He had removed Prince Tzajin to Atlantis and corrupted the throne of Yucatazca. He had engineered the murder of King Mahacuhta. Now they swept in to claim the glory and presumed to instruct him? They might command the armies of Atlantis, but he was not some Lost soldier.
“All is proceeding as planned,” Ru’Lem said, a warning in his voice as he knitted his brows. “We must all work together, now, to make certain there are no more mistakes. Your role has changed, Ty’Lis, but it is still vital to our success.”
A horrid malignance wafted from him, both a stench and an aura of darkness that would have cowed anyone else. The other councilors seemed to absorb the hideous ambiance, exuding cruelty and predation. Ty’Lis only smiled, revealing jagged teeth. The arrogance on Ru’Lem’s face wavered.
“We will not discuss the Bascombes’ escape again. I have delivered to you precisely the circumstances the High Council desired. After centuries of your predecessors bowing to other kings and letting our world be further diluted by the influx of unwelcome intruders from across the Veil, I have given Atlantis the chance to do something about it. Now you have taken command of our future, Ru’Lem. I hope that your hands are strong enough to guide it.”
The aged sorcerer sneered at him, lips peeling back. Thin even by the standards of Atlantis, his face had the flat, deadly aspect of a moray eel. It seemed as though he might issue a challenge at that very moment, but then Ru’Lem took a breath.
“It has been decided that you will command the Perytons when the battle begins,” Ru’Lem said at last. “They are unruly beasts, savage and useful, but loyal only to themselves.”
Ty’Lis smiled thinly. “And to me. They are loyal to me.”
“If we are to win the war, they must obey,” the aged sorcerer said.
“Oh, victory is vital. But there are other factors to consider.”
Before any of the councilors could reply, Ty’Lis raised a hand. He pursed his lips in a whistle that rippled the air. The octopuses up and down the shore made a terrible shrieking noise that made them flinch and cover their ears for a moment. Black smoke curled up from the palm of his upraised hand, pluming into the sky, and then it blossomed into a flower of deep purple light.
Ru’Lem raised both hands. The sound of the surf grew loud, but it did not come from the ocean. White froth and blue light steamed around the ancient one’s fists. Nya’To and Ha’Kar reacted as well, drifting aside so that he could not attack all three of them at once.
Ty’Lis smiled and raised both hands, showing empty palms.