Aedran laughed. “Those cowards have had all they can bear of the cold, snow, and Prythian steel tearing out their guts. My scouts informed me an hour ago that Nabar’s men have decamped and are riding back to Onareth. This time on the morrow, they’ll be south of the Shadow Road.”
Erryn hesitated. “Still, there are bandits and worse. If we leave, Valdar will be defenseless.”
When Aedran shrugged, a clump of snow rolled off the shoulder of his wolfskin cloak. “Leave most of the army here to defend the village-believe me, two thousand of my brothers are more than enough for any band of brigands. With winter upon us, Nabar won’t bother sending any more soldiers, as I promised. And if we succeed, why, you’ll never have to worry over Nabar again.”
And if we fail?
The missive shivered in her grip, but she didn’t know if it was from the wind or the tremor in her fingers. She had a thousand questions and misgivings, but only one held sway. “Can I trust this report?”
“With your life,” Aedran said at once. “And remember, that goes for the both of us, and all those who follow you.”
Erryn turned toward the Gyntors, but saw only a depthless wall of shifting clouds. She glanced out at the fields, the snow gradually covering the signs of battle. Last, she faced Aedran. He waited expectantly. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, and her mouth grew bitter with the fear of losing what little she had gained. What have I really gained, save a patch of frozen ground, as Aedran said? And when springtime comes, Nabar will send enough men to lay siege to Valdar. Yet here was chance to act in a way that no one expected, especially King Nabar and his advisors.
With good reason, spoke a small voice of warning. To do this is to risk everything. And, as you’re reacting to Nabar, it might be that you are charging headlong into a trap. Erryn silently agreed with that reasoning, but if Nabar was setting a trap, it was the most foolish of ploys. All that aside, she still had one prominent concern.
“You told me wise kings don’t make war in winter, but now that winter is nearly upon us, you’d have me make war.”
“You are right on both counts,” Aedran admitted. “But wise kings are not always the best kings. They’re rarely bold, and almost never remembered. Besides, you’re a queen, young and brash. What better way to extend your rule than by slashing a wide and deep mark across the minds of all who stand against you now, and all those who will oppose you in the future?”
Erryn began folding the parchment. There was no time to plan, but as Aedran said, now was the time to act boldly, even recklessly, for what sovereign of renown had ever stood idle? There’s never been a one, she thought. The greatest rulers spoken of in legends always pressed forward, seeking, taking all that lay in their path. In the stories, those mighty men didn’t stop until old age crippled them or death took them.
Her fingers had reduced the parchment into a tiny square before she met Aedran’s eyes again. It seemed her decision warranted a fanfare of trumpet blasts and rousing cheers, but all she had was her voice. “Make ready to march.”
Aedran smiled. “Give me a few days to put everything in order, and I’ll give you kingdoms.”
Chapter 2
“We must hurry,” Thaeson gasped, as if his shuffling gait were not the reason for the company’s slow pace. “The girl must be near the Shield of the Fathers by now. We cannot allow that to happen.”
“Yes, Essan.” Edrik spoke his master’s title with respect, but he was glad the night hid his scowl. We can hurry, but I fear we’re already too late. He caught hold of the old priest’s elbow to hurry him along.
They traveled one of a score of cobbled roads radiating outward from Targas like the spokes of a great wheel. These roads arrowed straight and true through miles of wedge-shaped farmlands, now still and silent under the canopy of darkness. As ever, the warm night air was bursting with the scents of good rich soil and ripening crops. High above, Edrik glimpsed a faint sparkling glow from both the stars and the nearly transparent arc of the Shield of the Fathers.
Normally that light filled him with a sense of peace, but not now. Tonight was Hanyata, one of four nights during the year set aside for the ceremonial sacrifice necessary to restore strength to the Shield of the Fathers, which in turn kept the city eternally warm and hid Targas from the corrupted world of the deycath-those folk not born within the blessed sanctuary. With the girl’s flight, all the celebration and joy of Hanyata was in jeopardy. The only good he could see was that her escape seemed to have gone unnoticed. But for how long?
Of late, too many girls had taken to fleeing their duty to the people, Targas, and the Munam a’Dett. Betraying the citizens of Targas was a terrible and selfish sin, but standing against the benevolence of the Munam a’Dett Order of priests was a mortal sin worthy of the severest punishment. Even as a low-ranking priest of the vizien caste, and but a summer out of his acolyte’s robes, Edrik understood that dissent of any sort was more dangerous than a killing plague. Having girls flee their obligation showed a great unraveling that, in time, would upset the peace and harmony of Targas, which the Munam a’Dett had worked diligently for centuries to maintain.
“A moment!” Thaeson stumbled to a halt, coughing, his thin fingers clutching the sigil of their order embroidered on his chest, a blue dragon encircling a blood-red lily that floated amid a knot of green vines, the symbol of life and its holy guardian.
Edrik put a hesitant hand on his master’s shoulder, praying he would not collapse. The company’s twenty sets of eyes passed over Edrik and Thaeson, before resuming their search of the night. Edrik knew what his fellows were thinking, for it was also on his mind. They never should have told Essan Thaeson about the girl. It was true he would have found out in due course, but with him in tow and slowing the company, the chance of capturing the girl was almost lost.
“We must hurry,” Edrik urged.
“A moment is all I ask,” Thaeson puffed, before a fearful bout of gagging bent him double. He hawked and spat, then went back to sucking wind.
I’ve already given you more moments than we can spare! It was all Edrik could do not to shout his thought aloud. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked askance at his master.
Tufts of pale hair had come loose from the essan’s conical white-and-gold headdress, making him look wholly undignified. Worse still, mud covered his sandals, and more speckled the snowy hem of the ankle-length tunic hanging below his blue-and-gold quartered vestments. Edrik could not remember having seen Thaeson, or any essan for that matter, looking so rumpled and dirty.
“All may not be lost,” Danlin said. Shaved bald like all in his caste, tall and broad enough to stretch his vizien’s vest of quilted green wool, he was a hard-faced young man better suited for armor and crushing foes. Not that the Munam A’Dett had lifted a finger to crush foes since raising the Shield of the Fathers.
Edrik cocked his head toward the distant sound of chanting voices and pounding drums.
“They’re beginning the ceremony,” Thaeson said, sounding as relieved as Danlin. “If that’s so, then none of my fellows have raised the alarm about the missing girl. Surely they know, but have found a suitable replacement.” As he spoke, the voices and drums merged to become a harmonic throbbing that mimicked the heartbeat of all life.
“By Blood and by Water,” Thaeson said. Everyone around him repeated the sacred words, eyes on their home.