Evanthya, she knew, was forever lost to her. In all likelihood, they would never see each other again, and if they did, Fetnalla would have no choice but to kill her. She wept as she rode, knowing that she was being foolish, that the Weaver would not approve. She had chosen, guided by fear rather than love, driven by the exigencies of her cause rather than by the longing in her heart. Now she would live and die by that choice.
Chapter Twenty-three
Dantrielle, Aneira
That they both survived until nightfall was, in Evanthya’s mind, nothing short of miraculous. They fought as if possessed, the duke wielding his sword as the first minister imagined he must have as a far younger man. She had overheard the soldiers speaking in hushed voices of how clumsily he had fought when the siege began, and of how often one or the other of their brethren had been forced to rescue him. And of course, she had seen for herself the wound inflicted on his side by the Solkaran invader.
On this day, however, she saw no sign of the awkward old duke Tebeo himself claimed to have become. Perhaps it was the imminent threat to his castle and family. Perhaps his outrage at all that Numar had done since the siege began finally boiled over into battle lust. Whatever the explanation, Tebeo acquitted himself valiantly. Moreover, his men, seeing how the duke fought, redoubled their efforts on his behalf, driving many of the men of Solkara and Rassor out of the castle and slaughtering those who dared to remain.
For her part, Evanthya benefited from Eandi fears of her people, and their ignorance of Qirsi powers. Her magics-gleaning, mists and winds, language of beasts-did her little good in close combat with larger, stronger warriors. But because the men she fought couldn’t be certain that she wouldn’t set them ablaze or shatter their bones with shaping power, they approached her warily. Tebeo, who knew precisely what powers she possessed, and who insisted that they remain back-to-back, made certain that she was always facing away from the fiercest fighting. When she was forced into combat, she fought competently. She had learned the rudiments of swordplay long ago-the duke had required this of all his ministers-and what she lacked in strength she made up for in quickness and skill. Nevertheless, she didn’t kill a single man, and when forced to parry some of the heavier blows, she nearly fell to the ground. Fortunately, several of Dantrielle’s men had positioned themselves around her and the duke, and on those occasions when her life was truly in danger, at least one of them managed to come to her aid.
Dark smoke hung over the castle, stinging Evanthya’s eyes and throat. It had shown no sign at all of abating, leading her to believe that the fires still burned in the Great Forest. This was confirmed for her late in the day when one of Dantrielle’s captains descended from the castle ramparts to give the duke a report on the fighting atop the walls.
“They keep coming with their ladders, my lord,” the man said, as a Qirsi healer mended a gash on his arm. “But they’ve yet to take any part of the wall.”
Tebeo leaned against a stone archway, enjoying a brief respite from the fighting. His face was scarlet and sweat dripped from his cheeks and chin. “Good work, Captain. Please convey my thanks to the men under your command.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Have you any sense of how the battle goes beyond our walls?”
“No, my lord. None. We can’t see for the smoke and the trees. We hear things occasionally-they’re still fighting-but it’s hard to say who’s got the advantage.”
The duke nodded, grim-faced. “Very well, Captain. Return to your men. We’ll do our best to hold the gates and ports here.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man bowed and hurried back to the nearest tower.
Gabrys stood nearby, bleeding from a dozen cuts on his arms, face, and neck, but still looking fresher than Tebeo. “The fires were a desperate measure, my lord. Numar couldn’t have attacked us so fiercely and still inflicted many casualties on the armies of Kett and Tounstrel. He simply hasn’t enough men.”
“You sound very confident, armsmaster.”
“I remain convinced that the walls will hold, and that our allies will win through.”
Tebeo straightened and examined his blade. “I’d like very much to share your certainty.”
The master of arms stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t?”
“I know that I should,” the duke, his voice dropping as well, “that it’s important that I do, not only for myself, but also for the men.” He took a long breath. “I’ll feel better when Orvinti arrives.”
“We can prevail without Orvinti if we have to.”
“We shouldn’t have to.”
Gabrys gave a sad, small smile. “Yes, my lord.”
“You don’t think he’ll come.”
“It’s not that, my lord,” the master of arms said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Then what? Come now, Gabrys, this is no time to be timid.”
“Forgive me, my lord. But I fear that you’re staking all on the actions of your allies. You’re convinced that if they arrive, the siege will be broken, and I sense that you believe their failure to do so dooms us to defeat.”
Tebeo opened his mouth, faltered, then frowned. “That’s not entirely true,” he said, an admission in the words. “But I understand why you might think it is.”
“You said a moment ago that we could prevail without Orvinti,” Evanthya said, drawing the master of arms’s gaze. “How?”
“By continuing to fight as we have been. It may not seem like it, but we’ve had a good day. The regent has sent raiding party after raiding party, and we’ve yet to cede any part of the castle. Yes, we’ve suffered losses, but Rassor and Solkara have lost as many men as we have, perhaps more.”
The duke appeared troubled and Evanthya thought she understood why. The master of arms spoke this way with some frequency, measuring Dantrielle’s losses against those of the enemy. He was a warrior, no doubt a good one. But Tebeo was not. The loss of life on both sides appalled him. More to the point, he recognized that this war was but a prelude to a much more significant and dangerous conflict. The casualties that Gabrys counted so blithely left them weakened and more deeply divided than ever, just as the leaders of the Qirsi movement wanted.
“You may well be right, armsmaster,” the duke said. “But still, I’d like to know what’s become of the dukes of Tounstrel and Kett. Can we send out-”
“Look to the skies!”
The three of them spun toward the north wall in time to see another of the great flaming stones crash down the ramparts.
“Damn!” the duke said through clenched teeth.
“I thought the hurling arms had been burned,” Gabrys said, sounding more alarmed than he had in some time.
Tebeo nodded, still staring up at the wall. “As did I.”
“I’m afraid that may be your answer, my lord. If the Solkarans have managed to repair the arms-”
“Look to the skies!”
Two more burning spheres plummeted toward the castle, one of them hitting the same wall, not far from where the first had landed. The second soared over the wall and landed in the ward, making the ground tremble and splattering flaming pitch in all directions.
Shouts went up from the north and west gates, and an instant later soldiers of Solkara and Rassor swarmed into the castle courtyard.
“Archers!” Gabrys roared, raising his blade and rushing toward the attackers.
Arrows whistled from the walls. Many of the enemy raised shields to guard themselves, but a good number fell anyway, only to be replaced by dozens more storming through the gate.
“What’s happened to our defenses?” the duke demanded, readying his sword as well.
“Look to the skies!”
Tebeo looked up once more, his expression more desperate than grim. “He’d kill his own men just to strike harder at me.”