'So we stick to the plan?'
'Certainly. The scryers have his troops outside Akell at the moment, but I'm sure he'll retreat to the south of the Circle City so he's not watching his back.'
Vesna retrieved a rolled map from his saddle-bag and opened it up for Isak to look at as they walked. They headed for an outcrop, little more than a rise of rocky ground held together by the roots of an ancient oak, but it afforded a little shelter from the prying eyes of soldiers.
'The majority of the ground around the Circle City is pas-tureland, which favours us. A southern position offers good escape routes and to a degree constrains your attackers — they must come down the channel between the city and the fens, which means you can predict the route your enemy will take and most likely prepare a few surprises there. You can station archers and light cavalry to fight a running retreat and encourage pursuit, taking down the bridges over the rivers as you fall back. And you put mages on all sides to wear your attackers down further.'
'Isn't it a bit obvious?'
'Yes — but we're the ones looking for battle. Chalat wants the ground to manoeuvre in and bring our force of numbers to bear, and once past the two rivers he will have plenty of that. He has excessive confidence in the discipline of his troops. The enemy knows exactly what he's facing; scryers are not easily fooled by an army on the march.'
Isak grimaced. 'The more I hear, the more disastrous this all sounds. Talk to General Lahk, find me options.' They reached the outcrop only a few paces behind Commander Jachen.
'The religious equivalent of pissing behind a tree,' Isak sighed as Jachen pulled a square wooden panel from the sack and began fitting the wooden supports into it. On the panel was a painted icon of the Wither Queen, loaned with all possible grace from the Temple of Death, and hanging from it was a small iron incense burner. That Isak was praying to the Queen each evening was not a secret, but if he did so openly, he knew others would feel honour-bound to follow suit.
'Better than nothing, my Lord,' Vesna said as Jachen set down the makeshift shrine and retreated. 'At least it's clear you don't expect every man in the army to pray to her; the note I found in my bedroll from Lesarl's man, Soldier, made that clear enough.'
Isak wrinkled his nose at the thought. 'She'd be the only one of the Gods growing in strength. I don't want to imagine how she might use her power.' He waved a hand at the shrine and almost immediately a dirty-coloured smoke began to leak from it.
'Ah, my Lord?' Vesna prompted as Isak knelt down before the shrine. He picked up a broken piece of branch from the floor and held it out. 'If you want something hot ready when you're finished…'
'I'm not a performing monkey you know,' Isak growled. All the same, he reached out a hand and strands of greenish light swirled briefly above his palm before erupting into foot-long flames.
'I would never make money from you in that manner,' Vesna said with a smile.
Isak gave a noncommittal grunt; he got the joke, but it wasn't enough to lighten his mood.
The branch quickly caught and Vesna turned back towards the camp. As he walked away he caught the bitter scent of incense and heard Isak's voice, murmuring. He picked up his pace as a woman's purring laugh echoed distantly on the wind and a dead finger ran down his spine.
Not for the first time, Vesna pressed his fingers against his left forearm and traced the shape of the flat silver case that held Karkarn's tear. The action reminded him of when his father had died and he had inherited the two gold earrings of rank; he had been forever checking the heirlooms were securely fastened, and that reminder brought a renewed ache to his heart. He had been count for six months before he grew used to their presence, and only then did the guilt of inheritance start to ebb.
When do mortals deal with Gods and come away from it well? he asked himself for the hundredth time, looking back at Isak. And still 1 keep Karkarn's tear close at hand. Still I have not refused him.
CHAPTER 33
Nai paused at the entrance of the Fearen House and pulled his coat tighter around his body. He looked back the way he had come and saw Sergeant Kayel watching him in the distance. The other two soldiers the Duchess of Byora had brought with her were busy marvelling at their first sight of the valley. The sickly-looking blond man from the Byoran Guard couldn't tear his eyes off the winged white-eye, Kiallas. The slim Ruby Tower major was more interested in the massive white buildings.
There was no respite from the icy wind, even in the portico of the Fearen House. It howled around the valley like a spiteful harpy. Nai worked the arm-thick brass latch and he found himself dragged in by the door as the gale caught it and pushed it open. He managed to stop it crashing against the wall, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket in the process, but still got a furious look from the guardian who'd had to jump out of the way.
The man watched Nai struggle for a moment to close the tall door before reaching to help.
'Thank you,' Nai growled in his native tongue as the guardian's efforts made no appreciable difference. 'Nice to have a useless streak of piss getting in the way.'
The guardian's expression made it clear Nai's tone had crossed the language barrier even if the words meant nothing. As the door clanged shut he gave the man an insincere grin and headed to the centre of the room where Lord Styrax had taken over the largest of the desks. Major Amber was there as well, sitting beside his lord and staring disconsolately down at a large book lying open in front of him.
Both men wore the formal grey uniforms of the Cheme Third Legion, and Lord Styrax's massive shoulders sported the gold epaulettes of a general. Nai suspected it amused Lord Styrax to conform to the library's rules one day and ignore them the next. Up above he could hear the wind rushing over the great dome. They had lit more lamps against the gloom of a day that had never properly brightened after dawn; midday approached and still heavy shadows lurked in every corner of the library.
'My Lord,' Nai murmured when he reached the U-shaped desk.
Lord Styrax held up a hand to stop him. 'Unless you're an expert in Elven cross-pentameter, I'm not interested.'
'It is urgent.'
Styrax opened his mouth, then shut it again in a rare moment of indecision. It was another few heartbeats before he spoke again. 'Very well — but quickly.'
Nai noticed a curious face that had also broken off from its work. Quickly the woman looked back down again, but still Nai walked around the desk and bent down so he could whisper directly into Styrax's ear.
'My Lord, I do not know what your intelligence tells you, so I will repeat everything. A Farlan army approaches from the north; it will reach the city within three days. The Duchess of Byora offers her troops to support your own men in battle.'
'She said this to you herself?'
'Her man, Kayel, told me.'
Lord Styrax was silent for a long while. Unable to read the man's expression, Nai had no idea if this was news to him or not.
'That was unexpected of them,' he said at last, with the hint of a smile. 'It's been a while since anyone surprised me.' He pointed in the direction of the gate with his damaged left hand — the dark stain of blood underneath each fingernail looked almost glassy compared with the swirls of white scar tissue covering the rest of his hand. 'Find General Gaur and repeat what you told me, then tell him I want the Third Army pulled back to the Ismess-Byora border.'
Nai turned to leave when Lord Styrax grabbed his arm. 'Once you have done that, go to Sergeant Kayel and tell him I accept his offer, then accompany him back to Byora. Larim knows your mind well enough to speak into it?'
The necromancer wavered a moment before saying, 'I have prob-ably spent enough time in his company, yes; I assume his technique will be very similar to Isherin Purn's.'