Even within that range the Felk wizards were limited, it seemed. That whole unit hadn't suddenly burst into flame. Instead, an individual here and there had suffered the horrible fate, while the person standing alongside went unscathed.
They could only pick out individual targets, then, like archers did.
"Tell Cultat to advance this unit of infantry," Praulth said, pointing to a map. "Draw the wizards forward from the Felk ranks. Give them something to go after. Then send this company of cavalry—it's a strong company—on a northwestward tangent. They'll cut through the wizards before they can retreat. Go. Go." Her hand thumped the table, but Merse was already passing it to the premier.
It was calculated sacrifice. Some of those infantry soldiers were going to die—and die as bait. But they would serve the greater cause.
It was a pure and painfully profound fact.
Praulth blinked and lifted her head. She quickly and unabashedly swiped a hand across her eyes, blinked more until the tears were gone. She caught a glimpse of the diplomats still watching raptly from the auditorium's aisles. They were silent, perhaps finally and truly aware that they were witnessing a moment of genuine history.
She noticed Xink, too, still standing to the side, still attending her. Ready to perform any task she set him to do. He was faithful. She saw that he had retrieved Merse's medallion from where it had fallen. She would need Xink, later, when all this was done. No matter what the outcome, she realized, she would survive this night and the following day. She was intimately involved in this war, but she wasn't bodily at risk. She had already faced her physical hardships, being assaulted and ravaged on Petgrad's streets. She had survived that.
When this momentous battle was through, Praulth would have Xink; and she would take her comfort there, and he would welcome her, because he still loved her... with a greater depth of authentic feeling than she perhaps deserved. But she would deserve it. Eventually, at least. She would right the wrongs between them, and their mutually inflicted wounds would heal.
Still gazing at him, she smiled, a small sweet curl of her lips. Xink smiled back.
Merse told her the infantry unit was drawing out the wizards. The Alliance soldiers were sustaining casualties, being picked off one by one, erupting into awful gouts of murderous flame.
"The cavalry," Praulth said. "Now."
It happened for her on those maps, with every fresh bit of field intelligence that arrived and with every tactic she ordered. But the human cost was never far from her mind. Later, in the deep night, when the extraordinary and inexplicable event occurred, Praulth judged—gravely and sorrowfully—that the cost had been worth paying.
AQUINT (5)
He had dried flecks of blood in his hair and kept combing his fingers through it, trying to get it out. Abraxis wasn't the first person he'd seen killed, but it certainly was one of the most violent and sensational deaths he had ever witnessed, though Tyber's had been gruesomely spectacular, too.
Radstac definitely knew how to handle that sword of hers.
She and Aquint had fled the marketplace together. They had gone sprinting through streets and alleys, along a preplanned route to shake off any pursuers. Though Aquint had heard the alarm being raised behind them, no Felk soldiers had followed.
Now they had met up at some rooms that were behind a row of smithies and woodworking shops.
Aquint looked around. He saw the Minstrel and the woman who had been with him at that burnt-out granary. A few of the others he recognized as belonging to the Broken Circle were here, plus one new face. It was thin, and wore grey stubble. Also present was Deo, of course.
"Tell me something," Aquint said, addressing the Minstrel. "Why did you move your operation here from that warehouse where you were?"
The Minstrel said nothing. Someone else spoke up, "How do you know about that?"
"It used to be my warehouse," Aquint said. "In another life. Isn't that ironic?"
"No one's in the mood for humor," a large elderly man said. Aquint vaguely remembered his name was Ondak. "We've lost a good man today."
That would be Tyber, of course, the one who'd gotten himself turned into a torch by Abraxis before Radstac took the wizard's head off. Aquint had known the old thief from bygone days.
"Funny," Aquint said. "I lost one yesterday."
Though his tone was nonchalant and sarcastic, the truth of what Aquint said still stung. He missed Cat terribly. He did have some cause to think the boy was still alive, but that meant trusting what these people had told him, that Cat's body wasn't there when they had gone back for it.
There was silence in the rooms. Then the Minstrel stepped forward.
"That's the bag?" he asked Radstac.
She had the small red bag under an arm. "Of course it is," she said curtly. Having decapitated a man a short while ago, she showed no obvious reaction.
"May I have it?" asked the Minstrel.
She tossed it toward him. But Aquint's hand flashed upward and caught it. He dangled it by its strap.
"There's something in here I need before you do whatever you think you're going to do," he said.
The Minstrel blinked. A murmur went through the others of the Broken Circle.
"What is it?" the Minstrel asked. It was a courtesy, since there were more than enough here to overpower Aquint and take the bag.
"When I was in the city of Sook," Aquint said, "I was assigned to the quartermaster. That's where Lord Abraxis came to recruit me. Never mind why he picked me. But when I accepted his offer to become an Internal Security agent, he did something curious."
They were waiting to hear. "What?" the Minstrel prompted him.
"Abraxis made a cut on my thumb," Aquint said, "and dabbed up the blood with a bit of cloth that he then put into... a bag."
"I thought it was just the wizards from that Academy place who had to give samples of their blood," Deo said. He had set down the crossbow with which he'd shot Abraxis in the back, before Radstac had finished him off.
Several heads turned toward the thin-faced one in the room Aquint didn't recognize, though he could now guess who he was. The man shrugged and said, "That is my understanding of it. Luckily, my own sample was disposed of after it was presumed I was dead. That is the standard procedure."
"It was Abraxis's measure," Aquint said. "His idea, to maintain discipline. Yes, all those magicians had to provide samples. But Abraxis told me that other, prominent figures throughout the empire were also included."
"And you are prominent?" Ondak asked scornfully.
"I was an Internal Security agent on a very important assignment."
"I like that you say 'was,' " the Minstrel said.
Aquint gave him a stony look. "What else would I say now?"
The Minstrel nodded. He considered, then said, gesturing, "This man here is named Nievze. He is late of the Academy for magic in Felk. He's a deserter. He is also a skilled practitioner of blood magic. The whole point of today's operation, which cost us the life of our cherished colleague Tyber, was to secure Abraxis's bag of samples so that Nievze here could... make use of them."
"I understand that," Aquint said sharply. It had been explained to him. "But before that happens, I need what's mine from this bag."
Silence came again. They might choose to simply ignore what he wanted. Aquint knew full well the enormous potential that this bag contained. Would these rebels pause in their plans to accommodate him—he, who had until very recently been hunting this same group, meaning to turn them over to the Felk?