“Hurry!” Tesla Dart hissed at her.
In minutes they were positioned at the rear of the army’s left flank and could follow it through the opening in the Forbidding with a minimal chance of being recognized. There was so much dust and dirt in the air that it was impossible for anyone to see clearly for more than a few feet. All they had to do was pretend to belong. Oriantha began encountering Jarka Ruus almost immediately, but they were advancing through the roiling haze with heads down and eyes averted. She moved swiftly in their midst, a shadowy figure intent on avoiding physical contact. One of many, she angled in fits and starts among the trudging figures, making the same sounds they did, snapping and growling, animalistic and predatory. She tried to keep Tesla Dart and the Chzyks in sight, but they had disappeared somewhere ahead.
She was left on her own, much the way she preferred it—a reflection of how she had lived most of her life.
But after a long period of groping through clouds of dust, she passed through the wash of light flattened against the horizon and found herself outside the Forbidding and back in her own world. Haze changed to brilliant light that blinded her, and then to familiar sunlight. She recognized the Four Lands immediately; the changes in color and taste and smell were unmistakable. One minute she was inside the Forbidding and the next she was clear.
Yet she was still in proximity to creatures that would kill her in a second if they realized who she was.
She turned aside quickly, angling away from the ragged minions of the Straken Lord, beasts hacking and coughing from the dust in their throats, eyes gone red and narrow. She faded into nothing—just for a moment, just long enough to find concealment—before crouching down in heavy brush to get her bearings. She looked about and knew instantly she was nowhere near the Breakline or even in the deep Westland. This country was lush and green. A river shimmered in the distance, winding its way through hills and grasslands. There was farmland all around, plowed and seeded. The sun was bright and the skies clear.
Tesla Dart appeared from behind her, crouching close. “This is your world?”
“It is,” she acknowledged, still looking around.
“You know this place?”
Then she saw it, just visible through a screen of woods and tucked down between low rolling hills to her right. Sunlight glinted off metal surfaces in bright flashes and burned the blackened stones of massive walls and towers.
It was a city fortress, huge and forbidding.
She caught her breath. She knew the city instantly.
It was Arishaig.
Ten
The speech before the Federation’s Coalition Council had gone well. Edinja Orle was pleased. She was a formidable presence in any case, no matter the occasion or circumstance, but never more so than when she commanded an audience and could address them directly. The members of the council were already sufficiently intimidated by her that she could expect a certain deference. But when she struck the right chord, they would roll over and bare their bellies in an effort to demonstrate their submission.
She had spoken this day of the future, knowing that the uncertainties of the past year must be laid to rest. Three Prime Ministers in the span of twelve months were entirely too many for comfort—especially when the circumstances surrounding the deaths of the first two were infused with elements of violence and mystery. But she was the survivor who had escaped their fate by dint of cleverness and determination. She was the victim who had refused to yield to the fate her predecessor had assigned her, the strong-willed daughter of a family that had endured for centuries as a pillar of the community and an example of resilience.
It didn’t hurt that she infused her words with magic, giving her an aura that transcended expectations and instilled in the gathered a mix of unabashed hope and old-fashioned pride in their city and its people. For the delegates to the council, Edinja was exactly what they needed and had been hoping for. All concerns for her alliance with magic wielders and conjurers were set aside in tacit acceptance that everyone possessed a few flaws. All worries about the rumors that she engaged in dangerous practices and vile experiments were dismissed. Here was a woman who was not afraid to show her masculine side. Here was a woman who understood what a leader should be and who would advance the interests of the city in a way that would allow them all to share in a bright and shining future.
She wasn’t even sure what she said. When she spoke, she tended to go into a sort of trance and allow the words to flow unstructured and unedited. This was not to say she spoke without a purpose for what she was saying. But the tone and feel of her words were more important than the words themselves. If she could gain control of the emotions and the hearts of those listening, she could win them to her side on that alone. She knew how to do this, and she took advantage of it.
Now she walked the council chamber halls, the speech finished, her day’s work on that front complete. She had given them cause to believe and had set them on a course of action. Over the next few weeks, they would be reworking the taxation system to pay for her new undertakings, both of public works and military construction. She had asked for a stronger presence throughout the Southland and beyond. She wanted embassies in all of the major cities of the other lands—an outreach that would allow her to connect more directly to both the Elves and the Dwarves and even to the Federation’s longtime nemesis, the Borderlands of Callahorn.
It was her intention, in fact, to travel to the latter within the next month to meet with the body of representatives of those cities at the Rotunda in the city of Tyrsis, there to propose a fresh alliance—one that she intended would benefit them more than her. At least, it would do so in the short run and on the surface. Lay the groundwork for what you really wanted to accomplish by instigating a plan of misdirection, then wait for the right time to reveal your true intentions.
It was an approach she had learned from various members of her family through hard lessons witnessed and suffered. They were a rapacious, dangerous brood, the Orles—and none more so than those who were closest to her. Her father had murdered his first two wives and a brother. Her stepmother was an accomplished poisoner who was every inch a match for her father and who had helped him to dispatch the wife before her. Their lives thereafter were spent in large part keeping close watch on each other, although their union somehow endured.
Her brother was a monster.
She and her brother were the children of the previous wife and kept alive mostly because their father insisted on heirs and his present wife did not care to bear them. But instead of growing closer, as one might have expected, they were set apart and eventually against each other by the circumstances. Edinja had never liked or trusted her brother, even when she was very young, but she had never been given cause for this beyond what her instincts told her. Her brother was five years older than she, and had pursuits of his own to occupy his time. So, mostly, he ignored her.
But when she grew old enough to draw his attention—somewhere around the age of eleven or twelve—he began a systematic campaign of brutality. At first it was defined by small acts of cruelty practiced when no one was looking and later denied. An older and much better liar than she, he was able to refute her claims when she dared to make them. At that point, she was still small and unskilled and could not hold her own. But as the acts grew more frequent and more devastating—pets killed or made to disappear, special treasures ruined, sweets soiled in vile ways, and pain inflicted when they were alone and there was no one to intervene—she began to see that no one would save her if she did not save herself. Complaints to her father and stepmother were pointless. In the Orle family, you swam or sank on your own.