Warriors of the Veil Page 8

  “Back to the castle,” Onika told her Veil warriors. They must not stay here another moment.

  She focused on Grayson and appeared in the bedchamber he shared with Jhorn and Danno. He lay on his bed. Jhorn sat on the edge, Zeroah and Danek hovering behind him. Duke Canden was not here.

  “The duke did not return?” Onika asked the queen.

  Zeroah glided toward Onika. “I have not seen him.”

  “He left when the priest struck him with his staff,” Onika said. “I had hoped he had come back with Grayson.”

  Zeroah’s eyes widened. “You don’t think . . . Could he have gotten lost?”

  “I’ll go look for him,” Onika said. “Perhaps he is simply in the mind-speak classroom.”

  “Let me go,” Zeroah said. “Grayson needs you.”

  Onika nodded. “Be careful, Your Highness.”

  “You as well.” Rosârah Zeroah vanished.

  “How do you feel, Grayson?” Onika asked.

  “Tired,” he said. “And I still can’t voice anyone. But thank you for saving me.”

  “Thank Arman,” Onika said. “Do you feel well enough to jump with me to Barthel Rogedoth’s camp and carry home Rosârah Mielle?”

  His eyelids drooped, but he said, “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Whenever you are ready,” Onika said.

  The boy popped away, and Onika followed, thankful they had saved Grayson and praying that the Duke of Canden was not lost forever.

  Trevn

  Trevn sat before a fire in one of the barracks at what remained of the southern border house. Most of the men were sleeping, but his thoughts were overcome. Tomorrow, if Onika’s messages through Charlon had been right, they would face Rogedoth once and for all. Trevn wished he was in his office with Cadoc, Oli, and Hawley, where he could—

  “Trevn, Trevn, Trevn, Trevn . . .” A child, saying his name over and over.

  Trevn’s heart leapt. Had the âleh finally worn off? “I hear you. Who is this?”

  “Oh! Oh, Trevn, it’s Rashah. Are you well?”

  “Yes, actually. I’m at the southern border house with Randmuir Khal.”

  “I’m so glad! Yesterday, the Duke of Canden bade me try to voice you until I succeeded. So even though I have gone to bed, I kept at it. I must tell Enetta at once.”

  “Rashah?” But his sister had left him. Trevn instantly reached for Mielle but felt nothing. Not surprising, really. He tried Oli next, but when the duke did not answer, panic niggled at his heart. Had something happened to his First Arm? “Miss Onika?”

  “Your Highness?”

  Relieved to hear her voice, Trevn relaxed. “Where are you? What is happening?”

  “We rescued Grayson from the Jiir-Yeke temple. And we have just returned from freeing Queen Mielle. She is well, though she cannot speak or move.”

  Joy rose within Trevn, but concern quickly overruled it. “Can Duke Canden help her?”

  “We lost him, Your Highness,” Onika said, then went on to tell the story of how they had rescued Grayson and the duke had been struck by the priest. “Rosârah Zeroah is searching the Veil, but it does not look good.”

  Oli lost? That explained why he hadn’t answered. Arman, help Zeroah find him. Knowing that Mielle was safe should be enough, but Trevn didn’t like leaving her vulnerable. “See if Lady Eudora is able to help Mielle,” he said.

  “Are you certain you trust her?” Onika asked.

  No, Trevn wasn’t. “Oli does, and that’s enough for me at present. Have Grayson carry her to my wife and bid her do what she can. What of Armanguard?”

  Onika told him how Shanek had returned to the great hall, killed Lord Idez, and claimed rule of Armania. “He demands to speak with the Duke of Canden and gave Sir Kalenek until morning to find him.”

  Grief for Lord Idez and his family pressed upon Trevn, but he brought up a new subject to make the most of this time. “One of Chieftess Charlon’s maidens said Shanek has Dominion over shadir. She used the ancient word keliy.”

  “I do not know that word, but Dominion usually involves ownership of a human body.”

  “The word keliy means vessel or instrument—sometimes weapon. And she said Shanek has control over shadir, not the other way around. I wonder if Grayson has the ability too.”

  “Grayson knows better than to make bargains with shadir.”

  “Yes, but might this be something he could use to defeat them?”

  Miss Onika did not answer for the length of several breaths. “I will ponder that further, Your Highness.” She went on to update him about Hirth Wallington’s confession and Tace Edekk’s army closing in on the Sarikarian border house.

  Trevn gave his own report to Miss Onika with instructions to pass the information to Captain Veralla, then repeated his request that she send Grayson for Lady Eudora. “And keep me informed about Oli as well,” he said.

  “Yes, Your Highness. I will send Kempe to assist you in the morning. It would be good for you to have a set of eyes in the Veil while you are fighting.”

  “Thank you, Miss Onika.” Trevn closed his mind to the prophetess, relieved that his magic had returned. He prayed that Zeroah and Eudora would both have success, but his mind was too worried to concentrate. He distracted himself by checking in on Hinck.

  “Trevn, thank Arman!”

  “The âleh wore off only moments ago,” Trevn said. “You got my message, I saw. And now you’re preparing to face Edekk’s army?”

  “They’re coming in three groups, but they should all arrive fairly close, sometime tomorrow. Those Veil warriors also found a troop of Jiir-Yeke headed toward Castle Sarikar, just as Princess Nolia said.” He explained how he and Saria had blackmailed the princess into divulging this information.

  “Tomorrow is the day for battle, it looks like,” Trevn said. “How many men do you have?”

  “Seven hundred and twelve here. Another six hundred at Castle Sarikar. But hear this. When I first learned of the Jiir-Yeke, I voiced Ulagan for help. Turns out he brought more men than promised, but he took them to your central border house. Apparently he misunderstood me.”

  “Oh dear,” Trevn said. “Perhaps Onika and her warriors can storm the Jiir-Yeke?”

  “I forgot about that,” Hinck said. “I haven’t had as much practice as the others, but I understand the concept well enough to give it a try.”

  “Don’t risk yourself unnecessarily, Hinck.” Trevn told him how Oli was currently lost in the Veil.

  “And I thought being stabbed was bad,” Hinck said.

  “How did you survive, anyway?” Trevn asked.

  “The knife went in at an angle. Sliced into me well and good. Chipped my sternum, so says the physician. I was lucky.”

  “You’re hard to kill,” Trevn said. “Are you certain Nolia will truly help us? There’s no way to be certain she hasn’t voiced Rogedoth.”

  “Attempting to kill a co-regent of New Sarikar is punishable by death. Princess Nolia must truly love Finnel Wallington, because she’s willing to do what she must to save his neck.”

  “How romantic,” Trevn said.

  Hinck chuckled. “Saria didn’t think so. She wanted to kill them both. She’s quite intimidating when she is angry.”

  “Can you blame her? The man dared try to kill her betrothed!”

  “Where are you, anyway?”

  “At the southern border house. I ride for the central one first thing in the morning.” He told Hinck how Charlon had helped him escape, then helped take back the fort.

  “Do you think that’s wise, letting a mantic help you?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do, in all honesty. But it didn’t feel wrong to let her stop her own mantic. We had no way to fight the woman.”

  “I suppose. But Charlon Sonber—she tried to kill Wilek!”

  “I know it. And she did kill Randmuir’s mother. The man is itching to have his revenge. The whole idea of working with her grated on me, but it’s over now. Tomorrow morning I’ll lea
ve her behind.”

  “What will she say about that, I wonder?” Hinck asked.

  Trevn didn’t know.

  Trevn left before dawn to avoid any awkwardness with Chieftess Charlon. He took with him as many of Rand’s men as he could, leaving behind just enough to hold the fort. They reached the central border house before morning bells, and though Trevn had voiced Sir Keshton Veralla to let him know they’d be coming and knew all was well, he still felt relieved to see the structure safe with no sign of enemy soldiers.

  Zanre Veralla and a troop of Kinsman soldiers were waiting at the edge of the clearing to escort them to the gate. Madam Kempe was there too, unbeknownst to the soldiers. She had arrived in the Veil while Trevn had been riding. Trevn thanked her for coming and sent her to check Rogedoth’s location. Then he surveyed the lay of the land.

  The fort had been built at the southern end of a gap between two woods, which someone had named Mishor Field. The gap looked to be about three furlongs wide and was the most convenient place for a large army to pass through when heading toward Lake Arman. A river ran out of the northern forest and into the southern one, where it bordered the western wall of the fort. The river made a nice boundary that, since it was so cold, would hopefully keep Rogedoth’s army from crossing easily. Armanian soldiers peppered the snowy field, most of them dragging logs between them. Trevn could hear the chops of dozens of axes in the trees.

  Madam Kempe returned and told Trevn that Rogedoth’s army was packing up camp. She didn’t know how many soldiers he had, but she hadn’t seen any giants with him. She thought he might be two or three hours away.

  This was the day. After all this time, today Trevn would fight his greatest enemy. Win or lose, it would be decided here.

  Zanre led Trevn toward the border house. As this had been the first built, it was bigger and more complete than the southern one had been. A double log palisade enclosed a vast area that would allow for expansion and crossed over a creek on one end, so water could be gathered from within the safety of the walls. The keep was a three-story log structure with crude cutout windows covered with plank shutters. Stone and mortar fireplaces ran up all four sides and puffed smoke out into the sky. There were barracks here as well, though these too were more impressive, lining up like soldiers at attention along both sides of the keep. They passed through the palisade gate and stopped outside the fort. There, Sir Keshton met them.

  “How fare you, Your Highness?” Sir Keshton asked as Trevn climbed down from his horse. “I hardly recognize you in that getup.”

  Trevn tore his gaze from the architecture and met Sir Keshton’s amused expression. “I am perfectly well, considering,” he said. “I require a private room and some breakfast.” He needed to do some voicing to check on Mielle and to see if Grayson was well enough to carry Trevn’s guardsmen here. He didn’t want to fight without them.

  “I’ve prepared a place for you, sir.”

  Sir Keshton led Trevn into the fort and down a short, cramped hallway with a low ceiling. A half dozen doorways shot off the hall. Sir Keshton opened a door on the left and nodded into a large room that held six tables.

  “If your men are hungry, they can take turns eating here,” he said. “My office is across the hall.” He pushed through a door on the right and walked around to the back of a table covered in maps that instantly drew Trevn’s interest. “I have a chamber prepared for you upstairs, Your Highness, but you can set up in here for meetings. I’ll move myself elsewhere.”

  “Thank you,” Trevn said. “Give me a report.”

  “Rogedoth was camped two hours west of here last night.” Sir Keshton tapped a place on the map spread across his desk. “I’ve received word that their army is tearing down their camp already. They could be heading out any time.”

  Trevn had learned that much from Kempe. “How many men do they have?”

  “Somewhere close to fifteen hundred,” Sir Keshton said.

  That was more than Trevn had expected. “Any giants?”

  “None at present.”

  “And how many do we have?”

  “My garrison has one hundred fifteen. With Lord Blackpool’s army and the hundreds of volunteers from Armania—farmers and tradesmen, mostly—and Ulagan’s giants, we number just under two thousand. Ulagan brought seventy giants under the command of one Moul Rog.”

  And left poor Saria defenseless. “Where has Marshal Winstone camped our men?”

  “In a valley but ten minutes to the east of here. General Ensley is due to arrive today.”

  “Where does he plan to make his stand, do you know?”

  “Right out on the field,” Keshton said. “He likes the way the forests force the enemy to cross where we can keep an eye on them. My men have been felling trees for the past two days to make stakes and arrows. Plus they’ve been leaving some trees where they fell, uncut to make it difficult for anyone to sneak through the forest and come up behind us.”

  Trevn nodded. “Excellent work, Sir Keshton. Your preparation will undoubtedly make a huge difference. It seems we are well positioned to win this battle.”

  “But for the mantics,” Sir Keshton said.

  “Yes, well, we have our own magic now,” Trevn said, thankful his mind-speak ability had been restored. “I think our Veil warriors will present a fair challenge for the Great Pretender.”

  Charlon

  King Trevn thought he had slipped away. Away without Charlon knowing. But she had been awake. Readying her people to depart. Before Randmuir Khal caused problems.

  The king’s warnings about shadir irritated her. For too long she had been trapped. Trapped by her own magic. Had used it to master her fear. But she was no longer afraid. The time had come to stop hiding within. She must choose. Choose what kind of a person she would be. What kind of Chieftess. Fear had not fostered loyalty. Nor had manipulation. Or magic. She could not control anyone. Anyone except herself.

  Charlon disliked the woman who had used Sir Kalenek. Who had made him a victim. She did not want to be that kind of person. She wanted to use her magic for good. Not evil.

  She should go home. But she was tired of hiding. Tired of worrying about the future.

  Fight, her heart said. Fight.

  Rogedoth had taken her son. Ruined what little good Sir Kalenek had fostered in the boy. Charlon could not allow him to prevail. What magic he had left, combined with Shanek’s powers, would crush King Trevn. Charlon felt no allegiance to the narrow-minded Armanian king. But her desire to thwart Barthel Rogedoth drove her north. Toward the battle.

  Inolah

  I wish you would tell me what this meeting is about, Ulrik,” Inolah voiced.

  She and her eldest were sitting alone in the council chambers. He had summoned her from breakfast to say he required her presence in a meeting with his wife. Jazlyn and her eunuch had arrived together and now sat across the table from Inolah and Ulrik.

  “You think I don’t listen to you, Mother, but you are wrong,” Ulrik replied. “It’s time I stopped toying with Jazlyn’s mind. I know she wants to go, so I plan to draft an agreement that will leave us happily parted forever. You and Qoatch will act as witnesses.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” Surprising to see maturity in her son after so much of the opposite.

  “Thank you for coming,” Ulrik said to Jazlyn and Qoatch. “The purpose of this meeting is to find a way for the two of us to part ways amicably.”

  “The answer is simple,” Jazlyn said. “Stay out of my head.”

  “It’s not as easy as that, and you know it,” Ulrik said. “I would never have gone into your head if you hadn’t tried to kill me and my brother.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  Ulrik laughed dryly. “You forget, my dearest, that I’ve been inside your mind. You can hide nothing from me. Go ahead and tell my mother how you ordered your eunuch to kill us, then ran off to visit Chieftess Charlon in—”

  “This torment is unacceptable!” Qoatch said. “If the emperor is
going to treat my Great Lady with such disrespect, we will not take part in this negotiation.”

  “Ulrik has promised to behave,” Inolah said, raising an eyebrow at her son.

  “My apologies.” Ulrik leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. Oh, yes. He looked very cooperative.

  “I apologize as well.” A tear rolled down Jazlyn’s cheek. Inolah had never seen her look so fragile.

  Qoatch handed Jazlyn a handkerchief. “Release her mind or we will leave, Your Eminence.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Ulrik said.

  “This negotiation was your idea,” Qoatch said. “What do you want from Empress Jazlyn?”

  “To stop plotting against me,” Ulrik said.

  “I stopped plotting against you long ago,” Jazlyn said.

  “Lies!” Ulrik yelled. “Again you forget that I know your mind.”

  “Ulrik,” Inolah said.

  “You have been meeting regularly with the Tennish remnant for quite some time now,” Ulrik said. “You promised them a New Tenma. And over half of your remnant set sail already.”

  “How do you know that?” Jazlyn asked.

  “I won’t stop you. In fact, I want you to leave and never come back,” Ulrik said. “You want the same, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I do not deny it,” Jazlyn said.

  “Good,” Ulrik said. “Resolving personal matters between us is only part of my goal here today. There is another matter to discuss that is far more urgent.”

  Inolah stiffened at this announcement. What could be more urgent?

  “Go on,” Qoatch said.

  “You parted ways with King Barthel,” Ulrik said.

  “He and I did not agree on many things,” Jazlyn said.

  “No one agrees with you on many things,” Ulrik muttered, “but that is beside the point.”

  Inolah gave her son another withering glare.

  “What is your point?” Jazlyn asked.

  “For months you harbored that villain here, made treaties with him, and pretended to be his dearest friend. Now he has gone to attack Armania and has sent the Jiir-Yeke to attack Sarikar.”