Lonen's Reign Page 11

  “I’m surprised you’re telling me. Or that you’d consider putting Destrye princes in positions of power in Bára.”

  “Your husband gave his life to end this conflict between Dru and Bára,” Oria replied with solemn softness. “Your sons lost a father; you lost a husband. I lost a father, too, and brothers. Too many good people, our leaders, have perished and more will be lost still. We must treasure those we have left—and put them to good use to ensure peace and prosperity for both our peoples.”

  “You really believe you can take Bára, and stop them from attacking us again?”

  “Yes.” Oria said it with utter confidence. “Taking the city won’t be easy, but I am the rightful Queen of Bára. Once the city is once again mine, I won’t have to stop ‘them’ from attacking. We will be one people, Lonen and I will be King and Queen of a united realm.”

  Salaya smiled. “You don’t lack for ambition, I’ll say that. I accept on Mago’s behalf. What else do you need from me?”

  “How good are you at play-acting?” Oria asked.

  Her final visitors of the day arrived not long after Salaya left. Much as she loved the cookies, Oria gratefully accepted the platter of savory snacks her ladies brought, along with a heartier wine. She needed something with substance and they wouldn’t go down for dinner for a while yet.

  Baeltya and Vycayla made themselves comfortable, also helping themselves to the tapenades, nut-butters, and creamy cheeses to spread on the fresh bread. Vycayla raised a brow at the offerings. “You could’ve included some meats for those of us who aren’t vegetarians, daughter.”

  Oria gazed at the platter in some dismay, as it hadn’t occurred to her. “I apologize, Your Highness. My ladies have already grown so accustomed to catering to my tastes that I didn’t think of it.”

  “Hmph,” Vycayla snorted. “The Queen of Dru should think of such things when entertaining.”

  Baeltya rolled her eyes dramatically. “As if you ever entertained, Vy. Don’t badger poor Oria. She’s had to maneuver both Natly and Salaya into going along with this audacious plan. Successfully, too, I believe?”

  Oria gave the healer a grateful smile, accepting the wine she poured. “Yes, they both agreed to their roles. Though you two will want to keep a close eye on them, regardless.”

  “Not me,” Baeltya replied. “I’m coming with the army.”

  Vycayla seemed unsurprised. Oria knew Lonen had officially proclaimed that women warriors were welcome, but she didn’t think Baeltya had any fighting experience. “You are?”

  Baeltya nodded vigorously. “You’ll need healers. I’ll be leading a contingent of us. Since we can travel through the tunnels at our own pace, we should be fine.”

  Oria really wanted to ask if Lonen had agreed to that but thought better of it. They’d discuss it later, when they finally retired for bed. If they managed to keep their hands off each long enough to have that private conversation.

  “You’re staying here, though, Your Highness?” she asked Vycayla.

  “Oh, call me Vy already as this impertinent chit does,” the queen mother replied testily. “Since you won’t call me ‘mother.’ And yes, I’m definitely staying here to keep an eye on the foxes and chickens. You need me to make sure you and my son have a palace to return to.”

  No, Oria didn’t feel right calling Vycayla ‘mother’—not while her own mother, Queen Rhianna might yet live. Among the many reasons Oria burned to return to Bára she longed to discover if her mother lived and, if so, what sanity remained to her. With the magic now available to her, Oria might be able to restore her mother to the woman she’d been before her husband’s death broke her mind.

  “We are more than grateful to be able to leave Arill City to your capable rule,” Oria replied fervently, and with complete honesty. The gamble with Nolan became far less risky with the reins of actual power in the former queen’s hands.

  “It’s my privilege and honor to defend my city and people while you’re gone,” Vycayla said, her gray eyes so like Lonen’s bright with emotion. “When do you depart?”

  Oria glanced at Baeltya, who’d just come from the war council meeting. She should’ve realized the healer had attended the meeting out of more than casual interest. “I’ve been playing tea-party politics all afternoon,” she said, “so Baeltya has fresher news than I do.”

  “The day after tomorrow,” Chuffta supplied.

  “You could have told me.”

  “You were busy with your boring meetings.” He blew a mental puff of flame at her that had the odd effect of seeming like a child sticking out their tongue. Baeltya was relaying the same information aloud.

  “So soon,” Vycayla murmured, reaching across the table for the carafe, pouring them all more wine. “I’m amazed Lonen can mobilize the army so quickly.”

  “The warriors have been on alert since we returned,” Oria pointed out, “and they’re almost all concentrated in Arill City or in camps between us and the tunnel entrance. We’ve been sending discreet messengers since we conceived this plan for the camps to begin moving in that direction, and the derkesthai have obliged in ferrying in foodstuffs that you’re generously supplying.” She nodded her thanks to Vycayla. “Any delay on our part plays to my brother’s favor. And we don’t want to risk him giving up on Nolan as a tool and sending the Trom to attack here. The sooner Natly ‘frees’ Nolan and he believes himself solely in power, the more likely Yar will relax into complacency.”

  “How soon will Natly move?” Baeltya asked.

  “As soon as we’re clear of the city, I’d think.” Oria looked to Vycayla, who nodded agreement.

  “I’ve got my personal guard at the temple prepared. They’ll play along with Nolan as king, while making sure I’m not confined to quarters again,” Vycayla said in a sour tone. “Of course, I’ll have a tremendous change of heart, beg my son’s forgiveness, and cater to his every whim. I hope you’re right, Oria, that he’ll be manageable if no longer thwarted.”

  Oria hoped so, too. “As soon as I can, I’ll remove the geas on him. If it doesn’t disperse with the death of the sorcerer who laid it on him.”

  “It’s odd to hear you speak of these sorcerers being so easily killed,” Baeltya said, mulling it over as she swirled her wine. “These terrible monsters had nearly mythic proportions to us before we met you. The stories warriors came back with…” She shuddered and gulped her wine.

  “They are men like any other,” Oria said. “And, like any man, they can be killed.”

  “And what of your last living brother, this Yar?” Vycayla asked with a sadly knowing look in her eye. “Will you be able to bring yourself to kill him?”

  “If I must, yes.”

  “Easier to say than do,” Vycayla murmured, not without sympathy.

  And yet do it, Oria would. Even if her mother begged her not to. One way or another, this last, desperate campaign would put an end to an era of conflict.

  One way or another.

  ~ 11 ~

  Lonen watched the last of the warriors and wagon loads of supplies cross the moat, the once-teeming city almost ghostly quiet. They were leaving Arill City nearly as empty as they had on that day so long ago when Lonen accompanied his father and three brothers on a lost cause, while the caravan of non-fighting citizens departed in the other direction. This time, of course, they were leaving the city occupied with the Queen Mother in charge, but a surprisingly large number of citizens had chosen to accompany the army and fight—or assist in whatever way they could.

  Those staying behind had consolidated into a tighter ring of dwellings near the palace, partly because those buildings had the best construction, and the logistics made sense—but also to create the illusion of a populated city for Nolan, and whoever might look through his eyes.

  Arnon had gone ahead to organize the march through the tunnels from the lead, while Lonen—along with Alyx and three hand-picked warriors for his personal guard—brought up the rear.

  Overhead, Oria rode on Ch
uffta, Baeltya riding behind her, the great form of the derkesthai king beside them, the sky filled with derkesthai of all sizes, flying in perfect formation. Lonen’s mother stood beside him, also watching the final departure, her expression stern and expectant.

  “Once you retract the moat bridge, don’t extend it again for any reason until we return,” he told her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, boy. If people seek shelter here, of course we’ll extend the bridge and let them in.”

  Lonen bit back a sigh. “Remember who we’re dealing with here. These are sorcerers who can animate golems and who’ve possessed Nolan and subverted his will. It’s entirely possible they could create a simulacrum of a Destrye refugee to infiltrate the city.”

  Vycayla’s brows had climbed as he spoke, finishing in incredulous arches. “I’ve been dealing with the Bárans and their magic since before you were born. I’m not an idiot.”

  “I know.” He allowed the sigh to escape. “Just… be careful. I don’t like the feeling that we’re leaving you undefended.”

  Her expression softened. “You are your father’s son—but you’re balancing what you can control with what you can’t better than he did.”

  Lonen couldn’t help glancing at the sky and the copper banner of Oria’s hair streaming against the blue. “Nothing like a sorceress wife for lessons in what a man can’t control,” he commented wryly.

  His mother patted his cheek, but for once the gesture felt sympathetic and not condescending. “You’ll do fine.” Her gaze went to the sky, too. “You two make a formidable team. Send word often, and we will, too.” A small derkesthai winged over to land on her shoulder, winding its tail down her arm like a set of iridescent ivory bracelets, and Lonen was vividly reminded of Oria when he first met her. “Illya and I have worked out a system of conversation with yeses and noes, haven’t we, pretty lady?”

  The derkesthai dipped her chin in a clear affirmation. “I should have done something like that with Chuffta long ago,” he said admiringly.

  “Yes, well, you can’t be expected to think of everything,” his mother replied archly, pleased with herself. “Take care of our people, and come home victorious.” She embraced him, her eyes suspiciously bright, and walked off across the bridge.

  Lonen took his time checking his gear, then mounting Buttercup, who had his head high and tail flicking with excitement, the warhorse recognizing the signs of battle to come. The delay let him reassure himself that the bridge had been properly withdrawn, the city and people safely within. Smoke curled up from fireplaces, hanging low in the chill air, along with the scent of meals being cooked. High above, in the towering tree Arill called Hers, the fabulous spiraling structure of Her temple perched like a beacon of peace.

  Taking one last look at his home, he reflected on what it might mean that he left it for Bára a third time. A prickle of foreboding accompanied the realization, and he shook it off, Buttercup lifting his ears in question. “Nothing, man,” he said quietly, patting the horse’s neck. “Silly human superstitions. Let’s be off,” he called in a raised voice. Alyx and the others saluted, their faces full of the same eager anticipation thrumming through Buttercup.

  Buttercup eagerly kicked into a fast walk, and Lonen lifted a hand to Oria, sweeping his arm forward. She waved back, and the derkesthai squadron peeled off into groups, some going ahead as the vanguard, others fanning out to scout the countryside they’d pass through on the way to Bára.

  “Oria is ready to meet us at the first oasis,” Lonen told Arnon, holding up a candle to read the message Baeltya had penned and the bright-eyed derskesthai perched nearby had brought. As soon as he read the missive, he blew out the candle, the pervasive dark of the enclosed tunnel returning.

  That particular element had been left out of Nolan’s stories. And—though Nolan’s men had mentioned the tunnels were dark—nothing had quite prepared them for the utter lack of light so far below ground. Lonen suspected those men had been so long in the tunnels, making their way back, that they’d become accustomed to lacking sight and had forgotten.

  Moving an army of warriors, support personnel, and food supplies through the tunnels without light presented various tactical issues, which Arnon muttered about pretty much non-stop. The tunnel, however, went in two directions only—forward and back—which at least made it impossible to get lost, so that worked in their favor. Other than that, they’d found themselves pressed to handle the foreign experience of being trapped underground for days on end. The Destrye were not a people who dealt with that well. It didn’t help that the floor of the tunnels retained moisture, forming stinking pools in places, and soggy mud in much of the rest, slowing their progress.

  Added to that, they hadn’t brought along enough candles and lanterns for the entire strung-out caravan to have light all the time. They’d concentrated light at the front, in case of unforeseen obstacles, and the rest of them used light only when necessary. They’d discovered, too, that their eyes did adjust somewhat, and if they avoided light as much as possible they were able to make out general shapes of black on black.

  Fortunately, the derkesthai seemed able to see just fine, so they winged their way happily up and down the tunnels, carrying written messages and bringing news from the outside world. After a week underground—and without Oria—Lonen found his own grip on reality fraying. Having the connection to her through the marriage bond kept that sun lit inside of him. He had no idea how the rest of them coped.

  So, when Arnon argued—yet again—that only Lonen should go aboveground at the break in the tunnel, he shook his head vigorously, even knowing his brother couldn’t see him. “Anyone who wants to go above should be able to.”

  “There are a lot of very good reasons not to,” Arnon said, his voice muffled by whatever he was eating. “One, we could be spotted, blowing the element of surprise. Two, the oasis can’t support great numbers, so not everyone can go. Three, our eyes are adapted to the depths now and anyone who goes above will simply have to adjust again.”

  “Four, we are not meant to live like moles belowground and I need our people in top condition.”

  “A desperate army fights harder,” Arnon pointed out.

  “Is that true?” Lonen didn’t think so. “I’d rather have people remember what they’re fighting for. Besides, we need to replenish the water supplies. And Oria has arranged to ferry more candles and lanterns from Arill City.”

  “We have a relay team to pass things along.”

  “Isn’t it driving you crazy,” Lonen demanded, “being underground for days on end like this?”

  “Yes,” Arnon replied evenly, not sounding anywhere near as crazed as Lonen. His hand bumped Lonen’s shoulder, then gripped it. “I just keep reminding myself it’s worth it. Every man and woman in this army knows that. Being upside a few hours isn’t worth blowing the element of surprise.”

  Lonen really hated that Arnon was right. “Fine. I’ll stay below and so will everyone else. But quietly pass the word among the commanders that anyone who really needs some fresh air, so much so that they’ll crack without it, gets to go up.”

  “No, you go up.” Arnon’s voice held laughter. “Maybe fuck your wife and take the edge off. You need it.”

  From nearby, Alyx snickered, quickly muffling the sound. “You sound like Ion,” he retorted, then regretted it immediately. Their older brother had died at Bára and had been buried there next to their father. As much of them as they could scrape together to bury.

  “I think Ion would approve of what we’re doing,” Arnon said, and they were both silent a moment. “Does Oria have a plan for countering the Trom if the derkesthai can’t stop them from landing?”

  Lonen had been surprised Arnon hadn’t asked it before. The looming question that haunted his own mind. They had iron weapons to fight the golems. The sorcerers they could perhaps counter with Oria’s magic—though she’d be one against many. They had their own dragons to battle the ones the Trom would no doubt bring. But how to battl
e the Trom themselves, who seemed indestructible and could dissolve an armored warrior with a single touch?

  “Yes,” he said, with confidence that was a total lie. Oria would only say that she was working on it. He knew her well enough to understand that she meant she had a few ideas that she’d likely have to test in the moment, while they prayed like hell to Arill that one of them would work.

  Shouts echoed from ahead, followed by flares of light, and a wave of sound as a message passed back. With the Destrye army strung out a good five leagues along the tunnel—necessary because of the space restriction and to keep the good air flowing—Lonen had appointed a person in each group to be the relay. Their one job was to accurately repeat any message they received. They couldn’t afford to have messages from ahead or behind get distorted or changed.

  Fenive, who’d gone with them to the derkesthai colony, served as the relay for the king’s party, and she came dashing back from the next group ahead, her lantern painfully bright. Lonen closed his eyes until she shuttered it. “Golem attack at the fore,” she repeated carefully and clearly, the relay from the group behind them listening carefully. “Unknown numbers.”

  “I’m going,” Lonen said, rising and whistling for Buttercup, who saw better in the darkness than he did.

  “We’re with you, Your Highness,” Alyx said. “Fenive, give us the light.”

  She took the lantern and the lead, both of them riding as fast as they dared on the uneven surface and through close quarters. Lonen gave Buttercup his head, letting the warhorse choose his footing. Forewarned, the groups of supply wagons and marching warriors crowded to the side, giving them room.

  It still seemed to take forever to reach the vanguard, and it occurred to Lonen that the scouts had reported the exit to the oasis was only a few leagues beyond that. Had Oria and her derkesthai squadron landed at the oasis only to be overwhelmed by golems? The thought filled him with rage and terror. An answering pulse along the marriage bond reassured him that Oria was alive and reasonably strong. Though he knew she’d hide any distress from him.