“Keladry of Mindelan just got down. Strange, I would have thought that she’d avoid it like the sickness – she couldn’t get on the first step down the stairs of Balor’s Needle when she was a page.”
Alanna snorted. “Don’t you think that she might have gone to try and overcome that distaste for heights? I can’t see why our allies would do that for fun, personally, though I agree that it’s a useful skill for this sort of terrain.”
They were interrupted by Raoul storming up the stairs, followed by one of Jon’s out-of-breath aides.
“Raoul! What’s happened?”
“Absolutely nothing!” the big knight growled in disgust, and accepted a cup of water from a nervous squire whose name Alanna couldn’t recall. “They disappeared into their little holes on the other side of the mountains. I wasn’t going to risk the men riding straight into their little traps, so we’ve just wasted a week going after the little rats. I hope the Riders have more luck.”
King and Champion agreed with the Knight Commander’s decision to head back, even if the mission was fruitless. Far better that they had those precious squads of Own to send out again, than to have lost them to wolf-pits and scavengers deep in the mountains.
Kally continued to fold bandages in the healer’s tents, grateful that there was nothing else to do, and feeling guilty that she had wished that there could be. Duke Baird had tried to be disapproving of her unscheduled appearance, but he was not going to turn away a healer as powerful as she was. The lone Imperial in the healer’s tents – a female knight whose full name was unpronounceable to most Tortallan soldiers, so settled on being called ‘Kirsty’ – was a wonder with herbs, splints and stitching, but used her Gift very rarely. She and Baird spent nearly every free moment discussing various techniques and exchanging information, sometimes even over the beds of the patients, who, Kally noted, grew increasing nervous as various exotic remedies were suggested and debated between the two healers.
It was a tense, but quiet time in the main camp. The sort of quiet where everyone sharpens their weapons and polishes their armour. The sort of quiet that has a hundred or so arrows to bowstrings at the sound of an unexpected birdcall.
The sort of quiet that comes to a very loud end.
*************
Chapter 10 – Crashing Waves
It was a Rider squad who alerted them first – well, what was left of a Rider squad, at least. A man and a woman, on exhausted ponies, the man white with blood loss and pain from a Scanran arrow in his shoulder thundered into the camp, sending all of them – Imperial and Tortallan alike, reaching for weapons and armour.
“Scanrans,” the woman said unnecessarily, accepting a drink while somebody went to fetch Commander Buri, “over the next pass. They’ll come through in the next twenty four hours.”
It had an immediate effect on the camp. Within hours, Imperial light cavalry – four centuries armed with bows, javelins and swords, rode out with the Own, the Riders, and the personal levies of the border lords, while heavy cavalry prepared with the knights – their weapons and tactics were virtually identical.
Kel and Justinia did their best to arm up in the cramped confines of their tent, struggling a little with each others’ unfamiliar armour, but eventually managing to get outside to their horses with a minimum of fuss. Peachblossom and Uma, normally cantankerous, settled for trying to bite the grooms who tried to saddle them only thrice between them.
Mindelan itself was re-fortified and the very few remaining civilians who had stubbornly refused to flee south hid there. Justinia, who, by that stage, was more than a little annoyed at the locals coming to gawp and frown at the female knights, muttered something about throwing a few of the hard-heads all the way to Thak’s Gate. (She retained enough of her guest-manners not to say it around Kel, knowing that they were her family’s tenants.)
Mounted, they made their way to the staging areas, where they separated – Kel among the young knights in Prince Roald’s unit, Justinia away to a century of heavy cavalry led by a stern-faced knight on a roman-nosed warhorse.
King Jonathan, on a magnificent black stallion, in gleaming armour, reviewed the troops, his Champion by his side, in her famous gold-washed mail, and on one of her equally famous golden warhorses. He made a speech – and Kel thought it was a rather good one, for all that she wasn’t really listening.
She mentally reviewed her armour, her weapons, even Peachblossom, who hated long waits and moved restlessly under her. Was it her imagination, or were there more white hairs among the chestnut these days? With a start, she realised that she had known Peachblossom for nearly nine years now – the gelding must be starting to get old. Soon, too soon, it wouldn’t be fair to ride him into battle. Behind her, in his carrier, Jump listened attentively, tattered ear held aloft as though he could understand the King. Kel realised that she was rambling. Did this always happen before battle? Before – in her last year as squire – those had been skirmishes, minor engagements – even meeting that metal monster was nothing compared to this.
The waiting was the worst. Not knowing what was coming, and having time to ponder it. She glanced at her friends – Roald, looking the way a Crown Prince ought to, Neal, Cleon, Merric, Faleron, Owen – trying to look serious beside Lord Wyldon. Garvey, healed now somewhat from the rather humiliating duel with the Imperial Prince, was in another unit. Princess Berenice, also in full armour and on her black destrier, riding quietly with the King, and then going to her own people.
That was when, with a start, Kel realised that she hadn’t seen Prince Yevgen for several days.
Afterwards….long afterwards, when the mud and the stone and the unforgiving mountains were little more than a memory. When the blood and the sight and screams of the wounded and dying were but nightmares to keep the survivors awake. When the pain from one’s wounds was only a distant memory save when bad weather was near.
When the battle was no more than a neat entry in the Chief Historians’ ‘Concise History of the Reign of King Jonathan IV and Queen Thayet’. When it was examined in meticulous detail in Sir Myles of Olau’s famous ‘Historical Commentaries’, and every page for decades afterwards struggled with it on the sand-table.
Even then, Kel thought, she would never know exactly what went on. There were a lot more animals in the fight than usual, not just the horses. Jump, of course, who by now had worked out go into battle with Peachblossom, who fought with teeth and hooves. Imperial mastiffs, and even the raptors. There even seemed to be great cats, and wolves in the fray, but she knew she was mistaken, for when the dust and confusion finally settled, and the Tortallans held the field, there were no such grand creatures on the rocky plain where the pitched battle had been fought.
All around her were the groans of the wounded, of the dying. Some among the Scanrans – the higher ranking officers, though, to tell the truth, in this light, and with them all dressed in furs and leathers she found it hard to tell them apart from the common soldiers – were chained as prisoners. Others, not so valuable, had their throats slit. Healers did the same to the worse injured of the Tortallans, those they could not hope to save. Others were treated as best as they could manage, and those who could not walk or ride back to camp had litters made. There were enough spare horses, from both the Scanran and Tortallan sides to allow that.
The Scanran warlord – Maggur what’s-his-name – and his highest officers had escaped. That, perhaps, was the most disappointing part of an otherwise crushing victory, but Kel, seeing the litters and the blood-stained forms that had once been men she fought beside, did not agree.
The Imperials had their casualties too –fewer than the Tortallans, and negligible against the Scanrans, for most of their light cavalry, like the Riders, did their fighting from a distance – bows, mainly, and had withdrawn to the rearguard when the main force arrived. The heavy cavalry, fighting as they did in a disciplined phalanx, also suffered few injuries against their comparatively disorganised foes.
Kally and the rest of the junior healers went among the fallen, separating the injured from the already dead, and treating those they could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several Imperials – Princess Berenice and Dama Justinia among them, around a fallen form. Thinking it one badly injured, Kally made her way over. It was not what she expected.
It was a wolf, though a strange one. Daine, if she had been there, and not far north scouting in the form of an eagle, would have told her it was far too large for a mountain wolf, especially one from the Grimhold mountains, where such things were usually middling-sized. Besides that oddity though, this wolf wore a knapsack.
Swift hands were unbuckling the pack, opening it to find a manner of things – documents and papers, mostly. Meanwhile others had their hands on the great animal, probing the still form. All of a sudden, though, it shuddered, and coughed up blood.
By now, others had come to watch, curious.
The wolf shimmered, and changed. In its place a young man, fair haired, white with blood loss from a bad sword slash across his ribs, not wide, but deep, that had not been visible under the dark grey fur of the wolf.
Yevgen opened his eyes groggily, and met Kally’s startled ones. Then he closed them wearily, as though their weight was too much for his exhausted body to take.
Duke Baird looked distinctly thoughtful as he sat down at the council table that had been set up in the Great Hall. There were only Tortallans there – the Imperials were tending their own, and the princess was upbraiding her brother about the risks he had taken, coming into the battle itself while he was carrying stolen copies of Scanran battle plans. None of the Imperials appeared particularly flustered that their prince took the form of a very large wolf to do so, so the Tortallans decided to follow their example, if a little warily.
The princess had delivered the battle plans to the rest of command after her brother was safely in the healers’ tents, and they pored over them, worried. While it was unlikely, given the extend of Scanran losses, that these plans would be implemented, they gave an invaluable insight into the thinking and the strength of their opponents.
“Does it not seem strange,” Duke Baird interrupted the company as he was settled, “that in Empire as large and powerful to be able to send six hundred mounted troops as a symbolic force without a blink, a child of the ruler would have only had the Healing Gift worked on him once, despite, I must add, having broken an arm, a collarbone, several ribs and both legs in the last few years?”
Kally, much to Jon’s curiosity and surprise, had gone a little paler at the mention of each of those injuries.
“I was able to have a good look at him while I was Healing those injuries – much more than the time he was duelling with Sir Garvey, and I found it very interesting. He broke the legs and most of the ribs at the same time – no more than two or three years ago, I would say – yet all that was done in the way of Healing was a very simple spell to make the body’s natural processes go faster. While all his bones had healed straight, they’ve been done with conventional splints and plaster, not the Gift. They have one Healer for more than six hundred – and while she uses her skills and Gift well, it’s not a particularly strong one – yet a hundred wildmages, among them twenty or thirty animal healers, who, I am told, usually cannot Heal humans.”
Alanna, a little cross because she had let a Scanran get through her guard and give her a slash on the arm, frowned and thought. A few things were beginning to make sense. “I think I know why they requested Kally above Lianne once they arrived here.”
Jon, Raoul, Roald, and Buri turned to her. The other generals – who had bowed and taken the plans to another table to squabble over when Baird began speaking of the prince – continued their squabbling a short distance away. Kally stared at the table.
“Kally,” Alanna nodded to the girl, “is a very strong Healer, with a powerful Gift. We haven’t seen any sign of great Imperial magics. Only a few of them have the Gift – and we know that it’s more common in noble families than the rest of the people, largely because Gifted ones among them become hedgewizards and midwives who don’t have children, or marry into the noble classes.”
Nods.
“Nearly all the Imperials we’ve met – certainly all the ones we’ve spoken to – are apparently from the knightly class, and we have no reason to disbelieve that. Only a few among them have the Gift, and none of them is particularly strong. Remember, when we were scrying, they needed those gems and boxes to send documents. Those might simply amplify a weak Gift, but, Goddess knows, Sending a material object takes a great deal of energy.”
Jon was nodding. He could not meet Kally’s eyes, but she said what they were all thinking.
“So they’re thinking of breeding Gifted Imperial cousins, knights loyal to the Empire.” She curled her lip. “We’ve come this far. Don’t think I don’t know how these things work. We knew all along that they had to want something other than trade routes. We knew all along that there had to be something about Lianne and I that they wanted that was only mildly connected the mother. You should just be happy that it’s not something that you really wanted to keep.” With that, she pushed herself up from the table and stormed out the door.
It hurt. It hurt a lot, more than she told herself that it should. It was one thing, one thing to be wanted because your father was a King, and ruler of a fairly powerful and wealthy country, recent crises notwithstanding. To be wanted because your mother was the only daughter of the last legitimate ruler of a broken land, a land that you could help rebuild. It was another – quite another – to be wanted because you had a half-half chance of having children who could throw lightning-bolts around. Not to be wanted because of people already in the world, but those who might not even come.
She found herself, without even realising it, at the Healer’s tents – specifically, at the one that housed Prince Yevgen. She hesitated. He might not even know the real reason, she told herself. He does as he’s told. He might not even have been told – or rather, only told the superficial reasons – like mother, and alliances. He probably isn’t any more enthusiastic about…children…than I am.
She stepped inside the long tent carefully, finding, with surprise, that it was almost empty. Only the prince was in this tent – which said wonders for how much lighter the casualties were than Duke Baird had anticipated. For privacy’s sake, there had been a sheet drawn around his cot, and Kally’s feet took her to it.
She reached the curtain, and was about to drawn it back, when she froze. Its hem was moving a bit, as though someone else had just touched it. There was a shadow of a standing figure just inside the enclosure – and it was not the prince, for his form was clearly visible on the cot.
The movement on the cot was noticeable however, as he scrambled up. What he said next, though, was the last thing that Kally expected (but considering that she had found out just hours before that he could turn into a giant wolf, she should not have been surprised at anything…except this.)
“Lara!” his voice was pure shock, as well as pain, “what are you doing here?”
Kally froze. From the scrying, according to Silas, one of the prince’s officers, and the Empress and Heir themselves, that this woman – Yevgen’s former lover – had been assigned duties on the opposite end of the Empire to Sarain, and was not expected to see him again.
She felt like she stood there for an eternity, but it must have been only a few seconds, for she heard the woman’s reply – a clear, low soprano.
“Standing here. Looking at you. Talking to you.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said hastily, “not that I’m not happy to see you…it’s just that…well, last I heard you had taken over garrison command north.”
“Yes...Kay’s fifth century. No, they haven’t run to fat – I got your letter. Sir Kelvar Gavrillian, this year’s Dux Tertia, is in charge now – Radanae’s little brother, remember?…and much better at it than ever I was. I came…well…I came with the light cavalry. They had an injury in the Third as they were boarding the ship to Tortall when I was delivering despatches to Sir Frederick, who knew me. He, at any rate, not knowing about…us…managed to get me on his rolls so the ship could move out with the full century. They did send messages after him, but by then it was too late. Your mother has forgiven him, saying that she understands given that importance she placed on the mission, he couldn’t have foreseen that of all the people to ride up, it was me. She has, however, given the message-despatch a firm talking-to.” A sigh. “Anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye. To see you again. To return this.”
Kally didn’t see what Lara handed over, but it was something small – a ring?
“I should give you your daggers back,” Yevgen was saying, “they’re just under the cot.”
“No. Keep them. They were a gift in …friendship and affection…I’m proud that you have them. I have other weapons. I have a pair far finer now, bought with my prize-money.”
Another pause.
“We won’t be seeing each other again after this, will we?” Despite the rising tone of his voice, it was a statement, not a question.
“No. Yevgen…I’ve been honoured to call you my friend. More than my friend. I just want to say…I wish you will be very, very happy.” She stopped, swallowed. “She’s very pretty.” She stated.
“Quite.”
Kally realised, belatedly, that they were talking about her.
“When Kay finally gets around to reading her personal dispatches,” Lara continued, “she’ll tell you that your sister’s finally stopped diddling and made a choice. She’s going to announce her betrothal to Corin next month.”
“So we wouldn’t have happened.”
“No.” Lara’s voice was soft. “The Empress, no matter how she likes each of us as individuals, is not going to let cousins marry two of the three first-tier Imperials – especially when one of them already has a connection – however tenuous – to the Imperial House. My family is foolish if it prefers the match between two younger children to having the next Consort.”
“It’s good to see you again…I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. I’ve regretted this, these last few months.”
“We all have our duty,” Lara swallowed, “it’s the price we pay for our position in life. I…wanted to say goodbye too. Kay…knows I’m here.”
“What did she say?”
“To come and talk to you. I’ve been wanting to…since…oh gods and goddesses…since you got onto that ship. But I’ve been too much of a coward.”
“You are not a coward, Lara.”
“I am. I am. I was too much of a coward to explain to Sir Frederick why I shouldn’t go to Tortall, then too much of a coward to come and talk to you – even too much of a coward to tell your sister, my commander-in-chief, that I was here unexpectedly. But…I wanted to see you…just one last time.”
“So you have.”
“When’s the wedding?” the question was too swift, too fast.
“When we get back to Corus.”
“I suppose…this is goodbye then.”
“Yes…it is.”
“ Goodbye Yevgen. Be happy.” The voice was dignified, though there was a wobble near the end.
“Goodbye Lara. I wish the same to you.”
Kally barely scrambled behind a nearby sheet in time to see Dama Felara Eriel emerge from the prince’s little cubicle.
She was a bit above medium height, and moved with a certain catlike grace. She had dark red hair a shade from black, cut short like most Imperials (only Princess Berenice out of all of them wore her hair long), gold-toned skin with a slight olive cast, and eyes of a curious amber hue. She stopped to draw the makeshift curtain shut behind her, and froze mid action. She continued, then turned smoothly, to bow in Kally’s direction – though Kally was sure that she was not visible.
Then, Lara – Lara, who, Kally knew she would spend her life being compared against, even if her future husband would never mention it – gave her an ironic smile, and a raised eyebrow, and strode calmly out of the tent.
*********************
Chapter 11 – Night Fight
Kel had ordered her sparrows away from the fighting. They were useful as scouts, and invaluable in skirmishes, but she didn’t want to take the risk that they would be injured in the free-for-all that was pitched battle.
They cheeped, they protested, but finally, they’d acquiesced, and stayed, impatiently flying around the confines of the camp and annoying the pants off the non combatants who had stayed behind. As soon as Kel returned, therefore, they swarmed around her, reproaching her for every single scratch and dent of her armor.
Justinia, who was leaning against the tent pole, chuckled. “Protective little pests, aren’t they?” she asked, unbuckling her plate and wriggling out of her mail. She wrinkled her nose as she found a long trail of blood and gore – not hers – on one sleeve.
“It’s going to take hours to get clean again,” she said disgustedly. She smiled as Nari came and berated her too. “No…sorry,” she told the little bird, “I can’t really understand much more than the unTalented, but I get your point.” Nari, satisfied, flew back to Kel.
They spent the time after the battle, and before the evening meal, putting their gear to rights. Thankfully, neither of them had close friends to send to the funeral pyres – the Imperials had no deaths, but a number of serious injuries. Since neither was the sort who liked to celebrate battle by drink or song (or by any other method, to be quite blunt about it), they waited till the bereaved had drunk their sorrow to temporary oblivion before heading out again.
General…well, he was one of the haMinches - Alanna could never keep them straight – was definitely unhappy as he probed the copies of the Scanran plans that the prince had stolen for them.
“It doesn’t add up!” he said disgustedly, rearranging the little metal pieces that represented armies on the large map-table for the thousandth time. “The proportions are all wrong. Where’s the infantry? Where’re their catapults? Where were those metal monsters? The cavalry was right, but no commander is stupid enough to separate his forces like that!”
“None of the scouts who came back have reported anything suspicious,” Buri commented with a sigh, nursing a stiff shoulder. “However, we’re still waiting on a few.”
The King scowled at the figures. “No sign of mages, either, and that worries me.” Once the euphoria at the victory had faded, the commanders were gradually becoming wary of several strange points in the battle. While bloody, it was more reminiscent of conventional lowlander warfare – unsuited for these rugged mountains, as they had found in the past. “Our reports from last year indicate that they have enough to send out with medium-sized raiding parties.”
“Do we stay here?” someone asked, “Or do we advance?”
“Stay.” The King said, after a moment’s thought. “We stay. There are no fiefs with large enough lands to accommodate this army north of the next pass. We wait. Tell all to remain on full alert – there is something further to come.”
Kay walked away from the command center thoughtfully. Tortall did have some talented commanders and generals, even if their training wasn’t as technical as that of Imperial staff officers. Many of the decisions were the same, but where an Imperial would be able to dissect that decision and compare it against other, well-known techniques, a Tortallan would do it because it ‘felt right’. She stopped, briefly to check on her brother and see that he was healing properly, before heading to the river.
She saw a familiar figure there, skipping rocks.
“Lara!” she called, as the woman she might have called sister turned around. “You saw him.” It wasn’t a question.
Lara sat down heavily. “Yes. I did. To say goodbye. To say it was over. To tell the truth, though,” she snorted, “it would have been over in a few more months in any case, even without Corin and Rislyn.”
Kay sat down beside her, curious. She and Lara had shared a room for a little while, which was how Lara and Yevgen became better acquainted than simply year-mates. “Oh?”
“I don’t hold with long-distance relationships,” she threw another stone overarm. “With me up north and him in the west, we were bound to drift apart. You know, without this Court storm about Princess Kalasin, I doubt he would have written quite so many impassioned letters, or sent quite so many trinkets. Yevgen, much as I do love him, is far more in love with the idea of being in love than he ever was with me. That's a criticism of his romantic side, not his feelings, though.” She added.
That had been Kay’s assessment on the relationship. Lara was a good commander, a splendid fighter who should have been ranked slightly higher had it not been for a very tough mathematics examination, but she wouldn’t know what romance was if it bit her on the behind. Lara had loved Yevgen, as much as she could love anyone…probably still did, in her way…but first and foremost, she was practical, and she was an Imperial knight, of a respectable, but hardly great House. She had enjoyed her time with Yevgen, and would look back on it with great fondness - the way one would look back on any near-perfect romance – but she would not turn her back on her duties, nor give up all she had worked so hard to achieve for the sake of a few fleeting emotions.
Then again, Kay thought, despite appearances, neither would Yevgen. None of them would. It was part of being a knight.
“Do you regret it?” she kept her voice level.
“Me and Yevgen?” Lara asked, “Of course. I mean, who doesn’t want to marry their first love and live happily every after? But that doesn’t happen in the real world. Who’s to say that the first person I love is going to be the last?”
She had obviously been rationalizing it for while.
“What is Princess Kalasin like?” Lara asked, at last betraying her curiosity.
“According to Radanae, a frustrated knight.” Kay grinned at Lara’s shock. “Apparently the concept of a girl wanting to be a knight isn’t considered quite ‘ladylike’ in this part of the world. There are only two of them here, in fact – Lady Alanna, and Lady Keladry – you know, the tallish girl with the brown hair that Justinia’s kidnapped.”
“I’ve seen her around. The one with the menagerie – the sparrows, the ugly dog, and the vicious horse – who, oddly enough, isn’t Talented?”
“That’s her. Keladry of Mindelan. Yes, this used to be her home,” she confirmed as Lara’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Do you think they’ll get along together?” Lara asked, almost wistfully.
“I don’t know.” Kay said honestly. “She’ll be trained to rule, and she’s been raised to expect something like this might happen. At the very least – it will be good for Sarain, I think. I only wish I was so certain it would be good for my brother.”
“What will you do…afterwards?”
“Go back home, I suppose. I do have work to do. Do you still want to be my second, after all this?”
“As if you needed to ask!” Lara snorted. “Of course I do! This…” she waved a hand, and sighed, meaning Yevgen, “…is unfortunate. But I suppose one hasn’t really lived without at least one heart-wrenching romance. What with Corin and Rislyn, and Selera and Rory Gavrillian – I would have had one anyway. Some genealogical researcher in the Imperial stud-book files would have found an objection as soon as someone got nervous about interconnected Houses marrying into the Imperial and Gavrillian Houses in the same generation.
“Fifteenth cousins. I don’t think it counts.” Kay argued. Kay of course, had looked. It was a reflex, to save themselves heartache. Marriages between cousins of any degree were discouraged, and strictly forbidden closer than the fourth degree. Fifteenth, however, was well outside the gray area – considering that some Houses didn’t even go back fifteen generations.
“I don’t think it matters anymore,” Lara said sadly. “Besides, my association with Yevgen’s doing me no end of good on the betrothal market.” She raised an ironic eyebrow. “So far, I’ve offers from nearly all the middling Houses in the central and south-central sectors, and even a few from the high-ranking ones.” She paused, then narrowed her eyes. “Just out of curiosity, we’ve only got cavalry and specialists here, haven’t we? No fancy toys from Kyra’s Cavern?” That was the nickname for the Logistics Research and Development Department of the Imperial Military. Like all things of that nature, it was underground, in what had once been the dungeons of the old Imperial Palace, and was now the combined administrative headquarters of the Imperial Army and Navy.
“No. Why?” Kay asked, looking, as Lara did, towards the mountains and woods north.
“In that case,” Lara said buckling her sword belt around her waist and heading back to camp at a fast walk. “We are seriously screwed.”
Back in the healer’s tents, pounding herbs for salve and painkillers, it took Kally a few moments to realize that the screams and groans of pain were not coming from the tents.
“Attack!” someone was shouting. “Oh gods! Monsters!”
“Mages! They must have killed the mages! How on earth did they get through otherwise?” somebody screamed – it sounded like one of the cooks.
“The sentries! Where in all the hells are the sentries?”
Kally threw off her apron, grabbed the sword that was hanging on a hook, and stepped outside. It took a few moments for her to adjust to the darkness outside the tent, but someone was lighting torches and sending up mage-lights to see properly. What she did see, though, chilled her.
Metal machines – walking, metallic structures, with clicking blades – such as she had never seen before. Last year, there had been rumors around Court that such things had been seen on the Scanran border, but she had dismissed it as sheer gossip. Now, of course, she knew better.
There were ten – no, a dozen of the things, in the camp, as nonchalant as could be as they strode right through tents, stepping right on people as they tried to flee.
There was confusion. No one knew how to fight against these …these things. She stood there, in shock, until she was knocked over by a heavy shape forcing her to the ground.
“Stay down!” a female voice hissed. “You’re right in its range!”
Kally froze. She knew that voice.
The body on top of her shifted, and a movement later, much to Kally’s shock, the closest metal monster came crashing to the ground, thrashing as it went, a narrow stiletto thrown by the woman guarding Kally, tangled in its ‘joints’. Around them, people recovered from the shock, were dealing with the other eleven, with rope, with chunks of stone, with blades (though that was the least useful of all).
Most awful of all, though, Kally thought, was the little wisps of smoke that poured out of each of the metal contraptions as they moved, and then, finally went still. The sound of a child weeping ran around the camp, sending shivers down everyone’s spine.
“Sorry about that, your Highness,” A hand was held out in front of Kally. “I’m Dama Felara Eriel – in the 3rd Light Cavalry, under Sir Frederick Hadrian.”
Kally took the hand limply, and let herself be pulled up, noting with some dismay that the other woman was certainly very attractive, in a rather delicate, elf-like manner, with a fragility of bone that was refuted by the strength in her hands.
There was a roar, a crash behind them, and then it appeared to be thousands of Scanrans streamed over the mountains. However, readied by the monsters, some of the cavalry was ready, even if infantry was not. That was their saving point. Most of the Scanran cavalry, riding to staging points for this very attack, had been eliminated. In the dark, with the Tortallan force largely unprepared, and the scouts apparently blind…or killed…Kally thought with dread – they would have been sitting targets.
As it was, their own lack of armor made it possible for them to move more quickly. Kally had trained with her sword every day, much to the disapproval of the Countess, and was never more grateful for it than now. Beside her – Lara – moved swiftly with a pair of daggers. Kally knew that one by itself was a good enough weapon, and had seen the demonstration weapons-dance given by Justinia – showy, and slightly stilted, as those things always were – but this was the first time she had seen a pair used in combat by an expert. There was no doubt that Lara was an expert. At times, there seemed to be nothing but a blur of metal on the ends of her fingers, as men fell before her. At last though, enough archers and knights had managed to get armored up to charge, leaving Lara able to grab Kally and retreat further.
They crouched behind one of the hastily erected defenses, a supply wagon, and grabbed two bows. Kally’s arm had opened up again, but she barely noticed.
Lara did, though. The older woman (one year, if Kally guessed correctly) made a noise of disapproval and tore a strip of cloth off her shirt and wrapped it around the re-opened wound. “Never fight with injuries, if you can help it,” she said sternly, “princess or no. I’ve had to do that many a time to princes and princesses, and I can tell you that you bleed the same as the rest of us.”
She leaned around the wagon and shot. A Scanran war cry was cut short as a be-furred man dropped heavily onto the ground.
The fighting then drew away from them, to the plain that was once Mindelan farms and orchards. Lara made another noise and took a better look at Kally’s arm. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes…umm…thank you.” Kally was rather at a loss as Lara peered around the wagon again.
“I…ah…. I notice that you were in the same graduating class as Prince Yevgen,” Kally said after a few minutes of silence. “I…don’t suppose…. that you could give me any idea as to what he’s like?” it sounded pathetic even before it left her lips, but she couldn’t stop the question.
Lara looked very hard at her, and apparently decided to be blunt soldier rather than wily diplomat. “I did notice you in the Healer’s tent today, your Highness. I think in these circumstances,” right on cue, a dying scream from a gut-wounded man pierced the night, “we can dispose of the usual conversational starting points. Yes, I was in the same graduating year.” An ironic smile, “Knight cadets are not under any obligations of celibacy,” she continued, “though common bounds of decency and consideration for the others in the vicinity are quite heavily enforced. Once, his Highness and I may have made preliminary considerations for a betrothal, but many plans never come to fruition. Have I ever slept with him?” she got right to the heart of the topic, “Yes, and I wasn’t the first. Was that the question you wanted to ask?”
Kally swallowed, not prepared for the forthright admission. “I suppose you think I must be dreadfully rude.”
“No.” Was that a chuckle? “Your highness, how could I be offended by curiosity? A year ago, your highness wasn’t sure that Yevgen existed, much less that this would come to pass. I must admit that I know far less of Tortallan etiquette than I should, but in the Empire, it is considered very out of form to persuade another to retract a contract for personal reasons.”
Kally gulped again, surprised at the woman’s calm, almost amused tone. Were all Imperials like that? “You’re not angry?” she asked.
“Angry?” it was Lara’s turn to sound a little surprised. “It’s not an emotion knights can afford to indulge. It’s too dangerous. Besides,” the chuckle was back, sounding rather self-mocking, “the devotion to duty of the knights is the foundation of Imperial society. It would collapse in a heap if we ever placed our petty concerns above the best interests of the Empire. Rather like nobles everywhere, I think. Our privileges come at a price. If one doesn’t think the price of responsibility is worth paying, one surrenders the privileges. It’s as simple as that.”
Kally didn’t see it quite that way, but she didn’t comment. She wished that it had been as simple as that for her. In that case, she would now be four years a Rider, the discomfort and danger well worth the complete lack of freedom in her life.
Lara obviously read her mind. “Most of us do think that the honors are worth the duty. But then again,” she shrugged, “most of us also know no other life.” She paused for a second, then called out “Your Highness!”
Kally jumped, but it was clear that Lara was not talking to her. She peered out to see, much to her horror, Prince Yevgen limping a few yards away, smeared with blood, and holding a sword.
“Your Highness!” Lara repeated, “Look, I know there’s a fight on, but honestly, you just got back from one. You’ve opened up your wound again,” she scolded. “Your Highness,” she bowed to Kally, “May I presume to impose upon you to escort His Highness back to the Healers’ tents. I need to make a report on this skirmish.”
She did not let Kally reply, instead, bowing, turning quickly and striding briskly out into the night in the direction of the command center.
Yevgen allowed himself only one glance after her before becoming the charming prince again, and letting a silent Kally guide him back to the Healer’s tents.
“I’ve never seen a masking spell like this before,” Alanna, pale with exhaustion, both magical and physical. “I’ve been in contact with Numair. He’s read about it, but he’s never heard of it done with such a large force. Hunting parties, yes, but not an army of this size.”
They had managed to repel the Scanrans after the destruction of the machines, but losses had been heavy, particularly among the Tortallans, since the Imperials were camped on the southern side, and those involved in the fighting from the Imperials had some time to get ready.
“Nothing from any of our scouts from the north.” Buri reported glumly.
“Ours have made contact,” Princess Berenice said unexpectedly, “but they report being blocked for the last few hours, as though a wall had been set up between them and the main camp. They’re on their way back now. I don’t pretend to know anything of magic,” she bowed to Jon and Alanna, “but may I hazard to suggest that interference with what you call wild magic is rare in this part of the world?”
“Damn right,” as if summoned, Daine burst in, looking disheveled, the smell of burnt feathers wafting in with her. “All accounted for, Highness,” she nodded to the princess, who gave a courteous bow back, People-hearted to People-hearted. “No casualties, but the same reports. Not only were we unable to Send back, most of us seemed to be temporarily stuck. A few of the younger ones are still panicked about it.”
Considering the youngest among the Imperials was nineteen, barely five years younger than Daine, it did seem a little odd, but Kay conceded that Daine was a good deal more powerful than most Imperial Talented. Closer to the source, probably.
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair from the conventional scouts, though, Commander,” Daine could have been speaking to either Raoul or Buri, who were sitting next to each other, but, to be quite frank, that didn’t matter. “I hope that it’s because they’ve hidden themselves well.”
Buri, for one, did not share her optimism, and it showed.
“I see you’ve met Dama Felara,” Yevgen’s tone was conversational, but Kally knew from the gritted teeth that he was trying to bite back pain. She went and found some willow tea. Even in the midst of the attack, someone had left a pot of it on a dampened brazier.
“Yes…she…helped me when those…things attacked.”
Yevgen bowed as he accepted the plain-fired pottery mug.
Silence.
“You asked me about the friend whose daggers I had down in the gorge.” He said quietly, after a sip. “They’re Lara’s.”
“I’d guessed.”
Silence again, as he finished the tea. He toyed with the empty mug for a while.
“I’m very sorry,” Kally said, at last, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted, with a self-mocking, slightly harsh chuckle. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here, talking about it with you. It’s not something most women like to hear, after all. Besides, I’m selfish here, wallowing, when for all I know, you might have had to say goodbye to someone too.”
“No…” her voice was barely a whisper.
“And nor would it be my business if you did,” he finished.
“Do you think you might have been happy together?” Kally regretted the question almost as soon as it left her lips.
He met her eyes in surprise. “I don’t know.” He said, at length. He seemed to gather his courage. “Your Highness, what I am trying to say - and failing miserably, might I add – is that whatever we…both of us…have had to leave behind for this, it will not affect what will be. Sarain must be rebuilt, whole, and stable, not only for the Empire, Tortall and the other Eastern Lands, but for the K’mir, the Doi and the Saren. For all her people, great and humble alike. Whatever…happens…afterwards…your Highness – Kally,” he remembered, “you shall always have my loyalty, my honor, my allegiance, no matter what the world brings.”
There were tears in her eyes, at the simple statement, even the strength it must have taken him, to put aside what must have been a great love, his own hopes for the future, for a woman he barely knew, and people he had never met. She was grateful for the darkness, as she could turn to prod the brazier back into life and wipe her eyes surreptitiously as though brushing away dirt.
“And mine is yours,” she said, equally quietly, but meaning it. She put a hand over his, aware that she was trembling, and he was stilled, tense, like a hare about to take flight.
Proper, romantic lovers, a proper prince and princess should have melted into each other’s arms, oblivious to the world.
But they were not. They were hardly more than strangers, and their marriage was for the sake of others, for a small, rather insignificant country that neither had really cared much about. They did not promise everlasting love, or eternal romantic devotion, or even affection that night. Neither of them ever made promises that they were not prepared to keep forever. They promised a partnership that would make a war-ravaged country rise from its ashes, rise to shine brighter than anyone could ever have imagined.
If either of them even considered the possibility of anything more than simple respect and liking between them, they did not mention it that night, no matter how much each of them might have wished it. That was for another time, another place.
Outside, someone watched the two vague figures, silhouetted in the dim glow of a charcoal brazier. The man…he was sitting on the cot…raised the woman’s hand to his lips, a formal salutation, but also the sealing of a bargain. The woman did not draw her hand away, but instead sat down beside him on the cot – not touching, but near enough that her hand was still in his. They appeared to be talking.
Outside, Dama Felara Eriel looked at the tableau against the Healer’s tent for another second, before turning swiftly turning on her heel and heading back to her own quarters, to cry over her prince one last time.
*******************
Chapter 12 – Aftermath
It was, as a disgusted Radanae had termed a similar situation the day after the Display, the morning after the night before. Then, two years ago, Justinia had been too busy trying to prevent her head from splitting. She needed the drinks of forget what it had been like in the stadium, running with blood-lust and feeling the squelch of once-living humans under Uma’s hooves. While this situation was completely different, to Justinia, the feeling the morning after the Scanran attack was almost exactly as the morning after the Display.
It was not as though it had been the first time she had seen death, or even the first time she had killed. Knight-cadets were taken to public executions, did watch the Display, did take part in bandit hunts. Partially it was to determine which of them were uncomfortable with killing for anything but self-defense (Radanae was one, though she strenuously denied it. She didn’t consider it quite worthy of a knight, and particularly not from the scion and heiress of a very old, very famous military House. It wasn’t quite so convincing when she threw up as a reflex even after a bandit skirmish), and so start to plan assignments for when they gained their knighthood.
The once-orderly camp was a shambles. Kel and Justinia had got to the fight late, mostly due to the distance between their tent and the northern part of the Tortallan encampment. There was little they could do. The machines that Kel had seen before had already been downed, though at a huge cost of lives, and the cavalry and the archers had things well in hand with the vast, but disorganised Scanran infantry.
Everyone – Imperial, Tortallan – even a Yamani or two – helped to clear up the mess and care for the dead and wounded. There were a few Scanran captives – there would have been more, but there had been a breakdown in discipline among the troops, pride pricked at having their camp breached in such a decisive fashion.
It was also the first time either Kel or Justinia had ever seen so many funeral pyres at once, and the sight and stench of burning flesh made them both retch and throw up what little they managed to eat. Kel was convinced that she would never be able to eat meat again, though that was soundly refuted when Justinia and a few of Kel's other new friends among the female Imperial knights snorted and all but forced grilled bacon and fried sausages down her gullet the following day. That was when the stench had started to fade and somebody had managed to stop heaving for long enough to find and hang up fragrant herbs and flowers around the eating-tents. Kel was grateful for the thought. It was the first time she had been in the company of large numbers of female warriors, and it was not altogether an uncomfortable experience. They had been though similar experiences, though Kel had to bite back slight feelings of envy that none of them had ever had their ability challenged on the basis of their sex. She consoled herself with the thought that her stubbornness, and her reaction against such doubts, had probably pushed her into being a better knight than she might otherwise have been.
In the command tent, the high-ranking officers pored over the defenses, trying to see what had gone wrong.
“We have not encountered this particular technique for several centuries,” Princess Berenice admitted reluctantly. “To tell the truth, I was not certain whether it could be done.” She shook her head in a dismissive gesture, “But I am advised that it is a relatively easy to deal with. It’s a simple shield-spell, only much larger, and consequently quite thin, so to speak. I believe it was merely the unexpectedness that took our scouts off-guard.” She fairly included her own troops with those of the Tortallans.
“Good.” Alanna’s voice was tight, “We must make certain that this does not happen again. Numair,” she changed the subject “have we any information on the movements of the Scanrans?”
“All heading back north in shambles. That’s been confirmed by Daine and by her highness’s Imperial agents. They…er…” he paused hesitantly, as if, as a mage rather than a soldier, he did not know quite how to continue, “it appears that they did not expect…um…the level of resistance they found here…” he winced slightly at his own choice of words to describe the terrible carnage that had taken place the previous night. However, no matter how one might state it, the Scanrans, who evidently had been expecting no resistance at all from the Tortallans between the monsters and the silenced scouts, had been resoundingly defeated, even though the toll among the defenders had been sorrowfully high.
There was a cough from one of the generals. “We believe, sir, and acting upon Sir Myles of Olau’s information, that this particular force was comprised of several southern mountain tribes, promised quick victories and loot in an unexpected raid on Tortall. This …defeat…for them will be a blow for the alliance.”
Perhaps an overly optimistic view, but nobody opposed him. Finally a decision was made to wait until there was more concrete information about the state of the Scanran force, and who had managed to gain power in the wake of this conflict, before the Tortallans and Imperials would move south to Corus for a royal wedding.
It was over a week before King Jonathan and his advisers were satisfied that the disjointed Scanrans were in no shape to mount another large offensive in the near future. However, to make sure, all the border fiefs were refortified – including Mindelan – and additional funds made available for increased garrisons. Numair, Alanna, Daine and the other mages and wildmages, both Tortallan and Imperial, were satisfied that there were no more significant concentrations of Scanran troops for quite a distance, information confirmed by Sir Myles’s more conventional means, who also gave them information on renewed factional squabbling among the Scanran nobles and clans.
Peace of a sort, it appeared, had descended back on Tortall. However, elsewhere in the camp, others were not so sure.
“I don’t get it,” Kel said for the hundredth time, “they wouldn’t give up so quickly, would they? From what Sir Myles says about the Scanrans, the alliance that must have been in place for so many troops must have taken years to forge. It wouldn’t fall apart so quickly…would it?”
Justinia shook her head, wondering how her clothes managed to expand over the course of the campaign. She was sure they all fitted into her saddlebags at the beginning. “You’ll find that it’s much easier to break alliances than it is to form them. Many things…sometimes, even hundred of things…need to fit together well for there to be an alliance. It takes only one disagreement, one snag, for it all to fall apart. I agree that it looks just a little too neat…but?” she shrugged. “One never knows. I leave these things to the politicians. Let them get their hands dirty for once.”
Kel nodded absently, but she was thinking about the man the Chamber of Ordeal had shown her. He obviously had something to do with the machines, and she had thought they would face him in this campaign. Who was he? What part did he play in Scanran politics? Worse of all, if she had to face him again, would that not mean there would be more war here? Kel did not like that thought at all, but could see no alternative. She was not exactly spy material, which would be the only way she saw herself getting close to any high-ranking Scanran off the battlefield. However, she supposed, at least this little war was over, and she could go back to Corus.
Back…to work out what she was going to do.
About half the Imperial force would embark an Imperial Navy transport ship at the nearest port. Princess Berenice made vague noises about how they were needed in Sarain to relieve the garrisons there, or at other assignments that sounded at once very dull and of great importance. Considering even what little they knew the size of the Imperial Army, the Tortallans did not believe that a few hundred, mainly wounded, Imperials would make much difference. However, for the sake of good relations, and the complete lack of threat that a few hundred, mainly wounded Imperials would cause for security, they tactfully let the observation pas.
Kally knew, however, that the main reason the princess was sending part of the Honour Guard early was to remove a certain female knight from the Imperial force in Tortall. A part of her was glad of her future sister-in-law’s tact, and her sensitivity to the three involved in the matter. Even though Lara had saved her life, Kally could not feel comfortable having her husband’s former lover present at their wedding.
To be perfectly fair, she didn’t think that it would be any easier for her future husband, or Lara, for that matter. Despite Berenice’s apparent indifference to the matter, Kally was well aware of a very astute mind in her sister-in-law, whether it was in politics, military strategy, or personal relationships. She was very glad that Berenice would not be playing a significant part in Sarain after Kally and Yevgen married. Oddly, that thought wasn’t as daunting as it seemed even a few weeks ago. After her conversation with Yevgen the night of the Scanran attack, she felt that they could form a good partnership for Sarain, at least. If she had hopes of something a little more personal, her disciplined mind did not allow her to think it. And if anyone mentioned that they heard Princess Kalasin humming the refrain from an old love song, as she packed to return to Corus, Her Highness the Princess Royal of Tortall would not only have strenuously denied it, she would have tried her best to send the offender to her father’s deepest, darkest dungeon (King Jonathan didn’t actually have a dungeon, anymore. It had been converted into a wine cellar) so that they could not repeat their ridiculous claim.