03 - Sworn (68 page)

I saw what she’d meant about losses. Our troops would have arrows raining down on them as they approached the gates, plus face whatever Sorcerers Severn sent out or had hidden in the walls, ready to attack. Our Sorcerers would fight back, but so many of our people had no magic to rely on. Only whatever armor they’d brought or created.

“What about a shield?” I asked Albion. “I don’t suppose your protections here are portable.”

“Sadly, no. Entirely fixed. We have Emmet Kyrst from Belleisle, who has developed a remarkable ability to… hold on.” He left the tent, and returned moments later with a gangly older man in tow. “Throw something at him. Nothing important.”

Griselda stepped outside and returned with a handful of small stones, wound up, and threw them one by one in a steady stream at the Sorcerer, adjusting her aim each time to fling them at his arms, his face, his legs, and off to one side of his body.

Emmet’s expression never changed, appearing relaxed and slightly amused as he raised his hands. The air in front of him shimmered in a swirling, translucent vortex no larger than a good-sized shield. He directed it to block the stones, catching each of them in turn.

They disappeared as though they’d never existed.

Impressive.

“Where do they go?” Rowan asked.

Emmet shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Haven’t ever had anything come back. I can’t do more than that, but I’m quick. As long as someone’s shielding me, I can do as Albion here has suggested and absorb some of the overhead attack. Arrows and the like.” He frowned. “My range is limited somewhat, and I can’t be everywhere at once. But I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you, Emmet,” Albion said, and showed him out. “So there’s that,” he continued. “We have a great deal of magic on our side, but most of it will only be helpful once we’re close to the wall or inside the city. Transformation, smaller illusions, wind and fire. A few tricks that could be as harmful to our people as well as the enemy, to be held in reserve.” He turned to Ulric. “Have we forgotten anything?”

“We’ve had people back in Wildwood working on banners to be brought in when the rest of our troops arrive,” he said, “which should be soon. Everyone rides or marches under the Tiernal gryphon, which Severn has so completely rejected. If people in the city see us coming, I want them to know it’s me returning and not whatever Severn has told them.”

“That won’t help with the soldiers?” Rowan asked. She sounded like she knew it was a silly question.

“No,” said Ulric, not unkindly. “Their loyalty is to their king, as it should be. That’s Severn now, however he may have manipulated things to get there. If I still had my claim to the throne…” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know. But there’s a chance the Sorcerers he’s got in the city may respond. As I hear it, most of them didn’t go willingly, and many will have seen those who resisted killed or imprisoned. It depends what he’s done to them, or for them, since then.”

He sighed. “I’ve never had qualms about killing enemies when it was necessary, or anyone who stood in my way. But so many of these people were once loyal to me.” He looked to Albion, about to say more, but clamped his mouth shut.

I knew what he was thinking, even without seeing into his mind. There may have been a time when he wouldn’t have cared how many lives were lost, as long as the end result benefitted Tyrea. Perhaps he still wouldn’t let himself care, but the idea was there.

Albion looked to me, unfazed by Ulric’s surprisingly compassionate words. “Aren, your part of this is up to you. Much of it will depend on conditions inside the city, but our mission is to get you into the palace. And we’ll do whatever we can to get you there.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I do have one other thing to add, though.”

And I told them. Ulric paled with horror as I revealed my secret, and Albion pressed a fist to his lips as though holding back bile or strong words. But they listened. Griselda only seemed interested, and was obviously looking at all the angles.

“So my initial plan,” I concluded, “was to use them as a distraction, possibly approaching through the Despair. But I think they’d be better used as a walking shield. They fill in the front ranks and pull the worst of the arrow attacks and whatever else Severn has waiting for our front lines. They’re no loss, and seeing what he hits them with will give us time to respond with what magic we have available to us.” No one spoke. They all seemed to be processing the information.

Rowan stepped over to stand beside me. “He can do it,” she said. “I’ve seen them. You don’t need to worry about the people who once lived in those bodies. They’re gone. It’s horrible to see, but imagine how that will affect anyone guarding the city who sees them coming.”

Griselda smiled, just slightly. “They’ll think we’re an army of the dead.”

Rowan nodded. “These people already died once attacking the city. No reason not to let them finish their job.” She turned to me and offered a reassuring smile. At least I had her on my side. In that moment, I didn’t feel that I needed much else.

Albion looked a little green, but he nodded. “How are you finding it, Aren?”

“Difficult,” I admitted. “The effects of attempting this haven’t been exaggerated. I don’t doubt it would kill me or turn me into one of them if I made a career of it. But I can do this, especially if Morea’s potion helps me.”

Ulric looked to Griselda. “Beaumage?”

She closed her eyes and frowned. “My first thought is that it’s a brilliant plan, moral qualms and gut-reactions aside. It’s like something from an old story, except there it would be the villain using an army of the dead to attack the fair and shining city, not its prince. But it could work. Even if it doesn’t, we’re not risking any more lives by trying. Except Aren’s, I suppose, but he seems confident.”

“He’s the only one I can’t afford to risk at the outset,” Ulric grumbled. “No offense to anyone else present.” He glowered at me. “You’re certain you can do this and still be fit to finish things with Severn?”

No.

“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely.” I was already feeling better after a bit of space and Morea’s potion. If I let the bodies fall at the gate—if they made it that far—I would have time to recover before I reached the palace. The magic in Luid was as strong as anywhere, and I had no fear of running out.

I didn’t feel good about it, but I sounded more confident than I felt. Ulric nodded.

A heavy weight compressed the side of the tent. “I think it’s a waste of meat,” Ruby said. “But I am sorry I won’t be there to see it.”

Ulric scowled in her direction. “Well, if the dragon thinks it’s a good idea…” He turned to me, deadly serious. “I won’t stop you. I’ll make sure no one else does, either. I can’t say I’m comfortable with this risk you’re taking, but it should save lives. For that I’ll thank you, if it works out.”

I tried to hide my surprise. “No fear over the gods judging you for letting it happen?”

“I stopped worrying about them years ago. And while I don’t believe the Goddess is as compassionate to the faithful as some would have us believe, I doubt she has time to meddle in our affairs.” He looked weary then. “It is abhorrent, what you’re doing. But the alternative is worse.”

A rousing encouragement,
I thought wryly, but nodded. “I’ll get started.”

We all left the tent. Florizel had joined Ruby outside.

“How long will it take to have everyone ready?” I asked.

“We’ll move this afternoon,” Ulric said, “and try to keep the fighting as brief as possible. Send Ruby well ahead.” He turned to the dragon. “How long can you survive under physical and magical attacks? They’ll be considerable.”

She snorted, and the air warmed around us. “I’m a dragon. I’ll die when I damn well please.”

I smiled, and wished Nox were there to see this creature we’d been so afraid of. I looked the dragon over. I’d fought younger ones, though not alone, and seen them fall. Not without a fight, though, and not one of them had had the size, strength, or intelligence of this one. I didn’t doubt her words.

She lifted her head and looked down at Griselda. “Prepare yourself.”

The blood drained from Griselda’s cheeks. I’d never seen her afraid before.

“What shall I do?” Florizel asked, and stepped closer to Rowan. “The potion lady took a moment to stitch me, and plastered this goo on my wound.” She twisted her neck back to look at the white paste that had dried over her flank in a lumpy mess. “It’s quite itchy, but my strength is returning. I can help.”

“Come with us,” I said. “Fetch Morea first, ask for more of her potion, then come to where the new bodies are resting.”

My magic welled up again, eager to work in spite of the pain it would cause me.

I stalked out of camp before I could change my mind. Rowan walked beside me, seeming lost in thought. She’d be considering ways to help, I knew. I wished she’d stay back, but knew better.

“Whatever you decide to do,” I said, “don’t overuse your magic. We need you.”

She gave me a nervous glance. “No danger of that. But I can help.”

“I have no doubt.”

T
HE BODIES STOOD
where we’d left them. The fat man had tipped over and lay face-down in the dirt, but my unspoken command got him back on his feet.

“So it’s waking them that requires the effort?” Rowan asked.

“I think so. We’ll see what happens when I try to get them moving farther from me.” I commanded one to walk toward the Despair. He did so without hesitation. “All we need is for them to march.”

And to not fall apart on the road, or get away from me. And that’s only the beginning of the challenge.

I shook off the melancholy that threatened to overcome me. The most insidious thing about the Despair was how the apathy and hopelessness seemed to come from within. It had almost caught me again. “We’ll start now, and send Florizel back to let everyone know when we’re ready. This could take some time.”

Florizel stepped toward the body closest to her, a thin young man whose head rested on his own shoulder. She sniffed, shuddered, and stepped back. “I’ll stay close by, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t watch.”

She disappeared into the bushes behind us.

My father was more confident about the gods’ lack of involvement than I was. I’d had the audacity to beg them to save Rowan once, and I couldn’t say for certain that they hadn’t. And now, this.
Forgive me
, I thought. I didn’t know who I might be offending with my actions, but I hoped they were listening.

My magic had recovered fully after I raised the last body, and the next came easier. Still, it took all of my focus and concentration to make the muscular woman move, rise, and walk toward the others. The illness came back in a flood, as though I’d never walked away. My magic levels dipped and stayed low as I forced another to its feet, as though something in me was reluctant to draw more so close to the Despair. The loss was followed by a deep ache in my left shoulder that mirrored the missing arm of the body that now stood gaping at me, slack-jawed and empty-eyed.

That’s absolutely perfect.
I sipped from Morea’s bottle and hoped she’d be bringing more of her potion soon. Something stronger, perhaps. My magic recovered, bringing with it a fresh wave of unease and uncertainty from the land around me.

I hesitated before the next one, a small-framed woman with deep gashes sliced into her face and neck.
We need all of them
, I reminded myself, and silently ordered her to rise. The pain began immediately, slashing across my throat from left to right, digging deep until I choked on it, then tearing at my cheek. It faded as soon as she was standing and the connection between myself and the body lessened, but it left me gasping from the echoes of agony.

Rowan ran to me and placed her hands on my arm. “Aren, what?”

“Just a little faint,” I said through gritted teeth. The pain disappeared completely as the corpse walked to stand with the others at my command. “It passes.”

I wrapped my fingers around my throat, not trusting that I hadn’t actually taken on some injury. Everything was intact, at least for the time being. I’d just have to press on through each one, and hope they didn’t get worse.

I felt a hint of warmth in my arm, flowing through my body like a faint stream of light. It took me a moment to shake off my own concerns and realize that it was Rowan’s magic.

I pulled away.

“What?” she asked.

“Your magic. It’s trying to build me up again, filling the gap before I replenish.” I licked my lips, which suddenly felt dry.

She stepped back. “I don’t mind, if it helps.”

I didn’t answer. I knew she would help me, and gladly. But I couldn’t let her do that. The danger of me taking too much from her would increase as I used more of my own power, and I didn’t like the thought of this death-effect pushing into her if she helped me. There was too much we didn’t know.

It was unfortunate, though. The Despair felt so much farther away when she touched me.

The next body rose, and another, each sending its projected pain into my body. A muscular fellow missing most of his head proved to be a challenge, but he soon joined the others. Each time, the effort cost me in magic and physical energy, and the pain became more real. An itching sensation crept through my muscles and over my skin, like my own flesh was rotting in the heat of the sun.

I recognized some of these people. I hadn’t spoken to them, except in passing at a meal while we all lived in the rebel village, but it made my task more difficult. They weren’t just bodies. They were people. Some had families. I was certain the blonde woman with her throat ripped out had children.

They chose to fight with Goff,
I reminded myself.
They knew they might die.

They hadn’t known about this. I could only hope they wouldn’t object, wherever they were now.

More bodies, and more. The pain approached anything Severn had thrown at me, occasionally blotting the world out and making me forget what I was supposed to be doing, but I continued each time I recovered. We needed their numbers. Every arrow taken by one of these bodies, every magical attack wasted on them, would be one less living person who would suffer their fate.