Breaking the Gloaming (23 page)

“Silence,” the prince demanded. He moved closer to Malam, almost within his reach. “This is between your king and me. I will hear no more words from you.”
 

“You will hear whatever I want!” Malam said. “This is between Sunan and Valemidas. Accept His Excellency’s offer, or watch your city burn.”

The prince’s calm began to crumble. “You have no authority here, priest.” He leaned closer to Malam as if daring him to speak again.

“And neither do you!” Malam shoved the prince.

His Excellency moved suddenly. He pulled a short blade from his robe and held it at the prince’s neck.
 

“Stay back,” His Excellency said.

The prince glared down the length of the blade. “You said no weapons,” the prince growled. His body had the look of a lion about to pounce.

“You will bow to me,” His Excellency demanded.

“Will I?” The prince exploded into motion. Two swift punches knocked the king to the ground. The prince pinned him down with a hand clutching his neck. “Will I bow, or will I kill you now?”

The noble, Justus Davosman, rushed to the prince and tried to pulled him away. The prince grabbed His Excellency’s fallen blade as he rose. He twisted free of the nobleman’s grip and pointed the blade down at the king.
 

“Stop.” Father Yates touched the prince’s arm. “Do not spill blood this day,” he said.
 

The prince breathed heavily and began to back away.

Ilias helped His Excellency stand and spoke before Malam had another chance. “The battle will come,” he said, “men will die, but we may meet again. This does not have to end in death.”

“One of us will die.” The prince looked at His Excellency. “We may still find peace, but not before one of us dies.”

“You will find no peace in your death,” Malam threatened.

“None of us will.” The prince turned and stormed off toward the city.
 

Yates gave Ilias a glance of sadness before turning to join the prince and the noble. The empty fountain of hope, Ilias thought, would soon fill with blood.

Chapter 23

THE THREE MEET AGAIN

“All truths are easy to understand
 

once they are discovered;
 

the point is to discover them.”

“I hear your son was knighted.” Justus was trying to change the subject. He was tired of talking about Andor’s meeting with the Sunan god-king. “A toast to the honor, to Jacodin?” Justus raised his glass.

“To Jacodin.” Ryn clinked his glass and they drank. “He always had it in him,” Ryn said. “Even a noble’s son can be born to hold a sword.” 

“I wish I could say the same of Jonas,” Justus replied. He swirled the dark red wine. “He never had a fourth the spirit of our prince.”

“From what you’ve said, our prince could use a little less spirit. Why didn’t he just kill their king when he had the chance?”

“It was a meeting for peace,” Justus answered. “Our prince still has honor.”

“A shame,” Ryn said. “So we’ll have a battle. Don’t you think we could use a man like Tryst right now?”

“We will win this war under Andor’s command.” Justus let no doubt touch his voice. Ryn’s question struck too close to the truth. If Sebastian carried out his end of the deal, Tryst would join them soon enough.

“We need to do better than win,” Ryn said. “If the Sunans breach the southern wall, my estate will be the first to burn.”

Justus began to ask Ryn about his estate’s defenses. It was a topic sure to distract Ryn from Andor, Tryst, and all the other topics Justus wanted to avoid.

The two men were in the nobles’ court, southwest of the city’s central plaza. The room was almost as grand as the prince’s banquet hall. Fifty seats surrounded a round table with a round hole in the center. The floor was checkered marble. Columns held up a domed ceiling filled with paintings of Valemidan princes and their infamous deeds. The paintings were meant to remind the nobles of their duty to check the prince’s power. They were responsible for selecting the right man, and for removing him if he did not serve the people.

Since failing in both tasks with Tryst, the morale of the nobles had been low. Many had questioned their role. Jusuts’s news from the morning’s encounter had brought the morale lower still. He had spent the day reporting to the nobles, answering their questions, and debating what counsel they might give the prince. They all knew it mattered little. The Sunans would attack any moment. Most of the nobles had scattered by now, seeing to the defenses of their own estates, readying themselves to fight. The bonds of tradition were strained by the stress of war.

For Justus and Ryn, two of the longest-tenured nobles, it was almost pleasant to dine in the court with most of the others gone. The only ones remaining were three young men clustered on the opposite side of the table. They had replaced nobles who had been killed during the fight when Andor deposed Tryst. Instead of earning their way into nobility by virtue, these men had bought it. One was an artist whose patron had left him a fortune, just enough to buy a minor noble house; another was a mercenary leader who had offered to protect the nobles with his men in exchange for the title; and the third was a farmer who had extracted the nobles’ support with the promise of granaries full of grain. In hard times, the nobles needed deserving men in their ranks. They needed the children of noble houses. They needed continuity. But instead they whored out these positions to whoever guarded their status and their bellies.

“Enough of my estate’s walls. What of yours?” Ryn’s words pulled Justus’s thoughts away from the other nobles. “And what about your son Jonas? Will he learn to hold a sword in time to help?” 

It almost relieved Justus to hear his old rival’s bantering. They had been agreeing on too much lately.

“As I said, Jonas was not born a fighter.” Justus shook his head. “Growing up beside Andor only made him shy away from it more. But this is war. He’ll take up the sword, and I pray he’ll prove himself worthy under your son’s command.”

“A good prayer,” Ryn said. He stood and motioned for Justus to join him. 

They walked to the southern edge of the room. Ryn pulled back a heavy curtain between two columns. A gust of cold greeted them, as did a view of the Sunan army camped on the beach beyond the wall. 

“Why do you think they did not attack after the meeting today?” Ryn asked.

“Their boy-god was shaken. Maybe he needed time to collect himself after Andor landed blows to his godhood.” Justus did not mention his hope that Sebastian’s or Ravien’s influence was somehow delaying the Sunans.

“There must be more to it.” Ryn was studying him. He knew him too well to let him dodge the question. “Surely the Sunans have seasoned leaders. I bet they have their own version of Ulysses somewhere out there. Such a man would not let the element of surprise fade like this. Armies weaken every day they wait for a fight.”

“This is true, but their leader’s control is absolute.” Justus decided it was time to go. “I don’t know, Ryn. It has been a very long day. I need to return to my estate, visit the soldiers there. Andor will expect me to report on the nobles’ advice. He won’t like our cowardice.” Justus looked toward the three nobles on the far side of the room. “The day has passed when nobility meant strength and tradition.”

“So it has,” Ryn said. “But the coming battles will change that, or make it irrelevant. I fear the south wall will be overwhelmed tomorrow, and noble houses will be the first to burn. We have our war, and our dove of a prince bared his talons against Sunan. It was too little, too late. We would have been stronger under Tryst.”

“Tryst will help us.” The words slipped out of Justus’s mouth.

Ryn’s eyes opened wide, surprise and doubt mixed in his face. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“It is just a hope.” Justus turned to go. “Perhaps our hawk will join our dove again.”

Ryn grabbed Justus’s arm to stop him. “What have you planned? Tryst will return?” His voice rose and echoed under the dome. The other nobles were staring at them.

“In wars like this, even ghosts may walk again.” Justus pulled his arm away, and moved quickly to the door. He did not look back, and Ryn did not try to stop him again.

Justus cursed himself as he left the building. Too much talking today, too much wine. He should not have revealed such a hint to Ryn. He needed to claim ignorance if Tryst showed up again. He shivered and drew his cloak closer as he walked. It was far colder than the prior nights. 

He reached the gate to his estate in little time. It was shut tight, with a dark figure standing there. From the silhouette, he knew it was not one of his guards. The man wore no armor and carried no weapon Justus could see.

“Who waits there?” Justus asked.

The man suddenly came toward him. Justus drew his sword.

“You’ve kept me waiting.” It was Sebastian. He stayed out of Justus’s reach.

“We planned no meeting this night.” Justus kept his sword between them. “Why have you come?”

“We planned this meeting long ago, for whenever our partner returned. She is here. Come, we must go to her now.” 

Sebastian turned along the perimeter of Justus’s wall.

Justus had little choice but to follow. He worried this was a trap, some attempt to lure him away from his duties, or worse. But if Ravien had returned, he had to hear her news immediately. It seemed she had succeeded in convincing the Sunans to bring the war now, in the dead of winter, and to set camp on the north bank of the Tyne. She might hold out hope for Valemidas. 

Sebastian led him past the fine stone buildings of the nobles’ quarter and across the central plaza. The vast space was empty underneath the bare limbs of the white tree. Once past the square, Sebastian took to alleys and paths Justus could not have retraced. The buildings were smaller and packed more tightly, but they looked warm inside. A few windows revealed families gathered over what might be their last meals together.

Eventually they came to the harbor. Its deep waters were black and motionless, in a way that only seemed possible on a night this cold.

Sebastian walked south along the crescent-shaped docks. He stopped at the far end, before a four-story tavern carved into the stone cliff looming above. The palace sat on the other side of this rocky hill, and the Gloaming was hidden somewhere within it. He shuddered at the thought.

“She did not want to meet with us.” Sebastian’s voice was a whisper. “I told her our agreement required it. We meet upon her return. She said we have no more than an hour.”

Justus might have said something in response, but his lips felt frozen. He trusted Ravien more than this man, no matter what he said. It seemed she had lived up to her end of the agreement. Sebastian still had his main duty to perform. Justus simply nodded and followed Sebastian inside. 

Pulling his hood tight to cover his face, Justus kept his head down as they walked through the common room. It sounded like any tavern with men talking and drinking. Sebastian led them up the stairs in the back, all the way to the top floor.

The hallway was longer than seemed possible from outside the building. As Justus followed Sebastian down it, he realized that it was burrowed into the stone. It was like walking into a smooth gray tunnel. 

Sebastian knocked on the last door at the end. It swung open.

Ravien stood there like a black feral cat squaring off against a dog. She looked as stunning as ever, but as she backed into the room, she never left the balls of her feet. Tension held her shoulders up toward her ears. Her dark hair was wild around her head.
 

“Welcome, Sir Davosman,” she said. “We have much to discuss.” 

They each took seats around a small table in the small room. There were no windows. The only light came from a fire in the hearth and a single candle on the table. The candle lit the parchment they had signed half a year ago.

“I am relieved to see you.” Justus smiled as he pulled back his hood. “How did you escape?”

A glance passed between her and Sebastian. “I would rather not speak of that now,” she said.

“We must discuss what is to come,” Sebastian agreed.

“Fine.” Justus looked down at the agreement. He would learn what happened with Ravien in time. “I have done my part by ensuring that Andor kept the Gloaming in place, with better supplies of food.”

He nodded to Ravien. She looked away from him to the fire. 

“And I have fulfilled my obligation.” Her voice was distant. “The Sunans have sailed for war and arrived in winter. They have anchored their ships and camped their army on the north shore of the River Tyne. I will have more to report, but that is all that was required of me by this.” She pointed to the agreement as if accusing it.

“Agreed, you have met your obligation,” Justus said. He turned to Sebastian. “You have kept Andor safe, so all that remains is what started this all, the linchpin of our deal.”

Sebastian lounged back in his chair with a smile that was too comfortable. “I will break the Gloaming.”

“The agreement is more specific.” Ravien leaned forward with the intensity that Justus was accustomed to seeing in her. “It states as follows:
No later than the second morning after the Sunans arrive on our lands, Sebastian shall use the remaining explosives from Icaria to blow open the stone cliff facing the River Tyne so that the wall of the Gloaming will fall and the men inside can escape. He shall ensure minimal casualties among the Valemidans. He shall ensure maximum casualties among the Sunans. He shall never reveal the source nor the authors of the explosion.
”

She held her finger to the parchment. “The time has come.”

“The time has come.” Justus’s words echoed.

“So it has.” Sebastian sat up straight and put his hands on the table. “Tomorrow morning there will be an explosion like none before.” 

He stood to go, looking huge in the small room.

Justus stood, too, but Ravien was the first to respond. “Why not tonight?” she asked. “And where? We need to know where the explosion will be. Wren is somewhere among the Sunans.”