Cursed by Ice (27 page)

To her mind, she had every bit as much right to be in that room as Davine did. She could be of use to them. She had control of an enormous fire-breathing beast, for the gods’ sake! But she would not go into the room. Her pride demanded she not allow him another opportunity to make her feel small and insignificant.

She racked her brain as to how she could be of help otherwise, but after a while she had to admit that there was little she could offer.

At first.

Then she realized there was something everyone was forgetting. Even she had forgotten it. She hurried into the main hall.

“Magic!” she ejected loudly.

Garreth and Dethan and several of their men looked up at her.

Garreth frowned. “What about it?”

“I’m the only one here who can see through it!” Her tone was triumphant. “You need me where I can see their army at all times, where I can see through any glamours that might be cast. Otherwise, they can trick you. They are fairies. Glamours are their speciality!”

Garreth looked at Dethan. “She has a point.”

“Surely the mages can see through that,” Dethan said with a frown.

“Not all mages. Mages like Vinqua could,” Sarielle said. “But you don’t have Vinqua, do you?”

“No. We don’t. But that would require you to be within easy visual sight of the battle, which means putting you on the city wall. I don’t want you that close to the action. You could be hit by a stray arrow or a purposeful one.” The look Garreth gave her was pointed.

“Then put me in armor. I can settle in low where I cannot be seen. I can report everything I see to you. And we can bring Koro to bear as well. I know you do not want to see me hurt,” she said quickly, raising a hand to forestall his coming argument, “but I do not wish to see you hurt either … and yet you will still be on that wall defending this city. My city. My home.”

Garreth was silent a long minute and Sarielle took heart. At least he wasn’t ejecting her from the room and shutting her down immediately.

“Very well. But if we use the wyvern, you must call him from atop the keep, not the city wall. And he must not land at any time. If he stays in the air, he cannot be injured. Landing on the city wall allowed him to fall to my blade. It can happen again.”

“All right. When he retreats or sets down it will be on the keep, well behind the city walls,” Sarielle said.

“Very well. We have decided to attack them immediately.
This city cannot withstand another barrage or a siege. We must attack while we are at full strength and before they get the chance to settle in fully. We plan to do this as soon as the men are armed and ready. These are our mages.” He indicated two men and a woman, both men wearing light leather jerkins and the female wearing light leather armor. Nothing too heavy or restricting, since mages often needed to be able to move their arms in wide gestures to work their magic. “This is Sona, an earth magess,” he said gesturing to the elfin female. She had a pointed nose and slightly pointed ears, her entire face narrow and her short shock-white hair spiking in all manner of directions. “And this is Froom, another earth mage.” He pointed to the old mage, whose long beard and bent back made him look every bit the magician. “And Dru, a spirit mage,” he said indicating a strong-looking younger man. He looked to be about Garreth’s age and weight, and was only slightly less handsome to her eyes. He was clean-shaven and had hair as fiery red as hers. All were white skinned, although Dru was tanned and Froom was weathered and spotted with age.

“No mind mages?” Sarielle asked. But she was glad of it. A mind mage like Vinqua could see through illusions and having one would mean there was no use for her. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to be a part of defending her home.

“No. You will be the only one able to see through illusions,” Dru said. “I can call up spirits and the dead and other fortifying spells that can create trickery, but I cannot see
through
trickery.”

“None of us can. You will be crucial,” Froom said, his old voice cracking with age.

“The rylings will be many, but their magic is limited to illusions and earth magics. So it is fortunate we have
earth mages to counteract that. But there will be three mages against many rylings,” Sarielle said with a frown.

“Then we must disrupt their magic whenever we can. We can use the wyvern for that. The fear he instills makes it hard to concentrate, and the fire he breathes can take out many players at one time. But I want him to come from behind the army,” Garreth said to her, pointing to the map of the city she had seen Dethan using the day before. “They are focused to the north, beyond the north wall. If Koro comes in from behind them, it will squeeze them up against the army as we come out of the gates.”

“We can have Koro come first to lure them into turning their backs on the city. Once they have engaged Koro, we open the gates and send the army out to overwhelm them,” Dethan said.

“You earth mages can build walls of earth to the east and west, creating a narrow channel that will force them to fight, leaving them no retreat. Being closed in with no escape tends to make people panic,” Garreth said.

Sarielle had to admit she was impressed. The men truly did know what they were doing. If they pulled this off, they would have planned the whole business perfectly.

It seemed plausible in theory, but executing it would be something else entirely. It was possible the rylings would not panic. They would probably be expecting Koro. But by having Koro attack the army from the rear, and not allowing him to fly over the entirety of the enemy forces to approach from the city, the brothers were giving the enemy less opportunity to attack Koro’s vulnerable underbelly.

“And what if you win the day?” she heard herself asking. “What then?”

“The day will not be won until they are all dead or running for the Asdar Mountains.”

“Not quite the direction of home,” Sarielle noted.

“I don’t want them to go home. I want them to know they are cut off from their direct route home. I want them to feel the fear that, should we desire it, we could next turn on their home, which they have left abandoned and defenseless.”

Dethan was cutthroat, to be sure, and his words only solidified that about him. But she honestly didn’t blame him. She took offense at this attack, just as he did, although she had more reason to because this was
her
home. But she supposed the city was the spoils of his war, and to his mind, no man had the right to take that from him.

“Put on your armor, brother. We go to war,” Dethan said as he moved to leave the room.

“Surely you’re not going to be in the thick of it,” Sarielle heard herself saying nervously.

“Surely I am,” Garreth said with a small frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You are a leader. You must be seen. And if anything should happen to you …” The words were tumbling out of her without her control. Her hands twisted together before her as true, unadulterated fear seized her.

He came up to her and settled calming hands on her shoulders. “I cannot be killed,” he reminded her in a soft voice so others could not hear him.

“Oh,” she said just as softly. “I forgot. B-but … you can still be gravely injured. And what if they have a god-made weapon? You said—”

“The odds of that are very slim. The odds of that weapon meeting my neck in the thick of a battle are slimmer still. Do not worry, Sarielle. It is you I am concerned about, not myself. You are not so well protected.
But we will find the armor of a slight man and dress you in it forthwith.”

“Actually, there is women’s armor in the bazaar,” Davine spoke up from Garreth’s elbow. “But you will have to get it yourself, for the vendor is like the one who would not serve her.”

A thundercloud of anger swept across Garreth’s features darkly. “He will serve her or he will answer to me! Sarielle, come! Help me dress in my armor. Then we will see about yours.”

She followed Garreth to his rooms, where a squire was already waiting to help him into his armor. Since she knew little about dressing a man for war, the squire stayed and she helped, watched, and learned. She would be able to do this for him next time, she vowed to herself. She would see him protected and ready. She would help to keep him safe.

Once he was ready, with the wey flower etched and then enameled on his armor at the dead center of his chest, she moved into his arms and touched it with trembling fingers. The wey flower was Weysa’s flower. It was an enormous bloom with large curved petals that came to points at their tips. It was most often a pink flower, although the one on his chest was a white version of it. A rare version of it. It was said the white wey flower could give a man incredible strength if consumed before a battle.

“She will always have you, and I never will,” she said without thinking.

He went still as he looked down at her. “You knew this,” he said softly.

“I knew this,” she agreed. “But that does not make it any easier.”

He reached up and touched a gloved finger to the rise of her cheek, shaping the apple of it slowly. “You have
me,” he promised her. “I should not allow it, but I cannot help myself. You have me.”

She met his eyes, hope unfurling in her chest and tears filling her vision. “What are we to do?” she asked.

“One battle at a time,” he said admonishingly. “Let us save this city first, then worry about the rest later.”

She nodded and he took her hand, leading her out of the keep and toward the bazaar. In spite of herself, she began to drag her feet. She didn’t want to go through this. There was enough to cope with as it was. She didn’t need to be reminded that she wasn’t deemed good enough by her own people. By Dethan. By Weysa. Not good enough by half.

They found the armorer, and immediately Sarielle saw a woman’s breastplate, the metal finely etched with a picture of a powerful archer, an arrow nocked and drawn in her bow, the tip of it flaming. The flame had been enameled in red. It was an archer’s armor. Light and strong, the metal brushed so as not to gleam too brightly in the sun, giving away the wearer’s position. It made sense since the only women in their armed forces were archers. The bennesah had deemed females little good for anything else, too weak to go hand-to-hand or sword-to-sword in his opinion.

The armor came with a metal skirt that reached to the knees, the metal like the petals of a flower, each piece overlaying another all the way around the waist, keeping the armor flexible and mobile yet thoroughly protective. There were light bracers and gloves and all the necessary padding. And boots. They were made of hard leather with small squares of metal riveted to them, keeping them relatively light and flexible but protected all the same.

“Go on,” Garreth urged her forward. “Ask the man if you may try it.”

He was purposely baiting the blacksmith to see what
he would do, standing back and letting her do all the interacting. She bit her lip and nervously approached the merchant.

“I would like to try on that armor,” she said, pointing to the piece. Garreth was standing in that direction as well, so she hoped the merchant would see him and know better than to behave in a prejudiced manner.

The smith was apparently nearsighted. “That’s not for the likes of you.”

“Why not?” she heard herself asking sharply, wondering where the sudden rush of temper came from. Apparently the pressure of knowing what Garreth would do next had given her the spine to stand up to the smith. For his own good, really. It was better he deal with her than Garreth.

“You’re a scourge,” the smith bit out. “I don’t serve your kind.”

“You will serve my kind,” she hissed, grabbing hold of him by his arm. “Or have you not noticed that things around here have changed?”

“They haven’t changed for me. Now, get your filthy hands off me before I am forced to have you thrown out on your ass!”

“Do you even know who I am?” she asked, her eyes narrowing wickedly.

“I do not care.”

“I am the wrena,” she hissed.

That made the smith’s eyes widen and he looked at her for the first time.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Shall I prove it to you?” she asked threateningly. “Shall I bring the wyvern to bear against you?”

The merchant hesitated, looking her over again, head to toe. “Show me proof. Show me the mark.”

“I will not. You will allow me access to that armor
and you will pray I never show you proof that I am a wrena.”

The merchant was still reluctant, but he begrudgingly took down the armor and handed it to her. Then Garreth stepped forward and helped her to dress in the breastplate, the one piece that might not fit as universally as the others would. The plate was riveted onto strong, hard leather, shaping to her breasts, the archer displayed from the bottoms of her breasts all the way to her lower waist, where the skirt would begin.

“It fits you fine,” Garreth murmured in a soft voice. “As if it had been made for you.”

“Yes, she looks quite good,” the blacksmith was saying in hasty, uncomfortable tones. He had realized who Garreth was and was trying to cover up his earlier behavior with sudden praise. “It is one of my best works for a female. It took me quite some time to perfect it.”

“Then it will be doubly generous of you when you give it to her as a gift.”

“A-a gift?!” the man spluttered. “B-but the armor cost a small fortune to make!”

“Yes, but think of all the money you will make when she wears this and tells all who see her who the maker is,” Garreth said as he stepped up to the man and loomed threateningly over him. “Imagine all the scourge clientele you will suddenly have.”

The smithy swallowed noisily, clearly biting back any response to that particular idea. “Yes. Well … I suppose I could let it go for a greatly reduced rate of—”

“Free,” Garreth said, his tone hard and unyielding.

“F-free,” the smithy agreed at last, although through his teeth.

“Good man!” Garreth boomed out, slapping the smith hard on the back, nearly knocking the burly man off his feet. “We’ll take the entire suit and padding. And you’ll throw in a weapons belt besides. Send the whole of it
immediately to the keep. Now come,” he said to Sarielle. “I will rest easier once we find you a weapon to go with this.”