Miami Days and Truscan (31 page)

Dal cheered, though I could see the envy in his eyes. I’d actually asked Dalph about the possibility of Dal having a falton early, but Dalph said that he was still too young; that faltons did not deign to be ridden by children, no matter how much older than his years that child might be.

“I
will
be damned!” Johnny exclaimed.

“So, my friend!” called Dalph. “A new alliance! What’s his name?” No one except his master, or, in Johnny’s expressive phraseology, his partner or however they viewed us, ever named a falton.

“Are you
kidding
?” Carlos asked. “He runs beside Pegasus and Andromeda, you know his name! He’s Perseus!”

Of course he was. Who else would he be?

Tornans and regular cavalry—it appeared that Trusca had never been much on infantry—poured into Trussa from all points. Krenor was the closest city, and actually, the only one that I’d really heard much about until that point, but warriors from all of Trusca’s strongholds—Miros, Canra, Naran, Murer, Lorias, Fakos, Strakan, Rokor, Gallia—streamed into Trussa. I grabbed a map from Dalph’s Round Table of paperwork and fixed it to the door of our bedchamber, marking each new city as its soldiers swelled the ranks on Warrior Fields.

The days passed too swiftly, the hours continuing to be measured by the clashing of metal and the whoosh of the flying arrows, and the grunts from the hand-to-hand practices that went on for hours. For the first few nights, Dal came back to the Rata completely exhausted, but after a few days of the increased physical activity, his body became adjusted to it. I’d cut his hair, not as short as Dalph’s and Carlos’ hair, as I wasn’t a professional and I didn’t want to butcher it, but short enough, and almost regretted it, as the cut made approaching maturity so much more obvious in his face. I noticed a new grace and a new control in his movements, though, and a growing confidence that I simultaneously enjoyed and mourned. Ten-year-olds were not intended to have that type of confidence. He would never again revert to the high-speed little whirlwind that raced up and down the Rata halls. Apparently, he expended all the speed he needed to expend on the training fields, and in the evenings, settled in on the couches in the den with the books I’d brought back from Beyond the Door.

The first ones devoured were the Arthurian legends, and that was certainly no surprise to me. His favorite version of the legend, though, did surprise me. He loved the tripping, flowing, poetry of
Idylls of the King
and in an astoundingly short time, became very adept at quoting verses from the work that were quite appropriate for the current situation he was commenting on. His grandmother’s grandson, for sure.

I worked hard myself; I wasn’t and would never be a natural fencer. I wasn’t interested in grace or beauty, I wanted results, and felt vindicated when Dalph told me that what I lacked in finesse, I made up for with my instincts to go straight for the jugular. I was better with a bow and arrow, having shot a little archery in high school, and I was getting quite good at the Truscan martial art of Cabrote, though I was a little handicapped in that by the fact that Dalph refused to let me spar with anyone but him, Johnny, or Carlos.

“How am I going to get any better if you won’t let me spar with anybody but the three of you? All of you already
know
what I’m trying to do and I already
know
how you’re going to block me, I just can’t stop you yet!”

Dalph laughed and pushed my hair off my forehead before kissing it lightly.

“But that’s the point! Sooner or later you’ll figure out how to stop us. Besides, we’re the only three I won’t have to kill if we slip up and bruise you!”

“Johnny said that once, but he was kidding and so are you!
Aren’t
you?”

He laughed again. “Under the old rules, I’m the only one who can bruise you and live to tell about it, but I think Johnny and Carlos have earned the right as well. They have to put up with you, after all!”

“Dalph, that’s ridiculous!”

“Yes, I know, but still—what’s that phrase you use, my Queen? It’s a guy thing. I just don’t want you sparring with anyone but us.”

I dropped it, no longer at all convinced that he was joking and certainly not willing to put it to the test.

And I watched the night sky, as the moon edged closer and closer to full. I wasn’t sure I could live through this full moon and maintain my sanity. The elite packed saddlebags and supplies.

Carlos, during these weeks of preparation, had never again brought up the issue of whether or not he was going on the stealth mission, and as often as I had misread the man, I didn’t misread him now. He’d either shown Dalph what he had or he hadn’t; he wasn’t going to ask and he certainly wasn’t going to beg.

“Check in with Balder tomorrow morning,” Dalph issued the instruction to Carlos a few days before they were to ride. “He’ll make sure you have all you need.”

Carlos nodded. “Okay.”

And that was it. No further discussion necessary. I shook my head. Men.

That night, I asked Dalph something that had been bothering me for some time.

“Do the Prians know what the Tornans really are? Or do they just know that the wolf population explodes during a full moon? If they see wolves slinking along the city streets, will they know what they’re seeing?”

“Honestly, Tess, I’m not sure. There’s been very little interaction between Truscans and Prians other than death. But they won’t see us. That’s the whole reason we’re going now.”

Two days before the full moon, I stood with Dal and Johnny in the Courtyard, watching them ride out, knowing that they were going deeper into Pria than any Truscan had gone in many years. There had been no protest from Dal. Warrior Fields was maturing him so quickly that I feared the boy I’d first met would be gone completely in a few more weeks. When the last dust cloud cleared, he tugged my hand.

“Let’s go inside, Madda. They’ll be fine. And they’ll be back.”

It was the first time he called me mother, and coming as it did, while I watched his father ride away, it finished me off. I cried.

Chapter Thirty

I don’t remember much of the days they were gone; I threw myself into the activity on Warrior Fields and worked until I was exhausted. And at night, with Dalph’s hand-selected regular guards, I rode Andromeda out with the younger Tornans who had been left behind, so that they could at least run. Consequently, when I did fall asleep, I fell almost into unconsciousness and then woke, suddenly, completely, after only a few hours. Between exhaustion and sleep deprivation, I was virtually numb, and that’s exactly the way I wanted it, because otherwise, my imagination took over and I saw the bodies of Tornans in wolf form slain by the Prians, lying in the city streets, Carlos butchered and served as a special treat for Kruska, and Dalph—always Dalph. I saw his head paraded to the crowds on a pike.

It was much more pleasant to remain numb.

The shouts sounded in mid-afternoon of the sixth day of their absence. “Trusca vite!” On Warrior Fields, Dal was putting me through my paces on the light swords and both of us dropped the weapons immediately and charged for our mounts, wheeling and racing back to the Rata. I prayed the entire time that the guards were right; that this was really Trusca riding back; and that the guards had really seen him in the front of the riders before sending out the roar.

We hit the Rata’s Courtyard at pretty much the same time the returning patrol did, and yes, Pegasus and Perseus were in the lead, their riders dismounting. Dalph caught our shouts over the roar of the crowd, and dropping Pegasus’ reins, moved to us quickly in great strides and enveloped us, one arm around each of us. I flung my arms around his neck, and he virtually lifted me off the ground with the one arm he was holding me with, so that I swung back and forth a bit in the exuberance of the moment. The other arm holding Dal shifted and repositioned, so that he could catch his son around the middle, and he swung him over his arm as one swings a toddler in play, Dal’s laughter sounding in our ears.

I had never in my life been as glad to see anyone as I was as that moment, to have my husband back, his head still attached to his body.

As he had when we returned from the search for the Power Stone, he loosened his hold on us and turned and addressed the crowd, and this time, I have to confess, I don’t have any idea what he said. I was simply too full of relief to engage the necessary parts of my brain and translate the Truscan. The crowd went wild, of course, and while he was speaking, I took the opportunity to survey the returning members of the patrol. Thank God, Carlos was standing in front smiling, apparently understanding completely everything Dalph said. I’d known he’d be tri-lingual in a matter of weeks. More importantly, he was all in one piece, and had obviously not had any part of his anatomy butchered and served to Kruska for supper.

I tried to concentrate and ascertain whether any Tornan who’d ridden out hadn’t come back and it appeared that everyone had returned. Dalph turned from the roaring crowd and began to gently herd us back toward the Rata. Carlos caught up with us and Dal and I hugged him fiercely.

“Worried about us?” Dalph said in my ear.

“You have no idea,” I said truthfully. “But it went well?”

“Better than well,” said Carlos from the other side. “Wait’ll you hear!”

Dalph laughed. “Yes, I thought our new American knight was going to expire from sheer pleasure.”

“Over what?”

“It’s not granite, Tess!” I hadn’t seen Carlos that happy over a ten million dollar deal. “It’s sandstone!”

“And that means?”

“One of the softest building stones in existence! We’re going to blow them out of orbit!”

“With some minor adjustments in strategy, of course,” Dalph slipped in from the side. He spotted Kiera and Johnny pushing their way through the crowd. “Aunt! Johnny!”

“Such as?”

“Damn, woman! Family room. Can we just breathe for a space? Aunt, food? Drink?”

“Already coming, think you not I know how to run this Rata?” Kiera fussed.

Dalph leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t give you something to complain about.”

Our odd family unit of Truscan-American mixture, some members by virtue of blood and some by virtue of choice, adjourned to the family room and closed the doors, where Dalph and Carlos collapsed—in somewhat exaggerated movements, I was sure—onto the cushions of the big chairs and sighed. I don’t think they were really that tired, as it took them all of three seconds to surge forward from those cushions at the smell of the hot food that Saraya brought in on big trays a couple of minutes after their collapse. Actually, I hadn’t had much appetite myself since their departure as the bloody visions that kept dancing behind my eyes hadn’t been very conducive to good digestion. I suddenly realized I was starving. Dal was always hungry now that he spent his days out on the fields, and it was only a few minutes until we began to vie for the leavings, Dalph slapping Dal’s hand away from the last meat pasty.

“Where are your manners, young Trusca? Have you no respect for your elders or pity for your starving father?”

“Nope,” Dal responded, slapping Dalph’s hand back and claiming the prize. Dalph laughed and leaned back again.

“So we can blow them to Kingdom Come with some minor strategy changes?” I thought it was time to get back to business again. “Which would be…?”

“Slave driver,” Carlos observed mildly, and upended his mug.

“Strategy changes don’t bother me. It’s the ‘minor’ part that worries me. Any time one of you say something’s ‘minor,’ it usually means you don’t want to scare me. Which scares me.”

“Well,” Dalph leaned back into the cushions. “The thing is, the scouting mission was perfect for a full moon. But the frontal attack—well, it’s not.”

“Not what?”

“Not for a full moon. We need our hands. We’re the ones who’ve seen the city, so we’re the ones who need to plant the charges. We can’t just describe what we want to the regular troops. Too much margin for error. We have to go in human form.”

I sat for a minute and thought about it. Actually, I’d already thought about it, but I wasn’t going to claim to them that I’d considered that possibility already, because they’d probably think I was just saying that to sound smart.

“I can see that. I hate to lose the strength and speed of the wolves, though.”

“So do I, my Queen. But my warriors are not without strength and speed in human form. With considerably more hand dexterity.”

“The thing is,” added Carlos, “the city’s so much weaker than I thought it’d be, that the more hands I have throwing mini-bombs, the better.”

“Yes, I’m surprised myself, and I don’t know why,” said Dalph. “The Prians are scavengers, not builders, I’ve always known that. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that they would have taken as little care as possible in building their cities. But why they’ve expended so very little effort in their fortifications, I can’t imagine.”

“I can,” I offered. “How many Truscans—or Andovians or Motravians or Tarnians or Freschians—willingly cross far over the Prian border and head to Prias when they know they’ll get eaten if they get caught? But Trusca has to be ready to defend herself as strongly as possible because we won’t, and the Prians know we won’t, start a war of domination. Because we are the Guardians of the world and Guardians do not make war unless it’s in self-defense or protection of another nation.” I paused, struck by something Johnny had told me the first morning of my marriage, when Dalph had ordered the two of us to make some sort of working peace. “In other words,” I continued, “Trusca is much closer to being a mini-America than any of us have realized. Americans don’t go to war in an effort to dominate, only in an effort to preserve and protect. As does Trusca.”