The Fall of Neskaya (48 page)

By his thirst, days had gone by. Rumail sat fully upright, grasping the side of the cart for balance. The mule had come to a halt in the middle of a rutted, churned morass which might once have been a road. A man in a soldier’s jacket slumped at a precarious angle in the driver’s seat. Rumail’s movement tipped the cart and sent the man tumbling face-down into the mud.

Cautiously, Rumail used his
laran
to taste the air for poison. It was clean, although some residue of bonewater dust clung to the wheels of the cart. He slid to the ground, sinking ankle-deep in the muck, and rolled the man over. The mule cocked one ear in his direction.

The soldier whose compassion or duty had gotten him this far was too far gone for even a trained monitor’s skill, which Rumail did not have. He bent closer as the man’s lips moved. No sound came from the blistered mouth, but Rumail caught his dying thoughts.

And then nothing.

Rumail passed a hand over the staring eyes. It would have been decent to bury such a man and not leave his body for the
kyorebni
, assuming any would venture this close to bonewater-polluted land. But he could not delay. Taking the soldier’s knife, he cut the mule free from its harness, shortened the reins to a manageable length, and clambered on. Its backbone made a ridge like a knife and it limped a little, but it moved off willingly enough.

When Rumail was within view of Acosta Castle, his mule, which had been stumbling with exhaustion, lowered its head, set its hooves, and refused to take another step. Whipping the animal produced nothing beyond ears laid flat against the thin neck. He slid from the mule’s back and took up the reins, clucking encouragement. The animal sighed and followed at an easy amble.

A pair of guards stopped him at the edge of the army encampment and demanded his business. When he gave his name and rank,
laranzu
and
nedestro
brother to the King, one laughed. Eyes flickered over his torn, mud-smeared breeches, his patched tunic. He knew what they saw, an exhausted civilian trying to pass himself off as one of his betters for a bed and hot meal.

“
Dom
Rumail perished in the battle of the border,” the other snarled. “You should be torn apart by banshees for besmirching his memory.”

Rumail was in no mood to explain himself to ordinary men, let alone such inferior ones. One hand crept upward to his starstone. His fingers touched its warmth. It would not do, he reminded himself, to kill or cripple. These men, coarse and ignorant as they were, belonged to his brother. Their lives belonged to Greater Ambervale. So the first guard, the one who had laughed, tumbled to the mud, clutching his throat but still alive.

“Sorcerer!”
the other man cried, his eyes bulging in his weathered face.

Rumail lifted one eyebrow. “Precisely.”

Casting bewildered glances at his hapless mate, the guard fell to his knees. Others in the outermost camp circles took notice and a few made their way over. An instant later, a dozen broke out at once, although they kept their distance.

“It is the King’s brother—the sorcerer—he’s alive!”

“Come back to us from the dead!”

Rumail smiled inwardly, enjoying the reaction.

“How do you know—I’ve never seen him before.”

“Look how he witched Seamus!—Seamus man, can ye stand? Are ye all right?” cried a soldier, helping the choking guard to his feet.

“Quickly, send word to the castle!”

“No, bring him a horse!—a drink—a clean cloak!”

“Vai dom—”
One of the soldiers dared to approach Rumail, hands outstretched in entreaty. “If it please you—we are but poor soldiers—”

Rumail thought wistfully of commanding them to carry him on their shoulders up to the castle, for they would have eagerly done his bidding, but in the end, he settled for an escort and an easy-gaited horse.

By the time he approached the outer gates, they were already swinging open. There stood Damian, resplendent in golden brocade and white fur. His arms stretched out to meet Rumail and he embraced him with such fervor, pressing Rumail’s filthy garments against his own costly ones without the least concern. Rumail caught the expression on his brother’s face, far more than delight at discovering him alive.

He needs me. He is desperate.
It was a good thing Damian had little
laran,
or he would surely have picked up Rumail’s surge of exhilaration.
And I will use him to get what I most desire—to be Keeper of a Tower today and to rule all the Towers on Darkover tomorrow.

E
dric flew his sentry-birds several times more, following the path Deslucido’s forces had taken. A small group of horsemen had broken away from the rest, moving in the direction of Acosta Castle. Undoubtedly, Prince Belisar was making a swift escape, using the confusion to cover him. The ragged remnants of the army remained straggled over the increasingly hilly terrain.

Edric pointed out their location on the maps spread over the improvised war-room table in the command tent. Coryn had been included in the planning. Caitlin, after sending word to Hali with her starstone, had withdrawn to replenish her strength.

“It gripes me fierce to see them get away, when we could so easily run them down,” one of the generals said. “With the Drycreek border fallen, Acosta’s vulnerable from this direction.”

“Or would be, without the bonewater dust,” Rafael commented. “Caitlin, who knows about such things, says it may be a generation or more before the land is safe for passage.” He looked grim. “To reach Acosta, we’ll have to backtrack and go through the Venza Hills, with all the nightmare logistics that entails.”

“Aye,” said the senior of the officers, “the danger will be if he mobilizes quickly enough to meet us in the middle of the Hills. The major pass is shaped to even the odds for a smaller army and he’ll be approaching with advantage of terrain. If I were Deslucido, I’d lie in wait right here—” he indicated the area on the map, “—where we’d have to charge uphill with no cover. If it rains, as it often does at this season, we’ll be slogging through mud up to our knees.”

“He’s no fool,” Rafael said. “And neither is his general, The Yellow Wolf. If we know about the pass, we must assume he does, too.”

“About a half-day’s march past the funnel, there’s a wide valley,” another officer said. “If we can force the battle there, we’ll have room to maneuver.”

“Our best chance is to get there before him,” Rafael said. “Yes, I know we’d all have to sprout wings to do that. We must find a way to slow him down, keep him pinned at Acosta.”

“How?” the first general asked. “The cub has sealed himself a very effective barrier. There’s no way we can cross it.”

But bird-things such as Rumail had used to launch the bonewater dust could cross the desolation. Aircars could rain
clingfire
down on Acosta Castle. Rafael had pledged himself to restrain such horrors. Would he now use them to further his own ends?

Coryn bent over the map, trying to visualize the land as he had seen it in his travels, the land he knew like the inside of his own dreams. “
Vai dom
, there is no barrier. Look, there are passes all through this outcrop of the Hellers. Small groups of men could travel swiftly by forest roads here and here,” he pointed to the map, “and then join into a larger unit. From this point, the way to Acosta is clear.”

“How do you know this?” Rafael asked. “I see no passes marked on the map.”

“Because I was born in Verdanta,” Coryn said quietly. “It is my brother Eddard who rules there under Deslucido’s heel.”

“You will never cease to amaze me, lad, or to supply my every need!” Rafael exclaimed. “Here we are, thinking the Oathbreaker beyond our reach, while right in front of us sits a man who knows the very inside of these mountains.”

“We may not catch them before they reach Acosta,” Coryn said, “but they will not expect an attack on their stronghold so soon.”

“Aye,” said another of the generals. “They will think themselves safe, with us bottled up here. He won’t expect a direct assault on Acosta Castle. If Deslucido can take it, then we can take it back from him.”

Rafael turned to Coryn, and his grin had a wolfish edge. “What say you? Can you map out routes and guide a team yourself along these trails into Acosta?”

Coryn chose his next words carefully, keeping the surge of hope under tight rein. “Majesty, I am yours to command. But one of these routes leads through Verdanta. There I would be of greatest use to you. Given the men to capture the castle by surprise, we might be able to retake Verdanta. You would have an ally right on Deslucido’s doorstep.”

“An excellent idea!” Rafael’s eyes lighted, clearly pleased at this new prospect. “You could organize a contingent from Verdanta to join us at Acosta.”

The last thing Coryn had expected when he came to Thendara to plead for his Tower was to be given the chance to free his homeland. To see Eddard and Tessa—but he must not imagine a simple, happy reunion. He had not seen what Deslucido had done to them. They might be lost beyond finding, or deeply scarred by what they had survived. He must be prepared for pain as well as joy.

“If you ask it, I will try, although I have no experience leading soldiers,” Coryn said. “Verdantans may follow me from patriotism and family loyalty, but it would be better done by Eddard, if he is still capable of it, or even one of your own men. My people will see you as a liberator.” He paused.

“Ah, there is something you wish in return?” Rafael’s brow darkened minutely.

Coryn took a deep breath. “Afterward, I beg your leave to return to Neskaya. Majesty, I am no soldier. I have no skill at arms. I am a trained
laranzu.
My mission, which was to plead that we be left neutral, is clearly impossible. As long as Deslucido has
laran
weapons and is willing to use them, he must be met with equal force. I can offer you no greater service than continuing the work there.”

They were about a day’s ride from Verdanta Castle, traveling along game trails through the densest part of the mountain forest, when Coryn became aware they were not alone. He had no fear of attack, not with the dozen men King Rafael had sent with him. He had seen the hard light in their eyes before, in the single eye of Rafe. Two of the men, silent and apart as brothers, were said to have once been Aldaran assassins, legendary for stealth and tenacity. Now one of them lifted his head, also sensing the change in the forest.

Coryn, in the lead, raised one hand to signal a halt. For a long moment, nothing stirred, not even the clink of shod hoof on stone, the swish of a restless tail, the whisper of leaves in the sun-tipped breeze. Not an insect buzzed, not a bird sang.

He touched the silken pouch at his neck which held his starstone, felt the hard crystalline outline, drew it out. In a shaft of stray sunlight, blue-white facets sparkled. He felt the indrawn breath of the nearest men.

Laranzu!
Wizard . . . sorcerer . . . Yes, that was how they thought of him, these battle-hardened men.

Coryn reached out with his
laran
in a widening circle. Living creatures glowed like iridescent jewels, waiting. Watching. Tiny hearts quivered. Squirrel, bird, tree-climber, serpent in its burrow . . .

Men.
There—where the trail dipped across the stream bed, widened and curved around the rocky outcrop. The corner was blind and the open space brilliantly lit after the darkness of the tree-cast shade.

Coryn gestured for the men to remain behind. He nudged his horse and the animal ambled forward, then stopped at the stream bed. He had the positions of the men ahead clearly now, half a dozen in all. Their confidence bore the tinge of desperation.