The Riven Shield: The Sun Sword #5 (72 page)

“She is to be held in the safety of the domis,” he replied.

The answer was not to her liking; it was not to his. But it was unwise to offer a lie to the Havallan Matriarch; she was canny, and she was easily angered.

“Stavos?”

“A seraf has been sent to fetch him; he is quartered in the outer domis.”

She nodded. “Lead, then, and we will follow as we are able.”

Brother.

The word traveled on the Lady’s wind. Kallandras did not listen for an answer; none would be forthcoming.

It seems that we will fight; the ATerafin summons you, and the Winter King, should you care to join us. It would he best if you met us beyond the gates; the men here are easily . . . intimidated . . . by the unknown.

The words left a peculiar silence in their wake.

Ser Alessandro kai di’Clemente looked up from the table upon which the flats of his palms rested. The perfect line of bent back straightened as he rose.

“Par el’Sol,” he said, nodding. “Matriarch. You honor us by your presence.” He did not condescend to notice the wounds that darkened her clothing; if she chose to be present, she did not consider them worthy of note.

He gestured; command came easily to the rise and fall of hand. The hand then fell to the table; niceties were kept to a minimum.

“This,” he said, “is the border of Clemente lands.”

Marakas understood the invitation in the sparse words. He walked to the table and took his place at the side of the Tor’agar. Beneath his hands, a map lay, pinned gracefully across the tabletop. It was the only adornment a war room required.

“These are the forces of my cousin.”

Marked in red, they were concentrated on the wavering line of the border closest to the city itself. “All of his men?”

“Not all. He has had the prudence to leave his city well defended against our enemies.”

“And these?”

“Ah. The blue marks are an estimation, to the best of our ability, of the forces of the Tyr’agar within the lands Manelo holds.”

“They are concentrated in three villages.”

“Yes. They have built a rough stockade. The villages,” he added quietly, “are those that have granaries. They supply themselves there, although we believe that they have some method of feeding themselves that does not rely upon the friendliness of the Mancorvan Tors.”

“It is not a small number.”

“No.”

“And your own forces?”

“They are represented by the green. They are ready, upon my word, to close our borders.”

“The red here?” Marakas placed finger lightly above the marks that existed within the Clemente border; they were not inconsiderable.

“My cousin,” Ser Alessandro said quietly. “He has come with a small force to discuss our military plans. We have agreed to allow his troops to station themselves within the village of Damar.” At the mention of the village, the Tor’s expression darkened.

“And that village?”

“Ten miles to the south,” he said quietly.

“How large is this small force?”

Ser Alessandro’s smile was bitter. “To the best of our knowledge, three hundred armed and mounted men.”

“A definition of small that only a Tor’agar would condescend to use.”

Ser Alessandro’s brow rose. “There were reasons he was granted leave to remain within the fields and inns of Damar.”

“There are blue marks within that village as well.”

“Indeed, but those are of a less certain nature. We know that he travels with Marente advisors. We cannot be certain of their number; we cannot be certain of their strength. The men that my cousin claims as his own could be Marente’s.”

“The village of Damar is bounded by the Adane?”

“No; the river cuts through the village; the fields—and the buildings that house the officials the village boasts—reside on either side of the water.” He reached out and lightly touched the ridges of dark terrain. “Damar is bounded by the dark forest on its Western edge.”

“Can men be secreted within the forest?”

His smile was grim. “You have traveled it yourself; you are better judges than I.”

Yollana grimaced.

Answer enough.

The men bent over the unfamiliar map; the Tor’agar allowed them their silent study, studying their faces in turn. Kallandras was still; Avandar was still; Marakas moved quietly from one side of the table to the other. The Havallan Matriarch did not seem to notice the map at all—but it was likely that she found it unnecessary. All of Mancorvo was, inasmuch as it could be, the wandering grounds of the Havalla Voyani.

“The road that we took from the forest?”

“The Western road. It is a smaller road, and it follows the West bank of the Adane. Here, and here, the Eastern road follows the East bank.”

The Adane drifted toward the city of Seral. “This is where we crossed the river,” the Tor’agar said.

“And if you travel to Damar?”

“We will take the Eastern road. Here,” he added. “There is no river crossing until we are within Damar itself. My cousin is lodged, with the better part of his men, in the fields and houses of Damar; they are bound by the forest, here, and by the Western road and the Southern one, here.”

“And the Eastern road?”

“If there is difficulty, the greater part of my forces will be stationed on the East bank. We can hold the bridges, should the unforeseen happen, and it becomes necessary.”

“And if you want to drive them out of Damar?” Marakas asked quietly.

“That is our intent. But we do not know, for certain, where their forces are arrayed, and in what number. We will remain in the East until our meeting.”

“Bridges?”

“Two bridges. One is wide enough to easily convey the whole of a merchant caravan; the other is a footbridge two men wide.”

“Ferries?”

“Boatmen work the banks of the Adane, but not in great numbers; the bridges are considered safer. Only when the river swells in the rainy season do the boatmen show their true value, for the footbridge is considered unsafe at that time. The larger bridge is traversable.”

“You are certain your cousin can be found within the Western half of Damar?”

“There is more room, and more to his liking, in the West; the Eastern half is poorer.”

Kallandras of Senniel, reading the lines of the map as easily as he might have read music, now raised his head. “Do Widan travel with the Tor’agnate’s party?”

“Openly?”

“Or not.”

“One man wears the sword,” the Tor’agar replied.

“And do the Tor’agnate’s forces arm themselves, as your own appear to have done, with Northern bows?”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.”

He nodded. “Is the Tor’agnate to be found in the village of Damar?”

“He resides there, yes. I offered him the hospitality of my city, but he chose to take the counsel of his advisor.”

“The advisor?”

“A man who wears the colors of Marente,” Ser Alessandro replied. No gift was required to hear the anger that lay beneath those words.

“And no messenger, no member of his entourage, is within your city?”

“That I know of? None.”

Kallandras turned to the Radann par el’Sol. Marakas nodded grimly and spoke. “There is at least one.”

“We cannot assume that he has no method of communication.”

“No.”

“If we remove him, you may be forced into a position of war,” the Northerner said.

“And if you do not?”

“Then when we seek the village of Damar, he may be in a position to do great damage within your domis. The choice is yours. You may say that our intervention was entirely without your blessing or knowledge, but in order for such words to have effect—”

Ser Alessandro lifted a hand. “It is not to my liking, to be told how to wage war by a man who sings for a living.” His voice was cool.

Kallandras, however, took no offense. Marakas wondered, briefly, if he was capable of taking offense; in their travels together, he had shown no sign of temper, no sign of anger, no sign of fear.

“I have received three messages from the Tor’agnate. I have returned two; he has been patient, but the tone of his third letter makes clear that his patience is almost at an end.”

“What does he request?”

“My presence,” Ser Alessandro replied coldly. “He wishes to meet in the village of Damar, to discuss the future of our place in the Terrean of Mancorvo. He has, at his side, a man who is given leave to negotiate on behalf of the Tyr’agar, and it is in Damar that my cousin feels such negotiations would best be served.”

“Not a sign for lovers of peace,” Kallandras said quietly.

“Indeed.”

“And this meeting?”

“It is to take place on the morrow. Understand,” he added softly, “that there is a reason that you are viewed with both suspicion and reverence among the more superstitious of my cerdan.

“They understand what is at risk; they understand that I have no choice but to attend my cousin. But your presence here—with the Matriarch of Havalla as traveling companion, and the bearer of one of the Five Swords of the Radann at her side—has come upon a day of decision for Clemente. You are seen as an omen.”

“Omens are not guaranteed to be good.”

“Indeed, as you say.”

Kallandras of Senniel College inclined his oddly colored head and fell silent. He was a strange man, even for a Northerner.

“How many of your men will stand ready?”

Another voice. Another Northerner. Avandar Gallais had quietly joined the table.

“Three hundred,” Ser Alessandro replied, barely lifting a brow at the interruption. “Here. And here.”

“Six hundred men in total. Are they mounted?”

“They are all mounted.”

“And the villagers?” Jewel ATerafin spoke for the first time.

To Marakas’ great surprise, the Tor’agar smiled. It was a bitter smile, but not devoid of humor. “I should have guessed,” he said softly, “for they travel in your company. It comes, always, to that, does it not? You will seek victims no matter where you travel, and no matter who claims to own them.

“Very well. The villagers are trapped within the bounds of Damar. Some few have fled, where they are able; it is how we have the information we do have.”

“And the others?”

“They may yet live. My cousin is not a fool, but he is not entirely capable of containing his cerdan.”

“He expects you to say no, doesn’t he?”

Ser Alessandro’s brows rose. “In the North,” he said at last, “are all women so blunt?”

“I don’t know. I can only speak for me.”

“No,” Avandar Gallais replied. “Not all women are so blunt. But you will find that our men are often just as ill at ease with the social grace demanded by the Courts of the South. And Jewel ATerafin has asked the most obvious of the questions your answers offer; let me ask the second.”

“And that?”

“The information the villagers brought you.”

Ser Alessandro nodded again, his face growing grave. If he was ill-pleased by the broken currents of interrupted conversation, it did not show; Marakas suspected that he was in some ways relieved—for the questions showed an understanding of tactics that required no lengthy explanation. “Understand that the villagers are not serafs, but they are not of clans whose power might otherwise protect them. They are often superstitious, and in times of duress, will see what superstition suggests.”

“Understood.”

“It is said that in Damar, when the Lord has turned his face toward the night, fell creatures walk. There have been deaths and disappearances among the serafs, and among the poorest of clans, who are incapable of demanding restitution.”

“Then let me speak bluntly, in the Northern style,” Avandar Gallais said, although he did not veer from the use of Torra. “We are seven men—and women—and at least one of our number was greatly injured in the passage through the Deepings. You cannot intend us to destroy the whole of the forces arrayed within the village of Damar unless you intend the destruction and the loss of that village.”

“And if I were willing to lose the village in its entirety?”

“No,” Jewel ATerafin said sharply.

Avandar Gallais raised brows at what was obviously an expected interruption. “ATerafin.”

She subsided. Hard, thought Marakas, to tell who was master, and who servant, here.

“I see,” Ser Alessandro replied quietly, and it seemed to Marakas that he did. His gaze was now cutting where it rested upon Avandar’s face, but it did not rest there long. “That was, indeed, not my intent.”

“What would you have us do, Tor’agar? What would you have us achieve?”

The Tor’agar turned to Marakas, and only to Marakas. “Hunt what you must hunt, man of the Lord. Seek what only you can find. Destroy it, and you will have destroyed a greater part of the threat that is leveled—in silence—against us. We cannot fight what we do not understand.”