The Sons of Hull (21 page)

Gair gritted his teeth. Kynell would be faithful, Kynell would stand by him, Kynell would—

“Kynell, Kynell, Kynell.
Please
stop saying that name. It grates on my ears so. And besides, he cannot hear you. You are in enemy territory, my friend. Deep, deep into enemy territory.”

“There is nowhere I can go that he will not follow.”

Amarian leaned back on his stool as the sounds of the Chasm grew louder. “Will he follow you into there? Does he like keeping company with Obsidian’s dead?”

Gair was silent.

“Not so confident now, are we? After all, where does it say in the Ages that no Prysmite will be lost? Even great Kynell has to take a few casualties. But at least you have the comfort that you went down for a noble cause. Feel free to tell that to your fellow believers in the Chasm.”

Now that was too much, even for an Advocate. Gair could not abide such treatment of the Prysm. “I will tell them that, sir, when I see them. Perhaps you would like to toss me in now and get on with business.”

“Tempting. But I’m afraid you’re of more use to me outside the Chasm than in it. There is a reason I didn’t have the Sentries kill you.”

From outside the door there came a chorus of tapping.

“Hear that, Gair? They are waiting to finish you off, leaving only enough of you to throw into the Chasm, of course. They stay back only at my bidding.”

“Then let them come.”

Suddenly, Amarian cracked his knuckles in frustration. “Do not be so eager to die, fool! I was in the middle of divulging my wicked schemes.”

“I don’t want to hear them.”

But Amarian’s patience was at an end. In half a second, he was kneeling next to Gair, knife blade flashing. “You don’t have to live with your tongue! Perhaps I can relieve you of it so it won’t get you into any more trouble.”

Gair wisely took the hint and remained quiet.

The blade disappeared as Amarian resumed his cool demeanor. “As I was saying, you are alive only to keep a certain somebody on good behavior.”

The shot hit its mark. Verial. What had he gotten her into? She would try to succeed in her mission as long as he was alive, and if she succeeded, then the Advocate of the Prysm suddenly lurched toward the Chasm’s opening. If he could just keep himself from being a pawn, he could help untangle this mess.

Amarian watched him reach the opening of the abyss, then watched him crack his head on the unforgiving stone. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave. There is still much left to be done, and I would like you to see it.”

Biting his lip, Gair tried not to swear at the illusion. “You can torment me all you like. I probably deserve it. But what has Verial ever done?”

“Done?” Amarian looked mystified. “Why, she hasn’t
done
anything. She won’t have to. As long as she’s her wretched self, things should work out just fine.”

__________

The next morning, tempers had calmed considerably among Vancien and his companions, although all three, including Vancien, watched Verial with caution. She tried to ignore their suspicion, knowing it was fully justified. There was nothing she could do. For Gair’s sake, she had no choice but to stay with them. All the same, it was awkward being with such average humans.

As the small company broke camp, Telenar wondered aloud which way they should go. Vancien’s answer was short.

“We are going to Jasimor.”

Telenar tried to be patient as he saddled the voyoté. “Are you still convinced of that? You know that Zyreio is probably speaking through her, don’t you? No offense, ma’am,” he added hastily.

Verial did not respond. She had no reason to. The priest was right. It had been Zyreio’s voice in her head yesterday and although she would not welcome it, she could not be certain that he would not return. It was best for them not to trust anything she said.

Vancien mounted Nagab, searching the sky for the orbs. “Yes, I’m convinced. Do you have any better ideas?”

Telenar helped N’vonne onto Cetla before he turned to study Verial, who had not moved from her place next to the burnt-out fire. “Other than not taking advice from the mouth of the enemy, no. But it’s always been my instinct that when Zyreio says go west, we go east.”

Vancien smiled despite himself. “Sound thinking. But in this case, I think we have not been misguided. His motivations are of course unreliable, but a Dedication is a Dedication. What place would be more fitting than the Plains of Jasimor, where it all began?”

“More fitting than the wellspring of evil? Hm. Let me think.”

N’vonne ignored both of them, steering Cetla over toward Verial. She held out her hand. “It’s probably best you ride with me,” she said gently. Verial reluctantly climbed on and N’vonne could not help but feel a surge of pity. What was it like, all those cycles of forced companionship? She glanced at Telenar, who readily smiled back at her through his argument, and shuddered. She must remember to be kind to this woman, no matter what her past or her future.

Telenar was losing the debate. How does one argue with an Advocate, especially such a bull-headed one? Of course, stubbornness may come with the territory. He sighed. Perhaps all the Advocates had been like this. “All right, all right. We’ll go west. If Relgaré has moved the army south, we’ll have to avoid them, of course. The whole region will be crawling with Amarian’s troops.”

“Think of it this way,” Vancien called over his shoulder as he urged Nagab on. “If Zyreio wants us to be there, he’ll make sure his own armies don’t trouble us.”

Telenar snorted. “But Relgaré’s might. We could arrive there in pieces, you know.” He glanced again at Verial. How connected was she to Amarian? Did he know her thoughts? Quite possibly; they would be wise not to mention that they had an ally in the king’s army, if only one. Zyreio could find out about that as he pleased.

__________

Chiyo was growing more impatient with the king every day. The march south had been swift, as if the Cylini were some major threat to Keroul. By the Plains, they had already passed the western foothills of the Duvarian Range! Did Relgaré think the nomadic tribe was going to sweep east ahead of them, then cut north and cross the mountains just to sack Lascombe? The old soldier shook his head. No, they were in retreat; the army had broken this small nation and any stand in the south was going to be the Cylini’s last, valiant gasp. From atop his voyoté, he surveyed the troops’ encampment at the meeting of the Yrghennum River—or in Keroulian, the Ergana—with the Preshin, the Ergana’s fierce tributary. Already one river separated them from Lascombe, for they had needed to cross the Ergana north of the Range for their earlier engagement. Now they would be crossing another, since the Preshin was the northern border of the Cylini’s stronghold and their last natural defense. Beyond its mighty current lay a scraggly world of marshes and plains with few resources. The Ergana, running along the territory’s eastern edge, had turned the many floodplains into huge, useless, and soggy tracts of land. How the Cylini managed to live in such a place, Chiyo could not guess. Nor could he fathom how such a poor people could amass such a troublesome army. In the beginning, they had been a great threat, but all the king had to do was turn his full attention on them and they were soon reduced to the border raids that had driven Relgaré crazy these past few cycles.

He turned his attention back to the defenses. His men had set up fortifications as usual, digging a ditch along the outer perimeter and placing the pikes just outside the dry moat. Any voyoté jumping the pikes would break its legs on the steep wall of turf and then have to stumble up the sharp incline to face a timber wall and more pikes. All in all, a very useful defense system, but against the Cylini, it seemed like more grand theatrics. They were not so foolish as to attack the camp; perhaps once, many cycles ago, they would have been able to charge the fortifications and win. But not any more.

His gaze moved past the Keroulian men to the soldiers brought by General Hull. The sight made him groan. They spread out like a blemish on the land—a vast, moving infection that the king had invited along. Where would these troops go when the Cylini had been finally cowed? Would they quietly march back home to Amarian’s stronghold in the east? Not in Kynell’s lifetime. First they would turn on the Keroulian soldiers, then decimate whatever army Vancien may have acquired. He shook his head as despair gripped him. He knew his own countrymen would fight for the Prysm once they had seen the Advocate. But they alone were no match for this dark army. Plus, Chiyo was absolutely certain that Amarian had more troops waiting back home. The fight would be no more than a rout, and all because Relgaré insisted on beating down the wretched Cylini.

“General?”

He snapped out of his frustrated reverie to see a young aide at his knee. “What is it, Bren?”

“The king requests your presence. Commander Hull is returning soon.”

“He gets around a lot, doesn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Commander Hull. He always manages to—oh, never mind. Tell me, Bren, before I go and see the king, how do you think the men are holding up?”

The aide shifted nervously. He was a conversational person by nature, but he had only been in General Chiyo’s service for a brief time. He hadn’t expected the general to engage in such direct conversation. “Well, sir, they seem to be doing all right. It’s just that, ” he stopped, unwilling to offer a critique.

“Go on.”

“It’s the others, sir. The ones that aren’t men. I like all sorts of things and creatures and such. A good friend of mine is a munkke-trophe and though he gets obnoxious sometimes—”

“Get on with it, Bren. I know you are a fair-minded.”

“Hull’s soldiers just don’t get along with our men. They fight well enough, but they always look as ready to kill
us
as to kill
them
.”

Chiyo saw no reason to soften the truth. “That’s because they are, boy.” He leaned forward so only Bren could hear him. “Never trust them. Their fight is not with the Cylini, Bren. It’s with the Prysm.”

Bren’s eyes widened at the revelation. “The Prysm? They want to fight the Patroniites? Why would they bother with priests?”

It was a naïve response, but Chiyo did not mock it. “The priests are not the only followers of the Prysm. There will soon be a time when Rhyvelad will be divided in two. Be sure you’re fighting on the right side.”

With that curt advice, he rode off to the king’s tent. He found Relgaré inside, giving orders to a captain. Upon Chiyo’s entrance, he dismissed the officer and offered his friend a seat.

“Have we set up our defenses?” the king asked idly, pouring a drink for them both.

Chiyo did not respond to such a needless question.

“Ah, well, I see that we have. Make yourself comfortable, Chiyo. We have much to discuss.”

“We do?”

Relgaré pretended not to notice his tone. “Yes. Much. As I’m sure you know, Commander Hull is coming back soon.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yes, Bren would have told you. A good aide, that young man. We shall keep him around awhile. It will be a pity to make him a soldier, won’t it?” He tried a laugh, but he was too nervous to make it sound convincing.

If possible, Chiyo was beginning to get more worried. “What is it, my liege? What is wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. What makes you think something is wrong? The men are settled. Hull’s soldiers are behaving themselves. The Cylini are weak. Hull’s coming back soon.”

“You’ve already said that. Does his return worry you?”

Relgaré slammed his cup down on the table, spilling some wine. “Watch your tone, Chiyo! Why would I be worried? He’s an ally.”

“We are useful to him at the moment. He is not an ally.”

“Chiyo,” the king’s voice wavered for a moment. “I don’t know that I want. . .”

“Him to return?”

“I didn’t say that! It’s just that, well, he
is
an unsettling man. But he is useful to me.”

“What did you call me in here for, my liege? You know how I have judged the general.”

“
Mis
judged.” Relgaré added weakly.

“Perhaps. But I doubt it. The men don’t trust him, sir, and they don’t have reason to. Do you honestly think Hull is here for the Cylini? Can you not see what’s on the horizon?”

“I see a bunch of thieves and raiders, ready to die for their greed!”

You see nothing, Chiyo thought but did not say. How it must fit into Zyreio’s plans to have such a blind king at the end of ten thousand score! He drew a deep breath. “Why did you summon me?”

The king grew nervous again, fingering the covering on the table and avoiding Chiyo’s gaze. “Our army is very strong, Chiyo. Too strong for the Cylini. But I don’t want to be surprised. They may still come up from the southwest and that’s our weakest side.”

Chiyo was grateful to be talking strategy, although he knew Relgaré was about to say something he would not like. “They will not cross the Preshin.”

“Even so, I would feel better if we had an advance battalion down there to check things out.”

“That’s easily done. I’ll get one my captains to organize a scouting force. They can be ready by dawn.”