The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 (43 page)

“My name is Elhador Imrail, General of the Realm. I speak for House Viamar and the Lords of Penthar. I have news. Some good, some not so good.” No Orator, Imrail’s tone had changed nonetheless. It was clear like a cutting blade. Commanding, compelling. At the moment he had the full attention of every Redshirt standing within earshot.

Imrail paused, weighing the men in the front ranks. When he continued, his voice hardened. “I have been told some among you have little love for the First City,” he said. “Rest assured if we do not put aside our differences and any uncertainty about the stability or direction of the realm, our enemies will take note. Several weeks ago Legion forces abducted the king. The Earthbound have returned. They are here under the command of the Furies. Some of you will no doubt question this, but I assure you they are real. I have seen them. Hundreds have seen them and their agents. I was there to witness their first mustering since the Stand at Imdre. Many died. Many more undoubtedly will.

“The Lord Viamar made plans for the south. I assure you they will come to fruition. A city gleaming in the night—a beacon for the Nations. Unshakable. Unwavering. The vapor that took the city is proof the enemy fears what will come of that vision. Thankfully the Lord Viamar-Ellandor and the Companions have taken steps to free the city of the corruptive influence. Now you must free yourselves of any anger or mistrust. We are here to make binding what has thus far been known only to a few.

“Within a matter of days the White Rose herself will arrive to attest the king has been saved—saved by her son, the Warden’s son. The Lords of Alingdor, Anneth, the Watch, and all of the realm we could gather in haste witnessed Eldin Viamar and his daughter surrender the crown to Luc Viamar-Ellandor, Siren. Some may have heard whispers of the name. He has come among us to vie against the Furies and recover the Sword of Ardil, taken when the king was abducted. He is here. I have given every oath I have to serve him. My expectation is that all here will do so for now and all time. He has a terrible burden. Facing—defeating—the menace in the east. Our differences pale before the weight of that task. You will surrender your swords and lives to him and serve him. It is either that or wait for the darkness to take you.

“We have no misconceptions we will be able to defeat our enemies while the realm is divided. I am asking you to trust that this city will rise to greatness. Emry will soon declare its support and cede its authority to him. Even now they are marching towards Ancaida. It is there the Sword of Ardil has been taken to. By dawn we will be riding in force across the border. Our undertaking is clear. Deliver the Ancaidans from a fate worse than death and slavery. We will bind the Nations to our cause: Freeing all lands from the grip of the Earthbound. Those of you who wish to serve will do so with all rights the forces of Alingdor hold. We will ride under one banner, the Mark of Chaos. Those who do not wish to do so may resign without shame. There is work enough to do on many fronts. Those who wish to join me, bring your swords and your bedrolls. Ancaida is but the beginning. We will be moving to Val Mora to take the fight to the Mountains of Memory. Choose where you would stand.”

Imrail took one last look at the assembled men. “That is all. We leave at first light, defenders of the Lord of the First Plane. Other companies will simultaneously be moving across the border. We will number just under seven thousand, strong enough to challenge but still move swiftly and in stealth. A second outfit ten thousand strong will be marching for Triaga. We will be bringing men of strength and skill to speed the completion of the City of the Crescent Moon. Those who are willing may join me. You will be the first arm of Siren in the final War of the Furies. Choose swiftly. We are out of time.”

He finished it bluntly. Nothing more needed saying. Now it was on Luc. When Imrail moved in between the ranks of men, it was as if a shroud had been lifted. More than one Redshirt bowed and gave way before the general. Compelling arguments. Convincing. Imrail carved a path through the throng, making straight for him. Eyes swung his way. Dozens. No, hundreds.

Somehow Imrail had done it.

“Orders?” Imrail asked when he reached him, loud enough there was no mistaking whom he was addressing.

“Make ready to depart,” Luc said. “I am leading the advance team into Ancaida.” He judged Imrail would better serve with the full company of Redshirts at his disposal. Now it was up to Ivon Ellandor’s son. Somehow, he suspected it always had been. “Send word to Tolmar and Val Mora. I am calling a meeting of all lands. When Ancaida is free, we will take the fight to the Furies. I mean to make them suffer for what they have done here. And elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Imrail said diffidently. “You will receive these men?”

Luc swallowed hard. “I will.” He was shocked his voice held firm and clear.

Imrail did not wait long to have a path cleared to the far end of the hall.
He did it,
Luc thought again. It was something Vandil himself would have had difficulty accomplishing. More than one bowed or saluted when General Imrail passed. If his words had not been sufficient, his unwavering resolve to defeat the Earthbound had lit a fire in these men.

Slowly, Luc found himself moving forward. He waded through their ranks and felt a collective shudder come over the hall. Moving to the far end, he gathered himself and turned, hand on his sword. He did not know it, but what the waiting Redshirts saw was not a northerner. What they saw was not even the son of the Warden and the White Rose. His blood already cool, his eyes appeared founts of an otherworldly power. Kryten motioned towards a high-backed chair he had called for. When Luc sat, Imrail on his right and Kryten on his left, he felt as if it was another man sitting.

Slowly they came forward. Some appeared hesitant at first. Others came quickly and bowed low. In the end he met every last mans’ gaze. Some promised him their lives. Others pledged their souls. It was jarring. And in his mind something finally shifted. He understood now. He had the right of birth to receive these men’s oaths, but it was duty that made him accept them. Man after man; sword after sword.

By the end he left with one certainty, that the boy out of Peyennar was no more than a memory.

* * * * *

Slipping away, Luc returned to the open air. The feel of it, the caress against the skin, felt enlivening. After a few minutes Imrail and the other men in silver and black joined him. “I need Lightfoot saddled and all of my gear brought,” he told the general. “I’m leaving as soon as Trian and the others arrive.”

“You’re sure?” Imrail asked. His tone was neutral.

“Yes.” That sense of forewarning was like a distant drumming in his ears. The chords of fate tightening around him. Past time to be off. “I’ll need you to lead the Redshirts and coordinate with the other outfits. They need you, Imrail.”

“I think your folks would have something to say about this,” Imrail warned.

“Perhaps. I’ll stay within a day’s ride. We’ll see each other, I’m sure. Time to do for myself, Imrail. I suggest you wait another day here so the south remembers your name. You’ll have two cities to see to once we’re finished with Ansifer.” Imrail had started something here that needed to be seen through. If events unfolded as he foresaw, Vandil would be riding with him all the way to Val Mora. Too many other things that needed doing. Ardil, Gintara, Laringail, a stop at Atan Martyre. And a nation to revive. He could not forget that.

“I see you have more of this worked out than you led on,” Imrail remarked. He looked grimly pleased. “As you say,” the general added with a bow.

Luc nodded gratefully. “Send for me as soon as Trian arrives. I need the best men you can put together by nightfall.”

“It will be done, my Lord Siren.”

Nodding, Luc returned to his quarters. Ensuring the note to his folks was in plain view, he did not remain idle. He had to try. Retrieving his sword and the Ruling Rod, he drew in a breath and focused his will. The active parts of his mind suddenly seemed to waken. Before him a fissure opened. The light that burst forth was blinding.
Still waiting for me.
Fighting down a spark of panic, he sought the Oneness. At the same time, he opened a second fissure. This one radiated a rank and fetid darkness. He did not leave them open long. He just had to be sure. The two met for a second—heartbeats—twin forces that immediately rebuffed one another. Closing the portals, he sank back. Forcing the two strains to meet would have been cataclysmic. Dare he try?

The answer was not forthcoming.

It was some hours before Mearl appeared with word Trian and the others had returned. Bounding to his feet, his first steps were unsteady. He was halfway to the front when he met her in a hall. She nearly took them both to the marble floor. Her grip was fierce with no sign of lessening. “You did it,” Trian breathed.

“So did you. Should I see them?”

“Just one second.” Her breath was warm and sweet against his skin. “It’s been almost two days. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me. Imrail says you’re planning to leave tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to leave without you,” Luc told her.

It was a moment before she responded. He had a hard time gauging it with their arms entangled. “I know,” she said. “I’ll manage.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed. “We should go. The people are eager to meet the Lord Siren. The word is spreading. This is something you need to see for yourself.”

Catching the bit of wonder in her voice, he pulled back. Her scent was enough to drive a man to his knees; rather than fight it, he embraced it. She understood. They were not what they had been. They were more. It was for her to decide the right time, though. He no longer held any thoughts of proceeding without her. Imrail was one thing, but she had a role beyond his immediate perception. “I’ll come,” he said. “I’m curious what they had to say about the Lady Elloyn. My name is hardly mentioned in the Annals.”

She looked at him directly. “Yours is the name that will free them. Mine will only remind them of what was.”

“We can hope. It might be best if you get in a few hours. I can go on if you like.”

“I’ll come,” she said. “They know me now.”

The arrival of the residents of Triaga was almost as jolting as what had taken place in the audience hall. They were of a size and scope beyond his first imagining. They were still streaming in. The range of bright colors, canvas strips to identify wagons, seemed to breathe life into the barren city. There were young and old, women and children. Stout but reserved men. On Lightfoot he saw them extend well into the city. The craftsmen entered under heavy escort. Kryten’s men scrambled to direct them. Elaine seemed to be coordinating their resettlement. Luc, surrounded by a train of men in silver and black, evoked a noticeable reaction. Penthar’s young master. He heard whispers of Viamar and son of the White Rose. Something in him stirred up in response to the sight. Trian ensured he was not only seen, but greeted the arriving men and women personally. He had to rein her in as they would be at it most of the night. Some of the laborers would take more time to relocate. Firmly suggesting they take the opportunity to redouble the watch at the city’s gates, it was not long before he turned his thoughts to the city’s defense. They could not strip it and leave these men and women in this condition. They would need more than just room to sustain them, about the only thing Triaga could boast of at the moment. Elaine Kryten, now flanked by Luc and Imrail, made mental notes to all of their suggestions. She looked pleased.

“Your father has requested you remain behind,” Imrail told her. “He asked me to make it an order.”

The striking woman clenched her fists, teeth bared. “He would. He’s far too protective and meddles in matters that are my affair. I need to do something, General.”

“You will. Get the city ready for evacuees. Lots of them. You will also need to prepare for the arrival of Ariel Viamar and her husband. Few know this, but Ancaida may already be doomed. I worry Tolmar will be the next target. If I were to hazard a guess, General Vandil may return to take command, but you will have a role in this city’s governance. When the Lady Viamar arrives, you will learn more. Until then, follow the instructions as they were issued.”

The refined woman nodded soberly. “As you say, my Lord General.”

Luc turned to Imrail and made a motion for them to make their way back to the hold. It was time to turn his thoughts to leaving. Past time now. He was leaving Penthar. No use in denying it or delaying. Seeing Trian to her quarters, he and Imrail waited in the hall a moment. He felt the need to say something. Perhaps the relentless king’s man did as well. The man had changed in recent weeks. More open, though certainly no less decisive. Tonight he had undoubtedly changed the landscape of the south for years to come—pending the outcome of events in Ancaida, of course.

Imrail looked a touch wry. “You’re trying to keep me from coming,” he said. “Don’t deny it, Anaris.”

“Maybe,” Luc admitted with a sudden grin.

“I don’t need a nursemaid, boy,” Imrail said crossly. “You’re not—”

“I’m not ready.” Luc acknowledged. Inside he was a cold force of pent up fury. He thought if he but bent his will he could unleash the torrent. Imrail was not the only one changed. “They aren’t either. They’d be fools to cross me.”

Imrail regarded him for several moments. “That doesn’t mean they won’t try.” He said it flatly.

Luc shrugged. “We’ll know when the moment comes,” he responded. “For now, Triaga needs you. Our men need you. I promise I won’t do anything headstrong.”