Tomorrow's Kingdom (44 page)

For an instant, the pain on Azriel's face was a living thing. Then he flashed Persephone one of his heartbreaking lopsided smiles and said, “Have I ever told
you that you can be most infernally persistent when you want to be, wife?”

“Many times,” she replied, trying hard for a smile of her own.

FIFTY-SEVEN

I
T WASN'T LONG BEFORE
Persephone, Azriel and the others were riding into camp.

The place was swimming with muck, and the smell of death hung so heavy in the air that it took all of Persephone's considerable willpower not to start retching. Rachel greeted them with a dirty face and a wan smile. As soon as she'd been lifted down from the saddle, Persephone hugged her friend so tight that she could hear the
THUD
THUD
THUD
of their two hearts beating in perfect unison. She was intensely grateful for the courage Rachel had shown in spite of her terror of sickness—and fiercely glad that both she and Zdeno had survived.

Within moments of their reunion, the other royal Councillors had been rounded up to discuss options.

“We have no options,” said Azriel bluntly as he unrolled a map of the realm and laid it on the table in the meeting tent. “The only thing we can do is to retreat.”

“Retreat to where?” asked Cairn, examining the map. “Even if we were to leave the sick and the weak behind—”

“Which we won't,” interjected Persephone as she gave her painfully tight belly a soothing rub.

“We'll never be able to outpace Mordecai for long enough to make it back to the protection of the imperial capital,” finished Cairn.

Miter clapped vigorously at Cairn's assessment of the situation, earning himself eye rolls from those who'd been in camp during the outbreak and baffled looks from those who hadn't.

“Well,” said Robert, “we can't retreat into the Great Forest for the same reason—it's too far away.”

“As are the mountains,” said Barka, eyeing the map. “And even if they weren't, the march north would take us straight into the arms of the New Man army. And even if it wouldn't, the appetite of the mother goddess is a fearsome thing, indeed.”

Rachel shivered and clutched Zdeno's hand.

“Miter sees that you are all on the brink of annihilation,” declared the little Gorgishman, sneaking a glance at Cairn to make sure she was watching him. “He knows you fear that he will do nothing but laugh if you beg him to come to your rescue, but he has had a change of heart. He has decided to save you after all.”

“Oh?” said Azriel, looking over at him. “And how, exactly, does he plan to do
that
?”

“He plans to lead you into the Valley of Gorg,” replied Miter.

At these words, Azriel's gaze dropped back down to the map and Persephone could tell by the sudden fire in his eyes that this was the answer they'd been looking for.

Ignoring the exclamations of surprise and disbelief of the other Councillors, Persephone placed her clasped hands on the table before her and said, “That is a very generous offer, Miter, but I thought you told us to stay away from the valley unless we longed for hideous deaths. I thought you pledged your eternal enmity if we took our war anywhere near your beloved valley.”

“Yes, well, things change,” replied Miter with a gooey smile at Cairn.

Persephone looked at Rachel in utter bafflement.

“Cairn personally attended him when he fell ill last week,” explained Rachel in confidential tones. “He'd have died if it wasn't for her.”

At these words, Miter fluttered his lash-less eyelids at Cairn and pressed his yellow pygmy hand to his heart. She responded to these displays of slavish devotion with a faint but remarkably tolerant smile.

“Of course,” continued Miter, his gaze sliding back to fix on Persephone. “In return for his unprecedented act of generosity”—here, the little Gorgishman paused for dramatic effect—“Miter expects that the pregnant female will return the Mines of Torodania to his people.”

“Done,” said Persephone, who'd ever intended to return the horrid mines to their rightful lords. “The very instant those enslaved within have been released, the mines are all yours.”

Instead of looking grateful or even pleased, Miter looked outraged, as though Persephone had somehow cheated him by agreeing to his terms so readily.

Before he could even think about trying to drive a harder bargain, however, Azriel jabbed his finger at the map and said, “The canyon that leads into the valley is barely half a day's march away. We should be able to reach it ahead of Mordecai's army if we hurry, and as it is only wide enough for a dozen horsemen to ride abreast through it, we ought to be able to defend our position there for a while, anyway. What say you, Your Majesty?”

Instead of answering him, Persephone looked at the map for a long moment before looking away. She knew she should be grateful for this chance—should be grateful for this
hope
—but suddenly, she was tired of being satisfied with hope. She didn't want to avoid defeat for a while. She wanted
victory
. She owed her kingdom victory.

She owed Finn victory.

She owed her unborn son victory.

As she stared at the ground beside the table, feeling the desire for victory swell inside of her, Persephone absently watched several dozen ants chase a fat beetle between two discarded sweetmeats.

“Persephone?” murmured Azriel.

Unable to tear her gaze away from the battle unfolding in the dirt beside her, Persephone held up her hand to silence him. And when the battle was finally won, she turned to him with shining eyes and said, “I have an idea.”

All agreed that the plan was clever and daring, and some even believed that it had a chance of succeeding. Within the hour, those too sick or weak to fight had been given horses and a small guard and had been sent galloping to Parthania, while the rest of the royal army had set off for the valley with all the weapons and the few remaining horses. Though they arrived at the canyon that led into the Valley of Gorg without incident, according to the scout's breathless report, the New Man army was mere hours behind them.

Come what may, tomorrow the two armies would face each other at last.

After commanding Robert and his men to take up their positions and issuing a final warning to them to judge their moment well, Azriel followed Persephone and the others through the canyon and into the field of flowers and butterflies.

Much later that night—after the sun had set and the troops, horses and dogs had been fed, settled and calmed— Persephone and Azriel settled down in front of their own little campfire. It wasn't until then, as Persephone sat leaning against Azriel's warm chest and feeling the strength of his arms around her, that he quietly told her of the role he intended to play in the coming battle.

“You … you intend to be in the vanguard?” she exclaimed in horror, twisting in his arms so that she could look up to him.

“No, Persephone,” said Azriel gently. “I intend to
lead
the vanguard.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

O
N THE OTHER SIDE
of the canyon, Mordecai stood outside his camp tent staring at the flickering light of the campfires that dotted the field of flowers and butterflies. He knew that sitting by one of those fires was the woman who'd stolen everything from him—her ripe young body, his chance to be king, his dream of someday being well and whole.

Well, upon the morrow he would steal at least two of those things back.

And then, at his leisure, he'd destroy one of them— piece by bloody piece.

At the sound of the noble bag of bones he called a wife moaning and coughing wetly from inside his tent, Mordecai scowled darkly. He was already exhausted and aching from the gruelling march. The last thing he needed right now was to have to listen to—

“Your Grace?” came Murdock's voice from so nearby that Mordecai started, causing a fresh wave of pain to course through his body.

Casting a malevolent glance at his ever-creeping general, Mordecai muttered, “What?”

“I've given thought to the challenge posed by the narrow canyon,” said Murdock. “And I respectfully suggest that when the sun is at its zenith, we send the foot soldiers through the canyon a hundred at a time. The first waves will be slaughtered by the enemy soldiers on the far side, of course, but as the bodies pile up, it will give those who come behind an advantage, for they will be able to climb onto the pile of their dead comrades and fight from a position of strength. And since the queen's army lacks the discipline of our own troops, when they see that we will never stop coming for them and that they are doomed, they will throw down their pitchforks and beg for mercy.”

“And will we give it to them, Murdock?” breathed Mordecai, turning his attention back to the firelight on the far side of the canyon.

“No, Your Grace,” said Murdock placidly. “We will not.”

Murdock woke the men at the crack of dawn the next morning so that he could give them their orders and remind them to behave like the trained professionals they were when the order to attack finally came.

Curious to see how those in the first waves were going to react when they realized that their job was to die, Mordecai had just pushed aside the flap of his tent when a hoarse battle cry sounded on the far side of the canyon.
As it echoed through the valley, there came the sound of horses thundering through the canyon toward them.

And just like that, the battle for control of the kingdom had begun.

Telling himself that he was more startled than afraid, Mordecai hurriedly slouched over to the relative safety of his mount. As he laboriously hauled himself up onto the miserable creature's back, he heard Murdock calmly calling for the men to take up arms and fall into formation. Licking his lips, Mordecai yanked his horse around so that he could watch the methodical annihilation of the fatally reckless enemy horsemen.

Then he saw who was leading the charge and he almost stopped breathing. It was the cockroach—the despicable wretch who'd lied to him about having clues that would lead him to the healing pool. The one who'd ever flaunted his broad shoulders and long, lean legs, the one who'd made himself beloved by the people even though he was nothing but a Gypsy.