The sun was nearly set when they saw it—or rather, Valens did. Soldiers. Setting up camp in the roofless husk of an old barn, a dozen or so men warming themselves beside a fire. Arcturus and the others were crouched in the tall wheatgrass a few hundred feet away, listening to the distant sounds of laughter.
“They’ve got a sentry,” Rotter murmured, pointing at a shadowed figure in the scrying crystal. It was a man leaning against the wall outside. A glowing ember seemed to hover in the air beside his head; then Arcturus realized the soldier was smoking a rolled cheroot.
“Do we go to them?” Alice asked. “If this ‘General Barcroft’ has joined the rebellion, then these soldiers could be working for him.”
“Aye,” Rotter said, peering at the image. “But then, Sergeant Caulder and I weren’t. I reckon if these lads were rebelling, they’d be in Corcillum causing mischief.”
“We don’t need their help,” Arcturus murmured, though he was halfhearted in saying it. The fire looked so warm, and Rotter had argued against lighting one of their own so far, for fear of alerting the world to their presence. There were at least a hundred rebels unaccounted for, if indeed a second group had gone after King Harold, and then there were marauding orcs and brigands to worry about.
“Maybe we do,” Alice said, chewing her lip. “We’re vulnerable right now, I’ve fractured my arm, and with Sacharissa and Gelert injured, and Edmund…”
Her voice broke with emotion as she looked over at the unconscious noble. He had remained asleep, even after two days of travel, and their attempts to pour water down his throat had nearly choked the poor boy.
“Plus, you and I are probably nearly out of mana,” Alice continued, “and Elaine hasn’t learned to do more than wyrdlights yet.”
Her words earned her a scowl from Elaine.
“We’ll be far safer walking into Vocans or Corcillum with this lot than alone,” Rotter agreed. “Let me greet them, see what they’re about. If I feel we can trust them, I’ll call you in. Otherwise, I’ll say I’m going out for a piss, then we’ll bolt.”
“It’s as good a plan as any,” Arcturus said, thinking longingly of the fire inside. Even at the stable, he had slept beside the warm horses, buried in their straw. His new cloak was thick, but he still shivered as the wind gusted past them, carrying the sound of the soldiers’ laughter.
“Go on,” Alice said, looking at Edmund. “The sooner we get Edmund to safety, the better.”
“Right, wish me luck,” Rotter whispered.
He gave them a wild grin, then stood and held his sword high in the air, approaching the barn slowly.
“Ahoy,” he called. “Have you a place by your fire for a lost comrade?”
“Who goes there?” the sentry shouted, and Arcturus could see the man shuffle forward, a crossbow pointed at Rotter’s face.
“Private Rotherham of the Tenth Platoon, under Sergeant Caulder,” Rotter said. “We were ambushed a day’s march from here. I’m the only survivor.”
The man kept his crossbow up.
“Who ambushed ye?” the man asked. “That’s no uniform I recognize.”
Arcturus cursed under his breath. Rotter was still wearing the black cassock he had taken from a rebel. They had been too tired to realize.
“Sarge,” the sentry called. “You’d best come out here!”
In the scrying crystal, Arcturus saw the soldiers swiftly emerge from the barn, weapons drawn. Each one wore chain mail, with a red surcoat over the top. More crossbows were raised, their points all centered on Rotter’s chest.
“Says he’s from Tenth Platoon,” the sentry said. “But look, he’s…”
“I know,” one of the soldiers said, stepping forward for a closer look at Rotter. Arcturus saw the sergeant’s chevrons glinting on the man’s shoulder.
“I’ll get to the point,” the sergeant said, raising his sword and pointing it. “There’s bad business going on to the north. Agitators and rebels, all wearing black. So you had better explain your garb.”
“It was rebels who ambushed us,” Rotter said, his arms still in the air. “I had to dress as one of ’em to escape, took this off a dead body in the night.”
The explanation did not seem to please the sergeant. The crossbow stayed pointed.
“A likely tale,” the sergeant growled. “I’ve an inkling you’re on your way to join your rebel friends in the interior.”
Rotter shifted on his feet, and now Arcturus could see the worry on his face. They hadn’t thought this through.
“Now … let’s not be hasty,” Rotter stammered, his confidence evaporating as the reality of the crossbows hit home.
Arcturus cursed under his breath and began to etch the shield spell in the air. It was a complex spell, one that required both shaping and moving the substance of the shield itself, but he had to try.
Then a voice called out from the back of the assembled soldiers.
“Rotter, is that you, ye daft bugger?”
“Frank?” Rotter said, peering into the gathered men.
“Lower your weapons, lads, I can vouch for ’im.”
Frank stomped out of the group, and Arcturus saw he was a bearded young man with a lazy eye.
“I oughta let them put ye down; ye still owe me a shilling from that card game,” Frank said with mock anger.
“I thought it was the other way round.” Rotter grinned, slowly lowering his sword.
“This ugly mug is a scoundrel, and I wouldn’t let ’im within a ’alf mile of me wife, but he’s no rebel,” Frank said.
The pair embraced, slapping each other on the back with gusto. Arcturus breathed a sigh of relief and let the floating glyph on the end of his finger fizzle and die.
The sergeant grimaced and signaled to his men to lower their crossbows.
“All right, now, don’t overreact,” Rotter said, extracting himself from Frank and addressing the platoon. “But I’m not alone.”
“More survivors?” the sergeant asked skeptically.
“Something like that … it’s a long story,” Rotter said. “Just—don’t shoot anyone.”
He turned to the fields behind him.
“Arcturus, Alice, Elaine … you can come out now!”
CHAPTER
38
THEY WERE WELCOMED WITH open arms. Food was broken out as they settled around the campfire. The simple fare of cheese, bread and cold meats was like ambrosia to the half-starved group of summoners. They even provided some of the less appetizing cuts of meat to Gelert and Reynard, though they turned their noses up at the bread.
Still, Arcturus’s relief was stymied by Edmund’s continued unconsciousness, though the boy still breathed easily, even if his lips were a little chapped from dehydration. Alice busied herself by trickling droplets of water into Edmund’s dry mouth as Rotter told their story.
To Arcturus’s surprise, the man was a natural storyteller, and he felt himself strangely captivated by Rotter’s words, hanging on to every sentence despite knowing each twist and turn already.
By the time the tale was finished, the night sky above was pitch black, the stars obscured by the glow of the fire. Silence reigned as Rotter stopped speaking, and Arcturus shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Now that he thought about it, the sergeant had yet to say a single word, and had asked no questions before Rotter had launched into his story.
“You’ve come a long way,” the sergeant finally said, warming his hands by the fire. “I am Percival, and these are my men. You were lucky to have found us; most of the platoons in this area have abandoned their posts.”
Rotter frowned at the man’s words, but said nothing.
“We are thankful you were here,” Arcturus said, smiling gratefully. But his smile was not returned, and he felt a twinge of unease. The men sitting around them were grim-faced, and their expressions had only darkened as Rotter told his story.
“We’d heard rumblings of a rebellion from the local farmers,” the sergeant continued. “Rumors mostly, about men
in black, burning buildings and disappearing into the night. And then we received this by carrier pigeon…”
He pulled a scroll from his jacket, and unraveled the tight roll to reveal a scrawled message.
“King Alfric is at war with the common people of Hominum, stealing their hard-earned livelihoods and starving our poor to line his pockets,” he read aloud. “This cannot stand. All men loyal to General Barcroft are to turn their coats to the black and march on Corcillum at the soonest opportunity. Further instruction will follow to those who take up the sword.”
Arcturus stared at the message, his mind reeling at the implication. The general had laid his cards on the table. There was no backing out for him now. He’d lead his soldiers to the bitter end.
“Turn your coats to the black?” Alice asked, looking up from her ministrations.
“Aye, the lining of our coats is black,” Frank said from beside Arcturus, opening his coat and showing the dark cloth within. “We turn them inside out on night missions so we blend in. It’ll help the general tell friend from foe when the soldiers reach Corcillum.”
“When?” Elaine piped up. “Are they not there now?”
“The message arrived but a few hours ago,” Percival growled. “By my estimate, most soldiers will be arriving within the next few hours.”
“But not you?” Rotter asked, his brows furrowing. “Why?”
“We took a vote. Barcroft may be a good man, and Alfric a greedy git, but we’ll not throw away our lives for either of them, or betray our solemn oaths. Our duty is to protect the people of Hominum, and we’ll not leave the borders undefended.”
“We’re lucky to have men such as yourselves protecting us,” Alice said. “Thank you for your service.”
“Aye, well, don’t thank us yet,” Frank said. “Your arrival has put us in a tough position, so it has.”
“What do you mean?” Arcturus asked, the lump of unease moving from his stomach to his throat.
“Whatever the outcome of this rebellion, we didn’t choose a side, so to speak,” Percival said, looking at his men. “We voted to stay out of it, and can argue we decided to stay and protect the borders. But now I have to decide if we will help you.”
Arcturus felt Sacharissa’s consciousness pulling within him, begging to be summoned. She could sense the threat, and his apprehension. He soothed her with a thought, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“It’s my call,” Percival said after a moment. “And I reckon we should help these youngsters get to safety. So, if anyone has something to say, I suggest you do so now.”
The last of his words were addressed to his men, who seemed to be avoiding looking at Arcturus, or anything other than their feet. It seemed there was little enthusiasm either way.
Finally, Frank spoke up.
“If their parents find out we didn’t help them and the rebellion fails, we’re sunk anyway,” he said, giving Arcturus a surreptitious wink. “At least this way we might get them to safety and get back to our posts without the rebels being any the wiser.”
“It’s decided, then,” Percival said firmly. “We’ll escort you from here on in, at least until your friend here has received the medical attention he needs.”
“We’d appreciate that,” Rotter replied.
Sergeant Percival nodded, then gestured to his men.
“Don’t blame my soldiers for being so hesitant. It may seem like cowardice, but we have our families to think of. If we choose the wrong side, they may suffer as a consequence of our decision. And in truth … we don’t care enough about either side to put our loved ones at such risk. King Alfric is not forgiving, and if these rebels are burning and killing innocent people, I doubt they will be either.”
“We understand,” Rotter said, “I’d feel the same way if I had any family. I’ve heard of your platoon, Sergeant. The Twenty-Fourth, right?”
“Aye, that’s us,” Frank said.
“You’re an unconventional unit, if the rumors are true,” Rotter continued, and Arcturus could tell the soldier’s words were calculated, though he wasn’t sure why.
“So we are,” Percival replied, his voice betraying a hint of delight at being recognized. “We fight the old way. The way King Corwin fought when he first came upon these lands.”
The sergeant pointed at the back of the room, where Arcturus could see a stack of concave, rectangular shields, with spears leaned against the wall beside them.
“The shield wall is a forgotten art. But I’ve trained my men to be experts in it.”
Arcturus could see the men lifting their heads, and the pride in their faces was evident. Now he understood what Rotter was trying to do. The men were warriors. But they had forgotten it, in the face of events beyond their control. They needed to be reminded.
“I should like to see it someday,” Arcturus said. “I’m just surprised the rest of the army doesn’t use it.”
His words elicited a groan from the rest of the men, but he saw they were nodding in agreement with him.
“If the damned generals had any sense, they would,” Percival said enthusiastically. “Of course, none of them are willing to listen.”
“Maybe we could change that,” Alice said. “Our parents are officers of the highest order, some of them generals themselves. I’m sure they’d grant you an audience to demonstrate.”
“I would like that very much,” Percival said.
“I promise you, once this is over it’s the first thing I’ll do,” Alice said.
“Good,” Percival said, clapping his hands. “Now, the sooner we get you out of here, the better. Twenty-Fourth, get ready to move out!”
Arcturus stared into the flames as the men around got to their feet, ignoring the clatter of metal as they armed themselves once more. The next few hours could determine the future of the empire. And somehow, he was stuck in the middle of it.
CHAPTER
39
THEY WERE GOING TO Vocans. The instructions on the scroll had been clear—traitor soldiers were to go to Corcillum, and that meant that it was the most dangerous place in the empire at that moment. Not to mention the rumors that meant, as Percival told it, the city’s street fighting and fires had turned it into a hellscape.
So they marched. Rotter had the bright idea that they should turn their coats black, not only to avoid being seen, but so that if they came across any rebel soldiers, they too would appear to be rebels.
But there would be no nobles on the rebels’ side, so Reynard had been infused, and Gelert was now in the cart with Edmund, hidden beneath the men’s spare cloaks. They went in silence, footsteps muffled on the grass, avoiding the cobbled roads and thoroughfares as the lands gradually became populated once again.
Soon they could see cows in the fields, and crops of swaying corn and wheat, neatly parceled beside sleepy hamlets and the occasional homestead. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, Arcturus felt as if he were back in the world he knew once more. Though how long it would stay that way was a question he didn’t want to consider.
Then it was there, rising up out of the darkness. Vocans. So tall that it dominated the horizon, a four-cornered block of crenelated towers and yellow-lit apertures, with the gatehouse and courtyard at its base. The moat that surrounded it shone in the moonlight, like a shiny black snake encircling its prey.
It was quiet as they approached, turning onto the road outside and marching to the drawbridge, ominously left open despite the troubles of nearby Corcillum. The wood creaked as they crossed, and Arcturus knew he had made the wrong decision. He should have warned the others about Crawley. Was the servant going to be waiting for them? His palms began to prickle with sweat.
Yet … where else could they go? Vocans had one of the best medical wings in the empire, and from what Alice had told him, it was stocked with equipment specifically for people in Edmund’s situation—for the poison of the ether’s air paralyzed any summoner exposed to it, leaving them unable to take water or food wit
hout aid. Just like Edmund, unconscious in his cart.
They were in the courtyard now, surrounded by deathly quiet. The windows and arrow slits were alight, so they knew it was occupied … yet there was nobody to greet them.
“All right, lads, stay alert,” Percival muttered, his sudden words in the still silence making Arcturus jump. “We’ll make sure the place is secure and then head back to our posts.”
He turned to Rotter.
“Make sure the drawbridge is raised once we leave,” he advised. “Whoever left it down is a damned fool; this place would have been near-impregnable without it.”
“Agreed,” Rotter whispered.
They mounted the steps and, silently, Percival’s soldiers lifted Edmund’s cart, placing it in front of the double doors like a miniature battering ram.
Without a word, Percival eased the door open and they made their way inside. The cart’s wheels rattled on the smooth marble floors, echoing around the great empty space. Above, the various balconies hung empty and silent. Still, no one.
Arcturus pulled down his hood, glad to be in the warmth once more. Across the room, he could see the glint of the bejeweled eyes of the demon carving above the entrance to the dining hall. And there, between the gap in the doors … he saw a face staring at him. Ulfr, hidden in shadow, flapping his hands in warning.
But it was too late.
A whistle was blown, the sound a harsh screech that filled the atrium and put Arcturus’s teeth on edge. Then rebels appeared as if from nowhere, rushing out of the darkness and resting their crossbows on the railings of the five floors. Scores of them.
“Shield fort!” Percival cried, and suddenly Arcturus was being shoved into a crouch as the soldiers threw up their shields. He fell among their feet, and found himself beneath a roof of wood, so tightly wedged together that he lay in shadowed darkness. The cart containing Edmund was a little island in their center, where light filtered through and allowed Arcturus to see the nervous faces of the men beneath.