“You will fight in groups of three,” Lady Serina announced as she strode down the line of assembled Sentoran, “One of the Hand, one of the Head and one of the Heart.”
Belythna, who stood between Jedin and Floriana at the end of the line, listened with interest. That made sense; they were stronger in threes – each talent balanced the others. It was a relief to see their leader finally take command; although, in Belythna’s opinion, it was too little, too late.
We should have gone after Riadamor in the beginning, as soon as we knew she posed a danger – not wait until she is strong enough to challenge us in battle.
“Apprentices will shadow some of you today,” Serina continued, motioning to the line of grey-robed figures at the back of the crowd. “They will fight at our side when we meet the Esquill.”
This comment drew murmurs from the assembly.
“They aren’t ready,” Ridoc spoke up, his heavy-featured face creased in a deep frown.
“Of course they are,” Serina countered with a frown. She then turned and motioned to the grey-robed figures. “Come forward apprentices. Let me see you.”
They did as bid. Belythna immediately noted that their faces bore a myriad of reactions to this news; ranging from worry to excitement. Geril, the young man who had brought news of the Esquill messenger, looked terrified, whereas Emilia, the Marshal of Tarras’s daughter, appeared as if she would faint.
Belythna felt a stab of pity. They were too young, and they had never faced combat. It was unlikely any of them would last long in battle. For once, she found herself agreeing with Ridoc.
“Do you wish to stay behind in Deep-Spire?” the leader of the Sentorân asked the group. “Would you prefer to watch the battle from safety?”
The apprentices glanced at each other nervously. Belythna gave Lady Serina a probing look. It was a clever approach, but a cruel one. Far better to give them a choice; that way they looked cowardly if they opted to stay behind.
Silence stretched out before Lady Serina spoke up once more. “Well? What will it be?”
“We will fight,” a young female voice echoed across the training ground. All gazes swivelled to Emilia Horne. Belythna was surprised to see that Emilia had spoken up on behalf of the others; however, despite her ashen complexion, the girl’s eyes were gleaming with purpose. Perhaps she had more spirit than they had credited her with.
Belythna looked away, her gaze meeting Floriana’s. Her friend shook her head wordlessly. This was folly – but there was nothing they could say against it. In the end, it had not been their decision to make.
“It is settled then,” Serina smiled at the apprentices. “Come this way and I will assign you to your groups.”
Emilia was assigned to Jedin, Floriana and Belythna.
The apprentice had shown aptitude for the talent of the Heart, although she had been slower to develop it than some of the others. However, today, she showed a different, more determined, attitude than usual. She valiantly tried to keep up with the trained Sentorân as Ridoc put them through endless drills.
“Drop, roll, gather and attack!” Ridoc’s hoarse voice echoed across the training ground and ricocheted off the surrounding walls. “Again! Drop, roll, gather and attack!”
Belythna pitched forward, dropped onto her side, rolled, gathered her talent close, and flung her hands out towards the row of targets – heavy clay pots that had been lined up upon a wall. Her talent rushed down her arms, like liquid fire, and burst from her fingertips. The clay pot she had been aiming for shattered.
Beside her, Emilia brought her arms up across her chest, mimicking Floriana’s action. Her young face was tense as she unleashed her talent. The clay pot she had targeted, toppled off the wall and landed on the pebble-covered ground with a crunch.
“Well done,” Belythna straightened up and grinned at the girl.
Emilia’s face was glowing with exhaustion and pride as she gave a shy smile back. Despite that it was a chill, sunless day, they were all sweating heavily. “Not as good as you though,” she replied.
“Few of us can shatter objects as well as Belythna,” Floriana stepped up beside the apprentice. “Besides, she was showing off.”
Belythna made a scoffing noise and was about to give a cutting reply when Lady Serina’s voice rang out across the yard.
“Cease practice,” she commanded, “and gather close. We have something to discuss.”
When the crowd had formed a semi-circle about her, Lady Serina swept her gaze across their faces.
“I must inform you of our battle strategy,” she told them. “Riadamor’s followers only use the talent of the Head – we must be ready for this.”
“What about the pale fire?” Jedin asked from near the back of the assembly. “Isn’t that more of a concern?”
“I’m getting to that,” Serina replied curtly. “Firstly, we need to address the fact that we will be facing an army of just one talent. This is going to give them an advantage – for it is easier to unify an army of just one talent. They will also be able to share thoughts, which will make them formidable in battle.”
Lady Serina paused here, her gaze scanning the assembly, daring any of them to disagree with her, before she continued. “However, they have little practice dealing with the other two talents – and this should give us an advantage.”
The leader of the Sentorân then focused her attention upon Belythna.
“You are the strongest of your talent I have ever seen, Belythna,” she said, causing everyone present to swivel around and stare. Lady Serina rarely doled out compliments, and Belythna felt her faced burn in response. “What do you perceive to be your weakness?”
Belythna did not respond immediately; instead, she considered the question. The crowd around her remained silent, awaiting her answer.
“I think our greatest strength is also our flaw,” she finally replied. “Our power lies in harnessing our thoughts. We work less on intuition, more on rationalisation. This means we can over-think situations, especially when it comes to guessing the behaviour of others. I would guess that Riadamor’s battle strategy will be complex and detailed. She will have analysed the Heart and the Hand and will strike at any perceived weakness. She will have left nothing to chance.”
Lady Serina nodded. “So, if we do anything unexpected it might throw her?”
Belythna gave a guarded smile in response. “It is only a guess, but I think that might.”
“And what of pale fire?” Kern spoke up for this first time, his aged face creased in worry. “Jedin’s right. That should be our greatest concern. How did she develop such a weapon?”
Lady Serina’s face went grim and her lips thinned. “The forbidden,” she replied. “There is no other way she could have done it.”
Silence followed Lady Serina’s words. Belythna shivered, suddenly aware of the biting cold. Using your lifeblood to gift your powers to another, and in doing so enhance your own, was a sure route to complete madness. In ancient times, there had been accounts of warlocks who had used the forbidden; it always ended in their ruin – and the deaths of many others besides.
“Jedin,” Serina turned her attention to the tall dark-haired man standing at the back of the crowd. “You told me a while ago that those of the Hand can combat pale fire. When you fought them in the foothills of the Sables, you used your blade to repel the fire – you have also used it against them since. Is this correct?”
Jedin nodded, his dark gaze intense.
“Then those of the Hand shall be our shields in this battle,” Serina pronounced.
A hush settled over the gathering of Sentorân. Many of them exchanged glances. It was becoming real; war was breathing down their necks.
“A storm is gathering,” Serina’s voice was gentler now, although her expression was hooded. “The worst this order has ever had to weather. Riadamor must not prevail.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Battle of Deep-Spire
Deep-Spire, Central Omagen
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