“I’m told that is indeed the case,” Salvator agreed. He held out his hand to receive them.
But Farah did not give them to him immediately. Instead he turned them over in his hand as if studying them; a gilded fingernail scratched one gently. “These have a price, King Salvator.”
Colivar saw the High King stiffen. “What manner of price?”
“Something worthy of the hundreds of lives these will save. Perhaps whole nations, in the end. That is what is at stake, is it not?”
Salvator’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. “The Souleaters are on your front doorstep, Farah. If they’re not dealt with now, your kingdom will be the first to fall.”
Farah chuckled softly. “Oh, I feel quite secure, King Salvator. I have seen your dedication and that of your followers. I have utter faith that you will triumph in the end. So the only question is . . . how much witchery must you waste along the way? Because witchery translates into lives lost, as you know.” He folded his hand over the bones; his expression grew hard and cold. “Without these, you would have to pass through my kingdom to get to Jezalya. There is no other route. Did you think there would be no price for that? And even if you managed to somehow establish anchors of your own . . . then what of the journey home, after the battle ends? Will you ask your witches to sacrifice even more of their life-essence for that?” He shook his head. “No. Not you, King Salvator. Penitent King Salvator. You will want your people to return home by mundane means. Which means traveling through Anshasa.” He nodded toward the anchors in his hand. “A reasonable investment for so many lives, I think.”
“What price are you asking?” Salvator asked tightly.
Farah spread his hands wide. “Only what is rightfully mine, which was taken from my people years ago.” He nodded toward the door of the tent, indicating the vast plain beyond. “Coldorra.”
Salvator hissed softly. Colivar could see Ramirus stiffen. “Out of the question,” the High King said coldly.
Farah’s expression darkened. “Think well before you speak, Salvator. Time grows short for this campaign. Did you not say so yourself? How many witches would you have to sacrifice to find another way to get down there in the proper time frame? I believe I am offering you a bargain, under the circumstances.”
Seeing Salvator’s lips tighten into a thin, hard line, Colivar had to repress a smile. Ah, Farah, I thought you were going down too easily. Glad to see you had something up your sleeve after all. The High King would have to give in, of course. His religion left him no other choice. Whereas Farah would not have hesitated to order the death of a hundred witches, if that was the price of war.
“No,” Salvator said.
Gwynofar looked at him, startled. Even Ramirus drew in a sharp breath.
Farah’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure, King Salvator? So many lives, measured against one small stretch of land.” A faint, cold smile flickered across his face. “I would think a Penitent king would have better priorities.”
“The answer is no,” Salvator said coldly. “And it will remain no. I will not be blackmailed into diminishing my kingdom.” He raised a hand in dismissal. “I believe our business is done here, King Farah. I thank you for the amount of assistance you were willing to provide. I will take it from here.”
He began to turn away.
“Salvator.”
He stopped, but did not turn back.
“Your people are from the north. From the far north, for the most part. Do you really think that you can just march them into the desert—in full armor—and wage war as though you were still in the High Kingdom?” Farah shook his head disdainfully. “They will not last a day. Some will not even last an hour. I have seen foreign armies halved by the desert’s heat before the fighting even began.”
Salvator turned back to him slowly. “What are you suggesting?
“They will need time to acclimate. A safe place to work off their first sweat. Training in how to deal with the desert. What if your witches all die in battle? In that case, the rest of your people will have to come home the long way.” He paused. When Salvator still did not respond he added, “You should have a guide who speaks the local languages. Someone who knows the lay of the land and will be able to parley with any hostile tribes you run into.”
“Are you offering to supply these things?” Salvator asked quietly.
Farah glanced at Kaht, who lowered his eyes almost imperceptibly. It was the smallest motion a nod could possibly be reduced to and still exist.
“Bring your people to my southern border,” Farah said, “and I will provide shelter and supplies for them. Set aside five days—three for hard training, then two to rest and recoup before you engage the enemy—and I guarantee your chance of success in this venture will improve.” He paused. “The desert gods are cruel, Salvator. Only a fool underestimates them.”
“You spoke of training. And a guide.”
Again Farah looked at Kaht, who nodded again. “Marshal Kaht will see to the training of your men. I will provide a guide.” Farah said.
“And safe passage through your realm, coming and going?”
“Of course.”
Salvator seemed to consider the offer. Finally, nodding slightly, he stepped around the table and approached Farah. When he was within an arm’s length, he paused for a moment, then extended his hand, palm up. “You will not bring your armies into Coldorra. I will arrange for my own observers to make sure of it. If you breach that condition of our agreement, all the rest is nullified, and Coldorra returns to my control.” His gaze was steady and cold. “We have a peace treaty now, so there is no longer need for armies at the border.”
Farah’s nostrils flared, and for a moment it looked as though he might offer an edged retort. But then he just chuckled softly, and he reached out and dropped the bone fragments into Salvator’s outstretched palm, one by one. “You must have merchants in your bloodline, Aurelius.”
“And you must have devils in yours,” Salvator answered, smiling slightly. The tension level inside the pavilion dropped palpably as he looked at the bone fragments for a moment, then tucked them into his doublet. “I will see that everything you require is properly signed and sealed before we leave this camp. How long before your training site will be ready for us?”
Farah looked at Kaht.
The marshal considered the question for a moment. “Five days to get all the supplies delivered and set it up right, with no one but me and a few handpicked officers knowing about it, and with witches masking the whole place from scrutiny. I could make it three days if we risked bringing in a few more people, but I would advise against that.”
Salvator nodded. “Five days it is. Have confirmation and a suitable anchor delivered to me when you’re ready for my people to arrive.” He turned to Farah. “You had no objection to my marching an army through your territory; do you have any objection to a decoy army doing so instead? We’ll mask it with enough witchery that it will be hard for Siderea to detect, which will make it look convincing. If she thinks she’s discovered a hidden army marching south to take her by surprise, she may not look as hard in other places.”
A faint smile crept across Farah’s face. “I will see that a few key people know there is something along the route that we don’t want people looking into too closely.”
“Excellent.” Salvator sighed heavily. “All the rest must wait on the Archivists’ report, it seems. So I suggest we call it a day, and set the scribes working on the necessary agreements.”
“A most productive afternoon,” Farah agreed. He nodded his head ever so slightly. “Until morning, then, King Salvator.”
He left the pavilion, Kaht and Sulah following silently in his wake. As soon as they were gone, Favias exhaled noisily. “That was one hell of a gamble. If he had really walked out on you—”
“He would not have walked out,” Salvator said calmly. “The minute he walked in with Kaht by his side, I knew he was here to bargain, and I had a pretty good idea of what he planne
d to put on the table.”
“Coldorra is quite a prize.” Colivar said quietly. “Did you anticipate that request as well?”
Salvator shrugged. “Coldorra is a piece of land, nothing more. I am not my father, who measured his greatness in acreage. Our quarry is on the far side of a hostile kingdom, and that is a problem that isn’t going to be solved cheaply. Land is the most acceptable of the available options.” A faint smile flickered across his lips. “Why do you think I arranged to have our meeting here, if not to make sure that Coldorra was front and center in his mind?”
“She will figure out where your people are,” Colivar warned him. “Whatever you do, and however many witches or sorcerers you assign to keep it hidden, that kind of power leaves its mark. She need not look for your men, only for the spells that are hiding them. A witch of her caliber will know how to do that.”
“Precisely. Which is why I have set up two decoy operations. The first is simply there to make the second look genuine. In actual fact, we will be using witches to send our people directly to Jezalya, even while visible preparations are being made for their reception in Farah’s domain. If Siderea does indeed catch a whiff of magic out there and investigate, she’ll discover that everyone involved genuinely expects us to arrive at Farah’s camp in five days’ time.”
“I presume, then, that you expect be in Jezalya within fives days,” Ramirus said. “Because after that, Farah will know something is wrong . . . and so will all his men.”
Salvator nodded. “We’ll be leaving directly from here, as soon as Farah departs. Our camp is much more complex than his, so it will of course take longer to strike. An innocent reason to remain behind. By the time his rear scouts quit the area, our witches will have begun preparing portals to Jezalya. If all goes well, we will be out of here before Farah has time to give his first orders back home.”
Colivar raised an eyebrow. So your Penitent witches are already here in the camp, and your Guardians as well. Disguised as soldiers, perhaps? While the massive size of the encampment gave you an excuse to move in supplies in quantity, with no one asking questions about it. Very clever.
Ramirus coughed lightly. “There is one more issue, your Majesty. With all due apology, I know how important your faith is to you . . . but we must have a Magister in Anshasa. There is simply no way around that.”
Salvator’s face darkened. “Why?”
“Siderea knows there’s a cadre of Magisters hunting her. If your diversion doesn’t have the faintest whiff of sorcery about it, she’ll know this trick for what it is and keep searching elsewhere for her enemies.”
Salvator was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered the philosophical issues involved. There was a time when Colivar could have guessed how he would respond, but lately the young king had proven quite unpredictable. And surprisingly interesting.
“I don’t think God would have a problem with a Magister guarding empty space,” Salvator said at last. “Can you find someone to go down there?”
Ramirus turned to Colivar. “I suggest Sulah.”
Colivar saw what was in his eyes and nodded. “I agree.”
Nicely played, Ramirus. I don’t trust him either.
“Which leaves only the assault itself,” Salvator said, “and the problem of two dozen Souleaters.” He sighed heavily. “On the plus side, the fact that they’re there means that Siderea may have made no other arrangements to protect herself, since they could be expected to take down any witch, Magister, or mortal army that came calling. On the minus side . . . .” He shook his head in obvious frustration. “Well, there are two dozen Souleaters. And if we don’t figure out how to get rid of them, the rest of this is all empty conversation. They are the key to everything.”
Gwynofar offered, “Let’s see what the archivists have to say tomorrow, shall we?” She glanced at Favias. “They may have suggestions. For now, I think we’ve done all we can.”
“Aye.” Salvator sighed again. “We have indeed.”
He offered his arm to escort his mother out. As she took it, he nodded a polite leave to his guests. Even to the Magisters, Colivar noted.
The High King became more and more unpredictable every day.
And more and more interesting.
Chapter 31
K
AMALA FOUND Colivar far from the main encampment, gazing at the rising moon. She stood next to him silently, watching as the full disk eased its way over the horizon, while the twilight sky surrounding it slowly faded to black.
“They didn’t have human intelligence back then,” Colivar said. “They couldn’t gather in large numbers. They feared fire. And with all that in our favor, we barely managed to defeat them. Thousands of witches died. Thousands. We don’t have that many to start with. How can we possibly do this?”
“We have Magisters,” Kamala reminded him. “If Salvator can be made to listen to reason . . . .”
Colivar shook his head. “Can’t rely on Magisters. What if the ikati portion of a sorcerer’s soul grows stronger in their presence? What if he surrenders control to it? Even having Ramirus and myself there will be a risk. Each additional Magister you add makes it that much more likely something bad will happen. What happens if we wind up turning on one another, as the Souleaters do? There won’t be anything left in the desert by the time that fight is over.”
Yes, Kamala thought, and you are the most vulnerable of all. Which makes you the most dangerous. “Give me some more information about these creatures, Colivar.”
He looked at her. “You heard everything I told the other Magisters. What more do you want to know?”
“Tell me about the mating flight.”
“Why? Siderea’s queen is still a juvenile. No matter how fast she’s maturing, she won’t have the size or the strength needed for her first flight this soon. As long as we move quickly we should be fine.”
“Indulge me,” she said softly.
He shut his eyes and sighed. For a moment he just stood there, so still in aspect that it seemed his mind had left his flesh. Then, very quietly, he began to speak.
“It begins with a call. The queen takes to the sky and declares her intent; the sound of it carries for miles. It’s somewhat like the cry that the Guardians imitate, but it’s not a call to combat. There’s also a smell that fills the air, like her own natural scent but ten times more powerful; it can be detected by Souleaters a hundred miles away. Their response is instinctive. All-consuming. Wherever they are, whatever they are doing, male Souleaters will put their business aside and come to her. The summons is woven into the very fabric of their being, and not even human intelligence can override it.
“And so they are all drawn to the same place, at the same time. Back when the species was wild, that alone was enough to get many of them killed. Much blood was spilled before a flight even began. These days the creatures are marginally more tolerant of one another—and they may have improved further in that regard since last I saw them—but it’s still a dangerous time. Bloodthirst and sex are so closely allied in that species that it would take more than mere human will to separate them.
“Are their human partners with them during all this?”
“Gods, no! Getting caught in the middle of that chaos is dangerous enough with spikes and claws; a man would not last five minutes. No, the men generally try to find somewhere safe to wait it out, preferably far away from each other. Channeling that kind of energy doesn’t do good things to human relationships. Often they will go into a sort of trance, opening themselves up to the full sensory experience of their Souleater’s flight. You don’t want rivals around when you do that.” He paused. “Not unlike a Magister’s fear of having rivals present when he goes into transition.
“Finally, when enough males have gathered, the queen takes flight, and they pursue her. She is lighter and faster than they are, so if she keeps to open skies, none of them can catch her. Ostensibly it’s the strongest and most capable one who will lead the pack and eventua
lly be rewarded with mating rights. But the males are known to swipe at each other along the way, to try to gain advantage, and sometimes actual combat breaks out. A queen may even encourage that, doubling back and forth in such a way that the paths of her suitors cross.” He shrugged stiffly. “As I said . . . bloodthirst and sex.
“The fact that she can turn their attention away from her allows her to elude any unwanted suitor who gets too close. It’s difficult for her to hide herself fully at that point—their attention is too firmly fixed on her for true invisibility to be possible—but she can cause them to become disoriented, which has much the same result.”
“What happens when she does that?”
He looked at her. “What do you think happens when all the energy that was centered on pursuing a mate suddenly has no proper focus?” He shut his eyes; a tremor seemed to run through his body. “I have seen fields of snow turn to crimson in the wake of such a flight. I remember one time we lost nearly a third of the colony.”
“It sounds like a good way to get rid of a few Souleaters. Not to mention draw them away from Jezalya while the battle is going on.”
“It would be,” he agreed. “But as I said, Siderea’s queen is still a juvenile. There’d be no way to get her to declare a flight, much less actually fly it.”
She said it softly: “I wasn’t talking about the Souleater queen.”
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in; when he realized what she meant, his eyes widened in alarm. “Surely you can’t be suggesting what I think you are.”
“Why not? You told me I had the essence of a Souleater queen within me. I know I can tap into her power. Why can’t I mimic her form as well? Then I can summon the males to a mating flight myself and draw them away from the battleground. Hopefully long enough for Salvator’s people to do what they need to.” When he said nothing, she pressed, “Wouldn’t that solve the problem?”