Jarid tensed. “And if we meanwhile sent our forces north?”
“It would take at least fifteen days to reach our northwestern border with Harsdown and that long to return, if we found no threat.” Fieldson shook his head. “An army coming through the Barrens could arrive here at Suncroft before we returned.”
Fieldson slapped his knee. “We need more information. We must send riders. Our fastest.”
“If both of these armies exist.” Brant shook his head. “Where would he get enough men for two?”
“Mercenaries,” Della said.
“He cannot afford them,” Brant said.
Fieldson’s voice hardened, revealing the honed edge he rarely showed, the iron that had made him a general above his other contemporaries. “If he thought he could finally take Aronsdale, he would tax his people to starvation and empty his coffers. He could replenish them from Aronsdale if he conquers us.”
“Who would he hire?” Jarid asked.
“Rebels from the Outlands beyond the Misted Cliffs,” Fieldson said. “Escaped criminals, loners, madmen.”
“Not the most motivated or loyal material for an army.” Brant grimaced. “I wouldn’t trust them fighting for Aronsdale.”
Chime watched them, her gaze hollowed by exhaustion. “But Varqelle cannot win. Even if he has one mage now, we have more. Our mages are our advantage, the reason he never tried this before.” She looked around at them. “Aren’t they?”
“Yes.” Della spoke heavily. “But we were so closely matched. This dark mage may be enough to tip the balance.”
Brant raked his hand through his silver mane. “Or maybe Harsdown has sent no armies and we create nightmares for ourselves.” He glanced at Jarid. “My apologies, Your Majesty. But we must consider the possibility.”
As much as Jarid wished it was only bad dream, he knew otherwise. He turned to Aria, who stood with Reed in the entrance arch of the parlor. “You said Lady Chime spoke oddly during her nightmare.”
“Aye, Your Majesty.” Aria came forward, hesitant, and stood behind Chime at the sofa. “With a man’s voice.”
“Chime, like a man?” It was hard for Jarid to imagine such, given her dulcet voice.
“I know it be sounding odd. But her words were all strange and wrong.” Aria looked apologetic. “I didn’t know the language.”
“She repeated the words to me,” Chime said. “I recognized none of them.” She sat as straight as a rod, her hands folded in her lap, but it only made her look more vulnerable.
Jarid wished he could reassure Chime. “How many languages do you know?”
She swallowed. “Just ours.”
“Are you certain?” Brant asked. “Jacob’s Vale isn’t far from our southwestern border. Surely travelers came through there, especially from Blueshire and Shazire. Perhaps you have heard their languages?”
“A little,” Chime said. “The words I spoke sounded nothing like those.”
It frustrated Jarid to know so little about Aronsdale. Had he been raised as expected, he would have traveled widely with his parents, seeing this country and others, learning their ways. Instead, he could barely speak or read his own language, let alone others.
“Can you repeat the words?” Brant asked.
Chime looked up at Aria. “Do you recall?”
She hesitated. “Something like ‘All-air nell-air.’”
“Allar nellari,” Della murmured.
“Aye, ma’am!” Aria shot her a look of relief.
The words chilled Jarid, though he couldn’t have said why. “What is it?”
“Part of an incantation,” Della said. “It is ancient. Thousands of years old. Supposedly it helped mages focus through shapes imagined rather than seen or touched.”
Jarid frowned. Here it was again, their insistence that one needed real shapes to focus. He couldn’t let it go this time, not given what was at stake. “It isn’t necessary to see or touch the shapes. That strengthens spells, certainly, but you can make them without it.”
A long silence greeted his words. Finally Della said, “Is that how you do it?”
“I had no choice.” He paused, uncomfortable. “I couldn’t see.”
“Hai,” Chime said. “Of course.”
“Perhaps you are what the ancients sought to create,” Della said.
Thinking of the ancient words Chime had spoken, he shuddered. “I need no incantations, either. Especially that one.”
Brant was watching him with that intense concentration that unsettled Jarid, as if his advisor could see through any shield or defense he raised.
“Why not that one?” Brant asked.
“The words have malice in them,” Jarid said.
Brant glanced at Della. “Was that the full incantation?”
“Not quite,” she said. “Allar nellari remalla. It means ‘Sphere inside-out.’”
Chime recovered enough of her spirit to look affronted. “You never taught it to Iris and me.”
“It doesn’t work,” Della said. “It does nothing.”
“Then how would Chime know it?” Brant asked.
Della exhaled. “I don’t know.”
“Those words feel ill.” Jarid had to make a conscious effort not to clench his fists. “And why would Chime speak in someone else’s voice?”
“Maybe I was hoarse,” Chime said.
Concern creased Brant’s face. “Have you been ill?”
“Actually, no,” she said.
“This connects to those armies Harsdown has sent.” Jarid’s frustration roiled. “Somehow.”
Della considered him. “As our strongest mage, you may pick up what we miss. And you are uninfluenced by any styles of teaching magecraft. That could let you see in ways we have lost. But it also means you are the most untutored. You could make more mistakes.” She spread her arms out, palms up, then dropped them. “I just don’t know.”
“We can’t base strategy on dreams,” Fieldson said.
“Mages have always helped the army,” Della replied.
“But never with something this uncertain,” Brant said.
“Muller has already made his decision.” Chime wound the belt of her tunic around her hand. “He went north.”
Fieldson studied her face as if he sought to read the essence of her spells there. “You can’t be certain.”
Jarid leaned forward. “He is near the Tallwalk Pass.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” Brant demanded. “Muller never takes the initiative.” When Chime stiffened, he relented slightly. “I apologize, Lady. But what you describe would be out of character for him.”
“In the past, yes,” she admitted. “Nevertheless, it is true.”
“The Hexagons have only thirty-six men and no mages,” Fieldson said. “They couldn’t take on two Harsdown armies. They would be slaughtered.”
Chime’s gaze flicked to Jarid, her face strained. He could imagine what she felt, fearing for Muller, for his life, for the twists of his off-kilter powers. Jarid would always remember Muller as the hero of his boyhood; now he saw depths in his cousin that Muller had only begun to plumb. He didn’t doubt Muller would carry out his duties no matter what the cost. No matter how much Jarid wanted to offer words of comfort to Chime, but nothing would change the truth. Her husband could die if Harsdown attacked.
“The Pentagon Unit is in the north,” Fieldson said. “The Hexagons could rendezvous with them.” He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, his pose an unconscious study in regal posture.
A pang of grief stabbed Jarid; his birth father had often sat that way. Fieldson was nothing like Prince Aron; the general had a calm nature that contrasted with Aron’s intense style. Jarid remembered his grandfather telling his father to trust Fieldson, that their strengths would complement each other. Jarid hadn’t thought of that in more than fourteen years, but now the memory tumbled back.
Unable to sit any longer, Jarid rose and paced to the window. It calmed him to see the countryside, tranquil now as
the sun dipped below the hills and shadows filled the land. Too many memories were coming back, prodded by this place, these people, this life. And his dreams. Could the dreams be a trick meant to draw his army to the wrong place while Varqelle attacked elsewhere? Or had they inadvertently stumbled on his plans? But who was right—him or Chime? The survival of Aronsdale depended on their decision.
Jarid turned from the window and spoke to Brant. “Your recommendation?”
He answered immediately. “Send your fastest riders north to investigate. Have them report back to us.”
Jarid nodded and looked at Fieldson. “Yours?”
“Send the Heptagon and Octagon Units north, with half the infantry and archers.”
Brant frowned. “It would leave Suncroft undefended. The infantry would also slow down the polygon units.”
“The Nonagons and Quadrons will be here, as well as half our infantry and archers.” Fieldson said. “One messenger cannot provide reinforcements to our northern forces.”
Jarid spoke to Chime. “What think you?”
“The invaders are coming to Suncroft.” She fisted her hand on the arm of her chair. “They are coming through the Barrens. I’m sure of it. We must defend this area.”
It troubled Jarid that he and Chime had such different impressions. Perhaps Della was right, that he knew too little about his gifts to interpret his vision. He glanced at the mage mistress. “And your recommendation?”
Della answered quietly. “You must go north yourself. You have the best chance of challenging this dark mage.”
Jarid shifted his weight uneasily. “And if he isn’t north? If these dreams of mine are a trick?”
“You must use your judgment,” she said. “No one else has as much power to see as you.”
To see. Had fourteen years of blindness given him another sort of sight? Jarid rubbed the back of his neck, working at the muscle kinks that never seemed to relax anymore. His choices loomed with disaster. He didn’t want Suncroft inadequately defended, but neither could he strand Muller with only one or two units to face an invasion.
He had to decide. But what. What?
Jarid looked around at the others. “I will take the Heptagons and a party of mounted archers north. We will rendezvous with our forces there. If we find nothing, we will return as soon as possible.”
“And if you encounter Harsdown?” Fieldson demanded. “If Varqelle has hired mercenaries, you won’t have enough men, especially if you leave the infantry here. He could have hundreds of men.”
Jarid wished he could be more certain of his vision. “I dream they come on fast, flying over the land. They cannot manage such with foot soldiers and carrying supplies for a large company. If we are to meet up with them before they slaughter our people in the north, we must also travel fast.” He spoke with foreboding. “If we are too late to help, all the infantry in Aronsdale will do no good.”
“And if you are outnumbered?” Fieldson asked.
“I will send a rider for reinforcements.”
The general spoke grimly. “Even your fastest rider would take twenty-five days to bring back reinforcements.”
Jarid pushed back his hair, tangling it around his shoulders. “We will have to manage with what we have.”
He feared that no matter what choice he made, it wouldn’t be enough.
29
Dawn Ride
Aria stared at Chime, aghast. “Lady, you cannot.”
“I must.” Chime hurried through her bedroom, her slippers flapping on the floor.
Supper with Iris, Jarid, and the King’s Advisors had taken forever. Iris would rule Aronsdale while Jarid was gone, and they had wanted to discuss a great deal. Iris obviously had doubts: was she needed more as sovereign at Suncroft or as mage queen with the army? While the others debated, Chime had listened, keeping quiet, lest she make a verbal slip and give herself away. But supper finished with no mishap. In the hours since, she had stayed in her suite, waiting for the castle and her guards to sleep.
Waiting to escape.
Once before she had run away. It seemed ages ago now, though it had only been about a year and a half. Then she had been escaping Muller. Now she would go to him.
They wouldn’t take her with the Heptagons. Skylark and Jarid were their mages. Pah. Skylark was too elderly for the journey and Jarid had too little training, besides which, he was supposed to lead the Heptagons. They needed a young, active mage. Her. They just didn’t appreciate that. So she would take care of matters herself.
“You will be expected to bid the king farewell in the morning,” Aria said. “You must appear.”
“I told Reed I was sick.” Chime rummaged through the wardrobe against the wall, shoving aside silk garments, looking for the sturdy tunics and leggings she had brought from Jacob’s Vale. “I asked her to say farewell for me.” She gave Aria her most earnest look. “I’ve had so much trouble with morning sickness, he won’t be surprised.”
“You haven’t had one day of sickness.” Aria crossed her arms. “King Jarid is a powerful mage. He will know you have gone off somewhere.”
“Yes, if he decides to search me out with a spell. But why would he? He knows how tired I’ve been.” She pulled out her old clothes. “Hah! I knew they were here.”
“Lady, you cannot do this.” Aria tried to take the garments away from her. “It is crazy.”
Chime pulled back her clothes. “I’m going. I’ll join the Heptagons after they’ve gone too far to send me back.”
“Why should it be too far?” Aria demanded. “The king can send you here anytime.”
“He won’t.” Chime pulled on her leggings under her nightgown. “Not if they are well out from the castle.”
“And why is that?”
“The army has always taken the strongest mages in the land. It is a duty of the mage queen. Why else choose the most powerful mage in the land to marry the king?”
“That isn’t what I asked. And you are not the queen.”
“Well, I’m close.”
“Queen Iris isn’t going.”
Chime glared at her. “That is another problem. She should go. Pah. Men.” She waved her hand. “If they listened to us more, the world would be much better off.”
Aria chuckled. “Aye.” Then she remembered she was angry. “Stop changing the subject!”
Chime yanked off her nightgown and pulled on her tunic. Twisting her hand around her back, she struggled to button it up. “I have duties, too.”
Aria started to fasten the tunic for her, but then she jumped back. “What am I doing? I won’t help you do this.”
Chime contorted herself until she managed the buttons. “But you are coming with me.”
Her maid’s mouth dropped open. “What? No!”
Chime untwisted herself. “I need you. Please. You’re the only person I can trust.”
Aria glared at her. “You canna trust me, ma’am. I will tell Lord Firestoke of your crazy plan.”
“You would never do that.” Chime went back to the wardrobe and poked around until she found her old boots. “Please come with me.”
“Never. Noblewomen do not dash across the country with only their maid, chasing the king and his army.”
“I won’t be chasing him.” Chime sat on the floor and pulled on one boot. “I’m leaving first. He will be chasing me.”
“He can’t chase someone he doesn’t know is there.” Aria knelt next to her. “He will be furious.”
Chime fastened up her boot. “He’ll survive.”
“Lady.” Aria put her hand on Chime’s arm, stopping her movements. “What about the baby?”
“Harsdown is going to attack Suncroft.” It was one of Chime’s reasons for leaving. If Jarid wouldn’t listen to her, she would act on her own counsel. “I don’t intend for myself or my child to be here when Varqelle arrives.”
“You cannot ride with an army while you are pregnant.”
“Why the blazes not?” Chime yanked on her other bo
ot. “It doesn’t make me helpless. And read your history. Many pregnant mages have ridden with the army.”
“That was hundreds of years ago.”
Chime finished strapping her boot. “Harsdown comes here. I will not let them take me and my child. What if they attack in both the north and here?” The thought felt like a dagger in her heart. “Muller could die without my ever seeing him again. I want to be with him.”
Her maid spoke in a quieter voice. “Lady Chime, if you leave here with only me, you could be kidnapped by whomever tried before. They almost caught you inside Suncroft. It would be easy to grab you out there.”
Pulling up her legs, Chime rested her arms on her knees. She knew Aria was right, but she couldn’t sit here in the castle. “I have to go.”
“You cannot.”
Chime stood up, pulling Aria with her. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“To see Jarid.”
“Ma’am!” Alarm suffused Aria’s face. “It is the middle of the night.”
“All the better. He will be too sleepy to protest.”
Aria gulped. “If you plan on taking on the king, I would like to be in another country, if you don’t mind.”
Chime smiled. “You will be fine. Come on.”
“Hai,” Aria muttered as Chime pulled her out the door. “I must be crazy, too.”
Unable to sleep, Jarid sat against the headboard of the bed. Iris stirred, her hair brushing his leg. He shifted her head into his lap, wishing he could sleep, too. Her body was warm, her skin bare. He had never understood how she could feel so much softer than himself and yet be so much stronger inside. She was the cane that kept him standing.
Jarid smiled. She was also the siren that called to him. Her chestnut hair tumbled everywhere on the pillow. During the day, she tended to be reserved, but at night—ah, the night.
Sliding under the covers, Jarid filled his arms with his voluptuous woman. It puzzled him that she considered herself fat. The women of the royal court that she considered beauties were much too skinny.
He caressed her breast. “Are you awake?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Was that a yes or a no?”