The troops of the Free Lands were forced to retreat. Thanks to the magic of Sennar and Soana, they were able to limit the number of casualties, though they’d by no means come away with a victory. At the end of the day, the evidence of their defeat was clear: a large part of the southern steppe, linking the Land of the Wind to the Land of Water, was now under the Tyrant’s control.
All those who’d survived the battle took refuge in Laodamea. In the main square, a military hospital was set up to care for the wounded, and in the surrounding streets they established a makeshift encampment. The citizens of the capital came to the aid of the soldiers, doing whatever they could to help. The innkeepers turned their bars into small mess halls; the women saw to it that no soldier was without water and firewood, clean clothes and warmth; many of the city’s inhabitants offered their hospitality. Galla, the king of the Land of Water, opened up his palace doors to the generals and knights.
The army’s morale was destroyed, the situation all but hopeless. The Land of Water was surrounded by enemy troops, their encampments only a few miles off. If it were to fall, the number of remaining Free Lands would be down to two: the Land of the Sea and the Land of the Sun.
Nihal was transported to the royal palace. The wound to her shoulder was no doubt grave, though more troubling was the blank look in her eyes—she seemed to have fallen into a trance. Even in the safety of her own room, far from the cries of the wounded and downcast soldiers, she went on staring into empty space.
Laio held her hand and spoke softly to her, hoping to reassure her, but she gave no reaction.
Sennar stepped forward and gave her a light shove. “First of all, we need to take care of that wound,” he said. “Nihal?” Sennar called. “Nihal, say something.”
But Nihal remained silent. Sennar wiped the dirt from her face with a wet rag. Then, with the help of Laio, he removed her breastplate and examined her wounded shoulder. He began to recite a healing spell.
Laio stayed by his knight’s side, watching over her as she turned in her sleep, while Sennar passed the remainder of the evening tending to other wounded soldiers alongside Ganna and Soana.
At dawn, returning to the royal palace, they ran into Ido.
“That battle was the last straw, Sennar. …” said the dwarf.
“I know. But at least for the time being it seems the Tyrant has stopped. We’re safe for now.”
“Not for long,” Ido replied.
The following day, the enemy troops made no movement whatsoever: no sign of attack, no sign of retreat.
The military commanders sought to reorganize the remaining troops, but the knowledge that the Tyrant could reanimate the spirits of those fallen in battle left them with no margin of hope for victory.
They were trapped. Of course, the sorcerers on the Council could unite and continue enchanting the army’s weaponry. But with every battle the number of their soldiers would decrease, and the number of enemy troops would increase. How long could they hold out?
A special hearing of the Council, in the presence of the king Galla, was called for the following evening. All Dragon Knights were invited to participate.
Silence reigned in the royal palace. After the death of Astrea, the courtesans hardly showed their faces and the servants flitted along the halls like shadows. Galla’s suffering permeated the entire palace.
Sennar stepped out of his room and entered a long corridor. The sound of a hoarse voice calling his name startled him and he spun around.
Nihal was walking toward him, her shoulder wrapped in a thick white bandage and her face frighteningly pale. She looked like a ghost.
“What are you doing out of bed?” the sorcerer asked, pacing in her direction.
“I’m coming to the meeting,” Nihal replied.
“You can’t, Nihal. You’re weak, your wound is still—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Sennar studied her. Nihal’s face lacked all expression. In her eyes was neither sadness nor suffering. She merely stood before him, as still and cold as a stone.
Sennar took her hand in his and pressed it. “I know what happened to you during yesterday’s battle. One day this will all be over, Nihal.”
“I don’t know if I believe that anymore,” she muttered.
“But you must, Nihal. Hope is the only thing we have left.”
The large oval room was strangely dark, as if the black night beyond the city walls had crept into the palace by some secret passageway. One chandelier shed its weak light on their taut faces, aggrieved with injury, weary with uncertainty and exhaustion.
In the subterranean room were gathered eight councilors, the Dragon Knights, the general, King Galla, and Soana.
“Our troops are worn down, and the enemy far outnumbers us,” said the general, his voice drained. “It will be at least ten days before reinforcements arrive from the Land of the Sun. I’m not going to lie to you—there’s no way out of this mess.”
Galla was a young man with delicate features, blond hair, and deep blue eyes. His marriage to Astrea had been the first mixed marriage in the region, inaugurating a new era in relations between men and nymphs. He turned his troubled face toward Sennar. “When will the troops arrive from Zalenia?”
“We expect them to arrive toward the end of the month, Your Majesty. It’s a long voyage—”
Galla shrugged his shoulders. He was visibly distraught over the loss of his wife and worried for the fate of his Land. “I want to be frank with you, Councilors. The Land of Water is no longer capable of offering you any protection. Our people are not prepared for battle. The nymphs are most certainly not warriors, and our men have never been trained to fight. Our fate now rests in the hands of the enemy, I fear.”
“Your Majesty, General …” Sennar pleaded. “We’ve bolstered all our weaponry with the enchantment. We can fight back now. I know that’s not much, but at least it’s something. We can’t let ourselves be discouraged.”
Theris, the nymph representing the Land of Water, was next to speak up. “What you say is courageous, Sennar. But we can’t delude ourselves any longer. After forty years of war we don’t have the strength left to face this new attack.”
From the corner where she sat, Nihal listened. She listened and she knew that the time for hesitation was over. And yet, even had she wanted to stand and speak, her legs would not have obeyed.
The councilor Sate, a dwarf from the Land of the Sun, cut in: “The Council must be preserved at all costs, Sennar. And everyone who opposes the Tyrant along with it. For which reason I believe we have no choice but to flee. The Land of Water, at this point, has already been lost.”
Galla shot him a cold stare. “Astrea died protecting this Land and now you’re proposing we just run off. No, Councilor. My place is here, among my people. My destiny is the destiny of the Land of Water.”
“We understand your reasoning, Your Majesty,” one of the knights replied, “but the preservation of the Council is fundamental. It’s above all thanks to the Council that we’ve survived in these years of warring. For it to fall would mean the fall of the Free Lands. Sate is right. The Council must flee the region. The army, however, will remain here, at your side.”
“Even if that’s the right decision,” Ido cut in, “that doesn’t change the fact that we’re surrounded by hundreds of damned ghosts out there right now.”
Dagon rose to his feet. “There has to be a way, Ido. An ancient ritual used only a handful of times. Combining the magic of all the councilors, it’s possible to recite a spell that will transport us to a remote location.”
“My queen is dead, Dagon,” said Theris. “I’m staying right here. I couldn’t do otherwise.”
The representative from the Land of the Sea cleared his voice. “Councilors, your attention please. It’s all very well to say the Council should save itself. But then what? It’s not only the salvation of the Council that we’re fighting for here. This is an attack against all the Free Lands. If we can’t find a
way to defeat the Tyrant, his evil will swallow us all. Here or wherever else we run.”
Silence filled the room.
Nihal stared into the flickering candlelight. There’s no other way. There’s no other choice. The path is already clear, all you have to do is walk down it. When she stood, she could feel the eyes of everyone in the room fixed on her. She turned and left without looking back.
Again, as she stepped through the doorway, Nihal was flooded with the smell of rot and aromatic herbs. The odor made her stomach churn with doubt. Rallying her strength, she pressed onward beneath the bouquets of wilted flowers hanging from the ceiling, until she noticed a shrunken figure in the corner, huddled over a piece of parchment.
The old woman’s head snapped to attention. A wry, ambiguous smile spread across her shriveled face.
Nihal stared at her for a moment or two, unblinking. “Reis,” she spoke up at last, her voice clear and resolute, “I’m ready to begin.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Originally published in Italy as Cronache del mondo emerso: La missione di Sennar
Translated from Italian by Ann Gagliardi and Todd Portnowitz.
Copyright © 2011 by Arnoldo Mondadori Editore, S.p.A.
English translation © 2014 by Arnoldo Mondadori Editore, S.p.A.
Cover illustration by Corrado Vanelli © Arnoldo Mondadori Editore S.p.A.
Graphic designer: Stefano Moro
Art director: Fernando Ambrosi
Ebook ISBN 978-1-4804-4281-8
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Licia Troisi, Sennar's Mission
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