The Oracle's Queen

  “No see, but hear of, like you hear of Retha’noi,” said Mahti. “If keesa be—” He stopped again, shaking his head in frustration, and turned and said something to Arkoniel.

  The wizard laughed. “If a child is naughty, the mother says, ‘be good or the pale people will come for you in the night.’ I told him Skalans tell their children the same thing of them.”

  “They see you have great people, but you not hurt or burn. They remember you.”

  “Could they hurt us if they wanted to?” asked Ki, also keeping a wary eye on the witches.

  Mahti nodded emphatically.

  At last the trail led steadily downward, back into forests of fir and oak overhung with mist. On the afternoon of the fifth day they emerged from the low-hanging clouds and looked out over a descending expanse of forest and rolling grassland. In the distance Tamír saw the dark curve of the Osiat.

  “We made it!” cried Nikides.

  “Where’s Remoni?” asked Tamír.

  Mahti pointed straight ahead and her heart beat a little faster. A day’s march at most, and she would see that harbor. In her dreams she and Ki had stood above it, a breath away from a kiss. She hadn’t had that dream for some time now, not since Afra.

  And we have kissed, she thought with an inward smile, though there had been no time for such things in days. She wondered if the dream would be different now.

  “You have good thought?”

  Mahti stood by her horse, grinning up at her.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Look there.” He pointed back the way they’d come and Tamír saw with a start that the brow of the ridge was lined with dark figures, perhaps hundreds, watching the long line of foot soldiers passing by.

  “Your people safe, if you do not try come this way again,” Mahti explained. “You make your fight and go to your own land by another trail. Southland trail.”

  “I understand. You’re not leaving us yet, though? I don’t know how to find Remoni.”

  “I take you, then I go home.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  Arkoniel’s heart had also leaped at the sight of that distant coastline. If the visions were true—and if this campaign succeeded—he would soon reach the place where he would eventually end his days. It was a strange but exciting thought.

  Once beyond the narrow confines of the mountain trail, the way became easier. The trail was well-worn and wide enough in places for two horses abreast.

  The rain came and went, but there was wood to burn that night, letting the Skalans take more comfort than they’d had in days. While the others made a fire and prepared the evening meal, Arkoniel drew Tamír aside under an oak. Ki followed, sitting down close beside her.

  Arkoniel tried not to smile. They both tried to hide it, but something had changed between them since that night at the keep. They didn’t look at one another with the eyes of a friend anymore, and they imagined that no one else could see it.

  “Arkoniel, have you found Korin?” she asked.

  “That’s what I’m about to ascertain. Will you let me cast the wizard eye on you both?”

  “Yes,” said Ki, clearly eager to try it.

  Tamír was less enthused, as always. Arkoniel had always regretted how he’d clumsily scared her, the first time he’d tried this spell with her. Nevertheless, she gave him a terse nod.

  Arkoniel cast the spell and focused his mind on likely routes. “Ah! There.” He held out his hands to them.

  Tamír reached for his hand, braced for the inevitable jolt of vertigo she experienced whenever he tried to show her something this way. It was no different this time. She squeezed her eyes closed as she felt herself swept up into the spell.

  She saw a rolling expanse of countryside far below, and an army encamped beside a broad bay. A sea of watch fires stretched across the darkened plain. “So many!” she whispered. “And look at all those horses! Thousands. Can you tell how close he is to us?”

  “That appears to be the Bay of Whales. Perhaps two days’ march from where we’re headed? Maybe less.”

  “He could have been in Atyion by now. Do you think he got word of my movements?”

  “Yes, I’d say so. Let go for a moment. I’m going to widen the search.”

  Tamír opened her eyes to find Ki grinning at her.

  “That was amazing!” he whispered, eyes shining.

  “It has its uses,” she admitted.

  Arkoniel rubbed at his eyelids. “That spell does take an effort.”

  “Korin will have scouts out looking for us,” said Ki. “Did you see any sign of them?”

  The wizard gave him a wry look. “I was lucky to find an army.”

  “We don’t need magic to tell us that,” Tamír said. “We’d better move on quickly, before he decides to come find me himself.”

  Far to the east, Tharin sat his horse, counting the banners of the force spread out across the plain before him. He had two thousand men at his back, but Nevus had at least twice that many. He’d caught them within a day’s ride of Atyion two days earlier and had not been surprised when Nevus had refused any sort of terms short of battle.

  Drawing his sword, Tharin held it high, and heard a thousand blades singing from their sheaths in answer, and the rattle of hundreds of quivers. Across the field, Nevus did the same.

  “I’ll see your body hung beside your father’s,” Tharin murmured, marking him. Rising in the saddle, he shouted, “For Tamír and Skala!”

  His army gave back the cry and their voices rolled over the plain like a tide as they charged.

  Tamír spent the next day riding back along the line with some of her Companions, to take stock of her warriors. Some had taken sick during the cold wet nights, and a few had been lost in falls along the high passes. There had been some blood feuds settled, and a handful of others had simply disappeared. There was grumbling about them having been taken by the hill folk, though desertion or mishap were more likely. Wineskins were empty, and rations were running low.

  Tamír paused often to speak with captains and common soldiers, listening to their concerns, promising them battlefield spoils, and praising their endurance. In return, she was warmed by their loyalty and their determination to set things right. Some were a bit too eager, offering to bring her Korin’s head on a pike.

  “Bring him to me alive, and I’ll pay his ransom in gold,” she told them. “Willfully spill the blood of my kinsman and you’ll have no reward from me.”

  “I bet Korin isn’t making that distinction,” Ki observed.

  To which Tamír wearily replied, “I’m not Korin.”

  The air grew warmer the farther they got from the mountains. There was ample game, and archers were sent out to supplement their dwindling food supplies with venison, hare, and grouse. Her scouting parties found no signs of habitation.

  They reached the coast late that afternoon, and Tamír savored the sweet salt air after so many days inland. The rocky coastline was deeply cut with steep-walled bays and inlets. The dark Osiat stretched away to the misty horizon, dotted with a scattering of islands.

  Mahti turned north. Open grassland between forest and the sea spread on endlessly before them, flanked on the east by forest. Deer grazed in the meadows, and rabbits broke from cover before their horses.

  The land rose, until they were high above the water on a grassy headland. Cresting a rise, Tamír caught her breath, recognizing the place even before Mahti pointed down and said, “Remoni.”

  “Yes!” There was the long, deep harbor, sheltered by the two unmistakable islands.

  She dismounted and walked to the cliff edge. The water lay hundreds of feet below. In her dreams she’d seen her reflection there, but that had only been an illusion. In reality, there was a sizable expanse of level ground at the base of the cliffs, just the place for a harbor town and jetties. The trick would be to make a passable road up to a citadel on the heights.

  Ki joined her. “You really dreamed this?”

  “
So often I lost count,” she replied. If there hadn’t been so many eyes on them, she would have kissed him, just to make certain Ki didn’t disappear and she didn’t wake up.

  “Welcome to your new city, Majesty,” said Arkoniel. “It needs a bit of work, though. I haven’t seen a decent tavern anywhere.”

  Lynx stood shading his eyes against the slanting light as she stared down at the harbor. “Uh—Tamír? Where are the ’faie ships?”

  In her excitement at finding the place, she’d overlooked that important detail. The harbor below was empty.

  They made camp there, setting out pickets to the north and east. As Mahti had promised, there were a number of good springs, and ample wood for a while.

  It was several hours before the entire column caught up, and stragglers continued to drift in for hours.

  “My people are exhausted, Majesty,” Kyman reported.

  Jorvai and Nyanis reported the same when they arrived.

  “Tell them they’ve earned a rest,” Tamír replied.

  After a meager supper of stale bread, hard cheese, and a handful of wizened berries from the hill folk, she and Ki walked among the campfires, listening to the soldiers brag of battles to come. Those who had fresh meat shared it with them, and in return she asked their names and where they hailed from. Spirits were high, and word of her vision of Remoni had gotten around during the march. The soldiers were taking it as a lucky sign that such a place actually existed and their queen had led them to it.

  The waning moon was high in the cloud-wracked sky as they started back for her tent. A fire was burning brightly and her friends sat around it. Still hidden in darkness, she paused, committing the sight of their smiling, laughing faces to memory once again. She’d seen the size of Korin’s force; in a few days’ time they might have little to smile about.

  “Come on,” Ki murmured, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “I think Nik might have a little wine left.”

  He did, and the warmth of it lifted her spirits. They might be hungry and footsore and damp, but they were here.

  She was about to turn in for the night when she heard the low, throbbing drone of Mahti’s horn somewhere nearby.

  “Now what’s he up to?” Lutha wondered aloud.

  Following the sound, they found the witch sitting on a rock overlooking the sea, eyes closed as he made his strange music. Tamír approached quietly. The song was filled with strange ups and downs, croaks and vibrations that reminded her of animal sounds, all strung together on an endless stream of breath. It blended with the cries of night birds and the distant yelp of a fox, and the voices of her army, laughter, singing, and the occasional angry shout or curse, but she didn’t feel magic in it. Relaxing for the first time in days, she leaned her shoulder against Ki’s and gazed out at the moon-washed sea. She could almost feel herself out there, bobbing on the waves like a leaf. She was nearly asleep on her feet when the song ended.

  “What was that?” Ki asked softly.

  Mahti stood up. “Farewell song. I bring you to Remoni. I go home now.” He paused, looking at Tamír. “I make a healing for you, before I go.”

  “I told you before, I don’t need any healing. I wish you’d stay with us, though. We’ll soon need your skills.”

  “I not make to fight as you do.” Mahti gazed at her, his dark eyes thoughtful. “I dream of Lhel again. She say don’t forget your noro’shesh.”

  Tamír knew that word meant Brother. “I won’t. I’ll never forget her, either. Tell her?”

  “She know.” He took up his little bundle and walked with them back to the fire to say his good-byes to Arkoniel and the others.

  Lutha and Barieus clasped hands with him.

  “We owe you our lives,” Lutha said. “I hope we meet again.”

  “You be good guides. Bring me to girl who was boy, just as I say. Bring her to my people. You are friends of Retha’noi.” He turned to Arkoniel and spoke to him in his own tongue. The wizard bowed and said something in return.

  Mahti shouldered his horn and then sniffed the breeze. “More rain come.” As he walked away, his feet made no sound on the dry grass and the shadows between the campfires soon swallowed him up as if he’d never been there at all.

  Chapter 48

  Korin dreamed of Tobin nearly every night, and the dreams were much the same. He might be walking through the great hall at Cirna, or in the palace gardens of Ero, and he would spy a familiar figure ahead of him. Each time, Tobin turned to smile tauntingly at him, then ran away. Furious, Korin would draw his sword and run after him, but could never catch up. Sometimes the dream seemed to go on for hours and he would wake tense and sweating, hand clenched around an imaginary hilt.

  The dream was different this time, though. He was riding along the edge of a high cliff, and Tobin was waiting for him in the distance. He didn’t run when Korin spurred his horse forward, just stood there, laughing.

  Laughing at him.

  Korin?”

  Korin started awake and found Urmanis bending over him. It was still dark. The watch fire outside cast long shadows up the walls of his tent. “What is it?” he rasped.

  “One of the southern scouting parties found Tobin.”

  Korin stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was still dreaming.

  “Are you awake, Kor? I said we found Tobin! He’s about a day’s march south.”

  “On the coast?” Korin murmured.

  “Yes.” The other man gave him an odd look as he handed him a cup of watered wine.

  It was a vision, he thought, downing the morning draft. He threw off the blankets and reached his boots.

  “He came through the mountains, just as we were told,” Urmanis went on, handing Korin a tunic. “If he tries to march on Cirna, we can easily cut him off here.”

  Glancing out through the open flap, Korin saw that it was close to dawn. Porion and the Companions stood waiting.

  Korin joined them. “We aren’t going to sit waiting for him any longer. Garol, have the trumpeters raise the camp. Prepare to march.”

  The squire sprinted away.

  “Moriel, summon my nobles.”

  “At once, Majesty!” The Toad hurried off.

  Korin downed the last of the wine and handed the cup back to Urmanis. “Where are the scouts who found him?”

  “Here, Majesty.” Porion presented a blond, bearded man. “Captain Esmen, Majesty, of Duke Wethring’s house.”

  The man saluted Korin. “My riders and I spotted a large force on the coast yesterday, just before sundown. I went forward myself and spied on the pickets as soon as it was dark. It’s definitely Prince Tobin. Or Queen Tamír, as we heard him called,” he added with a smirk.

  Wethring and the other nobles joined them, and Korin had the scout repeat his news. “How large a force does he have?”

  “I can’t be sure, Majesty, but I’d say considerably less than yours. It’s mostly men-at-arms, not much in the way of cavalry. Perhaps two hundred horse?”

  “Did you see any standards?”

  “Only Prince Tobin’s, Majesty, but the men I heard talking mentioned Lord Jorvai. I also heard them complaining of being hungry. I didn’t see any sign of a baggage train.”

  “That would explain how he got across the mountains so quickly,” said Porion. “He was foolish to come with so little support, though.”

  “We’re well supplied and rested,” Korin mused with satisfaction. “We’ll press our advantage. Assemble my cavalry and signal for a quick march.”

  Captain Esmen bowed again. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but I’ve more to tell. There was mention of wizards, too.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  “No, Majesty, but some of my men stayed behind to bring word if he starts north.”

  “Well done. Lord Alben, see that this man is rewarded.”

  “Will you send a herald ahead, King Korin?” asked Wethring.

  Korin smiled darkly. “The sight of my standard is all the warning my cousin will get f
rom me.”

  Mahti had been right about the weather. Misty rain rolled in off the sea during the night, damping the watch fires and soaking the already exhausted soldiers. Barieus had been coughing all evening, though he was doing his best to hide it.

  “Sleep in my tent tonight,” Tamír told him. “That’s an order. I need you fit tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” he rasped, stifling another cough behind his hand. Lutha gave him a worried look. “Take my blankets. I won’t need them on watch.”

  “You should get what rest you can, too,” Ki told Tamír.

  “I will. But not just yet. I need to speak with Arkoniel.”

  “I know where he is.”

  He lit a torch and led her back to the cliffs. Arkoniel was there with Saruel, kneeling beside his own small fire. They were both hollow-eyed from casting seeking spells, and as Tamír approached, she saw Arkoniel cough raggedly against his arm.

  “You’re ill, too?” she asked, concerned.

  “No, it’s just the damp,” he replied, though she suspected he was lying.

  “Any sign of the ’faie yet?” asked Ki.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “It’s the beginning of the stormy season on this sea,” said Saruel. “They could have been blown off course.”

  “What about Tharin?” asked Tamír.

  Arkoniel sighed and shook his head. “There is no siege at Atyion. That’s all I can tell you. Lyan has sent no word.”

  With nothing to do now but wait, Tamír let Ki lead her back to her tent and attempted to catch a few hours’ rest. Her damp clothes and Barieus’ intermittent coughing prevented deep sleep. She dozed fitfully and rose before dawn to find the world shrouded in fog. The rain was still falling, cold and persistent. Lorin and Tyrien were on watch outside, huddled under their cloaks as they fed wood to the smoking fire.

  Tamír walked away to relieve her bladder. She still missed being able to simply open her trousers. As it was, the fog spared her the necessity of going very far.

  The world was all grey and black around her. She could make out the edge of the cliff, and the dark shapes of men and horses, but it was indistinct, like the landscape of a dream. She could hear people grumbling, talking, and coughing as they stirred around their fires. Three muffled figures stood at the edge of the cliff.