— 56 —

The Wormhole stronghold was lost during the fourth day of the siege. The Plenimarans were systematically burning the districts of the city and Iya watched from a distance as the stone buildings above the Wormhole blazed like furnaces. Old Lyman and the others too old or infirm had been sped on, passing their life force into friends or former apprentices. There had been no safe place to move them.

The city was unrecognizable. The last of the free wizards crept through the raddled landscape like ghosts. Even the enemy had forsaken the wasteland they’d created, massing instead around the smoke-blackened bastion of the Palatine.

Iya and Dylias gathered the survivors near the east gate that night, sheltering in the ruins of a granary. Of the thirty-eight wizards she’d known here, only nineteen were left, and eight were wounded. None were warriors, but they’d moved with stealth and attacked small forces by surprise, banding together to use their newfound strength against necromancer and soldiers alike.

Some of them had fallen by magic—Orgeus had been caught in a magical blast of some sort and died instantly. Saruel the Khatme, who’d been with him, had lost the hearing in one ear. Archers or swordsmen had killed others. None had been taken alive.

Too many precious lives lost, Iya thought, keeping watch through that long night. And too much power gone already.

As she’d suspected, wizards could draw strength from one another if they chose and it was compounded, not diminished. The fewer of them there were, the less power they could muster. And yet they had fought well. As near as she could tell, they’d killed all but a few of the necromancers. Iya had killed three herself, slaying them with the same heat she’d used to melt the cup the night she’d first visited the Wormhole. She’d never turned that on a living being before; they’d fizzled and burst their skins like sausages. It had been a most satisfying sight.

“What do we do now?” a young wizard named Hariad asked, as they crouched with the others in the smoky granary, sharing what food they’d been able to scavenge.

All eyes turned to Iya. She’d never claimed to be their leader, but she had brought the vision. Setting aside the stale crust she’d been eating, she rubbed at her eyes and sighed. “We’ve done all we can, I think. We can’t get into the Palatine, and we’re no match for an army. But if we can get out, we might be of some use to Tobin when she arrives.”

And so it was decided. Iya and her ragged defenders abandoned the city and fled under cover of darkness and magic, making their way through the scattered Plenimaran pickets beyond the ruins of the north gate.

Following the same route Tobin had taken three nights earlier, they found their way to the copse where Eyoli still lay hidden. She expected to find a corpse, for she’d had no word from him since the night he was wounded. He’d managed one message spell, telling her of the ambush, then nothing.

Instead, she was amazed to find him unconscious but alive. Tobin had left him bundled in Plenimaran cloaks beneath a large oak, with half a dozen canteens around him. The crows had been busy among the dead scattered on the open ground beyond the trees, but the young mind clouder was untouched.

It was a cold, clear night. They built a small fire and made camp under the trees. Iya gave Eyoli what help she could and he came to at last.

“I dreamed—I saw her!” he croaked, reaching weakly for her hand.

Iya stroked his brow. “Yes, we all did.”

“Then it’s true? It was Prince Tobin all along?”

“Yes. And you helped her.”

Eyoli smiled and closed his eyes. “That’s all right, then. I don’t mind about the rest.”

Iya stripped the crusted bandage from his shoulder and wrinkled her nose at the smell. The wound was full of pus, but there was no sign of the spreading rot. She let out a sigh of relief. She’d grown fond of this fearless young man, and come to depend on him, too. She’d lost count of the times he’d passed through the Harriers’ net, carrying messages. He’d mastered the message spell, too, which still eluded her.

“Saruel, bring what simples you have left,” she called softly. Iya wrapped herself in her cloak and leaned back against the tree while the Aurënfaie cleaned the wound. Summoning what strength she had left, she sent out a seeing spell, skimming above the darkened countryside to the Palatine. They still fought there, but the dead lay everywhere and the three necromancers she’d been unable to hunt down or vanquish were busy before the gates.

Turning her mind north, she saw Tobin and her raiders bearing down on a Plenimaran outpost, and the army that followed close behind. “Come, my queen,” she murmured as the vision faded. “Claim your birthright.”

“She has claimed it,” a cold voice whispered close to her ear.

Opening her eyes, Iya saw Brother crouched beside her, his pale thin lips curled in a sneer.

“Your work is done, old woman.” He reached toward her, as if to take her hand.

Iya saw her own death in those bottomless black eyes, but summoned a protection spell just in time. “No. Not yet. There’s more left for me to do.”

The spell held, rocking the demon back on his haunches. He bared his teeth at her. Freed from Tobin, he seemed even less human than before. He had the greenish cast of a corpse. “I don’t forget,” he whispered, slowly melting into the darkness. “Never forget…”

Iya shuddered. Sooner or latter this piper would demand his pay, but not yet. Not yet.

A sound like thunder woke them at dawn. The earth shook and twigs and dead leaves rained down around them. Iya eased the stiffness from her back and limped to the edge of the trees with the others.

Their little copse was about to become an island caught between two great opposing waves. A dark mass of horsemen was nearly upon them from the north and Iya made out the banners of Atyion and Ilear in the forefront. To the south, a host of Plenimaran infantry was marching to meet them. In minutes they’d be at the center of a battle.

And where are you in all that, Arkoniel? she wondered, but knew a sighting spell would be wasted energy. There was no way to help him, even if she knew where he was.

The attack on the farmstead was no more than a raid, and a bit of good luck in the dark. No ballad or lesson had prepared Ki for the reality of battle.

Somehow word of their coming had reached the city. They’d gone less than half a mile from the farm when they saw a large force advancing to meet them.

Ki had listened as well as he could to old Raven’s strategy lessons and histories, but he was happy enough to leave such things to Tobin and the officers. His only thought was to do his duty and keep his friend alive.

“How many?” Tobin asked, reining in.

“Two thousand or so,” Grannia called back. “And they’re not stopping to set stakes.”

Tobin conferred briefly with Tharin and Lord Kyman. “Put foot and archers in the fore,” she ordered. “Atyion’s horse will take right wing, Ilear on the left. I’ll stay at the center with my guard and Grannia’s company.”

The Plenimarans did not stop to parlay or entrench, but came at them in ordered ranks, spears gleaming in the sunlight like a field of silvery oats. Banners of red, black, gold, and white tilted on standards at the front. The forward lines marched in tight squares and used tall rectangular shields to form a wall and roof against arrows.

The Skalan archers went forward first, in five ranks of a hundred each. Aiming high, they shot over the shield line and sent wave after whistling wave of feathered death into the ranks of infantry behind them. The Plenimarans answered with flights of their own and Ki wheeled his horse and threw his shield up to protect Tobin.

Orders flew up and down the front line, bellowed from sergeant to sergeant. Tobin raised her sword and the foot soldiers set off at a trot to meet the Plenimaran line.

Tobin watched for an opening, then gave the signal again and kicked her mount forward. Ki and Tharin flanked her as they went from trot to canter to full gallop. When he could make out the faces of the enemy Ki drew his sword with the others and joined in the war cries.

“Atyion for Skala and the Four!”

They crashed into the melee and very nearly came to grief. A pikeman caught Tobin’s charger in the side and it reared. For one awful instant Ki saw Tobin’s helmeted head framed against the cloudy blue sky above him. Then she was falling, tumbling backward into the maelstrom of surging horses and men.

“Tobin!” Tharin cried, trying to urge his horse through the press to get to her.

Ki leaped from the saddle, dodging and ducking as he sought a flash of her surcoat. A horseman knocked him sprawling, then he was rolling to avoid the trampling hooves that seemed to come at him from every side.

It turned out to be the right direction, for suddenly she was there in front of him, laying about with her sword. Ki ducked another rearing horse and dashed to her, putting his back to hers just as a Plenimaran knight broke through and swung a saber at her head. Ki caught the blade with his own and felt the shock of it all the way to his shoulder.

Tharin rode free of the press and brought his blade down on the man’s head, knocking him off his feet. Ki finished the job.

“Come on, Kadmen has your horses!” he shouted.

He and Tobin mounted, but were soon afoot again as the line ground to a halt. It was like scything an endless hayfield, this fighting. Their sword hands were blistered and numb and glued to their hilts with blood before the enemy finally broke and ran.

“What happened?” Tobin asked as they climbed back into the saddle.

“Colath!” the cry came down the line. “Colath has come to our aid.”

“Colath?” Ki shouted. “That’s Lord Jorvai. Ahra will be with him!”

The Plenimarans were on the run by then, with Jorvai’s orange-and-green banner close behind.

“No quarter!” Tobin cried, raising her sword. “After them, riders, and give no quarter.”

Eyoli was too sick to move, and there was nowhere to take him anyway with the two armies clashing around them. Iya cast an occlusion over him where he lay and set wards to keep him from being trampled. Arrows sang through the foliage and Iya heard a cry, then the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.

“Iya, here. Hurry!” Dylias called.

A party of Plenimaran archers was running toward the trees. Iya joined hands with Saruel and Dylias, and they began the chant. Power surged through them and with the others Iya pointed a hand at the enemy. A flash like lightning sizzled from the wizards’ fingertips and twenty men fell, struck dead in an instant. Those few who survived turned tail and ran.

“Run, you dogs. For Skala!” Dylias cried, shaking his fist at their backs.

The battle swirled back and forth across the plain all morning and the wizards manned the copse like a fortress. When the last of their useful magic was spent, they took to the treetops and hid there.

The two sides were evenly matched in number, and the Plenimarans were a formidable foe. Three times Iya saw Tobin’s banner falter and three times it was taken up again. Helpless to do anything but Watch, Iya clung to the rough trunk and prayed that the Lightbearer would not let so much pain and sacrifice be lost here in sight of the city.

As if in answer to her plea, a huge body of horsemen appeared from the north just as the sun passed noon.

“It’s Colath!” someone cried out.

“A thousand at least!” someone else shouted, and a ragged cheer went up.

The forces of Colath struck on the Plenimarans’ left flank, and the enemy line faltered, then broke. Tobin’s cavalry fell on them like a pack of wolves. The Plenimaran standards fell, and what followed was a massacre.

The rout drove the few survivors back to the city. Tobin led her army straight on for the northern wall.

The Plenimaran defenders there were ready for them. They’d set stakes across the road and fortified the broken gates. Archers behind the stake line and along the walls sent a hail of arrows down on the Skalans as they charged.

For one awful moment Ki was afraid Tobin would keep right on going into the enemy line. She looked like a demon herself, fierce and blood-soaked. But she stopped at last.

Oblivious to the shafts whining around them, she sat her horse and surveyed the gate ahead. Ki and Lynx rode to cover her. Behind them Tharin was shouting and swearing.

“Come on!” Ki shouted, catching two shafts with his shield.

Tobin cast a last glance at the gate, then wheeled her horse and brandished her sword, leading the way back out of range.

“Sakor-touched!” Ki hissed through his teeth, spurring after her.

They rode back a quarter mile or so and stopped to regroup. As Tobin conferred with Lord Kyman and Tharin, a grizzled lord and his escort rode up and hailed her. Ki recognized Jorvai and his eldest sons, but doubted they’d know him. He’d been a scrawny swineherd on Jorvai’s land when they’d last seen him.

Jorvai was the same hale old warrior he remembered. Recognizing Tobin by her surcoat, he dismounted and knelt to present his sword. “My prince! Will the Scion of Atyion accept the aid of Colath?”

“Yes. Rise, with Atyion’s thanks,” Tobin replied.

But Jorvai remained on his knees, looking up at her from beneath his shaggy grey brows. “Is this the son of Rhius I bow to?”

Tobin pulled off her helm. “I am the daughter of Ariani and Rhius.”

Arkoniel and the Illioran priestess who’d come with them from Atyion stepped out to join them. “This is the one who was foretold. She is as she says,” the priestess told him.

“It’s true,” Arkoniel told him. “I’ve known Tobin since birth, and this is the same person.”

“By the Light!” A look of pure wonder came over Jorvai’s face. He had heard the prophecies, and believed. “Will the daughter of Ariani accept the fealty of Colath?”

Tobin accepted his sword. “I do, and most gratefully. Rise, Lord Jorvai and clasp hands with me. My father spoke well of you.”

“He was a great warrior, your father. It seems you take after him. And here’s Captain Tharin!” He and Tharin embraced. “By the Light, I haven’t seen you in years. It’s good to find you still among the living.”

Tobin smiled. “Tell me, my lord, does Ahra of Oakmount still serve you?”

“She’s one of my best captains.”

Tobin motioned Ki forward and clasped his shoulder. “Tell Captain Ahra that her brother and I asked after her, and that she should seek us out when Ero is safe.”

Jorvai looked more closely at Ki. “Well now! One of old Larenth’s boys, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lord. Kirothius of Oakmount. And Rilmar,” he added.

Jorvai laughed outright at this. “I miss the old bandit and his brood. I don’t doubt you’re well pleased with this one, Highness, if he takes after his old dad.”

“He does, my lord,” Tobin replied, and Ki could tell she liked the plainspoken old man. No wonder, he thought fondly; they’re cut from the same cloth.

This had been well-tended farmland when Iya and the wizard had crossed it last night. Now, as if some great tide had come and gone, the churned soil was scattered with bodies, hundreds of men and horses abandoned like broken toys across acres of trampled mud.

Tobin had chased off the enemy, but soon returned and stopped half a mile off. Iya gathered the others, and they set off to meet her, with some of the younger men carrying Eyoli in a cloak.

As they left the cover of the trees a black war charger thundered past with rolling red eyes, dragging its entrails behind it. His dead master dangled and bounced alongside, one foot still caught in the iron loop of a stirrup.

The groans of the wounded came from all sides as the wizards made their way across the battlefield. Skalan men-at-arms were still busy dispatching the dying and stripping the enemy corpses.

Ero was wreathed in a sullen sunset haze. The Palatine was still under siege, but Iya could also make out a dark line of men before the lower gates. The enemy would not be taken unawares there.

Reaching the main body of Tobin’s army, they were questioned briefly, then led to the center of the great throng where Tobin was conferring with a group of warriors. Jorvai and Kyman were foremost among them. Ki and Tharin were both still with her, and Arkoniel, too, Iya saw with a rush of relief. The young wizard saw her and touched Tobin’s shoulder. Tobin turned, and Iya’s breath caught in her throat.

This was the face the Oracle had shown her—weary, filthy, not beautiful, but indomitable. This was their warrior queen.

“Majesty,” Iya said, hurrying forward and sinking to her knees. The others joined her. “I bring wizards loyal to you and to Skala.”

“Iya! Thank the Four, but where did you come from?” The voice was different, and yet the same. Tobin drew her to her feet and gave Iya a wry grin. “You’ve never knelt to me before. And I’m not queen yet.”

“You will be. You’ve come into your own at last.”

“And your work is done.”

A chill ran up Iya’s spine. Had Tobin intentionally echoed Brother’s words? But she saw only welcome in her eyes and a fierce resolve.

“And your work is just begun, it seems, but you’ll have help,” she told Tobin. “This is Master Dylias. He and these others stood against the Harriers and fought for Ero. They were with me when I found you and the Companions the other day.”

“Thank you all,” Tobin said, bowing to the ragtag group.

“And we’ll fight for you again, if you’ll have us,” Dylias said, bowing low. “We bring fresh word of the enemy’s movements inside the city. We were there until last night.”

Tobin took him to consult with her captains and lords, but Ki and Arkoniel stayed with Iya.

Arkoniel embraced her, holding her tight. “By the Light!” he mumbled, and she realized he was weeping. “We did it,” he whispered against her shoulder. “Can you believe it? We did it!”

“Indeed we did, my dear.” She gave him a squeeze, and he stepped back, wiping his eyes. For a moment he looked like a boy again and her heart swelled.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Mistress,” Ki told her shyly. “I didn’t like leaving you back there.”

Iya smiled. “And here you are, right where you belong. I knew I chose well that day.”

“You might have told me a bit more,” he replied softly. She caught a hint of accusation in those dark brown eyes, but it disappeared as he caught sight of Eyoli, who was being tended to by several healers now. “Eyoli, is that you?” he exclaimed, hurrying over. “Hey, Tobin, look! He’s alive after all!”

Tobin came back and knelt by the young wizard. “Thank the Light! I just sent riders looking for you, but here you are!”

Eyoli raised his hand to his brow and heart. “As soon as I have my strength back, I’ll fight for you again. Perhaps I’ll get better at it, with practice.”

Tobin laughed, a clear, good sound in the midst of such a day, then stood and called out, “All of you, this is the wizard Eyoli, who helped me escape from Ero. I declare him a hero and my friend!”

A cheer went up and the young man colored shyly.

Tobin moved to Iya’s side. “And this is the seer you’ve heard of. It was Mistress Iya who the Lightbearer spoke to, and she and Master Arkoniel who protected me as a child. They’re to be held in highest honor forever.”

Iya and Arkoniel bowed in their turn and touched their hearts and brows to Tobin.

Mounting her horse again, Tobin addressed them again in a loud voice.

“I thank you all for your bravery, your faith, and your loyalty. Every man and woman who fought beside me today is a hero worthy of the name, but I must ask more of you.”

She pointed to the smoking city. “For the first time in our long history, an enemy holds Ero. By all reports, there may still be as many as six thousand waiting for us there. We must go on. I will go on! Will you follow me?”

The response was deafening. Tobin’s charger reared and she brandished her sword. The blade caught the sunset light, flashing like Sakor’s fiery sword.

Gradually the cheering took on a rhythm. “The queen! The queen!”

Tobin motioned for silence. It took some time, but when she could be heard again, she cried out, “By the Lightbearer’s moon rising in the east, I swear to you that I will be your queen, but I will not claim that title until it’s the Sword of Ghërilain I lift in my right hand. I’m told my kinsman Prince Korin holds it now—”

She was drowned out by a swell of angry voices.

“Usurper!”

“The plague bringer’s son!”

But Tobin wasn’t finished. “Hear me, loyal Skalans, and pass this on to all you meet as my will!” Her voice was hoarse now, but it carried. “Prince Korin’s blood is as true as my own! I will not have it spilled. Any man who harms my kinsman harms me and will be counted among my enemies! Look there.” She pointed at the ruined city again. “Even as you curse him, the prince fights for Skala. We fight for Ero, not against Korin!” She paused and seemed to sag a bit. “Let us save our land. We’ll sort out the rest after that. For Ero and Skala!”

Arkoniel heaved a sigh of relief as the throng took up the call, but Iya frowned. “Doesn’t she realize he won’t just step aside?”

“Perhaps not, and even if she does, this was the right thing to say,” he replied. “Not every lord will be as easily won as Kyman or Jorvai. There are too many of Solari’s ilk left, and Korin has a legitimate claim in the eyes of many others. Tobin can’t be known first as a kin slayer or renegade. Whatever happens later on, I suspect this speech of hers just laid the foundation of her legend.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Trust the Lightbearer, Iya. The fact that she came through that battle in one piece is a good omen. And the fact that we’re both standing here with her, too.” He hugged her again. “By the Light, I’m glad to see you. When Eyoli sent word of the attack the other day—Well, it sounded bad.”

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon, either! Have you learned to fly?” she asked. “And what happened to your wrist? Were you hurt in the battle?”

He laughed. “No, I kept out of that. But I did make good use of that spell I showed you. Remember the one I lost my finger to?”

Iya raised a disapproving eyebrow. “The translocation? By the Light, you used it on yourself?”

“I’ve made some improvements since we last spoke. It was the only way to get to her in time.” He held up his broken wrist again. “Can’t say that I recommend it for general use just yet, but think of it, Iya! A hundred miles crossed in the blink of an eye.”

Iya shook her head. “I knew you’d be great, dear boy. I just had no idea how quickly you’d achieve it. I’m so proud of you—” She broke off with a sudden look of alarm. “Where is it? You haven’t let it out of your possession already?”

Arkoniel pulled back his cloak and showed her the battered old leather bag at his belt. “Here it is.”

“And there they are, and their necromancers,” Iya murmured, frowning back at Ero. “Keep away from them. Hang back if you must, or throw it through one of those black holes of yours, but don’t let it be taken!”

“I thought of that after I got here,” he admitted. “I could send it back. Wythnir is still—”

“No. Remember what Ranai told you. Only one Guardian can carry it, and that child is not the one. If the worst should come and I still live, send it to me.”

“And if you’re—gone?”

“Well, I guess we better keep an eye out for other successors, eh?” She sighed. “What it has to do with any of this, I don’t know, but at least we’ve come this far. I saw Tobin revealed, Arkoniel, that night in Ero. The others did, too. It must have been when the binding spell was broken. I saw her face as clearly as I see yours now. Did you and Lhel see her, too?”

“I did, but I don’t know about Lhel. I haven’t seen her since midwinter. She’s just—disappeared. There wasn’t time to look for her when I was at the keep yesterday, but Nari hadn’t seen her since we left for the mountains.”

“You’re worried for her.”

Arkoniel nodded. “She left in the dead of winter and took almost nothing with her. If she didn’t return to the keep or her oak—Well, perhaps she didn’t make it back at all. She had nowhere else to go except to her own people, and I don’t think she’d do that before Brother was free.”

“No, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

“Perhaps she’ll come to Ero,” he said without much hope.

“Perhaps. What about Brother? Have you seen him?”

“Not since Tobin undid the binding. He appeared for a moment then. Have you?”

“A glimpse. He’s not finished with us yet, Arkoniel.” Her fingers were cold as she clasped his hand. “Be on your guard.”