Obsidian (29 page)

He had thought that he could figure it all out if he could get a moment to himself. But now that he had that moment, in the quiet next to Thelámos’ stable, he only felt the pain of Kynell’s rejection. What had he done wrong? Everything, as Kynell had silently reminded him. The other things Kynell had said, something about serving well, were fuzzy and unimportant. But that one phrase, “They are no longer my Advocates,” hammered again and again at his brain. It made him angry. He clenched and unclenched his fist, wanting to break something. He had never been seriously angry at Kynell before, but now he wanted to let him have it. That night, up in the mountains, when he had determined to follow the Prysm no matter what, had Kynell even heard him? Or if he had, perhaps he had just checked off Vancien’s name under the category of “easy victories.” But his anger was mixed with guilt, which reminded him with brutal force that any real service was impossible for him—that it had always been impossible. His own inadequacies made his commitments paltry and delusional, little more than a speck in the plans of either Obsidian or the Prysm.

A quiet knock on the doorpost interrupted his thoughts. It was Amarian. He looked battered and tired, but composed.

“Telenar sent me to look for you,” he said, as if apologizing. “It’s been so crazy today. He wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I could ask the same question of him.” Vancien’s voice was harder than he had intended. He couldn’t blame Telenar. They were both caught in the same trap. “I mean, how is he doing with Kynell. . .” He wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question, but Amarian knew what he meant.

“It’s hard to say. He’s not talking about it.”

“Why didn’t he come himself?”

Amarian sat down beside him. Vancien could smell the dust on him. “Chiyo has him counseling the soldiers. They all have questions. Relgaren is with him, too, trying to keep them at their posts instead of flocking to the soakers.”

“Maybe we should flock, too.”

Amarian gave him a look, but did not respond. After a moment, he picked up a piece of hay and started splitting it down the middle. “When I was with Zyreio, he always acted as if he didn’t need me, as if he could barely stand me. I always thought he was a little ashamed of having an Advocate. Maybe that’s why he despised me so much. Maybe Kynell feels the same way.”

“Kynell is not Zyreio.” Vancien replied.

“Of course he’s not. But they’re not like us. Kynell is a god, just like Zyreio seems to be.” That sounded awkward, he knew, but he also knew Vancien’s sensitivity on the point.

“I just don’t understand,” Vancien broke in. “I don’t know what I am to him. If anything.”

Amarian was about to answer, but he was interrupted by Chiyo standing in the door.

“I figured you might still be up,” he said to Vancien. “I wasn’t kidding when I said to get some rest.” He looked at Amarian. “Vancien needs to get some sleep.”

Both of them nodded, but not without feeling the shame of being ordered about like ordinary men. Amarian got to his feet. “I’ve got to find Bedge anyway. I think she was going to try and sneak in with the soakers.” Yet when he reached the door, he stopped. “They’re just not like us,” he repeated, then left Vancien to his sleep.

Vancien did try to rest, and he finally succeeded, although it felt like he had just closed his eyes when he heard Chiyo’s voice again.

“Vancien, get up. It’s time.”

As he rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned, he noticed that Chiyo was carrying a bow and a quiver full of arrows in one hand. In the other, a deep bucket.

“Take this bucket and strap it to Thelámos,” Chiyo began, not waiting through another yawn. “Make sure it’s within easy reach. Thelámos does not get nervous around fire?”

Finally waking up, Vancien shook his head and led the Ealatrophe out of his stall. Then he started lashing the bucket above Thelámos’ right shoulder. “I don’t think so. I’ve never tested him.”

Chiyo did not say anything. Instead, he pulled out some flint and in a few quick strokes, had the hay burning at Thelámos’ feet. With a shout, Vancien jumped to put it out, but Chiyo held him back. Thelámos, meanwhile, fixed a disdainful eye on Chiyo, then on the small blaze. Delicately moving his claws away from the heat, he bent down and breathed over it. The fire disappeared, leaving only a tendril of smoke from the ashes.

Chiyo nodded with satisfaction. “Telenar was right. Okay, then. . .” He clapped his hands together and turned toward Vancien.“The bucket you just put on Thelámos is lined with casing tar, which is non-flammable. At the bottom of bucket is a thick layer of gruel, which is a sticky, flammable substance that one of our fine chemists has cooked up. The ends of these arrows,” he pulled one out of the quiver, “have been wrapped with rags to soak up as much gruel as possible. Before you take off, you need to light the gruel. Its burn is low but intense—the bucket is deep enough to hide its glow, I think. Then, as Thelámos starts tipping each machine, you dip an arrow into the gruel and stick it on to whatever part of the machine you can reach. When the slightest amount of wind comes in contact with lit gruel, it will burst into a full flame. That’s great once it is on the machine, but be careful when you pull the arrow out at first.”

“So what’s the bow for?”

“In case you have time to shoot at a couple of catapults or ballistae. But focus on the trebuchets and siege towers. Make it a clean approach. Quick, quiet. I imagine you’ll be able to get at least two machines on the first run before they know what’s going on. Then you’ll have to lie low before you strike again. Dawn is still a few hours away, so we should have plenty of time to do some damage.”

Vancien nodded. His stomach was in knots.

“You will attack the northern machines first. Like I said, try to get two. They’re going to be confused by the first long enough to try a second. After that, disappear back over the woods. Then fly south around the back of the army. Keep your distance: we don’t want a chance arrow taking you down. There will be a force awaiting you in the trees south of the Obsidian forces. How strong is Thelámos’s sense of smell?”

“I think his sight is better.”

“Okay. I was hoping he’d be able to smell it before he could see it, but it should still work. Relgaré has requested to be in charge of the sortie. He’s been equipped with a tall metal tube that fits over a small campfire, so it’s only visible from the air.” He grimaced. “That’s the plan, anyway. We’re hoping you can see it and make contact with Relgaré.”

“Relgaré, huh? So how will I know it’s him and not a party of Chasmites camping out?”

Chiyo dug a small pouch out of his belt. He held it out to Vancien. Inside was a foul-smelling brown powder. “Chur-root. It’ll make the fire burn green for a few moments. They’ve been instructed to burn it every five to ten minutes. So watch for it. When you see the green, land, make contact, then take to the air again. All his men will be ready to move. The plan is for them to attack the southern flank of the Easterners a split second before you take down the engines on that side. When you hear their shouts, attack.”

Vancien looked dubiously at the bucket tied to Thelámos and the quiver in his hands. “And the retreat?”

“Do not try to take on the whole army by yourself. When you have taken down some more engines on the southern side, fly straight back to the wall. Just have Thelámos give a screech before you go. Relgaré knows to listen for it and retreat as soon as he hears it. We don’t expect his crew to do much damage; they are there as a diversion for you.”

Vancien shouldered the quiver and the bow and stepped toward the Ealatrophe. “Anything else?”

Chiyo did not respond immediately. He gave Vancien a thoughtful look before holding out his hand. “May Kynell keep you safe, Vancien. It has been a privilege to serve alongside you.”

They shook hands and Vancien led Thelámos out of the stall before his fear could show. Chiyo’s words reminded him again of how dangerous his mission was. But then he remembered his anger. What was it to Kynell if he died tonight? Would he even know, caught up as he was with his precious soaking crew? The thought made him shiver. He had never feared death before—especially after having gone through it—but this was different. Tonight of all nights, the god of the Prysm would not be with him. And Zyreio was in that army.

He shivered and leaned against Thelámos for warmth. Soon they had walked to a clear enough space that the great Ealatrophe could spread his wings. Without a further thought, Vancien swung himself up onto his back and gripped his neck tightly. Lascombe was counting on him—more than that, Chiyo had put his faith in him. Whatever Kynell might think, there was no backing down now.

Soon he was over the northern tree line. The air was cool and the night was cloudy. He was glad for his armor; the padding kept him from feeling the chill of the air as it rushed by him. Normally, he would have taken comfort in the steady whoosh of Thelámos’s wings, but tonight he couldn’t hear them, so great was the chaotic sound coming from the army as he drew near. Night did nothing to still their torment. He fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands; not only would that be unpractical, but he couldn’t think of a less manly way to enter battle.

He realized with a start that he had forgotten to light the gruel. With a frustrated grunt, he pulled Thelámos back and directed him into a circular path over the trees. Then he dug out the flint pieces to strike a spark. It took him a few tries: bending over Thelámos’s shoulder while reaching into a deep bucket proved awkward. Nor could he see what he was doing; the sudden heat on his hands, however, must mean that the gruel had caught. He leaned back, watching to see if flames would shoot out of the bucket’s top. They did not. He could barely discern even a faint glow. As usual, Chiyo had been right.

Now it was time to move. He closed his eyes and urged Thelámos forward, toward the campfires of the Easterners.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Ealatrophe had keen sight; even though the areas around the machines were poorly lit, he had no trouble finding the first one. As he drew near, Vancien grabbed an arrow from the quiver and thrust it into the bucket. Thelámos’s talons seized the tip of the engine—a trebuchet—and started to pull. Vancien jerked the arrow out of the bucket, leaned back behind Thelámos’s flapping wing, and lodged the incendiary in the machine’s top joint.

He heard a creaking and a quiet whoosh of flame, but before he could survey his handiwork, Thelámos was taking him to the next machine, this one a siege tower. It was much taller than the trebuchet, so Thelámos entered a steep climb while Vancien heard the chaos below him take on a sharper pitch—presumably in response to the falling trebuchet. He tried to ignore it and prepare the next arrow. But Thelámos hit the side of the tower a little hard and low. Recovering quickly, he scrambled to the top ledge, but he had lost all of his forward momentum and had to flap backwards, pulling with his legs. This made Vancien’s task that much more difficult, but he managed to get low enough over Thelámos’s shoulder to plant the arrow just as gravity began to take over. Another machine down.

Arrows were whizzing around them, but the Chasmite humans had little better vision than their mortal counterparts. As the second machine crashed to the ground, Thelámos was able to fly back to the trees. So far, so good. Vancien had never been so grateful for a cloudy night; if the Chasmites had been able to see him at all, there would have been holes in Thelámos’s wings. As it was, they remained intact and carried them far behind the army, then south to meet up with Relgaré’s men.

The Obsidian forces filled up the breadth of the wide, shallow valley that indicated the end of the plains and the beginning of Lascombe’s hinterland. Vancien had never realized how broad that valley was until he was crossing it in the echo of the Chasmites’ fury, counting the beat of Thelámos’s wings and looking for the tree-line that held the old king.

Finally, the air changed around them and Vancien could tell they had made it.

“All right, Thelámos,” he whispered, “look for the green fire.”

The great beast responded by dropping his altitude and humming low in his throat. It was a sound Vancien had never heard before this night, but one that he was beginning to associate with battle and stealth.

If he thought it had taken a long time to cross behind the army, he was unpleasantly surprised at the length of time it took to find that faint, green glimmer among the trees. Thelámos circled endlessly, adopting a sort of crisscross pattern to cover a wide area in the least amount of time. Just as Vancien thought it was impossible to find them before orbrise, Thelámos gave a tiny screech. Vancien rubbed his eyes and saw a green glimmer below and to his right. The Ealatrophe did not need any guidance; he headed straight for it. After hovering a moment far above the small flame to make sure all was well, he landed.

The atmosphere in the small camp was sober. All was dark, but he could hear the sound of swords being sharpened and voyoté shifting. He could hear quiet comments here and there, but could see scarcely anyone. Fortunately, Relgaré was right there to meet them. Vancien recognized his voice, and to his surprise, found it comforting.

“Vancien, it’s good to see you,” he said. “We were concerned that the night was waning too fast.”

Vancien returned the greeting and jumped to the ground. He needed to stretch his legs before the next attack. “Two machines are down.”