The Dawn Star (30 page)

“And I will do my best with the envoy.”

“I am indebted to you.”

He reddened. “Just have a healthy, hearty baby, eh?”

She managed a smile. “I will.”

Slate came over to them, limping, which worried Jade. “I'm sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But the atajazid's men want to take Drummer back.”

Jade laid her hand on his arm. “Are you all right, Aqui?” She rarely called him by his personal name, though she had known him almost as long as she had known Spearcaster. But tonight everything was tangled up. For all that Slate debated with her about everything from politics to the best spices in food, she felt great affection for him, as she would for a stern but good-hearted uncle. It worried her to see him so drained.

“Just tired,” he said, more gruffly than usual. “I don't move as easily these days as you young people.”

“You'll outlive us all,” Baz told him. Jade could see he shared her concern. Slate and Spearcaster were both getting older, but the years weighed more heavily on Slate.

“Stop worrying so,” Slate told her. “Come. Let us deal with your husband.”

In the hushed hours before dawn, they arranged for Drummer's return to Ozar's camp. Although Drummer seemed relieved she hadn't refused, she sensed his fear. She felt as if she were dying.

Soon the sun would rise.

M
el scrabbled to the top of the ridge. It was no thicker than a fortress wall, as if some monstrous deity had pushed up giant sheets of rock in row after row. She looked down the way she had climbed, and the drop made her stomach roil. If she lost her grip, she would fall a long way before she struck the bottom of the ravine between this ridge and the previous. She was clinging to a wall of the sky. All around her, more walls reached for the heartless roof of blue that capped the world. Behind her, the sky was lightening to herald the sun that would soon edge above the Jagged Teeth.

With one last heave, Mel sprawled across the top of the ridge. It extended barely more than the length of her body before it plunged down on the other side.

She looked west.

The ridges continued in rows stretching north and south, each lower than the last. It was an incredible and untamed vista. But the panorama wasn't what made her breath catch. She had seen such vistas endlessly for the past day. What made her sit up and stare—what caused her swell of emotion—was that in front of her, to the west, she could finally see beyond the ridges. The foothills of the Jagged Teeth lay before her and an army stretched along them. Beyond that, in the misty reaches of Aronsdale, another army had gathered, one even larger than the Jazid forces. Chamberlight.

“Thank you,” Mel whispered to Azure, to Lapis Lazuli who rode the wind and turned diamonds into waterfalls, and to Verdant, who tended the edible plants that had kept Mel alive. Today she could reach Cobalt—if Ozar didn't find and kill her first.

In the dimness that preceded dawn, Cobalt stood in his tent. He had lit no candles or lamps. The still morning cooled his feverish mood. Despite his few hours of sleep, he had awoken early. He broke his fast on battle rations and dressed in armor. He held his helmet under his arm, and his sword hung at his side. Soon he would know what Taka Mal had to say. He feared their words, but he feared even more to hear nothing at all, to have Mel disappear with no trace except a bloody rag.

The flap of his tent rustled, and Matthew spoke. “Cobalt? Are you awake?”

“Come in,” Cobalt said.

Matthew pulled aside the flap, and predawn light poured through the opening. He was wearing the scuffed leather armor of a cavalry man. He glanced around the dark interior, then fastened up the flap to keep the light flowing inside.

“Why are you standing in the dark?” Matthew came over to him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.” Cobalt answered only the second question. He couldn't say he sought the calm darkness because otherwise he felt as if he would explode.

Matthew spoke quietly. “An envoy approaches from the Citadel of the Dragon-Sun.”

Cobalt's pulse jumped. “Is Mel with them?”

“I don't know.” Matthew started to reach out, but when Cobalt stiffened, he dropped his hand. “Cobalt, you have to be realistic. She could be in Jazid. Even if Taka Mal has her, they won't send their hostages to negotiate for the release of their hostages. And they may truly have no idea what happened to her.”

“I will not negotiate for Mel,” Cobalt said. Yet if they gave him evidence she lived, he would do anything to get her back. He had questions about the Jazid ring, troubled questions, but he had more evidence against the House of Quaazera than against Onyx.

Matthew was watching him with that strange expression, as if his heart were breaking. “Shall we go outside?”

“All right.”

Matthew stood aside to let Cobalt go first. Cobalt didn't care about protocols. Matthew had been his childhood protector, the man who dared the king's wrath. Matthew was his confidant. His mentor. Matthew and Agate Cragland had stood up for Cobalt at his wedding. Mel had once asked him if Matthew was his friend. Had it only been a year and a few months since then? He had known so little about friendship, he hadn't understood what she asked. He had said,
He is my stable hand.
It was what Matthew called himself until Mel gave him the title of stable master, which Cobalt acknowledged was a better description of Matthew's job. Even that seemed paltry, though. How did he define their link? Matthew was one of the few people Cobalt trusted. The only others were Mel and his mother.

He is my stable hand.
That had been so very wrong.

Cobalt glanced at Matthew as they walked through the muted predawn. “Thank you.”

Matthew blinked at him. “For what?”

Cobalt wanted to say:
For granting me more than three decades of the love that Varqelle, my father, could never give me.

“For making sure I was awake,” Cobalt said.

Matthew harrumphed. “After all that ale you drank last night, I thought I'd find you snoring on your stomach.”

On another morning Cobalt might have laughed or growled good-naturedly. Not today. He had nothing in him but this horrible waiting sensation. Waiting to know if his wife had died.

A man approached them in the predawn dimness. Agate Cragland. The general wore armor and carried his helmet.

“My men met the envoy outside of camp,” Agate said. “They are waiting for you.”

Cobalt felt his pulse hammering. “Who came with them?”

Agate spoke with difficulty. “Neither your wife nor Drummer.”

The morning crashed around Cobalt, in silence. “I see.”

“That doesn't mean they aren't alive,” Agate said.

Cobalt started walking, and Matthew and Agate joined him. The army was awakening around them, the foot soldiers and cavalry and tenders, breaking their fast, donning gear, seeing to their mounts, sharpening weapons.

Preparing to fight.

A dry wind blew across Cobalt's bare chin. He had shaved this morning in case he would see Mel. Now he wondered what his razor would do to the person who had tortured his wife. He tried to shut the images out of his mind, but his imagination didn't fail him, however much he wanted that to happen. He saw Mel screaming, and he couldn't escape that agony.

They walked on, and soldiers rose to salute him. After he passed, they settled down to their meals or tasks. They were well trained. Ready to fight. In his mind, he was already giving the order to move against Taka Mal. Or Jazid. Ozar and Vizarana were probably working together.
Someone
had taken his wife, and the maggot was out there in the Rocklands or the Jagged Teeth.

They hadn't brought Mel. Nothing they said would change that. If he invaded Taka Mal, he would start a war of far greater proportions than the one in Shazire. Jazid would probably fight with Taka Mal. The Aronsdale army remained a cipher. They might stay put, they might ally with him, or they might go against him. He didn't know. He had sent envoys to Ozar and Jarid, and they had sent envoys to him, and no one was committing to anything.

In his mind, Mel screamed as the whip struck her.

“No,” he whispered. He remembered vividly why he had spent so much of his life locking his emotions in a mental fortress. If he kept everyone out, he was safe. Then Mel had shattered the walls of his inner citadel and taught him to love. Now he was paying the price, because he couldn't wall away his anguish.

The campsites became few and far between, and still he walked with Matthew and Agate. Up ahead, a cluster of riders were dismounting. Some of the men and horses bore the red and gold colors of Taka Mal; others the blue and white of the Misted Cliffs. He thought he also saw the Dawnfield violet and white. His unease grew. Had Jarid allied with Taka Mal?

As Cobalt approached, they turned to him—and he gave a start. The man in Dawnfield colors was Samuel Fieldson. Cobalt didn't know him well; they had spoken only a handful of times. But those interactions had impressed Cobalt. He trusted the Dawnfield commander more than any of these Taka Mal officers.

General Spearcaster had returned, but today he deferred to a man in bronze armor and a red-plumed Dragon-Sun helmet. The diagonal line of six enameled disks across the stranger's chest marked him as a Taka Mal general. Cobalt had never seen so many disks, even more than Spearcaster's five. The hilt of the man's sheathed sword glittered. The Chamberlight army had spent this past season training to counter those strange curved blades.

The man pulled off his helmet. He had dark hair, a strong chin, a hooked nose and the large build classic for a Taka Mal warrior. He held himself with the ease of someone confident in his authority, and he nodded to Cobalt as royalty would to royalty. His voice, rough in its nuances, rumbled with the Taka Mal drawl.

“I am Baz Goldstone Quaazera,” he said. “General of the Queen's Army.”

Saints almighty. They had sent the Quaazera prince himself. Cobalt didn't miss the implied honor. But Lieutenant Kaj claimed this man had whipped Mel to death.

“What have you come to tell me?” Cobalt's words scraped with the strain of controlling his emotions. “That you will negotiate for my wife? I will not bargain. Release her.” His voice nearly cracked, but he kept it steady. “Or my army will march against Taka Mal.”

Baz's forehead furrowed. “Your Majesty, we know nothing of your wife. I swear this to you on the honor of my House.”

Anyone who tortured a pregnant woman had no honor. Cobalt pulled out the bundle he had stuffed in his helmet. Yellow silk. He spoke with difficulty. “Twenty-three days ago, my wife was taken from Alzire. Yesterday, Lieutenant Kaj deserted your army to bring me
this.
” He shoved the silk at Quaazera. “Perhaps you recognize it.”

The general took the cloth. As he examined it, his face paled. “It is soaked with blood.”

“Those are my wife's clothes.” Cobalt didn't know how he kept his voice steady. “Kaj says you tortured her to death and are doing similar to her uncle.”

“He lies! We did not kidnap your wife. No one has tortured Drummer. Vizarana is a civilized and decent human being.”

“And you are a good actor.”

Baz flushed an angry red. “You believe a deserter before the commander of the Queen's Army?”

“He gave me evidence.” Cobalt took the silk from Baz and clenched it in his raised fist. “Give me evidence that he lies! Bring my wife.”

“When I last saw your future wife,” Baz said, “she was nine years old. I have no idea where she is.”

Agate spoke. “Then bring Drummer Headwind here.”

Spearcaster and even Fieldson paled. Baz said, “We don't bring hostages to negotiate their own release.”

“We need only see him,” Agate said. “To know he is well.”

Baz nodded his acceptance of the compromise. “He will be at the negotiations.”

Cobalt didn't want to compromise. “Bring him now,” he grated.

“We will not be coerced!” Baz said.

“You are not such a good actor after all,” Cobalt said. “Your lies are obvious.”

“Wait,” Fieldson said. He looked from Baz to Spearcaster and back to Baz again. The Quaazera prince scowled at him. Then Baz spoke to Cobalt with a formality that indicated respect, though it sounded strained. “I would like to confer with Sphere-General Fieldson, your envoy.”

“Why?” Cobalt demanded. “So you can plan more lies?”

“Your Majesty.” Fieldson addressed him with similar formality, albeit more polished. “As your envoy, I wish to speak with you in private. But I must present it to the rest of this Taka Mal envoy. I cannot act unilaterally.”

It fell within accepted protocols. Cobalt wanted to refuse anyway. Had it been Baz asking, he would have, but he knew Fieldson's reputation for veracity.

“Very well,” Cobalt said coldly. “Five minutes.”

Fieldson bowed, followed by Spearcaster, and after a minuscule but detectable pause, Baz did, too. The men withdrew a short distance away and spoke together. The rest of the envoy and the Chamberlight guards had stepped back, holding the horses, which left Cobalt standing between Matthew and Agate.

“They're hiding something,” Matthew said.

“Yes.” Cobalt spoke to Agate. “You lead the foot troops. I will go with the cavalry.”

Agate didn't have to ask what he meant. “You cannot fight with your men. We can't risk your death.”

Cobalt clenched the silk rags. “I must go.”

“Your father told me the same thing when we went into battle in Shazire.” Agate's gaze never wavered. “And he died.”

Cobalt just shook his head. He couldn't sit by while his men went to war. Especially not when it involved Mel.

The three generals were coming back. They looked grim, but they seemed to have reached a consensus. Perhaps they had simply ensured their lies were consistent.

Fieldson nodded to Cobalt. “May we speak privately?”

Cobalt indicated an outcropping of rocks that jutted up like giant teeth. The sky had turned a vivid carnelian hue that painted the air and land around them red, as if they were already bathed in blood.

He and Fieldson walked away from the others, to the outcropping. Fieldson spoke without preamble. “It is true, what they told you. They know nothing about your wife.”