The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two (17 page)

Alle and Eadoin murmured the expected pleasantries, as Cerise helped Kiara loosen the bodice of her gown so that Cwynn could nurse.

“He looks quite healthy, with good lungs,” Alle observed as Cwynn finally quieted down to eat. “So the wormroot had no effect?”

Kiara sighed. “We’re still not sure. There are so many things that have been unusual, not the least the way he seems to be affected by magic in ways that even Tris doesn’t understand. As far as we know, Cwynn has no magic of his own. I wouldn’t expect him to; he’s far too young.

“He stymies every attempt Tris has made to read his life force, yet Cheira Talwyn of the Sworn believes that Cwynn has great power. She thinks at least some of this fussing is because he hears something in the magic, something the rest of us don’t. Something that might even be related to the invaders from the north.” Kiara began to gently stroke Cwynn’s downy hair. “He’s already seen far too much excitement for just a babe, and I’m afraid it’s only the beginning.”

“We gathered from Mikhail’s note that your rather sudden journey would require some special help with the baby,” Eadoin said, clearing her throat. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing with us one of my ladies’ maids, a lovely young girl by the name of Verley, who is a new mother herself. She’s brought her own baby with her, as she’s nursing, you see. Verley’s mother and grandmother have been part of my household for their entire lives, and I trust them implicitly. Soul of discretion. So if part of your concern comes from worrying that the child will go hungry, Verley is amply prepared to meet his needs along with her own child’s.”

Kiara felt a wave of gratitude and relief, followed by a cold pang of jealousy at the thought of sharing so intimate a moment as nursing with a total stranger.
You don’t have the luxury to begrudge this
, she chided herself.
It’s the price of the crown
.

“Part of me wishes I dared send him away to Brightmoor, safely out of the palace,” Kiara murmured.

Alle and Eadoin exchanged glances. “I remember what happened when we tried to move you someplace we thought would be safer,” Alle said. “That didn’t work out well. The assassin still found us. Let’s stay here at Shekerishet this time.”

Kiara shivered. “I agree.”

Kiara felt something rustle against her skirts and looked down to see Tris’s two favorite wolfhounds stirring. The dogs paused for a friendly sniff at the nursing baby, and then greeted Alle and Eadoin as old friends, with their long tails wagging. Kiara knew that wherever the two wolfhounds went, so went the ghost of a mastiff, the third of their “pack,” unseen by everyone but Tris.

Cwynn ate with gusto, and Kiara cradled him against herself fiercely. Alle and Eadoin talked merrily about the recent harvest and the news from Brightmoor, Eadoin’s estate. But while Kiara smiled and nodded, it was a struggle to swallow back her tears.

I don’t want to leave Cwynn, kingdoms be damned! Look how small he is
, she thought as one of Cwynn’s tiny hands curled around her finger. She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of Cwynn’s small body against her flesh, trying to permanently sear the feeling of his eager suckling into her memory.
Who will watch over him, if neither Tris nor I return from war?
Kiara felt a stab of pain at the thought. She stroked Cwynn’s back gently, letting her fingers memorize the feel of his smooth skin and his downy hair.

Finally, Cwynn ended his meal with a contented sigh and nestled against Kiara, eyes fluttering closed in sleep. Kiara watched the even rise and fall of Cwynn’s chest, and when the nurse came to take him from her, Kiara shook her head.

“You’ll have months to hold him when I’m gone,” she whispered. “I only have tonight.”

Alle brought a shawl to cover Kiara’s shoulders and Kiara shifted enough to permit the return of her bodice to a more modest position. In her arms, Cwynn mewled softly and then settled into slumber. For a few moments, no one spoke, and all eyes were on the sleeping prince.

“The thought of riding into battle doesn’t terrify me,” Kiara said quietly, eyes still fixed on Cwynn. “No more than it should for any rational being. I’ve seen battle before, and I’ve been trained for it since I could hold a sword.”

She shook her head. “Leaving Isencroft, seeing Tris ride off for war—each time I thought my heart would break.” Tears welled up and she struggled for composure. “Father’s death would be enough of a blow. Taking the crown in the middle of an invasion and a civil war troubles me, but it’s a military exercise. It can be done. But leaving Cwynn,” she said, and her voice caught. “I feel as if leaving Cwynn behind will stop my blood and take my breath.” She looked up at Alle and Eadoin. “There’s no other course, Goddess help me. But right now, I don’t know how to survive it all.”

Alle and Eadoin rallied around her, encircling Kiara with their arms so gently that Cwynn did not stir. “You’ll survive because you’re strong,” Eadoin said, meeting Kiara’s eyes. “And so is Cwynn. Neither of you will be alone. And I have no doubt that you—and Tris—will be home again to see this little one grow up.” She smiled. “Now, my dear, it’s time to let Cwynn sleep. You have things to prepare, and you’ll need your rest.”

Reluctantly, Kiara let the nursemaid take Cwynn. The baby stretched and turned, and a scowl darkened his face for a few seconds until he settled in the nurse’s arms. Kiara permitted herself a deep sigh, and then she straightened her shoulders and fastened the rest of her bodice. “Thank you. I’m sorry to be so overcome. It’s just—”

“It’s never easy to leave the ones we love, even when we have no choice,” Eadoin reassured her. “I’ve found that business is the best cure for heartache. Let’s get you ready to go.”

T
he problem is, Your Majesty, it’s damned near impossible to hold the whole coastline secure indefinitely.” Tolya, captain of the ship
Istra’s Vengeance
and leader of the Northern Fleet, leaned forward. He had come straight from his ship, and tonight, he wore none of his looted finery.

Instead, Tolya wore a loose tunic shirt smudged with soot and darkened in places with blood. His breeches were similarly marred, and his high boots were scuffed. The gold rings and gemstones he had worn on his first meeting with the king were absent, the better for him to grasp his cutlass. His dark black hair was plaited into a thick braid, and dark eyes glinted beneath heavy brows.

“Do you think their purpose is to break our line or to wear us down?” Tris looked from Tolya to Sister Fallon, one of his most gifted mages, who sat to Tolya’s right. “When our mages aren’t conjuring up storms and rough seas to trouble the invaders, they’re fighting back against the Temnottans’ magic to raise havoc here.”

“The last two weeks have felt like a test of strength,”
Fallon replied. “We know from the spies and from the reports out of Isencroft that the brunt of the attack has been aimed at breaking through on the Isencroft coast. Whoever is behind this attack may be trying to keep us busy so that we don’t send our resources to Isencroft’s aid.”

“I wonder if wearing us down isn’t closer to the truth.” They turned to look at Pashka, the chief of the fishermen whose flotilla of small boats augmented the privateer vessels Tolya and his captains lent to the war effort.

Tris grimaced. “An expensive gamble, if that’s all there is to it.”

“Each salvo grows fiercer, as if the invaders originally thought to land their ships without challenge. I know little of battle magic, having experience only with the fishwives and hedge witches of our villages, but even they hesitate to use a greater magic when lesser power would suffice,” Pashka said. He was a man in his middle years, gray templed, with hands broadened and callused by hard work. “I wonder if, now that we’ve frustrated their intent to make an easy landing, it’s taken them some testing to determine what might be required to break our line.”

“The invaders can’t sit in the harbor forever,” Tris mused. “For one thing, it’s a tremendous drain on their mages to animate the dead. I suspect there are more soldiers in those boats, soldiers who are very much alive. Our troops and ships are on home territory. We can resupply easily. They’re limited to the food and water they brought with them, unless they can land and replenish.”

“And, undoubtedly, that’s what they mean to do,” Fallon said. “But have you noticed: The magic so far has been minor workings, nothing on par with what we might
expect from the ‘dark summoner’ King Donelan warned about. Most of the attacks so far have been physical.”

“There are several ways to read that,” Tris thought aloud. “The Temnottans could be keeping us pinned here as a diversion. We don’t know how good their spies are, and they’ve been isolated from the rest of the Winter Kingdoms for over a hundred years. Perhaps they don’t realize the politics that keeps Margolan from marching its army to the defense of Isencroft.”

“That’s one possibility.” Fallon crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, staring at her empty cup of tea in thought. “Their dark summoner might not be as powerful as Donelan feared, or perhaps he’s doing his best to draw us out, to gauge how well we might withstand his attack.”

“Which is exactly why I’ve avoided interceding in the magical attacks so far,” Tris finished for her. “But the men are growing restless. We can’t stay in the field forever. An army this size consumes a huge amount of provisions, and we have little enough to spare.”

“What do you feel in your magic, Tris?” Fallon asked.

Tris drew a deep breath. “I feel a storm coming. There’s power out there, holding back. I think they’ve been looking for a weak spot, and there’s no telling whether they think they’ve found one.”

“What about us? Have we found a weak spot?” It was Pashka who spoke, and Tris knew that the fishermen and his flotilla captains had spent the last two weeks harrying the invading fleet, easy targets for arrows and hot oil grenades.

Tris met Fallon’s eyes and nodded. “I believe so. I think that the Temnottans never expected to find an army in the field waiting for them. So our first strike was preemptive. They’ve hung back, having already revealed
their intention to make war, but finding it harder to attack than they expected. It’s time for the next strike on our part.”

Tris looked from Pashka to Tolya. “Tonight, our weather mages will bring in a heavy fog to give your ships cover to withdraw. Pull back to safe harbors and wait. Once you’re clear, the water mages will cause a sea surge, driving the Temnottans in toward shore. At the same time, the land mages will shift and raise the sand bars. We plan to drive the ships into range of our catapults and trebuchets, or run them aground on the sandbars.”

“And once they’re wrecked or aground, my ships can help you make short work of them,” Tolya said with a wolfish smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week, Your Majesty. We’re ready to fight.”

“Get word back to your ships right away,” Tris cautioned. “We move in five candlemarks.”

“I hate being this far behind the lines,” Tris grumbled to Fallon. They stood atop a wooden platform well behind the front lines. It was high enough to afford a view of the harbor but not so tall as to become a target. Tris tapped his telescope against his leg nervously. The spyglass might help with detail, but the tower afforded an adequate view without help of lenses.

“You’re the king, not a foot soldier,” Fallon chided. “And I don’t believe for a moment that you’ll weather the entire war without having a hand in the action. Right now, we can manage without your sword or magic. Be grateful. It won’t last.”

“I know. It’s just that—”

Fallon looked at him appraisingly. “Another premonition?”

Tris nodded. “I have a very strong feeling that we’ll break the stalemate today. I wish I know how or when. But I don’t. Magic can be damnably unclear.”

Fallon glanced at the swords that he carried. “You’re carrying Nexus. That alone tells me you’re expecting whatever happens today to be as much about magic as it is about fighting.”

In the scabbard at Tris’s belt hung the finely forged sword he preferred for combat. But in a back scabbard waited another sword, Nexus, the sword that had once belonged to the legendary summoner Bava K’aa, Tris’s grandmother. Nexus had a sentience and power of its own, and while Tris had not yet fully learned the extent of the sword’s capability, he knew its value in arcane battle firsthand. Even the warning that Nexus required a breath of the user’s soul in payment for its protection did not deter Tris from carrying the sword this night.

As planned, a heavy fog shrouded the bay. Below in the camp, Tris heard the bells strike nine times.

“Now.” Fallon’s voice was quiet, full of anticipation. And although Tris did not contribute any of his magic to this attack, he could feel the power weaving warp and weft around him, wrenching violently against the tide.

In the distance, Tris heard the heavy thud of the catapults and the whoosh of the trebuchets as the bombardment began. From their post, they saw only shadows sailing into the fog from the heavy armaments that ringed the high ground. “There’s no way to see if we’re actually hitting anything,” Tris muttered.

Suddenly, the night grew bright as day as light and flames flared from the direction of the waterline. A wall of flames replaced the dark line of the shore, and Tris could
hear the screams and cries of soldiers scrambling to get out of its way.

A curtain of seawater rose to douse the flames, but instead of extinguishing the fire, the water scattered the flames, which burned even hotter than before. Another wave of fire streaked through the night sky, landing even farther inland. Tris felt the buffeting of sudden winds, no doubt the response of the air mages to the assault, but like the water, wind only fed the flames.