Armies withered. Armies burned. Armies rose. Armies fell.
The armies marched again.
A team of scouts hunkered near a small fire at the center of a battered tent that stank of muskox and damp. Matron Narathas of Gaol crouched across from them and asked, “How far off is their army?”
“Two miles south, sir, but they’ll freeze before they reach the camp, sir,” one of the scouts, Mattie, said.
“Neither of you froze,” Narathas said, “and you came as far as they’ll have to. You can see why that gives me little comfort.”
Narathas’s army lay camped behind her. A scant dozen fires burned in pits among their tents, wet wood piled over dry to evaporate the water from it, sending up swirls of gray smoke almost lost in the leaden pallor of the sky. Could that army guess how many soldiers waited for them here? If they guessed, would they turn away, or descend now and get it done with? That was always the question Narathas had when assessing numbers.
“One other thing, sir,” the second scout said, voice low. “Lord Aurora is among them, holed up in the noble’s tent.
Cold crept up Narathas’s spine. “Get me Tashina.”
The scouts bowed their heads and left the tent.
Narathas warmed her hands, scowling. She should have gone around these bloody mountains. Trying to conquer mountain people was a fools’ errand. Here she was playing the fool while the wind wailed and her soldiers whined. She longed for the cold if only to keep her soldiers distracted from their own stink.
Tashina entered. Her black hair hung long and loose past her shoulders. Gray peppered her hair. A few stray gray hairs protruded from her chin. She often tugged thoughtfully at them, usually while telling the old story about how her mother was born of a bear and how happy she would be to show all the other places on her broad body where the hair lay in matted tangles, keeping her warm.
Tashina bowed her head.
“There’s an army two miles south. Little less than nine hundred,” Narathas said.
“That’s more than three times ours.”
“I can do figures.” Narathas cleared a circle of grass to show the bare earth beneath. She drew out her position in the dirt. “We can hope that they don’t cross the river. It’s frozen, but to take that many soldiers across could be disastrous.”
Tashina crouched beside the dirt circle. “They would chance it if they knew you were here. That girl never recognized you as Matron, and it stirs her up. She’s young and hot-headed.”
“If I move the soldiers from camp, they may freeze waiting for an army that never appears. If I don’t move them, we’ll be forced into the mountains at our backs.”
Tashina remained silent.
“Oh, just say it,” Narathas spat.
Tashina shrugged. “You wanted this war. Get all that blood ore and conquer the world from the mountains to the sea.”
“I can see it, Tashina. Why can’t you, old friend?”
“Oh, I see it. But I also have to count the wounded and replace the dead.” Tashina tapped at their position in the dirt. “We could go on the offensive. Attack them.”
Tashina took the stick from Narathas’s hand. “We have three patrols here, here, and here. They’re only thirty head apiece, but a force that would surprise a sleeping army. If they come from behind, we can split the bulk of our army into three forces and send them across the river separately. Our bowstrings will freeze and snap, eventually. We’ll have just enough time to send fire into the camp. Take the supply wagons first, then the girl’s tent, some others along the rim to trap those within, and head in among the confusion.” Tashina sat back on her heels.
“You should know that your son, Aurora, is with them.”
The woman’s mouth formed a tight line. “He’s always been a witch-child. If he prefers the company of petty foreign nobles to the blood of his people, that is his decision, and his downfall.”
“This is a bold attack. Why so bold?”
“Should we wait for a thousand soldiers to trap us up with the Simde Mountains at our backs? We don’t have enough of an army left to survive that kind of an attack.”
“They’ll be a defending force. We would have to outnumber them three to one to succeed. And we haven’t considered Aurora.”
“I told you—’’
Narathas held up a hand. “I know he’s a found child. I’ve heard the rumors about his … gifts. If the girl persuades him, seduces him, how badly can he move against us?”
“When last I heard from him, he was seeking a teacher who could teach her how to control his … gift. But when he left, he could do little. Had odd dreams that came true. Could stir up a wind …”
“Is that all?” Narathas took the stick that she had been drawing in the dirt with and shoved it back into the fire. “He can’t set fire to things, hurl objects, or project images?”
“No.” Tashina’s voice was soft.
Narathas rested her elbows on her knees. “I care for my armies, my soldiers, because they are loyal to me as you are, and believe in my cause as you do. And I will not betray their loyalty to me by sending them into a perilous situation unprepared, just as I would never betray your loyalty in a similar way. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”
“You are indeed a fair woman, Narathas of Gaol. I’ll not begrudge you that.”
Narathas gave a slow nod. “Then ready them. We move in two hours.”
Another army for the field.
Lord Burla of Grandia watched the smoke rising from the north, small wisps of gray that were barely perceivable against the leaden sky. Blankets of white covered the world in all directions, the pale color broken only by drab clusters of evergreen trees that made up the woodland on the other side of the river. Somewhere, nestled within that shrouded woodland, was an army waiting to be annihilated.
Burla held a warm cup of tea in one hand. Steam warmed her chin. She was just twenty but understood how to move, how to speak in a way that carried weight. Her lineage helped. She knew much about bluster and confidence. She was leading her army back from a border squabble, showing them off to the locals as she did. Showing the small folk the might of the army never hurt; it helped morale for those who wanted protection and dissuaded those bent on insurrection.
A cry rose from the outlying ring of tents, and she glanced back to the river. Plowing up great sprays of snow came a single runner, a man who looked to be no more than a disembodied head at first glance, clothed as he was in a stark white tunic, trousers, and boots.
The runner dropped a hurried bow that took him to his knees.
Burla put a gloved hand to the boy’s face.
“Narathas,” the boy sputtered and gasped in another breath. “Matron Narathas of Gaol … with a small force. We easily outnumber them three to one! Two miles out.”
“Are you certain?” A stab of hope, or was it anticipation? Finally, Narathas had come for her.
“Aye,” the boy said. “Saw her with my own eyes meeting with her runners … called in the woman. Her … war commander, sir.”
Burla gazed out again at the wispy tails of smoke trailing skyward.
“Narathas of Gaol. Ever punctual. You lazy harridan.” She helped the boy to his feet. “Come boy, into my tent. Garera!”
A man ran over from a small fire several yards away. “Yes, lord?”
“Get me my war commanders. And Aurora. We’re to finish Narathas today.”
Narathas led with Tashina at her right. At her left stood the thick, stocky form of Itague of Gaol, a man with a great swath of graying-brown hair and a grating voice that sent the runners hopping to report the plan to the three scouting forces at the other side of the river.
In her mind’s eye, Narathas saw the river, the layout of the girl’s camp. She stumbled and cursed herself for her lack of attention to the snow-laden woodland. From the massed army at Narathas’s back, a single woman came to Narathas’s shoulder and told her the soldiers were suffering from numbed feet and fingers.
“We’ll split them up here,” Narathas said. “We’re not far from the river. The fight will warm their blood.”
They halted the army and split the forces. Itague led the right flank, Tashina the left, and Narathas took the force that would come in from the center.
“Wait for our arrows,” Narathas said to Tashina and Itague. “My group will hit the girl’s tent and supply wagons. You take the outlying tents. Move in at my call. I’ll be at the head of the group. If I’m not, assume the worst, and Tashina, you have my army and titles. Is this agreeable?”
The two commanders nodded. A clap on the back, brief handshakes, and the three parted, taking their forces with them.
With less than a mile left to march, Narathas sent out a woman to scout ahead. Progress was slow across the snowy plain and cluttered woodlands. Narathas began to doubt her offensive. Their pace was agony in this terrain. But she wanted this over with, wanted that dull upstart of a girl and her upstart of a country rolled into hers. Narathas called for silence. They were almost upon the camp.
Narathas could make out the snowy white depression that was the Ylnd River. And there, on the other side, the huddle of tents spreading out across the snowy plain. The snow had been packed down between each of the tents, dirtying the pale ground cover to a dull brown. Narathas paused. That seemed to be a great deal of activity for a single overnight stay. Worse, not a soul walked among the tents and not a wisp of smoke rose into the cold air.
“Sir?” Whispers from her army.
Narathas held up a hand. “Not yet. Be still and listen. She withdrew them. Use your eyes and look for them.” Narathas looked out past the camp but could make out nothing but blurry clumps of evergreen trees. Not a breath of movement stirred the plain.
“There, sir.” A girl at her right pointed a brown swathed arm toward a clump of evergreens at the far side of the river, so far out Narathas could only make out the green and brown colors, hazy and indistinct to her eyes.
“Tell me what you see,” Narathas said, “and keep your arm down. Be still.”
The girl came alongside Narathas. Her face was filthy and little bits of frozen condensation clung to her lashes.
“I can see a dozen men there under the bows,” the girl said. “The line might go back three, four, maybe more deep.”
“Find me two fast runners.”
The girl came back with runners. “We’re as fast as you’ll find, sir,” one of them said.
“What are your names?”
“I’m Calik, this is Jak.”
“Calik, find Tashina and our right flanking force. Jak, report to Itague. Tell them that the noble’s men are waiting to ambush us. Tell him to wait for my signal. If we light our arrows, both forces’ orders are to hit the trees, then charge across. But if I emerge from the wood unarmed, we retreat. Understood?”
Both nodded.
“Repeat it back to me.” They did and Narathas dismissed them. If her luck held, neither would be murdered before relaying their messages.
As she waited in the brush, her legs began to cramp and she forced herself to kneel. Slowly, carefully, she stretched out her aching limbs. Her soldiers also began to stir, grow restless, but Narathas dared not tell them to string their bows just yet. They had lost the element of surprise and she was still on the edge of turning back.
Calik returned ten minutes later, slinking through the woodland at Narathas’s right. Tashina, Calik said, was ready for her signal.
Narathas settled in to wait for Jak, but after a quarter-hour—nothing. The move was Narathas’s. She grimaced.
“String bows!” Narathas called. Forty-three bows were strung with warmed bowstrings kept close to the body to keep them supple. Tar-coated arrowheads were pulled from quivers and a precious coal was taken from its place inside a tinder-packed antler.
“Light them,” Narathas said. “Calik, give them the target.”
Calik instructed the first line of fighters on the evergreen groves and joined their ranks. Within moments, the coal ignited the first arrow and they shared the fire down the line until a blistering line of fire wound forty-three soldiers across.
The word rested on the tip of Narathas’s tongue as she watched the fiery brands dancing in front of her, making up the first row of her attack. A lot of people were going to die today. But she wanted to hold that girl’s head to the fire tonight herself. No time for regrets. “Attack!”
Forty-three arrows flew for the trees. From the right, the arrows from Tashina’s force also zipped skyward.
And that’s when Narathas saw the full extent of what waited for them across the river.
Lord Burla saw the first volley of fiery arrows streak overhead. Without a moment’s hesitation, knowing a second volley was soon to follow, she raised the cry. She threw open the tent she had been crouching in and burst forth in time to see the second volley streak by—well out of range of the camp. Her soldiers erupted from the tents with crossbows in hand, bolts loaded and ready to fire.
As she whirled around to face the direction from which the attack came, a wide grin spread across her face. The third volley of arrows lay burning in long rows behind them, thudding into the snow at a force that was not hers!
Another volley. The loud twang and snap of frozen bowstrings met her ears. Some arrows still flew true, their course re-directed to aim for the tents and out-of-range supply wagons. Those arrows still came far short and most flew headlong into the snowy ground, landing with a loud hiss and thump.
From behind, she heard her force advancing, and she glanced over his shoulder. A scant forty-eight soldiers poured out of the trees, or what was left of the trees. They were Narathas of Gaol’s third force, their numbers now damaged critically by Narathas’s own tarred arrows. She had, as Burla intended, attacked her own stupid army.
“Bless you, Aurora,” she murmured because this was nothing but a warm-up for the real show.
Burla gazed across the river to Narathas. She was easy to make out, a chunky mountain of a woman with a grim face that inspired epics. Their eyes met across the frozen river.
Lord Burla leapt forward and Narathas’s force surged to meet her.
Narathas realized her error too late. The girl … her soldiers poured forward from the tents, ready to engulf them. The last volley of arrows fell short and Narathas knew that they would have to face Burla with swords.
Narathas advanced, gripping the cool hilt of her sword with cold hands. The girl’s battle cry came first and Narathas roared a challenge. Hundreds of voices echoed theirs and then the world became lost in the sound of feet scuffling across snow and metal on metal. Narathas heard her own breath coming hard and fast, and the panting of those around her grew loud.
She gutted a smooth-faced boy and glanced over his shoulder. “Tashina!” she shouted and turned around in time to swing at the bearded face of an enemy soldier. The man cried out, let go of his sword. Narathas hacked at his shoulder, felt the bone tremble and snap, and the man fell.
“Here, Narathas!”
Narathas whirled to face Tashina. The woman bore a fresh red welt across her cheek and blood-soaked the sleeve of her tunic.
“It was Aurora’s trickery, Narathas! An illusion, making us attack each other! I didn’t know he was capable of—”
“Where is he, Tashina? Find him! There is far worse waiting if we don’t find him!” All the old stories came rushing back to her about what the witch-children, the forest beasts, could do. Lightning from a clear sky. Peeling the skins off women with a look.
Tashina pushed into the mass of men and bodies, sword blade dull with blood. Narathas paired off with another attacker. She stumbled over a groaning body and her opponent took advantage, brought down her blade onto Narathas’s collar. Narathas pulled away, shifted her weight, and deflected much of the blow. Still, a shudder wracked her body and she heard something crackle inside. Thrusting forward with her sword point, she caught the woman in the belly and pushed her aside.
There was the one she wanted, just there—she could see the girl’s red cape, the ends bloody and tattered, crusted with snow. Narathas slew two more attackers and yanked at the end of the cape.
The girl whirled around. A spray of crystalizing blood marked one cheek. When her gaze met Narathas’s, her eyes blazed. She beamed like a frozen sun come to fiery life.
“We’re ending this, girl,” Narathas said.
She raised her sword. “Lord Burla,” the girl said. “Use my name and my title. I live in your shadow no longer, Mother.”
Their blades met. Narathas’s shoulder protested and a pang of pain ran down her spine. Burla thrust forward. Narathas found herself defending, forced backward toward Burla’s camp. Burla had yet to be injured, but Narathas’s shoulder ached even with the strain of holding up her sword.
From the corner of her eye, Narathas saw the gray tents of Burla’s camp circling her on all sides. She tried to turn the fight around, switch her position with Burla, but the
girl was quick of body and wit; always had been. Narathas was forced deeper into the camp. She slashed out with her weapon, tried to move to the left, and stumbled into a tent.
Narathas fell forward and lost her footing—and her sword. Numb hands refused to respond and she found herself face-first on top of the tent. She pushed herself up to face Burla just as the girl drove the point of her sword forward.
Narathas rolled away, but Burla’s sword point caught her in the thigh, hard enough to pierce the armor, sliding through clothing and flesh.
Burla pulled her blade free. Narathas struggled to her feet. Her thigh burned. Narathas grappled for her blade resting in the snow. The sound behind her as she rolled in the snow … was Burla’s laughter.
“You old woman,” Burla said. The intake of breath. The blow would come.
Narathas rolled away. The sword thrust hard into the snow, all of Burla’s weight behind it.
Narathas snatched up her blade just as Tashina appeared from the maze of tents. Tashina sliced at Burla, forced her back away from the blade.
“Find Aurora!” Tashina said. “I can deal with her.”
Narathas didn’t think Tashina could, but it was a fair swap.
Narathas limped into the winding camp, trailing blood as she went. Where would you put a gifted, pampered boy? Narathas scanned the tents. One stood out; the only one with smoke coming from inside, barely visible against the gray sky. A pampered boy would not like the cold, even if his lord told him to bank the fire.
The battle continued, quieter now, on either side of the camp, and no one stood in her path. She shuffled on. The cold seeped through the slash in her leggings, deadening the pain somewhat by the time she reached the tent.
Narathas pulled open the tent flap and peered inside. Dozens of thick, embroidered pillows covered the floor, heaped atop a tapestry rug. At the center of the tent sat the crackling fire. A small oak chest rested against the far wall. Aside from that, the tent was empty.
“Aurora!” Narathas called into the tent. “Your mother’s out there dying!” Nothing. “I said stop playing Aurora! Your mother and your little girlfriend are murdering each other outside and what are you doing? Cowering! Show yourself.”
There, among a group of rose-colored pillows, the air shimmered, wavered, and became the slight, slender form of a pale young man. He raised his head from his spindly arms and stared at Narathas with mottled eyes, brown and green and violet. The stare unsettled her. Surely, this couldn’t be the boisterous Aurora, the plump little boy who once begged her for sweet treats? How long had it been since she had last seen him? Three years? Longer?
“What have you done here, Aurora?” she said.
Aurora’s gaunt, pale face twisted into misery, and he put his hands again to his face.
Narathas glanced outside to her men. They would die here. Die here in the snow because of this boy. She hardened her jaw, walked into the tent, walked straight to Aurora, and fell down beside him. Blood was slick on her leg; the throbbing of the wounds fell in time to the beating of her heart.
“Listen to me,” she said, grabbing his bony shoulders. “Listen here, Aurora. Your Lord Burla is going to murder us all. Do you understand that? We have no chance to win this battle. No chance but you. Do you understand?”
“I’m so sorry Narathas.”
Narathas felt her patience waning. “Yes, yes, you’re sorry. Help us win this and you can go home. I promise you. Help us, Aurora.”
“Burla says—”
“We don’t have time to talk about Burla!”
“But she’s your—”
Narathas’s voice was tight, clipped. “Afflict Burla’s army in some way. Create an illusion. Or make them feel as if they’re made of stone. I don’t care what, boy. Do this thing and go home again. Your mother misses you. I’ll forgive your transgression. I know Burla can be persuasive. No one blames you for any of this.”
Aurora’s eyes looked empty. “Do you promise I’ll go home?”
Lies were very easy this long into Narathas’s career. “I promise, Aurora.”
“You promise, as Matron, that I will go home?”
“I swear my country on it.”
He crawled away from Narathas to the tent flap. Went outside. Narathas followed, ignoring the dull throbbing in her thigh, the ache in her shoulder.
Aurora stood a few yards from the tent, the filthy hem of his trousers dragging on the cold ground. Narathas expected him to raise his arms to the sky or mutter some secret words. But he did not move. His eyes remained closed. Narathas cursed herself for a fool. The boy wasn’t going to turn on Burla. They had known each other since they were children. He didn’t have the heart for it, the fool.
Narathas gritted her teeth. Took the hilt of her sword in her hand.
Someone screamed. More than a death scream or a scream of pain. The sound was one of agony—and fear.
Aurora remained still, eyes shut tightly.
Narathas saw them then. The screams erupted all around her. Orange-yellow light lit the snowy battlefield. Narathas watched as Burla’s soldiers each went up in a burst of flame. The amber glow turned bright blue and the bodies fell to the ground, sizzling and crackling.
For a moment more, Narathas watched, and then she heard the cries of bewilderment from her soldiers. They were terrified. As was she.
“To me! To me!” Narathas shouted and raised her fist in the air. “To me, Gaol!”
A scant one hundred soldiers ran to Narathas’s side, spread out behind her, their swords raised, eyes wide. Together they watched Burla’s men burn, their swords and chainmail melting into hideous puddles, stirring with their ashes, making a pasty mixture of bone and metal that popped and hissed as it melted through the layers of snow. Smoke and steam filled the air. The thick stench of burning bodies assaulted Narathas’s senses, but she made no move to shield her nose. No, this was a thing she had to remember.
Lord Burla stood amidst the chaos some fifty yards from Narathas. Tashina was with her. As Narathas watched, Tashina dropped her blade and came forward. Her face looked drawn, pale, as she gazed not at Narathas, but at Aurora.
Aurora opened his eyes. Stared at his mother. His knees gave out. Narathas watched him fall but made no move to help him. She looked for Itague in the mass of still-living soldiers and found the thick man nursing a split shoulder.
“Take charge of the men, Itague,” Narathas said, laying a hand on the man’s good shoulder. “I have to speak with the girl.”
Itague’s dark eyes were wide. “Trickery, Narathas. He made a deal with the dark. This is not a clean win. This will bring us nothing but evil!”
“Let me deal with him, Itague. Get yourself looked after.” She started walking toward the girl. Tashina greeted her halfway and gripped Narathas’s arm tightly.
“I didn’t know he could do something like this,” Tashina said, voice trembling.
“But you know what comes next?”
Tashina gazed at the ground, then behind Narathas to Aurora’s still form. “Aye, Narathas.”
Lord Burla watched Narathas approach. All around Narathas, pools of bone dust and metal that were once Burla’s army hissed and steamed. Narathas halted several yards from her, face unreadable. Burla thought briefly of running her through, but the thought fled. Narathas’s men would tear Burla apart and death had a way of limiting one’s future choices. She had a whole little country to look after. If she was dead, they would go under her mother’s boot forever.
“What did you offer him, Narathas?” Burla asked. She choked on her words and cursed herself. “What did you offer him that I could not?”
“I told him his mother would take him home.”
Burla felt a cold hollow in her chest. “His will, but not mine?” Burla threw down her sword.
“Are you surrendering, Burla?” Narathas asked. Her face became somber.
“What choice do you give me?”
“Death is always a choice. He cared for you didn’t he? He spared your life. He could have burned you like the others.”
“Aye, he cared for me. Cared for me more than my own family ever did, clearly. He was too soft for the life you and Tashina wanted for him. With me, he could be as he was. I liked him just as he was. Cursed and all.”
“You fought well, Burla.”
“You fought dirty.”
“Aye, I did.”
Narathas led Burla back to the camp and ordered her bound and secured. She found that Itague had ordered the bodies of their dead comrades burned, the swords and mail taken for those who had none. The commander also ordered the tents brought from their camp, and by nightfall, Narathas found herself sitting in her tent, lying back upon the cold ground as a surgeon tended to the wound in her thigh and her wrecked shoulder.
“Better the cold than the heat for a battle such as this,” the surgeon remarked as she finished wrapping the bandaging.
Narathas entertained the idea of calling Itague and Tashina into the tent to discuss the battle but decided against it. She needed to decide what to do with Burla. As her consciousness began to dip into sleep, she heard a voice at the tent flap.
“May I come in, Narathas?”
She startled awake. “Aye, Tashina, come in.”
Tashina entered, right arm bandaged. The right side of her face was turning a deep blue-black. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Narathas gestured to an oaken chest across from the fire. “There’s some mead. Burla didn’t keep much drink.”
Tashina helped herself and offered Narathas a glass.
As Tashina sat, Narathas asked, “Did the boy come through and tell you to aim for the trees? It seems he got through, even if the other didn’t.”
“Aye, he did. Calik, wasn’t it? I just threw his body into the fire. Good boy, that. Itague said he never received the new orders from the other runner. His group was assaulted just before we shot off our arrows. Burla had another force in wait. Burla is a good leader, I’ll give her that. She was clever.”
Narathas drank another swallow of mead. “And what of Aurora?”
“I’m sorry about all of this.”
“We’re not the world’s best mothers.”
“No.”
“Did you take care of him, Tashina?”
“I sang him to sleep. I’ve never sung one of my children to sleep before. I didn’t think I knew any lullabies. When he was asleep, I held him close. Took out my dagger. Made a clean cut to the throat.”
“I’m sorry, Tashina.”
“How could I let him live, knowing that tomorrow it might be Gaol that he burns to dust? How Burla thought she could control him … I don’t know.”
“It had to be done.”
“What of Burla?”
“I expect I’ll need to do the same.”
Tashina nodded over her glass. Finished the mead. Stood.
Narathas said, “We march tomorrow to meet our main force. We enter the heart of the province in three days’ time. With Burla’s province back in our grasp, we are one step closer to dominating the continent. We are very near, Tashina.”
Tashina shook her head. “When will it be enough? When will it all be enough for you? After the country … the continent. After the continent … the world … and then?”
Narathas gazed into the fire. She did not answer.
Tashina left her in the silence of her tent. For hours, Narathas did nothing but watch the fire’s wispy smoke escape through the smoke hole, out and up into the cold night air.
When would it be enough? One may as well ask when there would be enough smoke, enough heat, enough fire. When one was sated, spent, one could no longer burn.
And she burned, she burned, she burned.
Narathas burned.