Emrael stood atop the low wall that surrounded Gadford, just beside the west river gate with Timan, Jaina, and a squad of Ire Legionmen, watching as unarmed Barros Legionmen filed out of the city.
He kept his face stoic, trying not to betray his incredulity that his plan had worked. He had thought they’d fight to the bitter end.
He spotted the Captain Second as he passed through the gates—the last man out, as an officer should be—and called out to him. “Captain!”
The Captain looked up, expression dejected and fearful.
Emrael raised his hands to show he meant no harm. “We will release the captives to you shortly, but I’d like you to take a message to Governor Barros. Tell him I won’t let him sit this war out. He’s got to choose a side. I don’t want to continue fighting the Barrosians, but I will conquer you if I must. Tell him I want to talk, and I’ll wait right here. His daughter Arielle is with me.”
The Captain nodded, eyes full of shame. “I’ll tell him. Holy Departed preserve me.”
Emrael handed a sealed letter for Governor Barros to the Captain, then signaled to the men guarding the captive Barros Legionmen in the square below. They cut the ropes that bound each one, and the still-naked captives stumbled through the gate after their comrades.
As the Barrosians disappeared into the forest to trudge the ten or so leagues to Lidran, Emrael pulled the Captain Second leading his scouts, Dorvan, aside. “I need you to send a few messengers, men that can get through to our camp in the pass, even if Barros has men trying to stop them.”
Dorvan just nodded. He knew his business. Like Toravin, he had spent many years in the woods on the Iraean and Barrosian side of the river, trafficking less-than-legal goods, evading the Legion and Watchers.
“Tell Voran that we’ve managed to piss Governor Barros off, and he should fortify the pass as much as he’s able. Barros might try something sneaky like we’ve just done.”
Dorvan nodded again.
“I also need you to get someone across the bridge to Whitehall. Tell Dorae that we have weapons and men to help him in his fight with the Watchers. Get a full report from him and tell him I’ll be there within a week.”
“Yes, Lord Ire. Anything else?”
Emrael spat and gestured toward the forest to the south. “Make sure those Barrosian bastards don’t sneak up on us. I want to know when they leave Lidran, and how many they bring. Coward though he is, Barros can’t let a move like this go unanswered.”
The next morning, Emrael waved a hand and smiled at Elle as she passed through the south gate. She had been left with the bulk of their twenty-five thousand mobilized men in case the subterfuge hadn’t gone according to plan.
She smiled briefly, then resumed her conversation with the tall, muscular woman in the armor of a Captain Second next to her, presumably the one leading the battalion assigned to accompany Elle herself. The officer still wore a Sagmynan uniform. Interesting that Toravin had trusted such a large command to a Sagmynan, and one that hadn’t adopted the Ire Legion green at that.
He marched down the stairs to the courtyard, Jaina and Timan still following him like shadows. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jaina had someone watching him as he slept, too.
Elle and the Sagmynan officer—his officer now, he reminded himself—seemed to be finishing their conversation, so he decided to wait politely. He idly reached into the pouch he kept hooked to his belt and drew infusori from the coil to the point that his scars and eyes glowed, then poured the energy back into it, over and over. The exercise had become something of an anxiety crutch for him.
Elle noticed his impatient fidgeting and rolled her eyes. “Em, this is Captain Second Sylar. Toravin put her in charge of the battalion assigned to me. Sylar, this is Emrael Ire.”
Emrael extended his hand to the Captain Second, and she grasped it with a firm hand. “Honored, Lord Ire.”
Emrael cocked his head to one side. “When did you join us, Sylar?”
Sylar squinted, wary. “Ah, just after you took the city, sir. I was there when you executed the governor. I joined soon after.”
Emrael quirked his mouth to one side. “Why?”
“Why what, sir?”
“Why did you join us instead of the rest of the Sagmynans that held the Wells and harbor? If more of you had stayed with them, you might have starved us out of the city.”
Sylar shifted uncomfortably, then said in a quiet voice, “I saw them, Lord Ire. I saw the monsters they created at the Citadel. Governor Sagmyn deserved what he got.”
Emrael clapped her on the shoulder. “Good answer.”
Sylar’s expression turned mischievous, a slight smirk on her lips. “The land bounty and steady pay didn’t hurt either, Lord Ire.”
He laughed. “That’s why we did it, Sylar. Please call me Emrael. Welcome to Gadford, we’re glad to have you. The barracks on the other side of town is likely full by now, but we can commandeer empty buildings as needed. Report to Halrec—Subcommander Syrtsan. He’ll have your orders and accommodations ready for your men. Then join us in the command building. Any of the sentries will be able to direct you.”
Captain Second Sylar saluted before turning to lead her horse down the avenue toward the barracks.
“Your plan is going well, then,” Elle asked once the officer had departed.
“Yes,” he replied carefully.
Her lips twisted in a frown as she took in the aftermath of the morning’s battle. “How many died?”
Emrael took a deep breath. “Too many. Nearly fifty of our men.”
“And Barros men?” she asked coolly.
“Two hundred or so.”
“What did you do with them?”
Emrael grimaced. “The Ire Legion dead are being buried just outside the city. The Barros dead are being buried right beside them. I’m not a monster, Elle. I’m just doing what I must.”
Angry now, he turned to walk toward the barracks, Jaina and Timan at his side. The clop of hooves told him that Elle followed close behind.
Toravin waited for them in the conference hall of the barracks command building, maps laid out on the large table.
“Good, you’re here. Finally,” he said as they entered. He shifted several painted wood figures sitting on top of the maps at various places between Lidran and Gadford. “Our scouts say Barros is marching this way with twenty battalions. We’re roughly even in number. I doubt he attacks with us behind these walls.”
“He won’t attack as long as I’m here,” Elle said confidently, taking a chair at the head of the table. “He’s reasonable; he’ll talk first. Even to Emrael.”
Emrael rasped a sardonic laugh. “Have one of our squads fly a white flag at the north gate, but recall the scouts and put more men on the walls just in case. I don’t want any surprises.”
That evening, Emrael, Elle, Jaina, Toravin, and Halrec all stood on the platform above the north gate, watching as twenty thousand Barros Legionmen filled the clear area around Gadford. They stayed several hundred paces away from the walls, out of bowshot even for infusori-powered crossbows, and immediately began digging fortifications.
“How sure are we that they don’t intend to attack?” Halrec asked, eyeing the fortifications. “Could they mean to besiege us?”
Toravin surveyed the Barrosians with a skeptical frown on his face. “They can’t be that dumb. The only access to the bridge is within these walls—we can resupply from Iraea anytime we need. A siege would be pointless.”
Halrec spat. “The Barrosian Commander and senior officers are not idiots. Best assume they know something we don’t. They might even try to attack the pass to get at the Sagmyn Province while these hold us here.”
Emrael nodded. “I’ve already sent a message to Voran. The pass should be secure for now.”
Halrec and Toravin left to see to the town’s defenses, leaving Emrael with Jaina, Elle, and Timan.
Jaina pointed. “Here they come.”
A party of twenty or so men rode toward the north gate from the Barros camp, white flag flown. Emrael shouted to the Captain Third in charge of the gate, a lanky Iraean with a full red-brown beard. “Ready your men! Two squads to ride out with me!”
Horns blew and fully armored Ire Legionmen with shields, pikes, and crossbows rushed to fill the square. More crowded the walls to either side of the platform above the gate. He wasn’t about to let Governor Barros use their peace party as a ploy to hold the gates open for an assault as Emrael had done to Gadford’s garrison just days ago.
Elle grabbed Emrael’s arm as her father and his men approached. “Let me do the talking, Em. If you want any chance at peace after taking this town, keep quiet.”
“Hmm,” he grunted.
Jaina growled as Governor Barros’s party reined in fifty paces from the gate and planted their white flag. “They have a Malithii priest with them,” she said softly. “The man next to the governor in the strange helmet. Be wary.”
Emrael, Jaina, and Elle descended from the platform and took positions in the middle of two squads who accompanied them through the gates. They reined in a short distance from the Barrosian envoy, Elle in the lead, Emrael and Jaina flanking. Timan hung back with the Ire Legionmen.
Elle was the first to speak. “Father,” she said simply.
Governor Barros, a massively fat man atop a very large draft horse, glared at Emrael before directing his anger at his daughter. “Arielle,” he said, shaking his head, visibly emotional. “You sweet fool, what have you done?”
Elle lifted her chin, defiant. “What I must, Father. I’m fighting against undeniable evil, as should you.”
The Barros Legion officers shifted in their saddles, grumbling here and there. Governor Barros’s eyes bulged, incredulous. “What are you talking about, Elle? You’ve attacked us! Me! You’ve killed your countrymen, all for the sake of this miscreant.” He gestured toward Emrael, disdain clear on his face.
Emrael could hold his tongue no longer. He pointed at the Malithii, who sat calmly astride his horse in full armor. “What do you know of that man next to you, Governor?”
“I know he didn’t kill hundreds of my men attacking my supply party. I know he didn’t raise a rabble army and execute the Governor of Sagmyn. I know he didn’t brainwash my child!”
He was screaming by the end of his rant, spittle flying from his swollen, bearded lips. Emrael nudged his horse closer. Jaina followed close at his heels.
When Emrael was within just a few paces of Governor Barros, he calmly peeled off his gloves, then the bracers that covered his arms. Last, he removed his helmet and hooked it on the pommel of his saddle. He pulled up his sleeves to point to his scars, tracing where they curved and slashed across his hands, arms, and face. “I think you know very little, Governor. These foreigners attacked the Citadel, killed thousands while they held it. They enslaved my brother and other Crafters. They carved their runes into my flesh. They turned captives into mindless monsters, worse than dead. What do you know about that?”
The governor’s eyes flicked toward the Malithii.
Emrael leaned forward. “Or perhaps you do know what kind of man sits next to you. Maybe he’s taken something dear to you, as they did to me? I’ll kill this one for you. I’ll kill them all if you’ll join me.”
Emrael stared into Governor Barros’s eyes, intense, earnest. Governor Barros chewed his cheek, sweating.
Elle moved her horse forward. “Emrael, enough.”
As if startled out of a trance, Governor Barros blinked at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Join you? Join you?” he sneered, incredulous. “You’re going to the hangman’s noose, boy!”
Elle began to say something, but Emrael lost his temper. “The Sagmyn Province is mine. I have twenty thousand Iraeans and as many Sagmynans that have joined me. The Ordenans are with me, and soon I will have the entirety of the Iraean Kingdom. This is your last chance. I can protect you from the Watchers, the Corrandes, and their dark priests.”
Governor Barros laughed, shaking his head. “Your grip on Sagmyn is tenuous, boy, and the Ordenans don’t have forces to spare from their war over the Aerwyn Ocean. The Iraean Lords hate you as much as they hate the Corrandes—maybe more. You’ll be dead within the year. Assuming we don’t dig you out of this town and kill you right now.”
Emrael smiled, anger coursing through him. “You’ll do no such thing. We both know you’re a coward. There will be no middle ground, Governor. Either you join us in fighting Corrande, or we will bury you. You have until tomorrow at dawn to give your answer.”
He spat at the smirking Malithii priest as he turned his horse and trotted back through Gadford’s gates.
The moon cast a blue sheen on the surface of the Stem River, making it look like a torrent of infusori. Thousands of stars twinkled from horizon to horizon, reminding Emrael how little he knew about the world. How strange to think that he didn’t even know the true nature of the moon and stars.
He walked the wall around Gadford alone, surveying the campfires of the Barrosians that surrounded the town. His eyes were drawn to the circle of fires and blue glow of infusori coils that surrounded a sprawling tent that undoubtedly belonged to Governor Barros. That smug Malithii bastard wouldn’t be far from the governor.
Elle was furious with him, and the way he had handled the treatise with her father. She still hadn’t spoken to him. She’d really be upset at what he planned to do next.
He reached a dark section of wall near the river. They didn’t have sufficient coils or torches to light every stretch of wall, which was just as well. The bright light of the moon would reveal anyone trying to cross the clearing, and his men’s eyes would have been blinded by lights on the wall anyhow. Toravin had wisely made sure their men guarding the wall were stationed well away from any torch or lighting coil.
Timan and the other Imperators waited for him at the bend where the wall turned to parallel the river. All were dressed in black, with no metal showing that would reflect light and give away their positions in the darkness.
Timan had been the one to suggest a night raid on the Malithii priest and any other Malithii that might be with him. Emrael had been quick to agree. If they could kill the priest, who was almost certainly extorting Barros in some fashion, the governor might be more likely to join Emrael. It was his last, best shot at resolving the conflict with Barros without any more of his men—or Barros men—being killed.
“Where’s Jaina?” Emrael asked.
Timan shrugged. “I did not tell her. I could send for her … I do not think she would approve of this raid, however.”
Emrael grunted a laugh. “You’re right. Leave her to sleep in peace. Let’s get this done.”
The Ire Legionmen watching this section of the wall had been more than happy to take a few coins to make sure that everyone knew to expect the raiding party back within the next few hours. The last thing he needed was to be shot by his own men upon their return. Just in case, Timan was leaving an Imperator on the wall to wait for them.
When everything had been arranged, he and the Imperators knelt to grab the edge of the wall and dropped to the ground a few paces below. They landed lightly and ran along the riverbank, skirting the fires and the sentries the Barrosians had undoubtedly posted.
They crept through the woods behind the Barros camp until they could see the tents, including the tent that they thought to be the governor’s. Legionmen with crossbows and short pikes formed a perimeter around the camp but were easy to avoid, as most stood within the circles of light cast by the numerous campfires or by infusori coils hanging from posts around the largest tents. They were blind to the night, confident that their enemy would stay safe behind the walls of Gadford. Who would do something as stupid as raiding an army of twenty thousand men, after all?
Timan and his Imperators fanned out, and the occasional rustle in the brush told Emrael that they were dealing with sentries posted farther from the tents. No cries escaped the lips of any of the Barros guards. These Imperators were as good as Jaina and Timan claimed.
Anxiety roiling through his chest, Emrael crept forward until he could see the people moving around in the camp. Almost immediately, he spotted the Malithii priest. He sat talking quietly beside a fire with two more men in the traditional robes of the Malithii, in front of a modest tent situated at the edge of the camp, several hundred paces to the side of the governor’s and thus well outside the extra security. In fact, Emrael couldn’t see a single guard posted near their tent. Excellent.
He found a good place to observe his target, a small depression in the soil surrounded by thick undergrowth. Shortly, the Malithii extinguished their fire and retired to their tent. He considered finding Timan and his Imperators before attacking the tent, but decided that he’d be better able to avoid detection alone.
I can handle three at once, if I surprise them. If not …
Crickets played their quiet nocturnal orchestra as he crept from his hiding spot to stalk to the back side of the tent. He pulled infusori from a coil in his belt pouch, wishing he knew how to keep his eyes and scars from glowing. He’d have to ask Jaina about a potential mitigation, though as far as he could tell, other mages only had to deal with the irises of their eyes glowing when they held large amounts of infusori.
A quick slash of his dagger opened the rear wall of the canvas tent. He pushed a small amount of infusori into a dull coil as he tossed it inside, just before he darted in himself, blade at the ready.
None of three bundles of blankets moved as he stepped in. The glowing infusori coil lay on the ground, casting long, disorienting shadows. Something felt wrong.
He stooped to plunge his dagger into the nearest pile of blankets. Empty. Panic surged through him.
Had he walked right into another trap?
He snatched up the coil he had thrown and pulled the infusori back into himself until he was once again shrouded in darkness. A few quick steps carried him through the canvas flap he had created at the back of the tent and into the moonlit night. All was quiet.
Senses on high alert, he stalked quickly but quietly back through the forest. Just as he began to think he would escape undetected, an odd hissing in the air made him jump. Cold metal slapped his back as he tucked and dove to roll over one shoulder. Infusori ripped through him, but he was able to rebuff the attack before it could harm him.
He sprinted immediately upon regaining his feet, but another hiss and a copper cable coiled itself around his leg. His pants began to smoke as the Malithii on the other end sent a surge of infusori through the weapon.
Rather than combat the surge of energy, Emrael drank it in, reconverting the heat into pure infusori without needing to think about what he did—it just came naturally in the unthinking chaos of a struggle to the death. He could feel the Malithii priest on the other end of the copper cable, a ball of fear and fury. A source of infusori.
The Malithii who had thought to trap him now gasped and whimpered as Emrael overwhelmed his will and drank the infusori that was his life source. Shouts from the trees on either side of Emrael told him that others—the other Malithii, Barros guards, or perhaps Timan and his Imperators—were converging on him. He drew his sword as he depleted the Malithii’s life source and shook himself free of the copper-cable weapon.
For the first time, he could feel the difference between multiple types of infusori energy pulsing within him—the pure, clean, cold infusori pulled from the coil; the complex, chaotic energy stolen from the Malithii priest; the warm, familiar pulse of his own infusori, his life energy.
Two Malithii—including the one who had accompanied Governor Barros, he thought—emerged from the trees at a run, copper-cable weapons in hand. Emrael, full of infusori and feeling immortal, stood his ground, sword in hand. The Malithii slowed, then stopped a safe distance from Emrael. They glanced at each other, neither willing to be the first to attack.
Men shouted in the woods, most seeming to come from the direction of the Barros camp. Timan and several of his Imperators emerged from the trees to either side of Emrael. Without hesitation and in beautifully coordinated silence, the Imperators surrounded and attacked the Malithii. Emrael stayed where he was, watched as an Imperator he didn’t know by name was struck in the neck by a Malithii cable and immediately convulsed, dropped to the ground. Timan lunged, stabbing the Malithii through the heart. Both the Malithii and the fallen Imperator lay still on the ground.
Four Imperators circled the last Malithii as Timan tended to his fallen comrade. The shouts from the Barros camp drew nearer.
The Malithii priest raised his voice to address Emrael, ignoring the Imperators that surrounded him. “It would be better for you to join us, Brother Ire. Better by far. The Prophet has arrived, and with him the hordes of the Hidden Kingdoms.”
The infusori within Emrael screamed to be released. He walked purposefully through the circle of Imperators to raise his sword in challenge. The Malithii shrugged slightly before lashing out with an impossibly quick strike of his cable weapon. Infusori cracked in the air as Emrael dodged, just enough that the cable snapped to the side of his face. He countered with an upward swing of his blade that caught the Malithii’s forearm. He felt the crunch of metal cutting through bone.
The Malithii wasted no time in striking with his own sword despite having just taken a crippling wound in his other arm. Emrael was forced to throw himself backward and to the side, rolling over one shoulder to avoid the attack. As he regained his feet, an Imperator thrust his sword into the Malithii’s back and twisted the blade viciously as he withdrew. The Malithii choked on a scream as blood and viscera leaked from his opened sternum. He died clawing at the open wound.
All dozen or so of the Imperators who had joined him and Timan had gathered around them. They bounced nervously as Barros Legionmen with torches drew near enough that they could see them clearly through the thick forest. Timan and one other, a woman, carried the downed Imperator between them.
“Oram is dead,” Timan said quietly as he drew near. A spike of guilt seared Emrael, and he moved to take the Imperator’s body from Timan. His cousin refused, however, waving Emrael back.
“We should go, quickly, before the Barros men find us. My mages will stall them while we escape,” Timan said curtly, already motioning to his Imperators.