The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (76 page)

But wishes would get him nowhere. He envisioned his father at the First and Second Battles of Bakler Hills. The only luxury Emperor Adam had back then was the fierce
determination in his heart. It would have to do for his son as well.

There was a third volley, then a fourth. Men were beginning to run out of arrows. Volunteers were running around, collecting shafts that could be reused, plucking them from the muddy ground and wiping the heads on their trousers. All the while, it drizzled steely death.

James turned behind him. He thought he saw both the First and Third returning. Perhaps they had defeated the enemy, or maybe they were retreating again, and now his force would be caught in a vise. But this close to the city, the olifaunts were the greater threat. Xavier and Nicholas would have to make it somehow. He hoped Captain Nolan was making the best use of the few reserves still left.

More arrows. He chanced a quick look at the enemy. Then, he saw it, but it was too late to react. A black dot coming down straight at him. He realized what it was the moment it hit him just below the gorget and sank into his armor. There was a brief moment of regret, then darkness.

CHAPTER 56

I
t’s happening again
, Amalia thought, desperation choking her. Once again, she was penned in a town, surrounded by her people, who looked up to her for help and protection. However, all she could offer them was a sense of deep hopelessness—and helplessness.

Mayor Alistair had done his best to prepare the city for an attack. Every household had a bucket of dirt to put out fires if their thatch roofs caught. Women had hidden their small children in root cellars. Streets were cordoned with carts and caltrops to impede the enemy’s progress, if it came to that. Every able-bodied man, from boys with cheeks still smooth to old men stooped low with age, were pretending to participate in the defense, armed with cleavers, homemade spears, and crossbows. Master Guilliam had emptied his store of every last item, including any unpainted examples just being made.
Better to have splinters in your palms than the Red Caps burning your home
, Amalia thought.

All the while, she had watched stupidly, feeling fate slipping through her fingers.

She had nothing useful to contribute. She had suggested no smart ideas, no wise lessons learned in Roalas that could aid the citizens of Ecol. All she was asked for was to stand around bravely, to be seen and radiate inspiration to her people.

Deep down, she felt Ecol would be taken. Just like Roalas.

Only this time, Amalia knew she would not be so lucky.

I am supposed to be fearless
, she thought.
I’m the daughter of Emperor Adam
. But the words rang hollow and bitter in her throat. Once she had thought herself invincible, proud, courageous. A lost ear, a lost city, a lost empire had taught her otherwise.

She was almost sick with anxiety. In the town square, all she had was an erratic stream of messages from the siege line. The Red Caps had been pressing hard for half a day. Soon, the sun would set, and yet, there seemed to be no sign of the battle ending. Perhaps that was good. Perhaps that meant the defenders were holding.

The two wizards were not helping at all. They just stood there, confident in their knowledge they would not be harmed if Ecol fell. They knew they could escape the chaos at any moment. She also knew they would see every child in the town butchered before they raised their voices in objection. This war was not theirs. They advocated another, and as long as James refused to listen, they would not help. Selfish, cruel. Maybe their cause was justified. But right now, she was almost tempted to forget about the White Witch of Naum.

Almost.

Men will die for me today
, she thought and remembered Gerald. Was he still alive? She had heard no news of any rebellion. If he had survived Roalas, he surely would have led an army of his own against the invaders.

The noise of the killing drifted to her on the wings of a light spring breeze. Individual sounds of death and agony merged into a senseless hum. She could not tell anything apart, but she could feel the raw energy of pain.

Another messenger was coming toward the square, riding hard. Men with spears stepped out of his way. He dismounted
even before his horse slowed down, and trotted the last few paces on his own. There was mud on his face, rubbed into his wrinkles.

Something beneath that grime made Amalia’s heart miss a beat.

The rider tottered close to her until she could smell his sweat. Her bodyguards looked alarmed, but they did not stop him; even they could sense the urgency of his message.

“Your Highness, dire news,” he whispered in between short mouthfuls of breath. “Emperor James, your brother, is dead!”

Dead?

Time stopped for her.

So many questions, so many doubts, so many dilemmas, they all shattered in that instant, like fine crystal. They vanished. All the little uncertainties and nags that had gnawed at her soul simply disappeared. The cardinal issue of two emperors leading Athesia was no more.

There was no Emperor James anymore. He was dead.

She was the one and only ruler of the realm.

Time rushed back, and in that instant, cold panic gripped her.
Ruler? Oh no. I will be a dead body in less than an hour
, she realized. Looking around, she could see fear spreading through her troops. They still probably did not know what had happened, but they felt it on some animal level. Some of those soldiers were Athesians; some were Caytoreans. They had followed her half brother.

What now?

She buried her hand in his upper arm and dragged him even closer. “Are you certain?” she asked the messenger in a tiny voice. At least she remembered how to speak.

“I saw the body myself, Your Highness.” The man was weeping, she noticed. He wiped the tears with the end of his
sleeve, smearing the dirt on his cheeks. “I swear it on my mother’s grave. He got hit by an arrow in the throat.”

“Does anyone else know this?”

The rider shook his head. “No, Your Highness. Lieutenant Timothy made it appear as if the emperor was only lightly wounded, so there would be no panic.”

Clever, clever boy
, Amalia mused. Her one ally, one she would have never considered.

She wished she could see the body for herself. She almost did not trust the messenger. But in her bones, she knew her brother was gone. James had died today. The only question remaining was, would she die too?

There was not much time.

“Jarman,” she croaked, then, louder, “Jarman!”

The young wizard was talking to his blue-faced friend, but he turned at the pitch of her voice. His features crinkled with a deep frown. The square was stirring. Men were being restless, fidgeting, looking panicky.

“What is it, Your Highness?” he asked, coming over. His body stance was taut, alert.

“Can you feel my brother?” she asked. Did Jarman know and was merely pretending?

He scowled. “My magic does not work that way. The shield Lucas and I place around the two of you protects against magic. It is—”

“James is dead. Help me,” she said simply.

He was silent for a moment. She could see him fight his conscience. “No.”

Amalia began walking back to the mayor’s inn. Ecol’s people had renamed it Brotherly Unity in their honor. Agatha followed, as well as the men of her assigned imperial guard. She did not trust them right now.

“Stay back. Everyone. I want to speak to the Sirtai wizard alone.”

Agatha hesitated, but she realized the command did not include her. The maid’s face had its own lines of concern. Pete was out there, fighting. From what Amalia suspected, the girl was carrying the captain’s child.

Lucas was suddenly there, and his aura of cold, quiet menace made the soldiers hang back. He hovered just behind her and Jarman, watching them. The young Sirtai was beginning to look concerned.
And he should be
, she thought.

Amalia entered the common room. The servants started bowing and curtsying.

“Out,” she snapped.

Jarman grabbed her sleeve. “I will not interfere in the war between Athesia and Parus; you know that. This battle should never have been fou—”

She cut him off again. “It does not matter. James is
dead
. Help me.” She pointed toward the square, and her hand trembled visibly. “I will die if you do not help me.”

He swallowed. “I will not use my magic to defeat the Parusites,” he insisted.

Amalia shook her head. There was a tear of stark fear in the corner of her eye. It was happening all over again. She would lose everything.

“Protect me from my own people. Please. If I die today, you will never garner support for the war against Calemore. King Sergei will never believe your story. I am your only hope. I’m the only one who understands the gravity of the situation. Please, Jarman, help me.”

The wizard sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

Her hand rose again. “Do not let them kill me. I must gain control of the Athesian forces.”

Jarman nodded. “I will do that. And will you promise to seek truce with the Parusites?”

She hated being blackmailed, but at this moment, she would accept any proposal. There would be time later to deny them or weasel out of them. Now, she had to survive.

The Caytorean troops were the greatest risk. What would they do now? Commander Nicholas? Well, he had almost condemned her to death; she could not trust him if he still lived. The battle could end with the Athesian defeat, and then her legacy would be irrelevant.

“Yes, I will,” she blurted, her most honest lie. “I will seek peace.”

Lucas entered. The two Sirtai exchanged a slow, deep look. She had no idea what had just transpired, but she knew the magical curtain that protected her would include human weapons now.

She wiped her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Her lower lip was quivering, air rushing out in a shudder.
I must be strong. And smart, and vicious. And fast
. She gathered her wits and left the inn’s room. In the square, the soldiers were waiting, looking at her with consternation and confusion in their eyes.

“I must inform you that my brother, Emperor James, has fallen bravely in combat. I am now your one and only ruler. You are sworn to protect me.”

Silence.

She could not dally.

“You are my soldiers. Now, let’s win this bloody war,” she said. That rewarded her with a ragged cheer.
If they sense fear, they will attack
, she knew. She had to be ruthless now. Her mind was brimming with ideas, most of them gory. The night ahead of her would be quite busy.

Her eyes scanned the men’s faces. They were all strangers. She had never really had the chance to know them as she had
known Gerald in Roalas. But most of them were Athesians, and they had served under her father.

She called the officer in charge of her detail. “Lieutenant Toby.” He looked capable, with bright, intelligent eyes. In an ideal world, she would like to have had time to carefully choose her bodyguards, but reality thirsted for a bloody sacrifice right then.

The Athesian snapped from a mild state of shock. “Your Highness?”

“You are captain now. You are the head of the imperial guard now. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded richly. You have full authority. Do whatever you must.” There was no need adding anything else.

He did not nod immediately. Oh, he understood the risk. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said finally.

His men began deploying around the square with weapons drawn. She did not care if he promised men gold, land, titles, or women in return for their loyalty. There would be time to sort this out later on. But she had to secure her own little kingdom right now. She had to be ready. If the troops pouring up the cobbled street turned out to be Parusites, well, the problem would be much simpler.

Jarman was standing at her side, his fingers twitching.

It was going to be a long night.

They won eventually.

Or, at least, they fended off the Red Caps’ attack. The fight raged throughout the night and only ended shortly before dawn. The first units started coming back to the city when the eastern sky turned pink and cerulean. The men looked like ghosts, white eyes and teeth plastered on masks of filth and
crusted blood. They dragged their feet, stumbled, fell. Everyone seemed wounded.

Amalia waited in the square, dead tired on her feet, a blanket wrapped round her shoulders. Jarman had told her he had stopped seven assassination attempts against her since last night. She had not seen or heard anything, but she believed him.

Warlord Xavier soon came to see her, leading a large body of armed men behind him.

Lucas was waiting for him. The tall Sirtai would not let him pass until he surrendered his sword. Alone and on foot, the Caytorean entered the square. His eyes blinked furiously as he looked left and right at the hostile faces arranged in a circle. He was not quite sure what was happening, but he knew he no longer had a firm grip on the army like before.

“Your Highness?” he said correctly. “What is going on?”