Wytchfire (Book 1) (30 page)

Aeko nodded. “The second thing, then, is to protect
you.
I know of only one way to do that. I’ll waive your dismissal and make you my personal squire.”

Rowen’s eyes widened. “Commander...”

Aeko waved him off. “You’ll be under my charge, answerable only to me. By Shao law, Crovis cannot touch you without a trial. And King Pelleas will not move against you for fear of alienating me on the eve of battle. There are formal ceremonies and oaths, but we can dispense with those for the moment.” She added, “Don’t thank me yet, Squire. It remains to be seen whether or not I’ve done anything but prolong the inevitable.” She pointed at the unconscious sorcerers. “Now, remove these two from my sight.”

Rowen, roused from his daze, went into Silwren’s cell to wake her.

Aeko watched from the corridor, one hand still resting on her sword. Footsteps made her turn. A Knight of the Crane was bounding down the stairs toward her, his face flushed.

“Commander, they send for you. A patrol of Red Watch just clashed with the Throng’s vanguard!”

Aeko swore under her breath. She did not have to ask the Knight which side had won. “And Captain Ferocles?”

“Already left for the battlements.”

Good.
She pointed at Rowen and told the Knight, “Help him. Whatever he needs, no matter how fey it sounds. Henceforth, he is my personal squire, subject
only
to my judgment.” She added, “Swear it on your honor.”

The Isle Knight’s eyes widened, but he nodded without hesitation. “On my honor.”

Aeko considered asking about Rowen’s adamune then decided she had more urgent concerns. She gave him a parting look of sympathy and rushed up the stairs, into the chaos that awaited her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Broken Oaths

T
orches blazed along the parapets like unfriendly jewels. The battlements bristled with soldiers of the Red Watch and Isle Knights, the latter gleaming in their cold steel mail. Archers and pikemen rushed to and fro, many of them wide-eyed and shouting, as though the siege had already begun. Aeko shook her head with disapproval.
If the people see this, it’ll create a panic!

Sure enough, the people of Lyos were spilling from their homes. Mothers in simple Lyosi sarongs held their crying children while fathers stood agape. All wanted answers. Crowds were forming.

Aeko cursed, touching her sword’s hilt. There must already have been rumors flying around, after witnesses saw soldiers and Knights rushing to the jailhouse. Now this. She could assign the squires to help the Red Watch restore order again, but that would take time.

She turned her attention to the gates that opened onto King’s Bend. Wounded men streamed in, leading horses laden with the dead. Some of the men shouted. Others cried. Aeko spotted Captain Ferocles and ran to him. “What is this?”

The captain grimaced in the torch glow. “A gods-damned mess, that’s what it is! One of my patrols blundered right into the Throng’s vanguard. Their sergeant panicked. I’d have his head if the Throng hadn’t already taken it.” He pointed at a ghastly corpse in the distance, already being pulled down from a horse by a pair of soldiers.

Aeko asked, “How many casualties?”

“Ten dead at least, six more missing.” He grabbed Aeko’s arm and squeezed so tightly that she was tempted to break his wrist to make him release her. “It wasn’t even that demon of theirs! Just one Shel’ai and a vanguard. He cast some kind of devilry on my men’s horses—kept them from running. Then the Throng’s elite—those devil-fast warriors in black leathers—cut my men to ribbons.” His body shook, though Aeko could not tell if it was in rage or fear. “Gods, how are we supposed to fight
that
?”

Aeko twisted free of the captain’s grasp, acutely aware of soldiers and citizens alike eavesdropping on the captain’s every word. “Captain, lower your damn voice.”

Ferocles blinked. “Of course. You’re right.” He pointed to the gates, still open, revealing the dark, empty horizon beyond Pallantine Hill. “They’re not far now. Ammerhel was wrong. They’re not turning to face the Dhargots. They’re coming for
us
!”

“Tell the king,” Aeko said. Doubtless, the king already knew, but just then she wanted the captain—and his temper—somewhere else.

“No need. Pelleas knew your leader was wrong!” Nevertheless, the Captain of the Red Watch hurried off, toward the palace at the city’s eastern edge.

Aeko stood where he left her, fists clenched. She spotted Sir Crovis Ammerhel on the parapets above her. Sir Paltrick Vossmore stood with him. Both men were staring at her. Crovis had a faint smile on his face.

Aeko, swallowing her contempt, ascended the stairs and joined them. She bowed. Vossmore returned the gesture. Crovis did not. The latter said, “I thought he was going to strike you for a moment. I’d have taken his hand if he did.”

“Thank you, Captain Ammerhel. But I can take care of myself.”

Crovis glanced over the parapets, into the night. Aeko followed his gaze to stars and night-darkened plains, a few urusks grazing obliviously in the distance. No Throng, not yet. But she shuddered. She could feel them coming.

“It seems the wytches are even worse at strategy than I thought,” Crovis said. “First, they risk our ire with that foul business in the jailhouse. Now, they march on our protectorate, even as the Dhargots sweep up behind them.” He laughed. “All the better.”

Aeko turned to Sir Paltrick Vossmore instead. The young Isle Knight’s usual haughtiness had been replaced by naked fear. He looked back at her. She realized they were thinking the same thing.

Crovis turned to face her, breaking her attention. “We should look to the defenses,” he said. “I do not trust these Red Watch commanders to do their job, so you two will each command one third of the city’s force. We will allow Captain Ferocles to retain command of the rest.” He nodded at Paltrick. “Sir Vossmore, you have the honor of coordinating the courtyard’s defense. I will lend you fifty knights and a hundred squires to reinforce the ranks. You are charged with holding the enemy, should the gates be breached.”

Paltrick’s eyes widened. Then he bowed. “I am honored, Captain.”

Aeko’s fists clenched. That task should have been assigned to her. Paltrick was a good soldier but inexperienced. She wondered if Crovis was trying to insult her or keep her alive.

She cleared her throat. “Captain, who will command the rest of the company?”

“I will.”

Then Aeko understood. Crovis was thinking of the future. When they returned to the Lotus Isles, the story of this battle would be told and retold. Crovis would see to that. Everyone would know that while she lorded over a few squads of frightened footmen and Paltrick probably got himself killed in the courtyard, the great Crovis Ammerhel had acted as the linchpin of the city’s defenses.

Aeko wanted to shake him. She wanted to slap the confident smirk from his face. What future would they have if the city fell? Besides that, hadn’t the Knight of the Lotus seen the bodies of slain Red Watch? Did they mean nothing to him? But she said nothing.

“Do you think they will offer a parley?” Paltrick asked, voice wavering.

Crovis said, “According to rumors, the Throng offers no terms until the battle’s already won—and then, only so they can swell their ranks with conscripts. But this is one battle they will
not
win.” He confidently faced the horizon again. “We need only hold them at bay for a few days. Eventually, they will have to march west instead and brace to meet the Dhargots. Besides, we have the Light on our side.” He reached out and slapped Paltrick’s shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “Have no fear, young Vossmore. This will be like another day in the tilting yards.”

Aeko heard the sound of an entire squad’s footsteps and tensed. Sergeant Epheus joined them, flanked by men of the Red Watch. All held drawn swords. Aeko braced herself. The sergeant faced her, eyes livid. He leveled his sword at her.

Aeko did not move. Paltrick cried out, alarmed, and reached for his own blade. Crovis was faster. Shoving Aeko out of the way, he slapped the sergeant’s blade aside with one gauntleted fist. Then he drew his adamune, its curved blade gleaming lethally in the night. Sergeant Epheus stepped back. All around them, Isle Knights stared in confusion. Paltrick signaled, and they moved in, forming steely ranks behind their three officers.

Crovis never took his eyes off Epheus. “What in Jinn’s name are you doing?”

The sergeant pointed at Aeko. “Arresting her.”

“I think not, Sergeant. You have no authority over us. But if you have a grievance, voice it now.”

Epheus said, “Gladly. I just came from the jailhouse. This addle-brained bitch released the Shel’ai prisoners! She sent them off to gods-know-where with that daft corporal, Locke. For all we know, they’ve already joined up with the enemy.” Epheus started forward again.

Crovis blocked him even as he cast Aeko an icy glance. He did not have to ask her if the sergeant’s accusation was true. “I’ll take care of this myself, Sergeant. Look to your city.”

The sergeant opened his mouth to protest.

Crovis cut him off. “Everyone in the city must be placed under house arrest at once. And tell Captain Ferocles to get back here, where he belongs. You are about to have another riot on your hands.”

The sergeant turned to look at the rest of the city. The uncertain crowds Aeko had seen earlier, spilling out onto the cobblestone streets, now resembled a mob. Sergeant Epheus glowered at Aeko, then gave Crovis a nod. Descending the stairs from the battlements, boots sounding off stone, he issued new orders and focused his full attention on preventing another riot. The Isle Knights relaxed. Aeko sighed. Then, she turned to face Crovis Ammerhel.

Crovis spoke in a low voice. “Aeko, what have you done?” Aeko had expected contempt. To her surprise, the Knight of the Lotus’s eyes were wide. He sounded stunned, almost hurt.

“What I thought was right.”

“May you live long enough to explain that to me.” Crovis’s expression hardened. He sheathed his sword and he turned his back on her, facing the plains again.

Few stars shone through to the plains north of Lyos, Armahg’s Eye a faint, starry smear beneath a thick advance of storm clouds. The moon was a ghostly sliver. In spite of a stream nearby, its waters black as ink, the earth here was rocky and bad for farming. Nothing lived here but a small, wandering herd of urusks, their long scaly snouts always close to the dirt.

That suited Lethe just fine. He was tired of killing.

The Unseen’s hands trembled as he stripped off his leather armor and mask and washed the blood and grime from his face. Night air chilled the water; it felt like ice against his skin. He took a deep breath and let it go, glancing up at the veiled heavens. He might have prayed, but he knew the gods would not answer. They never did.

Was that really Rowen?
He did not want to believe it. At first, he had not recognized him in the grisly darkness of the jailhouse, simply intent on following his master’s orders to kill anyone who entered the jailhouse and thus spare himself the torments of the Blood Thrall. But the Shao battle cry had startled him back to his senses.

My fault. I should have let them kill me...
He thought again of the sorcerers’ ultimatum, voiced so long ago on the Ash’bana Plains: death or servitude, bound by magic. He thought of his comrades—those who defiantly chose death instead. The sorcerers had given it to them. And what had he seen in the sorcerers’ eyes—was it grudging admiration? But when the choice fell on him, his courage faltered. Like the others, he chose instead to join the Unseen.

More than ever before, Lethe wanted to kill himself. But the Blood Thrall made that impossible. He had already endured all he could by disobeying. He was supposed to have killed Rowen. He hadn’t. The resulting punishment from the Blood Thrall had washed over him for what felt like centuries, a burning scourge that seemed to touch every inch of skin down to its deepest layer, before Shade finally dismissed it and ordered him to follow. There had not even been time to catch his breath. Lethe simply rose from his twitching torments on the bloody jailhouse floor and followed, weeping with relief.

Lethe shuddered. He called upon every shred of humanity and self-control he had left and tried to clear his mind. Shade stood nearby, facing the distant walls of Lyos. The Shel’ai appeared lost in thought. He had taken another bone-white cloak from the saddlebags of his destrier. It rustled in the night breeze as he pulled it tightly around his body. Lethe could no longer tell which dark splotches represented the emblem of the crimson greatwolf and which were simply blood stains.
He’s in one of his trances again
.
Probably telling Fadarah what just happened.

Lethe went to tend the horses. He removed their saddles and fed them oats while they drank from the stream. He brushed and rubbed down his palfrey first, then the rouncey. Both were skittish, but they trusted Lethe. Then, he turned his attention to Shade’s fearsome destrier. The coal-black horse, huge and powerful, built less for speed than heavy combat, shied away from him. Lethe had seen his master’s chosen mount tormenting the other horses, nipping and kicking at them while their riders were gone.

The destrier might have reared up against Lethe himself, but he caught the bridle and yanked it into obedience. The horse seemed to sense Lethe’s temper and gave in.

Lethe glanced over his shoulder and saw that his master had emerged from his trance. “I suppose you think that was necessary,” Lethe muttered.

Shade said, “Spare me, Human. Unlike you, I take no pleasure in killing.”

Lethe paused and lowered the curry comb. “Fohl’s hells! You could just as easily have used your magic to slip into that prison undetected. You killed those men for sport.” He touched the handle of his shortsword, wondering if his hate was finally strong enough to let him kill this man. The Blood Thrall buzzed to life, informing him otherwise.