the encampment and take up my life again? How long before Heart-Seeing was set upon the servants of Lord Manderechiel’s tent and it was discovered I lied when I said I had his order from Lord Malanant to prepare the tents?” She spoke loudly enough now that those nearest could hear.
Wide-eyed, Tuonil said, “That was you?” Truly, this was a deed worth remembering, and telling over so that the tale could be passed on forever.
“Think you I acted alone?” the woman of Aramenthiali demanded. She made a sweeping gesture that took in the plodding thousands ahead of them. “I would swear to you that a hundred—a thousand—more—of those here served the High Houses this morning! How think you so many kegs of ale came to be set out? Or you found yourselves excused from your labors so conveniently? Even the Lightborn … I do not say they have joined your cause, but tell me, you who know all—from what noble families do the Lightborn come?”
“From none,” another woman answered. “All know the Light favors the commons. It is our recompense for lives of labor and hardship.”
“And so some of them were willing to say they believed my words, and if the camp were to be set, why should they not prepare to bring the wounded for Healing? Easy enough to bring back fleeing beasts once the battle was won,” the woman said.
Another group of knights galloped from the battle, intent on attacking the refugees. The two in the lead galloped into walls of purple light and died, just as the first had, but the ones behind them had enough warning to rein in. Tunonil hoped they would simply return to the battle once they saw their prey was not undefended, but instead they moved forward at a walk. The marchers began to scatter. Tunonil froze where he stood.
Then one attacker began to beat at his arms and chest—Tunonil could see the bright silk of his garments had gone grey with frost—and the silks of another burst into flames, so that his warhorse galloped madly forward to batter itself against another wall of purple.
The remaining knights turned and galloped back toward the battle.
At last—welcome sight!—Tunonil saw the Light’s Chosen of the High King riding down the line on horseback, to see if all was well.
“Are you the last? Are more coming? Oh praise to the Light, Tunonil—I did not think you would survive!” Aradreleg Lightsister said as she reached them.
“Takes more than hard work and light feeding to kill a Landbond,” Tunonil answered gruffly.
“Are you the last?” Aradreleg repeated, and Tunonil nodded.
“No more. Some may have stayed, but—Mistress High House here says some of their folk are with us.”
The woman from Aramenthiali tried to glare at him, but the relief of freedom was too sweet. “My name is Tance,” she said. “Not ‘Mistress High House.’”
“I’ll bring you to the gathering place so you can rest. There’s not much there, but there’s water … and pikes. Lord Rithdeliel said if you managed to escape, you should be ready to fight.”
“Is there a bow?” Tance asked. “I was a forester in Lord Malanant’s household.”
“A forester?” Aradreleg said. “Praise the Light indeed! Your skills are welcome! Come—Tunonil, help her mount; I am needed elsewhere, and she is as well—”
Tance looked stunned at the swift change in her fortunes, but did as Aradreleg said. A moment later, they galloped away.
It was dusk by the time Tunonil heard the hornsong that signaled the High King’s victory and the enemy’s retreat. It was much like the end of every battle Tunonil had ever seen. Wounded knights moaned or shouted, wounded horses screamed, dogs howled and barked as they ran among the fallen. Uncounted hundreds of gleaners walked the battlefield, separating living from dead, friend from foe, and shooing away the ravens that had come in the thousands to gorge. Before morning, all that would lie upon the field would be the naked bodies of the enemy dead: their own dead would be brought back and prepared for the fire. Tunonil had learned that the High King was not here—but safe,
He hoped they, too, would lie naked and abandoned on the field in the dawn light.
The end of the battle was only the beginning of the work for those who had not fought, though few grudged the labor now that they were the High King’s folk once again. There were horses to saddle, mules to catch and rope together, and oxen to collect and match into their familiar teams, for now the wagons they’d left behind must be brought to their encampment.
Tunonil had asked what was to keep the enemy from destroying their undefended wagons, and Harwing Lightbrother had laughed.
“Why,
Tunonil led his oxen back to the wagons. Even though the last light of day still brightened the sky, globes of wonder-glow had been set shining here. When he reached the carts, Tunonil saw knights, blood-spattered and weary, sitting their destriers in a line between the workers and the camp of the enemy—and beside them, rank upon rank of Light’s Chosen. He unblocked the wagon’s wheels, set the yoke upon the oxen’s necks, then coaxed them into place along the tree and chained the yoke to the shaft.
Once up on the wagon’s high seat, Tunonil looked back. Half the pavilions he and his fellows had labored to set were down again, and some were being put back up. He didn’t see the enemy army, but he didn’t stay to look.
The High King had won. That was all that mattered.
To be a War Prince possessed of a Name and a growing legend had its advantages, Vieliessar discovered. Border Lord Karamedheliel, master of Jaeglenhend’s Oakstone Tower, did not need to be convinced that her word was good and her dealings fair; nor did Vieliessar, for her part, fear secret rebellion. She did not plan to remain here for long, but neither did she mean to ride forth blindly and unprepared. And so, on the second night after she had taken Oakstone Tower, she retired to her bedchamber—once Karamedheliel’s—before the evening meal. It was not the soft bed Vieliessar yearned for as much as for a door that could be spell-locked. She had never dared to do this while on the march. There were too many calls upon her time, too many urgencies. And while a tent flap could have the same spell set upon it, anyone determined to enter need merely cut the fabric of the pavilion. And she dared not be interrupted while she was Farspeaking.
With all that had happened, it was hard to bring herself to the state of calm her spell required. Even the relief she felt at spell-locking the door of the sleeping chamber did not bring relief, so she wove ward after ward about the room until the walls sang with Magery, taking comfort in the familiar discipline. Silence and Protection and Silence again, until the space began to take on the heavy quiet of one of the meditation chambers in the Sanctuary. She had never realized what a luxury it was to live behind Wards and walls until she left them behind forever.
Her spellkit—once Celeharth’s—had been lost with her baggage train. But she had found a way to make do. From a chest in the corner she took a stone teapot and a delicate cup of moon-pale shin’zuruf. She had been surprised but pleased to find these items among Karamedheliel’s possessions. Most welcome of all was a tiny brazier, only large enough to hold one charcoal disk. The brazier was very old, carved of white jade with the design of a herd of running unicorns, a golden bowl for the charcoal set in the top. Gazing at it, Vieliessar thought back suddenly to the day she had gone to Earime’kalareinya to sacrifice for victory in battle. Even now, the memory of the Unicorn’s radiant beauty, glimpsed and lost, made her heart ache when she thought of it.
Recognizing her mind’s attempts to delay her, she opened another box and chose a disk of charcoal, setting it carefully into the brazier’s golden bowl. She placed the brazier on top of the chest, then set the charcoal alight with a thought. Iardalaith had given her a wooden canister of tea, and another of incense. Now she shook loose tea into the teapot, then filled it with hot water from the kettle. As she waited for the tea to steep, she opened the incense box and teased out the tiny bone spoon inside, then scooped a small mound of incense crystals onto the charcoal. At once they began to bubble and melt, and soon the sweet, rich scent of incense filled the chamber. When the tea was ready, she poured her cup full. The cool sweetness of the tea mingled with the warm sweetness of the incense, familiar and soothing.
By the time she’d finished two cups of tea, the calm sense of
