face first into the muddy water along the riverbank, so badly were their gills beset by smoke and heat. The Protector of Urione had too much dignity for that. He waded out some yards from shore and with great deliberation raised a handful of water to his face.
The battle was over, lost, but he did not despair. Somewhere on the miles-long perimeter of Silvanost there had to be a weak spot, a place not easily accessible to reinforcements or those infernal rock-throwing monsters. He would find that weak spot. He would find it for his queen.
He walked farther into the river and submerged himself. As the life-giving water flowed through his gills, Coryphene looked around at Silvanost. For the first time he noticed the condition of the city’s piers. Some of the shorter ones were surrounded by mud. The Protector of Urione frowned, bringing his head above water.
Queen Uriona had come forward from the deep channel, watching the survivors drift back, burned, dazed, gasping for water. Their suffering meant nothing to her. Only their failure was important. And where was Coryphene? She saw him now, standing there, staring as though dumbstruck.
“You live!” Uriona cried. Her relief was only momentary. Anger quickly displaced it. “You failed, Lord Protector! You are defeated!”
“Only in this battle, Divine One. The campaign is not over. Your Majesty must depart, however. There is great danger for you here.”
His words fueled her anger. “What danger? The drylanders cannot reach me here in the river. You said so yourself.”
“The river is shrinking,” he stated bluntly.
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. I know only that there is less water in the river than there was when we entered it. The level has declined during the battle and continues to dwindle even now.”
Uriona, standing hip-deep in the Thon-Thalas, stared at him. “Is this by natural means, or unnatural?”
“You would know better than I. Why don’t you ask your brother gods?” he said irritably. “I must see to my soldiers. There will be no more fighting this night.”
As he turned to leave, Uriona’s voice stopped him. “We cannot remain in the river if it dries up,” she said. “It is well I brought the Shades of Zura.”
The Protector turned back, his face drawing down into a frown. “The undead priests are not needed,” he insisted. “Once the army has rested for some hours, I intend to renew the attack by day.”
She looked at him as if he were demented. “But the sunlight! Our eyes cannot bear it!”
“My warriors can bear anything but defeat. The enemy thinks themselves safe during daylight. We will teach them otherwise. After dawn, I intend to throw the whole army against the western gate. It will be our final onslaught. We must carry the day or perish. In either case, Your Divinity must return to the sea. We cannot allow-
Her expression softened. “What kind of goddess would I be if I abandoned my Protector at the hour of his glory? I shall remain.”
“Uriona-”
“Silence. My pavilion has been erected at the deepest point in the channel. I will be safe there. And with great Zura to aid our endeavors, I shall enter the city in triumph before the next sunset.”
To forestall further discussion, she left him and walked back to the depths of the river. Coryphene watched her go, the frown back on his face. Though an accomplished spell-caster, the Protector considered himself first a warrior, a soldier who preferred to win his battles by strength and cunning. However, he was also completely devoted to his queen. No matter his misgivings, he must bend himself to her divine will.
He called up his lieutenants and sent word to every company in his army to collect in the channel west of the city. The gathering of the Dargonesti was complete by sunrise, but since it took place underwater, no one in Silvanost had any inkling of it.
That morning, word of the Speaker’s grievous injury spread, casting a pall over the city. Despite their victory at the west wall, the Silvanesti had lost fully a third of their trained warriors. Barely two thousand fighters remained, though the ranks were being augmented by volunteers. These recruits were brave, but they were ill- matched against Coryphene’s veterans.
While Vixa slept, Gundabyr met with Marshal Samcadaris and other high-ranking Silvanesti officers. The marshal’s greatest fear was that the Dargonesti would launch serious attacks simultaneously at more than one point. He no longer had enough troops to cover multiple fronts.
“What about the levies?” asked the dwarf. “Shouldn’t they be close by now?”
“Some should. They were to gather at Ilist Glade,” said Samcadaris. “The levies from the nearer provinces should already be there.”
“Then let’s send word!”
“The city is surrounded,” objected a Silvanesti colonel named Eriscodera. “How can we get to the far shore without being attacked?”
“The blueskins don’t move during the day, remember? I say we send a small band across at high noon to find the waiting levies and bring them back, quicker than quicksilver.”
Samcadaris rubbed his pointed chin. “There is something in what Master Gundabyr proposes, only I would be even bolder than he. Go now, I say, and don’t wait for noon.”
He chose Colonel Eriscodera to lead the party. “Take twelve cavalry with you. Ride as though the Dragonqueen herself is after you, and bring back the levies that are already assembled.” He smote his thigh with his fist. “Make all the noise you want on your return. Let the Dargonesti think a mighty army is coming to terminate the siege of Silvanost!”
“May I go, too?” asked Gundabyr. “With this hurt wing of mine, I’m not much good in a fight, but I want to do whatever I can to stop the blueskins.”
“What do you say, Colonel?”
“An outlander riding with the cavalry of Silvanost?” said Eriscodera, eyeing the dwarf uncertainly. “I suppose it may serve to drive home how desperate things are.”
“Kind of you to say so,” Gundabyr remarked sourly.
“Master Gundabyr is brave and resourceful,” Samcadaris said. “And he knows the enemy better than any of us. I do you an honor, Colonel, by sending him with you.”
Eriscodera saluted smartly and departed with the dwarf. They went directly to the cavalry headquarters, Gundabyr not even taking time to have breakfast.
Chapter 23
Ragged and bloodied, Vixa rested in a small chamber in the Quinari Palace. Once her shoulder had been bandaged, she simply found the nearest couch and dropped down on it. The Silvanesti quickly tired of whispering about her in the corridor. She slept, deeply and dreamlessly.
She awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright on her couch. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but the sun was up, its rays slanting in the large windows on the palace’s east facade. All was silent. The usual sounds- servants’ soft voices, footsteps whispering on carpet-were absent. Yet, Vixa had the distinct impression she’d been awakened by a loud noise.
Slowly, her bandaged shoulder aching and stiff, Vixa got to her feet. Mud and blood had dried on her boots, flaking off with every step. She buckled on her borrowed sword and encountered no one as she walked through the sun-bright palace rooms. The audience hall was empty as well.
Where was everyone? she wondered. The streets outside the palace were vacant as well-not so much as a cat showed itself. The air fairly pulsed with power, the harnessed magic of the entire priesthood of Silvanost. It
