She knew she was speaking faster and at a higher pitch than normal, her heart beating fast in dread.
“And do what I can to save them from the tyranny of men.”
As she uttered the word “men’, Stara felt a flare of pain in her ear lobe and let out a stifled squeak. Then her entire ear went hot. Chiara and Tavara were fussing with the earring. Something cool spread over her ear lobe. Tavara stepped back.
“Here.” Chiara pressed the jar into Stara’s hand. “Put this on twice a day until it heals. But remember, the gem has to touch your skin to work and the salve can act as a barrier.”
Tavara was smiling. “Well done, Stara. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the Traitors.”
At that Stara found herself the object of many welcoming hugs, from both wives and slaves. And none quite so tight as that from Vora.
“Well done,” the slave murmured.
“Hmph,” Stara replied. “You could have warned me about the piercing part.”
“And miss the look on your face?” The old woman grinned. “Never.”
Though it was cooler in the mountains, it was always a relief when the blinding summer sun eased into golden evening light. Dakon looked ahead and was unable to suppress a twinge of anxiety. Scouts had reported that the road leading up to the pass was clear. No Sachakans, magicians or otherwise, lingered there.
It still felt unwise to camp there overnight, but that was the king’s intention. Dakon suspected most of the magicians needed to stop at the border in order to feel sure and satisfied that they’d finally driven the last of the invaders out of Kyralia.
Whether they truly had, nobody could say with complete confidence. For several weeks the Kyralian army, with the assistance of the Elynes, had split up in order to pursue the survivors of Takado’s force. A handful had been found and killed. None had surrendered, though Dakon had doubts about the last one his group had tracked down. The man had emerged on his own, hands waving frantically, before being struck down. Dakon had resisted asking if the others also wondered whether the man had been trying to give himself up. He did not want to cause them to doubt themselves unnecessarily. Especially not Narvelan, who had suffered enough doubt in himself after the first time he’d killed.
A small number of Sachakans had survived by keeping far enough ahead of their pursuers to reach the northern pass and escape into Sachaka. Dakon knew Takado was among them.
As the different groups of Kyralian magicians swept across the country they eventually joined together in the north, on the road to the pass. Timing their simultaneous arrival had been easy with the use of the blood gems.
Only two magicians had been taught the trick of making the gems. Sabin was one, Innali the other. Sabin had made a blood gem ring for the leaders of every group that left in search of the surviving invaders. Innali was their link to Imardin.
Narvelan, as the leader of the group Dakon had been a part of, had worn one of Sabin’s blood gem rings. He had not worn it constantly, as the rings communicated a continual flow of the wearer’s thoughts and if too many rings were worn at once it was overwhelming to the maker. Dakon was not sure he’d have liked giving anyone constant access to his mind. Not even Sabin.
He sighed and looked ahead. The road had been climbing the side of a steep slope, cut into the rock by someone long forgotten – perhaps back when Sachaka had ruled Kyralia, perhaps even earlier, when the two countries had begun trading. It now curved to the right and wound through a near-level ravine. The road was relatively clear of stones and rock, swept clean by hundreds of years of traffic. But as Dakon rode round a fold in the wall he could see that the king and magicians ahead of him had stopped. Beyond them was a pile of rocks several times the height of a man.
“Takado’s parting gift,” Jayan said, moving up beside him. Scouts carrying blood gem rings had warned Sabin of the obstruction. Dakon looked up at the rock walls stretching above them. He could see where the rock had been blasted.
“Hopefully such a waste of power means he is not waiting in ambush for us.”
“Hopefully,” Jayan agreed.
Dakon glanced at Tessia, who was gazing up at the walls. Abruptly a memory rose of the moment Jayan had caught up with them, some weeks back. He’d taken a side trip to the abandoned servants’ camp, now being scavenged by people returning to the country, and found her father’s bag dumped in a pile of rubbish with most of the contents missing. As he’d handed it to her she’d burst into tears, hugging the bag to herself and apologising for her outburst at the same time. Jayan had looked embarrassed and unable to think of anything to say, yet afterwards he had seemed very pleased with himself.
The bag was now restocked with a new burner and surgery tools, and cures made by Tessia or donated by village healers.
As they reached the magicians standing before the rocks, Sabin looked up at them.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” he said. “And decide what to do next.”
Having dismounted, Dakon sat on one of the boulders and watched as the rest of the army arrived. A few magicians decided to sweep the area clear of rocks and stones from the fall. As soon as the servants reached the pass they set to work. Horses were tended to. The ground was too solid for tent hooks, so it was decided that everyone would have to sleep in the open and hope it didn’t rain. Cooking smells began to waft about and made Dakon’s stomach rumble.
As what little sunlight made its way into the ravine began to dwindle, the king, his advisers and the foreign magicians moved boulders into a circle and sat down. The rest of the magicians followed suit, arranging themselves outside the circle.
Lord Hakkin looked up at the rocks. “Since we got here and I saw this, I can’t help wondering if we’d be better off adding to it rather than clearing it.”
“Block the pass?” Lord Perkin asked.
Hakkin nodded. “It wouldn’t prevent them coming back if they were determined enough. But it would slow them down.”
“It is the main trade route, though,” Perkin reminded him.
“Who’s going to trade with them now?” Narvelan asked, narrowing his eyes and looking around the circle.
“An end to trade would harm us as much as them,” the king pointed out. “Perhaps harm us more. They have better access to other lands.”
“I have to agree with you, your majesty,” Dem Ayend said. “When news came that Sachaka had invaded Kyralia some of my people took it upon themselves to murder the Sachakan traders based in Elyne. We will come to regret that, though I’m sure trade links will be re-established in time.”
“Perhaps instead we should build a fort here,” Lord Bolvin suggested. “Control who passes into Kyralia. It would have the same advantage of slowing an invasion, and we would know it is happening. Instantly, if we post a magician here.”
“We could charge Sachakan traders a fee, as well,” Hakkin added. “It might go some way towards helping our people recover.”
Heads were nodding, Dakon saw.
“How likely is it that we will be invaded again?” Lord Perkin asked, looking around.
Nobody answered for a long moment.
“That depends on two things,” Sabin said. “The desire to, and the ability to. Will they desire to? Perhaps we have frightened them into leaving us alone. Or maybe, by killing so many members of their most powerful families, we have set a desire for revenge blazing that could lead to endless conflict.”
“They invaded us,” Narvelan growled.
“True. But Sachakans are nothing less than utterly convinced of their superiority over other races. We have dared to defeat them. They won’t like it.”
“How many Sachakan magicians are left?” Bolvin asked.
“I have kept count of the fatalities as best I could,” Sabin said. “I estimate at least ninety Sachakans have died in this invasion.”
