Omar glanced at her. “Maybe. Maybe not. Ours is not a very brotherly brotherhood. It would all depend on who exactly the commander is. He might help us, or he might torture us, interrogate us, kill us, and take our sun- steel.”
“Oh.” Wren nodded. “Well, then, I suppose it won’t hurt us to just stay on board and wait a bit longer.”
As they stood side by side, listening to the creak of the ropes and the rustle of the canvas, a sudden roar of thunder burst from the southern shore as a hailstorm of fire leapt into the sky and soared across the narrow waist of the Strait. Wren jerked back from the railing, but the flaming arrows and shells flew high over La Rosa and fell like a hundred thunderbolts on the face of the water. A sparkling silver spray shimmered in the air as the missiles were quenched and hissed, steaming in the night. But some of the arrows and shells fell on a group of small boats near the north shore.
The Hellan sailors dove into the Strait, yelling orders and screaming in terror as the fire clung to their shirts. Their flapping sails roared with yellow flames in the cold wind, and were soon consumed, leaving the hulls crackling and dancing with red lights.
“I take it back,” Wren whispered. “It may hurt us after all.”
Chapter 5. Rumor
Major Tycho Xenakis strode into the war room as quickly as his short legs could carry him. His Spartan dagger clung silently to his left leg, but his white Mazigh revolver clinked in its holster on his right hip with every step, announcing his entrance. As he crossed the room, the Hellan officers and Vlachian warlords glanced up from their maps and reports to cast dark looks at him. Tycho felt their unease, contempt, and fear, but he didn’t waste his own gaze on any of them.
He arrived at the central table, which he could just barely see over, and he rapped his knuckles on the nearest leg. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
They looked down at the Spartan officer. On the left stood the Vlachian prince, Vlad the Fourth, the dragon of the Black Sea, grandson of the most feared butcher in the north, the Impaler. On the right he nodded to Lady Nerissa, the Duchess of Constantia, and to the aging Italian knight Salvator Fabris, who was standing just a bit too close to the lady for Tycho’s taste.
“Which problem might that be?” Salvator asked as he smoothed his oiled gray mustache. “The Eranian army across the Strait, the Eranian fleet in the Strait, or the Eranian artillery flying over the Strait?”
Tycho ignored the Italian and looked to his lady. “It’s the witch.”
Prince Vlad hissed as he straightened up and tugged at his black and red jacket. “Lady Yaga is the sainted mother of Rus. Show some respect, you malformed runt.”
“She’s only one man’s mother, and that’s the problem,” Tycho said. “Ever since Koschei was captured by the Turks, Lady Yaga has been haunting the walls, terrifying our men with her threats, or just depressing them her ideas of what awful things the Turks do to their prisoners. She’s ruining morale on the walls.”
“Are Hellan soldiers so fragile to be defeated by the heartbroken cries of one old woman?” Vlad asked. He grasped the short sword on his belt.
Tycho frowned.
We never should have gotten him that sword. Seireikens are for lunatics.
“Prince Vlad, my soldiers have held this city against Darius’s armies for their entire lives,” Lady Nerissa said. “They were born to the clamor of battle, they were raised in shattered homes and streets strewn with rubble, and from the moment they are able, they serve to protect Constantia against the south. And it is their sacrifice that keeps the north free, from Rus to Raska to your own precious Vlachia.”
The hawk-faced lord scowled and turned back to the maps on the table.
But the Duchess continued, “When you pledged the support of these so-called immortals, I was led to believe they would have more to contribute to the war than the average person. But Koschei, for all his martial gifts, was merely one soldier, and his mother has been nothing but a distraction.”
Vlad glowered up through his black brows. “I swore to defend this city against Darius and the infidels of the Mazdan Temple, and I will keep that vow. But I will not stand here and listen to you foul the names of the sainted mother and her valiant son.” He pushed away from the table and strode to the far end of the room to talk with his Vlachian commanders.
Tycho watched him go. “He’s become more and more emotional and irrational since we brought him that damned sword.”
“The sword isn’t the problem. He wanted proof of our commitment and we delivered it to him, as promised,” Lady Nerissa said lightly. “The real problem runs far deeper. Vlachia is a land of summer wars and sea battles. They aren’t accustomed to prolonged siege warfare. Win or lose, they want this war to end, and that may make the Vlachians a liability at some point.”
“As distasteful as I find them,” Salvator said, “I can’t imagine they would betray you.”
“Not willingly, no,” the Duchess said. “But in their hearts? A time may come when they don’t fight as fiercely, when the fire goes out of them, when they embrace the shadows in their hearts and admit defeat simply to end this war.”
“I can see that day all too clearly,” Tycho said. “But what about Yaga? We need to do something about her. She’s scaring our soldiers, to say nothing of the conscripts from Italia and Espana.”
“That’s not the only thing eating away at morale,” Salvator said. “There’s a rumor in the barracks that Prince Radu has been seen on the walls of Stamballa. If the Vlachians learn that Vlad’s own brother is leading the Turks, it could split their loyalties and we might actually find ourselves behind enemy lines very suddenly.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Tycho said. “From what I’ve heard, most of the Vlachians hate Radu for converting to the Mazdan Temple, and for turning against his own people. They see him as a traitor.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Lady Nerissa said. “In the mean time, I have something special for the two of you. This afternoon one of our gunboats sank a trawler carrying an imperial courier home from the north shore.”
Tycho frowned. “Who do you think he was visiting on the north shore?”
“That’s what I want the two of you to find out. He’s being held in the Sunken Palace. If there are imperial troops on the north shore, or worse, a traitor among our ranks, I don’t want some common soldier to be the first to learn of it.”
The Italian knight nodded curtly. “We understand, Your Grace. We will be the very souls of discretion.”
Tycho nodded as well and he followed Salvator out of the war room and down the dimly lit corridor. Their boots clacked and echoed on the polished marble floors and soaring walls covered in oil portraits of dead Constantian lords and tapestries of ancient Constantian battles. The men spiraled down the wide white steps of the west stairwell to the western doors, and then strode out through the massive Hellan columns into the cold night air. Soldiers stood at attention at every gate and door, and Tycho nodded seriously to each of them. Salvator ignored them all.
They stepped into one of the small carriages that stood ever-ready to carry a person of importance into the city and with the horses trotting briskly they soon left the grounds of the Palace of Constantine and turned southwest to pass the Cathedral of Saint Sophia. Sitting on the left side of the carriage, Tycho gazed up at the centuries-old church towering above the boulevard like a black and gold mountain shining in the starlight. The great sweeping arcs of its domed roof, heavy pillars, and elegant archways conspired in the darkness to create the image of a many-legged, many-mouthed demon looming over the tiny carriage on the road.
“You know, I’m surprised you’re still here,” Tycho said quietly.
“So am I,” the Italian answered. “I had planned to leave before winter set in, but this war is just a bit too interesting to leave, just yet. I mean, two brothers leading opposing armies, a pair of immortal lunatics, and the chance to observe the latest in Eranian ships and weapons. And besides, I’m sure the king of Italia appreciates my efforts here to single-handedly defeat the Mazdan Temple. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but he’s not fond of the empire.”
“I believe you have mentioned it,” the dwarf said. “But after we brought back the seireikens from Alexandria, I assumed you would be off to investigate the Osirians again. But you haven’t mentioned the Order of Osiris once since we arrived.”
