Lyss was a veteran of the battlefield, and so no stranger to bloodshed, but she’d never seen anything like this. It wasn’t a matter of skill—neither was practiced in swordplay. They simply whacked at each other with a dogged determination, oblivious to injury. Blood spattered the ground around them—and, eventually, severed limbs. The fact that they seemed to be fairly evenly matched only prolonged the butchery. Even on the ground, they kept flailing until their officers waded in and beheaded them.
Lyss felt the pressure of the empress’s eyes. No doubt this was intended as a test, a promise, and a warning. So Lyss kept her chin up, shoulders back, expression as blank as she could manage.
“Impressive,” she said, since Celestine seemed to be expecting a comment. “How many troops do you have to put into this fight?”
“Thousands,” the empress said, “and I have the ability to recruit more—as many as needed.”
“Success in battle depends on more than numbers, Empress,” Lyss said. “It depends on the motivation, strengths, and limitations of your troops and the skill and experience of your commanders. Otherwise, the queendom of the Fells would be part of the Ardenine Empire.”
“I agree,” the empress said, looking pleased. “I’ve been impressed with what you have been able to accomplish with so little. It makes me wonder what you could do with unlimited resources.”
I guess we’ll never know, Lyss thought. It brought to mind the debriefing sessions at the end of every marching season, when everyone agreed that their fighters were the best in the world, and patted themselves on the back—celebrating surviving for another year.
She studied the troops again, trying to pick out the officers. A lot of shouting was going on, but it seemed to have little effect. Wondering if she dared speak her mind, she looked sideways at the empress. “Frankly, they look a little ragged to me.”
“I’m finding that the bloodsworn are excellent fighters, when somebody tells them what to do. They are not very creative when it comes to tactics and strategy,” Celestine said. “The best strategists are those who are at risk of dying. They have to worry about what will happen if they lose.”
Lyss had never considered that. “So the bloodsworn are not good officer material?”
“Not really. Most of my officers are not bloodsworn. Captain Samara, for example. It presents a risk, because, while the bloodsworn are unfailingly loyal, the officers may not be.”
Why are you telling me this? Lyss thought.
“You’re wondering why I’m telling you this.”
Lyss nodded.
“This is a new kind of war for us,” the empress said. “We are pirates, Captain. Our experience is in quick raids and quicker retreats.”
“You were successful in the attack on Chalk Cliffs,” Lyss said.
“That was more like a raid on a port than a major military operation. We simply stormed in and killed everyone. That isn’t difficult. We have some experience with siege warfare, but we are not used to land warfare over distances. Battlefield tactics, troop formations, logistics, and the like are foreign to us. We are also not used to governing once we conquer territory. The Desert Coast of Carthis is one thing—it is a thousand miles long but only about three miles deep before you hit the Dragonback Mountains. So nearly everything is within reach of the sea.”
Maybe you should stay home, then, Lyss thought.
She was growing weary of this verbal sparring. It was time to get some answers, even if it was bad news.
“I still don’t know why you’re telling me all this,” she said. “Why did you bring me back to your capital? If you’re looking for recruits for your bloodsworn army, it seems you’ve got plenty of potential soldiers here at home.”
Celestine laughed. “I don’t want to add you to the bloodsworn army,” she said. “I want you to lead it.”
37THE TALISMAN
After two more days in Lieutenant Karn’s private lockup, Hal was beginning to understand what is meant by “climbing the walls.” He was used to working his body hard; in the absence of that, his mind took over. If he tried to read in the light from the window, his mind kept turning to what was happening outside. Where was Captain Gray? Was she still alive? Had the empress turned her into one of her bloodsworn slaves? He imagined the wit and intelligence fading from her brown eyes.
What possible reason could Karn have for keeping his king in the dark about his political prisoners? Were Karn and his father really at odds? Hal worried that the spymaster intended to keep him and Robert imprisoned indefinitely, to prevent them from contributing to the thanes’ military efforts.
If Hal felt this way after a few days, it was hard to imagine what it must be like for his mother and sister after months in the dungeon. If they weren’t already dead. His little sister, Harper, had a habit of speaking her mind to authority, consequences be damned.
Robert spent most of his time doing push-ups, chin-ups—anything to burn off frustration and useless energy. By the third day, Hal began to join in on Robert’s workouts. They were hard at it one morning after breakfast when Hal heard the key in the lock. He levered to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. Robert mopped his face with his shirt and stood.
Karn strode in, his arms loaded with what looked like clothing. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, dropping a bundle on each of their beds. “Have you been warm enough? Is the food acceptable?”
“We don’t care about the bloody food!” Robert snapped.
Karn raised an eyebrow. “Spoken like a well-fed man.”
Hal untied his bundle and unfolded the fabric. He looked up in surprise. “It’s a blackbird uniform,” he said.
“The actual members call it the King’s Guard,” Karn said. “Or they are supposed to. Practice saying that.”
“You brought us disguises?” Robert said, with a spark of enthusiasm. “But”—he held up a glittery black mask—“don’t you think this is kind of obvious?”
“You’re invited to a party,” Karn said. “Happily, it’s a masquerade party.
