“Eldest,” Allta called again. “Look.” He pointed.
There on the topmost edge of the stone, a nick, hardly more than the width of a hair, marred the diamond’s perfection. A new fear gripped Pellin, and he clutched at Allta’s arm. “The evil of the Darkwater has tasted defeat for the first time. It will become desperate now.” The nick in the scrying stone might have been etched on his heart. “I have no way to warn them.”
Chapter 43
A half hour before sunrise, Fess awakened Toria. “They’re returning, Lady Deel.”
Three days had passed since they’d been reunited with Lelwin. In that time the girl had had refused all contact and conversation except what was absolutely necessary for battle. After Toria’s persistent questioning, Lelwin finally assured her that Branna had arrived safely to the healers in Elbas. She refused, however, to explain why she, too, was not with them.
Pulling her thoughts back to the conflict at hand, Toria looked to Fess. “Wag?”
“He’s with them and unhurt.”
She sighed. “Praise Aer for that, anyway. And the soldiers?”
“They’ve suffered heavy losses, Lady Deel, again.”
She stood, stamping her feet to settle them into her boots. “The same as the other camps,” she said. “Rymark’s inner ring is crumbling. We’ll have to fall back.”
“Lelwin won’t agree,” Fess said.
“Perhaps not, but let’s see if she refuses before we argue against it.”
They exited the tent to the charcoal-colored sky of predawn. A group of twenty men and women, many bearing wounds, entered the camp, their eyes already veiled against the light. “That’s all?” Her voice broke with the question.
“Heavy losses,” Fess repeated. “The forest is fighting back.”
“Enough,” she said. Striding quickly across the camp, she positioned herself in front of the tent where Lelwin and the rest would spend the day, hiding from the sun. “Stop,” she commanded. “You cannot continue to fight in this way.” Wag, his coat spattered with blood, trotted around to stand beside her, his ears pointed forward.
Lelwin stood at the forefront of her men, waving her away. “We need rest and food, Toria Deel, and you’re keeping us from both.”
“This is finished,” Toria said. “You lost half of what remained of your command this night. You must retreat.” Lelwin’s mouth set in a line, her refusal plain.
Before she could speak, Toria stepped to the side to address the veiled men and women who waited to enter the tent’s darkness. “I’m going to give you two reasons why you must retreat.”
She circled the group, working to her right toward the embers of one of the few fires in the camp. “First, from this minute forward, you will no longer have the sentinel to fight with you.” A buzz of angry mutters rose from the camp, from those veiled and unveiled, until Fess appeared at her side, his sword drawn.
Lelwin shrugged her indifference. “We held the outpost before the sentinel’s arrival, Toria Deel. We can hold it again.”
Toria leaned forward, pretending surprise. “Can you? With no reinforcements?” She continued to circle toward the fire. “How many more nights like this last can you endure?”
“If we must, we will reduce the area we patrol around our camp,” Lelwin said. “We will hold, Toria Deel, and if we do not, we will strike a blow against the evil of the forest that you would not.” Beneath her veil, Lelwin smiled. “I will not abandon those with me to evil, as you did.”
Toria stifled her reply. Defending herself against Lelwin’s accusations would avail her nothing. “A military campaign runs according to a chain of command,” she said. “While you are in command of this outpost—in fact, if not in name—I have been given authority by King Rymark to command this and every other outpost.”
Lelwin laughed. “I will not obey your orders, Toria Deel, nor will any of those who fight with me.”
Toria dipped her head. “Perhaps, but there is another reason you must retreat.” She bent, pulling a half-burned branch from the dying fire and threw. Spinning, the branch soared toward the heavy canvas tent, the air bringing the ember to life. It fell atop the heavy fabric, and the tent erupted in flames.
Lelwin wheeled on her, screaming. “You dare! Do you know what you’ve done?”
She nodded, working to keep her face placid. “Yes. Like any good commander, I’ve ensured that my orders will be followed.”
Her face mottled with rage, Lelwin yanked a dagger from her belt and threw in a single motion. Toria watched the blade streak toward her chest, striving to move and knowing she would fail.
The ring of steel pierced the air, and Lelwin’s knife fell to the ground, knocked aside by Fess’s sword. Toria stared, disbelieving as Lelwin moved to throw again.
But Fess, gifted and unsurprised, was quicker. “Wag!”
A blur of muscle and fur streaked across her vision, and Lelwin was down, Wag’s jaws around her throat. “Hold her,” Toria ordered. “The rest of you, take off your veils. It’s time you reacquainted yourselves with the light.”
“And if we refuse?” a man behind Lelwin asked.
Toria nodded toward Fess. “Then you’ve rejected a direct order from a superior, and my guard will kill you where you stand.”
Slowly, starting with the men and women in back, the soldiers removed their heavy veils, squinting against the predawn light that Toria found barely sufficient. Behind her, the crackle of fire grew.
“No!” Lelwin screamed within Wag’s grip. “We must fight.”
Toria’s heart wrenched within her with the need to fold Lelwin in her arms, but she pushed the impulse aside. “Wag, bring her to me.”
With Lelwin screaming the entire way, the sentinel dragged her across the ground. At the last, Lelwin lay before Toria, her hands covering her veil, striving to keep it in place. Toria bent to rip the cloth loose.”
The first hint of sunlight broke above the horizon as the veil tore and fell away. Lelwin’s brokenhearted wail filled the camp, breaking the dawn into splinters of jagged sound. She screamed until her breath died, then curled into a ball, her head
