A week after leaving Vadras, we saw the first soldiers retreating from the forest. Two men, each with an arm that would need the healer’s saw, led a horse-pulled cart filled with soldiers on the edge of death. The horse, ridden and worked to exhaustion, clopped past us, its head barely off the ground. The smell of blood filled the air, and it was difficult to tell who would die first, the horse or the men.
Our company, nearly twenty strong, stepped off the road to let them pass. From my spot next to the queen, I caught Bolt’s attention and gestured toward Mirren. With a nod, the pair of them peeled away and left to speak to the men leading the cart.
They caught up to us about a mile later, Erendella’s men parting to let them through. “Bad?” I asked Bolt.
“Not good,” he said. “It’s not the type of war we want to fight.” The planes of his face hardened.
“You mean it’s not the kind of war we can win.”
He scowled at me. “I think I just said that.”
“Errant Consto,” Herregina cut in, “please explain.”
He dipped his head toward Mirren. “I think I’d better let her tell you what she saw. You’ll need the context. There’s not much I’ll need to add.”
Mirren wet lips that had gone bloodless, and I knew something in those memories had done more than just scare her. “Ten nights ago their outpost came under attack. Men and women bearing the look of ordinary craftsmen and laborers broke through their palisade. Before they could organize resistance, the enemy was in their midst, moving like gifted. The entire post was wiped out except for the men we saw in the cart.”
“How did they survive?” I asked. Bolt nodded his approval at the question.
“They huddled by the watch fire,” Mirren said. “The attackers avoided the light, but that ploy only worked to a point. They came under arrow fire that poured into them until an hour before dawn. Then the attackers left.”
“Which way did they go?” I asked, hoping that Mirren would tell me they’d gone back to the forest. I hoped that the attack was nothing more than Cesla’s desire for blood and vengeance.
“Southwest,” Mirren said, “toward the nearest town.” She started to say something more, but her voice broke.
“They stripped the dead,” Bolt said, “swapping clothes.”
“This is what you meant,” I said. “This is the kind of war we can’t fight.”
He nodded. “Not unless we’re willing to kill our own,” he said. “Not unless we’re willing to become the thing we’re fighting.”
I turned to Erendella and Herregina. They looked at Mirren and me as if we had the right to command their obedience and expect it, but I had no desire to shoulder that responsibility. “Your Majesties, I would suggest that we expend whatever effort required to conceal our passage. It would be wiser if we supplied ourselves at each town we passed through, but made our camps in hiding.”
“Is the forest after us, Lord Dura?” Herregina asked.
“I think so,” I said. “At least in part.” I started thinking through all the different ways my plan could fail. Two leapt out at me.
“If Cesla can kill me, he’s won. The knowledge of how to call the Fayit would die with me. But that knowledge is useless without the six kings and queens who hold the gift of kings. I can’t call them without all of you. Cesla wants us badly, and the best way to keep us all safe is to hide our journey.”
They didn’t speak. “It’s just a suggestion,” I added.
“But if you’re smart, you’ll listen to it,” Bolt said. “Eight men and women from the forest made tatters of an entire outpost of a hundred soldiers. And that was in an enclosed space where they didn’t have room to move. Out in the open and in the dark, they’d go through us like a sword falling through water.”
Herregina and Erendella regarded each other in silence for a moment. “Your advice is sound, Lord Dura,” Erendella said. “Since it is a mere hour until sunset, I suggest we make for the nearest concealment and endeavor to contact the other monarchs.”
Hiding proved the least of our worries. Thick stands of trees covered much of the northern half of Caisel. We sent scouts before and behind to ensure we were unobserved and then left the road, riding for a large copse of cedars to the east that offered cover. Erendella’s men made what defenses they could in the fading light, but we didn’t light a fire and we hadn’t brought tents.
We huddled in our cloaks as Erendella pulled the scrying stone from her pack. I tried not to think about sleeping under the trees. My experiences in the Darkwater and the Everwood had taught me to be wary. The two forests couldn’t be more different, but the trees attracted power.
“King Rymark,” Erendella called into the stone. “Hear me.”
We waited. Gael edged closer, her hand worming its way into mine. My gloves kept me from dropping into her thoughts, but I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin leather and it comforted me.
“King Ellias,” Erendella called. “Regent Cailin. Queen Ulrezia, hear me.”
We waited. After a few moments, the queen of Caisel repeated her call.
“I hear you,” Rymark said. “King Ellias is with me. Where’s Boclar?”
“King Boclar has died,” Erendella said.
“Who rules in Vadras?”
“I do,” Erendella said. Rymark couldn’t see her, but she stiffened, her shoulders moving back.
“I mean no disrespect, Your Majesty,” Rymark said. “It’s imperative to know if you hold the gift of kings.”
Erendella looked at me in the fading light, and I leaned toward the stone. “This is Willet Dura,” I said. “I was present at Boclar’s death. He passed the gift
