Shouts from the camp drew Kitiara's attention now. She saw mercenaries turn to face the Meir's castle, nestled in a treeless hollow below the camp. Kitiara had already noted the figure of a woman on the battlements, but she hadn't guessed who it was. Now she realized. The woman, blond hair shining nearly white, was dressed brilliantly in royal blue and blood red, the colors of the Meiri.
"Dreena ten Valdane," Kitiara whispered.
Although mist hid the bottom ten feet of the castle, the woman's slim figure made a splendid target atop the battlements, several hundred yards from her father's camp in the trees. Dreena ten Valdane stood some sixty feet above the soldiers. But that was within range of the Valdane's hired archers.
"Precisely where her husband stood last week when he took the arrow," Kitiara said softly to herself. "Perhaps she hopes to join him now." She snorted.
As Kitiara watched, Dreena ten Valdane waved boldly at the largest tent in Kitiara's camp, the one that flew the black and purple standard of the Valdane of Kern. Then the young woman stepped back and was gone.
"She's a fool," said a black-haired, black-bearded man as he emerged from the mist near Kitiara. "Why antagonize her father like that? Her forces are bound to lose. Dreena ten Valdane will need whatever goodwill she can muster just to keep her head once this is over. The Valdane considers her an enemy as much as her late husband."
Kitiara squinted into the fog. "It's no treachery to defend your own country, Mackid."
"She's betraying her father."
"But not her husband."
Caven Mackid's tone was amused. "Is Captain Uth Matar going soft? By the gods, Kitiara, you defending romance?"
"Hardly. But I can appreciate her courage in standing up for someone she loves."
Caven grunted.
The sky continued to lighten, but the haze thickened and spread until it lay like a puffy blanket just above the ground. The vapor seemed to cut off Caven's and Kitiara's legs at the knees. The colorless-ness of the day accentuated a certain resemblance between the man and woman—black hair, dark eyes, pale skin. But a close look at their expressions showed the similarities to be superficial. Whereas Kitiara's athletic skill made her body wiry and lithe, Caven's body bloomed with muscle. Even now, Kitiara's sidelong look showed appreciation.
"It will be difficult for the men to pick their way over uneven ground in this fog," Caven said, musing. "Perhaps the generals will decide to wait."
"Are the horses ready?" Kitiara interjected.
Her tone told Caven that bantering and chitchat were at an end. The time of battle was near.
"Maleficent and Obsidian are saddled and loaded," he said. "Wode is tending them."
"At least your squire is good for something."
"Still, he's my nephew."
Kitiara cast a brown-eyed glance at him. "Now who's turning soft?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Tell Wode to give Obsidian an extra measure of oats and to wait with the mare at the head of the western trail." She hesitated before continuing. "I don't like the feel of this battle, Caven," she admitted. "I'm not persuaded the Valdane's generals can lead us through this. They've already botched the siege, as far as I'm concerned."
Caven Mackid waited until he was sure Kitiara had finished speaking. "You expect a rout?"
Kitiara didn't answer directly. Instead, she stroked the hilt of her sword. "Go talk to Wode," she said. "And luck, friend. I fear we'll need it today."
It took only seconds for Caven to disappear into the fog and the trees. Dawn grew steadily nearer. "By the gods, why don't they sound the attack?" Kitiara whispered irritably. "We've already lost the best timing. What are they waiting for?" She took a few steps toward camp.
Voices arrested her movement. She paused and looked back downhill into the mist. Voices? Her brow furrowed, and her hand slipped again to her sword. The fog had gathered around the base of the Meir's granite castle, creeping up the walls more than a man's height. It made it appear as though the castle were floating—which Kitiara had to admit would be quite a tactical advantage. Was the fog magic-born?
Did the Meir's widow have some tricks at her disposal? Dreena was well known to be a spell-caster, although of only moderate ability. The Valdane's mage, Janusz, had taught her himself, from her girlhood on.
Dreena must know she can't match the mage, Kitiara thought to herself. He knows everything she could attempt.
Voices again. And again they came from the base of the castle. Whispers. Were the castle's occupants mounting their own attack? Kitiara looked back uphill toward her own camp. There was no time to go back for Caven or other reinforcements, and no sense in sounding an unnecessary alarm. Perhaps she was hearing the whispering of her own soldiers, reflected eerily off the stone castle.
"This infernal mist," Kitiara whispered. Drawing her sword, she used the fog and shrubbery as a cover and crept toward the sound. She could see almost nothing, could barely see her own feet, but she continued to edge forward.
The voices seemed to be coming from the left now. Suddenly the gray granite of the castle loomed before Kitiara like the huge tombstone of some prehistoric god. Despite herself, a startled sound burst from Kitiara's throat. She saw the silhouette of a bush growing out of the castle base and threw herself behind it.
"Who's there?" It was a woman's voice, an imperious voice accustomed to giving orders. Kitiara drew farther behind the bush and peered through the foliage. A woman appeared out of the vapor, only twenty feet distant but facing away from Kitiara. "Who is it?" the woman repeated into the mist. She waited,
