for some of the blood.
She clasped his hand, fighting back tears. “How bad?”
“The leg wound is deep,” Rylin told her, already wrapping strips of cloth cut from someone’s tabard around that wound. “But it’s his arm I’m worried about.”
“Talia,” Nyal croaked. “Don’t cry, my talia. It’s not so bad.”
“It doesn’t look good,” Beka said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
“Cadeus and Samani are off looking for a healer. In the meantime, I can set that arm,” said Sori.
Nyal squeezed her hand and she nodded.
“Are you wounded, Beka?” Nyal asked as the others gathered rags and cut splints from a broken halberd.
“Not a scratch,” Beka managed. “The queen is dead, Nyal.”
His eyes widened “Then we’ve lost?”
“No. Klia took up the sword and led us to victory.”
The wound on his cheek gaped as he tried to smile. “Then we’ll go home at last!”
The healer didn’t find them until dawn, and by then Nyal’s wounds had begun to fester, though they’d been washed with what water Beka and the others had left.
The exhausted young drysian came to them with a servant hauling his cart of simples. He dressed Nyal’s wound and those of the other riders who had them, and gave them healing blessings. When he was done, Beka pulled him aside.
“Thank you, Brother, for all you’ve done. Please, will my husband survive his wounds?”
“The infection wasn’t too bad, but if that bone doesn’t mend well, he could lose the arm.”
Beka nodded and turned back to the others. She’d love Nyal just as well with one arm as two, but what it would do to him, not to be able to hunt or draw a bow anymore, she couldn’t imagine.
Phoria’s body had been rescued and lay in state in her pavilion under a black shroud. In front of it, the bodies of fallen officers were laid out on cloaks with their hands clasped on their breasts and their swords beside them. Danos was not among them, Klia noted. Either he’d taken Phoria’s words to heart, or been lucky.
There was no time to mourn her fallen sister yet. She first sent word of the victory and the queen’s loss the fastest way she could, with a message sphere to Thero, asking that he bring word to Korathan. Then she spent a weary night conferring with General Moraus and her surviving officers, taking in the number of dead, and trying to reapportion commands. By right of birth, she was now Marshal of the Armies, assuming Phoria’s command until the new queen could do so.
Just after dawn Beka Cavish returned with word of more casualties-Nyal was among them, badly wounded.
Standing by the dying fire, Klia looked around at all her gathered officers. “Take heart. The war is over, and though our losses are grievous, the service we have done Skala will ensure the safety of our land for generations to come. As we mourn the loss of our queen, so must we honor her sacrifice and victory.”
“But the victory is yours,” one of the generals, Sarit, said.
“I only finished what my sister started,” Klia told him. “And now I must complete another task. I’m starting for Skala today by sea, to bring the Sword of Gherilain to its rightful owner. In the meantime, General Moraus, you will assume command here; see to the wounded until spring, then bring the army home.” She paused. “And I have a field promotion to make. Captain Beka Cavish, step forward.”
Beka, who’d been standing with Anri and Danos, looked up in surprise, and in the brightening light Klia could see how weary and bloodstained she was. Wind-burned as she
was, her face was pale behind the freckles, and it was clear she hadn’t slept, either. Nonetheless, she came forward and saluted smartly.
Klia smiled. “I’m promoting you, Beka Cavish. These past five years you have served well, rendered untold service to the royal family, and exemplified valor on the field. From this day forward, you are a commander of the Queen’s Horse Guard.”
A murmur went through the assembly. Most knew that her father was a foreigner, and of low rank. They had no idea of his service to the Crown. Klia stilled it with a sharp look, then unhooked her silver and gold gorget and presented it to Beka.
After a stunned instant, Beka took it in both hands and went down on one knee. “Thank you, Highness, for this immense honor. I will not fail you.”
“I know you won’t. I call you all to bear witness. Rise, Commander Beka Cavish, and assume your place with your peers.”
When the last of the night’s work was finished at last, Klia made her way wearily back to Phoria’s pavilion to sit vigil, accompanied by the generals and commanders. As she neared it, she noticed Danos nearby. He saluted her with a wan smile. She returned it, wondering what the future held for him.
CHAPTER 43. Nightrunning
THAT same night Alec watched with Seregil, Micum, and Thero from the shadows as the last of Atre’s troupe set off in the direction of the theater.
Patch and the other horses were hobbled in the narrow alley behind them, and nickered softly. Among all his other worries, Alec hoped that no one stole Patch.
The house was dark, but a lone watchman with a lantern had been left to guard the place. Seregil had seen the cook and serving girl leave after the evening meal, and none of them had seen any other servants during the day.
All but Thero were armed with swords, and Alec had his Black Radly in case of a chase. He’d taken off the shatta and stuffed a woolen muffler Illia had knitted him inside the quiver to keep the arrows from rattling. And for luck, too, he admitted to himself.
It was a clear night, with a lopsided autumn moon casting bright bars of light between the buildings. There were no walls around the houses in this neighborhood, making it that much harder to approach without being seen, though it was probably just as well with Thero along. The wizard had wisely dressed in breeches and a dark tunic, but he probably wasn’t up to much climbing.
“I’ll do the honors,” whispered Micum, starting away.
Just then, however, a tiny orb of blue light winked into existence in front of Thero.
As the others exchanged puzzled looks, the wizard touched the message sphere gently. To Alec’s surprise, there was no
voice, at least not one that he could hear, as was usual with Thero’s message spells. But clearly Thero could hear something, for his face went very still as he replied softly, “I understand.” The little light sped away with its new message.
“What’s going on?” hissed Seregil.
The wizard gave the sign for
“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil muttered, staring after him in disbelief.
“What do we do?” asked Alec.
“What we’ve always done.” Seregil carefully tucked Thero’s button away in his belt pouch. “Our job.”
Thero rode in stunned silence as the import of Klia’s message sank in. The queen was dead, the war was won, and Klia would be back in the city, accompanying the fallen queen’s body and bearing the great sword to Elani, in perhaps a week’s time. He was to break the news to Prince Korathan. Immediately.
Sorrow, joy, and relief warred in his heart. He didn’t know how to feel.
At the Palace he drew a few questioning looks given the lateness of the hour and his uncommon clothing, but a page took him at once to the royal residence.
Thero found Korathan alone in the darkened garden. He wore no robes or coat, but sat in his shirtsleeves, with one elbow on the stone table and his head resting on his hand, pale hair loose around his face. A wine bottle and cup stood before him on the table.
