“Will we cross and take Diamyane?” Reivan asked. The possibility had been discussed in several meetings.
“No. Our advantage lies in remaining here. The Circlians can cross only a few at a time, so we can pick them off easily.”
“And if the White come at the front of the army?”
“Then we Voices will fight them.”
“Making the soldiers unnecessary,” Reivan observed.
Imenja smiled crookedly. “Yes. Which is not a bad thing. War is not kind to unSkilled mortals.”
Reivan shivered. She was an unSkilled mortal. Imenja turned and placed a hand on Reivan’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry. You will be protected.”
“I know.” Reivan nodded, then sighed. “But I will also be useless.”
The glowing sky had dimmed and Imenja’s face was in shadow. Reivan could not see her expression.
“Not to me,” Imenja said, squeezing Reivan’s shoulder. She looked back. “The tent is up. We should join the others.”
They walked back into the camp. What had been a dry, dusty stretch of land was now covered in black pointed shapes, fires flickering like orange stars scattered between. Reivan had regarded the tents in dismay when she first saw them being erected. The five-sided design was an unnecessary complication that some of the domestics were finding hard to work out and the black cloth would trap the heat of the sun. Sometimes she wondered if the Pentadrians took their symbolism too far.
When the sun rose the army wouldn’t be huddling in their overheated tents. They would be spilling blood. Or watching sorcerers throw deadly magic about and hoping they wouldn’t happen to be in the wrong place when it went astray. She thought about what Imenja had said. A fight between only Voices and White sounded too good to be true. But the Servants and priests would not remain out of the battle. They would assist their side with extra magic. Once the Voices defeated the White, or, gods help them, the White defeated the Voices, there would be no point in the Servants or priests continuing the fight. But they might anyway. Just out of loyalty to their gods.
She doubted that the Voices would just let the Circlians go home, as the White had done with the Pentadrians after the last battle. She also knew that this would be a fight in which the Voices or White would not let their counterparts live.
Imenja checked her stride, then sighed. Looking up, Reivan saw that they were approaching a large tent. This one was not the plain five-sided shape of the rest, but a star shape. The entrance to the tent was a gap between two of the star’s arms. As she followed Imenja inside she found herself in a five-sided room. In each wall was a door flap. They probably led to the private rooms of the Voices.
A huge carpet covered the floor and several woven reed chairs had been arranged upon it. On small, low tables were bowls of nuts and dried fruit and jugs of water. A Servant traced the symbol of the star as Imenja turned toward him. He lowered his eyes and gestured to a door flap.
Imenja pushed the flap aside, then held it open for Reivan to catch as she moved inside. Carpet covered the floor and trunks lay beside a large bed.
“Where will I sleep?” Reivan asked.
“There should be a tent for you nearby.”
Reivan nodded.
“Are your accommodations to your satisfaction?”
They turned to find Nekaun standing in the doorway, smiling. Reivan’s skin crawled at the sight of him.
“I hardly know I’ve left the Sanctuary,” Imenja said dryly.
Nekaun’s smile widened. “You will tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Food has arrived. Come and eat.”
He retreated from the door. Reivan turned back to Imenja and found the woman smiling.
“Good to see he no longer has a hold on you,” she murmured. “Though I wish that hadn’t come about in such a painful way.”
Reivan blinked in surprise, then nodded as she realized Imenja was right. She no longer felt a thrill of admiration and weakness when she saw Nekaun. She no longer craved his attention. Ever since...
She shuddered as she remembered that last time. He had revealed a cruel, malicious side that she was both glad and a little worried that she would never forget. Now when she saw him she felt repulsed.
Imenja moved past, patting Reivan on the shoulder as she did.
“Let’s eat.”
Following her mistress out, Reivan saw that the other Voices and their Companions had arrived. Domestics were carrying platters of steaming food into the room, filling the air with delicious smells. She sat down beside Imenja and began to eat. Dedicated Servants and even a few Thinkers entered. Nekaun made a small speech, telling them that while they feasted the Circlians were wearily making their final march of a long and exhausting journey, only to be defeated tomorrow.
Talk circulated around war. A Dedicated Servant reported that several Circlian supply ships had been sunk. During general chatter Reivan overheard the Thinkers discussing a giant sea creature that had been sighted swimming in the Gulf of Sorrow. They wanted to kill and examine it.
“If you do, we will withdraw our support in this war,” a loud, deep voice with a thick accent boomed.
All turned toward the entrance. Reivan’s heart leapt with recognition. Looking around, she could see the effect the imposing figure of the Elai king was having on those who had never seen an Elai before.
Even if King Ais had been a landwalker, his height, the size of his chest and the gold jewellery he wore would have made him an intimidating figure. His blue-black skin, complete hairlessness, double-lidded eyes and webbed hands and feet just added a strangeness that some might find fascinating and others repellent. The king moved into the room, his eyes narrowing at the Thinkers.
“The ru-al is an ancient and benign creature of the sea, and though we would gain enough food from one creature to feed many, many families we Elai do not hunt them. To kill one for the sake of curiosity would be...” The Elai king shook his head. “It would be both wasteful and cruel.”
“Nobody is going to kill the creature,” Nekaun assured him. He moved forward to meet the king. “Welcome to Avven and the Pentadrian war camp, King Ais. I hope your journey was not difficult.”
As the two leaders continued with formal pleasantries Reivan looked away again. People were listening to and staring at the Elai king in fascination. Nekaun glanced away from the king and frowned, and those who were staring quickly turned away and struck up conversations.
“King Ais has learned Avvenan well,” Imenja noted. Reivan nodded. The Second Voice looked around the room, then turned to Vervel.
“Where is Mirar?” she asked quietly.
Vervel shrugged. “He retired to his tent.”
“The trip wore him out?” Shar asked, smiling. “Or was it Genza? He spent a long time with her.”
Genza regarded the Fifth Voice with one eyebrow raised in disdain. “On a litter. In full view of the army.”
“Lucky for him.”
“Can an immortal get tired?” Vervel asked thoughtfully. Nobody answered.
“Maybe he’s snuck back to the Sanctuary,” Genza said. She turned to face Nekaun as he left the king and moved over to join them. “Is Auraya securely locked up?”
The First Voice smiled nastily. “She is. Don’t worry. Mirar is being watched. And her guards have orders to kill her if anyone tries to interfere.” Imenja looked at him sharply. He returned her gaze, his smile widening. “I’m tempted to tell them to anyway, then bring her body back here to present to the White. That might make them pause.”
The other Voices exchanged glances, but said nothing.
“But you won’t,” Imenja said quietly. “Because she is the reason he is helping us.”
Nekaun shrugged. “Mirar won’t risk spoiling the pleasant relationship our people have with his.”
“And neither should we.”
The First Voice made a disparaging noise. “We don’t need the Dreamweavers.”
