Alliances

The sight of Favaronas’s name had been a jolt, reminding Kerian of Inath-Wakenti, and Khur in general. What had happened to the timid librarian and the good warriors who’d accompanied her to the Vale of Silence? She’d been too busy lately to spend time contemplating their fate. Standing in the kitchen of the mayor’s palace, clutching the heavy map, she summoned their faces, but the panoply was quickly overwhelmed by her husband’s face, smiling in his exhausted, gentle, yet unyielding way. She had banished it by kicking over the pile of manuscripts and books.

“The capture of Bianost was due to surprise and the woeful unpreparedness of Olin and his troops,” she declared, speaking to Alhana at the table’s head. “The bandits are aroused now, and their defenses will be strengthened everywhere. We don’t have the numbers or experience to storm a fortified town, much less besiege it.”

“What do you think we should do?” Alhana asked.

“Disperse.” Kerian waved a hand across the surface of the map. “Form a hundred small bands, each with arms to equip a thousand, and spread to every corner of Qualinesti and beyond, into Abanasinia, Kharolis, and Tarsis. Like termites, we’ll work from within, weakening Samuval everywhere while exposing a minimum of our people to danger. Before long the whole rotten structure of Samuval’s realm will collapse.”

Samar disagreed, the gist of his argument being that Alhana’s royal guards could certainly do what Porthios, Kerian, and a handful of Kagonesti had done. The victory in Bianost should not be squandered. They should strike again.

Chathendor set aside his silver knife and fork, which bore the arms of the lord mayor of Bianost, and spoke. “Lady Kerianseray’s plan seems an admirable one—for the future, but what of the present, the next several days even? The town volunteers, although enthusiastic, I am sure, are new to fighting. Won’t they need training before going up against bandit mercenaries?”

Diplomatic as always, the old chamberlain had asked a question to which he knew the answer as well as they. Rising up on the spur of the moment to strike one’s oppressors was one thing. To live wild and plan and execute attacks against a seasoned and ruthless foe were quite another. The militia would be no match for the bandits.

“I’ll not forsake them,” Alhana said firmly. “They risked all to regain their freedom. I’ll not abandon them to the mercy of Samuval’s barbarians.”

“A noble sentiment.”

The voice echoed from the eastern end of the hail. Out of the deep shadows Porthios emerged.

Kerian glared at him with unconcealed annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“A better question: Why are you still here?”

“We’ve been readying the cache of weapons for travel. There still aren’t enough draft animals—”

“Gathan Grayden is twenty miles away with an army of several thousand.”

All were on their feet instantly. Alhana gasped, and Samar muttered a curse. Kerian stabbed a hand at the map on the table. “Where, exactly?”

He did not approach. “Under the walls of Mereklar.”

Mereklar was a city southeast of Bianost, in the foothills of the Redstone Bluffs. According to Favaronas’s map, it was just less than twenty miles away.

“Is he coming this way?” asked Chathendor.

“He will break camp within a day or two. His line of march is the High Road.” This was the paved way that connected Mereklar to Bianost and continued northwest to Frenost.

“How do you know all this?”

The masked head turned toward Kerian. “I know. We must leave tonight.”

Alhana sent Samar to see to the guards’ preparation. Kerian reminded her that the Bianost militia needed to be mustered first. Untrained and on foot, they would require longer to get under way. Also, what of the shortage of draft animals to pull the wagons loaded with the weapons cache?

“What can’t be moved must be hidden or destroyed,” Alhana said. “You will see to it?”

Kerian nodded. She and Samar departed in haste. For as long as their voices could be heard, they argued loudly about whether to hide or destroy the surplus weapons.

Chathendor, rushing away to see to their belongings, paused and glanced at Porthios, whom he did not recognize. “Lady,” he whispered, “perhaps you should not be alone with this person?”

She clasped his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, my friend. I am perfectly safe. Now go. We must be ready to depart without delay.”

When the chamberlain had reluctantly withdrawn, Alhana filled two pewter goblets from a slender silver ewer. Lifting one, she gestured at the other. “Refresh yourself. It’s a long way to Mereklar and back on foot.”