The Eighth Warden Bk. 04 Ch. 23-24

"Corec!" Treya said, her eyes widening in surprise.

Conley swallowed, but stood his ground. "I'm not from Larso," he said. "I attended seminary there, but I was born and raised in Four Roads. I'm just here to do whatever the town needs."

"You didn't answer my question," Corec said. "Four Roads isn't known for magic. Have you been around mages before? Can you travel with them? Take orders from them?"

"I'll take orders from whoever you need me to take orders from." The priest met Corec's gaze, not looking away.

After a moment, Corec nodded. "I want your promise that you won't cause any trouble."

"You have it."

"Fine," Corec said curtly. "Ned, take Priest Conley here and go get him some better gear."

The boy was standing nearby. "Sure, Corec," he replied.

As the two men left, Corec turned back to Treya, who was staring at him with a hurt expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not mad at you. I just wasn't expecting..." He paused. "I have a history with the Order."

Treya gave a slow nod. "You've told me, but I thought it was just the priests in Larso you had a problem with. I've never seen you react like that before. You're not that way with the knights."

"The knights are different." Under other circumstances, the knights would have been his brothers. "It had to be him? You couldn't find someone else?"

"He was the only one who volunteered," Treya said. "The priests here, they're not warriors. They're the ones who haven't been asked to serve at a larger temple. Besides, he's stronger than the other healers in town. A bit, anyway."

Corec took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. The priest who'd allowed his mother to die had been unblessed... and too stupid to recognize that he didn't know what he was doing. Conley didn't have the first problem. Hopefully he wouldn't have the second.

#

Sarette strode through the brown prairie grass, leaving the road itself for the carts and wagons. They'd left Four Roads two days earlier and were still on the well-maintained portion of the Farm Road, with enough space for two carts abreast. It was unlikely they'd need to make room for oncoming traffic--everyone who wanted to evacuate the area had already done so.

The armsmen were grumbling about the chilly winds and the light flurries of snow, but to Sarette, it felt like spring. And soon, the air would grow even warmer, with the snow turning to rain over the next two days. She suspected the complaints would increase once the road got muddy.

But complaining was normal; it was what a soldier did. If they weren't complaining about the weather, it would be something else. Weather was safe. It meant they weren't complaining about the leadership, or about the task at hand. There were hints of fear when they thought no one was watching, but the training Corec and the others had put them through seemed to have convinced them they could actually do what they were setting out to do.

Sarette's task was to watch over Ballistae Five through Seven, along the east side of the road. Ariadne was on the west side with Two through Four.

Ballista One was the figurine from Tir Yadar, carried in miniature form by its crew at the head of the column, along with the three catapult figurines. It was easier to carry the small versions around than to spend money on four more mule teams, and if the expedition was attacked by the dragon, those four crews could quickly position themselves where they'd do the most good. Sarette's ballistae were less maneuverable, and only their pivot mounts would allow them to be useful if attacked from an unexpected direction.

Sarette wasn't sure her oversight of the ballistae was necessary, especially since she and Ariadne wouldn't be with their crews during an actual attack. The knights could have just as easily kept an eye on things--and, interspersed as they were among the siege weapons, were probably doing so already--but Corec had limited their official duties to commanding individual ballistae during an attack, and to backing up the infantry if it became necessary. He hadn't explained his reasoning.

Sarette slowed her pace so she could check on her crews again. The first two carts looked fine, but when Ballista Seven caught up to her, only one of the men was present, leading the mule team on foot. The carts didn't have seats.

"Trooper Dorsin!" Sarette shouted, looking for the other man, then saw him jogging back from a stand of scraggly trees. Corec hadn't given the armsmen any ranks, other than Cenric as sergeant for the infantry and Nedley as his corporal, but Sarette found herself falling back on her own experience. Trooper was the High Guard's lowest enlisted rank. "Why aren't you at your post?" she demanded as Dorsin drew close.

The young man's eyes goggled. "I, umm, I had to..." He pointed to the trees, his face turning red.

"If you have to take care of the necessary, then get someone to cover your position!" Sarette said, keeping her voice loud enough for others nearby to overhear. "One of the knights, or a soldier, or me. Someone!"

"Yes, miss," Dorsin said. "Sorry."

"That's Lieutenant, Trooper," she said. The High Guard planned to discharge her once she returned to Snow Crown, and she wasn't supposed to use her rank in the meantime, but what could it hurt? The recruits needed more structure.

Corec and Ariadne thought and acted much like the knights who were accompanying them--individual elite warriors who could command the troops, but weren't really a part of them. Boktar had been a fighter for decades, but always as an armsman for hire rather than a soldier. Sarette's time in the High Guard had been brief, but she'd grown up with the knowledge of what a well-trained force could accomplish when everyone worked together as one.

No outside army had ever conquered the Storm Heights, and that was only partly due to the stormrunners and the weather. The High Guard trained and practiced for mountain fighting, and the scouts and watchtowers allowed them to communicate rapidly and keep an eye on the entire region. It was an advantage no outside force could match. The humans in the surrounding lands might fear the stormrunners, but it was the High Guard that had defeated them time and time again.

This ragged band of troopers wasn't an army, but they'd have to learn to act like one if they were going to face a dragon.

"Umm, sorry, Lieutenant," the boy said. "Nothin' was happening anyway."

"The weapons have to be manned at all times. We have no idea when the dragon will show up."

Just then Corec's voice came down the line. "Form up for drill!" he shouted. "South by southeast!"

"Or that," Sarette said to Dorsin. "Get into position!"

Dorsin rushed over to Ballista Seven. His partner, Bili, was driving the mule team ahead to their designated position while Ballista Six--Sarette's most experienced crew--made room for them by driving off the road. To get everyone under Treya's fire protection spell, the expedition had to bunch up in a roughly circular shape rather than remaining stretched out in a long line. Staying close together was a danger of its own, but Corec figured the men were more worried about burning to death than about the dragon landing in the middle of the group.

Once the cart was in place, Bili stopped the mule team and detached the iron hook that linked them to the cart's tongue. He led the mules away from the road while Dorsin climbed up onto the cart and pulled the oiled canvas off of the ballista.

Sarette checked that all three of her crews' mule teams were facing away from the carts. The drills didn't include time to unyoke the animals from each other, so if they fled in fear, they'd have to run in tandem or risk injuring themselves. It was an unfortunate part of the plan, but the first priority had to be protecting the people and the siege weapons.

While the infantry ran to the first freight wagon to grab their pikes, Treya leapt up on top of the second.

"Catapult Four!" she shouted. "You stopped too soon, you're outside my range!" Catapult Four, the only catapult that wasn't a miniaturized figurine, was mounted on a wagon at the end of the procession, facing rearward in case of an attack from behind. The crew had detached their mule team already, and scrambled to bring them back. Treya called out to them again. "There's no time for that! Priest Conley will have to watch over you!"

That would pull the priest of Pallisur away from his normal position just behind the front lines, so the catapult crew would get a lecture once the drill was over. Conley, now clad in silversteel mail and carrying a staff-spear, jogged back to the rear of the procession to practice his own fire protection spell.

Sir Georg had arrived to take command of Ballista Seven. "Go," the portly knight told Sarette, his voice gruff.

She nodded, then sprinted for the front lines, where the infantry was setting up a pike-and-shield formation south by southeast of the siege weapons.

"We've got it down to two minutes," Corec said to her as soon as she arrived. "Do you think you can hold the dragon off that long?"

"I'll try. We really need Shavala." Without the elven woman, Sarette would be dependent on the weather. If it was a clear day, could she summon a storm out of nothing by herself?

"Leena says she'll reach us in a few days," Corec said.

Sarette nodded. "With the two of us, I think we could manage two minutes, but only if we see it before it gets close. Once it's close, I won't be able to do much to slow it down."

"We'll have to assign people to watch all directions as we go. And from now on, let your crews handle the drills on their own. I need you up here as soon as there's a sighting."

"My men still need more practice," Sarette said.

"Work with them in the evenings. Ask Kevik for help. But you won't be with your crews during an attack, so they need to get used to doing it on their own."

Sarette nodded. "Where's my target?"

Corec pointed. "A mile out, and high in the sky. I want a five hundred yard range for the ballistae. We won't be accurate at that distance, but we might get lucky, and if you can hold it back long enough, we may have time for a second volley before it reaches us."

Sarette nodded. Her job was to slow the dragon down, interfere with its flying, and, if possible, take it out of the sky entirely. The trick was to strengthen the storm at a distance, while keeping the winds to a minimum within range of the ballistae.

She turned her attention to the dark clouds in the distance. Soon, a bolt of lightning flickered in the sky, and then another.

###

Chapter Twenty-Four

"I don't wanna read no more today," Harri complained, distracted by a group of chattering girls who were filing through the hallway. "I already know all the letters."

Katrin had taken the children to a sitting room so they wouldn't be cooped up in the same spot all day, but she was starting to think she'd made a mistake. There was too much activity in the busy chapter house.

"You might know the letters, but do you know the sounds they make?" she asked.

"Harri, look!" Ditte exclaimed, bringing her primer over to her brother and pointing to a word. "C... a... t. Cat!"

Harri scowled but tried to smile at her. He didn't like that his little sister was learning faster than him.

"I'll help you go over it again," Katrin told him.

Just then, Mother Yewen came into the sitting room, accompanied by Nallee. Katrin stood to greet them.

"How's the teaching coming along?" Yewen asked. "Nallee told me what you were doing."

"We're... getting through it," Katrin said.

"Good. How do you feel about taking on a few more students?"

"What?"

"I've been talking to the families in the shelters," Nallee said in a rush. "The younger children don't have anything to do all day long, and most of them can't read. We need something to keep them busy and distracted, but the Sisters who still live here are already busy teaching our own girls, or helping with the refugees in other ways. So, I thought, since you'd already started with these two..." She trailed off when she saw Katrin's expression.

"I don't think I'm the right person for that," Katrin said. "I haven't done much reading in Western before. I grew up speaking Eastern." She'd looked far enough ahead in the primer to realize she'd need to do some studying of her own to stay ahead of Harri and Ditte.

"You can recruit some of the older students to help," Yewen said. "They've all gone through it themselves, so that should make it easier. Most of the girls can get by in both languages, which is good--the refugees speak a mix."

Nallee gave Katrin a weak grin and a shrug. "That's just how it is around here," she said. "If you stay too long, you get put to work."

Yewen waited expectantly, her eyes unrelenting. She ruled her small domain with an iron fist, and it was clear she expected agreement.

It seemed inevitable, so Katrin gave in. "If you want me to, I'll try. At least until my friends get back."

"Excellent," Yewen said with a smile. "And perhaps you could also sing for the people in the shelters, to keep their spirits up. The children aren't the only ones without enough to do, and Treya mentioned you were a bard."

Katrin nodded. She didn't have a problem with that one--though it would have been nice if she'd come up with the idea on her own. Ever since their time in Cordaea, where none of the locals could understand her songs, she'd been uncertain about her future. She liked music, but was that enough? Playing in taverns wasn't particularly fulfilling, but what else could she do? Don a suit of armor and a sword like Ariadne? The idea seemed laughable.

"I'll do it," she said.

They were interrupted then when one of the students rushed in and handed a folded note to Mother Yewen, whispering something in her ear.

"Thank you, Mera," Yewen said to the girl. "You may return to your duties."

The old woman unfolded the note. As she read through it, her expression grew grim. To Katrin, she said, "Your friend, the one who can go back and forth, will she be here today?"

"Yes. Why?"

"A message came in by pigeon for the knights. They've been ordered to return to Larso." Yewen handed the note over. To keep the size and weight down, pigeon messages weren't sealed by wax the way a letter would be.

Katrin stared at the scrap of paper, her insides going cold. The orders came from a Knight Commander Sir Noris, requesting that the squad of knights return to Larso by way of the northern pass.

Corec was depending on those knights. He'd hoped to train the weapon crews well enough that they could operate on their own, but in private, he'd admitted to Katrin that the crews worked better with the knights to serve as spotters. Right up until they day the expedition had left, he'd worried the knights would be called away.

And now they had been. They'd just left town three days earlier. If Leena delivered the message, the knights would turn around and leave--most of them, at least.

There was a fire burning in the sitting room's hearth, warding off the winter's chill. Katrin dropped the note into the flames.

She watched it burn, then turned back to Mother Yewen. "Unfortunately, the message was lost before it could be delivered."

The old woman gave her a solemn nod. "Communication can be difficult in these troubled times," she said. "It's a shame you didn't come to us sooner. You would have made an excellent concubine."

Katrin figured that was meant as a compliment.

#

Melithar slipped through the streets late at night, taking care not to attract attention. He was well outside the city center, with its palaces, towers, and mansions all illuminated by the mage lights lining the streets. Here, in this quiet residential neighborhood, the only light came from the stars in the sky, and from the flickering of oil lamps through the windows of those who were still awake at this hour.

One of those windows, belonging to a small cottage, drew his attention. It had to be the place he was looking for. He went up the cobbled walk and rapped his knuckles against the door.

The door opened, and he found himself face-to-face with a seaborn man, of all things. He was dressed as a sailor, with just a loose tunic that left his arms bare despite the winter chill in the air. There was a cutlass hanging from his sword belt.

"Come in," the fellow said, standing aside to allow him through. "We've been expecting you."

Melithar entered and looked around. The cottage appeared to be a home rather than a place of business, but what was a seaborn man doing in this part of Terevas?

"I was told I could find a..." Melithar hesitated. What had he been told? His memory was hazy. Be at this place, at this time, for... what? "I was told I could find a wardbreaker here," he finished, part of the memory returning.

"Don't worry," the seaborn man said with a small smile. "You're in the right place. Come. She'll see you now."

"You're not the wardbreaker?" Melithar asked, blinking rapidly to try to clear his head. Who was it who'd told him to come here? Why couldn't he remember?

"I'm not the person you came to see," the man replied. "She's through here." He held aside a silk curtain hanging at a doorway, and led Melithar into a study.

There was a woman there looking out into the night through a window. She was elven, but didn't have the mottled brown hair or the slight greenish tinge to her skin of the dorvasta. With her inky black hair, she wasn't nilvasta either. She turned to face him.

"You're yanvasta," he said with sudden realization.

She tilted her head to the side and gave a slight nod. "That is how we are called," she said.

The not-elves. A puzzling word to describe an obviously elven people, though this woman was only the fourth yanvasta Melithar had ever seen. They rarely left their island home.

"You're the wardbreaker?" he asked.

"You're not here to find a wardbreaker, Ambassador Melithar."

Melithar frowned. He'd been told there was a wizard here who specialized in breaking wards. Or had he? The details of the conversation were slipping from his mind again.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Why am I...? How did I get here?"

"Have no fear," the woman said. "You're not in any danger from me or mine."

The seaborn man stood blocking the curtained entryway, his muscular arms crossed in front of him. A shadow detached itself from a dark corner of the room and moved to stand near the yanvasta woman. Melithar blinked again and the shadow became a figure in a black robe, the cowl pulled up to hide the wearer's face.

"What's happening?" Melithar said. "Why can't I...?" Why couldn't he what?

"My name is Shayliel," the woman said. "Though I'm afraid you'll forget that detail after you leave."

"Forget? I'm here for..." What was it again? "A wardbreaker. I'm here to find someone who can break wards."

"It's too much, Zora," Shayliel said to the robed figure. "I have questions for him."

Some of the pressure on Melithar's mind relaxed.

"What are you doing to me?" he said. "Why can't I remember how I got here?" And why wasn't he trying to get away?

"My presence in Terevas might draw attention from certain parties," Shayliel said. "Given the sensitive nature of your task, I felt it best to retain some secrecy. It wouldn't do to lose the book because of a lack of caution."

"The book!" Melithar said, patting the satchel at his side to reassure himself it was still there. "Why did you bring me here?"

"You're looking for someone to help you destroy it."

Melithar blinked. "You already know?"

"You and I had this conversation earlier today, though I imagine you don't remember much of it. I asked you to retrieve the book from its hiding place and meet me here."