“No,” Carfax whispered.
“And Satoris Banewreaker?” Blaise’s voice hardened. “How is it you serve him? Has the Sunderer dealt so gently with his Staccian allies?”
“No.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Yes! I don’t know, my lord!” Carfax drew a long, shuddering breath. “What would you have me say?” he asked miserably, raising his bloodshot gaze. “He played us fair! Battle-glory and generous recompense for the fallen. That’s the bargain Lord Vorax has ever offered on Lord Satoris’ behalf, and from time out of mind, we’ve taken it. And he has kept his terms! For a thousand years, no enemy has lifted a blade within our borders, and no child has hungered. This, Lord Satoris has done for us. Can any other nation of Men claim the same? My family dwells in peace and comfort because I serve his Lordship. Is it so wrong?”
“If it keeps the world Sundered, aye.” Blaise’s tone was surprisingly gentle. “Forgive me, Staccian, but I do believe it.”
“You have so much faith!” The words burst from his lips. Carfax glared at them; glared at them all, for now the Ellyl had returned and all four were arrayed about the campfire. “How can you know? How can you be so sure?”
They glanced at one another, and at him, pitying.
It was Peldras who answered, lowering himself gracefully to sit cross-legged beside the fire. “Carfax of Staccia,” he said, “let me ask you this: How is it you cannot?”
Carfax shook his head, unable to articulate a reply.
“My people are dying.” The Ellyl tilted his head, regarding the distant stars. “We are fading, bit by bit. We are Haomane’s Children, and we drew our strength from the Souma. Without it, we are bereft. We are the Rivenlost. The way home is forbidden us.” He turned the weight of his luminous gaze on Carfax. “We are Haomane’s Children, and while we live, we are an affront to the Sunderer, and one he would destroy. Do you deny it?”
“No,” he said, miserable. “But—”
“But tomorrow we will be in Beshtanag,” Blaise said brusquely. “Which is a trap. You have said so yourself, Staccian. I mean to give warning to my lord Aracus Altorus. I spoke the truth, before. You acquitted yourself well. Now I need to know: Do you stand with us or against us? Will you pledge your loyalty to me?”
Carfax blinked, his vision streaked by tears. Why was it that the rest of the world seemed so far away? It felt like a lifetime had passed since he set out from Darkhaven. These people had become his companions, the only ones left to him. He had traveled with them, eaten with them, fought with them back-to-back. One had sacrificed himself to save his worthless life. He remembered Hobard, his father’s sword in his hand and urgency straining his bloodstained face, the wave of Were that had swallowed him. This is my death. Go!
But …
He remembered Turin, Hunric; the men he had left behind, obedient to his orders. He remembered the men he had led and how they had trusted him. How he had led them into battle, singing, sure of victory. They had been good comrades, and true. They had trusted his leadership, and General Tanaros had trusted him to lead them. And he had erred in his folly and the earth had risen to engulf them. He was a traitor, aye. He had saved Dani’s life. He had admitted that Beshtanag was a trap, and Lord Satoris’ raven had watched him do it. Oh, aye, Carfax of Staccia was a traitor of the first order, but he was man enough still not to profit by it. Not while his own men rotted in barrows beneath the sedge grass.
“I can’t.” The words came harshly, catching in his throat. The tears were flowing freely, coursing his cheeks. “Forgive me, Blaise, but I can’t.”
The Borderguardsman nodded with regret.
“Carfax, please!” Fianna’s face swam in his vision, and there were tears in her own eyes, shining on her cheeks. How not? Archer or no, she was a woman, and women reckoned the cost. Always, women reckoned the cost. Her hands found his, gripping them tightly. “You saved my life! How can you name yourself aught but a friend?”
“I wasn’t prey.” He blinked at her, clutching her hands. Soft, so soft, save for the bowstring’s calluses. “Do you understand? The Were wouldn’t attack me. I might as well have struck an unarmed man.”
“As they did!” Her voice rose. “You defended Dani, too, who never raised his hand to anyone! Where is the wrong in that?”
Carfax shook his head and looked away, withdrawing from her grasp. “Dani raised his hand against Darkhaven when he drew forth the Water of Life,” he murmured. “Malthus knew it, if the boy did not. And the Were knew it, too. I’m sorry, Fianna.” Gathering himself, he met Blaise’s eyes. “I’ll do nothing to thwart your purpose. You have my word on that, my lord. But I cannot pledge you my loyalty.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I ride into Beshtanag as your prisoner.”
“So be it.” The Borderguardsman’s gaze was steady. “My hand is extended in friendship, Staccian. It will be there should you wish to take it.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Carfax nodded.
TWENTY-FIVE
The wall was failing.
It was simply too much to hold. For three days, Haomane’s Allies had assailed it without cease. Day and night, night and day. No one could sleep for the sound of battering rams thudding mercilessly against granite, seeking cracks where Lilias’ power weakened.
She had held out longer than she had dreamed possible. It wasn’t easy work, Shaping, and she was neither Ellyl nor Counselor, with Haomane’s Gifts in her blood to make it easier. Rock and stone fought her will, seeking to return to their original form. Again and again, her bindings loosened. With grim determination, she held them in place, until exhaustion left her weak and dizzy, forgetful of her surroundings.
“Please, my lady! You must drink.”
The cool rim of a cup touched her lower lip. Raising her head with a jerk, Lilias saw Sarika kneeling before her, eyes pleading. “Sweetling.” She steadied the girl’s hands with her own, drinking deep. The water forged a cool trail into her empty belly, lending the illusion of fullness. “Our stores endure?”
“Water.” Sarika licked her lips involuntarily. “There is water, and quarter-rations of gruel for the wardsmen. As you ordered, my lady.”
“Yes.” Lilias pressed one hand to her brow, feeling the weight of the Soumanië. “Of course.” A hollow boom shook the mountain as a battering ram struck her wall for the hundredth time that morning, and she shuddered. “Where is Gergon?”
“He’s coming.” It was Radovan’s voice that spoke; Radovan, whose smouldering eyes had pleased her once. Now they stared at her with dark hatred, and disdain laced his voice. “My lady.” He spat the words like an epithet, running one grimy finger beneath the linked silver collar that bound him to her.
It was folly, of course. She should have freed him before this began; should never have bound them so close. Any of them, her pretty ones. It had never been necessary, not with the good ones. How had it begun? A sop to her mortal vanity; to pride, to desire. What was power good for if not for that? It pleased her to be surrounded by youth in all its fleeting beauty. What was immortality good for without simple pleasures? She was a generous mistress. None of them had ever taken any harm from it, only tales to tell their grandchildren.
Too late, now. As strained as the linkage was, it would take more to sever it than to maintain it Lilias shoved aside her regrets and shook her head like a fly-stung horse, impatient. “Gergon?”