“I have grown cold, perhaps, but I do understand,” retorted Lady Towaal. “A village is a small thing. I think in terms of large, continent-spanning wars because that is what we face. You and Amelie both sound like her father, Lord Gregor. The man gnashes his teeth and loses sleep over the fate of a few when our business is the fate of them all.”
“You are certain it will be war, then?” Saala asked her, moving through the forest as silent as a ghost.
She shrugged, brushing aside a low-hanging branch and watching as the blademaster somehow weaved through the woods without causing even a small stir among the foliage.
“Tell me what you know, mage,” he insisted, turning to look back at her.
She frowned at him.
“Please,” he added. “I am tasked with Amelie’s safety, and we mean to pass through Whitehall.”
“Lord Gregor will swear fealty to King Argren of Whitehall, will he not?” asked Lady Towaal. “If that is the case, then there is little risk to the girl while we pass through the city. She’ll be the daughter of King Argren’s most powerful ally, and feted as such, I imagine.”
“There is always risk in foreign cities,” claimed Saala.
“And that is why it is imperative we get Amelie to the Sanctuary as quickly as possible,” declared Lady Towaal. “She will be safe there, behind our walls, surrounded by mages.”
“Will she?” asked Saala. “How is the Sanctuary involved in this growing conflict? Are they supporting Argren and the Alliance, or do they throw their weight behind the Coalition in the east? Lord Gregor has cast his dice, gambling with his daughter before he knows the true intentions of your leader.”
“The Sanctuary is remaining neutral,” said Lady Towaal. “Neither the Alliance nor the Coalition will have mages at their sides. The Veil is keeping her mages free of this brewing confrontation. She wants nothing to do with it.”
Saala snorted. “Yes, that is what the Sanctuary is telling everyone, but you mages are steeped in political intrigue and hidden machinations. Tell me true: What role do the mages seek to play?”
They walked on quickly, picking their way through the boughs of the pine trees. She did not bother to hide the fall of her feet on the soft soil, but Saala seemed to do it instinctually. Silent or not, it did not much matter for their purposes that night.
The demon that was preying upon the villagers of Farview was a unique creature in Alcott—an interloper from another world. Demons slipped through tears in the fabric of space, and they feasted upon the lifeblood of anything that they could find. They consumed blood ravenously and grew rapidly from its succor. After several weeks of unimpeded feeding, the creature they were stalking would have become strong and deadly.
Finding the damned thing in the boundless wilderness would be nearly impossible. Even the blademaster would be useless at finding and following its tracks in the dark. Instead, to save time, their plan was to let it find them.
The demon would be able to sense their life forces and would be drawn to them like a starving man to the scent of a well-laden buffet table. It would have no thought of stealth, no concept of sneaking up and ambushing them. Demons knew only hunger, and once it sensed them, it would rush right at them. Easy work for two such as them.
Four days, though! They’d wasted four days on the flighty girl’s errand. Back at the way station, Lady Towaal had decided not to impose her will and demand they proceed immediately to Fabrizo, but she’d come to regret it. The blademaster’s pointed questioning only convinced her further that the detour had taken them too far from the world’s bubbling problems.
“Am I to take your silence as confirmation the Sanctuary is involved in both sides of the looming war?” asked Saala.
“No, I . . .” she muttered. “I merely had nothing else to say. I tell you true, the Veil does not seek to become embroiled in this conflict. Both parties are far to the east of us, and while we hope it does not result in war, if it does, we will stay out of it. Alcott’s mages will not be used in battles between fractious political enemies. We haven’t interceded in a major war since the Blood Bay.”
“If it comes to war?” chided Saala. “It will. You and I have studied enough history to know that. The Alliance and the Coalition are both accumulating allies, and both are decrying the threat of the other. Each action requires a reaction, and an escalation such as they’re engaged in only results in one outcome. Nothing will prevent it unless the Sanctuary does become involved. If the Veil has chosen not to do so, then—”
“Then we shall see what happens,” hissed Lady Towaal. “She does not support either faction over the other. I will tell that to King Argren himself when we pass through Whitehall. You’ll be there to hear it. But what of Lord Gregor? His land sits directly between the two factions. Outside of them, he’s the strongest lord in Alcott. When he kneels before Argren, he’ll tip the scales of this conflict.”
“He only does so because he must,” insisted Saala. “Both sides are forcing him to choose, so he will.”
“He will have trouble when the Coalition learns of his intention,” warned Lady Towaal. “King Argren is calling in his bannermen to a conclave to ratify the Alliance with himself at its head, but until they formally agree, no one will march to Issen’s defense. Gregor plays a dangerous game.”
Saala shrugged. “He knows of the conclave and the timing. He has few options.”
“He should be watching his back,” said Lady Towaal. “I am surprised he directed you to leave his side given the tools the Coalition has at its disposal.”
“You mean Lord Jason?” asked Saala. “Lord Gregor is aware of the man and his talents. I wanted to stay in Issen to help protect Gregor from the Coalition’s assassin, but Gregor cares more for his daughter than his own safety. I . . . I wonder if he believes he will survive this looming conflict.”
“He sent Amelie to the one place he is certain will not fall beneath the tide of war,” said Lady Towaal, an unexpected catch in her throat as she realized the finality of Lord Gregor’s decision. “Without knowing the Veil’s position, without knowing the outcome of the conclave . . . He knows the Sanctuary will remain, regardless of what happens.”
Saala stared at her. “As you say, Issen sits directly between the two agitators. It is like two feral dogs barking at each other in an alley, and my liege is trapped in the middle. Whichever dog triumphs, Gregor knows he will be bit. We’d hoped the Veil would intervene, but no matter what, you are right, the Sanctuary will be the safest place in Alcott for Amelie. Perhaps there, if you decline to protect her home, you can at least grant her the skills to survive in a world where Issen has fallen.”
“Perhaps,” said Lady Towaal. “Many things can happen, Saala. My own view of the future is not so dark as yours. You and I may not see a solution, but perhaps the Veil does. Perhaps Amelie and her generation will find a way out. It does not always end in war.”
Saala snorted.
A crack sounded in the dark forest, and beside her, Saala drew his falchion, the steel whispering against the leather sheath. There was silence for a moment, then the crash of a heavy body rushing through the undergrowth. An earsplitting bellow tore through the quiet as the demon shouted its challenge.
Two dozen paces from them, the thing burst into view, hunched over, running like a dog. Its jet-black skin blended in with the shadows, but even at speed and in the dark, Lady Towaal could see it was big. Its shoulders rose above her waist, and its heavily muscled body must have been four times her mass.