“Yes. As soon as word arrived about the army. It will be at least a week and a half before the eagles arrive and we get help.”
Stefan opened the looking glass and studied the opposing forces once more. “A week and a half we don’t have. This has been almost perfectly orchestrated. The Tribunal is so blinded by their schemes in Ostania they’ve missed the real threat.”
“But we cannot afford for them to lose beforehand,” Galiana added. “So for now, we need to do what we can. We need them as much or more than they need us.” Although she wouldn’t admit all to Stefan, Galiana agreed with everything he said. Events were falling out of their control. Without word from Jerem, her hands were tied. They would need to sit and wait and hope reinforcements from the Tribunal arrived in time. Their outlook was bleak.
“Have you heard from your agent about my son?” Stefan closed the glass once more and turned to face her. He looked as if he aged ten years as he mentioned Ancel. Even within his crimson uniform, she could tell his shoulders slumped. Bags marred his face under his eyes.
Galiana sighed. She’d hoped Stefan wouldn’t bring this up now. “No. Not yet.”
Stefan’s eyes hardened. “So not only are we faced with this, but Ancel may be hurt or imprisoned for all we know. How can we save the people if we can’t even save my son?”
“Well, we know he is not dead.”
“I thank my wife for that every day,” Stefan muttered,
Galiana’s heart ached to see Stefan this way, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Has the Access Key changed?”
Stefan touched his sword with its hilt of chased gold. “No.”
“And Thania has not felt him pass?”
“No.”
“Then he is not dead. Held captive would make more sense. It would give another reason why Sendeth’s army has given us a few days to make our decision. They could be bringing him here to bargain.”
That set Stefan’s eyes smoldering. “Or they could be waiting for the arrival of their own Matii. The Pathfinders may have done a good job culling those without control, but we all know they didn’t capture every single one. Regardless, if Sendeth has my son, I will give up Eldanhill for him.”
“As would I,” Galiana said. “He is too important not to. But I fear if they do have him they will not surrender him.”
“I’d announce my rule and flay them all if they tried to keep my son from me. Or if they hurt him.” Stefan’s hands balled into fists.
Galiana didn’t doubt the man. He’d lost one family before to the Tribunal’s schemes with Nerian. She’d spent too many centuries plotting with him not to know the look his face bore. People were going to die. A great many, if they harmed Ancel. “I beg you to be patient. Wait and see what other terms they send while we build our defenses here. In the meantime, you plan a way for us to escape.”
“I’ve been thinking on that.” Stefan’s forehead furrowed. “There’s no way for everyone to escape. The best we could hope for is to defend Eldanhill until we find out where Ancel is, collect him, then you Materialize him, Thania and the Access Key somewhere safe.” Stefan’s gaze met hers in an intense stare.
“You know what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
Galiana’s shoulders slumped bonelessly. To use Materialization, she would break the last bonds of her control. The Pathfinders would come and put an end to her. “If that is my fate then the sacrifice would be worth it for him, for the world.”
Stefan nodded, reached out, and gave her a firm squeeze. The sadness of her possible death radiated from his eyes. What’s done is done. She prayed that somehow Kachien had taken Ancel to safety.
CHAPTER 35
Ryne took note of the Astocans, with regalia on display, who had continued to talk and partake from the supply of food available as if no one had announced the presence of an encroaching force. He allowed his lips a slight twitch. So, Voliny still keeps his Advisors and Generals mingled within the crowd, and he obviously knew of this army’s approach beforehand.
Speculation still ran rampant despite the announcement the reported army was Granadian. Many fidgeted or dabbed at sweaty foreheads, and hushed murmurs swept through the room. The anticipation within the air grew palpable, and all heads faced the wide door to the chamber.
Marching footsteps sounded from the hall, the door swung open, and a gold liveried servant with the Waterwall insignia stitched to his breast entered. “Knight Commander Varick of Granadia, Your Majesty,” announced the servant. He shied away from the entrance.
A sweaty Lieutenant Rosival entered and stepped aside.
Following Rosival was a wide-shouldered man in silver armor filigreed with an embossing of the sun and lightning bolts striking in front of it on his chest plate. Short, gray hair, interspersed with white streaks, perched on his head and matched the scraggly growth on his chin. His hair bounced with each robust stride. Eyes like flint stared straight ahead at the King as the man strode down the hall. Varick had aged since Ryne last saw him, but those hard eyes remained the same. The Knight Commander carried a silver helmet under one arm. Although unarmed, he moved with a predator-like grace in his calf high sabatons, his gait and his expression daring anyone in the room to challenge him. The man’s eyes gave a slight twitch when his gaze crossed Ryne.
Knight Commander Varick stepped onto the dais and bowed from his waist to the King. “Your Majesty.” He gave a mere nod to the rest of the room; his gaze strayed to Ryne for a moment. “People of Astoca and those of the other Ostanian Kingdoms, I thank you for accommodating me.” His attention returned to the King.
Without standing, the King gave a slight bow. “You’re always welcome Knight Commander. I hoped for a quick response, but this is faster than I expected.”
“We could have come directly, but we did not wish to create alarm or provoke any attacks. A High Ashishin brought us as close as he dared, Your Majesty. The Tribunal recognizes the threat we all face. I’ve been ordered to help in whatever way I deem necessary.”
The King stood. “In that case, would you all please excuse us?” He gestured to everyone within the chamber. “The ambassadors who represent the interests of the other four kingdoms can stay.”
All the other nobles, dignitaries, and their translators bowed to the King and filed out of the audience chamber. Those still left were the representatives from Cardia, Harna, Bana, and a black-coated Felani Lord. The King’s Advisors and Generals stayed. Ryne turned on his heels to walk from the room.
“A moment if you will, Master Waldron,” Voliny said.
Ryne stopped and turned to face the King. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Would you stay and lend an ear to the proceedings?”
“No,” Ryne said. Face a blank mask he met the King’s stony gaze. “You know my opinion, and even without me you already sent word to the west. His presence,” he gestured to Varick, “means the Tribunal’s offer of support is genuine. Now the strategy is up to you. I was never good with that sort of thing.”
The King eyes tightened, but Ryne didn’t flinch. “That is not what I have heard when my soldiers faced you. However, I will not try to force you into something you do not wish. Yet, can I ask…will you fight for us?”
Ryne sensed a subtle shift in the Royal Guards hidden around the room. A touch on his arm announced Sakari stepping up next to him. Ryne’s hand rose to the scarred left side of his face, and he stroked the old wounds. “Yes.”
Sighs rolled around the room like whispered hisses as the Royal Guards relaxed.
“Master Waldron,” said Knight Commander Varick in his familiar gruff voice, “I’d like to speak to you after this meeting.”