Swords flashed. This battalion had come with a single giant and it had been slain at the outset of this morning’s fighting. The Battle Swine-stinking, tusked, boarlike creatures who walked on two legs and were savage in combat-swept through Hunyadi’s men like the reaper at harvest time. But the Euphrasian forces had the advantage of greater numbers. One by one, at a cost of a dozen men for each, the Battle Swine were being felled, leaving stinking, putrid corpses on the road.
Three horsemen rode up the road and then cut across open ground, moving up the hill toward the camp. Hunyadi’s personal guard moved to intercept them-the deadliest and most faithful soldiers in his service-but when they recognized Commander Sakai they parted to allow him to pass. A pair of personal bodyguards attended the king, and they stepped up behind him, now. Sakai had proven himself loyal, but in a world of magic and deceit, it would be foolish to take risks.
Sakai dismounted. For a small man, he carried himself with immense dignity. Hunyadi had always marveled at how unremarkable he was, both physically and in his features. His face did not betray any particular cunning, and yet Sakai had proven to be his greatest commander.
“It goes well, I see,” the king said.
Commander Sakai bowed his head and then looked up. “Very well, Majesty. We suffer great losses, but their spirit is weakening and their numbers are dwindling faster than ours, now that the swine are mostly dead. We will turn them within the hour, and then have all day to drive them south.”
Heartened, the king nodded. “You’ll be pleased to hear that couriers have brought word from Boudreau and Alborg. They haven’t had our success, but they have stopped the invasion from advancing. Alborg feels certain he’ll turn them back by tomorrow.”
“And Commander Beck, Majesty? Have you word from her?”
The king narrowed his eyes. “Nothing yet, Hiro. But don’t concern yourself. Damia will stop them at the Oldwood.”
Sakai said nothing, but his lips were tightly closed and he breathed through his nose.
“Something you wanted to say, Commander Sakai?”
Again, the little man bowed his head. “Once we turn this attack away, Majesty, I thought you might want to send reinforcements to aid Commander Beck. If the division Ty’Lis has sent northeast is not stopped, we will never reach them in time to stop them from attacking Perinthia.”
Hunyadi considered for a moment, and then shook his head. “They would have to cross the Atlantic River and travel many long hours. If it came to that, we could catch them. And the city has many sentries. The towers would not fall before we arrived. But trust that it will not come to that. Commander Beck will stop them. I would not have put my faith in her unless I was certain.”
“Of course, Majesty. If she has your confidence, I am certain she will prove herself worthy of it.”
The king nodded. “As am I. Your counsel is ever appreciated, Hiro. Now, though, return to battle. The troops need their commander. We have the upper hand, and I want to take advantage of it before the invaders receive reinforcements.”
Commander Sakai withdrew. His aides had not dismounted. As soon as he had climbed back into the saddle, the three soldiers turned and rode south at a gallop.
The king watched through his telescope for several more moments, then turned to walk toward the tent where his map of troop movements was laid out. From the corner of his eye he saw a dark shadow pass before the morning sun, and looked up to see Wayland Smith standing on the east edge of the camp, just beyond the king’s own tent. His dark clothes and wide-brimmed hat seemed to harken back to another age.
The Wayfarer started toward Hunyadi and not a single one of the King’s Guard moved to stop him. They did not even seem to notice him.
Hunyadi forced himself not to shudder. He felt grateful Smith was an ally; he would make a deadly enemy.
The king went into his tent. A moment later, Smith followed him inside. The Wayfarer rested on his cane-an affectation, the king thought, for he did not believe Smith needed it-and inclined his head.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.”
“And to you, Mister Smith.”
“Your brave men and women performed admirably today.”
“They do, as ever,” the king said. In moments like this, he wished he were back in Perinthia. Better yet, he longed to return to his summer residence at Otranto, where he could drink ale with the local men and spend his days fishing in the lake or riding his mare, Nadia, in the hills.
Wayland Smith held up his cane and studied its fox head as though he had never seen it before.
“You come with news, I presume?” the king prompted him.
“Some of each variety, in fact.”
Hunyadi studied him, curious now.
“It will please you to learn that the Legend-Born have escaped.”
The king stared, a smile spreading across his features. “Truly?”
Smith nodded. “I received word from the Mazikeen. Frost and Collette Bascombe crossed the Veil. Oliver and Miss Whitney are on the run in Palenque.”
“We’ve got to help them-”
“If they can be helped, they will be. There are many voices, eyes, and hands doing your work in Palenque now, John. You need to remain focused on driving the invaders back. The Atlantean troops will not be so easily beaten.”
The king glanced toward the battlefield. From inside the tent, he could see nothing of the melee, but he could picture its savagery in his mind.
“Nothing easy about it, Smith.”
“It’s going to get more difficult.”
Hunyadi frowned, a knot of ice in his gut. “You said Atlantean troops?”
Smith nodded. When he looked up, a storm brewed in his gray eyes. “Difficult news, but not unexpected. This morning, the newspapers in Yucatazca announced an alliance between their government and the High Council of Atlantis. There are statements from Prince Tzajin. Falsified, we must presume, for he remains in Atlantis. The High Council promises to send at least three full divisions of Atlantean army forces to the Isthmus of the Conquistadors before the week is out, to aid in the war against you. Of course, they continue to claim it is only justice, since you broke the Truce by having Tzajin’s father assassinated.”
Hunyadi scowled. “Ty’Lis is quite the puppeteer.”
“It is not merely Ty’Lis,” Smith replied. “He answers to the High Council. He’s little more than a puppet himself.”
“How can you be sure of all of this? Are we certain that Prince Tzajin is under their control? It may be that he is in league with Atlantis. I have little faith to put in anyone of late, I fear.”
For the first time, Wayland Smith seemed less than sure of himself. “The High Council must be commanding Ty’Lis, or they wouldn’t have struck this alliance. They wouldn’t be sending an invasion force. As to the prince, why would he turn on his father? Mahacuhta was not a young man. If Tzajin wanted power, he only had to wait for the old man to die.”
“Youth can be so impatient,” Hunyadi replied.
Smith lowered his head, the brim of his hat obscuring his face.
“Perhaps it is time you paid a visit to Atlantis,” said the king. “I know you’d rather not involve yourself any more than you have to, Mister Smith, but with Atlantis revealing themselves and declaring open war, knowledge of what the High Council is planning may be the difference between the destruction of the Two Kingdoms and survival. And if Atlantis prevails, the Veil will be sealed forever. You know that is their intention.”
The Wayfarer knitted his brows. He stared at the ground and then met the king’s gaze with much consternation.
“I am not a soldier, John. I am not in your service.”
“No. But you are a friend and ally, Smith,” Hunyadi replied. “If nothing else, we need to know if Prince Tzajin is collaborating with Atlantis, or if he is held against his will. The answer might well be the way to trump the High Council. If Yucatazca could be turned against Atlantis…”
He did not have to finish the thought.