Sovereign

'My capital is inland, yours is on the sea. I think I have grown used to the smell of it while I have been here. I will miss it going west.'

Tomar felt absurdly flattered by that. It was not as if he had sited the capital. Still, it was his city.

'When this is over, perhaps I could visit again,' she said.

'Chandra would be honoured.'

'Our two lands have always had much to talk about, after all.'

Tomar laughed softly. 'If only they had talked instead of drawn swords.'

'Things would have been very different, I think.' Her eyes seemed to see right through him, then, and he wondered if she saw deception or loyalty. He found himself wishing Charion had been old, male and rude. People are easier to betray if you do not like them.

Enough, Tomar, he chided himself. You have betrayed no one yet.

They reined in at the ancient stone on the road west that marked the city's limits.

'Thank you for not sending me south,' Charion said.

'I don't think Areava herself could force you to do something you had no mind to do,' Tomar said.

Galen grinned at that, and offered his thanks as well.

'Do not thank me yet,' Tomar told them. 'When the war is over we will meet again, I hope.'

Galen saluted and rode to the head of the knights. Charion hesitated. 'The world will never again be as it was, will it?'

Tomar shook his head. 'Nothing you were certain of before can be counted on,' he warned her.

'I always thought I wanted change when I was just the queen of Hume and had nothing more exciting to do than negotiate trade agreements or make jokes about the king of Chandra. But I hate change. I hate what it does to us, and what it does to our people.'

'It's not change you hate,' Tomar said, but not unkindly. 'It is losing.'

Charion laughed out loud. It was the first time Tomar had ever heard her really let go. God, if we both survive this, maybe I will woo her.

'Farewell, king of Chandra,' she said, turning her horse and galloping after the knights.

'Farewell, queen of Hume,' he replied to her back, and wondered if he would ever see her again.

Two nights after, Tomar was woken from sleep by one of his guards.

'What is it?'

'It is Barys Malayka, your Majesty. He waits for you in your chambers. He said it is urgent.'

Tomar dressed quickly, his mind going through all the possible disasters that might induce Barys to rouse his king from his well-earned sleep. Barys was not one to panic, so whatever it was demanded his personal—and royal—attention and no one else's.

'It's Lynan,' Barys said as soon as the king reached his chambers. Barys had been pacing up and down the room; Tomar could see his muddy prints everywhere.

'I wish you'd take your boots off,' he said.

Barys looked down, his eyes following the twisting line of tracks that ended with him. 'He's crossed the border,' he added.

'How large is his army?'

Barys held up a single finger.

'What does that mean? One thousand? One division?'

'One man. Lynan. By himself.'

Tomar looked stupidly at Barys.

'He was seen by two men at one of our posts not far from where the Barda River crosses our border with Hume.'

'By himself?'

'Moving quickly on horse, with an extra mount. Two hours later, a group of Chetts also crossed the border; the guards were not sure how many, but they think around company strength.'

'Troop,' Tomar corrected him, absently. 'They call them troops.'

'One troop. About a hundred riders, give or take a handful.'

'Their leader?'

'A woman. That's all they could tell.'

'Korigan.'

'Maybe.'

Tomar raised his arms in exasperation. 'What is going on?' His eyes opened wide. 'He's coming here! That's it! He's coming to Sparro—!'

'No,' Barys said. 'Lynan is heading southwest. So was the troop following.'

Tomar found a seat and collapsed in it. 'I don't understand. What does the boy think he is doing? Where does he think he is going?'

'I don't know the answer to either of those questions,' Barys said, 'but I can tell you what will happen if they don't change course.'

Tomar did not like the sound of Barys's voice. 'Tell me.'

'Sooner or later, Lynan and his troop will run into Charion and the knights of the Twenty Houses.'

'Oh.' Tomar sat up straight. 'Damn.'

'I don't care how good a fighter the General's son is,' Barys continued, 'but I can tell you that he and a single troop of Chetts will not survive that encounter.'

'Damn.'

'My lord, you can no longer put it off. If you've already made a decision about which side you are going to support in this civil war, give me your instructions now. Before it's too late.'

CHAPTER 27

Lynan rode both his horses into the ground. The first fell when he was less than halfway to his destination, collapsing under him. He tumbled to the ground and lay there dazed, for how long he did not know. When he finally got to his feet he found the stricken mare trying to lift its head above the grass; one of its legs was broken.

'I'm sorry,' Lynan muttered, and cut its throat. He took the saddle off the dead mare and put it on the survivor, cropping grass nearby.

He restrained his own impatience and forced himself to allow the second mare to take more frequent and longer breaks, sometimes even allowing himself to catch snatches of sleep, but by the end of the fourth day it was still too much for the animal. Within sight of the Forest of Silona it simply stopped. Lynan dismounted, and as if this was the signal for release it needed, the horse sank to its knees, lay down and simply stopped breathing.

It was early evening. Clouds covered most of the sky and there was little light. The land seemed grey and empty. Ahead, perhaps fifteen leagues away, was the forest, the focus of all his fear and desire. He started walking.

Near midnight he stopped. He was at the centre of a crest that ran along the western border of a broad valley.

He looked eastwards over the valley and saw the dark, undulating peace of it and was brought to tears. He wiped them away, surprised by the reaction, ashamed he could cry for himself like this, but despite everything that had happened to him he recognised at that moment a part of himself he had not touched since he had been given the vampire's blood, a part that was not interested in fighting or conquest or proving himself, a part of himself that yearned to be nothing more than alive and at rest.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, he ordered, and used his eyesight to study the valley more carefully. Now he recognised it. The Arran Valley, where the mercenary Jes Prado had first caught him all those seasons ago. This was no place of peace. There was no such place anywhere on Theare any more. He turned his back on it and resumed walking towards the forest.

He reached the first scattered stands of summer trees after dawn, their brown leaves already dropping. The clouds had gone overnight and sunlight scattered through the remaining canopy, warming his skin. He could hear the song of bird and insect. In the distance came the lowing of cows on one of the farms in the valley, now out of sight. As he continued walking, the summer trees were joined by wideoaks and then the headseeds, the largest of all the forest trees. The further into the forest he went, the less effect autumn seemed to have on the land. Leaves were still green and supple, the ground still warm and moist. Strangely, despite all the evidence of burgeoning life, there was no longer any sound of bird or insect. High above a breeze stirred the tops of the trees, but the sound of it did not reach the ground.

There was just a great silence, a great stillness. Expectation.

Lynan breathed deeply, closed his eyes and lay down on the ground. He had arrived, and now only had to wait for Silona to find him.

Jenrosa did not know how far ahead was Lynan, but by using her magik to extend the endurance of their mounts she and her escort of Red Hands drove deep into Chandra, resting little, swallowing the leagues. When they finally stopped for the day they all fell into a deep, recuperative sleep, again helped by Jenrosa's magik. Each morning, before light, they were off again, the land gliding by them as if they were at sea with nothing to slow their progress.