Bram nodded, and his face hardened into a frown that she knew meant he was deep in thought.
“If we might speak alone?” she asked Ian, who promptly bowed.
“Of course,” he said. “Milord, fetch me if you need me.”
With Ian gone, they were alone despite the hundreds of men milling about, clanging swords. Their words would go unheard in such a din. Loreina slid beside her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“This is it,” she said. “This is everything we’ve waited for.”
Disturbed, he looked her way, his frown deepening.
“How so?”
“Their numbers are weakened, and they are in no shape to fight. Meet them at the bridge. Show them you will not be taken advantage of.”
Bram glared, and he guided her toward the exit of the barracks. It seemed even with all the noise he would not speak of such things in public.
“Are you mad?” he asked as they stepped out. “You saw what thirty angels did to our forces. That was within our own castle, with Qurrah’s lover to aid us. Thousands fly above the skies of Mordan. Even if we crush Antonil, war will still come to our nation, and against that might we’ll be trampled.”
“When did I speak of war?” Loreina asked, letting a hard edge into her voice. Her husband should trust her better than that, and it annoyed her when he would not fully think her ideas through. “When did I speak of crushing that fool of a king? I only ask that you exercise the rights you possess.”
Bram shook his head.
“What you’re asking is dangerous, Loreina. If Ahaesarus meant what he said, we still might escape open warfare. I once thought we would stand a better chance, but that was before seeing what they could do. Their weapons make our chainmail look like butter.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” she said. “I watched from my window as our men, good men with families, bled out and died because those fanatics were determined to get what they wanted. They came at night, without warning, into our very capital. What happens when they come for you? Or for me?”
She saw the anger in his eyes and knew she had him.
“All I ask is that you be the king I know you are,” she whispered, softly kissing him from his neck to his ear. “All I ask is that you let me sleep knowing I am safe. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
“We’ll have little time if we want to meet them at Ashhur’s Bridge,” he said. “Forgive me. I must give out the order.”
She smiled and let him go.
“Of course,” she said.
He hurried back into the barracks, and her heart swelled with pride. This was it. This was the first step toward their freedom.
Trying not to look in any particular hurry, she walked back to the castle. When her servants went to follow, she dismissed them, claiming she had a headache and desired solitude. It was only a half-lie. She climbed the winding stairs to the upper floors, then smiled at the man guarding her room. Slipping inside, she twisted the lock, then rushed to her private chest of things. Amid the various junk was a single scrap of paper, hardly larger than her palm. It was faded brown, and looked as if it’d been forgotten at the bottom of the chest for decades.
Taking the scrap, she went to her husband’s desk and opened his inkwell. Taking a quill, she wrote two simple words in its center. That done, she put the quill and ink away, then walked over to their window. She pushed it open, felt the breeze blow against her. Her heart aflutter, she lifted the paper to her lips then slowly breathed across it.
Immediately the paper snapped to life, folding over and over on itself, reshaping, becoming something else. Throwing it out the window, Loreina smiled as the paper bird took flight, rising higher and higher into the air, the words Antonil approaches safely folded into its very center. Loreina watched until it was gone, her hands clasped before her chest and her eyes alight.
King Antonil parted the rough fabric with his hands and looked inside.
“How does he fare?”
Tarlak lay on a pile of blankets, in one of the few wagons they’d manage to salvage after the ambush at Kinamn. His hat was beside him, exposing the wicked bruise just above his temple. A bit of his hair was missing, shaved off by the elderly surgeon overseeing him.
“He fares fine,” Tarlak said, lazily lifting an arm in greeting. “I dare say I’m sick to death of this bumpy wagon. I think walking would be better for my health, and my sanity.”
“You have my pity,” said Antonil.
“Thank you,” Tarlak replied.
“I meant the surgeon.”
“He sleeps more than he complains,” the surgeon said. “Though the herbal milk I give him is probably to blame. The infection is gone, praise Ashhur for that. In a week, maybe two, he’ll be back to his old flamboyant self.”
“Nonsense,” Tarlak said. “I’m my flamboyant self right now. See this smile? That’s the smile of a happy man.”
“The smile of a drugged man,” Antonil said, chuckling. “Cut down on the herbs. I think it’s time he regained a bit of his lucidity.”
“I might have to take some myself then,” said the surgeon. “You cannot imagine what this man is like when ill. I’ve known children who handled toothaches better.”
“We’ll be at Ashhur’s Bridge within the hour,” Antonil said as Tarlak stuck his tongue out at the surgeon. “Soon we’ll all get the rest we need, and even better, the food our bellies have been grumbling for. Will that make up for the wizard?”
“It’ll do.”
Antonil patted Tarlak on the leg.
“Get better,” he said. “Oh, and try not to be too annoying.”
“No promises,” came slurred speech from the wagon as Antonil hopped back down. His smile, while natural in there with Tarlak, soon became forced as he wandered through the rest of his army. Of his thirty thousand, only five remained, and very few of them walked with their heads held high. Their faces were sunken and thin, crying out for sleep and food. Antonil wished he could give it to them, and he thanked Ashhur they had finally made it to Ker.
The loss of so many made him sick to the stomach whenever he thought about it. He’d been at the front, trying to reach the catapults shattering their ranks. When they finally broke through the orc line, their commander had issued a retreat. From atop the hill, Antonil watched the orcs pull away, and he denied his men a chance to chase after. There was no point. He guessed the orcs had two thousand left, maybe three. Perhaps they would have overrun them, but he didn’t want to risk it, not with a broken army. They’d left the dead where they were upon the hillside, gathered up every shred of supplies into their few remaining wagons, and then traveled west. From then on, the orcs had left them alone, as if knowing they’d accomplished what they needed to keep their land safe.
Retaking Veldaren was now but a dream. Antonil did his best to accept it, to push that sting aside while there was nothing he could do about it. Securing aid from King Bram was all that mattered now. Whatever promises he had to make, he’d make, and whatever humiliation he must endure, he’d endure. If he had to kiss Bram’s ass cheeks he’d do it, so long as it got food in his soldiers’ bellies.
At the head of the army were their few horses, and Antonil mounted one. Despite everything, he had to appear lordly, especially before a fellow king.
“Are we ready?” he asked Sergan, who had been waiting for him.
“We’ve given out the last of our water,” he said. “Our food will last maybe three more days, but I kept it rationed. No sense being wasteful until we know how badly Bram’s going to gouge us for his aid.”
“You’re a good man, Sergan,” Antonil said. “What would I do without you?”
“Go hungry and thirsty, I’d say,” Sergan said with a tired smile. “At your word, we’ll march.”
“Consider that word given. Let’s go home.”
The army moved out, and it didn’t take long before they caught sight of civilization. The smoke of campfires drifted lazily into the air from the direction of the bridge. At first Antonil was heartened by the sight, but then, as the river neared, he felt worry growing in his empty stomach. The number of fires, the amount of smoke, was far beyond any normal garrison. They’d received no response from the messenger he’d sent out, but that wasn’t surprising. His orders had been to forgo sleep and rest as much as possible on the way to Angkar. Most likely he was recovering from the trip, hopefully in far nicer conditions than Antonil and his marching army found themselves in.