It all made Elspeth want to scream. Of course the duchess of a great house didn’t resort to such displays, so she spent her days on the castle walls, staring out at Falcon Bay and the Braedony war ships that controlled its waters. The guards stationed atop the battlements usually ignored her, having learned that they invited a sharp rebuke if they chose to offer her even the mildest greeting. She had to admit that Galdasten’s soldiers seemed in far better spirits since retaking the city. They gave little indication that they minded the presence of the emperor’s ships off their shores, as if they expected that once the war on the moors had been won, driving off the Braedony navy would be but a small matter. Elspeth doubted it would be so simple, but she kept this to herself.
It was late in the day; sunlight slanted sharply across the castle walls, casting long shadows and making the stone glow like gold. Liked winged wraiths, gulls circled lazily over Galdasten’s port, their cries plaintive and haunting. The air was still and the surface of the bay looked as smooth as polished steel.
Which made the sudden appearance of the lone ship that much stranger.
It sailed into the mouth of the bay as if pushed by Morna’s hand, skimming lightly across the surface, its sails full, its hull leaning so steeply that the straining cloth nearly touched the water. The ship flew no colors, but it sailed directly at the Braedony ships, leading Elspeth to believe that it had been sent by the emperor. Perhaps it carried a message to his commanders, or provisions of some sort, or additional men for combat.
But how could it be moving so quickly? Then it turned slightly, adjusting its course for just an instant, allowing the sun to hit its decks. And Elspeth gasped. Every person she saw aboard the vessel had white hair. Sorcerers, of course.
She should have run for help. She should at least have pointed out the ship to the soldiers standing nearby. But all the duchess could do was watch.
A sudden wind swept toward the first of the empire’s ships-she could actually see the gale move across the water. It seemed that the vessels were attempting to turn so that they might ram the Qirsi ship, but the wind hindered their movements. An instant later the ships were crushed, as if the same goddess that had guided this strange vessel into the harbor now smote the others. In mere moments the entire imperial navy had been destroyed; what Eibithar’s fleet had fought for days to do, to no avail, these Qirsi accomplished in the span of a few heartbeats.
Yet that was nothing compared with what they did next. It started as a faint golden glimmering along the surface of the bay, but it quickly built into a curling wall of flame that rose from the brine like Eilidh herself, indomitable, insatiable, merciless. Higher and higher it grew, racing toward the Wethy fleet. Elspeth heard herself cry out, was aware of the guards turning to look at her. But she couldn’t bring herself to look away as that wall of flame fell upon the vessels, in an eruption of fire and steam and charred fragments of wood.
“Demons and fire!” one of the man muttered. “What in Ean’s name was that?”
“It’s a Qirsi army,” Elspeth said, knowing as she spoke that it was true, that for all the dire warnings she had heard of a coming war with the renegades, she had not believed it until now. She faced the man. “Go find your captain! Have him place all his archers on the battlements and all his swordsmen at the north gate!” She glanced out at the bay again. The ship was already turning southward, toward the port. “Quickly! They’ll make land soon!”
Never before had she given a command to one of Renald’s men, but this soldier responded as if the order had come from the duke himself. He and his comrade bowed to her and strode, swords jangling, toward the arched entrance to the nearest tower.
Elspeth turned back to the bay, and saw that the Qirsi ship was speeding toward the city piers, driven once more by its phantom wind. She shook her head, terror gripping her heart. There wasn’t nearly enough time. They would be at the docks in mere moments. She crossed to the inner side of the wall and looked down on the ward in time to see the two soldiers emerge from the tower and run toward the armory.
“Hurry!” she shouted. The men didn’t even look up at her. They’re doing the best they can, a voice told her. Renald’s, naturally. Besides, what good will swords and arrows do against such magic? That question, for which she had no answer at all, forced her into motion.
The boys would be in the cloister for their devotions. All three of them had swords, and wore them proudly on their belts, but she didn’t want them fighting. Once more she saw in her mind that hideous wall of flame and she shuddered. She had ordered Galdasten’s warriors to their deaths, but she wouldn’t have her sons fighting a hopeless battle, not if there might still be some way to save them.
Men in the courtyard were shouting to one another and to the soldiers on the ramparts even before she entered the winding stairway, and before she reached the second level of the castle, where the cloister was, she heard soldiers entering the tower from the ward to make their way up to the top of the wall. Elspeth managed to leave the stairway before any of the men saw her. She ran through the corridor to the cloister.
The prelate had his back to the entrance as she entered the shrine, but he whirled on her, drawing a blade. Elspeth had to smile, despite her fear. The man was new to Galdasten-the old prelate had died during the previous harvest and this young man, Coulson Fendsar, who had once been an adherent in this very cloister, was elevated to the prelacy. He still seemed a bit unsure of himself at times, but the boys liked him a good deal and Elspeth thought his approach to the devotions refreshing if a bit unconventional. More to the point, she could hardly imagine the old prelate raising a weapon at all, much less putting himself between her children and armed invaders.
Seeing her, the prelate let out a long breath and lowered his sword. “My lady. I heard voices in the ward and feared the worst.”
“And with good reason, Father Prelate.”
“Have the empire’s men returned?”
She looked past him, saw her sons watching, the youngest, Rory, looking pale and frightened, as if he had just awakened from a terrible dream.
“No,” she said, lowering her voice. “A ship bearing a Qirsi army has just destroyed the fleets of Braedon and Wethyrn. They sail toward our piers even as we speak.”
“Ean save us all!”
“I don’t know that he can, Father.”
“Do you wish to take shelter here, my lady?” He straightened. “I’m not much with a blade, but I’d give my life in your defense.”
Again Elspeth smiled. “Thank you. I’ve come for my boys. I’m going to take them from the castle while there’s still time.”
Coulson nodded. “I understand, my lady. The duke would want no less. If I may be so bold, I’d suggest that you make your way to the Sanctuary of Amon. Most Qirsi still adhere to the Old Faith. Even these renegades may respect its walls.”
“Thank you, Father Prelate,” she said with surprise. “I hadn’t expected such … sound counsel to come from the cloister.”
A grin flashed across his youthful face and was gone. An instant later, he turned and beckoned to her sons. “Come, my lords,” he called. “Quickly now. You need to follow your mother.”