Annise had the urge to chase after her, to question her about her uncle, but she knew a queen needed to eat just like anyone else. Every soldier in the queue offered to let them skip the line, but Annise wasn’t having it. “My stomach will ache no more than any of yours,” she said.
Eventually they reached the front and were each given a small bowl of thin soup, a buttered sourdough roll, and an apple. It was meager fare, but satisfying enough, and Annise relished every bite.
“Mind if I join you?” someone said just as Annise was mopping up the last of the soup with her roll. A familiar soldier woman stood before them holding her own food.
“Of course,” Annise said. “Tarin’s cousin is always welcome.”
Annise admired Mona Sheary as she sat. She was a dark-haired beauty with stunning features. She was also a courageous woman, one of the first to answer the call for female volunteers into the Queen’s Army. Sir Metz, despite his eccentricities, was smitten by her. To the surprise of almost everyone who knew them, she was smitten by the strange but dashing knight too.
“Mona,” Tarin said, when she’d settled in beside them.
“Tarin,” she said, mimicking his tone, and Annise was ever-impressed by the young woman’s ability to handle those who should probably intimidate her.
“You rode into battle yesterday.”
Annise was somewhat surprised Tarin had noticed his cousin in his bloodlust. Even she hadn’t seen Mona astride her horse. The line between him and the monster was as thin as a razor blade at times.
“I did. On Commander Metz’s command.”
Tarin muttered a curse under his breath.
“I am not a statue to be placed on a shelf,” she fired back.
“I didn’t say that—”
“Cousin, I appreciate your concern for my safety, but like your queen”—she raised her eyebrows in Annise’s direction—“I can handle myself.”
Tarin’s pale skin grew paler. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…” He took a deep breath, seemed to regather his thoughts, and then said, “I know. I know all about the strength of women of the north. But I am a sworn knight and your cousin, it is in my nature to protect those I—”
“Those you what?” There was a twinkle in Mona’s eyes now, and Annise loved her for it.
“Those who need my help,” Tarin said, flashing a smile of his own.
“You bastard!” Mona said, swatting at him playfully.
“Those I love,” Tarin said, catching her hand.
Mona’s eyes closed. Opened. “I—it’s been a long time since I had family,” she said. The emotion was thick in her tone, and Annise suddenly felt like she and Fay were intruding on something personal.
“Me too,” Tarin said.
“Thank you for joining us,” Annise said, standing. Fay seemed to get the hint too, rising lithely to her feet. “But I’m off to find Zelda.”
“Do you need me to come?” Tarin asked.
“No, thank you, Sir. I will convene a council before noon. I will see you both there?” Tarin nodded, an unspoken thank you in his eyes.
Annise deposited her apple core in a barrel already full of them, and marched for the smithy, cocking her head toward Fay. Not one to split hairs, she said, “You were with Tarin when he…”
Fay’s eyes darted toward her, then away. “Yes. I wanted to tell you, but he swore me to—”
Annise stopped and grabbed her, pulling her into an embrace and stealing her words. “Thank you,” she whispered into her ear. “For being there for him.”
“I—of course. He’s my friend.”
With that said, Annise released her and continued on her way. Fay scrambled to catch up. “What is the status of the forges?” Annise asked.
“Sir Metz has done as well as can be expected, though there were few experienced smithies when we arrived. But the forges are hot and have been turning out plate and weapon for the last several weeks. They have a decent stockpile.”
“Anything…large?” Annise asked pointedly.
“Not large enough,” Fay said. “But I ordered several oversized pieces to be forged immediately. At the least we can protect Tarin’s vital organs.”
At least, Annise thought. “Excellent. Keep me posted.”
“I will,” Fay said, as Annise turned left, away from the forge. Though she trusted Sir Metz’s report on the Watch’s activities, she wanted to see for herself in case anything had changed in the last half-hour. And she needed to meet her aunt.
As she headed for one of the stone staircases leading to the top of the city wall, she passed soldiers, each of whom saluted her. She felt a swell of pride in her chest. These were her people, and they respected her as much as she respected them. On both accounts, it had been earned.
She reached the staircase and started up it, watching as a lone bird wheeled overhead. A hawk, she thought. Hunting for field mice. Metz’s words came back to her: They seem to be…hunting.
She reached the top, turning left and right to find soldiers lining the wall. Their gazes were trained southward and slightly to the west. Every so often one would raise a spyglass to get a closer look.
Annise followed their stares, her breath immediately stolen by the snowcapped mountains she’d first seen when she’d traveled with Tarin to Raider’s Pass. It seemed so long ago…
Movement caught her eye, and she squinted to clarify it. The forms were fuzzy, but she’d recognize their strange, loping strides anywhere.
The Horde.
“They carry a certain beauty, do they not?” a voice said, startling her.
“Zelda, you scared the cold out of me,” Annise said, taking in her aunt’s rumpled disposition. There were crumbs on her armor, her short, dark hair askew. Sir Metz would lose his mind if he saw her condition.
“So you noticed my brother’s absence,” Zelda said.
Annise nodded. “Tarin did too. It’s only a matter of time before others do as well. Word will spread. I need to know what to tell my people, my soldiers. Is the rest of the Horde still coming? Is Helmuth coming for us?”
A grave expression found its way onto Zelda’s face, and Annise feared the worst. But then she shook her head. “No, dear. Helmuth is not coming. And I’ll tell you why.”
Twenty-Seven
The Northern Kingdom, Darrin
Tarin Sheary
Tarin wondered what Annise had learned from her aunt. After he’d left his cousin—Mona, to his surprise, had given him a warm hug around the waist—Tarin had watched Annise and Zelda converse atop the wall, silhouetted in the morning light. Lady Zelda had done most of the talking, while Annise stared solemnly to the south. And then they’d clambered down the steps. Zelda had kept going, heading east for the castle in the heart of the city, while Annise had stopped, her eyes scanning the barracks, the mess area, the—
They’d locked on his gaze, and something had shone in them. A light of sorts, one he couldn’t read because of the conflicting emotions he sensed in it. Hope perhaps? But an enduring sadness too, one he feared even he could not kiss away. She’d gestured to him, pointing in the direction of the castle and sticking a finger in the air. Meet me in an hour. Then she’d nodded toward the forge. And get Fay.
In another time, he would’ve smiled at how easily they could communicate without uttering a single word. But his lips had been halted by her shimmering eyes, even as she’d turned away…
Now, he walked through the streets with Fay, who’d grudgingly left her post at the forge. When he’d found her, she was sweat-sheened and grimy, beating the frozen hell out of an enormous sheet of metal.
“Work on someone else’s armor,” he said, his nose pricking as a familiar smell wafted through his nostrils. He frowned, trying to place the scent.
“Sorry,” she said without looking at him. “I’m on strict orders from the queen.”
Of course you are, Tarin thought, and yet he felt an unexpected swell of happiness in his chest. Having someone who cared about him was so
mething he was still getting used to. And he didn’t just mean Annise.
“Thank you,” he said.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Har har. It’ll have to suffice, because I won’t say it again. Also, you won’t have time to construct a full suit. We can’t stay in Darrin.”
“I know,” she said, heavy disappointment in her tone. He chuckled at the pleasure she seemed to get from designing and forging new armor for him. “But where will we go? We’ve run out of cities to flee to.”
“In the north,” Tarin grunted. His eyes were trained on the city square. Once, when he’d been a soldier stationed in this very city, the square would’ve been bustling with activity, merchants hawking their wares, soldiers patrolling, children playing. Even in times of war, this place had held a certain gladness.
Now, however, it was a graveyard.
Tarin wanted to look away, but could not. The bodies were lined up on the ground, each covered with a thin blanket. There were so many there was hardly space for the death workers to move. An army of the dead, Tarin thought. In the very center sat an enormous cast-iron oven, flames dancing from its maw.
A crematorium, Tarin knew. During the warmer months, when the ground was relatively soft, most northerners favored the burying of their dead. But in the winter, when a shovel could no longer pierce the frozen ground…
Tarin realized why the smell he’d noticed earlier had been so familiar to him. While stationed in Darrin, it had hung in the air constantly, like an invisible fog. Burning bodies.
One of the cremators used a shovel to empty the ash from the oven, dumping load after load into a wheelbarrow, which another worker carted away, trailing gray smoke. Other workers hauled bodies to the oven, shoving them inside, the flames flaring up as they devoured each new corpse.
Tarin looked away to find Fay’s eyes on his. “You and Annise are so much alike it scares me,” she said.
“Aye. We’re both warriors, only she’s a queen of the north and I’m a monster from the Hinterlands.”
“You said it, not me,” Fay said with a wry smile, “but that’s not what I meant. You think you can save them all, but you can’t. You aren’t responsible for the burdens of the world.” When Tarin tried to object, she quickly added, “Nor are you responsible for all the burdens of the north, or even this city.”
“Then why should we try?” Tarin said, surprised by the hopelessness in his own voice.
“Because you can,” Fay said. “Which is the same reason I will keep making you oversized plate fit for an ice bear. Because I can.”
Annise sat on the steps, rather than the plush seat usually reserved for the lord of the castle. Tarin caught her gaze, and they both managed a small smile. Fay’s answer to his question continued to echo in his ears. Because you can.
Aye, there is plenty of truth to that. In many ways, that very statement had been his unspoken mantra for many years.
Not without me you can’t, the monster said. It had been silent for a long while, and despite its taunt Tarin felt a strange relief at hearing it speak again.
I know that now, Tarin said. And thank you. The prior night, his mind had been in disarray, clouded with darkness. He knew Annise was hurting, that she needed him and he needed her, and yet he refused to go to her when he was like that, still coming down from his bloodlust.
But then the monster had said Go, and vanished, drawing its shadowy veil with it. At first, the shock of its sudden disappearance had been like being struck by a bout of exhaustion, and he’d collapsed, trying to regain his breath.
After a few moments, however, the feeling had passed, and he was just Tarin again. He’d gone to Annise, who was already fast asleep, curling up beside her, feeling her warmth melt into him until he’d drifted away too.
Now, he knew, it had been a gift, and not a small one. Thank you, he repeated.
Don’t say that again, the monster said. We are the same. What you need, I need, and vice versa.
That thought brought Tarin back to reality, and he refocused on Annise, who slowly stood, scanning those in attendance. It was a small, select audience, and Tarin immediately knew why each individual had been chosen: We are the ones she trusts the most.
There was Zelda, of course, and Sir Jonius, the aging knight who’d once served her father under the threat of harm to his wife. Sir Metz and Mona Sheary stood nearby, their fingers almost touching. Fay and Tarin had been the last to arrive.
The room was large, but not nearly as large as the throne room at Castle Hill. Still, it had a vaulted stone ceiling from which hung an enormous brass chandelier brimming with unlit candles. From experience, Tarin knew the candles were generally lit each night, their wax dripping into dishes to prevent the hot entrails from splashing the head of some unsuspecting noble. The walls were adorned with vivid tapestries depicting battles, though none as dark and gruesome as those in the castle of Black Guard in Blackstone.
“Lady Zelda,” Annise said. “Tell them what you told me.”
Zelda ran a hand through her dark hair, rubbing at one of her eyes. “My eldest brother, Helmuth Gäric, liked to play games of strategy.”
It was such an unexpected statement that everyone, save Annise and Zelda, shifted from foot to foot, glancing at each other. “Games?” Sir Jonius said, cocking his gray-haired head to the side.
“Aye,” Zelda said. “Games. When he wasn’t in the archives studying maps, he would challenge people to Knights of the Kingdom or Conquer. Not other children. Adults. I watched him play against my father many times.”
Tarin had a feeling where this story was going, but he didn’t interrupt.
“My father was the Undefeated King, but what most people don’t know is that his success on the battlefield was not only due to his prowess as a warrior and commander, but because of his skills as a strategist. Even if Helmuth didn’t inherit our father’s strong legs, he inherited his mind for strategy.”
Sir Jonius spoke up once more. “Thus far his strategy seems fairly straightforward. Assemble a vicious, fearless army and hunt us to the ends of the earth.”
“Not fearless,” Annise said, raising her eyebrows. “They retreated from Tarin.”
Tarin knew she had meant it as a compliment, but the reminder sent a pang of guilt through his chest.
“Fair enough,” Jonius said. “But who else but the Armored Knight can chase away the dogs of hell?”
Zelda said, “Respectfully, you’re missing the point, Sir. This story isn’t about the Horde—it’s about Helmuth.”
“Apologies, my lady,” Jonius said with a slight bow. “Please continue.”
“Helmuth lost games of strategy to my father many times, even when he had been defeating other adults consistently. Most children his age would grow frustrated at losing. My brother, however, wouldn’t sulk or throw a tantrum. He would analyze his defeats, mapping out every move he and my father had made, and where he’d gone wrong. And then…he would try again.”
“Did he ever defeat him?” Mona asked.
“Only once,” Zelda said. “The day before he disappeared.”
Silence fell across the chamber, the last word echoing several times before the sound faded away.
Tarin finally spoke. “Your brother is no longer in the north.” It was not a question, but more a request for confirmation.
“I don’t believe so,” she said. “He destroyed Crimea, laid the most powerful kingdom in the world low, overthrew a line of rulers that had persevered for centuries. He has not come to the Four Kingdoms just to reclaim what should’ve been rightfully his. No, he has come to conquer.”
“And we are no threat to him,” Tarin continued. “We are weak, our armies diminished. We are retreating. So he sent a small portion of his strength to pursue us, to finish us off.”
Zelda nodded. “While the true Horde marched south.”
“To where?” Jonius asked. “Raider’s Pass would give him options.”
Zelda pursed h
er lips and scrunched her face, and Tarin guessed her response before she gave it. “I don’t know. I was never the strategist either my father or Helmuth were. I preferred to hit things until they stopped moving.”
Like aunt, like niece, Tarin thought, thinking of Annise.
Jonius said, “He could’ve marched east to Ferria or west to Knight’s End.”
“Or straight south to Phanes or Calyp,” Annise said. “Helmuth has proven himself unpredictable.”
Tarin nodded in agreement. “He will choose the kingdom he thinks he can defeat without significant losses.”
“In the location that will give him a strategic advantage,” Annise added.
Zelda said, “He won’t go south. He’ll have little information on the current situation in the south. But Blackstone would’ve been full of streams from the west and the east. He’ll know Rhea Loren sent her armies southward.”
“It makes sense,” Tarin said. “Which means we can escape to the east.”
“Gareth Ironclad hasn’t replied to my stream,” Annise said.
“The stream network is no longer viable,” Sir Metz said. “We only have a handful of inkreeds for Ferria, and who’s to say they have any for Darrin? Deliveries have ceased altogether.”
“I agree,” Annise said. “We have no choice but to knock on the door to the east and hope someone answers.”
“They’ll answer all right,” Jonius said. “With swords to our throats and arrows to our hearts.”
Tarin couldn’t disagree. Long had he fought the Ferrian legionnaires. They harbored no love or compassion for the north. Why would they help them now?
“Gareth Ironclad is different to his father, his brothers,” Annise said.
“Was he not part of the attack through Raider’s Pass mere months ago?” Sir Jonius said.
Annise conceded the point. “Aye, but he was following his father’s commands.”
“Yes, his father who we killed.”
Well, technically it was me, Tarin thought, though the details were unimportant. The knight was right—in the eyes of the east it was the north that killed their king, their queen, and even the crown prince, Guy Ironclad, who’d been murdered by Bane.