Chapter 9 #3
Once they’d signaled the affirmative, Kaia rose on her haunches, trumpeted a command to rise, then hunkered down and launched into the air, quickly followed by both the younger drakkons and their riders. I’d braced against the wind of their departure, but many others were sent flying.
A few seconds later, Kaia said, Is clear. No gilded ones hunt us.
Meaning the smoke barrier had worked. Shame it couldn’t be employed permanently. Don’t go hunting until dawn has fully risen.
Won’t.
As they flew over the distant peak and disappeared into the waning night, I headed up the palace stairs to make my report. Garran and Neera were standing near the main troop board.
“I take it the smoke wall worked?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at my salute but nevertheless returning it.
“They didn’t see any riders as they flew over the peaks; that at least means they’re not currently coming in at us from a southernly direction.”
“Coming at us from that direction would mean going through Hopetown or the other smaller ports, and we would have warning of either by now.”
Garran returned his gaze to the troop board as recent movements were added.
The trebuchets they’d been moving earlier had now been deployed, and there’d been a doubling in numbers attacking the wall, but the main force was still being held back.
They were definitely waiting for something, but was that something whatever was being hidden by the fog moving down from the Ghost Forest, or had it something to do with the gilded riders and the force they were building at the Sheer?
The rider we’d questioned in Hopetown had promised they’d cover Arleeon’s skies with gold, but we’d decimated their numbers up at the Sheer, and it would surely take some time to rebuild them.
At the very least, they’d have to fly in more foot soldiers, and the baskets Kaia and I had destroyed out in Mareritten certainly wouldn’t have held any more than twenty or so.
Even if they did have an unlimited supply of both birds and baskets, it would still take them days, at the very least.
“Any further reports from Damon and his team?” I asked.
“No, but the minute I do hear anything, I’ll let you know.” He glanced at me, understanding and perhaps a hint of amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Now, make your report, then go get yourself a bath, because you, Commander, reek of drakkon.”
“And a beautiful scent it is too,” I replied, amused.
“Only to someone with malfunctioning olfactory senses.”
I chuckled softly and made a full report; the soldier standing to the right of Neera immediately updated the board, adding additional figures to those already standing on the section representing the Sheer.
“Perhaps your attack is the reason the Mareritt have not unleashed their full force on us yet,” Neera commented. “Perhaps they wait for rider reinforcements.”
“And perhaps,” Garran said, voice grim, “they wait for something entirely different. They have not employed their mages against us yet, but I fear that will be the next step.”
I glanced at him sharply. “How many mages did they have in that encampment?”
“A dozen.”
“And were they all working with the Mareritt to reinforce those tubes with magic?”
“No.”
“Then why were they there?”
“Unknown, but it undoubtedly bodes no good for us.”
That was a truth I certainly couldn’t argue with, given what those mages were capable of.
I might not have witnessed their destruction of our harbor, but I’d witnessed their attempts to bring down the mountain on the Jakarran refugees, and had also witnessed them melting and refashioning the hard black stone at Yara’s aerie with the intent of blocking in the drakkons.
Our walls wouldn’t fare much better against that sort of magic.
Our earth witches might have successfully curtailed their attempt to utterly destroy the harbor, but they were currently exhausting themselves reinforcing the walls against the acid.
Perhaps that was the overall game plan—perhaps the gilded riders and their mages were simply waiting for the eventual collapse of our mages before their full assault began. It would certainly explain their half-hearted assaults on our walls.
There was nothing we could do if that were true. The walls had to be reinforced—what they’d done to the war room was a mere taste of the chaos that would unfold if they weren’t.
In fact, given how successful that attack had been, I had to wonder why the Mareritt hadn’t continued to deploy those orbs.
They obviously had them, given they’d launched one at Yara when we’d stolen the riders’ prisoners, so why give us any time at all to reinforce?
Was it simply a matter of the Mareritt here not having any more to hand?
Were they what lay hidden under the damn fog?
If they were, then we needed to attack and destroy them as soon as possible.
“Go rest, Bryn,” Garran added softly. “It’ll be at least another six hours before Damon’s team returns with their captive—and yes, I’ll inform you the minute they do.”
“Thank you.” Although in all truth, unless sleep swept me into unconsciousness, I’d likely sense his return anyway. “By the way, I’ve asked Halka and Miri to do the flyover in the morning.”
“Good. Thanks. Now, as I said, go.”
I smiled, saluted him again, then headed out. I didn’t know the two soldiers now stationed at my door, but when I opened it and went in, Janis was standing to the right.
“King Garran has ordered me?—”
“I know, Janis, so please relax.”
She nodded and did so. I dumped my packs and hung my sword, bow, and quiver on the hooks, but kept my knife.
Janis might be here, but just in case my fucking father-in-law decided to pop out of the wall and attempt a little murder while I was in the bath, I wanted it within easy reach.
I could undoubtedly cinder him with barely a thought, but there was a cold, angry part of my soul that wanted to do it the old-fashioned way.
After ordering food and a pot of shamoke to be brought up, I headed into the bathing area, flicked on the tap, and placed my knife within easy reach of the bath. As I stripped off, something thudded softly to the floor, and I looked down to see what looked like a serpent lying on the stone.
Hair. Plaited hair.
The damn acid had done more damage than I’d assumed... and that unreasonably angered me. I didn’t have all that much in the way of womanly assets, and my hair had been my pride and joy.
I stepped in front of the mirror to examine what remained.
There wasn’t much. The bald patch on my head ran at a slight angle from above my ear to the middle of my neck and had cut straight across my plait before moving on to scar my left shoulder blade, though the skin there was only very slightly blistered, which suggested the spray of acid had lost most of its momentum by then.
I unwound what remained of the plait; the cut was a jagged angle rather than straight, with fuzzy, burned bits of hair frizzing a good inch above where the acid had sliced through it.
I definitely could not leave it as was. I grabbed my knife, returned to the mirror, and sheared off what remained as best I could, leaving the hair barely brushing the back of my neck.
Which was undoubtedly more practical for both drakkon riding and hand-to-hand combat, but the anger nevertheless ramped up.
They would pay for this. This, killing my parents, killing Ebrus. ..
Which was a whole lot of vengeance, and who fucking knew right now if any of it could even be achieved.
I returned to the bath and climbed in, soaking in the hot water in an effort to ease some of the aching weariness; when the water finally began to cool, I grabbed the verum-scented soapweed and washed all the grime from hair and skin.
Smelling fresher, even if I didn’t feel it, I climbed out, slipped on a nightrobe, and moved into the dining area.
The shamoke and a platter of food sat waiting on the table, as were Maree’s potions and salves.
I applied one to my burns and the other—the regrowth one—to my hair, and drank the potions, then ate my dinner and climbed into bed.
I was asleep practically before my head hit the pillow.
Awareness woke me who knew how many hours later. A smile tugged at my lips, but I didn’t open my eyes or otherwise acknowledge his presence. The bed platform creaked softly, then the musky scent of sweat and man flowed over me. A heartbeat later, he kissed my cheek.
“I know you’re awake, dearest Bryn.”
His warm breath whispered across my lips, and my smile grew. “Then why are you simply kissing my cheek rather than stripping off and climbing into bed with me?”
“Aside from the fact I smell worse than a pig pen, you mean?”
“I think we’ve already established the aroma of pig pens has no effect on my lust for your body.”
He laughed softly. “True, but we have a prisoner being held in the tanks, and they cannot question him unless I’m there, as it is my magic that holds his murderous intentions in check and him to silence. I’m here because Garran said you’d want to be present.”
“Oh, you know I do.”
He slapped my blanket-covered butt lightly. “Then get up, woman, before your cousin gets impatient and sends a detail to hurry us up.”
“Movement without a proper morning kiss is simply impossible.”
He laughed, then his lips claimed mine, the kiss gentle yet oddly intense, and far, far too brief.
I sighed regretfully as he pulled back, then motioned him out of the way and tossed the blankets aside, climbing out. “So, tell me, how in Vahree’s name did you manage to capture a Rayabar?”
He grimaced, deepening the lines of dirt and blood that plastered his face. “We were lucky—we saw them before they saw us.”
“They didn’t have a forward scout? That’s highly unusual for the Mareritt.”