Chapter 32
Ian sat tall on Rowena, his heart racing. He felt as though he was pretending to be someone else, when in reality the only part he had to play was just that of himself, Ian Sirilian, Crown Prince of Iseldis.
Rowena stood at perfect attention beneath him, pawing the sandy ground near the entrance of the monastery.
Ulli—dressed as a member of the royal guard of Iseldis—approached the closed gate to the courtyard ahead and knocked loudly.
Most of the soldiers who had been traveling to the shore in preparation for the upcoming Return of the Majis had been camping further down the southern beach. With the influx of Chendas soldiers, the Iseldan camp was now far outnumbered.
The monastery turned fortress could only house about fifty men, and it had been reserved for the captains and logistical leaders.
Nele had confirmed that morning that most of the soldiers from the monastery had indeed traveled down to the shoreside camps to train with their soldiers.
Ahead of Ian, the large gate of the monastery opened just enough to reveal a Chendas man in purple livery. Ulli had a short conversation with the man, but Ian was too far back to hear what was said. He tried to appear imposing and unimpressed when Ulli gestured back toward him.
After a few more words, the gate closed and Ulli returned. He gave Ian a quick smirk and a light nod before stationing himself at the head of his own horse to the side of Rowena.
On Ian’s other side, Jette also wore the colors of the Iseldan guard. She dismounted as well, grabbing Rowena’s reins to free Ian.
Ian waited until the gate reopened, and two familiar figures strode out followed by six soldiers. That was not as many as he had hoped. The more soldiers that came outside, the fewer Robin would have to deal with inside.
Ian wanted to slide from Rowena’s back and meet the two generals halfway, but he forced himself to stay seated as long as possible, to lure them further out.
To project as much power—perceived or otherwise—as possible.
Perhaps he was playing a part. This was not how he or his father conducted their affairs at all.
“Prince Ian,” General Zimri called out as he approached. “It is good to see you.”
Ian believed the older man’s words, hoping that this conversation would not turn his old friend and mentor into an enemy.
“General Zimri,” he replied, adding warmth to his voice but keeping his face passive. “General Gautho.” He nodded to the other man before finally sliding lithely from Rowena’s back.
Zimri watched Ian, confusion on his face, and then turned hesitantly toward General Gautho.
Ian noted the wordless exchange between the two, the way that Zimri looked to Gautho. Clearly the Chendas general had more power here, even though they were on Iseldis land. While this did not surprise Ian, he was disappointed to see it.
General Gautho stared at Ian with open hostility.
He was of a similar age as Zimri and had been leading Gareth’s armies since before the young king had taken the throne.
“Your Highness,” Gautho said, finally offering a greeting.
“I have orders to detain you on sight, so I am sure you will forgive me . . .” He held up his hand, and the soldiers behind him stepped forward to create a ring around Ian, Ulli, and Jette.
Ian hoped that he appeared unconcerned, though that was entirely not how he felt.
He reminded himself that every soldier surrounding him was one less that Robin had to deal with inside.
And true to her word, Robin had devised a plan for Ian to escape if—when—the situation got dangerous.
“I am aware of King Gareth’s denouncement,” he said.
“Which is precisely why I am here. I need to speak with both of you.”
Zimri took a half step forward, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of arresting Ian. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside.”
“No.” Ian shook his head. “I would prefer to speak here, as I am sure you will understand.” He let his words hang in the air, insinuating that at least here in the open he had an escape route.
But he had to keep this conversation going as long as possible.
Robin should be entering the monastery at this moment.
He felt a cold sweat begin to drip down his torso and hoped that it was not visible on his face.
Gautho’s jaw tightened. “Your Highness, you must understand that your arrival here puts us in a difficult position. King Gareth has made his stance clear—”
“I understand the position perfectly, General.” Ian kept his voice level, diplomatic. “I am asking only for a conversation. Surely that is not too much to request, given my years of service to Iseldis and my relationship with both of you.”
“Relationships that you have denounced by abandoning your post,” Gautho countered.
“We can at least hear him out,” Zimri said. “There is nothing he can do against us here and now. He is surrounded.”
Ian was grateful for the indication of trust, however small. He slid from his horse in an attempt to give his next words more weight. “I came here, willingly putting myself into a dangerous position, because I need counsel from men I trust.”
It was a manipulative appeal, and Ian watched its effect carefully. He had Zimri’s full attention.
Gautho’s hand hovered over the pommel of his sword while he stared at Ian for several seconds. “What kind of counsel?” he finally asked.
“The battle formation,” Ian said. “The positioning of our joint armies does not seem as strong as it could be.”
Gautho’s eyes narrowed. “So you have come to provide counsel,” he said, “not seek it.”
Ian clasped his hands behind his back, something he had seen his father do.
It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, but he needed to exude confidence and power even if he did not feel it.
“I have been watching the preparation and formations along the shore these last few days. I believe we are making a tactical error. As you are the wisest and most experienced soldiers I know, I am seeking your counsel against that tactical error.”
Zimri’s chin lifted slightly. Ian was speaking directly to his love of solving military problems, and the old soldier could not resist. “What error do you see?” he asked.
Ian blinked, keeping his gaze forward as he tried to ignore the six soldiers surrounding him.
“The Iseldis forces . . . our men”—he caught Zimri’s eye—“are positioned along the water. They will be the first line of engagement when the Majis ships arrive. Where is our fleet? Should not our ships be the first line of defense?”
“We sent the ships to the southern bay,” Zimri said. “The Majis already have an advantage, and we will have no way to overpower them at sea. Their magical attacks will sink our ships, killing every man onboard before we have the opportunity to do anything.”
Ian nodded, pretending to listen carefully as he met Zimri’s gaze. But the sight of the monastery behind the man’s head kept drawing his attention. He could not think about Robin now. Aden was with Robin and would keep her safe.
Ian had been surprised when Ulli had suggested that Aden accompany Robin.
He knew the quiet bandit well enough now to know that this request was entirely out of character, which made it that much more serious.
But Ian trusted Aden implicitly, and he was relieved that Aden would spend the entire raid watching out for Robin’s safety.
Aden, for his part, had been happy to help where he could.
Ian blinked, recalling the last words that Zimri had spoken. “I understand that reasoning,” Ian said. “But this leaves our line of soldiers on the waterline to take the brunt of the attack.”
“We are forcing the Majis to come to us, where we have a better advantage, however slim,” Gautho said. “My men will offer full ranged support; it is a two-pronged strategy and one that does not need your criticism.”
“Ranged support?” Ian said. “From the safety of the bluff above the shore? While the Iseldis men take every hit?”
Zimri’s eyes tightened. “It is our kingdom which we defend,” he said, his gruff voice taking on an aggressive tone. “Our warriors are the strongest and most skilled soldiers in all of the five kingdoms. We will not hide behind other men.”
Gautho said nothing but nodded in agreement.
“Strong as our soldiers may be,” Ian said, turning his gaze to Gautho. “It seems less than honorable to ask them to take the brunt of the battle.”
The Chendas general moved his hand back to the pommel of his sword. “You are not in a position to be making such insinuations, Your Highness.”
“I am insinuating nothing,” Ian said, keeping his voice level.
“I am merely asking for strategic—” He stopped for a moment, buying time by appearing to gather his thoughts.
“I am asking you both to look at our deployment and tell me what our backup plan is for the soldiers on the shore? Especially if the attack is worse than anticipated.”
Zimri crossed his arms, the lines in his face deepening.
“This is the most tactical decision,” Gautho said. “By putting our best warriors in the front line and covering them with arrows from behind, we give everyone—in all of Iseldis and the kingdoms beyond—a chance to survive the Majis attack.”
“Your only answer is the death of Iseldan men?” Ian asked, speaking directly to Zimri.
Zimri did not answer. His eyes remained narrow as he studied Ian’s face.
“This ‘counsel’ has gone on long enough,” Gautho said. He lifted his hand toward the soldiers surrounding Ian.
“Wait,” Zimri said, turning to Gautho. “Perhaps we should reconsider the formations on the beach, without our fleet as a true front line—”
“We do not have time to prepare the men for new formations,” Gautho said angrily, cutting off Zimri’s words.
“My men are smart as well as strong,” Zimri said, his own voice rising as though they had disagreed on this point before.
Both men continued speaking at the same time.
“Are you saying you cannot trust your own men?” Zimri said.
For a moment Gautho’s entire face changed, and his eyes went wide. Then, just as quickly, his mouth contorted back into anger and he turned to Ian. “This discussion is over, prince. You are coming with me.”
Ian took a step back toward Rowena, trying to keep his face calm as the six Chendas soldiers stepped forward, tightening their circle around him.
“We are under attack!” The panicked shout came from the courtyard behind the two generals, and they immediately spun around.
Soldiers poured from the open gate. “General!” the first one yelled, his face bloodied. “We are under attack.” He pointed back at the monastery.
Ian swung up onto Rowena in an instant, taking advantage of the fact that the soldiers who had been about to apprehend him were also momentarily distracted.
Ulli and Jette did the same, mounting their horses beside him.
Ian drew his short sword, holding it out toward the soldiers surrounding him as Rowena turned beneath him.
“Do not let him escape!” Gautho called from behind him.
But it was too late. Rowena pressed forward, breaking through the two Chendas soldiers behind her, making for the road as she picked up speed.
In the time it would take the soldiers to mount up and follow them, Ian, Ulli, and Jette would have disappeared into the trees.