Chapter 7
ACKER
“Ace. Wake up,” Hallis says, tapping my cheek with an open palm. “Get up.”
I stir but the alarm in his eyes snaps me out of the fog of sleep. Sitting up, I note the shade of light filtering in through the balcony glass doors informing me of the early morning hour. “What is it?”
“Roison has invaded the valley in Tyreek’s territory. They’ve taken the town and are setting up camps along the fjord.”
“My father?” I ask.
“His bedchamber is empty. Zion sent a messenger from the battlefront. He’s waiting downstairs.” He picks up the string of mangi stones from the bedside table and tosses them at me. I catch them against my chest. “Get dressed,” he orders.
He stalks out and I shut the door behind him with a flick of my magic. Cradling my head in my hands, shame clings to me as it always does when I wake in this bed, magnified tenfold since Hallis has witnessed just how weak I am.
I dress in yesterday’s clothes and slip the stones over my neck as I make my way to my father’s sitting room. Tyreek and Hallis are waiting, along with Draken and a couple of other lords. The soldier sitting in a tufted chair is staring at the war board with stark, unblinking eyes.
The eternal stare. An empty look soldiers get after staring death in the face for hours, days, sometimes weeks on end.
An oversized blanket hangs over his shoulders. Dried blood and mud and probably guts cover his body, hair plastered flat against his brow. The smell of weeks’ old sweat permeates the air around him. Exhaustion lines his body, undoubtedly made worse by riding here through the night.
No one speaks as I squat in front of him, taking the glass of dark liquor Hallis hands me and offering it to the young boy.
Like a doll being pulled by strings, he accepts the drink, taking a tiny sip without any indication of the burn as he swallows.
He finally makes eye contact with me and there’s just enough recognition in his gaze to make him sit a little straighter in his seat.
I thread my fingers together in a fist between my knees. “What’s your name?”
His voice is a shallow whisper. “Darcy.”
“Tell me what’s happened, Darcy.”
He seems to have trouble swallowing for a second and takes another small sip of liquor before speaking. “We were keeping rotations, so I was asleep when the first explosions occurred.”
“A witch’s brew?” I asked.
He shakes his head. “That’s what we thought at first, but then we saw—”
The audible noise of another thick swallow is loud in the quiet room and I reach for the glass in his hand, encouraging him to drink some more.
After taking a larger gulp, he continues. “He was already swinging the flail for his second strike by the time we realized the troll had knocked out a portion of the mountainside underneath our base.”
We listen to Darcy detail the horrors of the lost battle against the giants.
Two of them devastating the mountainside in order to cleave a path so Roison could overrun the town, killing all but one hundred and forty-six of our battalion.
Zion, wounded but alive, hidden in the mountainside, sent Darcy to warn us.
It takes three hours to debrief Darcy, but we’re able to get a rough understanding of where the Roison had begun setting up camp when he left, including the building where they’re keeping a handful of prisoners.
I have the young soldier escorted to a private room to be looked over by a healer as news of the battle spreads.
The whole council convenes after breakfast in the war room and I lay out in no uncertain terms the tenuous situation we’ve found ourselves in.
But they know. They blame me. Their hatred is evident as I send out orders for the rest of the front-line soldiers to fall back.
All hands will be needed as a last line of defense between Roison and our farmlands—and the city.
War will be at our walls by winter’s end.
“This wouldn’t have ever come to pass if you would have listened to us when Tyreek first brought the problem to your attention months ago.”
“That is neither here nor there, Paul,” Hallis says, eyes surveying the map before us. “Let’s save our breath for the most important thing at the moment. We need to make sure each province is alerted to the imminent invasion.”
“No one could have prepared us for the trolls to join the war,” Draken agrees. “In all known history, millennia, they’ve never intervened in human affairs.”
As I pour the remaining dregs of liquor from a carafe into a glass, my back to the room, I say, “The city gates will fall. In the meantime, have the nearby farms render their winter wheat early.”
“It’ll just spoil,” Hallis says. “There’s not enough time for the wheat to dry.”
I swallow the liquor in one go and place the empty glass on the edge of the map table. “We’ll need hay for the horses and cattle.”
The council members filter out, each tasked with disseminating updated decrees to their own territories. All but one remains. Tyreek has been silent throughout the morning, but I knew he was only biding his time.
“What is it your plan to retrieve my son?” he demands.
Hallis’s eyes shift from Tyreek’s sullen expression to mine.
Taking a deep breath, I give Hallis a dip of my chin. Unspoken, but understood nonetheless, and it settles Tyreek enough for him to leave without complaint.
I wait until we’re alone before giving Hallis my final order. “You will come back alive, do you understand me? Go in, get our brother, and that’s it.” Don’t try to be a hero.
Even though he doesn’t like it, he nods. “I understand.”