The Spider shook his head. “We searched, cast nets, but found nothing. She didn’t appear to take part in the battle.”
Probably too terrified, Mawyndul? thought. She hid in that fortress, quivering now that the fane had come. That was the way with teachers, so smart when bullying a student, but in the real world that didn’t work. Arion only knew how to juggle, make string patterns, and berate students for not paying attention. She was in trouble, and she knew it. Swim out too deep, and I’m going to help pull you down.
Mawyndul? stared at the stick in the Spider’s hand. Not the one that killed Kasimer. The wood was clean; the point had a bit of dirt on it—so small and thin, just a tiny javelin. He could snap it in half, and yet these had decimated the Spider Corps in seconds. Mawyndul? couldn’t help feeling shocked. Death was still a new concept for him, and the death of Miralyith was particularly disturbing.
How would it feel to have one of these sticks penetrate my skull?
And yet, Mawyndul? hadn’t known any of the dead. He’d seen their faces, heard them speak to each other, but just as at home in the Talwara, Mawyndul? didn’t socialize much. He actually juggled better than he made friends. Several years before, after a failed attempt to interest one of the younger guards in a game of Snakes and Hawks, he came to the sound conclusion that he shouldn’t have friends. As heir to the Forest Throne, it was better that he didn’t, less chance of favoritism that way. Mawyndul? saw it as his sacrifice for his people. Isolation was his gift. His experience with Makareta had chiseled that notion in stone. And once Jerydd started yakking in his head, he actively avoided others so he could talk back and not be viewed as insane. Outside of his father, the only one he spoke to was Treya. After his first trip abroad with Gryndal, he insisted that his servant join him. Mawyndul? was tired of fetching his own meals.
Arion was involved. There’s no other way they could have managed it. Jerydd’s voice startled Mawyndul? once again, although the only outward sign was a slight wince.
“Something wrong?” his father asked.
“No—just, well, it’s disturbing.”
His father nodded, looking at the tiny spear in the Spider’s hand.
You don’t have to keep me a secret. Your father might actually like to know you wield the might of Avempartha, especially now that most of his Spiders are dead.
“They took down the giants with these as well,” Taraneh said. “I would think they could kill our soldiers even easier, and from such a distance, our troops could do nothing but act as targets. I imagine when we try to attack those walls, they will line the parapets and rain death on everyone who approaches. I would.”
“How did they block the Art?” the fane asked. “Why didn’t the lightning and fire affect them?”
I understand. You like the secret. You enjoy being special.
“Fetch a Rhune helm for the fane!” Taraneh shouted.
One of the Bear Legion soldiers trotted over carrying a bloody helm.
“Show him the inside.”
The Bear spun the helmet around. Mawyndul? expected a gory mess, but the interior was clean. A strap and buckle hung from it and the inside netting was riveted, but underneath the netting were markings.
“Notice the runes?”
“Dherg markings,” Lothian said. “The Dherg were rumored to have discovered a way to block the Art, something they called the Orinfar. We never knew what it was, only that their little underground warrens resisted us.”
“These could be it.”
“Dhergs, Instarya, tutors—is everyone helping these Rhunes? How massive is this confederacy?”
“Clearly, they are not as simpleminded as previously believed. This war appears well planned. I think there may be a real danger here, my fane.”
Lothian took the stick from the Spider. “Obviously there is a danger.”
“No, my fane, I meant…” He hesitated. “I think there is a chance we could lose.”
Lose. That one word hung in a field of following silence. Those few who weren’t looking—the servants cleaning up the mess of berries, the Spider Corps representative who had been trying to clean himself with his asica, even Synne and Sile, who continued to flank his father—all stopped and stared first at Taraneh, then at Lothian.
The fane huffed in disregard. “This is only the first day. Battles in my mother’s time lasted weeks; some dragged into months.”
“I don’t mean to say that I think we will—or even that it is anything but an extremely remote possibility—but given what we saw today, I feel it is no longer the impossibility it had been. And I would like to advise caution where previously I saw no need.”
“We were taken by surprise today,” his father said. “We’ll do better tomorrow. There are ways around the Orinfar.”
We’ll do better tomorrow, too, Jerydd told him. Once Arion is dead, everything will be easier. Tomorrow, we go hunting.
* * *
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