She felt them coming across—hundreds. They were in a hurry, afraid she would notice and terrified she wouldn’t be distracted enough. Worried she might—
Suri let go—let the tower fall. Then, with all her remaining strength she reached out toward that delicate span, that thin vulnerable sliver of stone that crossed a very deep chasm. The bridge was just as protected with runes as the walls, but she didn’t need to touch it any more than the elves needed to touch the walls of Alon Rhist to topple them. Destroying was so much easier than preserving. All Suri needed was to shift the cliffs.
Suri moved the east cliff just a bit to the south, and the west cliff a bit to the north. Like unraveling a string weave, or opening a knot, the bridge disconnected from both sides and came free. The span fell. She couldn’t see it with her eyes, but she sensed it, felt the weight give way and heard the screams as hundreds of Fhrey plummeted to their deaths.
Suri whirled and reached out, looking for the next calamity. There wasn’t one. The ground stopped shaking. She sensed nothing. The world returned to stillness.
Suri opened her eyes and saw the devastated remains of the fortress. The entire front of Alon Rhist was a ruin of crumbled stone and shattered wood. Malcolm laid his hands on Suri’s shoulders and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Roan was there, too, and the old woman Padera, and Tressa, and Moya, and Tesh, and Raithe. They were all with her, including dozens of men and Fhrey she didn’t know, everyone looking relieved.
Everyone was there…everyone except Arion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Butterfly and
the Promise
Voices of the dead have a way of compelling us that the voices of the living can never match—there is simply no way to argue.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The look on Lothian’s face was terrifying. Not fear, not hatred, not disappointment, not even frustration, but a horrible mix of each—and a heavy dose of rage. His cheeks and ears had turned red, his eyes bulged, and the vein in his neck and forehead stood out.
“Those Fhrey…” The fane lost the ability to speak and opted to just point toward where the bridge had been. “All those brave Fhrey…” He gritted his teeth and forced a swallow. “They’re all dead.”
Mawyndul? didn’t say anything. He knew from experience that nothing he said when his father was upset ever helped, and he’d never seen his father this agitated.
“How did you let that happen?”
We didn’t exactly let it happen, Jerydd said from the safety of his head.
“It was an accident,” Mawyndul? said.
“An accident!” his father shouted at him. “They’re all dead!”
That’s war for you. Aren’t you glad you declared it? Did you think it would be all sunshine and rainbows? Besides, we killed three times that many when the wall crushed the people in the courtyard. Wait! Don’t say that—he’ll still see it as a loss. Your father doesn’t think one Rhune equals a Fhrey, and rightly so.
Mawyndul? couldn’t believe that Jerydd thought he’d relay any of that, but then again, the kel was safe, miles away from the fane’s anger.
“She’s incredibly strong.”
“You had the power of Avempartha! Or so you said.”
We do.
“I do.”
But that Rhune bitch sucks power like a whirlpool in a hurricane, and she’s as flexible as a ten-year-old. Plus, she’s fast, really fast—Synne fast. And we couldn’t get at her.
“There were runes on that wall between her and us, so we couldn’t attack her directly. Still, we eventually won, and the wall came down.”
“And so did the bridge with hundreds of my soldiers,” the fane said through clenched teeth.
“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t our fault. Everything was happening so fast. I’m shocked she was able to think about that given everything we were throwing at her.”
The fane continued to fume, taking rapid deep breaths while glaring at his son. Then he turned to Taraneh and Haderas. “We still have five Miralyith, right?”
“Four, my fane,” Taraneh replied. “Lym died last night from wounds to—”
“Okay, four. That’s seven including Synne, Mawyndul?, and me. We’ll take care of it ourselves. I should have known better than to rely on Jerydd. That’s the second time he’s failed me. He underestimates everyone. But no Artist can stand against seven. Forget all this marshalling of power. We’ll each work independently. During the night, the seven of us will each form a bridge—and hold it. Then the Shahdi will cross. The outer wall has fallen, the gates gone. Their orders will be to slaughter everyone on that side of the river.”
“All the Rhunes, you mean.”
“I mean everyone.”
“But, my fane,” Taraneh said, shocked, “there are hundreds of Fhrey in Alon Rhist. Not all of them are soldiers, and those who are haven’t participated in the fight. Well, not as far as we can tell.”
“All of them!” Lothian ordered. “Everyone who wanted to go, left. No one over there is being held against their will. They chose that side of the river. They chose to defy me. Kill them all, Taraneh. Every last one.”
Taraneh stared in disbelief for only a second, then bowed. “As you wish.”
Your father sounds upset.