“Now, a number of men have spoken to me about going home. They have fields that need attention, animals that need tending, and trust me, we need you to do those things. An army is only as good as its supply of food.” Nyphron had given her that line during their two-day preparation. Seeing the very serious nods of approval from both the Fhrey as well as the Gula, she understood why. Credibility. She was still earning it.
“We need you to keep farming. As much as I would like this victory to be the end of our troubles, it isn’t. The first battle of this war has yet to be fought. Now that we’ve moved into his command fortress, the fane must act. He will send a force to dislodge us. And make no mistake, that force will be powerful and determined. It will take every last man, every sword, every ounce of will we have to weather it. But…” She paused, letting the thunder of her booming voice fade. “We don’t know when that day will come. It could be next week, or next year, and we can’t afford to let fields lie fallow. So, here is my plan. I am told that Alon Rhist already has a system of signal fires built between here and Ervanon, their outpost in the far north. I am ordering that we extend this system, building additional woodpiles in the High Spear Valley in the east and south to Tirre. In this way, many of you will be able to return home, but if scouts learn of an impending attack, I will order the signals to be lit, and this will be the sign for all able-bodied warriors to return.”
There were fewer nods, but no one complained.
“Now, not everyone can go, and not everyone can stay when they get home. We need to train. Nyphron, his Galantians, and many of their fellow Instarya have volunteered to teach us how to fight.”
“We already know how to fight!” one of the Gula shouted, but his voice was a mouse squeak compared to hers.
“They can make us better,” she said. “And you’ll become familiar with new weapons. My good friend Roan, and a network of smiths trained by her, will be working night and day to forge swords made of iron, a magical metal that is stronger than copper and bronze. She will also oversee the making of armor, shields, and helms.”
“What about the bow?” someone farther back shouted. “Will we get to learn that?”
Persephone looked at Moya and smiled. “Indeed. But it will require making hundreds of bows and thousands of arrows—another reason why we need men to stay. We will work in shifts. I will send home groups of men for a month at a time; then they will return and others will leave. We’ll make sure to stagger the groups so every village will always have some men able to work communal fields. And I will establish supply routes using wagons to haul food, salt, wood, and wool.”
More nods, fewer folded arms.
“We need to work together to prepare. We must remain committed to the path we’ve started down. It’s essential that we trust one another, and if we can do that, together we will survive.”
That was the end of her speech, but only Nyphron knew it, so there was an awkward pause. Persephone wasn’t certain what to do. In the past, she just sat back in her chair, drank from a cup, or began eating. How does one get off this stage?
Nyphron came to her rescue by clapping. This ignited applause in the audience. Sadly, Persephone noticed, it, too, was muted.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Giant and the Hobgoblin
Even to this day, we do not know much about Mawyndul?, which is unfortunate since I still cannot decide whether, in the grand scheme of things, he was a hero or a villain.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
His name was Sile, and he went everywhere Fane Lothian did. Mawyndul? couldn’t remember the other one’s name, the female. Not that he needed to. Both of his father’s new bodyguards were silent watchers who weren’t inclined to conversation. Sile was unusually large. Mawyndul? would go so far as to call him grotesque, and he harbored doubts that the hulking guard was Fhrey at all. Sile had a large head, broad and endowed with a protruding brow that cast shadows on his eyes. His jaw was a hinged shovel, and his ears lacked the traditional teardrop shape. Mawyndul? secretly suspected Sile was a diminutive member of the Grenmorian race. He even carried a battle-ax. Sile certainly wasn’t Miralyith.
“Nanagal completed his survey of the damage this morning,” Imaly told the fane as all five of them stood on the steps of the Airenthenon.
“How long until you resume meetings?” Lothian asked.
“He’s confident his people will have it back in order in a month.”
“A month? Are you certain it wouldn’t be better to have the Miralyith…” The fane’s comment lost confidence when facing Imaly’s growing frown. The curator, still sporting a cast on her leg and a sling on her arm, had a way of cowing everyone with her disapproval, even Lothian.
“I know you mean well,” she told him. “But given the circumstances, I think it would be wise to follow traditional roles and allow the Eilywin to handle the restoration. I think the Airenthenon has seen enough of the Miralyith’s Art for a while.”