“Have you seen the top of the Spyrok recently?” Malcolm asked. “These walls are no protection against the Spider Corps. Now, as I was saying, send Raithe out with his spearmen and have Moya bring her archers up behind. Have them push until she’s in range, and then direct all fire on the Miralyith. Do that and you’ll actually stand a chance of surviving to see another sunrise.”
Malcolm got up, causing Nyphron to take another step back. The never-really-a-slave started for the door, then paused as he laid a hand to the latch. “I heard that Tesh saved your life.”
Nyphron nodded.
“Still planning on killing the kid?”
“I…I don’t know.” Nyphron narrowed his eyes at Malcolm as he finally understood that the ex-slave hadn’t brought the topic up on a whim. The realization dawned that Malcolm probably never brought anything up without a reason. “What do you think I should do?”
Malcolm smiled back at him. This was a different sort of smile. Not sad, not a pitiful look, and not a snide or sinister grin. This was a genuinely pleased expression. “Now you’re getting this.”
* * *
—
The men of the First Spear stood in the courtyard before the front gate: five hundred men, shoulder to shoulder, the faint light of the morning’s new sun revealing grim, apprehensive faces. Raithe walked up and down the rows, checking gear. They’d done this drill once a week for four months, and yet still many had failed to fasten shoulder straps or helms properly. They were nervous, scared, and distracted, and Raithe couldn’t blame them. Farmers, shepherds, woodsmen—they were all becoming warriors that day, gambling their lives. Dureyans had it easier; their lives were never worth much. But these men had left wives, children, homes, and land. They all trusted him. He was the God Killer. Looking from face to face, Raithe guessed that more than half wouldn’t live to see the sun set—maybe none of them would.
Raithe had ordered the men of the First Spear to suit up and assemble at the front gate just before dawn. Malcolm had awakened him in the dark, relaying the order. But when Nyphron finally came down to the courtyard, he appeared surprised to find them waiting, and for reasons that eluded Raithe, Nyphron gave Malcolm a look that might have been suspicion. A moment later, Moya and her archers appeared, filing into the back of the yard among the practice dummies. For so many people in one place, the yard was disturbingly quiet. A few songbirds sang happy tunes, sounding out of place on this particular spring morning.
“I know you’re nervous.” Nyphron stood on the Speech Rock, what everyone called the conspicuous thumb of stone that jutted up near the north end of the lower courtyard. He spoke in a loud, confident voice. “A few of you—quite a few—are outright terrified. Don’t worry. It’s natural. Everyone goes through this, but trust me, you’ll get past it. Just remember your training, and you’ll be fine.”
Says the one person in the yard who won’t fight.
Raithe didn’t care if Nyphron’s god forbade Fhrey from killing Fhrey; he found it impossible to follow someone who wasn’t willing to march out in front.
“Spear leaders?” Nyphron waved them over.
Although the Spears were filled with a mix of clansmen, each was commanded by a chieftain. Over the course of months, the men who served changed out as several went home to deal with farms and family. The same applied to the chieftains. Tegan of Warric and Harkon of Melen were the lucky ones on duty that month along with Raithe and Alward, who had no homes and were always there.
“Third Spear.” Nyphron looked at Tegan of Warric as he drew a crude map in the dirt with a stick. “You’ll wheel left after you cross the bridge. Try to form up here and hold that line as best you can. Second Spear”—he turned to Harkon of Melen—“in the same way, you’ll wheel right and form up here.” He drew a line in the dirt. “Remember to keep the men tight and in formation, three deep. Raithe, you’ll take First Spear right up the center.”
“Lucky me.”
“Moya, I want you to follow First Spear. There’s a rise on the plain, a natural hill that—”
“Wolf’s Head,” Raithe said.
“Right—Wolf’s Head. That’s where they’ll position the Spider Corps.” Nyphron pointed at Raithe. “Your goal is to push close enough to Wolf’s Head so that Moya and her archers can rain death.” He turned to Moya. “I can’t emphasize enough how crucial you are in this. All the Miralyith will be bunched together, making your job easier, but if you fail to kill them—well, the war might end right here.” Nyphron pointed to the parapet. “I’ll fly flags on the wall. Black means to form up. Green is the order to attack. Blue indicates we have the advantage and you should press the attack. Red is the signal to retreat—but remember to retreat in an orderly manner. Don’t let the men just run. You’ll need to march back together in the same order as you marched out or more will die. Any questions?”
“Where is Persephone?” Raithe asked. “Why isn’t she down here seeing us off? She is the keenig. It’s her place, not yours.”
Nyphron looked down at the dirt map for a moment and took a deep breath. “Keenig Persephone was attacked last night.”