“And you aren’t going.”
Tesh’s mouth hung open as his brows crashed down in disbelief. “Why?”
Raithe knocked on his own helm and then his breastplate. “You don’t have any armor.”
Tesh looked at the men in line—at his fellow spearmen—as if expecting them to speak up, to come to his defense. None said a word. They weren’t even looking in his direction. “But Roan wouldn’t make any for me. Said I had to wait until I stopped growing.”
“No one without armor can go.”
Again, Tesh sought help from his brothers-in-arms. Finding none, he turned to the walls of the fortress for understanding. “But that’s stupid.”
“It’s not, and you can’t go.”
“Moya’s archers don’t have armor.”
“Arion and Suri will be hiding them from the Miralyith.”
Raithe picked out a spear from the rack. He didn’t have a favorite. Spears weren’t personal friends the way swords were. Weapons were different the way cats were different from dogs. People had a preference for one or the other. Raithe was a dog, sword, beer, loner sort. Spear people were strange. Malcolm was a spear person, and Raithe never could figure him out.
“How can you say that?” Tesh exploded. He threw his arms out and pointed to the men he moments before had turned to for help. “I’ve practiced harder than anyone. I’m better than all of them.” Tesh took a step toward Raithe and glared. “I’m a better warrior than you are!”
Raithe nodded. “Maybe.”
“You can’t do this to me.”
“Already done.”
“I have a right to fight.”
Raithe planted the butt of his newly chosen spear on the ground and looked at Tesh. “I’m your chieftain and your commander. You’ll do as I say.”
Tesh gritted his teeth, his eyes bulging, and he growled until he shouted as if in agony. “Why?” he yelled, his voice going too high. “I don’t need armor. You’ve seen me fight. They won’t touch me.”
“They don’t have to. You think we only have to worry about swords and spears? The battle would be a lot easier if that were the case.” Raithe took his helm off and showed Tesh the runes etched inside. “This armor doesn’t just protect against blades. You weren’t at Dahl Rhen. You didn’t see what they can do with a snap of their fingers. If you go out there unprotected, you’ll be helpless—and dead long before we reach those blades you’re so certain can’t touch you.”
“It’s not fair!”
“Congratulations on identifying today’s lesson.” Raithe put his helm back on. “Life isn’t fair. And don’t worry if you don’t learn it this time around. That lesson will come up again and again.”
The beautiful blue sky began to darken. The courtyard fell into shadow as unnatural clouds stretched overhead. Raithe had seen this act before. So had the other survivors of Dahl Rhen.
“Find cover!” Raithe shouted at Tesh. “First Spear! March!” He ran forward. “Open the gate!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Battle of Grandford
The Battle of Grandford is remembered in song and story; a legend of mythic heroes and villains, an allegory of truth and courage; a rallying cry for a people. It is important to know that the Battle of Grandford got its name and reputation months after the fighting ended, bestowed by people who were not there. I am not saying there were not heroes, or that it was not a time of courage, only that the names of the heroes are wrong and the truths forgotten—and that the lessons of that day have yet to be learned.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The two forward towers that guarded the front gate of Alon Rhist were each far smaller than the Spyrok. The southern tower was known affectionately as the Downriver Tower. The northern one went by a less amiable nickname: the Frozen Tower, since it caught the brunt of the north winds and had no fireplace to warm it. At the base were a few tables, places for soldiers to gamble and drink, but in the small room at the top, there wasn’t anything to sit on. Suri and Arion were forced to stand along the crenelated balcony, exposed to the wind and what, according to the clouds, was soon to be rain.
“Spider Corps?” Suri asked, pointing up at the sky.
Arion nodded. “Warming up for the show that’s about to start.”
“We don’t do anything about that?”
Arion shook her head. “According to Nyphron, we don’t do anything except hide the archers.”
“But…” Suri looked up. She could sense the power draw, feel it like a breeze rushing past her face. “They’re going to demolish this place.”
“Maybe not.”
Suri turned and looked toward the back of the fortress. She tilted her head up to view the severed remains of the Spyrok, the broken finger with a jagged pinnacle. Only one person had died in that attack. Most of the debris had been blown off the back of the fortress and rained down the barren hillside.