“Folkes will bring his regiment across the Yukilep in support of yours,” Mage answered softly. “Dairron was ordered to attack from the north to draw don Rion off, exposing his rear – the city of Dos-Aralon itself.”
“I’m not a fool,” Tsyrke said with anger. “It’s like asking two thieves to watch your back. Does Ballinaire really trust them to obey?”
“Does he have reason to trust you?” Mage asked wryly. He paused a moment, letting the words sink in. “He’s convinced he will win. As I said, there is a grove of Everoot in the swamps and Lord Ballinaire has it. He has an army surrounding it and harvesting it. He has two Sorian to advise him. There is nothing but open plains between the Shadows Wood and Dos-Aralon. He still needs you, my friend. He still needs you. If we are quick and clever, we can turn this around. If we can get to that Shae lad before the Sleepwalker brings him to Miestri…”
Tsyrke clenched his fist in frustration. The hinting taste of failure was bitter in his mouth. He could lose it all, slipping right between his fingers like water. He sighed and shook his head. “The knight was the key, Mage. The key to our plan. I can’t fight Dos-Aralon and Ballinaire and the Shae.”
“You’re not listening to me,” the Sorian soothed. “The tides change with the moon. I’ve seen them change long enough to see the pattern. Listen to my counsel. Miestri is the youngest Sorian among us. This is her first real conquest in centuries since she seduced a Shae watchpost. I’ve juggled dozens more complicated than this. Hear me out. Dairron’s intention is to bring the Shae into this, but maybe we can forestall him. We need to understand who this Shae lad is. He was warded for a reason. He is the linchpin, Tsyrke. Find him, and we can turn this around to our favor.”
“And how do we find this Shae boy?”
“The same way we find the woman you care for,” Mage answered. “She still has that pendant you gave her, and she’s only in Castun right now. And with my powers stirring the wind, we’ll be in Landmoor by dawn.”
XX
It must always be hot in Castun, Thealos decided. Nothing protected the hamlet from the scorching prairie winds of the lowland plains. Both the eastern and western edges of the land had rivers to draw in the mist and chill the air, but the Shadows Wood blocked all of that, leaving the northern borders of the forest to swelter in the heat.
“Only fools live in Castun,” Sturnin Goff muttered. “Neither side cares to fight over it.”
Thealos agreed with the assessment, though he wondered if the people were truly wise for living in a place that no one wanted. He frowned as they walked into the dusty streets. The only buildings that had survived were the ones made of stone and thatch. Sweat dampened his clothes and skin, and the dust clung to him like chalk. They were all weary from the hard walk, and from a distance the town seemed like a chance to escape the heat of the plains. But the refuge was only an illusion. Lopsided cabins hugged a central main square of tall taverns, trading posts, and a few smith-yards that looked as if they would sigh and collapse into dust. A line of splintered fences surrounded the hamlet and divided it. Smoke drifted from the thick chimney of the nearest forge, and the grunt of horses and mules broke the stillness. There were an uncommon number of graveyards, Thealos noticed – some fenced and sheltered, others open and overgrown.
“This is the only trading post this side of the Shadows Wood,” Sturnin said with a weary tone. “A way-station that brings Sol and Dos-Aralon to Landmoor. There’s only one road cut through the forest, called the Iron Point Road, and there are more thieves and Bandits than trees.”
Thealos nodded. With the Bandit Rebellion so powerful in the south, he wondered just how many still considered it safe to travel. He glanced over at the knight. “The town is small, Sturnin. Why so many graveyards?”
The knight shook his head and shrugged. “Some plague years ago. Blamed it on the Shae, I think. You’ll be fine as long as you keep with me.”
“The Shae were down here?”
“During the Purge Wars.”
“Never been to Castun,” Flent said, hooking his thumbs in his buckle. He walked between Thealos and Justin, keeping a watchful eye on both of them. The Warder Shae kept his head bowed and said nothing, but Flent had chattered enough for both of them. “Heard there wasn’t much to see here.” He snorted and spit on the ground. “Guess they were right. Hope they have some ale barrels, that’s all I have to say.”