The General cocked his head, as if considering. “My men are all that stands between them and the city of Dos-Aralon. The Dukes of Amberdian, Sypher, and Iniva are sending forces but they’ll not get here for another fortnight themselves.” He laughed—a mad laugh. “You’re suggesting we move out of the way?” He walked away from Thealos and went to a map on the trestle table and shoved his gauntlet away from it. “I learned this morning that Avisahn declared war on the Bandit Rebellion…and seeks to claim Landmoor for herself. The Silvan army has been seen marching south to Jan Lee and every boat in the banned armada is being prepared to transport them. To land south of the city.”
He turned and faced Thealos again. Amusement flickered on his face. “You want me to abandon my position?”
Thealos said nothing.
“Who are you, Sleepwalker?”
“I’m Thealos Quickfellow of Avisahn. I’m telling you that your men will be slaughtered if you stay here. How far are we from Castun?”
“Several leagues. The Kiran Thall razed the city. There have been refugees for the last week. The Bandits are provoking me to attack them there, seek to lure me after them into the Shadows Wood to even the odds. But I don’t think I’ll play that game. This could be a feint, to draw all our forces down here when the real attack comes through Owen Draw while we’re gone. Who commands the Shoreland Regiment?” The question felt like a test.
“Tsyrke Phollen. He’s in Landmoor, or was when I left. I’m not here to trick you, General Shearmur.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked with a pleasant smile. “Enjoying the valley air? Tired of hiding in the trees with the rest of the cowards? Thought you’d play soldier for a while before dancing in silk socks back across the Trident?”
Rage thrummed in Thealos’ heart. He did not like this man, this arrogant, taunting human who lacked an arm to be a full man. How dare he mock the Shae traditions like this, when his soldiers claimed their own order of knighthood was derived from it?
He’s baiting you, and you’re letting him.
Almost. He tried summoning the Oath magic to free himself from the bonds. To what end though? To strike down a man in his own command tent? Is that what a true Ravinir did?
Baiting or not, the words stung.
Thealos cocked his head and looked the General straight in the eyes. “In the past, the Shae and the knights of Owen Draw were allies. We fought side by side during the Purge Wars. But one of your own betrayed you, General, and now he’s betrayed us. The Rebellion did not end after the Purge Wars. It is time we ended it now. Together.”
The smug look faded and intelligence flooded the General’s eyes. “Well said, Sleepwalker.” He smoothed the surface of the map. “But I still don’t trust you.”
The tent flap opened. “Sir, there’s a man here to see you with a report. Ballinaire just joined the Bandits in Castun. They’re breaking up camp, sir! They’re starting to advance.”
“Advance? Let them,” the Knight General replied. “Let’s end it here.”
“Don’t be a fool, General,” Thealos said. “You have no idea what you’re facing. Retreat while you still can.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to countermand me, Sleepwalker. I’ll deal with you later. Kindyr! Lorgan! Prepare some accommodations for our…guest.”
Chapter XVIII
Pale moonlight spilled down from the heavens and cleansed the summer night. Thealos glanced through the tent flap at the blue orb of the moon and the myriad stars above and let out his breath to expel his impatience. He smelled the fat of something roasting on a spit waft by his nose, linger a moment, and then follow the breeze. The sounds of an army settling in after a hard ride filled the air—the jangle of spurs and harnesses, the snorting and stamping of horses, the crackle of cookfires. How many hours had it been since the Knight General dismissed him? Darkness brought dangers and threats. Why could they not realize this? What blindness prevented these humans from seeing that he meant to help them?
Not blindness, perhaps. Maybe they had known too many Shae and too many Sleepwalkers.
His wrists throbbed and chafed. There were six men guarding the perimeter of his tent and two inside. They had untied his legs so he could pace, but they had untied his wrists only once so he could relieve himself and then retied him, allowing his hands to be in front instead of behind his back. His shoulders and neck ached and he was afraid if he held still, his entire body would seize up and become useless.
If the Vocus tracked him still—which he did not doubt—and if it were intelligent—which again, he did not doubt—then it would wait until dark before attacking. The humans would not be able to smell it coming. Thealos hoped he would be able to before it was too late. But what would he do? Getting out of the ropes would not be difficult, but he needed his weapon and the stones. He had tried to summon their magic on his own and had not been successful. At least, he did not believe he was successful. What would he do if the Vocus came?
What else could he do but run?