“Scratch you!” Rogan said, throwing the scroll down to the table. He loomed over the table as the men drew back, their eyes fearful. “I’m tired of defending sound decisions to bureaucrats. I’m done with all of you.”
“We thank you for your service,” Priam said. He affected a conciliatory tone. “Go home, Rogan. You’re old.”
“Old?” Rogan felt heat come to his cheeks as his fury rose. With an effort he tried to calm himself.
“You have a wife and son. Go back to Altura. We will manage without you.”
Rogan Jarvish paced the length of the High Tower, the tallest structure in the Imperial Palace, open on all sides. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked, turning on his heel at the end of every dozen steps.
His gaze swept over the vista; his vantage was all encompassing. In front of him he could see the harbor and the walled tower enclosing the Sentinel; and when he next turned, on the landward side the gray Wall loomed over the buildings to guard the city. Even the Wall wasn’t high enough to block the view of hills surrounding the Empire’s capital.
Rogan fumed.
He’d been arguing with the Tingarans for weeks, and it seemed they’d taken matters into their own hands. Rogan wanted to send troops to Tingara’s south, to buy them all time for the emperor to return, and to provide cover for the multitude of fleeing refugees. Instead, the Tingarans wanted to abandon the people of Aynar to their fate. They would now have their way, and the remainder of the Imperial Legion would stay on high alert in Seranthia.
A few days ago, the white light of Stonewater’s distress call had abruptly ceased to shine from the towers. In the end, the decision was taken away. The land of Aynar, home of the Assembly of Templars, had fallen.
Rogan heard soft footsteps and glanced back at the stairs to see Lady Alise approaching. He stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath, smoothing the wrinkles from his frown and calming himself.
Rogan gave Alise a small bow in the eastern manner and was slightly amused to see her touch her lips and forehead like an Alturan.
“I’m sorry, Rogan. I heard about what happened. There was nothing I could do. How are you?”
“I don’t think it’s that I was dismissed, although telling me to my face would have been more honorable than sending a man with a scroll. It’s that they blame me for everything, from the emperor’s departure to the fact that half the Buchalanti went to Miro’s aid. No one likes being a scapegoat.”
“I understand,” Alise said. “Don’t be bitter; they’re simply scared.”
“I know,” Rogan said. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am old. But I’m not going home. When the time comes, I’ll fight, and this time I won’t have to stay back with the officers.”
“My influence is waning,” Alise said. “It’s hard without Killian. I worry for him.”
“I’m worried too,” Rogan said. “I left my wife and son in Altura.”
“I’m sure they are well,” Alise said.
“That’s what my head tells me,” Rogan said. He barked a laugh. “But a piece of paper in my hands would be better.”
Alise smiled thinly. “Do you think we’re ready?”
“Ready? No. Miro had the better fleet, but we know they were defeated, easily if the reports are true. First Altura called for help, and then Stonewater. We know Sentar Scythran is attacking on multiple fronts. All we can do is try to hold Seranthia and hold the harbor against a naval attack on the Sentinel.”
“Is there anything more we can do?”
Rogan fixed his gaze on Seranthia’s harbor. He could see the ships of the Imperial Navy as well as several Buchalanti vessels, keeping guard around the walled tower enclosing the statue.
“There’s something you can do, yes.”
“What is it?”
“You will need to convince the others, but I don’t think it will be difficult. There’s no use waiting for the end. Seranthia was his goal all along, and the fall of Stonewater only proves it. I think we should send out the call. Let’s light the purple signal.”
“I’ll see it done,” Alise said. “What will you do?”
“I’m going to dig out my armorsilk,” Rogan said. He grinned. “It’s time for an old man to get back into shape.”
44
“Slow the enemy,” Ilathor muttered to Jehral. “Slow the enemy,” he repeated. “More easily said than done, my friend.”
Reined in on a broad ridge, the two men watched the revenant horde covering the plain in front of them, coating the land like an insect swarm. A month of hard riding and here they were; they’d found the enemy somewhere in Tingara’s south. If this army reached Seranthia before the emperor, the city would fall.
“We need to bite at their flanks and flee before they can give chase,” Jehral said. “Forming up to resist our charges will slow them. We can also put barriers in their way: trenches and rock falls, perhaps get some logs . . .”
“What do Hazarans know of digging trenches?” Ilathor said.
“We can learn, Kalif.”
“It is our skill on horseback that is our greatest strength, not scrabbling at the earth like Toraks.”