“Fire,” Jehral said, “that’s the solution. Marhaba,” he addressed the warrior, “I am going to leave you in charge here. The kalif must know about this, and I am a better rider than any of you. I will make the journey myself. Listen to me well. Keep an eye out for more of them, and quickly burn the whole ship. I don’t care if it takes you days to dry out every last piece of wood and burn every bone to ash. I will send the rest of the men down to you with tinder. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Jehral,” Marhaba said. His face was white. “I understand.”
“Stand guard here. Help will arrive soon, even if the men have to slide down the rope until their hands bleed. If another one comes, use fire, and use your scimitars to remove the head. Does anyone question my decision?”
“No, Jehral.”
“Good. You have your orders. Burn it all.”
Jehral climbed back to the summit of the cliff and sent the rest of the men down to the wrecked ship. He then took two spare horses, and digging his heels into his gelding, he launched the horse into an immediate gallop.
Jehral raced through the desert, lunging over the dunes, speeding across the sand and changing horses regularly. He didn’t eat or sleep; every thought was on the urgency of his ride.
He reached Agira Lahsa haggard and worn, covered in dust, and went immediately to the palace.
As he reached the sanded area, grooms rushed forward, and Jehral threw them the reins, ignoring their startled expressions. He bounded up the steps and ran through the palace, leaving brown footsteps in the shining silk carpets.
“Zohra!” Jehral cried out when he saw his sister.
“Jehral,” Zohra said, her eyes registering her surprise. “You are returned.” She looked him up and down. “You cannot see the kalif like that.”
“Where is he?” Jehral said, ignoring her.
“Taking lunch on the terrace, but . . .”
Jehral dashed through the palace, calling out for the kalif, breaking the serenity, leaving stewards staring after him in surprise. He found the kalif with two of his tarn leaders seated on the long table on the terrace.
“Kalif, I have urgent news.”
Ilathor turned and looked up in surprise. He shot to his feet when he took in Jehral’s appearance. “Jehral, what is it?”
Jehral paused to gather his breath. “We found a ship wrecked on our western coast. It was filled with revenants. We thought they were all just corpses, but one was still alive and killed four of my men. I left the men to burn everything and came here as quickly as I could.”
Ilathor swiftly stood, knocking his chair back as Jehral spoke. The two tarn leaders also rose, exchanging fearful glances.
“Ships—Jehral, did you see any more ships?”
“No.” Jehral shook his head. “No more. But where there is one, there will be more.”
Ilathor uncharacteristically swore.
“Kalif, we must warn the Alturans,” Jehral said.
“The signaling system,” one of the tarn leaders said.
The kalif made a cutting motion with his hand. “It won’t serve us. It’s designed only to call for aid.”
“Kalif, I request permission to ride to Altura.”
Ilathor hesitated before finally nodding. “All right, Jehral. I will also send word to the Petyrans.”
“I must get fresh horses,” Jehral said. “By your leave?”
“Be safe, my friend,” Ilathor said. “Stay alive.”
“I will.” Jehral bowed quickly and turned on his heel.
During the frantic ride to Agira Lahsa, Jehral had tried to make sense of it. The ship must have blown off course. Unfortunately, Jehral didn’t know whether the enemy ship had lost its way while sailing to Altura or while heading further south, where a fleet could round the cape and head east to Tingara.
One thing he did know, however, was that where there was one ship, there would be more. And if Miro was correct, Altura would soon be under attack.
13
Miro surveyed the greatest stretch of defenses he’d ever constructed. The low wall stretched in a long line following the ridge where the beaches met the forest. From behind Castlemere, it continued eastward as far as the cliffs, where the enemy would never land, and westward halfway to Schalberg, the smaller of the free cities. Most importantly, the walls and towers covered the road to Sarostar.
Miro’s decision to fortify the ridge rather than the cities themselves had been unpopular but necessary. He could never cover the entire coastline, nor could he simultaneously defend Castlemere and Schalberg in the face of an enemy landing at any place they chose, while also defending the road to Sarostar. Miro, Beorn, Tiesto, and the subcommanders all agreed: it was better to defend the ridge, where they had the cover of thick forest behind them and could fight from a higher position.