A Draw of Kings

16

REFUGEES





ADORA SURVEYED THE COUNTRYSIDE as they rode northeast from the village of Banat toward the split of the Sprata River, one branch hugging the western slopes of the mountain range, the other flowing east into Haven. Miles of desolate plains stretched to the west and uncounted leagues of forest to the north. For centuries the church’s excommunicates, those cut off rightly or wrongly, had been forced to make the trek to enter the shadow lands or die in the attempt.

Months prior, on Tek’s ship, Martin had shared with Adora every detail of his trip, which she now communicated to Liam. He wore his silence like an accusation as she spoke, but she refused to acknowledge it. A lifetime of watching her uncle rule the kingdom had given her the training required to make the decision to send men to their death, but she ached inside. One watchman in battle would be equal to five ordinary men. Gibbet might have made the difference in the battle with the Merakhi, but the kingdom couldn’t have afforded to offer him that chance.


Liam nodded. “We’ll continue north so we can skirt as much of the plain as possible. The river will be cold, but not so high as in spring.” He paused. “Is that acceptable, Your Highness?”

Adora caught the subtle irony behind Liam’s question, refused to rise to the bait. “I trust your judgment in this completely, Captain.”

Ten leagues from their destination they entered the tiny village of Waterdown, whose reason for existence seemed to be a certain kind of wood that grew in that part of the world and nowhere else. The inn matched the village’s size, forcing most of her men to sleep in the stable.

The innkeeper, a surly hatchet-faced man named Kol, who’d never ventured beyond the horizon, greeted them with narrowed eyes, his posture closed and unwelcoming. “Where might you be coming from?” His voice barked in the small space of the main room.

Adora kept her expression from growing cold. Some men came out of the womb with persimmons on their tongue, but most had a reason for their actions. “Our origin and destination are our business, innkeeper, but I assure you, we’re honest folk.”

Rokha eyed him, her lips pursed in a sour expression. “He’s as thin as his name,” she muttered. “Never trust a skinny innkeeper; it speaks poorly of the food.”

“Are you kingdom folk?” Kol asked.

Liam and Rula caught her eye. “We are, good innkeeper,” Adora said. “Though I’m curious why you would ask.”

His expression remained as if he didn’t believe her. “Seen too many people skirting the village, coming from the east, flitting through the trees like specters.”

“Have you spoken to any of them?” Rula asked.

Kol huffed. “Didn’t you listen? They’re avoiding the village like we’re riddled with plague. But you can see them at dusk circling north or south, moving west by twos or threes.” His expression darkened to match the scruff of his beard. “We get the occasional runaway from the shadow lands here, but there’s never been anything like this.”

“When did you first notice them?” Adora asked. She kept her face and voice smooth, but inside her stomach fluttered like a restless bird. Something had gone wrong in Haven.

Kol shrugged as if the question held no importance. “Three, maybe four days ago. We sent word to the garrison at Sligo, but that’s fifty leagues away. Even if they send troops, they won’t get here for another week.”

He spat on the rough boards that made up the floor. “By then we’ll be drowning in fugitives.” Kol stopped to eye the men with Adora. “If you’re kingdom soldiers, it’s your responsibility to help us. The kingdom is supposed to help its people.”

Adora turned away from his complaint. She’d met his kind before. No amount of protection or reassurance would suffice. His perpetual frown of disapproval had worn permanent ruts of condemnation in his face. Instead, she turned to Liam, seeking to rebuild his trust. “How long do we have until dusk?”

He nodded as if he understood her plan and approved. “An hour, perhaps a little less.”

“I think it would be in our best interests to seek out some of these people and discover what compels them into the kingdom.” She submitted the idea with a glance to Liam and Rula. “Do you agree?”

They nodded, and their company left the inn and split in two before meeting east of town at sunset. Liam went north with three lieutenants, while Adora went south with the count and Rokha.

Even before they entered the woods Adora could see shadows of men, women, and children moving toward the setting sun, some leading horses, others bearing burdens.

Rokha gave a low growl. “Refugees. Fleeing the shadow lands. Grim tidings.”

Adora’s breath stopped somewhere between her lungs and her throat. “Perhaps not,” she whispered. “Let us see what they have to say.”

Rokha kept pace with her. “Don’t fool yourself, Your Highness. War has already come to them. Somehow, the Merakhi have learned of our hope for alliance and they’ve adjusted. Our efforts to make them split their forces have failed. They’ll push everything west.” She pointed to three figures made dim by the woods and failing light, a man on foot accompanied by a woman on a mule. “Them?”

Rula nodded. “A reasonable suggestion, but don’t draw weapons. Let’s not give the man any reason to believe we’re a threat to his wife.”

They threaded their way through the woods, angling to intercept. When the refugees stepped into a clearing, they were there waiting. But on seeing them the man mounted the mule behind the woman and swatted its hindquarters with his sword. The animal loped away, the man turning to watch them until the trees blocked their view.

Rokha shook her head. “They fear for their lives.”

“As well they should,” Rula said. “Have you never seen the ceremony for excommunication? The guilty are banished to the shadow lands with whatever they can carry on horseback. To return is to die.” He gave Rokha a level stare. “I know of only one excommunicate who remained to live in the kingdom.”

“And you knew where he was all along,” Rokha said.

“Your grandfather and I came to regret Naaman’s banishment.” He sighed. “But there’s no undoing the past. When your father killed his brother, your grandfather lost both of his sons. We allowed Naaman to roam the kingdom as a struggling merchant—” he paused—“at first for the sake of the infant he carried, then for the girl, and later for the woman.”

Rokha nudged her mount over and enfolded her uncle in her hug. Adora met Rula’s gaze over her shoulder and smiled. It took a long time for Rokha to let go.

They tried twice more to engage solitary travelers into speaking, but without success. It appeared the fear of acknowledging their identities was at least as great as the dread of what drove them. Short of holding them at sword point—an idea that Adora considered and then discarded—there would be no conversation. They moved out of the woods and placed themselves on the road, hardly more than a track now, east of the village and waited for Liam and his party.

The sky faded from rose to purple before they arrived, leading a man on horseback. The man looked vaguely familiar, but the scorn twisting his face confounded Adora’s memory and she failed to retrieve his name. Far from being frightened of the watchmen, he appeared almost eager to draw swords with them. Adora dismissed him as a fool. Even an idiot could feel the threat emanating from Liam, who rode at the man’s left. At best the watch captain resembled a lion at rest.

When they came within a dozen paces, the man’s eyes widened, and he jerked in the saddle, appearing to resist the impulse to bow.

Adora pointed to him as she addressed Liam. “He knows who I am. I don’t know what words have passed between the two of you, but if there is any potential threat in him, be aware.”

Liam nodded but didn’t draw his sword.

She looked on the stranger again. The man’s dour expression had yet to put lines on his face, but he wore it as if he would never wear another. Adora tried to imagine him as he might have been.

Memory returned the name, and she inclined her head. “Lord Waterson.”

The twist lessened a fraction before becoming even more pronounced. “That title is no longer mine. It was stripped from me by Arwitten’s abbot in Einland. I am Marcus now.”


“Your pardon, Marcus. I would not have you escorted thus if the matter were not urgent,” Adora said.

Liam raised his hand. “You misunderstand, Your Highness. It was he who sought us out, naming us for what we are.”

Waterson exhaled through his nose. “Watchmen are impossible to miss. They always look ready to kill something.”

Liam ignored the interruption. “He requested leave to speak to the head of our party. Not knowing his history or intention, I thought it best for us to accompany him thus.”

She nodded. “What would you say, Marcus?”

His sneer, self-mocking now, came back in full force. “I would say that the shadow lands are doomed without kingdom help, Your Highness.”

The mountains wavered in the distance, as if they’d become nothing more than fabric in the breeze. She clutched the pommel of her saddle, forcing herself to stay calm. “Please explain.”

“Very well. The council informed the guard of the bargain struck with the priest, Martin Arwitten. We were told to watch the gap for your coming. On the word of that priest”—he spat the word—“we mobilized the shadow lands for war. Despite what you may think, Highness, most of the people of Haven were born there. They’ve never known anything but the peace that comes from Illustra’s ignorance.

“Three weeks ago the canis came pouring through the cut, overwhelming my squad.”

Adora shook her head in denial. “How can that be? Martin told me of your vigilance.”

Waterson’s look of disdain deepened. “Did he happen to mention that the spawn avoid the sunlight?” At Adora’s nod, Waterson barked a bitter laugh. “Not anymore. They came for us at dawn, when we’d already pulled the guard. They cut through Haven like a sword. The few of us who survived fled north with packs of the spawn in pursuit, alerting the villagers, driving them from their homes.”

“That would explain the refugees,” Rula said, “and why they feared to speak to us. They still think they’re under a death sentence.”

Waterson shook his head in disgust. “They are, kingdom man. We all are. Excommunicated or not, we’ve come to Illustra from the shadow lands.” He paused to give a meaningful glance to the watchmen around him. “Any one of these could draw their sword and cut me down right now. Ha. The church might even give you a reward for doing it.” He unstopped a waterskin and raised it in a mocking toast. “Thus is the light of the world preserved.”

Adora flinched at the bitter sarcasm in the excommunicate’s words. “You’re wrong, Lord Waterson. No man here will draw on you.” She gestured east toward the barren plain. “Your council told you of our agreement, and you meet the only surviving relative of the king, yet you doubt our intention. Why else would I be here in this desolation except to cement the alliance between Illustra and Haven?” She almost laughed at his shock and disbelief.

“You lie. It’s just more kingdom trickery.”

Her voice crackled with ice. “You forget yourself, Waterson, and I have no need to lie to one such as you. As you’ve said, if I wish it, your life ends at a moment, but I do not lie. Merakh prepares its invasion, and the kingdom needs allies. In exchange for your help we have agreed to recognize Haven as a sovereign nation. Do you understand, Waterson? Your entire country will be free.”

He gaped at her. “They can’t get to you. Our country narrows into a deep defile at the north. The horde of spawn that chased us has cut the access. You’ll have to go south across the length of the plain and meet them by ship. If they’re coming to you, they’ll be on the coast.”

Deas have mercy. Waterson didn’t know what he’d said. He couldn’t. There would be no meeting with Merakhi longships filling the strait. If the shadowlanders tried to board ships to flank the spawn, they would be obliterated by Merakhi longboats.

“There is a way.” Liam’s voice sounded distant despite his proximity. “The ferrals will not expect an attack from their rear. If we can diminish their numbers, they will not be able to hold the defile closed.”

Waterson looked at their company in disbelief. “For somebody as big as you are, you have remarkably few brains. How many men do you have here?”

Rula shrugged. “About two hundred.”

Waterson shook his head. “It can’t be done. You’ve never been to Haven. You don’t even know the lay of the land.”

Adora pointed a finger at Waterson’s chest. “I will not surrender an entire country to be slaughtered. Is there anyone in the shadow lands who means anything to you, Waterson?”

At his nod she pressed on. “They will die without our help. Merakhi longships fill the strait. Do you think this sudden attack by the dogs is a coincidence? The malus have discovered our plans for alliance and they mean to destroy the people of the shadow lands. They’re caught between the spawn and their army.” She eased back in her saddle and forced a confident smile onto her face. “We have two hundred of the watch and a guide with intimate knowledge of the shadow lands to show us the way.”

Waterson’s face went flat. “No.”

“I’m not accustomed to taking no for an answer, my lord.”

“I’m not your lord. I’m not anyone’s lord. I’m Marcus, and I’m my own man. And right now I’d rather have one of your watchmen cut me down than to be dragged back to fight a horde of spawn.” He twitched his reins. His horse, penned in still, shied to the left.

“Not even for the return of your lands and your title . . . my lord?” Adora asked.

Waterson’s head snapped up, eyes wide as a succession of emotions chased each other across his face: surprise, hope, anger. He muttered a string of curses that barely reached her ears. Adora thought she heard her name more than once.

“You don’t have that power,” he said finally.

She gave a derisive laugh. “It’s wartime, my lord.” She took pains to emphasize his title. He knew he was being manipulated; his face showed it. “The council of nobles has given me all the power I need.”

His fists clenched while Adora held her breath. Then his mouth pulled to one side as he spoke to Liam and Rula. “I hope at least one of you is a tactician. I can guide you through the pass to the northern end of the defile, but I can’t tell you how to win against those kinds of numbers.”

He turned back to Adora. “That was as ruthless a piece of manipulation as I’ve ever seen, Your Highness. Your uncle would be proud.”

The words cut, but Adora smiled as if she’d been paid a rare compliment.