“Pardon the interruption, my lords,” one of the guards said, “but this man insisted on seeing you.”
Corwin got to his feet along with the rest of the council. Murmurs of alarm echoed around the room. The stranger’s face and arms were bleeding, his tunic dyed crimson in patches. He looked dazed and feverish, barely able to hold his head up. Corwin didn’t recognize the man, and he wore no insignia, although the expensive cut of his clothes marked him a highborn.
“You’re addressing the high princes of Rime, sir. Speak your piece,” the guard said, giving the man a shake.
“Stop that,” Corwin said, stepping forward. “Can’t you see he’s half dead?” Corwin glared at the guard a moment, then turned to the injured stranger. “What happened?” A foul, familiar stench was coming off him. “Were you attacked by daydrakes?”
The man nodded, and he sagged against the arms holding him up. “Our freeholding. It’s surrounded by them. We haven’t been able to go in or out for days. I only just made it through.”
“Where?” Corwin said. “Which freeholding?”
But the man sank to his knees in a faint.
“Get the healers,” Edwin shouted, and one of the guards hurried out the door.
“Did he say where he came from?” Corwin asked the remaining guard, but the man shook his head.
“He might’ve told when he first got here,” the guard replied. “I’ll go check. The magist who rode with him is dead, but someone must know.”
“I know,” a new voice said from the doorway.
Corwin glanced up to see a freshly washed and dressed Dal standing there, a bewildered look on his face. “You do? Where? Who is he?”
“Thornewall Castle,” Dal replied, sounding strangely far-off. “I saw him through my window. Couldn’t quite believe it.”
“Dal,” Corwin said, his alarm building by the second, “who is this man?”
Dal looked up, his eyes not quite focusing. “He’s my brother.”
24
Corwin
CORWIN HAD NEVER SEEN DAL in such a state. His sarcastic, carefree friend had been quiet for nearly an hour now, not uttering so much as a word while they waited outside the door where the healers were seeing to his brother. Lir perched on Dal’s arm, and he ran a hand down the falcon’s back over and over again. Dal cared for the bird like nothing else. Except maybe his brother.
There’d been no updates in the hour since the man arrived. Corwin hoped that was a good thing. If the green robes were still working their healing magic, then there was a life still to be saved.
After a while, Corwin couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Is there anything I can do, Dal? Anything you need?”
Dal’s hand stilled on the falcon, and he looked up at Corwin. “My family. You heard what my brother said. We have to help them.”
Corwin squeezed his shoulder. “Help is coming. The high council is arguing it now—how many men we’ll send, how quickly we can respond.”
Dal grimaced. “They’re taking an awful long time of it. I wish you’d stayed in the meeting, Corwin. I don’t think . . .” He hesitated, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “We both know that Thornewall doesn’t matter enough for them to hurry. It offers no significant trade. The only things anyone even knows about us are the scandals my parents so happily provide.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” Dal raised a hand, cutting him off. “But I care about my brothers. They’re good people, worth saving.”
No mention of your mother and father, though, Corwin thought, guessing the rumors were indeed true, that Dal was the son of someone other than Baron Thorne. “I know you care about them. Of course you do. And we will mount a force to purge the daydrakes. There is no other option.”
Dal looked doubtful still, and he resumed stroking the falcon.
“You’ve got a point, though,” Corwin said. “They are being slow about it. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
With a promise to return with news, Corwin headed back to the council chamber. When he reached the hallway, he saw that the guards normally stationed at the door when a meeting was in session were nowhere in sight. Annoyed that no one had bothered to tell him the outcome, Corwin was about to march off in search of his brother when he heard voices coming from within the room.
He approached the door. His brother’s voice was raised in anger. “You’re pushing it too far. It’s too bold.”
Corwin listened for the response but could hear nothing.
Then his brother said, “Yes, I want it, but I have to weigh the risk against—”
The sound of footsteps approaching made Corwin jump guiltily. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, no matter the circumstance. And I’ve more pressing matters at hand, he thought, and pushed open the door.
Edward’s outraged glare greeted him. “Corwin, when will you ever learn to stop barging in like a child?”
“I thought the meeting was over,” Corwin said, his brother’s insult sliding off him for once. He glanced around the room, mildly surprised to see Storr was here as well. It seemed that more often of late, Corwin found his brother sharing some confidence with the grand master.
As always Storr looked perfectly at ease, as if he hadn’t just been holding one half of an argument. He offered Corwin a polite smile.
Corwin ignored it and glanced back at Edwin. “And it seems that it is over. What has the council decided about Thornewall?”
Edwin turned his attention to the table and started collecting his papers. “We will send out a small scouting party tomorrow morning.”
“A small scouting party?” Corwin gaped, incredulous. “That’s all?”
Edwin looked up, his gaze sharp. “Yes, that’s all. Baron Thorne and his freeholding is the least of Norgard’s concerns. We have no idea how many drakes there are or how dire the situation truly is. Hence, a scouting party.”
“Oh, it’s dire,” Corwin said. “You saw Dal’s brother. You heard him.”
“What I heard is that they’ve been trapped. That’s very little to go on. A scouting party will be able to survey how many of the beasts there are, where they are, and what threat they pose beyond this small freeholding.” Edwin paused to give a dramatic sigh. “I realize that your primary tactic is to rush into battle and ask tactical questions later, but the stakes with this new threat are too great, brother. We have to be smarter here.”
Heat surged into Corwin’s face, some of it shame but more of it anger this time. He never should’ve told Edwin what had happened in Endra with that Sevan soldier boy. Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s a three-day ride to Thornewall from here. Three days back. That’s nearly a week that Dal’s family will have to endure.”
“It will take longer than that, I’m afraid,” Master Storr said, helpful as always. “With the threat of daydrakes certain, the entire scouting party must be warded for the journey. That will take all the wardstones we can spare right now, and your brother has rightly concluded the crown simply can’t afford the cost required to create the additional stones at speed.”
Corwin closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to talk himself out of an explosion and into seeing things Edwin’s way—erring on the side of caution, practicality.
Practicality be damned. Edwin hadn’t witnessed Dal’s suffering. These men on the high council never considered the human cost in the games of politics and finances they played. Once before Corwin had sat back and ignored the hurt and desperation of someone he cared about; he’d listened when they said Hale Brighton couldn’t be given the mercy of exile, that letting a traitor live would only weaken the high king’s authority. He’d stood by and done nothing.
Not this time.
Lowering his hands to his sides, Corwin said, “We will not send just a scouting party, but also food and supplies. If the magists can keep the scouts safe, they can do the same for a caravan. We will absorb the cost this time. We can afford it, if we choose. And in this case there is no other choice.”