"Do you know if they were Calothian mages?" I asked suddenly. "Did we find out who they were?"
She laughed coldly. "They were ours. It's why they kept their faces hidden. I even recognized two of them from the Crown's Army… They weren't bandits or raiders, Ryiah, they were rebels. My father's men. Men I knew. Why would they do this?"
"Rebels?"
She drew a shaky breath. "It's why they were so prepared. Commander Ama thinks they wanted to stop the salt trade between Jerar and the Borea Isles. She said this is the first time this has happened – and she is sending a letter to the palace in Devon to alert my father and King Lucius." Her eyes met mine, suddenly anxious. "If some of the mages are leading a revolt then we can't be sure this won't happen again. Who knows how many others they may have recruited. What if this was only the beginning?"
There hadn't been a war within Jerar or any of the neighboring continents since Jerar had signed the Great Compromise almost a century back. There were rumors that Caltoth was trying to expand its southern border, but there had never been a formal demand and the Crown was careful to avoid a war with its northern neighbor at all costs. Breaking the multi-country treaty would end any support with the other two continents and cost us dearly.
Not once had I considered a rebellion in our own kingdom. Unlike Caltoth whose taxes were excessive, the Borea Isles with its high poverty, and Pythus with its stigma against women, we lived a relatively comfortable existence. The three war schools gave our men and women the chance to rise from the lower trades to one of well renown. Even as merchants, my parents had never once complained about the demands of the Crown.
"Do you think the mages were employed by Caltoth?"
Eve shrugged. "It's the only explanation. Why else would they turn against the Crown? A mage lives a better life than most highborns."
I swallowed. "They wanted Darren. The second they saw him their leader ordered an attack."
"Yeah." Eve glanced back to the tent – the non-heir was no longer inside but she must have heard Priscilla too. "He's not handling it very well. He feels personally responsible for Caine's death…" She sighed. "I tried to reason with him but I don't think Darren is willing to listen to anyone right now."
****
The following night, on the last evening before we departed Mahj the locals put together a large funeral pyre for the fallen. Seventy-one bodies were placed on the wooden platforms, and when they lit the fire it burned heavily into the black desert skies.
Each one of us stood quietly at attendance, solemn in the face of our heavy loss. Many of the regiment leaders from Ishir and Mahj spoke highly of their men, and even Master Byron gave an earnest speech for Caine. There was something terrible about losing someone so young – and he had been so close to his ascension, only five months from earning his black robes of Combat. It had been twenty years since the Academy had lost one of their students in training. An apprenticeship was supposed to be a sheltered form of learning, yet the last battle had just proven how even that was not a certainty.
Several fourth and fifth-years retired early that evening, mourning their comrade's loss more heavily than the rest. My heart went out to them. I hadn't known Caine very well, except for that day during our mock battles, but it was clear he had been a promising student and mentor to those who had known him. More than the rest, Tyra and Jayson had seemed particularly distraught during the rite.
I glanced to Darren to see how the prince was faring. I had barely seen him around camp. Alex had told me that morning he was still refusing treatment from the infirmary mages.
The prince looked sickly – too pale, far too pale for someone that had spent an entire summer under a hot desert sun. There was a hollowness to his face and his clothes seemed unusually ill-fitted. His eyes were black. No longer garnet, they seemed to me two lakes of shadow, unfathomable against the red pyre of death.
Priscilla took Darren's hand, but he showed no knowledge of her presence. The prince watched the dancing orange flames and I was convinced he saw nothing else.
He looked so fragile standing there. So lost. I felt a strong urge to help him any way that I could. But she was there. And there was nothing I could say that hadn't already been said.
After the pyre there was a feast. Local custom dictated food and dance to honor the dead. A flask was passed around the circle. A group of the miners returned, carrying a set of pipes and a couple of local instruments.