A solemn look fills her face. “We lost him to a wyvern three days ago. The second one we’ve seen in a week. This one was big. Sixty soldiers died before it flew away.”
Beside me, Elisaf curses, and I can read his thoughts. “What color was it?”
“Orange.”
Not the beast outside Ulysede’s gates, then. Though, no one would mistake that as a simple wyvern.
Still, sixty soldiers dead. What will happen when there are dozens of similar beasts attacking? “Have there been any cases of poisoning here?” I ask.
“None yet.”
Good, though that doesn’t mean there aren’t vials lurking. Soldiers are better at following orders than frightened mortals. “You must order them to refrain from taking a vein until after Hudem.” At which point, they will no longer need it.
She studies me again, then the legionaries, and then the long line of soldiers behind us.
“What news to report?” Telor asks.
“The Ybarisan army has been steadily growing each day. Bragvam sent more than one messenger to Cirilea, but we have not received word from His Highness.”
“His Highness has been busy securing his stolen throne and condemning allies,” I throw back. Though it sounds like he is facing a viable threat now.
Gaellar’s eyebrow spikes. If she hadn’t figured out who I was before, I’d say she has strong suspicions now.
I sigh. We don’t have time for mocking and surely it won’t win me support. “Queen Neilina plans to cross the rift on Hudem with a sizable army and all her elementals. Atticus has sent an army north. I imagine we will see their banner by midday tomorrow, if they ride hard. Bellcross has been summoned. When they arrive, I cannot say.” I was hoping to see Rengard’s purple banner flying, though I knew it would be an impossibility this early. If he makes it at all, it will be on Hudem’s heels.
Gaellar shifts her attention to Telor. “If I may ask, my lord, who fights alongside us?” She won’t be able to smell Kienen’s Ybarisan blood from there, but she will soon enough.
Telor arches his brow with a “Do you want to tell her or should I?” look.
It’s best to have this conversation now rather than in the center of camp, surrounded by peeled ears. “The true king of Islor with his legionaries, as well as soldiers granted by Queen Romeria of Ulysede, to help stop this attack.” The sooner Romeria’s new title spreads, the better.
The nervous glances swapped between the company of rift soldiers say enough.
Gaellar’s eyes dash to Telor. “Ybarisans, my lord?”
“We are all allies in what is to come, which I fear very much,” he answers somberly.
Her eyebrows pinch, but she nods. “At the rift, we do not burden ourselves with the battles of royal families, and we appreciate every blade that will join ours.” After a beat, she adds, “Your Highness.” She mounts herself with deft skill.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” I hope she still does once the sun goes down and the saplings come out. “Now, if you’ll show me somewhere I can pen an important message.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
AGATHA
I groan as the wagon jolts over a bump, the pain shooting through my back. The journey from Argon to the rift is a smooth one, with relatively flat ground, but we are moving so fast that even little divots in the road feel like driving through craters.
Or perhaps it’s that I’m too old for this because none of the sixteen other casters packed in here like hens in a coop on a cold winter’s night seem to notice.
That is likely because they are too occupied with their terror over what lies ahead.
I shift the curtain aside to peek out the window. “Goodness.” It has been decades since I traveled through Argon’s lowlands, but I remember lush oat fields and fat grazing cows and crops of forest. Now the trees are black and withered, the soil barren, and the only thing feeding are crows on livestock corpses.
“The blight was especially bad this season.” Josephine, a healer stationed in the mid-country villages, explains. “They had high hopes in spring, but then it seemed to ravage the crops overnight. Entire fields gone. The livestock became sick, many died. This winter will be difficult.”
So many will starve. “It did not have to be this way.”
“If only the Islorians were not so cruel,” she says as if agreeing with me.
I resist the urge to correct her, but in the next breath change my mind. This is the problem. These lies Neilina has fostered in Ybaris have taken firm hold of the people living within because it is all they hear, and now they parrot them without thought. “It was not the Islorians who betrayed us. It was the queen and her incessant need for power, and her hatred for their kind.”