We ride behind the assembling soldiers. A few boys even younger than Tayler erect one of the tents where the dry ground inclines, allowing a good vantage point. Behind us, to the northeast, the ground slopes down toward a basin. To the southeast, it’s flat and dry. A breeze, already hot from the rising sun, spins up a cloud of dust.
Lifting my head toward the dead city of Eterellis, where my kind once flourished, I see a dark line. Gooseflesh rises on my arms. The trollis scout insinuated that Cagmar already had plans to meet the humans in battle. Now they’ve unleashed their warriors.
I don’t get long to look before my father gracelessly pulls me from the horse and presses me into the newly erected tent. Lythanis stands at its opening, talking to two more men. I don’t see anything to denote rank, but they are alert and confident as they hurry to join the infantry.
It feels as though all the earth holds its breath. My father watches the army, distracted, and murmurs to Lythanis about numbers and strategies. I twist my hands, but the rope around my wrists tightens when I do.
“Look at them,” my father says eventually, his lip curled. “Brutes and beasts. Uncouth, vicious. Do they even burn?”
Two hard lines form between Lythanis’s brows. “See how well fed they are.”
My father hums in agreement. “They eat monsters and have entire farms of fruit-bearing vines. My spies have told me.”
I frown. Peer between the two men. Cagmar has advanced so quickly.
“Soon that food will be in our bellies.” Lythanis rests a hand on the hilt of a narrow sword at his waist. He doesn’t look like a man who misses many meals. I wonder where he’s from but don’t ask. I want them to forget I’m here. The trollis are close, and I will not stay with Ottius Thellele one moment longer than I must. I have no further rendezvous planned with Qequan; now that my words have proven true, how will I return home if I do not send myself?
A tug on my rope jerks me from my thoughts. Father reels me in like a fish on a line until I stand between him and Lythanis at the tent flap. He drapes an arm around my shoulder, and I see a short knife held casually in his fingers, too close to my collar for comfort.
“I’ve a special job for you, Calia,” he whispers. Lythanis doesn’t seem affected by my father’s words or my presence, and I wonder if my father entrusted him with our secret. He must have. “Keep the toads from reaching the midline.”
With his free hand, he draws a finger across the battlefield, indicating the center row of assembled soldiers. Keeping my nose pointed ahead, I nod. He’s sparing his own hide, of course. The instant the battle appears lost, my father will mount and ride away. Will he take me with him? I’d rather die with the rest.
“When I’m finished here, we’ll rebuild. Bolster the Thellele name. Send for your siblings and mother. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
My half siblings and stepmother never knew me. I was a shadow in that house.
“Make you a little princess, hmm?” He taps the flat of the blade against my chin and smirks.
The trollis have arrived. They stop advancing two hundred yards away. Our numbers appear fairly equal. How many of us will be left when this is over?
Lythanis raises a spyglass to his eye, of finer make than the one the monster slayers use. It’s gold and looks old. When he lowers it, I dare to ask, “May I?”
He hesitates. Glances to my father, whose arm still encircles my neck.
Lythanis hands me the glass. Exhaling, I lift it to my right eye and slowly scan the line. It’s a cluster of gray and green, dotted with steely shields and leather jerkins.
My scan stops near the northern end. I extend the glass as far as it will go, turning it for the best focus. My heart rages so suddenly I fear my father will feel it. I hold my breath to keep it from sharpening.
The vision through the scope isn’t perfect, but that’s him. I know it’s him.
Azmar.
Qequan kept his word. He put him on the front lines.
Tears pock my vision. I wrench the glass away to keep them from smudging it and blink quickly to hide them.
But my father notices. “What?”
I swallow a lump in my throat and pull up the easiest lies I have. “I don’t want our people hurt. I don’t want the trolls to take me again.”
Lythanis raises a brow. He doesn’t know about my stay in Cagmar, then.
My father straightens, but his arm, and the knife, remain. “The midline, Calia.”
The only other men on horses are the two who were speaking to Lythanis earlier. I see them ride out front and yell something—encouragement, maybe. They haven’t yet finished their speeches when a horn, higher pitched than the monster horn, rips through the morning air. The line of trollis charges.