Sinner by Sara Douglass. Book One of The Wayfarer Redemption

Not Carlon, that much was certain. Not for Zared.

Aszrad reined his own fine-boned stallion off the road, holding his breath as the horse’s hooves rattled on the loose scree, then relaxing a little as the stallion found its footing and stepped into one of the gullies. Aszrad turned around in the saddle, checking to make sure the train of mules was safely out of the way of the approaching force, then dismounted to watch as it thundered past.

The Nors knights were famous for their silent, cruel warfare. They were good, very good. If they fought for you. Aszrad winced as the first ranks swept by, narrowing his eyes against the dust, clinging to his stallion’s reins as it pulled back in fear.

The force was heavily armoured, but moving quickly despite it. Burnished gold, copper and bronze plating glinted and sent reflections of sun-fire slanting about the landscape. Banners, pennants and lance tassels snapped in the breeze of their passing, saddle cloths flapped, weaponry – in full display – sat easy and ready to hand in practical leather scabbards, sheaths and quivers. A bright force, but a fighting force.

Aszrad blinked and counted the units as they rode past. Twenty-nine! By the great multi-armed Baba himself! If those units were the full three hundred men, then that was almost nine thousand!

Nine thousand?

“For Caelum, no doubt,” Aszrad murmured. “Nine thousand to Caelum’s aid. And all bright and ready for war. What will my Lord Zared do against such as these?”

As most merchants in Tencendor, Aszrad favoured Zared, not only for his free trading policy along the River Nordra, but for his decisive action in freeing trade along the river. As the last of the units thundered past, Aszrad turned to one of the muleteers.

“Bring me a carrier bird,” he said.

“Nine thousand!” Zared crumpled the note in his hand and flung it into a far corner of the reception room.

About him were ranged sundry captains and lieutenants of the force he had managed to raise thus far, Herme and Theod standing slightly to one side.

Leagh, forgotten, sat embroidering by a window.

Her head was bowed in concentration over her silks, but her fingers moved slowly and clumsily.

“Where?” Theod asked.

“A league south of Tare, riding north,” Zared said. “About forty leagues due west from Carlon.”

“And the note?” Herme said. “How old is the information?”

“A day only.” Zared sat down heavily at a table with maps and lists of units and supplies scattered about it. “An armoured force that heavy and vast could ride perhaps three leagues a day.”

“They’re riding through a rich agricultural area of Achar -” the captain caught himself, “- of Tencendor, sire. There are enough barns and provisioning stores in Tare and western Arcness to feed an army twice that size. Perhaps, sire, they could be moving even faster.”

“I thank you for your optimistic assessment of the situation, Grawen,” Zared said dryly, then sighed. “But you are most likely correct. He would be riding to join Caelum. Herme, any fresh intelligence on Caelum’s force?”

Herme stepped to the table, scrabbled about for the map he needed, then jabbed a finger down on northern Arcness, just below the Rhaetian ranges. “Intelligence of last night put Caelum’s force here. About fifteen leagues south of the Rhaetian ranges, heading due south. Now some four thousand men he’s scraped together from Skarabost and Arcness, although not Arcen itself. And the Icarü Strike Force are with him – another two thousand.”

But worth ten thousand, every man in the room thought. An air-borne force held a frightful advantage over a ground force – and the Strike Force had kept their wits and skills ever since Axis had taken their training in hand during the wars against Gorgrael’s ice creatures.

“And how old is that intelligence?” Zared said wearily. “Gods, but I wish I had some of Caelum’s farflight scouts to aid me. But, no, I must rely on men who ride a week to pass me information so old that it is almost useless. Caelum could be close to Carlon by now.”

Herme looked at Zared carefully. “This information is less than a day old, sire, and came by birdman.”

“Again,” Zared said softly.

Leagh paused in her embroidery.

“A member of the Lake Guard, sire,” Herme said, “although I disremember his name.”

Zared stared at Herme. These Lake Guard were proving remarkably disloyal. Three days ago had come a very private message from WingRidge CurlClaw, telling Zared a little about the Demons that threatened. Even as vague as it was, the information was so explosive and so terrifying, Zared had shared it only with his closest commanders.

“The information tallies with what we know from other sources, sire,” Herme added.

Zared rose and paced about the room. “Why do the Lake Guard aid us?” His eyes swept the entire room, seeking an answer. “Why? Are they not devoted to the StarSon? I cannot but think a dreadful design behind their so-called aid.”

Was the information about the demons meant to dissuade him from causing Caelum further problems? Was it meant to force him to sue for peace so Tencendor could face the threat united? Were the Lake Guard actually working for Caelum, rather than betraying him?

“Their aid saved us at Kastaleon,” Theod said.

Leagh gave up any pretence of embroidering and lifted her head to listen. The Lake Guard had betrayed Caelum – and Askam – at Kastaleon? Her brow furrowed.

“Still…” Zared hesitated.

“We have to believe it,” Herme put in. “Dammit, Zared, we have to.”

“Is the birdman still here?” Zared asked.

“No. He left as soon as he had delivered the information.”

“Very well.” Zared made his decision. “We trust the information. So, if Caelum rides fifteen leagues below the Rhaetian ranges, how long will it take the Norsmen to reach him?”

Herme worked it out. “At three leagues a day, and allowing necessary days to rest the horses, I would say ten to twelve days.”

Zared chewed the inside of his cheek. His eyes fell on Leagh and his eyes softened, although his expression remained hard.

“I cannot allow that force to merge with Caelum’s,” he said quietly. “I cannot. With the Norsmen and the Strike Force, Caelum would be almost invincible.”

“Sire,” Herme said, “would it not be better to stay here? Have Caelum come to us, try to take Carlon?”

“I will not risk the people of Carlon to Strike Force attack,” Zared continued, remembering Severin. “And besides, if we can prevent the Norsmen joining Caelum then he will be seriously weakened.”

“But Caelum isn’t the best -” Theod started.

“I am not going to rely on his bad generalship for ever,” Zared said to him. “Even Caelum has to start learning at some point. Herme? What numbers do I command now?”

Herme glanced about at the others in the room. In the five weeks since Zared had taken the crown thousands had flocked to Carlon. Many soldiers, many just enthusiastic peasants. Even the rumour of a King of Achar had been enough to put many thousands of feet on the roads to Carlon.

“Seventeen thousand,” Herme said. “Fourteen thousand regular forces, three thousand men half-trained with the pike and sword. The regular forces are horsed, the three thousand mostly are not.”

“Herme, Theod, I want the fourteen thousand ready to ride in the morning, the rest to follow as best as they are able. I am going to stop that Nors force before it reaches Caelum.”

He looked about. “Questions?”

Ike Warding of the Star Gate Isfrael stood at the edge of the forest and shuddered. He tipped his head and rubbed one of his horns against a tree, finding calmness in the touch of velvet to bark. Only the desperate summons of the entire Circle of the Star Gods had made him venture to the very edge of the forest in these dark times. Isfrael found himself more and more uncomfortable in open spaces as each year went by. Even the relatively closed spaces of the Ancient Barrows were almost as distressful as the stone of Sigholt.

At his side Shra sent him a sympathetic glance, but did not take his arm as she would have done in private. “The Barrows are a place of magic, Sacred One,” she said. “You will feel more comfortable underground.”

His teeth gleamed. “I doubt it. I wish I had not been summoned from the trees.”

“The need is great,” Shra murmured. “Else why would the Star Gods call you?”

“They blame Drago,” Isfrael said, and tilted his head as a stag does when it scents the wind. “They say he stole the beloved wood and uses it to lead the Demons through the Star Gate.”

He snorted. “But WingRidge tells me that Drago is innocent of my sister’s murder, and that WolfStar has misunderstood crucial aspects of the Maze’s message.”

“But the threat of the Demons is real enough, Sacred One,” Shra said, her eyes on the figures moving about the Barrows in the distance.