“Finally, Ulamir, my soulsword, was stonekin. He lived on this side of the mountains, but he was one of the older peoples, with their affinity for the land.”
Your praise would make me blush if I yet had cheeks to do so.
Vivian gave the others a moment. They were unlikely to sway her, they didn’t have the authority to stop her, but listening did no harm.
“You would be valuable company,” said Nahon.
Magarteach sighed. “You’re right about Katrine too. I don’t love losing two of you, but from what you’re saying”—they jerked their chin toward Gwarill—“if you don’t succeed at this, my front won’t matter a whole lot regardless.”
“That’s a simplified view,” the priest replied, “and incorrect in a few notable aspects. If they fail and the protections we create hold, those here will need to face Thyran’s troops. If they succeed, there’s no guarantee that Sir Yoralth will be able to stop the army, only the storms. All the same, I think the Sentinel should go.”
“And you?” Vivian asked Olvir. “Even if you only have a gut feeling, you should say so.”
He focused on Vivian for the first time since she’d revealed his nature and managed a small smile. “No, no feelings,” he said. “Except that I’d be glad to have a companion, and even happier if it was you.”
Affection made her smile back, despite the guilt twisting her chest. She’d provided three reasons. The fourth was best left unsaid.
Chapter 7
Melted wax poured red onto the oiled paper, spreading out like lifeblood. Vivian pressed the ring on her right hand into it. It left a capital V with stylized guard towers on each side.
“You may as well take the ring too,” she said to Emeth. “Where I’m going, the best it’ll do is make me lose a finger.” Once she was certain the seal had taken shape, she stripped off the gold band and laid it on top of the small parcel.
“Are you taking any gear, other than the clothes you’re standing up in?” Emeth asked.
She and Katrine stood in Vivian’s tent, which now showed little sign that anybody had lived there. Vivian’s pack and bedroll stood waiting in a corner. Katrine would inherit the tent itself, along with the brazier in the center. Emeth would come with her—probably getting rid of the need for a brazier altogether, at least until the next storm hit.
The rest—a bundle of letters, a small portrait in a silver frame, and a few bits of cheap jewelry from the towns Vivian had passed through—was tied up in the parcel she gave to Emeth.
“Two changes of linen, for both of our sakes and so that my scent doesn’t draw every tracking beast in Thyran’s army. Rations. Rope. Spikes. Flint and steel. Crossbow. Bedroll. The usual.”
She’d debated the bedroll, but while cold wouldn’t kill her, it’d slow her reflexes and wits if it was bad. On the mountains, in a storm, it might well be.
“And a knight,” said Emeth.
“He’s taking her, if we’re being accurate.”
“We’re traveling together. He has the maps,” said Vivian. The others had been informed only that he had a mission in the Battlefield. Nobody save the Sentinels, the highest-ranked priests, and Magarteach had been told that much. “Katrine, do you have any questions before I leave?”
The blond Sentinel shook her head and recited her previous briefing, obviously reassuring herself as well as Vivian. “Armies from the west should be here in a day or two. We can expect an attack roughly then, depending on how soon Thyran gets word that they’re coming and that General Amris is with them. We’re currently reinforcing the walls.”
“That’ll take some of the attention off the two of you at any rate,” Emeth added. “If it’d help, I’ll try to look like a bigger target.”
“And how would you do that, exactly?” Vivian asked, feeling a corner of her mouth lift.
“Get a mage to make me glow as Kat does when the bastards show up. Or just make faces and yell rude remarks. Haven’t really decided yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll weigh all sides of the issue.”
“You know me, Vivian. Always a woman for careful consideration.”
“I could tell a different story,” said Katrine.
Emeth chuckled. “You could tell many stories, Kat. Commander…” She lifted a shoulder, leather armor creaking. “It keeps sounding odd to say that. Look, I don’t have a damn notion what you’re doing, but I hope it works and I hope you live through it.”
Neither outcome was ever a guarantee when a Sentinel went to work. Neither had ever been certain, war or no war. The gods had reforged the Sentinels, but a different god had touched most of their prey, with less concern than the Four had to have for mortal minds and bodies. Vivian knew very few members of the Order who’d made it to their fifties.
“Much obliged,” she said. “I hope so, too, and that you both do well out here while I’m gone. If you do and I don’t—”
