“May he give strength to your arm, your mind, and your heart,” said Nahon. He stepped back from the embrace. Rather than giving Olvir the salute of a higher-ranked knight to a lower, he bowed as if to his lord. “Know that you go to serve his truth and that the love of your fellows goes with you.”
* * *
In a small tent off the main infirmary, Vivian and Olvir met with Gwarill one last time. They didn’t bother with light, but the priest’s gold robes still shone.
“You have not tried to contact the fragment of Gizath?” he asked Olvir without preamble. It was barely a question. “Not knowing what it is.”
“No. I meditated after Oakford, of course, but nothing happened. Last night—”
Vivian didn’t look at Olvir. It would have been too awkward to witness either what he felt or his efforts to conceal it.
“It seemed too dangerous,” he finished.
“Wise. I would do so when you reach the mountains and not before,” Gwarill said. “Physical distance is less…distant…where matters of the gods are concerned, but it still can have influence. The closer to the Battlefield you are, the more likely it is to work, and the farther from Thyran you get, the safer you’re likely to be.”
Olvir bowed. “I hear and treasure Sitha’s wisdom.”
“I have faith in your valor, Sir Yoralth. Sentinel, stay behind a moment.”
After Olvir left, Gwarill remained silent until they heard his footsteps growing fainter. Then he picked an object up off one of the cots and handed it to Vivian. “This is from Mourner Dale, chiefly, though I contributed as well.”
It was a carving the size of her palm, made of smooth-sanded pale wood: yew, Vivian thought, though she was no expert. A woman’s weeping face had taken shape under the carver’s knife. Painted tears ran down her cheeks, black and red alternating.
Powerfully enchanted,said Ulamir,or as much so as human arts can manage on short notice.
“He’ll need to touch it,” said Gwarill, “and swear to his identity. Neither of us can be certain what it will do if that oath is false in any sense, but there will be some reaction. You understand.”
“I do,” she said.
She had knives in her boots and up her sleeves, Ulamir by her side, and the gods’ gifts in her speed and strength. In addition, she knew Olvir both in and out of battle. That was all the advantage any of them were likely to get.
“His death serves no purpose unless we’re desperate,” said Gwarill. There was a consolation in the reminder, but then he went on, stripping even that away. “But the nearer you get to the Battlefield, the more likely that the fragment will simply return there rather than going to Thyran. I can’t tell you the moment when the risk balances toward one course of action or another, Sentinel, or the signs that his potential for destruction outweighs his use. We must all trust your judgment.”
Duty had been heavy at times. Command had weighed the world. There was no comparison for this.
Vivian only nodded and found all the words she had. “If the need arises, I won’t hesitate.”
Chapter 8
The palisade faced the forest with a rough but almost seamless front studded by makeshift towers. Large forces had to approach from the back, since rock outcroppings blocked the side, but small parties could use a door beneath the rightmost tower.
Wind stirred Vivian’s hair as she waited there, watching the sky for Emeth’s messenger. Olvir stood by her, and near them Kev, the soldier who hadn’t been wounded during the assassination attempt. All of them were trying to act as if this was no different from any other hunting expedition. Vivian hoped she was succeeding. The others weren’t.
If the twistedmen can read your countenances, you have a great deal more to be concerned about,said Ulamir.
There was that. Her father had used to say that such-and-so flaw in appearance would never be noticed from a trotting horse. Vivian supposed it was the same thing, only likely to be more lethal.
Olvir was the first to spot the speck in the blue sky. “There,” he said, pointing as it grew bigger. “Is that what I think?”
“Likely,” said Emeth. She held out her arm. The spot soared downward, taking on wings, a long tail, and a head with a high crest. Up close, it was lavender-blue above and white below, with black markings. It regarded all of them with an expression that Vivian thought was derisive as well as suspicious.
The twilight wren landed on Emeth’s wrist, emitted sounds like a rusty gate swinging back and forth, then waited, head cocked sideways.
“Thyran’s keeping his creatures an hour or so away,” she told her human companions. “Building siege ladders, it looks like, which means trouble for us soon. I’ll spread the word once we’re back. But this is our moment.”
“Then let’s use it to best effect,” said Olvir. He opened the door.
Vivian and Emeth went out first, not running but moving briskly over the plantless swath of ground between the palisade and the forest.
