“Be quiet,” said the authoritative voice of Captain Autmaran.
The captain, who had appeared behind them in a swirl of a red cloak that blended in surprisingly well with the dark shadows of the night, knelt next to them, looking out over the ambush set before them.
“Yes, sir,” all of the Exiles responded.
The Prince rolled his eyes.Nowthey respected authority.
“He should stop for the night when he sees the pass is guarded,” the captain said. “Don’t worry. I have fought against the Ox Lord in various skirmishes—he is predictable. He will stop for the night.”
The captain rose to his feet, his bald head shining in the reflected light of the few torches that still remained lit, and walked back along the line, speaking softly to others as he went.
“I will bet you the Diamond Throne I know him better than you do,” the Prince muttered under his breath. To his surprise, Davydd let out an appreciative chuckle.
The Prince wasn’t sure how long they waited in the deep black of night, the ground shaking underneath them as the enormous host advanced. He wasn’t sure about the others, but to him it felt like a lifetime. Barely able to keep still, his heart pumping more pure, unadulterated emotion into his blood with every second, common sense screaming at him like an animal sensing a predator—run! Run now!—it was all he could do to keep still andsilent. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his tunic and undershirt were suddenly stiflingly hot under his leather jerkin and breastplate.
“Breathe, princeling,” said Leah’s voice from next to him. He could barely make her out in the pitch-blackness of the night.
“We should be running,” he told her in a harsh whisper through clenched teeth. “This is not a good idea!”
“Look, they come,” said Lorna softly, voice like the quiet murmur of far-off thunder.
They all shifted and peeked their heads the barest fraction over the small barrier they were crouched behind, just enough to see the advancing force. It was true—the first column of men, light infantry clad in the white-and-red of Roarke, had rounded the corner. A number of scout cavalry accompanied them, but pulled up short when the light from their torches revealed a glimpse of the mountain rising up through the nighttime fog. A man with a long red plume in his helmet motioned to one of the mounted scouts, scribbled a message, and sent the man running back through the pass. They continued to march, but the pace slowed as they waited for confirmation of orders.
“We are committed,” rumbled Tomaz. “There is no other course of action.”
“We can still run,” the Prince reminded them.
“In times like this, there’s only one thing you need to remember,” said Davydd. His red eyes seemed to gather the light from the torches down below, turning him into a devilish creature of the night. “A brave man is no more courageous than a normal man.”
“He is simply brave five minutes longer,” Leah finished. Her green eyes had the same gleam as Davydd’s.
“You’re all insane,” the Prince said. “Have I made that abundantly clear?”
Leah smiled at him.
“They’re resting for the night,” Tomaz broke in. They all looked over the wall at the men, who were indeed stopping. The mounted messenger hadreturned, and the red-plumed captain was holding a scroll and motioning for a full-company halt. There was a ripple in the columns of soldiers and more riders came forward.
“Bloodmages,” Lorna said suddenly.
They all lifted their heads the slightest bit more, craning their necks just far enough that they could make out in the distant torch light four men in hooded black cloaks so voluminous that they covered the entire body of the rider and a large portion of the horse as well. One of them was talking to the captain and motioning to the top of the hill, while the others were staring blankly forward—straight toward where the five of them sat. The Prince knew they were too far away to be seen and too well covered, but he shivered nonetheless, feeling as though a long icy finger had just been run down his spine. The five of them ducked back down behind the wall.
“Are you certain you’re the Prince of Ravens?” Davydd whispered, half exasperated, half mocking. “You’re acting like the Prince of Mice.”
“Not my fault,” the Prince said, shifting from foot to foot, his hands wringing each other over and over again. He had a slight headache and he felt as though he had drunk too muchsoufa. “The power of the Bloodmages is connected to the Talismans. When there is a group of them gathered together, particularly when they’re using an enchantment like this light-forsaken tracking spell, the Children get this way unless Mother is near. She dampens the effect somehow. But the central part of the Bloodmage’s power is based off, in essence, the Raven Talisman. That’s why we have the same black marks. The process to make the Bloodmages… it’s messy, and the Raven Talisman picks up on the aftermath; it’s like putting a lodestone next to a compass.”
The Exiles exchanged glances, but even Davydd remained silent. Perhaps they weren’t too keen to go into exactly how he was connected to the Bloodmages.
“What’s he saying?” Leah wondered.
“What?” the Prince asked.
“Look,” she said, motioning with her head.
It appeared that the captain of the infantry column was arguing with the messenger and the first Bloodmage. He kept making references to the mountain and then to the ground, and the Prince got the distinct impression that he was saying he didn’t want to ascend the mountain in the dark and foggy night, but wanted to camp.
The messenger, who the Prince noticed had a tunic embroidered with the sign of the Ox, was motioning vehemently toward the mountain pass. He was joined by the Bloodmage. The message was clear: they were to keep going, not to make camp.
“Oh, shadows and light,” the Prince said.
