Vulmar laughed deep in his belly, and ripped off a piece of bread.
“Good lad.”
“You said we aren’t staying. He’s sending reinforcements now?” Niel asked, taking a sip of his own water.
Vulmar narrowed his eyes, lips flat.
“Niel. Boy. Why do you think I brought two griffons?”
A bad feeling rose in Niel. But he shrugged and stacked a piece of cheese on his bread, hoping he was wrong.
“Knowing you, you got tired of the other rider and stabbed him. Elsewise he fell on his own.” That was the more dangerous part of griffons, and the reason more lords didn’t invest in keeping the beasts. Even if a griffon didn’ttryto throw its rider, accidents happened. There was no recovering from a fall like that.
Vulmar chuckled as Niel took a bite, but the cutthroat shook his head.
“Blackfell isn’t strategic. It’s fucking hard to get to and the roads lead nowhere. The old dragon won’t re-arrange his war plans over a few dozen men who couldn’t take Ironcliff.”
The food lodged in Niel’s throat. He stared at Vulmar. Surely his father hadn’t sent his right-hand man just to doom all Niel’s soldiers to their fates.
“The Queen’s army’s here. If he brought a real force through Eyron, he could defeat them handily…” Niel trailed off. They wouldn’t have the bulk of the Aronthian soldiers until they managed to open a pass through either Ironcliff or Varos Himrek, or until somebody managed to take out his cousin Hark, whose storms kept boats from carrying soldiers south. You couldreachMount Eyron from Aronthia, but it was a difficult path, one that wouldn’t lend itself to supply carts or columns of thousands of marching men. And certainly not this time of year, when snow choked the Kettalist.
The path from Eyron to Blackfell would only be a little easier. Much of it would need to be through the mountains, not just to avoid the Enarian Queen’s armies but to skirt the Hulder wood. By ancient treaty, you couldn’t march an army through that forest unless you stayed on the county road without straying, which ran north-south. The wrong way for an army from Eyron. Even his war-hungry father didn’t want to unleash the Hulder from the pacts they’d made with the Arevon dynasty in the early days. The Hulder were a foe so powerful the Aronthians didn’t dare take more than the mountains and the coast, without someone of Arevon blood on the throne—hence the need for their alliance with Niel’s family, and Niel’s proxy marriage. The ancient treaty binding the Hulder wouldn’t extend to any other bloodline wearing the crown except for the Arevons.
“We’ll rest tonight and leave tomorrow, lad,” Vulmar said. His voice sounded almost kind. “The second griffon is for you. Even the best commanders lose some battles. Remember that, when your father has you up against the whipping post.”
Niel’s heart went cold, thumping slowly in his ears. He couldn’t care less about the punishment. Butleaving: that was an outcome he could not accept.
“My men,” he started.
“They can surrender, or hold ground, if they prefer. Maybe we’ll make fast enough conquest of the North to free a few of them. But Eyron will not be marching straight on Blackfell, Niel. There is no wisdom in that. I shouldhopeyou’re smart enough to know it, too.”
He stared down at his plate, hands flat on the table to either side, and frowned.
Ayla. He’d promised not to let her go until her husband was dead.
Well—that wasn’ttrulyan obstacle. As much as he’d prefer to face Ditmar in a true battle, he could pass unseen through thewar camp at any time with his unicorn cloak, and gut the man. Then he could give Ayla the cloak so she could get out unseen, and he could leave with Vulmar. But what the fuck was she supposed to do, trudge across the country in the freezing cold in search of shelter? Invisibility couldn’t save her from hunger or cold. He could sneak her out of Blackfell, but he’d be abandoning her all the same.
Kerr, Bode, Ivar. All his men. They weren’t likely to survive if Mount Eyron’s army didn’t cut a path towards them. They’d be choked here. They could surrender and ask for mercy, but common men didn’t get ransomed like the nobles did, unless they were from extremely wealthy families, and Niel knew none of his soldiers were. Corin might order them executed, or he might set them to hard labor. Send them to mines or logging camps.
And he’d never see Ayla again.
“I’m not a coward,” he told Vulmar. The cutthroat raised his eyebrows.
“Who said you were?”
“I’m not leaving my men to die so I can escape,” Niel growled.
He wasn’t ready to say farewell to her yet. He wasn’t going to outlive the war, so whenever they parted, it would be forever. His gut clenched at that thought, the first time his lack of a future had truly bothered him. Niel met Vulmar’s eyes squarely.
“Don’t be foolish.” The warrior had a disbelieving look in his eyes.
“I’m not leaving them.”
“Boy,” Vulmar said with a sigh, setting down the piece of bread he’d been working on. “These are yourfather’sorders. He’s angry enough. Don’t make him angrier.”
“Consideringmymarriage got us another 20,000 men, I should think he could spare a few of them to save my life.”
“That’s what the fucking griffon’s for,” Vulmar informed him. “Niel Albrecht Mount Eyron, donotprovoke your Maker-damned father any further. Be reasonable.”
