CORWIN HAD NEVER SEEN DAL in such a state. His sarcastic, carefree friend had been quiet for nearly an hour now, not uttering so much as a word while they waited outside the door where the healers were seeing to his brother. Lir perched on Dal’s arm, and he ran a hand down the falcon’s back over and over again. Dal cared for the bird like nothing else. Except maybe his brother.
There’d been no updates in the hour since the man arrived. Corwin hoped that was a good thing. If the green robes were still working their healing magic, then there was a life still to be saved.
After a while, Corwin couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Is there anything I can do, Dal? Anything you need?”
Dal’s hand stilled on the falcon, and he looked up at Corwin. “My family. You heard what my brother said. We have to help them.”
Corwin squeezed his shoulder. “Help is coming. The high council is arguing it now—how many men we’ll send, how quickly we can respond.”
Dal grimaced. “They’re taking an awful long time of it. I wish you’d stayed in the meeting, Corwin. I don’t think . . .” He hesitated, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “We both know that Thornewall doesn’t matter enough for them to hurry. It offers no significant trade. The only things anyone even knows about us are the scandals my parents so happily provide.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” Dal raised a hand, cutting him off. “But I care about my brothers. They’re good people, worth saving.”
No mention of your mother and father, though, Corwin thought, guessing the rumors were indeed true, that Dal was the son of someone other than Baron Thorne. “I know you care about them. Of course you do. And we will mount a force to purge the daydrakes. There is no other option.”
Dal looked doubtful still, and he resumed stroking the falcon.
“You’ve got a point, though,” Corwin said. “They are being slow about it. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
With a promise to return with news, Corwin headed back to the council chamber. When he reached the hallway, he saw that the guards normally stationed at the door when a meeting was in session were nowhere in sight. Annoyed that no one had bothered to tell him the outcome, Corwin was about to march off in search of his brother when he heard voices coming from within the room.
He approached the door. His brother’s voice was raised in anger. “You’re pushing it too far. It’s too bold.”
Corwin listened for the response but could hear nothing.
Then his brother said, “Yes, I want it, but I have to weigh the risk against—”
The sound of footsteps approaching made Corwin jump guiltily. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, no matter the circumstance. And I’ve more pressing matters at hand, he thought, and pushed open the door.
Edward’s outraged glare greeted him. “Corwin, when will you ever learn to stop barging in like a child?”
“I thought the meeting was over,” Corwin said, his brother’s insult sliding off him for once. He glanced around the room, mildly surprised to see Storr was here as well. It seemed that more often of late, Corwin found his brother sharing some confidence with the grand master.
As always Storr looked perfectly at ease, as if he hadn’t just been holding one half of an argument. He offered Corwin a polite smile.
Corwin ignored it and glanced back at Edwin. “And it seems that it is over. What has the council decided about Thornewall?”
Edwin turned his attention to the table and started collecting his papers. “We will send out a small scouting party tomorrow morning.”
“A small scouting party?” Corwin gaped, incredulous. “That’s all?”
Edwin looked up, his gaze sharp. “Yes, that’s all. Baron Thorne and his freeholding is the least of Norgard’s concerns. We have no idea how many drakes there are or how dire the situation truly is. Hence, a scouting party.”
“Oh, it’s dire,” Corwin said. “You saw Dal’s brother. You heard him.”
“What I heard is that they’ve been trapped. That’s very little to go on. A scouting party will be able to survey how many of the beasts there are, where they are, and what threat they pose beyond this small freeholding.” Edwin paused to give a dramatic sigh. “I realize that your primary tactic is to rush into battle and ask tactical questions later, but the stakes with this new threat are too great, brother. We have to be smarter here.”
Heat surged into Corwin’s face, some of it shame but more of it anger this time. He never should’ve told Edwin what had happened in Endra with that Sevan soldier boy. Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s a three-day ride to Thornewall from here. Three days back. That’s nearly a week that Dal’s family will have to endure.”
“It will take longer than that, I’m afraid,” Master Storr said, helpful as always. “With the threat of daydrakes certain, the entire scouting party must be warded for the journey. That will take all the wardstones we can spare right now, and your brother has rightly concluded the crown simply can’t afford the cost required to create the additional stones at speed.”
Corwin closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to talk himself out of an explosion and into seeing things Edwin’s way—erring on the side of caution, practicality.
Practicality be damned. Edwin hadn’t witnessed Dal’s suffering. These men on the high council never considered the human cost in the games of politics and finances they played. Once before Corwin had sat back and ignored the hurt and desperation of someone he cared about; he’d listened when they said Hale Brighton couldn’t be given the mercy of exile, that letting a traitor live would only weaken the high king’s authority. He’d stood by and done nothing.
Not this time.
Lowering his hands to his sides, Corwin said, “We will not send just a scouting party, but also food and supplies. If the magists can keep the scouts safe, they can do the same for a caravan. We will absorb the cost this time. We can afford it, if we choose. And in this case there is no other choice.”
“Absolutely not, Corwin. The high council has already determined—”
“The last I checked, the high council does not rule Norgard or Rime. Their purpose is to advise the king, not make the decisions for him.”
“Yes, but you are not the king,” Edwin said.
“Neither are you, brother.” Corwin held up his right hand, palm out so that his uror mark was clearly visible. “But this says I might be, one day. And that is all the authority I need.”
With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode from the meeting room, not giving either man the chance to argue.
Once Corwin had made up his mind to act, the decision as to what to do next came surprisingly easily. He went to Minister Fletcher first and ordered two supply wagons be prepared. Then he went to Minister Knox to start selecting his most capable soldiers for the mission. Finally, he sought out Bonner. He needed to know just how many revolvers were fieldworthy before he talked to the blue robes about providing defensive magic.
Corwin headed to the forge and found several blacksmiths still hard at work, their faces red and their tunics sweat soaked, and Bonner not among them. Feeling his irritation growing, he crossed the forge toward Bonner’s private workroom in the back. The door was closed, but he heard voices inside.
Corwin resisted the urge to barge in and knocked on the door instead. “Bonner, it’s Corwin. I need to speak with you.”
The door opened a few seconds later, Bonner’s face peering out at him with a look of sheepish surprise. “Come in, your highness. Had no idea you’d be coming by today.”
“Neither did—” The words died on Corwin’s lips as his eyes fell on Kate. She was in the far corner of the room, her arms folded tightly around her waist. She met his gaze for a second, then looked away, a hint of red in her cheeks.
She wasn’t Bonner’s only visitor. Signe was there, and so was Master Raith. You again, Corwin thought, remembering how the magist had come to Kate’s aid the night she’d visited the brothel. That made twice now he’d found the magist in close proximity to Kate when all reason said he shouldn’t be.
“What are you doing here, Master Raith?” Corwin asked.
Raith, who’d been leaning against one of the worktables, straightened up and adjusted his blue robes across his shoulders. “I wanted to see how the revolver making was going, your highness. My order has a keen interest in seeing it succeed.”
I doubt the grand master would agree with you, Corwin thought. He’s wanted them to fail from the beginning, more concerned with maintaining his profit than solving Rime’s problems. Still, he was glad to have Raith’s support at least.
“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve need of your blue robes once more.” He launched into the story about Dal’s brother and the attack on Thornewall. Without meaning to, his gaze kept drifting toward Kate as he spoke.
By the time he reached the end of the story, her face had clouded over with worry. “What are you going to do?”
Corwin scowled and ran a hand through his hair. “Edwin planned to send a scouting party, but it’s not enough. I mean to lead a supply caravan and make sure it gets there safely. Dal’s brother said the people are starving. There’s no telling how long they’ve been trapped.” Thornewall was isolated and difficult to reach, located among the cliffs that covered the farthest eastern point of Rime. Which is why it was so easy to pen them in, Corwin realized—only why would the Rising attack Thornewall? It had no strategic value to the high king, unlike some of the other sites of the attacks. Dal and Edwin were right on that account—the barony mattered little to the power of Norgard.
Corwin turned to Raith. “Will you help me, Master Raith?”
“Of course,” Raith said without hesitation. He ran a blackened finger over his nose and cheeks, unconsciously tracing the lines of the Shade Born on his face. It was the first time Corwin had seen the man do such a thing. “But even more important than getting the supplies there, this might be just the opportunity we need to finally discover what—or who—is behind these drake attacks.”
“How do you mean?” Corwin asked, not daring to hope after so many failures.
Raith’s gaze wandered across the room, briefly lingering on Kate before he turned back to Corwin. “If I remember the geography of Thornewall correctly, the only path to the castle is through a narrow pass with sheer cliff walls on either side. That limits where someone controlling the drakes could be. If we position scouts out of view of the caravan, we might be able to catch them.”
“But won’t we be attacked?” Signe said, stepping forward.
Corwin arched an eyebrow at her. “We?”
She gave him a haughty look. “I’m coming. You’re going to need all the help you can get to save Dal’s family.”
Corwin nodded, grateful for the offer and what it would mean to Dal.
“I have devised a new shield spell,” Raith said. “It should protect against a drake without the need for a dedicated wardstone, long enough, at least, for our scouts to get back to the caravan and the safety of the main wardstone barrier.”
Corwin addressed Bonner. “We’ll need all the revolvers you can provide.” He paused, then added, “And are safe to use.”
Bonner nodded, a pink tinge coming to his ears. “I’ve six or seven now, but if I get to work right away I might be able to finish up two more.”
“Whatever you can manage.” Corwin thumped him on the back, praying for a miracle. He turned to Raith. “We’ll need flash stones as well and any other combative spells that might help.” Corwin could practically hear Minister Porter complaining about the cost already, but he didn’t care.
“I’m coming, too,” Kate said, moving to stand next to Signe.
Corwin opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, knowing there was no point. She did not belong to him; she was not his to shelter.
“Good,” he forced himself to say. “You’re the best shot with the revolver. That will come in handy.”
Kate’s face was unreadable. “When do we leave?”
“At dawn.” Corwin turned to go, his mind racing with all he needed to do yet, but he froze as a figure appeared in the doorway. It was Dal, but Corwin barely recognized him—the look on his face like that of a ghost, pale and devoid of all emotion.
“We’re leaving for Thornewall in the morning?” Dal asked, his voice low and inflectionless.
“Yes,” Corwin said, “but you should stay here and see to your brother.”
Dal shook his head. “There’s no point. My brother is dead.”