At the mouth of Calay harbor, the bright flames of Sapier’s Lighthouse guided ships in the dark of night and symbolized the light of Aidenism, which guided the hearts of men. Now, in daylight, Queen Anjine met with her closest advisers in the open chamber atop the lighthouse; after Jenirod’s news about Gremurr, they had to plan the next step in the war.
Anjine stood before the open windows, felt the chill breezes whipping in from the sea; far below, waves foamed against the rocks. Her heart remained hard since the murder of Tomas, and she would not allow her own counselors to forget all that was at stake. She had chosen this place for the discussion instead of the castle’s war council chamber because she wanted them to look out at the city and the Oceansea and be reminded of the true scope of this conflict.
She turned back to the group of men who sat around a rustic plank table. “We have captured the mines at Gremurr, gentlemen, and it’s time to launch our death blow while the Curlies are reeling. I’ve already studied our best approach, and I’d like your input on my plan.”
Comdar Torin Rief, leader of the Tierran military, was prepared to offer advice if asked; on either side of Rief sat Subcomdars Hist and Ardan of the army and navy, who held their silence. The comdar pointed out, “Excuse me, Majesty. We might have taken the Gremurr mines, but we lost at Ishalem—again. Don’t forget what happened to Destrar Tavishel’s fleet. All of his ships were destroyed when he sailed to attack Ishalem. The Urecari possess a mysterious fleet we have never seen before, and a new kind of fiery weapon.”
She shook her head. “We don’t know how the Urabans destroyed the Soeland ships so easily, but Destrar Tavishel acted without my knowledge or my orders.” She tried to keep the anger from her voice. “Because of his foolhardy actions, Tierra lost many ships. We are better than this!” Anjine paced the length of the table.
Destrar Shenro from Alamont fidgeted with impatience. “I am ready to ride with the army, Majesty, whenever you decide to move against the Curlies. I can go tomorrow.” He seemed to expect applause for his eagerness.
Jenirod spoke up, “The army won’t be ready tomorrow, Destrar.” He seemed a new man after his grueling ride across Tierra; he had shaved and bathed, eaten and rested—but Anjine sensed that the change went deeper than that. “And if we set off without proper preparation, they will massacre us—like the last time our army tried to breach the wall.”
The knife edge of Anjine’s voice cut off the angry mutters. “We’ve got to do everything right this time. We have to factor in the time it takes to gather all our forces, move them into place, and supply them while our plans take shape. The operation must be well coordinated. It could be our last chance to end this war, once and for all.”
Destrar Unsul, Jenirod’s father, was a man who liked everything planned to the last detail. “Excuse me, my Queen, but perhaps you could tell us more about this new strategy?” He and his son had not seen eye to eye for some time, since his son’s priorities of horse shows and brawny bravado didn’t match his own scholarly interests in agriculture and engineering.
She raised her eyes to the old Saedran scholar. “Sen Leo, shall we have a look at the world?”
Sen Leo na-Hadra began to unroll his largest chart, stretching out his arms until Subcomdar Ardan of the navy had to take the far edge so he could spread the whole map on the table. Anjine leaned over the chart, tracing her finger along the coastline from Calay to Ishalem on the thin isthmus that connected the two continents.
“Ishalem is vulnerable at several points. Even though the wall blocks us from the north, a large enough army could lay siege to it. Meanwhile, the Tierran navy could blockade the Ishalem harbor on the western side of the isthmus. And, if we can time it carefully enough”—she pointed to the rugged pass over the Corag mountains, the newly captured Gremurr mines, and Tierra’s unexpected access to the Middlesea—“Destrar Broeck could sail with his ironclads and strike Ishalem from the unprotected eastern side. We will squeeze them from three sides at the same time, and by the Fishhook, Ishalem will be ours.”
Khalig, the miserable Uraban messenger, sat on the floor against the wall of the lighthouse chamber, his wrists and ankles bound. He groaned out loud. “Why have you brought me here, Queen Anjine? I don’t want to hear your battle plans. I am not part of this war—I’m just a merchant!”
Anjine rounded on him. “You brought my brother’s head to me. You are definitely part of this war.”
“I did only as I was commanded!”
The man had huddled in a dark cell ever since arriving in Calay with his grisly message from Kel Unwar. In her heart, Anjine understood that the messenger was merely a pawn, an innocent…but Tomas had been innocent as well. “Be silent, Khalig, or I will have you gagged.”
The distraught man clamped his lips shut. He squirmed uncomfortably, and his haunted eyes were wide.
Comdar Rief spoke up, approving of the queen’s plan. “This strategy will require a precise schedule. We’ve got to send a message to Gremurr so that Destrar Broeck knows how we expect him to assist the war effort. Our operation will take months to coordinate properly.”
She smiled at them all. “The war has lasted two decades already—I’m willing to invest a few more months.” Noting Destrar Shenro’s eager bloodlust, Jenirod’s unexpected new reticence, and Comdar Rief ’s businesslike determination, she added quietly, “The hearts and backs of the Tierran people cannot bear the weight of this war. We must finish it, and we must win. We will crush the followers of Urec, and when they beg for mercy, we will turn a deaf ear.”
Khalig moaned. “I don’t want to hear this! Why are you telling me?”
“So you understand that your people will be defeated.” Anjine’s voice was like a bludgeon. “I want to extinguish every spark of hope in your heart before you go to your grave.”
The messenger cringed; the bindings at his wrists and ankles were bloody from his struggles.
“It is a small repayment on the debt of justice. You are indeed a messenger, Khalig, but you are not innocent. No Uraban can claim innocence after what your people have done. However, each drop of blood helps to balance the scales.”
She called in Guard-Marshall Vorannen and another guard. The terrified Uraban messenger struggled, begging for mercy, but the guards went about their grim duty without sympathy.
“Alas, we have no prester-marshall to give you final prayers,” Anjine said, “but I don’t suppose the fish will mind.”
She had hoped to feel satisfaction as the two men tossed Khalig off the lighthouse balcony. She didn’t. Sen Leo looked sickened by what he witnessed, but Anjine refused to acknowledge the Saedran’s expression. She turned back to her advisers. “Now then, on with the war.”