— 55 —

Fifteen hundred warriors seemed like a great force to Tobin as they rode out from Atyion that day. Ki and Lynx rode at her left, resplendent in their borrowed armor. Arkoniel looked awkward and uncomfortable in his mail shirt and steel cap, but Tharin had insisted. The priests who’d seen her transformation rode with them to bear witness in Ero. Captain Grannia and forty of her warriors rode proudly in the vanguard in front of them. Most were Nari’s age or Cook’s and had grey braids down their backs. They sang war songs as they rode, and their brave, clear voices sent a thrill through Tobin.

Tharin was her war marshal now, and introduced the other captains as they rode. Tobin knew some of them from previous visits. These men had all fought for her father and readily pledged themselves to her a second time, despite the strangeness of the situation.

Before they left the borders of Atyion, hundreds more from the southern steadings streamed out to join them—grizzled knights, farmers’ sons with polearms on their shoulders, and more women and girls, some still in skirts. Grannia sorted the women out, sending some back into the ranks and others home.

“I wish there’d been time to get word to Ahra,” Ki said, nodding at the women. “She and Una would want to be with you.”

“News of Ero must have traveled,” said Tharin. “I expect we’ll meet up with them sooner or later.”

They overtook other groups of warriors on their way to the city, alerted by Tobin’s northbound passage the previous day. They addressed her as Prince Tobin and no one disabused them of it.

Most of the bands were village militias, but just before sundown they were overtaken by Lord Kyman of Ilear, who had five hundred archers and two hundred mounted warriors at his command.

Kyman was a huge, red-bearded old lord, and his scabbard showed the scars of many campaigns. He dismounted and saluted Tobin. “I knew your father well, my prince. It’s an honor to serve his son.”

Tobin bowed, muttering her thanks. Arkoniel gave her a wink, then drew Kyman aside for a moment. Tharin and the priests joined them and Tobin saw the priestess of Illior display her palm, as if for emphasis.

“I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone?” Tobin muttered nervously.

“It’s no good lying to the lords,” said Ki. “Looks like he and Tharin are old friends, though. That’s a good start.”

When Arkoniel and Tharin had finished Kyman turned and stared at Tobin a moment, then strode over and looked up into her face, which was somewhat obscured by her helmet. “Is this true?”

“It is, my lord,” she replied. “But I’m still Scion of Atyion and my father’s child. Will you fight with me for Skala’s sake, though sooner or later it may mean opposing the king?”

The man’s coppery brows shot up. “You haven’t heard, then? The king is dead. Prince Korin holds the Sword.”

Tobin’s heart sank; she’d clung to the hope that she wouldn’t have to oppose Korin and the other Companions directly. There was no escaping it now.

“Your claim to the throne is as good as his for those who remember the Oracle,” Kyman told her. “We’ve heard of you, you know. There’ve been rumors for years among the country folk of a queen who’d come and lift the curse from the land. But I didn’t think there were any girls of the blood left.” He jerked a thumb at Arkoniel and the priests. “It’s a strange tale they tell, but there’s no mistaking you as your father’s blood. And I don’t imagine you’d have the might of Atyion behind you, or my old friend Tharin either, if they didn’t have good reason to believe you are what they say.”

He dropped to one knee and presented his sword. “So my answer is yes. Let Ilear be the first to rally to your banner, Majesty.”

Tobin accepted the blade and touched him on the shoulders as Erius had with Ki. “I don’t claim the title of queen yet, but I accept, for Skala’s sake, and Illior’s.”

He kissed the blade and took it back. “Thank you, Highness. I pray you’ll remember Ilear and the house of Kyman kindly when you do wear the crown.”

They stopped at sundown to eat and rest the horses, then marched on. A waxing moon peered out from behind scudding clouds, turning the muddy high road into a ribbon of black before them.

By midnight they could see a faint red glow in the southern sky above the black outlines of the hills; the city was still burning. Tharin sent a scouting party ahead to find the enemy’s outlying posts. Among the ranks people were singing softly to keep themselves awake.

Weary as she was, Tobin’s mind grew clearer as the night wore on. With an odd, dreamlike sense of detachment, she felt herself settling into this strange new body. Her arms and legs were no different, except for the annoying softness of her hands. Lytia had given her gloves for that. Her breasts, though small, had grown tender, and she was aware of them rubbing against the padded shirt under her hauberk.

The different fit of the saddle beneath her was the most disturbing change, not to mention the inconvenience of both trousers and a newfound modesty when she had to relieve herself. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to examine that part of her body too closely. She resented not being able to take a piss properly, but all the same, it should have felt more like something was—lacking, that empty space in her trousers. Yet it didn’t.

Arkoniel and Tharin treated her no differently than they ever had, and Ki was trying, but Lynx was still stealing sidelong glances. It was unsettling, but a good sign, in its way. It was the first time since Orneus’ death that she’d seen him show interest in anything except getting himself killed.

Motioning for Ki to stay behind, she drew Lynx away from the main column.

“If you’ve changed your mind—If you can’t go against Korin, I’ll understand,” she told him again. “If you want to go back to him, I won’t let anyone stop you.”

Lynx shrugged. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. I wonder what Nik and Lutha will do?”

“I don’t know.” But inwardly she quailed at the thought of her friends turning away.

Niryn strode across the echoing audience chamber to the throne accompanied by half a dozen of his remaining wizards and a phalanx of his Guard. A pigeon had come from Atyion just before nightfall bringing news of support, and the defenders had rallied.

Niryn had received word from his own spies there and meant to undo that slight hope.

Defeat sat heavily on the prince. Drawn and unshaven, Korin sat uneasily on his father’s throne. He held the great Sword, but the crown remained on a small stand beside him, veiled in black. Chancellor Hylus and the other remaining ministers were with him, together with the tattered remains of his personal guard and Companions.

Niryn counted only eight Companions where there had once been nineteen. Sheltered as they had been at court all these years, they were no longer boys. He scanned their faces, making a quick evaluation. Alben and Urmanis would prove loyal. So would Lord Caliel, though this one was an unwelcome influence on the new king; Niryn marked him to be dealt with later. That left only Hylus’ bookish grandson, the homely one called Lutha, and a handful of squires who could be counted on, for good or ill, to follow their lords.

And Master Porion, he amended. The old warrior had some influence over the prince, as well, and would bear watching.

Reaching the dais, he bowed to Korin. “I bring grave news, Majesty! You have been betrayed.”

Hectic color rose in Korin’s pale cheeks. “What’s happened? Who’s turned on us?”

“Your cousin, and by the foulest of means.” Niryn watched the play of doubt and fear across the young man’s face. Touching his mind, Niryn found it wine-tinged, weak, and receptive. Others among his Companions were not so ready to believe him, however.

“Tobin would never do that!” Lutha cried.

“Silence!” Hylus ordered. “Explain yourself, Lord Niryn. How can this be?”

“The Lightbearer granted me a vision. I could not bring myself to believe it at first, but I’ve just received word that I saw true. Prince Tobin raised the garrison at Atyion against your liegeman, Solari, and murdered him and his family. He then employed some sort of necromancy to put on woman’s form and declared himself the true heir of Skala by right of the Afran Oracle. Even now he marches against Ero with a host of thousands.”

“What lunacy is this?” Hylus gasped. “Even if the boy was capable of such treachery, the captains of Atyion would never believe such a story, much less side with the enemy! You must be mistaken, Niryn.”

“I assure you, I’m not. Before sunset tomorrow you will see the proof for yourself.”

“No wonder he and that grass knight of his were so anxious to go over the wall,” Alben muttered.

“Shut your mouth!” Lutha flew at the older boy, knocking him sprawling.

“That’s enough!” Porion roared.

Caliel and Nikides wrestled Lutha off Alben and dragged him back.

Alben wiped blood from his mouth, and snarled, “He probably had this planned all along, he and that wizard woman of his. She was always sneaking in and out of his house.”

“Mistress Iya?” Nikides said. “She came and went openly. Besides, she was only a hedge wizard.”

“A bit more than that, perhaps,” said Hylus. “I know the woman, Prince Korin. She is a loyal Skalan, and I would swear by my own name that she is no necromancer.”

“Perhaps Tobin only put on women’s clothes,” Urmanis offered.

“Don’t be a fool!” Lutha cried, still furious. “Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he went mad like his mother,” one of the squires sneered. “He always has been odd.”

“Korin, think!” Caliel pleaded. “You know as well as I do that Tobin isn’t mad. And he’d never betray you.”

Niryn let them argue, marking enemies and allies.

Korin had listened all this time in silence as Niryn’s magic wormed its way deeper into his heart, seeking out all the buried doubts and fears. His faith in Tobin was still too strong, but that would change when he saw the truth.

Niryn bowed again. “I stand by my word, Majesty. Be on your guard.”

Tobin’s scouts returned just before dawn with word of a Plenimaran presence at a horse breeder’s steading a few miles north of the city on the coast road. It appeared to be a prisoner camp, with fewer than a hundred men guarding it.

“We should swing wide around them and cut them off before we attack,” Tharin advised. “The less notice the main force has of us coming, the better for us.”

“Eat the beast in small pieces, eh?” Kyman chuckled.

The scouts outlined the position. The enemy had taken over a large farmstead and had pickets set all around. Tobin could imagine her old teacher Raven sketching it out on the stone floor of the lesson room.

“We don’t need the whole force to take such a small group,” she said. “A hundred mounted warriors in a surprise attack should be enough.”

Captain Grannia had fallen back to hear the report. “Let my company go with them, Highness. It’s been too long since we drew blood.”

“Very well. But I’ll lead the charge.”

“Is that wise?” Arkoniel objected. “If we lost you in the first battle—”

“No, she’s right,” said Tharin. “We’ve asked these warriors to believe a miracle. They’ll lose heart if they think they’re following a hollow figurehead.”

Tobin nodded. “Everyone expected the first Ghërilain to hang back after her father made her queen, let the generals do the fighting for her. But she didn’t, and she won. I’m as much Illior’s queen as she was, and I’m better trained.”

“History repeating itself, eh?” Arkoniel considered this, then leveled a stern finger at Tharin, Ki, and Lynx. “Don’t you leave her side, you hear me? A dead warrior is even less use than a figurehead.”

They swept down on the steading with drawn swords. A low earthen wall surrounded the house, barns, and three stone-and-wattle corrals. Tobin and her warriors rode down the few outlying pickets and cleared the walls, hacking down any defenders who ran to meet them.

It was Tobin’s first mounted fight, but she felt the same inner calm as she hacked down the swordsmen who tried to unhorse her. She fought in silence, but heard Ki and Tharin shouting as they fought beside her, and Grannia’s women screamed like demons. Pale hands waved and gestured over the top of a corral, and Tobin could hear the screams of the captives there.

Lynx rode into the thick of the fight and dismounted.

“No!” Tobin shouted after him, but he was already gone. If he was determined to court death, there was nothing she could do for him.

The Plenimarans fought fiercely, but were outnumbered. Not one was left alive when the battle ended.

Ignoring the dead, Tobin rode to the nearest corral. It was filled with women and children from Ero. They wept and blessed her as she helped tear down the palings of the gate, and crowded around her horse to touch her.

Every Skalan child had heard dark tales of people being carried off to Plenimar as slaves, a practice unheard of in the western lands. Those lucky enough to escape and find their way home brought dark tales of degradation and torment.

A woman clung to Tobin’s ankle, sobbing and pointing toward the barn. “Never mind us! You must help them in the barn. Please, General, in the Maker’s name, help them!”

Tobin dismounted and pushed through the crowd and ran to the open barn door with Ki at her heels. A fallen torch smoldered in a pile of hay, and what they saw in that smoky light froze them in their tracks.

Eighteen naked, bloody men stood against the far wall, arms held over their head as if in surrender. Most had had their bellies slashed open; intestines spilled down around their feet like ropes of grisly sausage.

“Tharin!” she shouted, picking up the torch and stamping out the burning hay. “Tharin, Grannia, get in here. Bring help!”

Lynx came up, then staggered back, retching.

Tobin and the others had heard dark tales of what Plenimarans did with captured warriors. Now they saw it for themselves. The men had been beaten, then stripped, and their hands pulled over their heads and nailed in place through the wrists. The Skalan attack must have interrupted the enemy at their sport, for three had not yet been disemboweled. To Tobin’s horror, a number of those who had been were still alive, and began to struggle and cry out at her approach.

“Lynx, go for healers,” Tobin ordered.

Tharin had come in, and caught Lynx by the arm as he turned to obey. “Wait a moment. Let me have a look first.”

Tharin let go of Lynx and drew Tobin close, speaking low into her ear as other soldiers crowded in at the door. “These that are cut open? Not even a drysian could put them right and it can take days to die.”

Tobin read the truth in his friend’s pale eyes and nodded. “We’ll speed them on.”

“Leave it be. They understand, believe me.”

“But not those three who aren’t butchered. We’ve got to get them down. Send someone for tools.”

“Already done.”

One of the three lifted his head at their approach, and Ki groaned. “Oh hell, Tob. That’s Tanil!” The man next to him was alive, as well, but had been castrated. The third was dead or unconscious.

Tobin and Ki went to Tanil and got their arms around him, lifting him to take the weight off his nailed wrists.

Tanil let out a hoarse sob. “Oh gods, it’s you. Help me!”

Grannia and several of her women went to work with farriers’ pliers while others held the wounded men upright. The one who’d been castrated let out a scream as the nails came loose, but Tanil gritted his teeth, lips curled in a silent snarl of pain. Tobin and Ki lowered him to the ground and Lynx threw his cloak over him and cut strips from it to bandage the wounds.

Tanil opened his eyes and looked up at Tobin. She tossed her helm aside and stroked the dark hair back from his brow. He’d been badly beaten, and his eyes were vague.

“Korin?” he panted, eyes wandering from face to face. “I lost him… Stupid! I turned and he was… I have to find him!”

“Korin is safe,” Ki told him. “You’re safe, too. We made it, Tanil. Tobin’s brought Atyion back to save the city. It’s all right, now. Stay still.”

But Tanil didn’t seem to understand. Throwing off the cloak, he struggled weakly to get up. “Korin. I lost him. Got to find…”

A red-haired woman who’d been among the captives knelt by Tobin and touched her arm. “I’ll tend to him, Highness, and the others. This was my farm. I’ve got all I need for them.”

“Thank you.” Tobin stood up and wiped a hand across her mouth. Some of the disembowled men had been taken down and laid out in the hay with cloaks pulled over their faces.

Tharin was dealing with those who still lived. As Tobin watched, he stepped close to one still nailed. He spoke close to the man’s ear and Tobin saw the dying man nod. Tharin kissed him on the brow, then quickly plunged his dagger up under his ribs, into his heart. The man shuddered and went limp. Tharin stepped to the next man.

Tobin turned away, not wanting to see more, and stumbled into a young woman who’d come up behind her. She was dressed in the tattered remains of a silk gown. Sinking to her knees at Tobin’s feet, she mumbled, “Forgive me, Prince Tobin, I only wanted to thank—” She looked up and her eyes went wide.

“I know you, don’t I?” Tobin asked, trying to place her. She seemed familiar, but she’d been beaten, too. Her face was too bruised and swollen to recognize. Someone had bitten her on the shoulder, and the wound was still bleeding.

“I’m Yrena, my—” She started to say “prince” and stopped, still staring.

“Yrena? Oh!” Tobin felt her face go scarlet. “You were—”

The courtesan bowed her head, confusion still plain on her face. “Your birthday gift, Highness.”

Tobin was aware of Ki staring at her as she raised the woman by the hand. “I remember you, and your kindness, too.”

“It’s more than repaid, for the fate you spared me tonight.” Yrena’s eyes filled with tears. “Whatever else I can do, I will.”

“You could help with the wounded,” Tobin replied.

“Of course, Highness.” Yrena took Tobin’s hands in hers and kissed them, then went to help the red-haired woman. Sadly, there was little left to do. Only one other man lay beside Tanil. All the others were dead, and soldiers were singing the dirge.

Tharin was wiping his knife with a rag. “Come away, Tobin,” he said softly. “There’s nothing more to do here.”

A scream rang out beyond the house, then another, followed by shrill Skalan hunting cries.

“We must have missed a few,” said Tharin. “Do you want prisoners taken?”

Tobin looked back at the mutilated Skalans. “No. No prisoners.”