Fireblade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Romance (A Dance of Fire and Shadow Book 3)
Fireblade: Chapter 22

A MIGHTY ROAR AND CLASHING of weapons on shields erupts from the massed ranks of the Samarian army. I do my best to keep up the confidence-inspiring sword-waving, staying close to Marin’s side as we ride through the wide avenue left clear for us. The two main cohorts of the military are ranged on either side, Eldrin to the right, regular army to our left. My role is to turn and face the Eldrin detachment surrounding the boundary wall, distracting the warriors’ attention away from Marin, who is facing the opposite direction. His responsibility is to inspire and encourage the much larger contingent of regular military and the loyal dukes and barons who had brought their reinforcements here when Alina first asked them.

I spot Brac for the first time since my return, leading a formidable cohort of Northlander warriors in support of the Eldrin. He dips his head and raises a fist in salute as I pass. Jarl Hagen is riding ten paces behind him. Finding out how that long-standing feud has been resolved or put on temporary hold is going to make an interesting fireside story. When and if both Brac and I make it back from this war in any kind of condition to actually tell stories. I try not to think about my exiled future and the slim chance of even seeing Brac again.

At last we reach the head of the mustering and I let out the long breath I have been holding for the last stretch of this gauntlet. No one has noticed the deception.

How we can maintain it through the heat of tomorrow’s battle I have no idea, but maybe it does not matter. The last few days have convinced me that the whole point of royalty is simply to provide focus and inspiration for times like these, a symbol to rally around in the face of danger and defeat. The real people who happen to be wedged inside this grand display of robes and jewels are irrelevant. So long as we can show confidence and direction, everyone else will follow.

Deris catches up to ride at my flank. He looks worried.

“Jantian sent me. You seem to have lost your Shadowblade protection detail. Do you need more Eldrin as backup?”

Insisting I’ll be fine without them feels reckless but I need to be honest.

“Shadow will be back, as soon as the fighting starts.”

“You sure?”

“He has to. His fate is tied to mine now the binding between us is so close.” I notice the flicker of unease cross Deris’ face, reminding me of his own situation. He has been so stoic and uncomplaining it has been easy to dismiss, to focus on my own problems.

“Deris, I know if we lose this battle, we’ll probably be dead––but if we succeed, Marin and I are not going to wait around until we’re judged too dangerous to be allowed to live. We’re planning to escape. Flee to Annubia, live in exile.” I watch him closely, searching for a response, disapproval.

He doesn’t give much away. “Ariel, please don’t tell me more. Best if I don’t know.”

“Deris, come with us! You’ve done so much to support the war effort, you shouldn’t have to––”

He holds up a hand to stop me, glancing around, checking no one has overheard.

“I can’t, Ariel. I have to stay with the Eldrin and trust that Jantian can help me keep this thing under control. If I run, the searches would go straight to the Elf-havens in the Western Forest. We are already regarded with unease because we’re stronger and faster than humans. Stories about one of us roaming the land as a hunted Blade adept would only make that ten times worse.”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this to you.”

He shakes his head. “No need. I would have died if you hadn’t healed me. At least this way I can be part of the war effort that might save Samaran. And I’m not giving up hope that I can make it through, survive this thing.” He glances back over his shoulder. “I’d best get back to Jantian. And… I know it’s different for you and Marin. Whatever you decide, good luck with it. I won’t say anything to give you away.” He reins in and slows his pace to fall back level with Jantian and the Eldrin cohorts.

I guide the destrier closer to Marin until its flank nudges his mount. He looks round and smiles, and my heart melts. Maybe the sheer aliveness of the communication between us is partly the effect of the transience of this moment, the threat of what is about to happen, but it still leaves me longing for the chance to spend more time with him, whatever the cost.

Apart from placing myself between the Eldrin and their clandestinely repurposed captain, I am not sure that my presence in this charade has much significance now we have made it through the ranks and are riding at the head of the column. Marin’s presence is so magnetic, a charisma and power far beyond the trappings of the scarlet cloak and gilded livery that highlight his appearance from a distance. The captains respect and admire him.

The soldiers love him.

I could feel the resonance of it in the air when the yells and greetings refused to die down as we passed. I glance behind, wondering if we have a chance of surviving this fight, but I feel concerned by the size of the army. Or rather the lack of it. In spite of the efforts of both Marin and Alina to raise numbers, we are too few. Even with my limited experience of large military campaigns, I can see it only too clearly.

“Marin, what happened with the reserves? The ones those last few recalcitrant cowards were meant to bring? I thought you were hoping for more than this.”

“Another three days and it might have made a difference but we had no choice. Another traitor has been outed, but too late to avoid the damage he has already inflicted.”

“How long have you known?”

“I suspected for a while that there was one somewhere, but only certain of who it was since yesterday evening. The loyal dukes of Winterpeak, Battlestone and Wolfhame answered our call a few days ago and their warriors have been arriving in separate cohorts. The Blackthorn contingent was already with us, setting up the camp. Those reserves ride on our flank, with the regular army holding the central ground and the Eldrin on the opposite wing.”

“What about the four from the coward-collection, the ones that Alina had to command because persuasion wasn’t working as it did with the others?”

“If it turns into a long struggle of attrition, the hawk-messages suggest that some of their reserves will reach us in maybe two days.”

“Too late if we get pushed back too soon. What about the traitor?”

“Jantian dispatched one of the Eldrin to accompany each duke back to his own estate, watching carefully as they sent their only permitted hawk-message to inform Blackthorn of likely numbers to expect.”

“Don’t tell me. One message didn’t arrive?”

“Seems that Lord Gullin of Yarkfold already had close connections with General Dragar. Instead of sending his hawk to us, he managed to use it to contact the Rapathians, telling Dragar that the new King was being crowned at Blackthorn and was mustering an army to defend Samaran. We heard from our scouts this morning that Dragar has already turned his legions north, diverting from his route to Maratic to intercept us instead.”

I must be gaining a better understanding of strategy because the logic of this is only too clear.

“He wants to make sure the rest of our reserve troops can’t reach us in time. He thinks he can defeat us and then continue with his original mission to take possession of Maratic.”

That explains Deris’ anxious hustling to get started. Marin needs to move the focus of attack away from where Tandarion and Sarinder are still hidden.

“So… where will the battle take place tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow.”

“That’s a relief. When?”

“We intercept Dragar’s army in less than two hours.”

“Hell’s gates! When were you going to share that small but essential scrap of information?”

“About now. Would have been sooner if you hadn’t been diverted by dealing with forest fires.”

I don’t want to say anything discouraging but rushed plans so often lead to mistakes. And with the numbers against us…

“Is that what you and Jantian were discussing while I was being scrubbed and wrapped in all this finery?”

He tries to make light of it, sweeping his eyes over my newly transformed appearance. “I think the time spent on your presentation was twice as valuable as my efforts at battle-planning. You look incredible. Beautiful, radiant, a beacon of hope for an entire army to follow, to whatever end––”

“Marin, stop! Much as I love it when you apply flattery, I can tell when you’re avoiding my questions. I am now twice as suspicious as I was a minute ago.”

He doesn’t reply for a few moments.

“I need more time to work out how to tell you this because I know you’re going to try to stop me.”

“Forget the careful presentation. Get on with it.”

He makes a determined effort to look me in the eye as he speaks, slowly and carefully.

“Jantian knows you have to fight alongside the Shadowblade. You gave your word and in any case Shadow is able to protect you better than anyone else. Zandar is more powerful but his motivation is not focused on keeping you alive. So there has been a change of plan.”

That simply raises more questions. “Why didn’t Jantian share his plans with me?

“Same reason. He thinks you’ll refuse. I’m supposed to replace a way to persuade you. Remember, we are hopelessly outnumbered. Before I imprisoned him, Tandarion gave his royal seal to the alliance with the Khalim, but if you count the days it would take for the messenger to return the document to Annubia, their fighters cannot possibly get back here and reach us in time to help.”

“So?”

“We already have Annubia’s greatest weapon here with us. Jantian showed me the bloodline discovery he made in the Eldaran archives. He thinks it means I should be able to handle Zandar. Bring him to the battle in support of our military.”

“No!” I’m horrified at the very idea. Images of Marin’s charred corpse are already burning their way into my imagination. “There are so many things wrong with that disaster of a plan, I don’t even know where to start!” I glance behind, trying to locate where Jantian is riding with the Eldrin, determined to seek him out and tell him exactly what I think of his lethal strategy.

“Ariel, your previous experience is crucial. Everything and anything you can tell me will help me to get it right.”

“The way to get it right is to not try it! First, this Elemental has had very little engaged interaction with humans. Which means he is refreshingly free of any form of vindictiveness––but it also means he is wild and untamed and can destroy indiscriminately. Which he has already done, in our previous battle. It was… devastating.”

I glance across at Marin as we ride, hoping I have convinced him but no, he is simply waiting for more information.

“Marin, the only safeguard is Zandar’s oath to Nissanda centuries ago, when he swore never to harm Annubians and to protect them from their enemies. Beyond that, his instincts are all dragonlore, which is about as discerning as a wildfire. This morning he just burned half the forest and an entire village a few miles to the north of Blackthorn. Five only know what he might do to our army.”

“So tell me how to control him.”

“I don’t know how! Even if I really am a direct descendant of Nissanda, I can tell you that I have very little influence on Zandar. And what makes you think you’ll even survive the initiation? The two Mage bloodlines may have abilities in common but Nissanda’s line didn’t help me much when it came to coping with Shadowblade power. You can’t have forgotten the early disasters I created when it went beyond anything I could deal with? There is no guarantee that an heir of Valara would have any immunity or affinity when it comes to the kind of fire Zandar can throw at you.”

“Ariel, I have to do this. Put your focus on replaceing something that will help, because you won’t stop me from trying.”

“Why are you so determined? When Jantian showed me the scroll with the drawing of Nissanda, it seemed like he might be looking at ways I could survive my fate as a Blade adept. I thought it might mean you had a reprieve as well. This is hardly a reprieve.”

“All I know is that Jantian has been discovering fragments of new information but he doesn’t want to say more until he has discovered the rest of the hidden archives and he can be sure. The point is, without Zandar we will be defeated as surely as when the invaders first landed on our shores. The Rapathians have captured all Samaran’s resources. They have food, spare weapons, horses and equipment. They have had time to rest and train and prepare. Jantian has looked at every possible way through the disadvantage and this is the best chance we have.”

“I don’t want you to die.”

The smile he gives me breaks my heart.

“Face it Ariel, a few days either way, what’s the difference?”

He’s right. I haven’t been facing it. Easier to leave that part of the future blank, to only think about the other strands unfolding so rapidly around us. Trying to nurture a wild hope that we could somehow escape the consequences of becoming the fearsome weapons we are now. Our chances of disappearing unnoticed at the end of this battle are slim indeed. Too many eyes on us, too many soldiers watching us, desperate for reassurance and leadership, too little time for us to get away before Tandarion’s presence is revealed to the returning army.

Does it really make a difference if Marin is burned to ashes by dragonfire, or killed in battle, or executed for treason…

And then I see the answer. It makes a difference to him. He would rather die trying to save his people than risk being marked a traitor to his country.

How could I be so blind?

“Of course I’ll help you. Just tell me what you need.”

He takes my sudden reversal at face value.

“How far ahead do we have to ride to be sure this flying inferno doesn’t scare the horses––or the rest of the army?”

I stare ahead into the distance. “If we reach the far side of those low hills it should be enough.”

He turns to give a brief signal to Jantian before spurring his horse to a gallop. I follow, urging the stallion forward yet letting him free to run at his own speed over rough ground and sharp incline, knowing that if I check his pace he’ll stumble and slow down. Marin reins in at the summit of the low ridge and looks down, casting an experienced eye over the wide sweep of flat plain beyond.

“This is where we will face them, using the slope to our advantage.” He dismounts and tethers the destrier to a stunted tree before following me over the crest and down the other side, just far enough that the hilltop will conceal an approaching dragon from the Samarian cavalry following in our footsteps.

“Now, Ariel. Call Zandar now.”