Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Tamír drew her sword and held it up before the others. “I mean to trade this blade for the Sword of Ghërilain tomorrow. Herald, tell Prince Korin that I will meet him at dawn and prove my claim.”

The man bowed and strode off for his horse.

Tamír looked around at the others again. “Tell my people to rest if they can and to make offerings to Sakor and Illior.”

As they saluted and went their separate ways, she leaned over to Ki and muttered, “And pray to Astellus to bring us those damn Gedre ships!”

Saruel and Malkanus drew Arkoniel away from the watch fire to speak privately.

“You don’t really mean for us to stand idly by, do you?” the Khatme asked in disbelief.

“You heard what she said. We serve at the queen’s pleasure. I can’t thwart her in this, no matter how I feel. The Third Orëska must have her trust. We can’t use magic against Korin.”

“Unless he does so against Tamír. That’s how I understood her,” said Malkanus.

“Perhaps,” Arkoniel agreed. “But even so, as she pointed out, we don’t have the power to do more than cause a momentary disruption.”

“Speak for yourself,” Saruel muttered darkly.

The foot and baggage train arrived at nightfall, and Korin ordered wine to be distributed among the men.

He feasted with his generals and Companions that night around a warm fire, sharing bread brought down from the north and roasted venison and grouse as they laid out their strategy.

“It’s as we thought,” Porion told him. “Tobin lacks a decent cavalry. With your stronger force, you should be able to break their lines and overwhelm them.”

“We’ll scatter them like a flock of chickens,” Alben vowed, saluting Korin with his mazer.

Korin took a long sip from his own, trying to numb the fear lurking deep in his heart. It had been the same in Ero, but he’d imagined that somehow this time would be different. It wasn’t. His bowels went loose at the thought of charging down that hill, and he kept both hands tight around his mazer when he wasn’t drinking, to quell the tremor there. Now that the moment was at hand, memories of his shameful failures ate at him, threatening to unman him once again. The bold certainty of Tobin’s message had scorched his pride.

For the first time in a very long time, he could not drive away the memory of that night in Ero, when his father, lying wounded as the battle worsened, had called on Tobin, not his own son—put his confidence in that raw boy rather than him. That had been the proof of what Korin had always suspected, and his father’s cold refusal to give him command when Tobin was gone had set the seal on his shame for all to see.

His father had died, the best generals had fallen, and there had been nothing left to do but put his trust in Niryn and flee, leaving Tobin to triumph once again.

Once he might have confided his thoughts to Caliel, but his friend was silent and pale, and Korin had seen genuine pain in his eyes as Tobin’s message was given.

As they retired for the night, he paused, drawing Caliel away from the others. “Niryn wasn’t completely wrong about you, was he? You still love Tobin.”

Caliel nodded slowly. “But my love for you is greater.”

“And if you meet him on the field?”

“I will fight for you against anyone,” Caliel replied, and Korin heard the truth in his voice. It cut like a knife with the memory of Cal’s bloody back.

He retired with only Tanil for company, and the boy fell into an exhausted sleep almost at once. Korin wondered how he could convince him to stay behind tomorrow. He was in no condition to fight.

The only comfort left to him was wine. Only that took the shame and fear away, or at least drowned them in numbing warmth. He would not allow himself to be drunk, though. He was an experienced enough drinker to know how much it took to keep the fear at bay.

Tamír and her army spent an uneasy night on the plain.

Fog rolled in off the sea again, so thick it blotted out the moon and made it hard to see from one watch fire to another. Eyoli crept down through the forest from Korin’s camp, having survived among the army long enough to travel back with them. He brought not only dire confirmation of the numbers on Korin’s side but word that Caliel and Tanil both planned to fight.

“Tanil can’t be strong enough yet,” Ki muttered.

But Lutha exchanged a sad, knowing look with Tamír. Only death would keep Tanil from Korin’s side now.

Rolled in her damp blankets, Tamír tossed fitfully, caught in vague dreams of the rocky place in her vision. It was foggy there, too, and she could make out dark forms moving around her, but not who they were. She woke with a start and tried to sit up, only to find Brother straddling her, holding her down with one icy hand wrapped around her throat.

Sister , he hissed, leering down into her face. My sister with a true name . The pressure on her throat increased. You who would not avenge me .

“I sent her away!” Tamír gasped.

Through a haze of dancing colored stars she saw that he was naked, gaunt, and dirty, his hair a tangled mass around his face. The scar on his chest was still an open wound. She could feel the cold blood dripping on her belly, soaking through her shirt to chill her skin.

He ran an icy finger over the scar on her chest. I will be with you today. I will not be denied .

He disappeared and she struggled up, gasping for breath and shaking all over. “No!” she croaked, rubbing her throat. “I’ll fight my own battles, damn you.”

A shadow crossed the tent flap and Ki ducked in. “Did you call?”

“No, just—just a bad dream,” she whispered.

He knelt beside her and stroked the hair back from her brow. “Are you coming down sick? There’s fever in the camp.”

“No, it’s just this damn fog. I hope it clears for tomorrow.” She hesitated, then confessed, “Brother was here.”

“What did he want?”

“The same. And he said he’d be with me today.”

“He’s helped you before.”

She gave him a sour look. “When it suited him. I don’t want his help. This is my battle.”

“Do you think he might go after Korin, like he did Lord Orun?”

Tamír searched the shadows for the demon. The memory of Orun’s death still sickened her.

“Korin is Erius’ son, after all, and he’s in your place.”

“He didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Brother and me.” She threw back the blankets and reached for her sweat-stained tunic. “I might as well get up. Do you want to sleep for a while?”

“I couldn’t if I tried. I managed to find this, though.” He pulled a slack wineskin from his belt and shook it, sloshing the scant contents. “It’s wretched stuff, but it’ll warm you.”

She took a long pull and grimaced. It had been too long in the skin, but it dulled the hunger pangs a little.

She went to the open flap and gazed out at the sea of watch fires beyond. “We have to win, Ki. I wore them out, trekking over the mountains, and now they’ve all got empty bellies. By the Flame, I hope I didn’t make a mistake, dragging them here.”

He stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder. “Korin may have more men, but we have more to lose. Every man and woman out there tonight knows we have to win or die trying.” He grinned again. “And I know which I’d prefer.”

Tamír turned, pushed him a step back into the tent, and kissed him awkwardly on his unshaven cheek. His skin was rough, and left the taste of salt on her lips. “Don’t die. That’s my order to you.”

She tightened her arms around his waist as their lips met again, overcome by pleasurable warmth that had nothing to do with bad wine. It almost felt natural now, kissing him.