Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“I hear and obey, Majesty,” he replied softly, “as long as you promise to do the same.” He stepped back and gave her a little push toward the door. “Come sit by the fire. You’ll only brood in here.”

Most of the Companions were sharing cloaks with their squires to keep warm. She longed to do the same, and would not have thought twice about it in times past. Still warm from his kiss, she felt too self-conscious in front of the others.

Hain, Lord Malkanus, and Eyoli were with them.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“Kaulin is working with the healers,” Eyoli replied. “Arkoniel and Saruel are still looking for signs of the Aurënfaie ships.”

Barieus was dozing on Lutha’s shoulder. He stirred, then let out a hoarse cough and sat up, blinking like an owl.

“Are you feverish?” asked Tamír.

“No,” Barieus replied a bit too quickly, and then coughed again.

“There’s a grippe spreading among the ranks,” said Nikides. “The few drysians we have are hard-pressed.”

“I’ve heard muttering that it’s some illness put on us by the hill folk,” Una said.

“Typical!” scoffed Ki.

Tamír looked out at the watch fires again. Too many nights in the rain and too little food. If we lose tomorrow, we may not be strong enough to fight again .

A freshening breeze signaled the coming dawn, but the sun stayed hidden behind banks of dark clouds.

Tamír gathered her wizards, marshals, and their captains and made a final sacrifice. Arkoniel joined them. There was still no sign of the ’faie.

Everyone sprinkled the dregs of their wineskins on the ground and threw wax horses and other offerings into the fire. Tamír added a handful of owl feathers and a large packet of incense Imonus had given her.

“Illior, if it is your will that I rule, give us victory today,” she prayed, as the sweet smoke billowed up.

When the prayers were finished, Tamír looked around at their haggard faces. Some of these, like Duke Nyanis and the Alestun men, had known her since childhood. Others, like Grannia, had followed her for a few short months, but in every face she saw the same determination.

“Don’t you fret, Majesty,” Jorvai said, misreading her concern. “We know the ground, and you’ve got the gods on your side.”

“With your permission, Majesty, my wizards and I have prepared a few spells to help protect you today,” said Arkoniel. “That is, if you don’t think it will be breaking your word to Korin.”

“I promised not to use magic directly against him. I don’t think this counts, do you? Go on.”

The wizards went to each marshal and Companion, casting spells to secure their armor and quell the hunger gnawing at every belly. They did the same for the captains.

Arkoniel came to Tamír and raised his wand, but she shook her head. “I have all the protection I need. Save your strength for the others.”

“As you wish.”

Tamír turned to her marshals. “It’s time.”

“Give us the order, Majesty,” Nyanis said.

“Give no quarter unless they surrender outright. Victory or death, my lords!”

Manies loosed her banner and shook it out to catch the breeze as the cry was taken up. Her trumpeter gave a short, muted call and the signal went out to all the others.

Arkoniel embraced her, then held her at arm’s length, as if he wanted to memorize her face. “This is the moment you were born for. Illior’s luck be with you, and Sakor’s fire.”

“Don’t look so grim,” she chided. “If the gods truly want a queen, then what is there to fear?”

“What indeed?” Arkoniel said, trying to smile.

Ki embraced him next and whispered, “If things go wrong, I don’t give a shit for Korin and his honor. You do something!”

Torn, Arkoniel could only hug him back.

Like a great beast waking, Tamír’s army coalesced and moved up to their initial positions, the ranks bristling with spears and pole arms. No one spoke, but the clink and rustle of armor, the rattle of thousands of shafts in hundreds of quivers, and the step of thousands of feet on damp grass filled the air.

Tamír and the Companions shouldered their shields and bows and walked up to the center of the forward line. Their horses were left behind with the young boys of the camp; they would fight on foot at first.

The fog slunk around their feet in tattered shreds as the two main wings formed up. It hung in the nearby trees like smoke as the standards were unfurled on their long poles.

Tamír and her guard had the center, with a company of Atyion archers on either side and three companies of men-at-arms just behind. Kyman had the left flank, with the cliff on their left. Nyanis’ wing stretched to the trees. Both wings had blocks of archers on the outside and men-at-arms toward the center, bracketing Tamír’s archers. Jorvai’s fighters formed the reserve wing, to the rear, but his archers would send their shafts over the heads of those in front of them.

Each marshal had his banner, and each captain. Once battle was joined, each company would rally to their own standard, to move as one in the inevitable noise and confusion.

Tamír’s front line was just out of bowshot range of the hill. They could hear the sounds of Korin’s army approaching.

“Archers. Set stakes,” she ordered, and the captains passed it on down both sides of the line.

Half the archers in each company set their pointed stakes into the ground at an angle facing the enemy. It formed the “hedgehog,” a widely spaced hedge of sharp points hidden among their ranks like quills in fur.

They were still busy putting the last deadly touches to the points when a cry went up from the rear ranks.

“We’re being flanked! Tell the queen, we’re being outflanked!”

“Hold your positions,” Tamír shouted, then started for the rear.

“Damn it, he must have moved people through the forest,” Ki said, following as Tamír shouldered her way back through the lines.

The mist had thinned. They could see the dark mass of an army approaching, preceded by four riders coming on at a gallop.

“Could be heralds,” said Ki. He and Lutha stepped in front of her to cover her with their shields nonetheless.

As the riders drew closer, however, she recognized the foremost. It was Arkoniel, and he was waving and shouting. She didn’t recognize the others, but saw that they were armed.

“Let them come,” she ordered, seeing that some of the archers were nocking shafts to their strings.

“They’ve arrived!” Arkoniel shouted, reining in. “The Aurënfaie. They’re here!”

The other riders with him swept off their helms. It was Solun of Bôkthersa and Arengil, together with an older man.

The stranger bowed in the saddle. “Greetings, Queen Tamír. I am Hiril í Saris, of Gedre. I have command of the Gedre archers.”

“I have a company from Bôkthersa. Forgive us for coming so late,” said Solun. “The Gedre ships stopped for us, then we had foul weather on the crossing.”

“It threw us off course. We landed down the coast from your harbor yesterday,” Hiril explained.

“We’ve brought you food and wine, and two hundred archers from each clan,” said Arengil. He took a small scroll from inside his tabard and handed it down to her with a proud grin. “And I have the permission of my father and mother to become a Companion, Queen Tamír, if you’ll still have me?”

“Gladly, but for today, I think it would be better if you stand with your own people.”

Arengil looked a bit crestfallen at that, but he pressed his hand to his heart, Skalan style.

Tamír quickly explained her plan to Solun and Hiril and had them position their archers in the center of the third rank.