Gail Martin - The Sworn

“Our boats started to disappear last year,” Pashka said in a weather-roughened growl. He had an odd accent, more guttural than the hill country, flatter than the Borderlands. With a start, Tris knew where he had heard such an accent before. It reminded him of the Margolense spoken by ancient vampires, and by the ghost of King Hadenrul. It would seem that the Bay Islands had kept to themselves for a very long time. “First just one or two.” He shrugged. “Such things happen. Fishing is a dangerous business. But it was odd, because there were no storms, and the men who went missing had fished those seas all their lives. They weren’t reckless.

“Then a few more went missing, and our wives took to painting runes and sigils on our boats to protect us. Our hedge witches told us about dark omens, and our seers had dreams about the bodies of long-dead men rising from the ocean.” A pained expression crossed Pashka’s face. “My brother was one of the men who disappeared. Two of my nephews went missing along with him. I don’t believe they drowned.”

“Why not?”

“Because our rune scryers found a warning carved into one of the empty boats.” Pasha’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t carved by our folk. It was in old runes, she said, hard to read.”

“What did it say?”

For the first time, Tris saw a glint of fear in Pashka’s eyes. “It said to beware the cold north wind that raises the dead and buries the living.”

“Pleasant,” Soterius muttered.

Pashka sighed. “That’s not all, m’lord. Been bad omens all summer. You’ve heard of the Spirit Lights, I wager, the curtain of light in the sky far to the north?”

Tris and Soterius nodded.

“Well, there’ve been strange lights to the north, like nothing even the old men have ever seen. The Spirit Lights are cold colors, green and blue and white. These lights look like blood in the clouds. Puts a chill to your bones, it does, to see it. Fearsome as Nameless and the Wild Host. Got so that people stayed indoors after dark, wouldn’t look up, for fear of it.” Pashka paused, as if uncertain whether to go on, and then plowed ahead.

“Then two of our hedge witches went mad, not long after the strange lights began. One of them ran off a cliff, screaming, and drowned herself in the sea. The other set herself on fire.” He shook his head. “Our seers say that they hear voices in their heads, evil voices. They draw runes around their beds to keep the spirits out of their dreams, but they say they can hear the voices singing, screaming, all the time.” His eyes were haunted. “Our healer had to drug one of our seers to make her sleep, it got so bad. Every time she wakes up, she starts screaming again.”

Tris exchanged glances with Soterius and Fallon. “We’ve had similar problems as far inland as Vistimar.”

“Truly?” Pashka said in surprise. “Then you know I didn’t invent this tale.”

“Our mages have felt it, too,” Fallon replied. “Something dark and hungry, just at the edge of the light. Most of them won’t sleep without a lantern lit, and some have gone to sleeping in shifts, so that someone is always awake and watching.”

Pashka leaned forward. “For generations, we Islanders have been happy to be left alone. We don’t bother no one, and no one bothers us. But we know how to fight. Whoever is taking our men, our ships, as far as we’re concerned, they’ve struck the first blow. Nisim says you mean to fight them. If that’s true, we’ll fight beside you.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Thanks to Pashka and the Bay Islanders, we have more than a hundred small boats patrolling in shifts,” Nisim added. “Their boats will be perfect for harassing the enemy fleet, since they’re small and fast. They’ve also agreed to mount a lookout on the highest hill on the island, and if they see foreign ships, they’ll light the bonfire. We’ll be able to see it from here.” Nisim took a deep breath. “We’ve been recruiting from all the coastal towns as well, from the Isencroft border to the Principality border. In addition to Tolya’s privateers and Pashka’s fishermen, there are plenty of small boats that would be perfect for hit-and-run skirmishes, and some larger ships, cargo ships, that should be able to help hold off warships, depending on the size of the Temnotta fleet.”

“Thank you, Nisim,” Tris said. He looked to General Senne and the men next to him. Trefor, leader of the contingent of vayash moru and vyrkin, sat beside Senne, next to General Rallan. “What about the troops?”

Senne nodded. “We have men out on the beach digging trenches and laying snares. If the Temnottans get past the fleet, they won’t just stroll up the beach.” He gave a cold smile. “Wivvers has been doing what he’s best at: inventing things to cause mayhem and panic. We have a few surprises in store.” He glanced at Trefor and Rallan. “Trefor’s working with his troops. A fair number of the vayash moru served with one army or another, depending on when they lived, and for some of them, since they’ve been undead. Fewer of the vyrkin have any soldiering, but he’s getting them organized. We should have his scouts out by nightfall tomorrow, and surveillance from the vayash moru who can fly.”

Tris turned to Fallon and Beyral. “Are the mages ready?”

Fallon and Beyral nodded in agreement. “They’ve been on alert since we left Shekerishet, scanning the road ahead of us and the land around us. We’ve needed to rely more on charms and warding than ever before, because of that hum Talwyn was talking about, but so far, no one’s been damaged by it.”

“And has your magic picked up anything?”

Fallon grimaced. “Yes and no. We’ve got a good variety of mages with us: healers, seers, scryers, and dream seekers, as well as air, land, water, and fire mages. Anyone with any kind of far sight is taking shifts on watch, and Beyral has been reading the omens in a variety of ways. There’s nothing conclusive yet from any of that, but we should be in position to pick up something when it happens.” She paused. “It may be that whoever is behind this knows we’ve raised an army. Maybe they’ve backed off from using magic-as Talwyn said, the Black Robes have stopped their attacks-because they’re getting ready for something.”

“Like a big strike?”

Fallon nodded. “That’s what I think.” She sighed. “We knew it was going to come. I have a mage from each element on watch in shifts. This time, we have enough mages to do that, thank the Lady. It should help us respond faster and to get a warning sooner.”

Fallon met Tris’s eyes. “What of the dead?”

Everyone looked to Tris. “I called to them when we first made camp. I know you chose this spot for the army because it’s been a battleground before.”

Senne nodded. “More than once, and that’s just in Margolan’s history. Given that it’s wide and flat and near the coast, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’ve been battles fought here no one remembers.”

“You’re correct,” Talwyn said. “My magic works differently from Tris’s, but I, too, sense the Ancient Dead here. Not just the Dread and the Nachale in their barrows, but mortal dead, just as ancient, beneath us.”

“I called them and they came,” Tris said. “They called this land home, even before Marlan the Gold claimed it, before it was Margolan. Some of them were Marlan’s troops. Some served Hadenrul, and some fought here before the bards and the scribes began their histories.”

“Will they fight for you? Will they join us?” Senne leaned forward, his eyes alight. Senne had no magic of his own, Tris knew, but after seeing what Tris’s summoning magic was capable of doing at Lochlanimar, Senne had become passionately interested in the military advantage a true summoner could pose.