Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“But are we winning? Are we losing?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”

Frequently he heard Jerril’s voice in his head, strangely composed, conveying information from Romar to Amalie. Once he received an urgent but shaky message from the mystic assigned to Kiernan Brassenthwaite, sending an alarm about a flanking maneuver that was allowing enemy soldiers to breach a thin line of defense. Cammon didn’t know how to respond, so he broadcast the cry for help to all the Riders. He felt Justin and Tayse charge through the clashing ranks of soldiers and instantly engage.

He got no more pleas from Kiernan Brassenthwaite.

“What’s happening now?” Amalie asked a few minutes later.

“Riders have redeployed on the-the north side, I think. Holding the line there.”

“Where’s Senneth?”

He pointed. “There’s another spout of fire.”

Senneth’s day had been as rough and disjointed as Cammon’s. He could feel her frustration, her exhaustion, and her fury, all rolled into a hot ball of magic. She had known that her form of sorcery would only work intermittently on this particular foe, but he could tell she had hoped to have more success. Almost certainly in a move to thwart her, the Arberharst men had been strategically interwoven with the Gisseltess and Fortunalt forces; their imperviousness to magic had made it very hard for her mystic fires to take hold. Early in the battle, she had conjured up a line of flame right through the middle of the oncoming enemies, and that had caused turmoil for a short time. Yet somehow the Arberharst men were able to put the fire out, or hold the fire back-they created portals in the conflagration that allowed Gillengaria soldiers to pour through. So she let that fire die down, studied her ground, and flung up another one a half acre away.

Again, it was effective only briefly; again, the imported soldiers were able to beat it back just enough to open safe passage for native men.

She didn’t give up, though. Circling dangerously close to the front lines, she continued to fling fire randomly into the ranks of soldiers. Twice she was able to locate supply wagons that held only domestic grains and rations, and these she sent burning to the ground. More than once she isolated pockets of Fortunalt men, or Storian soldiers, and surrounded them with walls of weaving fire; many went screaming to their deaths.

But the effort was immense, and Cammon could feel her losing energy and strength as the awful day progressed. She could sustain a single fire for hours, but she was not used to having to call up fresh flames over and over. Cammon almost thought that she felt every stamping foot, every suffocating hand, as the Arberharst soldiers doused her fires. For her, it was a battle as physical and draining as a duel with swords.

“Where’s Donnal? Where’s Kirra?” Amalie wanted to know.

“At the back of the enemy army. They’re taking out men one by one. Kirra’s a lioness. Donnal’s a wolf. They’ve backed off a little, though-someone must have spotted them. That means someone’s defending the rear of the army.”

Both of them glanced at the raelynx, sitting at the edge of the pavilion in an alert position. Its narrow red face pointed straight toward the battle; its expressive tail slowly twitched from side to side.

“I’m afraid to let him loose,” Amalie said softly. “I’m not sure he can tell who is protecting me and who is endangering me. And I can’t direct him from this far away.”

“I think your uncle would prefer that you keep him beside you,” Cammon said. “In case any enemies break through and get close.”

She nodded, but she looked haunted. If enemies drew that close, they had surely lost already.

“Where are the Lirren men? Can you tell?”

That made him smile. “No! But about half an hour ago, I felt this-this outpouring of terror and surprise from a troop of Fortunalt men. I think the Lirren contingent had crept around to one side of the attacking army and just began slaughtering soldiers. No one saw them coming.” His smile faded, for emotions in that particular skirmish had been so strong that he had felt almost every blade and blow. “They killed a lot of men.”

Amalie’s face tightened. “Good.” Then she turned away and swung herself back up into the mare’s saddle.

There was no need to ask where Ellynor was. They had set up a hospital of sorts off to one side, and it was staffed by Ellynor, Valri, and a couple of the Carrebos mystics. Any wounded soldiers whole enough to move had staggered back there as the day wore on, and Ellynor had called upon her midnight goddess to help her heal them. Another few dozen, closer to dead, had been carried back by their bloodied comrades. Hundreds more still lay in the trampled fields, because no one could reach them, or because no one had time to drag them to shelter.

“I can’t see anything,” Amalie said impatiently, and slid out of the saddle. “What’s happening now?”

That was how the entire day went.

THEYconvened in Amalie’s pavilion that night, when it was too dark to fight, when both armies had withdrawn to count their losses, see to their wounded, and revise their strategies. Cammon thought “pavilion” was a grand word for a rather large tent erected over a raised wooden floor. There was a low bed, a washstand, a brazier, a few tall stools, and a pile of rugs on the floor to blunt the chill from the ground. Still, on the battlefield, this space constituted civilization, and so here they gathered: Tayse, Justin, Senneth, Valri, Kiernan, Romar, and Romar’s captain, Colton.

“Could have gone worse,” was Kiernan’s terse assessment.

“Could have gone better,” Romar shot back. “We lost a platoon of men in that flanking maneuver!”

Kiernan shrugged. “Would have lost half the camp if we hadn’t been able to communicate.” He nodded in Cammon’s direction. “Mark my words, that boy’s going to keep us in this game no matter what the odds.”

“What were our losses?” Amalie asked.

Colton reeled them off. Hundreds dead, more wounded. Cammon saw Amalie flinch at the totals.

“Brassenthwaite suffered the heaviest casualties,” Romar said. “So tomorrow we redistribute the forces. I will put some Merrenstow soldiers under your command.”

“Let’s discuss strategy,” Tayse said. “Can we expect a similar straightforward assault tomorrow as well, or do you think they’ll try a different approach?”

“I’d guess they’ll come at us straight on for another few days,” Kiernan said coolly. “Wear us down first through sheer numbers. When we’re weary and whittled down, then they’ll try new tactics.”

“I agree,” Romar said. “I expect our approach tomorrow should be much as it was today. Form a line, hold fast, and disrupt them where we can.”

Kiernan nodded at his sister. Senneth had taken a seat on the floor and leaned her head against the low mattress. Cammon could feel the pain in her skull as if it was inside his own. “Can you perform more of the same tricks tomorrow?” Kiernan asked her. “I don’t know how many days in a row mystics can call on their magic.”

“I can,” Senneth said, her voice hollow. “But I am disappointed to have had so little effect.”

“Well, you had a lot of effect as far as I could tell,” Justin answered. “I just looked for your flames and then I led a charge in. The other soldiers were so confused by the fire that we were able to cut down a dozen with hardly a fight.”

“What heartening news,” Senneth said. Cammon could read the struggle going on in her head. I am using my magic to kill men, something I never wanted to do. But how can I let Halchon Gisseltess usurp Amalie’s throne? Not as coherent as that.