Hatam-Ile, 7th of Ninthmoon 3045
The low rumbling of thunder blended in with the steady pounding of rain against the roof and the window panes. Hawk lay awake, staring at the hearth with his eyes wide open. Occasionally, a flash of light illuminated the room for less than a heartbeat, until darkness reclaimed its domain and left the cabin’s only inhabitant in the company of the mutely glowing of embers.
It was a night much like all the other nights after their homecoming. Even in his fever-driven delusions, even while anticipating Liqari soldiers to ambush them he’d slept better than he did now. Ren’i had filled the silence between them with his presence, had given it a voice, a shape, warmth. In his absence silence was only silence, and Hawk didn’t know how to shut it out.
That same silence was the reason why he’d moved in the cabin in the first place. He recalled tall sandstone walls, rooms warmed by the baking oven, and underneath his feet the cool floor tiles, smoothed by the decades. It had all been too much after the passing of his parents. Rainveil and Evenfall had died in the same accident that took Ared and Nightsong’s parents, buried under the avalanche of sand and rock together with dozens of others when the slate mine in Om-Var had collapsed on them. Home had ceased to be home that day: they alone could not fill the void four funerals had ripped in it.
One side of the house was now home to Ared, Nightsong and Silverbrook. There had been two houses when their grandparents had moved there, connected by a short corridor their family members used to travel freely between them, two homes in one. Now, bricks had been laid to block the passge, and another family had moved in to inhabite the other side. Hawk had not set foot in the house in more than ten years.
The house did not feel like home. Neither did the cabin, for that matter, but it was good enough. His only companions there were silence and his own thoughts. That night he welcomed neither.
Hawk shook the quilt off himself and sat up. The furs clung to his damp skin despite the cool night. As a lightning flash lit up the room he thought of his restless dreams, of fire, deserts, of Ren’i. He now knew who’d been in the dream with him, to whom it had been guiding him. The thought left his skin tingling and the blood in his veins rushing in ways that burned as hot as the flames in the dream.
Confession. The word burned him from within.
He could not have imagined it would feel like this. Hawk had been in love before, madly, even, yet it didn’t even come close to what confession felt like. Not even with Willow had he ever felt like this. If falling in love was intoxicating, confession was its opposite: corrosive, smouldering pain, as though he’d been forcefully weaned off the air he needed to breathe, and of the water he needed to drink.
Ren’i’s touch, his voice, his presence were the air to his lungs and the water to his lips.
Nightsong had once said that she’d always known she was whole until she met Silverbrook. That with her it took a new shape and a new voice that was part of them both. Hawk thought he now understood what she’d meant. Confession was not just a feeling. It was magic, such ancient magic that it could not be put into words, older than the taivashi gods and the very soil of Melkem itself. It bound together things invisible to the naked eye.
It pulled harder the more he fought it. He’d almost given in when Ren’i had come to him at the elder’s house. He’d been close to it again when Onniar had brought him to the cabin just some hours ago. Had they been alone, just the two of them, without anyone watching…
The memory of Ren’i’s voice by his ear, of his warm breath against the nape of Hawk’s neck, sent heat flooding down to the pit of his stomach. Hawk flopped back down, tore open the front of his trousers with shaking hands, and closed his eyes. His visage burned as he pictured burying his fingers in Ren’i’s hair, pictured Ren’i’s skin against his own and their lips against one another.
”Ren’i,” he breathed to the darkness and found his release thinking about Ren’i’s touch. ”Ren’i, Ren’i, Ren’i.”
The name burned his lips like a prayer.
It should not have been so. Ren’i was taivashi, demon, nameless. Hawk would never feel the touch of his spirit name on his tongue. The thought was a beast mauling a hole in Hawk’s chest and leaving him to bleed out. Demons only had one name, and Ren’i was the crown prince. His name did not belong to Hawk – it belonged to everyone and no one.
The rush of jealousy that took over him filled him with shame. Ren’i was not a belonging he could claim as his, nor did the confession give him any right to demand that, either. Even if it had, Hawk would have done nothing. He knew demons did not confess, did not even know what the word meant, and Ren’i could not feel its pull like he did. It was better for all of them that Hawk waited for him to conclude his work in the Hytherlands and return to the north, blissfully unaware of anything.
Hawk lay awake all night, staring unseeing into nothingness.
Hatam-Ile, 8th of Ninthmoon 3045
Life was theatre, Ren’i thought while watching the rookies at work on the muddy plains. Consul Qel’s orders cut through the air in that echoing voice of his, carrying over the wind and the rain as effortlessly as if he were been standing right by Ren’i’s ear, thanks to the spell bolstering it. As one the soldiers stood in formation, shields poised.
Soldiers were taught to act braver than they felt, to take orders they didn’t necessarily believe in, and to never question anything. They were likes kooris or sheep, Ren’i thought, thinking back on the conversation he’d had with the captain on their southwards march. They acted for their lives, trusting blindly that one’s individual fears meant nothing so long as the herd retained its courage. The higher one’s standing, the more desperately you had to act and believe in your own performance, for it was the only thing that would keep you alive until the next sunrise.
Oerei had raised Ren’i gently but firmly, teaching him the importance of pretending from the ground up. He was a politician, whereas his brother Chuja was a performer. It was a common topic for gossip that the two brothers differed like night from day, but Ren’i knew them and thought the opposite.
They were both actors in their own ways. Oerei had taught his son to smile with his eyes even when he did not mean it, and to bow to those who did not deserve it; Chuja, on the other hand, to see what was left unshown, and to listen to what was left unsaid. They roamed among totally opposite demographics in their daily lives, but their eyes and ears saw and heard things that were vital for the imperial house to know to ensure its longevity. Should Ren’i sit the ruby throne as emperor one day, their teachings and the masks they’d taught him to bear would keep him alive to the next day.
One mask he bore in front of the captain and the consuls. Another in front of his soldiers, and a third he’d only become aware of after leaving it behind in Hol Saro, in the political jigsaw puzzle of the palace that all within its walls played.
It was naive to expect the roles he played were any more genuine here, far away from the epicentre of the Kishan power, than back at home in the north. Naive, yet even he had started to believe the story he’d composed. That there were two separate people, Ren’i son of Oerei, and the crown prince Ren’i mar Oereinen, commander-in-chief and heir to the Kishan throne. That he had the freedom to choose who he wanted to be and to whom. He’d never believed in it more than during those horrible weeks in Liqaria.
His face reflected nothing but an officer’s tranquility while he observed the practice, but he knew Ared, standing next to him, saw right through it. The chief and Hawk had the same bronze eyes, and Ren’i wished Ared would look away. Hawk had seen past all of his roles as soon as they’d met for the first time. It had carried Ren’i in Liqaria, the knowledge that there was someone by his side with whom he never had to pretend.
It was only now that Ren’i realised just how dangerous that was, that he was so utterly defenseless in front of the one man he wanted to see him not as crown prince, but as himself.
”Your highness.”
Yurau halted next to Ren’i and bowed. Water was streaming down her blue hair to the already sopping wet uniform.
Ren’i inclined his head in greeting. ”Tell me.”
”The messengers have returned,” Yurau said. ”The captain is asking for your presence in the consul tent at your earliest convenience.”
”I’ll be there. Take word to consul Qel. He ought to join us.”
”At once, your highness.”
Yurau was already striding past the ranks when Ren’i turned towards Ared. ”Come with me. It’s in everyone’s best interest that Hatam-Ile’s representative is there to hear the news.”
The area of the camp dedicated to the commanding officers was busy once they arrived. The entire Guard of Honour, with the exception of Yurau and Linnee, stood in formation outside the consul tent. They greeted Ren’i and bowed as one. Sava pulled the fly sheet aside and announced in carrying tones, ”his highness, the crown prince Ren’i, and Ared, the chief of Hatam-Ile, have arrived.”
There were two thin taivashis accompanying the captain, Vannuil and Kha’ar. Ren’i recognised them as messengers from the folded envelope and the arrow piercing three vertical lines tattooed to their arms. They looked like they’d run the whole way from Meril-An: there weren’t many clean spots left in their uniforms, and a muddy puddle had already formed beneath their feet. Both pulled off their helmets and bowed deeply upon seeing Ren’i.
”Your highness,” the darker of them said respectfully. He sounded breathless. ”We returned as soon as we could.”
”At ease,” Ren’i said, and both soldiers relaxed visibly. ”Arrange them something to eat and drink, captain. We’ll wait a moment for consul Qel to join us.”
They’d emptied nearly the entire snack tray and one of the water pitchers before Sava’s voice announced the arrival of Qel. Ren’i stuffed the last slice of fruit in his mouth discreetly as the consul took off his drenched cloak and hung it from the back of a chair.
”I assume this is important,” he said. There wasn’t a hint of impatience in his voice, but the look in his eyes told Ren’i he wasn’t particularly amused about the interruption.
”Quite. How important, that’s what we’re about to find out.” Ren’i nodded at the messengers standing on the other side of the table. ”What news from Meril-An?”
Both soldiers clapped a left fist against their chest and bowed lightly at everyone present.
”The legions of Meril-An answer the summons of his highness and are preparing to set out,” the dark-skinned soldier from earlier spoke. ”Both legions are coming in full force.”
No one spoke, but Ren’i could see his own relief reflected from the consuls’ and the captain’s faces.
”When?” Ren’i asked.
”They should be here in a week or two, should the conditions favour them.”
”What does our headcount look like, consul Kha’ar?”
The bearded consul drummed the table with his fingers, eyes on the map. ”With the akheri soldiers included we shoud be looking at 38 000 to 39 000 once the legions join us.”
”We are still at a disadvantage,” captain Hamr pointed out.
”But not as much as we were before,” Ren’i reminded him. He could finally risk a smile. ”It might just be enough to pull off what we’re attempting. The Pass of Mists is too narrow for them to bring over larger numbers at once. If we can halt their approach in the Pass we can cut off their passage entirely, regardless of numbers being in their favour.”
”The prince is right,” Vannuil said. ”We must utilise every advantage our surroundings grant us.”
”In this matter the knowledge of my people may be of use,” Ared intervened. He was watching the map thoughtfully. ”There is no way around the Pass without sailing across. That should not be option for them.”
Ren’i’s brows furrowed as he thought back on everything he remembered of the canyon and the path winding through it.
”The walls of the canyon are so steep inside the Pass that they’re almost sheer. Is there a way to climb on top from the outside?” he asked Ared.
Ared nodded. ”Possible, though difficult. The walls reach tens of meters into the air, making the ascent a time-consuming one even for a skilled climber.”
”That’s not a problem if we only need to get a handful of soldiers up there.”
”What’s on your mind, Ren’i?” Ared asked, looking him straight in the eye.
The messengers’ eyes bulged in shock upon hearing the akheri chief addressing their prince with such familiarity. Ren’i paid them no mind.
”Once the legions arrive we need to spread out on the wastes. The journey from here to the Pass takes days. If we’re all camping on the plains we’ll be badly out of position by the time the Liqaris cross the land bridge.” Ren’i stroked at his chin, a focused look on his face. ”Should we get a scouting party above the canyon we wouldn’t need to rely on guesswork. They could light beacons and alert us while the Liqaris are still attempting to cross the isles.”
Ared smiled dryly. ”We’ve no need for beacons and risking the Liqaris seeing them if we use akheri scouts. The Veremese are famous for the purple-tail hawks they use for hunting and as messengers. I’m willing to bet there are Veremese among the volunteers suited for the task who know how to handle the birds.”
”Clever,” Vannuil said.
Ren’i glanced at the two messengers who were still standing as they were, leaking water everywhere. Neither of them uttered a word of complaint, but there were goosebumps all over their arms.
”You’ve carried out your task exceptionally,” Ren’i told them. ”Dismissed. Captain, could you see to it that they get to warm up and have something proper to eat as quickly as possible?”
”Of course, your highness.”
”We shall await for your return. We might as well take a small break at this point,” Ren’i concluded.
The captain bowed and left the tent, messengers in tow. Qel started shifting the wooden figurines further away from the camp and towards the southern tip of the continent where the Cape of Mists marked the edge of the map. Vannuil joined him, and they conversed in low voices, heads together, changing the positions of the figurines occasionally. Kha’ar sat down and dug the pipe out of his pocket, eyeing the plans of his two colleagues from afar.
”It might be a little early to say so, but I think our luck is turning,” Ren’i said to Ared, keeping his voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t bother the consuls.
Ared’s smile widened. ”Perhaps that same luck will accompany you in other pursuits as well.”
His tone made it clear what he meant, and Ren’i felt his visage burning again.
The rain continued to fall heavier and heavier outside. Raindrops ricocheted off the Guards’ helmets and breastplates with quiet, metallic chiming as they stood on duty. The floor of the tent was slick with moisture; every now and then an occasional drop oozed through the canvas despite the dense, thick weave designed to endure the wet conditions of the north. The skies were buried under a gray wall of clouds from horizon to horizon, an omen that the rains would last the rest of the day.
”Are you training with him again tonight?” Ared asked.
”That was the intention.” Ren’i decided not to ask how and from whom Ared had heard about the matter. ”If the rain lightens up a bit, that is. A drizzle isn’t a problem, but shooting in a downpour is a waste of time.”
”You could come train on the square if the weather doesn’t improve.”
”The square?”
”They’ve set up a canopy and practice targets for the archery competition in front of the elder’s house in preparation for the kekri festival,” Ared explained. ”There’s no shortage of contestants every year, come rain or shine.”
Ren’i grinned. The festival would give him a good excuse to chat with Hawk without anyone paying them too much attention among the festivities. He felt butterflies flying wildly in his belly at the mere thought and regretted the snacks he’d eaten earlier. ”Are we still welcome to participate?”
”But of course. Perhaps this time more of you will dare to join us.”
The clanging of heavy boots announced the return of the captain even before the fly sheet was pulled aside once more. He resembled a wet dog and looked about just as happy. Ren’i wiped the grin off his face immediately and cleared his throat.
”All right, let us continue,” he hastened to say, clapping his hands once to draw the others’ attention back to him. He assumed his most sombre voice and went on,” consuls Vannuil and Qel, am I correct in assuming that you already have some suggestions in mind for the 9th and 10th legions?”
You couldn’t give in to fear. He had two battles to win and a shrewd feeling that the war would turn out to be the easier one of them.