about him, the fires of the legion glowing in the black sky to the east, Pechter Dan Turk would have been relieved indeed to see the gates of the city of the Dragon of To-gai.
A noise to the side startled him, and he snapped his gaze that way, his eyes wide. He trembled and huddled, trying to stay lower in the sand.
A pair of pale eyes stared back at him for a moment, and then the creature, a small, doglike lupina, wandered away, skittering fast and looking back at him. A single lupina didn't seem much of a threat, but Pechter Dan Turk knew enough about the open desert to realize that where there was one lupina, there were usually a dozen more.
He knew that he had to move, had to find some defensible ground where a host of lupinas couldn't come at him all at once. He wanted to go, he consciously willed his arms and legs to unfold and to start away, but he simply couldn't begin.
And then a hand tapped him on the shoulder.
Pechter Dan Turk locked in place, a silent scream reverberating throughout his tense body. His leg felt warm from his own release.
"One of your companions is dead," Pagonel said softly. "The soldiers killed Moripicus in the name of Chezru Bardoh."
So relieved was Pechter Dan Turk to hear the familiar voice of the mystic that he hardly registered the significance of the words Pagonel spoke. He managed to turn his head to regard the man in the dim starlight. He smiled widely and nodded stupidly, and managed to begin breathing again, in short gasps.
Pagonel took him under the arm and helped him up. "We must be on the move throughout the night," the mystic explained. "Where is Paroud?"
"He ran back to the east," Pechter Dan Turk replied unsteadily. "He was gone, poof, at the first sign of trouble."
"That is good," the mystic said. "Let us hope that he got safely away.
Yatol Mado Wadon must be informed that his suspicions are sadly proven true. Yatol Bardoh is gathering his strength and taking considerable strength from Jacintha in that process."
Pechter Dan Turk looked at him as if he did not understand.
"Your companion was executed in the name of Chezru Bardoh," Pagonel said again, emphasizing the stolen title.
Pechter Dan Turk shuddered so tightly that it seemed as if he was about to explode. "This is very bad," he said. "Very bad. Yatol Bardoh is not a kind man!"
"I know him all too well," Pagonel replied. "Fortunately for any hopes Jacintha has of forming an alliance with the To-gai-ru, Brynn Dharielle knows him well, too."
Pechter Dan Turk nodded nervously, and Pagonel led him off at a swift pace across the darkened sands.
Chapter 9 The Second Prize
"Twenty thousand?" Marlboro Viscenti asked Bishop Braumin. The two of them stood at Palmaris' southern wall, looking out over the farmlands and the many campfires that had sprung up this night, the fires of King Aydrian's army.
"Perhaps," Braumin replied, as if it did not matter. Indeed, the numbers seemed hardly to matter, for the bishop had taken Jilseponie's advice and had built a soft wall of resistance. Most of Palmaris' garrison was gone now, along with a large percentage of St. Precious' hundred brothers, slipping out to the north in the hopes of catching up to Prince Midalis as he executed his inevitable march out of Vanguard.
What a difficult decision that had been for Braumin! To surrender Palmaris, with hardly a fight.
He looked around inside the city walls, to see the bustle of preparations. He had given the remaining residents the option of joining in the resistance to the new king and his march, or of simply hiding in their homes, with no repercussion and no recriminations. He was surprised at how many had chosen the way of resistance.
Surprised, and a bit saddened, for he knew that the armies of Ursal would run them over.
Led in spirit and resolve by the five thousand Behrenese of Palmaris - most of whom had come to the city only recently, in the years since the plague - the remaining citizens had decided to lock the gates and offer no hospitality to this usurper named Aydrian. The depth of their commitment to stand beside the line of Ursal and the Abellican Church of Bishop Braumin made Braumin wonder if he had chosen correctly in sending nearly a thousand warriors away.
Or perhaps he should have sent all the soldiers away, and all the citizens who would join them,