was both crying a little, and smiling. “When did it happen?” she asked.
“Eleven days ago.” Batra made a bristling motion. “Even news of such importance travels slowly out of a Shellworld.”
“I suppose,” Anaplian said, her expression thoughtful. “And Ferbin?”
“Missing, on the same battlefield.”
Anaplian knew what that meant. The vast majority of those labelled missing in battles either never reappeared at all, or turned up dead. And what had Ferbin being doing anywhere near a battle in the first place? “Do you know where?” she asked. “Exactly how far-flung a province was it?”
“Near the Xiliskine Tower.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Near the Xiliskine Tower,” Batra repeated. “Within sight of Pourl – that is the capital, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Anaplian said. Her mouth was suddenly quite dry. Dear God, it had all fallen away, then. It had all crumbled and gone. She felt a sorrow she barely understood.
“So was this some . . . Excuse me.” She cleared her throat. “Was this a final stand, in that case?”
And why hadn’t she heard? Why had no one told her things had reached a point of such awful desperation? Were they afraid she’d try to return and use her new-found skills and powers to intercede? Were they worried she’d try to join the fray, was that it? How could they?
“Now, Djan Seriy,” Batra said, “while I have been briefed in this, I cannot claim to have immediate access to an expert database. However, I understand that it was the result of what was expected to be a surprise attack by the Deldeyn.”
“What? From where?” Anaplian said, not even trying to hide her alarm.
“From this Xiliskine Tower.”
“But there’s no way out of . . .” she began, then put one hand to her mouth, pursing her lips and frowning as she stared at the floor. “They must have opened a new . . .” she said, more to herself than to Batra. She looked up again. “So, is the Xiliskine controlled by the Aultridia now, or . . . ?”
“First, let me assure you that as I understand it, Pourl and your father’s people are not under threat. The Deldeyn are the ones facing disaster.”
Anaplian’s frown deepened, even as the rest of her body showed signs of relaxing. “How so?”
“Your father had effectively completed his Wars of Unity, as he termed them.”
“Really?” She felt a surge of relief and a perverse urge to laugh. “He did keep busy.”
“The Deldeyn would appear to have assumed that they’d be his next target. They therefore staged what they hoped would be a decisive, preemptive surprise attack on your father’s capital city, having been convinced by the – Oct? Inheritors?”
“Synonyms.” Anaplian flapped one hand again. “Either.”
“That they, the Oct, would deliver the Deldeyn forces in secret to where a new portal would be opened in the Xiliskine Tower through which they might effect such an attack, taking the city. This was a ruse, and one which the Sarl were party to. Your father’s forces were waiting for the Deldeyn and destroyed them.”
Anaplian looked confused. “Why were the Oct deceiving the Deldeyn?”
“This is still a matter for conjecture, apparently.”
“And the Aultridia?”
“The other Conducer species. They have backed the Deldeyn in the past. They are believed to be considering military and diplomatic action against the Oct.”
“Hmm. So why . . . ?” Anaplian shook her head once more. “What is going on back there?” she asked. Again, Jerle Batra suspected this question was not really directed at him. He let her continue. “So, Ferbin’s in charge – no, of course, he’s probably dead too. Oramen, then?” she asked, looking worried and sceptical at once.
“No; your younger brother is deemed too young to inherit all your father’s power immediately. A man called Mertis tyl Loesp is regent until your brother’s next birthday.”
“Tyl Loesp,” Anaplian said thoughtfully. She nodded. “At least he’s still around. He should be all right.”
“Your younger brother won’t be in any danger, will he?”
“Danger?”
Batra’s impersonated face configured a weak smile. “It has been my understanding that, like wicked stepmothers, ambitious regents do not usually come out well from such contexts. Perhaps that is only in tales.”
“No,” Anaplian said with what sounded like relief. She wiped her eyes. “Tyl Loesp’s been my father’s best friend since they were children. He’s always been loyal, fastened his ambitions to my father’s. God knows, they were grand enough for two. Grand enough for a host.’ Anaplian looked away to one side, where the bright, tropic air of this place that she had almost come to