Rise Of Empire (42 page)

Eight other people sat around the little table, where the city lay mapped out with knickknacks borrowed from Mrs. Dunlap’s shelves. Those present had been handpicked by Hadrian, Dr. Gerand, Polish, or Emery, who was back on his feet and eating everything Mrs. Dunlap put under his nose.

With Royce and Hadrian gone, Arista spent most of her time talking with the young Mr. Dorn. While he no longer stumbled over using her first name, the admiration in his eyes was unmistakable, and Arista caught herself smiling self-consciously. He had a nice face—cheerful and passionate—and while he was younger even than Alric, she thought him more mature. Perhaps that came from hardship and struggle.

Since he had regained consciousness, she had babbled on about the trials that had brought her there. He told her about how his mother’s death had given him life and what it had been like to grow up as a soldier’s son. They both shared
memories of the fires that had robbed them of the ones they loved. She listened as he poured out his life’s story of being an orphan with such intensity that it filled her eyes with tears. He had such a way with words, a means of inciting emotion and empathy. She realized Emery could have changed the world if only he had been born noble. Listening to him, to his ideals, to his passion for justice and compassion, she realized this was what she could expect from Degan Gaunt, a common man with the heart of a king.

“You must understand it’s not entirely up to me,” Polish told them. “I don’t issue policy in the guild. I simply don’t have the authority to sanction an outright attack, particularly when there is nothing to be gained. Even if victory were assured, instead of a rather wild gamble, my hands would still be tied.”

“Nothing to be gained?” Emery said, stunned. “There is a whole city to be gained! Furthermore, if the imperial army is routed from the field, it’s possible that all Rhenydd might fall under the banner of the Delgos Republic.”

“I would also add,” Arista said, “that defeating the Imperialists here would leave Aquesta open for assault by the remainder of the Nationalists, Melengar, and possibly even Trent—if I can swing their alliance. If Aquesta falls, Colnora will be a free city and certain powerful merchants could find themselves in legitimate seats of power.”

“You are good. I’ll grant you that, milady,” Polish replied. “But there are many
if
s
in that scenario, and the Royalists won’t allow Colnora to be ruled by a commoner. Lanaklin would assume the throne of Warric and likely appoint his own duke to run the city.”

“Well, the Diamond’s position will certainly continue to decline if you fail to aid us and the New Empire’s strength grows,” Arista shot back.

Polish frowned and shook his head. “This is far beyond the
bounds of my mandate. I simply can’t commit without orders from the Jewel. The Imps leave the Diamond alone, for the most part. They see us as inevitable as the rats in any sewer. As long as we don’t make too much of a nuisance, they leave us to our scurrying. But if we do this, they will declare war. The Diamond will no longer be neutral. We’ll be a target in every Imp city. Hundreds could be imprisoned or executed.”

“We could keep your involvement a secret,” Emery offered.

Polish laughed. “The winner chooses which secrets are kept, and which remain hidden, so I would have to insist on proof of your success before I could help you. We both know that is not possible. If your chances were that good, then you would not need my assistance in the first place. No, I’m sorry. My rats will do what we can, but joining in the assault is not possible.”

“Can you at least see that the armory door is unlocked?” Emery asked.

Polish thought a moment and nodded. “That I can do.”

“Can we get back to the plan?” Dr. Gerand asked.

Before leaving, Hadrian had outlined the details for a strategy to take the city. Emery’s idea was a good one, but an idea simply was not the same as a battle plan and they were all thankful for Hadrian’s advice. He had explained that surprise was their greatest tool and catching the armory unaware was their best tactic. After that, things would be more difficult. Their greatest adversary would be time. Securing the armory would be essential, and they must be quick in order to prepare for the attack by the garrison.

“I’ll lead the men into the armory,” Emery declared. “If I survive, I’ll take my place in the square with the men at the weak point of the line.”

Everyone nodded grimly.

Hadrian’s plan further called for the men to form two straight lines—one before the other—outside the armory and to purposely leave a gap as a weak point. Professional soldiers would look for this kind of vulnerability, so the rebels could predetermine where the attack would fall the hardest. He warned that the men stationed there would suffer the highest number of casualties, but it would also allow the townsfolk to fold the line and generate a devastating envelopment maneuver, which would best utilize their superior numbers.

“I’ll lead the left flank,” Arista said, and everyone looked at her, stunned.

“My lady,” Emery began, “you understand I hold you in the highest esteem, but a battle is no place for a woman and I would be sorely grieved should your life come into peril.”

“My life will be in peril no matter where I am, so I may as well be of some use. Besides, this is all my idea. I can’t stand by while all of you risk your own lives.”

“You need fear no shame,” Dr. Gerand told her. “You have already done more than we can hope to repay you for.”

“Nevertheless,” she said resolutely, “I’ll stand with the line.”

“Can you wield a sword too?” Perin the grocer asked. His tone was not mocking or sarcastic, but one of expectant amazement, as if he anticipated she would reply that she was a master sword fighter of some renown.

The miraculous survival of Emery was only one of the rallying points of the rebellion. Arista had overlooked the power of her own name. Emery pointed out that she and her brother were heroes to those wishing to fight the New Empire. Their victory over Percy Braga, immortalized in the traveling theater play, had inspired many throughout Apeladorn. All the recruiters had to do was whisper that Arista Essendon had
come to Ratibor and that she had stolen Emery from death at the hands of the empire, and most people simply assumed victory was assured.

“Well,” she said, “I certainly have just as much experience as most of the merchants, farmers, and tradesmen that will be fighting alongside me.”

No one said anything for a long while, and then Emery stood up.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I cannot allow you to do this.”

Arista gave him a harsh, challenging stare and Emery’s face cringed, exposing that a mere unpleasant glance from her was enough to hurt him.

“And how do you plan to stop me?” she snapped, recalling all the times her father, brother, or even Count Pickering, had shooed her out of the council hall, insisting she would spend her time more productively with a needle in her hand.

“If you insist on fighting, I will not fight,” he said simply.

Dr. Gerand stood up. “Neither will I.”

“Nor I,” Perin said, also rising.

Arista scowled at Emery. Again, her glare appeared to hurt the man, but he remained resolute. “All right. Sit down. You win.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Emery said.

“Then I’ll lead the left flank, I suppose,” Perin volunteered. He was one of the larger men at the table, stocky and strong.

“I’ll take the right flank,” Dr. Gerand said.

“That is very brave of you, sir,” Emery told him, “but I’ll ask Adam the wheeler to take that responsibility. He has fighting experience.”

“And he’s not an old man,” the doctor said bitterly.

Arista knew the helplessness that he was feeling. “Doctor, your services will be required to tend to the injured. Once the
armory is taken, you and I will do what we can for those that are wounded.”

They went over the plan once more from beginning to end. Arista and Polish came up with several potential problems: What if too few people came? What if they could not secure the armory? What if the garrison did not attack? They made contingency plans until they were certain everything was accounted for.

As they concluded, Dr. Gerand drew forth a bottle of rum and called for glasses from Mrs. Dunlap. “Tomorrow morning we go into battle,” he said. “Some of us at this table will not survive to see the sunset again.” He lifted his glass. “To those who will fall and to our victory.”

“And to the good lady who made it possible,” Emery added as they all raised their glasses and drank.

Arista drank with the rest but found the liquor to have a bitter taste.

The princess lay awake in the tiny room across the hall from Mrs. Dunlap’s bedroom. Smaller than her maid’s quarters in Medford, it had just a small window and a tiny shelf to hold a candle. There was so little room between the walls and the bed that she was forced to crawl over the mattress to enter. She could not sleep. The battle to take the city would start in just a few hours and she was consumed by nervous energy. Her mind raced through precautions, running a checklist over and over again.

Have I done all I can to prepare?

Everything was about to change, for good or ill.

Will Alric forgive me if I die?
She gave a bitter laugh.
Will he forgive me if I live?

She stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was a spell to help her sleep.

Magic.

She considered using it in the coming battle. She toyed with the idea while tapping her feet together, anxiously listening to the rain patter the roof.

If I can make it rain, what else can I do? Could I conjure a phantom army? Rain fire? Open the earth to swallow the garrison?

She was certain of only one thing—she could boil blood. The thought sobered her.

What if I lose control? What if I boiled the blood of our men … or Emery?

When she had boiled the water at Sheridan, the nearby clothing had sizzled and hissed. Magic was not easy. Perhaps with time she could master it, but already she sensed her limitations. Now it was clear why Esrahaddon had given her the task of making it rain. Previously she had thought it an absurd challenge to attempt such an immense feat. Now she realized that making it rain was easy. The target was as broad as the sky and the action was natural—it was the equivalent of a marksman throwing a rock and trying to hit the ground. The process would be the same, she guessed, for any spell—the drawing of power, the focus, and the execution through synchronized movement and sound—but the idea of pinpointing such an unruly force to a specific target was daunting. She realized with a shudder that if Royce and Hadrian had been on the hill that night, they would have died along with the seret. There was no doubt she could defeat the garrison, but she might kill everyone in Ratibor in the process. She could possibly use the Art to draw down lightning or summon fire to consume the soldiers, but it would be like a first-year music student trying to compose and orchestrate a full symphony.

No, I can’t take such a risk.

She turned her mind to more practical issues. Did they have enough bandages prepared? She had to remember to get a fire going to have hot coals for sealing wounds.

Is there anything else I can do?

She heard a soft rapping and pulled the covers up, as she wore only a thin nightgown borrowed from Mrs. Dunlap. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” Emery said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Come in, please,” she told him.

Emery opened the door and stood at the foot of the bed, wearing only his britches and an oversized shirt. “I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe you couldn’t either.”

“Who would have guessed that waiting to see if you’ll live or die would make it so hard to sleep?” She shrugged and smiled.

Emery smiled back and looked for a means to enter the room.

She sat up and propped two pillows behind her. “Just crawl on the bed,” she told him, folding her legs and slapping the covers. He looked awkward but took her offer and sat at the foot of the mattress, which sank with his weight.

“Are you scared?” she inquired, and realized too late that it was not the kind of question a woman should ask a man.

“Are you?” he parried, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He was barefoot and his toes shone pale in the moonlight.