undulating surface. Although Tryun’s army was large, it struggled to capture the ridge. At first, the Prysm Advocate had forbidden his living soldiers to participate in the fight because of the danger from Grens’ reanimated forces. Only when his own reanimated soldiers had been cut down by Obsidian did he command his living men to flank the Knuckle on the north and the south. They did, and although they caught the reanimated troops by surprise, they discovered that living men could not prevail against dead ones. Tryun ordered a withdrawal, but during the course of the retreat, a flaming arrow pierced him in the eye. He was killed instantly and with him, the Prysm’s chances of overcoming Obsidian. It was said (not by the Ages), that the despair of good men and women was so great that it turned the rolling hills of Trmak into barren desert. Telenar thought it was a fitting legend, but subscribed to the belief that a dramatic climate change occurring about a hundred cycles after the battle accounted for the Trmak’s fate—he had the history books to thank for that.
So there it was. He looked around at the others, admiring their resolution. Yet without Kynell’s armies, their case was hopeless. Vancien had told him that he had tried to summon the faithful every day since they had first received the news, but with no success. On the other hand, Corfe had thousands of men at his disposal. Men, Telenar considered grimly, who would soon be slaughtered if Corfe persisted in his delusion. How desperately Corfe needed to be convinced of his mistake, but mere words would never persuade Corfe he wasn’t the Advocate. Still, if he could be reminded of Tryun’s failure, maybe he could set up defenses around Lascombe to fend off Zyreio’s forces, at least long enough to realize his mistake. Perhaps by then, Kynell would have answered Vancien’s prayers.
Yet even if they joined Corfe at Lascombe, he would never trust Amarian. For the moment, Amarian only complicated things. If he could lie low for a time, then perhaps he, Telenar, could attempt to dissuade Corfe of his delusion while Chiyo oversaw the city’s defenses. As for Vancien, it wouldn’t hurt to have him lie low, as well.
A splash interrupted his reflections. One of the younger voyoté had grown anxious in the confined space of the boat and had jumped into the water. Now its handlers were having a great deal of trouble getting him back into the boat. No harm was done, though there was a great deal of angry shouting. He sighed. Cetla, Lansing, and Nagab—their own faithful voyoté who had carried them so far last cycle—had long ago been sent back to Lascombe. The royal head groom had been nervous about letting them go in the first place; the least Telenar could do was to return them, unharmed, when he had thought their journey was at an end. Truth be told, he missed their strength and agility. The Cylini kept a healthy stable on the border of their territory, but the plains voyoté tended to be scrawnier and less reliable than their royal counterparts. If he had to go into battle against Zyreio, he would at least prefer to have Lansing under him.
His anxious thoughts then returned to Vancien and Amarian. It seemed more necessary than ever to have them out of the way, if only for a time. He looked nervously at N’vonne, wondering what she would think of his strategy and promising himself that he would tell her and the others before they reached the road to Lascombe. Until then there was no point in disturbing them.
__________
Ester and Trint had the easiest time adapting to Sirin’s strange habits. So grateful were they to have three square meals a day, with snacks in-between, that they submitted to the routine of the house with no complaint. Teehma and Lucio struggled the worst. Living with a munkke-trophe did not suit their independent natures. While Ester, with her gentle spirit, quietly learned to mix his joint poultice and Trint fetched his brocade
So there it was. He looked around at the others, admiring their resolution. Yet without Kynell’s armies, their case was hopeless. Vancien had told him that he had tried to summon the faithful every day since they had first received the news, but with no success. On the other hand, Corfe had thousands of men at his disposal. Men, Telenar considered grimly, who would soon be slaughtered if Corfe persisted in his delusion. How desperately Corfe needed to be convinced of his mistake, but mere words would never persuade Corfe he wasn’t the Advocate. Still, if he could be reminded of Tryun’s failure, maybe he could set up defenses around Lascombe to fend off Zyreio’s forces, at least long enough to realize his mistake. Perhaps by then, Kynell would have answered Vancien’s prayers.
Yet even if they joined Corfe at Lascombe, he would never trust Amarian. For the moment, Amarian only complicated things. If he could lie low for a time, then perhaps he, Telenar, could attempt to dissuade Corfe of his delusion while Chiyo oversaw the city’s defenses. As for Vancien, it wouldn’t hurt to have him lie low, as well.
A splash interrupted his reflections. One of the younger voyoté had grown anxious in the confined space of the boat and had jumped into the water. Now its handlers were having a great deal of trouble getting him back into the boat. No harm was done, though there was a great deal of angry shouting. He sighed. Cetla, Lansing, and Nagab—their own faithful voyoté who had carried them so far last cycle—had long ago been sent back to Lascombe. The royal head groom had been nervous about letting them go in the first place; the least Telenar could do was to return them, unharmed, when he had thought their journey was at an end. Truth be told, he missed their strength and agility. The Cylini kept a healthy stable on the border of their territory, but the plains voyoté tended to be scrawnier and less reliable than their royal counterparts. If he had to go into battle against Zyreio, he would at least prefer to have Lansing under him.
His anxious thoughts then returned to Vancien and Amarian. It seemed more necessary than ever to have them out of the way, if only for a time. He looked nervously at N’vonne, wondering what she would think of his strategy and promising himself that he would tell her and the others before they reached the road to Lascombe. Until then there was no point in disturbing them.
__________
Ester and Trint had the easiest time adapting to Sirin’s strange habits. So grateful were they to have three square meals a day, with snacks in-between, that they submitted to the routine of the house with no complaint. Teehma and Lucio struggled the worst. Living with a munkke-trophe did not suit their independent natures. While Ester, with her gentle spirit, quietly learned to mix his joint poultice and Trint fetched his brocade
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