Muriel nodded. “And when you are done with your trip, you’ll go to Trilos?”

  “Yes,” Brin promised. “Although I don’t think that will be necessary. There’s a good chance he’ll be trying to find me.”

  “And you’ll tell him about me?”

  “Yes, and I’ll do even better than that. I’ll do what Trilos did, but I won’t leave it in the bottom of the Abyss. I’ll write it all down in The Book of Brin.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Sun Goes Down

  Up! Down. Up! Down. This is how we cover ground! I know it is stupid, but it is true. I wish I had a lot more stew. — The Book of Brin

  Persephone looked up at the sound of shouts, hammers, and running feet, and for a moment—for a terrible, horrible instant—she was certain the end had come. She had been watching the sunlight move across the fabric of the tent. Morning had arrived and departed, and the diminished light of a deepening winter shortened the day. She remembered Malcolm’s dire tone the night before. Taken together with what she had seen—or thought she’d seen—in his eyes, she felt justified about her unsteady nerves. When a man capable of seeing the future warned of impending disaster by nightfall, it was hard not to be scared of the dark.

  Down for his afternoon nap, Nolyn was still asleep in a wad of blankets he had twisted around his body. His little legs, having kicked free of the coverings, were splayed out, taking up much of the bed. Despite what sounded like a battle being waged just outside, the boy didn’t stir. Justine, who had also napped, was awake and hastily pulling on her dress. From the look on her face, she didn’t want to die wearing only her shift.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “Keep an eye on him,” Persephone ordered, jerking on her boots. She grabbed a cloak from the pile and rushed out. Sharp, angled streaks of sunlight were blinding. Men burst through the white, rushing past carrying bundles of rope. Not a weapon was out. This was her first clue to the mystery of the clamor, a positive sign. Then to her left, Persephone saw a tent list dramatically and deflate.

  “What’s going on?” she asked a man running past.

  “Breaking camp, my keenig!”

  “Breaking—why?”

  But the man had already run by.

  Persephone struggled to pull the cloak around her and realized she’d grabbed Justine’s by mistake. The nurse was much smaller, and the fabric didn’t reach all the way around Persephone, leaving an inch-wide gap showing the dull white of her gown. With a scowl, she rushed to where the tent was collapsing. A dozen men stood around as others worked with shovels and mallets to free the stakes. The tent had been a place for storing raw wool, which had been rolled, tied in bundles, and stacked. By the time she arrived, three more poles had been pulled from three other tents.

  “Stop!” she shouted at the workers. “What are you doing?”

  They all looked up, startled and nervous. No one responded.

  “Why are you taking this down?” She focused on a man with a mallet. He looked familiar to her, but he wasn’t from Rhen. Still, she’d seen him often around the camp, usually hauling water or wood.

  “We were told to,” the man replied.

  “By whom?”

  “Nyphron, ma’am.”

  “Where is he?”

  Several pointed down the line of collapsing tents, giant flattened canvas footprints that marked the evidence of her husband’s passing.

  “Well, stop what you’re doing and get that wool off the snow and back inside.”

  As she walked away, one called out, “Does that mean we aren’t leaving?”

  Persephone didn’t answer. She kept on trudging, feeling the hard-packed snow crush under her steps. With every stride, she felt more furious with him.

  How dare he order an evacuation without asking me—without even telling me!

  She spotted Nyphron down the line of flattened tents, waving his hands and shouting.

  “Are you still drunk?” she asked upon reaching him. “What’s going on?”

  “Scouts just reported spotting the fane’s army at the forest’s edge. And I personally saw leathery wings circle over the trees just moments ago. We cannot stay any longer.”

  “We have to stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Malcolm said so.”

  Nyphron stared at her, confused. “Did you say because Malcolm said so?”

  “Yes, and he was quite adamant.”

  “I don’t care if he was naked in the snow and swearing like a lunatic. He doesn’t command this army—we do.”

  “But—” she began.

  “Persephone, last night the horn was blown. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes, you all explained the whole succession of rulers quite well. And I—”

  “I meant, what it means to us?”

  She didn’t, and had no idea what he was getting at. So she waited to be enlightened.

  “After creating his first dragon, Lothian began building an army to attack with. He’s extended the Avempartha bridges and marched troops across the Nidwalden. He has the Spider Corps training, and he’s made more dragons. A lot more.”

  “I’ve heard the reports, just like you.”

  “What you didn’t hear, what neither of us knew until this morning, was that those troops began marching up the same road I built, and dragons are coming with them. They are just inside the trees now. Persephone, the attack has been ordered. They were told to launch their offensive at dawn today.”

  “You keep saying that as if this is going to be a problem. Will there be a time when Nyphron wants to leave?”

  Persephone looked northeast at the trees and saw nothing. She looked at the sky. It was already evening. “And yet they don’t appear to be attacking. Why is that?”

  “Because every once in a very great while the gods are kind.”

  “This has something to do with the horn, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes! Lothian ordered the attack, but last night every member of his army heard that horn blow.” Nyphron jabbed a finger in the direction of the forest. “They all know the fane is dead, and they have no more idea what that means than we do. So they wait for new orders. By sunset tonight, either there will be a new fane, or someone else will blow the horn and a battle will be scheduled. Either way, we have a brief window to act in, but we also gain one thing—we now know they have an army complete with dragons.”

  “I wouldn’t make such a point of it, if staying will be an obvious choice.”

  “The new fane might not choose to attack,” she said.

  Nyphron looked at her, incredulous. “You can’t actually believe that. Our scouts have identified dozens of dragons—dozens, Persephone. Suri told me that dragons are made by killing loved ones. No matter who the fane is, how can they stop the war now? No—this change of fane alters nothing, but it has saved us from annihilation. It has granted us just enough time to pull up stakes and fall back beyond the range of their dragons.”

  Persephone stared over the fallen tents at the misty haze of the forest eaves.

  “If you leave, you will lose the war.”

  “We can’t leave,” she said.

  “Persephone, it’s suicide on a grand scale to remain here, open and exposed the way we are. It also serves no point. With Elysan dead and your southern army eaten, we have no reason to remain.”

  “Timing is everything. We can’t leave,” she insisted.

  “Of course we can. If we retreat just twenty miles, we’ll put the Bern between us and them. It’s not even a question at this point.”

  “You’re right, it isn’t. We aren’t leaving.”

  She shouted to the working men, “Stop what you’re doing! Put these tents back up. We aren’t going anywhere.”

  Nyphron’s eyes widened. He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her aside, forcing her feet into deeper snow. “What are you doing?” He spoke low enough not to be heard, but loud enough to infuse his words with anger.

  “You aren’t in command here,” Persephone replied. “You should have asked me before starting any of this.”

  “I thought we ruled together,” he said.

  “These men follow me. I don’t wish to be cruel, don’t want to embarrass you, but—”

  “I won’t allow your foolishness to jeopardize the lives of hundreds of soldiers,” Nyphron said. “I’m not playing here. I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “We are in this situation because you gave Suri to the fane, and she gave him dragons. You lost this conflict for us. You don’t understand war. I do. We will all die if we don’t leave, and leave now. Forgive me, but I can’t allow your inexperience to destroy us.” He grabbed her by the wrist and began pulling her back toward the tent.

  “Stop it!” she told him.

  He ignored her, hauling onward. She jerked back but his fingers gripped like a raow, and his arm was iron. She had no footing on the snow. She slipped and nearly fell.

  “Let go!” she growled.

  The men working on the tents stopped to look. Those digging snow, carrying wood, coiling rope watched the spectacle of Nyphron towing his wife down the path. Not one interfered. No one would dare insert themselves in a fight between husband and wife.

  Maybe if he started hitting me—if he drew his sword.

  She was certain that if Nyphron threatened to kill her, they would restrain him. But short of that—marriage bestowed certain rights, one of which was the privilege to quarrel with your spouse.

  She continued to resist. He jerked hard. She fell in the snow. Rather than let her get up, Nyphron dragged her. The tie of Justine’s cloak came loose as she skidded across the snow.

  “Damn you!” she screamed at him. “You sonofabitch!”

  He did not look at her. His grim face locked on the destination of the tent.

  “Stop it!” she shouted, and jerked.

  He pulled harder, spinning her. The nape of her dress dipped and snow slipped down the back of her neck, chilling her. “LET ME GO!” she screamed.

  Nyphron ignored her, but on the nearby hilltop Persephone saw something move.

  The outline of a summit that hadn’t changed in ages was different.

  No one interferes between a husband and a wife except—

  “Nyphron! Nyphron, let go! Let go!” she cried, with new urgency. “Nyphron, let go or you’re going to die!”

  “Please don’t make this worse than it already is,” he told her.

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you!”

  She remembered a moment from years before, back in Dahl Rhen when she was about to face Konniger, and Raithe had told her: “Persephone, if you have any problem, yell. Yell real loud and then get out of the way. I’ll do the rest.”

  Nyphron didn’t know where the dragon had come from, how exactly it was made. In her head, she heard its words again. “Even now.”

  She had to do something, but she came up with nothing. Nyphron wasn’t letting go, and he had given up listening to her. Persephone was jerked again, her face nearly hitting the snow. Then she was on her back, her legs kicking like a flipped beetle. She would have been upset at the indignity, except a real horror was drowning her thoughts. For at that moment, she looked back at the hill.

  The dragon was gone.

  She felt a growing wind that only she understood. Tents, the ones still standing, began to shudder, shake, and flap. It hadn’t been snowing, but snow filled the air. It didn’t fall; it swirled.

  Thrump. Thrump. Thrump.

  “The dragon, you fool!” she screamed, pointing up with her free hand.

  Persephone was pleased to discover that the terror in her voice finally got through to her husband. Nyphron’s concern was finally triggered by her panic. He stopped and looked up. Some had already started running, toppling over buckets and tripping over bundles of wool still blocking the pathway. As the shadow enveloped the entire camp, people screamed. Nyphron finally let go, but it was too late.

  The gusts and thrusts stopped as the dragon folded its wings and dropped like a falcon onto the Fhrey commander. One giant claw with sword-length talons landed, pinning Nyphron to the ground. Then that great mouth of vicious teeth opened.

  “Stop!” Persephone shouted at the creature. She had rolled to her knees and had both arms raised. “Don’t hurt him!”

  At the sound of her voice, the dragon hesitated. Its lips pulled back into a sneer, showing still more teeth. One big eye fixed on her, the tall elongated pupil snapping her into focus. The great beast released a deep, ground-shaking growl and let go a snort of hot air that blew back the edges of Persephone’s cloak and tossed her hair.

  “Please,” she told it. Her heart pounded and she wondered how she was able to talk. “Don’t.”

  Nyphron lay on his back in the snow, pinned by the claw as if the roots of a tree had grown over him. His head was trapped between two great talons, the webbing of the claw up around his neck. Barely breathing, he didn’t say a word. Although Nyphron was arrogant, self-centered, and frequently unsympathetic, he wasn’t stupid. For once, he was perfectly willing—eager—to let her command the situation.

  “I—I need him alive.” Persephone spoke to the dragon but looked at Nyphron. “He’s my husband.” She turned to those still watching, the ones spellbound by what they saw, or too scared to move. Sikar ran toward them with sword drawn, but stopped short when he saw Nyphron under the claw.

  “He hurt you.” The dragon spoke with cavernous timbre. The voice could have been that of a mountain or a god.

  Gasps escaped the crowd.

  “He didn’t.” Persephone held up her hands, revealing—she wasn’t sure what—that they were still there? “I’m all right. I am. He”—again she looked into Nyphron’s eyes, speaking to him, willing him to go along—“would never really hurt me. We just had a disagreement. Husbands and wives have those. He was angry, and so was I. But he wasn’t going to hurt me. Were you?”

  “No.” Nyphron shook his head so slightly it appeared as if he was shivering, and maybe he was. Even the leader of the Galantians might show fear when pinned by an invulnerable dragon. “I only sought to—”

  The great claw tightened. Talons dragged, digging deep furrows into the snow, plowing up dirt and last year’s grass.

  The crowd gasped again, and several retreated. Others raised defending hands to shield their frightened eyes.

  Persephone rushed forward and placed a hand on the dragon’s claw. “Stop!”

  Again, the beast listened. Again, it hesitated.

  “This war isn’t over. I need him, and . . . he is my husband.” She paused. Persephone looked around at the men with mallets and shovels, women with buckets and baskets, so many she didn’t recognize, so many strangers. She straightened up and spoke directly to the crowd. “And I am keenig. I know the fane’s army is advancing. I know they have dragons. I know our situation appears impossible. But I also know what most of you are too young to remember: That I have done the impossible before—and more than once. And I—”

  “I ’member.” Habet stepped forward.

  Habet, who had been missing all day, reappeared. He was dressed in soaked traveling clothes, looking haggard and sweaty. Without pause or concern, he walked right up to Persephone and the dragon. He reached out and patted the dragon’s side three times, smiling as he did. Then he turned to Persephone. “I ’member it all. I was there. I was always there. You gave us food when we was starving, killed the bad bear no one else could, moved us to the sea when our dahl was destroyed, brought back da shiny sword from far away, and had Moya kill that ugly Gula.” He made a fierce face, then laughed.

  “You remember all that?”

  Habet nodded like a pigeon. “I ’member you said, ‘trust me.’ You said it, and we did it.”

  She smiled at him, then she turned back to the crowd. “Now I’m asking everyone to trust me again. My command is that we stay here. We do not run. It might seem a foolish thing, but if we leave now, we will most assuredly lose this war. The Fhrey can always make more dragons, so there is nowhere that is safe. They will hunt us down and kill us all. If we stay . . .” She didn’t know how to finish. She was working blind, believing in a man who wanted her to trust him.

  “You only need to trust me one more time. If I’m right, this war will be over and my reign as keenig will end. But for now—for now we stay.”

  No one spoke. There wasn’t so much as a cough, and the winter stillness was as complete as if the world had stopped. Everything paused, waiting on her to start it again. Persephone dusted snow off her hands, brushed hair from her face, and once more tried and failed to pull Justine’s cloak around her. There was just no way to look dignified in an ill-fitting wrap. “Let him go,” she told the beast. “I need him. We need him. The world needs him.”

  The claw opened.

  “Return to your hill,” she told it. “We may yet need you as well.”

  Gusts of downdrafts exploded against the ground, throwing up snow and sending bales of wool tumbling. In that blinding swirl of dragon-made blizzard, Persephone walked to Habet and gave him a hug. “Welcome back,” she said. “Where did you go?”

  “I went for a ride.”

  Brin raced the sun, and it was winning.

  She chased it west, watching as it flew farther and farther away. It shifted from white, to yellow, to a now frightening shade of orange.

  The trip through the swamp had been as ideal as Muriel had promised. The word enchanted came to mind. The muddy water had frozen, its surface dusted with a thin coating of snow that was just enough to provide good traction. Finding her way was simple: A path had been made for her. The trees themselves had lined up to create a corridor that blocked the wind. Maybe it had always been there, and in the dark, they hadn’t seen it. But that morning it felt as if the swamp held her hand.

  She felt that hand let go when she reached the field and ran out of the swamp. The last time she was there it had been a beautiful fall day of bright colors and an easy downhill stroll. Now Brin struggled uphill through a frozen, windswept landscape of snow and bare trees. She’d hoped to find Naraspur still tethered, but the horse was gone, and she was left to hike. The sun was well overhead as she began that arduous half circle swing around the mountain. She was feeling strong, and confident, which didn’t make much sense. She’d been dead for several days, her body inert and packed in ice-cold mud. No food, no water, no air, and since hopping back inside and taking up the reins of those arms and legs, she’d had only one night to rest. When Arion had woken after her near-death, it had taken weeks for her to recuperate, alternating between sipping water and vomiting it back up. Yet here was Brin, switching back and forth between a fast walk and a trot after already covering what had to be miles.