Page 70 of Kingdom of Ash

“Morath is on the move,” Chaol said, fighting the disappointment that he would see neither of the two people he needed to speak to the most, “and it is on its way directly here.”

His father, for once, went still.

“Ten thousand troops,” Chaol said. “They come to sack the city.”

He could have sworn his father paled. “You know this without a doubt?”

“I sailed with an army sent from the khagan, a legion of his ruk riders amongst them. Their scouts discovered the information. The rukhin fly here as we speak, but their Darghan soldiers won’t arrive for at least a week or longer.” He came forward—just one step. “You need to rally your forces, prepare the city. Immediately.”

But his father swirled his wine, frowning at the red liquid within. “There are no forces here—none to make a dent in ten thousand men.”

“Then begin the evacuation, and move as many into the keep as you can. Prepare for a siege.”

“Last I looked, boy,Iwas still Lord of Anielle. You gladly turned your back on it. Twice.”

“You have Terrin.”

“Terrin’s a scholar. Why do you think I sent him away with his mother like a nursing babe?” His father sneered. “Have you come back to bleed for Anielle, then? To bleed for this city at last?”

“Don’t you talk to him like that,” Yrene said with dangerous calm.

His father ignored her.

But Yrene stepped up to Chaol’s side once more. “I am the heir apparent to the Healer on High of the Torre Cesme. I came at your son’s behest, back to the lands of my birth, to help in this war, along with two hundredhealers from the Torre itself. Your son spent the last several months forging an alliance with the khaganate, and nowallof the khagan’s armies sail to this continent to saveyourpeople. So while you sit here in your miserable keep, tossing insults at him, know that he has done what no other could do, and if your city survives, it will be because ofhim, not you.”

His father blinked at her. Slowly.

It took all of Chaol’s restraint to keep from sweeping Yrene into his arms and kissing her.

But Chaol said to his father, “Prepare for a siege, and get the defenses ready. Or the Silver Lake will run red again beneath the claws of Erawan’s beasts.”

“I know the history of this city as well as you do.”

Chaol debated ending it there, but he asked, “Is that why you didn’t kneel to Erawan?”

“Or to the puppet king before him,” his father said, picking at his food.

“You knew—that the old king was Valg-possessed?”

His father’s fingers stilled on a crust of hearty bread, the only sign of his shock. “No. Only that he was building a host throughout the land that did not seem … natural. I am no king’s lackey, no matter what you may think of me.” He lowered his hand once more. “Of course, in my plans to get you out of harm’s way, it seems it only led you closer to it.”

“Why bother?”

“I meant what I said in Rifthold. Terrin is not a warrior—not at heart. I saw what was building in Morath, in the Ferian Gap, and required my eldest son to be here, to pick up the sword should I fall. And now you have returned, at the hour when the shadow of Morath has crept around us on all sides.”

“All sides but one,” Chaol said, motioning toward the White Fangs just barely visible through the windows high above. “Rumor has it Erawan has spent these months hunting down the wild men of the Fangs. If you are so short of soldiers, call for aid.”

His father’s mouth tightened. “They are half-savage nomads who relish killing our people.”

“As ours have relished killing them. Let Erawan unite us.”

“And offer them what? The mountains have belonged to us since before Gavin Havilliard sat on his throne.”

Yrene muttered, “Offer them the damn moon, if it will convince them to help.”

His father smirked. “Can you offer such a thing, as the heir apparent to the Healer on High?”

“Careful,” Chaol growled.

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