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The trollis lifts his eyes, first to my father, then to me. His brow twitches, and fear clamps on my belly.He recognizes me.All of Cagmar has seen my face, thanks to the caste tournament. Pressing my lips together, I silently plead with him to say nothing.
He glares.
“I want you to get him to talk,” my father finishes.
My stomach tightens so severely I fear I’ll lose my meager breakfast. I’ve come to a crossroads with my promises. I’ve sworn to Qequan that I will get battle information from my father. I’ve also given my word notto use my abilities against the trollis. But I will not garner my father’s trust if I do not do as he says. I cannot stay true to both of these, not without talking to this trollis in hopes of convincing him to play along. My father will not leave me alone with him, I am certain.
The choice is easy to make. I choose Azmar. I will do whatever is necessary to spare him. Thus my father’s trust trumps my promise to the council. Should this creature give any information that will hurt Cagmar, I will report it, then do what I can to counteract it.
My father says, “How many able trolls are in your army?”
I could tell him the answer, but that isn’t the point of this exercise. He’s testing me. Seeing if I still have the ability he indirectly gave me. Seeing if I will heed him as I did when I was a child.
I’m so sorry,I want to say, but the words must stay mute within me.
I push out a trickle of fear. The trollis and I recoil at the same time. He says nothing.
“How many.” My father gestures to me. Hugging myself, I push out more fear. Cold sweat licks my palms and starts to form along my spine.
The trollis grits his teeth and turns away, resisting. He strains against the chains holding him. The depth of his skin pales.
I push.
He growls. “More than you have, louse.”
My father waits.
The trollis shakes his head, obviously confused, and sends another scathing look my way. I focus on his stomach. He roars. “Five thousand.”
He’s lying. Cagmar isn’t large enough to house so many. At best, they have half that.
My father’s brows knit together. “And what is the tactic your generals will use in response to a frontal assault?”
A frontal assault would be difficult. Even if the humans managed to chop down the east side of the bridge, Cagmar wouldn’t fall. Too many cords, beams, pressure points, and arches hold it up.
My father snaps his fingers. Ensuring I won’t bite my lip or tongue, I push out more fear. My hands and shoulders tremble with it.
The trollis squirms. I can’t tell if he wants to fight or run. He’s too restrained.
He roars again. “We will pick you off one by one. You won’t penetrate our walls. Our strongest will surface and slaughter you.”
“Then we will goad you out into the open. Tell me, how could I best accomplish that?”
I’m starting to feel sick. Father asks more questions, and soon I’m on my knees, panting with my own terror. In the past, he always used me more subtly. He didn’t want others to know they were being manipulated. He uses no such tact here.
After fifteen minutes, I cut off the fear. Blink sweat from my eyes. Cold flows from my erratic heartbeat and through my limbs. My belly and sinuses burn.
But it’s satisfactory. “Well done, Calia.” Ottius Thellele brushes his hands off and turns toward the door. “You’ve finally learned your place.”
During the day the army moves northeast, farther from Cagmar. My father rides a horse—one of only three such animals among the men—and he has me walk beside him. We keep up a steady pace, but by the time we make camp for the night, I’m exhausted. My father must be itching to speak with the other war leaders, for he assigns a soldier named Dunnan to tie me up for the night, instead of doing it himself.
But this is a good thing. First, I must be gainingsometrust if my father delegates the task. Second,anyother man will be easier to fool than Ottius Thellele.
And fool him I must. I have just over a day to meet Qequan’s messenger at the Pentalpoint. I need information, and my father admitted the men here were anxious for “sport.”
As Dunnan leads me into a hastily erected storage tent, I bank on the assumption that not a single soldier here would dare touch me without his general’s consent. Like me, none of them would risk his anger.
If my assumption proves wrong, I’m going to pay the price.
