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“On behalf of the people and Warlord Chinua, I greet you, Uriden’s Claw,” Harif said, filling two brass drinking bowls with a milky white alcohol. “I am Harif, second to Warlord Chinua.”
Gargoyles, like any other culture, had a host of rituals, the most important of which revolved around the establishment of hierarchy. As the lord of the land, Cian should be served first, with the next highest-ranking dignitary second. In any other situation, that would have been me, but now that Nevahn was a war hero, I wondered where exactly he fell, according to the gargoyles.
“And I, Claw of Uriden, greet you, Harif.” Cian dipped his third finger into the drink, made a gesture to the sky, the floor, and then touched the finger to the center of his forehead as he spoke.
Harif did the same. Then they drank together, watching each other carefully.
After they had drained their bowls dry, Harif placed two more bowls in front of the tray and filled them. Instead of handing them out himself, as custom dictated, he gave both to Cian and let him choose who should be served next. Apparently, he was unsure. Interesting.
Cian, however, didn’t hesitate. He offered the drinks to both Nevahn and me at the same time.
Harif’s gaze slid back to Cian. “Warlord Chinua sends her condolences on the loss of our mutual friend.”
I immediately wanted to stab Harif for bringing Nisang up, knowing the wound was still raw.
Cian’s jaw clenched, released. “Convey my thanks.”
“She also wishes to remind you of your father’s treaty. As part of that treaty, shadows do not track our clan movements. We allow no Whispers. However, as a courtesy, she provides this.” He opened his tunic to remove a scroll.
Cian leaned forward as if to take it but hesitated, muffling a small grunt of pain.
Nevahn slid forward to take the scroll from Harif and passed it to Cian, who unrolled it, scanned it, and then muttered, “Troop movements. Brenna’s forces are regrouping. They will march for Ezulari and lay siege.”
“Her dragon is lamed,” Harif continued. “Balor has withdrawn his armada. She must not think she needs them if she marches forth.”
“She doesn’t,” Cian ground out, rolling up the scroll. “Even if Morlash makes it south in time to join up with what’s left of our army, and even if we put a sword in every hand we left in Ezulari, there will only be three thousand swords against her host of twelve thousand. Never mind the dragon.”
I fought to keep myself from cringing at the numbers. We were overwhelmingly outnumbered, and that was if we armed the women and children.
Harif didn’t seem moved by the news. “How long will Ezulari stand?”
“Weeks. Maybe months.” Cian shook his head. “We are stocked for a siege at the castle. Perhaps we could stretch into winter and strain their supply lines, force them to fight in the cold. Iridyn might send reinforcements, though. Ezulari will fall if she makes it there. It is only a question of how much we make her bleed for it.”
“What about the pass?” I turned to Cian. “The narrow pass is just south of the castle.”
He shook his head again, even less enthusiastically than before. “The pass is narrow enough we could hold the army, but the dragon… We would be funneling our people there to burn. Perhaps if we still had an aerial legion, but they were decimated at Lach Ban-Lenon.”
I closed my eyes to keep from flinching at the memory of how they had sacrificed themselves alongside Nisang to rob the dragon of its wings.
“There are more than enough gargoyles to make up for the troops we lost,” I said. “But you are too afraid to fight.”
Harif narrowed his eyes at Nevahn. Cowardice was the highest insult one could level at a gargoyle.
Cian shot me a warning glance.
Nevahn didn’t seem to notice. “Your troops are fresh, and with gargoyle support, we would be evenly matched.”
Cian finally allowed himself a breath, shoulders slumping. “You do not have the authority to offer me troops, Harif.”
Harif bobbed his head. “I do not, and I have not. We may speak in hypotheticals, however.”
Cian considered his words carefully. “Hypothetically, what would your support cost?”
“Hypothetically? It would cost Uriden’s Claw nothing. It was not his suggestion.” He leveled his gaze at Nevahn. “That one will undergo the Shadow Rite.”
I shot to my feet. “Absolutely not!”
Cian’s reply was impressively diplomatic. “Nevahn is human. That rite is deadly even for a gargoyle.”
