Page 203 of Of Empires and Dust
Vaeril clenched his jaw at Tarmon’s question. He knew Tarmon was only trying to find common ground, but he also knew the Ephorí never gave information freely unless it was for a purpose.
“Iyana passed into Heraya’s embrace long ago, taken by the Astyrlína.” Thurivîr sucked in the sides of his cheeks, staring into the flames before him. “My son, Thronil, fell during the battle for the city. Dragonfire.”
“My apologies, Thurivîr… I didn’t mean to…”
Tarmon stopped speaking as Thurivîr held up an open hand and shook his head. “You have lost family, Tarmon Hoard. I can see it in everything you do. And neither you nor I are alone in that. Loss is what binds us. A common grief, a common enemy.”
The candour with which Thurivîr spoke surprised Vaeril, but Vaeril still didn’t trust the tenor of his voice. There was something searching in it, something pointed.
Tarmon raised his cup of wine, the fire casting a warm orange glow on his face. “To those we’ve lost.”
“To those we’ve lost,” chorused the others, mimicking Tarmon’s gesture and drinking from their cups.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vaeril saw the tips of Queen Tessara’s fingers go white as she gripped her cup. That was it then. That was the game they were playing. Who could ingratiate themselves more with Calen’s highest commander. There was always a game, always an advantage being sought.
Baralas had been quiet up until that point, but he lifted his cup once more. “Nur temen vie’ryn valana. Din dauva værakanra i’lanír. Din viël værakanra glinmatar.” The Ephorí held his cup in the air, allowing the silence to settle. “In the Common Tongue, ‘for those we have lost. Your death will not be in vain. Your life will not be forgotten.’”
Vaeril lifted his cup along with the others and repeated Baralas’s words. Baralas’s voice held none of the practiced theatrics that Thurivîr’s did. The sorrow was genuine, the words not just another carefully chosen sentiment. A rare vulnerability amongst those in the higher echelons. Though, Baralas was an Ephorí of Ardurän and so had been instructed in the art of politicking while still in his mother’s womb, so Vaeril could have been mistaken. But he didn’t feel as though he was.
“There is another matter that must be discussed,” Queen Tessara said after a few minutes of silence. “Dumelian informs me that our scouts report word that the human city of Camylin remains under heavy Urak siege. The city is blockaded, and the Uraks have set fortified encampments. The siege has lasted since before the Blood Moon rose, and food will soon be short.”
“With respect, Inari.” Thurivîr inclined his head, barely, the smooth gold silk of his shirt glowing in the firelight. “We knew Camylin was under siege before we left. This is not new information. Our course remains unchanged. We must skirt the blockade, keeping our distance, and fight our way through to this city of Salme.”
“To hear that a child starves on the other side of the world is a terrible thing, is it not?” Queen Tessara asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thurivîr returned the queen’s gaze, a hint of caution in his eyes. “Of course.”
Tessara’s expression remained unchanged. “If you heard a child was starving, would it move you to cross two thousand miles to place food in their belly?”
Vaeril saw where the queen was going, but he wasn’t sure Thurivîr did. He cast a glance at Erik, Tarmon, Dann, and Lyrei. None of the four had said a word, but they all watched. Even Valdrin had stopped his sketching.
“Of course not,” Thurivîr answered. “The child would be dead before I arrived. What is your point?”
Tarmon shifted in his place, crossing his arms and drawing in a long breath. “Her point is that to hear of something and to witness something are two separate things. You would not cross two thousand miles to feed a starving child you have never met. But if you watch that same child starve before your eyes, you would give them your last morsel. We already knew of the siege, but now we are about to march past the starving child.”
A broad smile stretched Tessara’s lips, and she bowed her head deeply to Tarmon.
“Mmh…” Thurivîr shrugged, opening his palms out. “It matters little. Pretty metaphors aside, there is nothing we can do. If we throw our forces against the Uraks at Camylin, we will not have the numbers to relieve Salme. And even if we did,Camylin’s garrison is Lorian. Would we give our blood to save soldiers who would put us to the spear?”
“The garrison might be Lorian, but the people are Illyanaran,” Dann said, joining the conversation. As soon as the words had left his lips, Dann looked unsure of himself.
“And what would you have us do, Commander Pimm?” Thurivîr emphasised Dann’s name and his rank, amusement in his voice.
“I don’t know. But we can’t just leave them to die…”
“So you would have us die in their stead?”
“No… that’s not what I meant. I… no.”
“Come now, surely with your vast experience leading warriors into battle you have a plan? You have seen death like I have, have you not? You understand the weight of sending souls to die? Or I suppose not. One so young.” He smiled and raised his hands with a false smile on his lips. “With a head full of ideals.”
Erik shifted in place, jaw clenching. The man glared at Thurivîr.
“Nothing to say, Commander Pimm?” Thurivîr continued. “Usually, you are so full of words.”
“Watch your tongue,” Erik snapped, leaning forwards, his stare fixed on the Ephorí.
“There feels like a threat in those words, Commander Virandr. Are you prepared to?—"
