She closed her eyes and projected her thoughts, pushing all her mental energy toward Felrook. Maldor? Anyone? She sensed no reply. I’m not sure if anyone can hear me. I’ll accept your offer to come train with you, but you’ll have to get me there. I have no way to access your fortress. I’m at the keep east of you. Help me get to you, and I’ll come.
Rachel opened her eyes. Felrook looked the same. She had exerted her will intensely, but she sensed no reply. She slipped the necklace back around her neck. Should she try again from the edge of the lake? Maybe she was too far from the fortress? Was it possible that she had been heard, even though she perceived no response?
Ferrin surprised Rachel, addressing her from behind. “If we could tear down those walls with excessive staring, Maldor would already be homeless.”
Rachel could not avoid jumping a little at the sound of his voice. Turning, she tried to smile, hoping she looked less rattled than she felt. How long had he been there? Had he seen her replace the charm necklace? “It’s so big.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was getting myself all wound up. I keep trying to see something that all the others have missed. If they can get me close enough, I could at least throw our remaining orantium at it.”
“We would be asking a few gnats to devour a bull,” Ferrin said. “We could do some superficial damage with the remaining orantium. We could destroy the gates, but they would collapse the access path, leaving the castle entrance unreachable except by mountaineers. We could shatter some battlements. But to what end? Few enemy lives would be lost, and broken walls can be mended. Better that we use the orantium to defend ourselves. Our foes should pay to claim our lives.”
“Do you think it will come to that?” Rachel asked. “A desperate last stand?”
“None of us want that to be the case,” Ferrin replied. “Although we came here aware that we would probably fail, some naive portion of us stubbornly yearns for victory. But we have reached the hour when only a miracle could save us. I was sent to fetch you. Galloran wishes to confer.”
“With me?” Rachel wondered.
“With those of us who set out from Mianamon together.”
“Is there news?”
Ferrin nodded. “None of it good, so far as I understand.”
Rachel drew her veil in front of her face. “Who died?”
Ferrin took her hand, his voice softening. “Nobody, as far as we know. We’re simply running out of time. Come.”
The displacer led her down from the wall, across the busy yard, and into the keep. Rachel had grown accustomed to stares wherever she went. She had learned that if she didn’t want attention, she shouldn’t dress like a mysterious mourner and show off her magical powers in front of thousands of witnesses. She and Ferrin climbed stairs to the upper hall. Six guards stood at attention outside the heavy doors—two humans, two drinlings, and two seedmen.
Inside they found Galloran, Io, and Tark. Only five companions were left who had set out from Mianamon together. They seemed a tiny group inside the long, airy hall. A fire roared in a huge hearth. The thick stone walls made the keep permanently chilly. The heavy doors thumped closed.
Galloran was not currently wearing his blindfold, but he held it in his hand. He rose and greeted them, offered them seats, then put it on.
“We have had little time to converse in private since marching to war,” Galloran began. “Because the end is upon us, I want your counsel without the pressure of unfamiliar ears. Let me lay out our predicament as I understand it, and then please feel free to speak openly.”
“Okay,” Rachel said. The others nodded.
“Our scouts have been watching the east. The armies of Maldor will arrive in less than three days, their numbers virtually uncountable. If something does not change, no matter what tactics we employ, they will swarm in and massacre us all. We might not even get the opportunity to make them test our best defenses. If they so desired, they could wipe out our unsheltered forces, then lay siege to the keeps. Why storm the walls when they have all the time they desire to starve us out? Of course, if Maldor wishes to crush us faster, the bloodier option remains open.”
“Can we run?” Ferrin asked. “Have you considered alternatives to the passes?”
“There are some lesser ways through the mountains,” Galloran said. “No doubt you are familiar with some of them—minor trails, no true roads. We could flee into the western wilderness and let our foes hunt us. Some of our best woodsmen might win free, but the majority of our forces would perish in disorganized mayhem.”
“Wouldn’t that mess up the prophecy?” Rachel asked. “If we ran?”
“It could,” Galloran said. “Destroying Felrook was our mission. Whether we fight the oncoming armies or flee them, without an assault of Felrook it seems we would be abandoning the prophecy. Ferrin, have you any idea how near Jason might be to his destination?”
“He keeps the ear well muffled,” Ferrin said. “Voices are indecipherable. Anything I hear is faint. I know they were on horseback for several days. Certain sounds of their travel were unmistakable. But now they are on foot. What the change means, I cannot say.”
“It could mean they’re close,” Rachel said.
“It could mean they ran into trouble and had to leave their horses behind,” Ferrin said. “I do believe they remain alive and free.”
“I wish we could signal our need to them,” Galloran said. “Our lack of combat on the way here brought us to Felrook faster than anyone could have reasonably estimated. I’m not sure they could possibly guess our current state of urgency.”
“Any progress on cracking Felrook?” Ferrin asked.
“None,” Galloran said. “From the outset it appeared to be a problem without a solution. That remains unchanged. We appear to be utterly without recourse.”
“Should we try anyway?” Rachel urged. “I mean, if we can’t run, and we can’t stand and fight, we might as well go down attacking Felrook. It would be the closest thing to what the prophecy wanted. Who knows? If they think we can’t win, maybe they won’t collapse the path up to the gate. It would be a hassle to rebuild. We have orantium. We have tough fighters. Maybe some of us could get inside. Maybe some warrior could make it all the way to Maldor.”
“It would be a futile act of desperation,” Galloran said. “But I would prefer it to doomed inaction or to the carnage that would attend a frantic retreat.”