“And one other thing,” Kip said.
Ben-hadad looked at him, horror dawning. “Oh no . . . They don’t need a navy, just some supply ships and barges. That’s why a little harbor could work.”
“What? What do you mean?” Tisis asked. “What’s the one other thing, Kip?”
“The bane float,” Kip said. “At least, the one at Ru did. So what if the other can as well?”
“Plenty of lumber around Azuria to help support the heavier ones, if need be,” Ben-hadad said.
“You’re telling me . . .” Cruxer said.
“They’re going to invade the Chromeria,” Ben-hadad said. “Barges for ten or twenty thousand men and drafters and wights and food, and they just . . . cross. The Chromeria is surely using skimmers to scout now, but any skimmers that get close enough to spot the bane would simply die in the water because the drafters powering them couldn’t draft. The Chromeria might only get a couple days’ warning.”
“And it wouldn’t matter anyway,” Kip said. “The Chromeria’s defensive plans rely on drafters to do most of the fighting. If none of the drafters can do anything because the bane neutralize them . . . they’ll panic. Everyone will. With drafters and wights and even five thousand warriors, the White King could take the Jaspers in a day.”
“Well, that’s fuckin’ terrifying,” Big Leo rumbled, coming in the door. “Doesn’t do us much good, though, does it?”
“Sure it does,” Kip said. “If we know what he’s doing, we have a chance to stop him.”
“How?” asked Big Leo.
“Gimme a break, man,” Kip said, “I just figured out his plan. Give me a second or two to come up with ours, maybe?”
“Maybe we go scuttle the bane before they can leave?” Big Leo asked.
“Yes! A surprise attack. Move fast through the forest, descend on him like the raiders we are.” Kip started to warm to the idea. He could stop the White King and not abandon Blood Forest. “We could send along the bulk of the army to relieve the siege at Green Haven, shoot down there by small rivers and streams, maybe reunite with the Night Mares and—”
“Breaker,” Cruxer said. He looked over at Big Leo. “If they have the bane . . . then they have the bane. We’re drafters. All of our elite warriors, all the Night Mares—we’re all drafters. The bane can immobilize drafters of their color. If they have all the bane, we’re the last people who could stop them.”
It hit them all like a punch in the gut.
“We haven’t lost. Not yet,” Kip said. “I won’t believe it.”
Tisis came beside him and took his hand.
His heart plunged.
“We haven’t,” Big Leo said. “But maybe the Chromeria has.”
“I guess that makes our decision for us,” Cruxer said. He looked ill. “We can send messengers. Maybe see if they get around this navy to go warn the Chromeria.”
“It won’t make any difference,” Big Leo said, “but we owe it to them to let them know what’s coming. Maybe they can flee.”
“You know damn well they won’t,” Tisis said. “Andross Guile won’t believe someone’s thought of something he hasn’t.”
At the Battle of Ru, everyone in the Seven Satrapies had seen what one bane could do—or could almost do. But they’d killed that one. Maybe that had lulled them all into a false complacency. No one could imagine that anyone could assemble seven bane together without anyone finding out about it. No one could imagine organizing large-scale warfare without drafters at the center of the strategy.
Kip said, “Fine, so let’s say we give up the Chromeria for lost, which means we’re giving up on the Seven Satrapies entirely. Then let’s say we go free Green Haven, and have total success. Then we have . . . what? until next spring at best for the White King to regroup and attack us? We have until next spring to figure out how to win a war against drafters and wights and the bane—without using drafters, not even ourselves?”
He looked from face to face, but they all looked as gray and hopeless as he felt.
“And if the Chromeria falls,” Cruxer said. “All the fleeing drafters are no help to us. We can’t even help us.”
“We’d have to retreat before every battle, leaving the munds to do all the fighting—against wights and drafters. They’ll be slaughtered. We could fight a guerrilla war, but we’d have to be willing to give up every city, every decent-size town, and every person not able to travel fast and live off the land. There’s no endgame there except hoping Koios simply decides it’s not worth it to kill us. Anyone here think Koios will give up before we’re all dead?”
Every face was grim.
Tisis said, “You’ve been awfully quiet, Ben. Any ideas?”
He fidgeted with his flip-up spectacles. He chewed on his lower lip. “Not for an attack, but maybe . . . maybe for a defense?”
Chapter 32
Karris White Oak had never felt so alone. She didn’t know how long she could stand this.
She lifted her head from the prison of her folded arms at some sound from outside her rooms. She’d fallen asleep at her desk after another too-long night of studying and making plans and drinking too much kopi. Karris’s room slave, Aspasia, wasn’t confident enough in her position to make her go to bed. She had merely draped a blanket over her mistress’s shoulders. It had fallen off.
Constantly surrounded by the Blackguards, who had been her family for nearly two decades, now Karris couldn’t let herself trust any of them. She stood slowly, body aching, and wondered if it was only the night-sleeping at her desk, or if she was getting old. She moved toward her bed, not bothering to undress as she glanced at a water clock. It was still two hours until dawn. She could get an hour of real sleep, anyway. Then the day’s duties would accost her once more.
But she had barely slipped under the cold blankets when she heard a voice. The same voice that had wakened her, but now impossibly loud.
“Want to know your problem, Highness?” Samite said.
Let this just be a bad dream, Karris thought.
Highness wasn’t one of her titles. “Not enough sleep,” Karris said, not opening her eyes. “Please go away.”
“You’ve got tits again. Never thought I’d see it.”
“Excuse me?!” She opened her eyes. Samite was not alone. She closed them again. She was in no place to deal with people right now.
Gill Greyling’s usually welcome voice intruded. “She’s trying to be polite. She means you’re getting fat.”
“Ahem,” said Commander Fisk. What the hell. When had he come in? “Excuse Gill. He meant soft.”
“Chubby?” asked Essel.
“Chubby?!” Karris said. “My clothes still fit!” A little less comfortably, maybe, but still.
“Flabby?” asked Buskin.
“Tubby,” suggested Vanzer.
What was this? Had all of them come? It was mortifying. Karris peeked from beneath her pillow. Orholam’s granite belly, there were a dozen of them.
Karris stared daggers at some new kid she didn’t even know. He swallowed. “I, uh, I hadn’t noticed any change, High Lady.”