Chapter 32

When he’d finally been able to leave the wall, Thomas had returned to his tent and collapsed onto his pallet. Using his magic had taken a toll.

He woke with a start. Something had brushed his arm. It was pitch black in the tent, so he reasoned that it was the middle of the night. Letting his magic return, Thomas was able to see a raven hopping around on the ground.

The gem on his necklace warmed.

“Thomas?” he heard in his head.

It was the woman from his vision, who coincidently was named Raven.

“I see you sent your raven to me,” Thomas answered aloud.

“Ravens have been known to guide travelers to their destinations. A solitary raven is considered good luck, while more than one raven together is called an unkindness and predicts trouble ahead.”

“Where will this raven guide me?”

“Possibly to your death.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“It’s time for you to do what needs doing. To trust in your abilities.”

“You mean my magic?” Thomas asked.

“Your abilities can get you into the Virdenese camp and end this war,” Raven pressed.

“With the help of a bird,” Thomas said.

From his tone, it was clear that he had little faith in a plan that required him to follow Raven’s namesake.

“Then you have a choice. Either follow the raven and end this war, or see everyone you know and love fall under King Doyle’s control. You have no idea of the real horrors of war. Many of the people you know will end up wishing to have only been staked.”

“It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

“It is a choice, though. If you decide to do nothing, you can save yourself and live a long life.”

“With my magic,” Thomas guessed.

“Abilities,” Raven corrected.

“Tell me your plan,” Thomas said to decide.

Raven talked him through it. With Merle’s help—it turned out the bird had a name—he could travel through the hills in the dark. Merle would keep him surefooted.

Once at the Virdenese camp, Merle would scout ahead and lead him to King Doyle’s tent. Raven explained that the key was to kill both King Doyle and General Angen.

She didn’t have to tell Thomas that killing those two would be a death sentence for him. Even with his ‘abilities,’ he would be vastly outnumbered and surrounded.

Thomas wrote two notes before he left. One to his wife and unborn son to tell them how much he loved them. The other was to King Edward and his father. Raven had confirmed that the driving force behind the war was salt—that is, the need for salt, and specifically the salt mines that lay behind the defenders.

With King Doyle out of the equation, cooler heads might prevail. Thomas would urge them to negotiate a trade agreement with Doyle’s successor to provide Virden with a reliable supply of salt.

Thomas pointed out how it was an integral part of life. It was essential for preserving food such as meat, seafood, and dairy products. He noted that Virden had access to trade goods and craftsmen with skills that surpassed anything Abingdon currently had, and that could be negotiated for in return.

“Very well, Merle. Let’s go.”

Thomas took to the hills, with Merle circling above. Once he was past the Abingdonian wall, he stopped and dug his hands into the dirt to fully activate his magic. Thomas felt the weariness fade away as his magic healed him. His senses extended out, and he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Come out, Duncan.”

The Wildling commander rose up from behind a bush.

“Where are you going?” Duncan challenged.

“Ending this.”

“How? By yourself?” Duncan asked, disbelieving what he’d just heard.

Thomas didn’t say anything for a moment as the two just stared at each other.

“Have I ever let you down?” Thomas finally asked.

Duncan shuffled his feet, clearly agitated.

“Don’t do it; it’s a fool’s errand. Come back to camp. There has to be a better way,” Duncan pleaded.

“We’ve run out of time. By noon tomorrow, the Virdenese army will breach our walls,” Thomas explained.

Thomas could see that Duncan understood that to be true. He finally nodded.

“I’ll go with you,” Duncan decided.

“No.”

“But...”

“No,” Thomas said. “The Wildlings need you. Lorcan won’t be the warlord forever, and you will have to guide your people. If you go with me...”

Duncan could only nod.

Thomas offered his hand, but Duncan was having none of that. He pulled Thomas into a hug.

“You will be remembered; I promise you that,” Duncan fiercely whispered into Thomas’s ear.

They parted, and Thomas began to walk away.

“Good hunting,” Duncan called after him.

Thomas didn’t look back.

Merle led Thomas on a convoluted path. It took them nearly an hour to cover the mile to the hill overlooking the Virdenese camp.

From above, Thomas could see various fires that looked to be slowly burning out. Overriding everything in the camp was the stench of sickness; Thomas could detect it even from a distance.

Thomas and Merle had learned to communicate with each other during their trek through the hills. The raven was skilled at wiggling its wings to tell Thomas which way to go. Merle had told him to stop while the raven scouted the camp.

When the bird came back, Thomas was surprised that it had him walk straight toward a guard. He understood why when he got close enough to hear quiet snoring. His instinct was to not leave an enemy behind him, but a little voice in the back of his head said not to kill the guard. If he left a trail of death, the Virdenese would be alerted to the presence of an intruder. If someone found the guard dead or missing, an alarm would go up. Having the sleeping camp suddenly awakened would make his job ten times harder.

Merle led Thomas on a surprisingly straight route to the center of the camp. Thomas utilized his ‘don’t see me’ magic as he kept to the shadows. Almost everyone was asleep, so he might have been able to make it this far without his ‘abilities.’

That changed when he reached King Doyle’s tent. No one was camped within thirty feet of where the King slept. There were torches burning all around the perimeter, and members of the King’s Guard, in their fancy armor, were posted on all four sides of the tent.

Thomas was contemplating how to get past them when Merle swooped down and knocked over one of the torches. All four guards went to investigate. Merle squawked and began to hop around.

“Shoo!” one of the guards called out.

Thomas didn’t hesitate as he crossed the open ground to the tent’s entrance. He slipped in and froze. He counted to ten before he looked around.

Outside, he could hear the guards chuckling about the crazy raven as they took up their posts once again.

The tent was large. On one side was a table with a map of the bowl that showed the Abingdonian defenses. It looked as though they’d been making plans for the next day’s attack. On the other side, he could see King Doyle sleeping with a naked girl who looked a little too young.

Thomas pulled Fang and crept to the pallet. With one hand, he grasped the king’s hair as the other pressed the tip of Fang against his Adam’s apple. King Doyle jerked as his eyes snapped open. The girl was startled, and when she saw Thomas, she screamed.

Thomas dragged a naked King Doyle off the pallet and turned him toward the entrance. The King’s Guard burst in with swords drawn. They froze when they saw the vaunted Lord Wolf with a knife to their King’s throat.

The girl scrambled to grab a blanket to cover herself and then fled.

One of the guards looked like he wanted to run Thomas through.

“I would rethink that,” Thomas warned as he pushed the tip of his knife into the King’s neck.

A trickle of blood stopped the guard in his tracks.

A clamor could be heard outside the tent. Finally, King Doyle found his voice.

“Are you here to kill me like you did my father and General Garamond?”

“Don’t forget Prince Fabian. He might be the only one of your family I regret killing,” Thomas said.

“My brother was weak. You did us a favor by ending his life,” King Doyle said and then glanced back at Thomas. “You haven’t killed me yet. Does that mean you’ve come to surrender?”

General Angen stepped into the tent with his claymore drawn. Thomas had never liked the unwieldy two-handed sword. They were too heavy to use in a real sword fight. About all they were good for was cleaving a man in half.

“Look at this. The gods must be smiling down on us today because they sent us a gift. I was afraid we would have to go fetch you in the morning. I have some interesting plans for you, Lord Wolf,” General Angen said.

“Your King might strike a bargain with me if I spare his life,” Thomas said.

“Feel free to take it. It will save me the trouble.”

“You traitor!” King Doyle seethed.

Thomas’s magic flared, and he leaned back as General Angen’s claymore swung at neck level. King Doyle wasn’t as lucky as his head parted from his body. Thomas would forever remember the look of surprise frozen on the King’s face.

As soon as the head hit the floor, the look of triumph on General Angen’s face went blank. One of the King’s Guard had driven his sword into the general’s back. A moment later, he slumped forward and was dead.

Thomas looked at the King’s Guard.

“Surrender!” Thomas blurted out.

They froze. Thomas had created a vague plan of cutting through the back of the tent in an attempt to flee when a grizzled-looking mercenary strode in. He looked at the dead King and general and then at Thomas. When one of the guards snapped out of whatever was holding him back and began to move forward to kill Thomas, the mercenary grabbed his arm and then looked at Thomas.

“Would you pay us what is owed?”

Thomas blinked as he tried to wrap his mind around what the mercenary had just asked. The King’s Guard all looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sure we could come to some kind of agreement. But I know that King Edward would never negotiate with mercenaries who were hired by King Doyle.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“But if you were to be hired by my personal mercenaries, that would be completely different,” Thomas said.

“Is that Leif?” the mercenary asked.

Thomas nodded.

“He’s a cheap bastard.”

Thomas shrugged.

“At least you would get paid.”

“Put your swords away, boys. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Lord Wolf anyway,” the mercenary said as he thrust out his hand. “Tobol.”

“Thomas.”

“I need to go smooth things over, my lord,” Tobol said, giving Thomas a slight bow. He then turned to the King’s Guard. “Protect him as if he were King Doyle. By the end of the day, he just might be our new King.”

“I need two runners to take notes to King Edward and King Gabriel,” Thomas said.

Thomas was left in the tent, which gave him the opportunity to search it. He was glad he did when he found the royal treasury. Like many leaders, King Doyle was cautious when it came to his money. If he’d left it in his supposedly secure castle, it could very well have been stolen. Leaving it in the care of a trusted someone might not work out either, because they might decide to go into the king business for themselves.

Before Thomas could decide the best use of the funds, the captain of the Virdenese Royal Guard entered the tent.

“Lord Wolf, for your protection, you need to obtain oaths of fealty from me and my men.”

Thomas knew that they should swear their allegiance to King Edward, but he was currently in the middle of the Virdenese camp. If they saw that the Royal Guard accepted him as their leader, the rest of the army would hopefully fall into line.