Heart of Flame

XXX. Battle Plans

Sorne checked the edge of her shield for chips or rust, but found the metal unblemished despite the abuse she'd put it through since Hjorr had given it to her. She'd cracked a lot of heads with it, broken spears and axes. The giants crafted their gear to last as long as possible, probably because their lifespans were so considerable.

"I heard you stirring last night," Cecilie said. The battlemage was staying with Sorne since she didn't have anywhere else to really be and she was serving as an advisor. Right now, it was just the two of them, as the others were carrying out their business. The Leyan spellguards were visible through the open flap of the tent, taking care of their horses. "Are you alright?"

There wasn't much in the way of privacy in the encampment, really, but that didn't bother her after years of being on campaign in the north or the months of travel to where they were now. Losena stood just east of Ethilir's arid regions, the beginning of the green. The sun was at afternoon height, red from smoke that smelled of death and brimstone.

"Nightmares," Sorne said with a shrug as she turned her attention to her spear. The haft was as solid as ever, the langets firm. She started to hone the head. It was still almost jarring to speak with another human in a language she hadn't had cause to use in years. Sometimes now she fumbled for words as she tried to knock the rust off her memory of the tongue. "Sorry I woke you."

The mage smiled faintly. "I had not fallen asleep. There are preparations to be made before a battle."

They were so perilously close now. Sorne had forbid fires for fear of alerting the legions besieging Losena. Finally, they had camp pitched. Tomorrow would be the battle, so the official battle plan would be laid out now that they could tell the weather was likely to be clear and the layout of the ground. Tentative plans had been floating for weeks, informed by a combination of Sighted mages and Sorne's giant scouts. There was still levity in the camp, but there was also tension, like a wire being drawn tighter and tighter.

"Just make sure you're rested," Sorne said. The scrape of her whetstone against her spearhead was methodical and rhythmic.

"I will," Cecilie promised. She paused for a moment, twisting one of her rings. They held stored magical power, reserves that would be useful in a long, prolonged battle like the one currently facing them. Her dark eyes studied Sorne intently. "Do you dream of the battle?"

"No," Sorne said as she continued to hone her weapon. "I dream of cruelty and flame."

The Leyan mage seemed to consider that for a moment before speaking. "Many carry their memories in their dreams." She glanced at Sorne's hands as she spoke. "Were you burned in a war?"

"No. These were before I became a warrior," Sorne said. She looked up from her work, focusing her attention on the mage for a moment. For all the softness to her features and the warmth in her smile, Cecilie had dark eyes. Sorne thought it was more than just their mahogany color. The mage knew pain, one way or another. Maybe that was why Sorne said, "A lord in Genev had my hands burned."

"I'm sorry. That must be difficult," Cecilie said.

The njoshari shrugged. "For good or ill, it pushed me north. I would not be the warrior I am today if I had been spared it. My hands will never be what they once were, but...they are still useful."

Her answer was a small smile and a murmured, "They do good work." Cecilie hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you afraid?"

"Of?" Sorne said, raising an eyebrow.

"The battle."

Sorne sighed. She was afraid of a lot of things looming in their future. She was afraid of failing the people who trusted and relied on her, of not measuring up to the task at hand, of losing the battle that would decide the fate of the east. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "Never have I faced such a foe or had the weight of an entire world on my shoulders. But fear cannot last forever and we are far from alone."