Rirth accepts that with a stern nod. Limping forward, he rests against the map table, staring down at the Judgment Ward.He really shouldn’t be walking right now, the idiot.
“I can round up hundreds of Silverknights to distract his army,” he says, and hope starts to grow in my chest. “Our ranks have only swelled since returning the Nuhavians from the Faith Ward. We can cause a diversion so you can do the job you need to do.”
“You’re talking about hundreds of knights against thousands of vampires,” Skartovius answers doubtfully. “You’ll get crushed, Silverknight. These aren’t Valenthia’s mindless flock. These are skilled judgemen, each one equal to three of your best fighters. No offense.”
“I’m not planning on charging headlong into them, dammit,” Rirth growls.
“Good, because you can barely sit a horse in your current state, my friend,” Garroway says, raising a finger.
How does he always manage to be so unhelpful?I wonder.
“Your attack on the North Mines is a good example of a successful diversion,” Rirth continues. He readjusts his weight with a grunt, stuffing the canes under his arms and warming his palms together. It’s funny he’s short enough to use them as crutches to put under his armpits, because Antones wasn’tthattall of a man.
“Sure,” I say, “except Aramastun wasthere.” I lift my arms, where my forearms are still dotted with little pinpricks from his whip that gathered my blood for him. “And clearly, he gained enough Loreblood during that skirmish to grow his damnable wings.”
“Right.” Rirth rolls his wrist, then draws a line between the northwestern mines on the other side of the Olhavian Peaks, to the Judgment Ward in the center of the mountain city. “My point is, he only had asmallfighting force there. A dozen judgemen at most. And why is that?”
When he poses the question to the class like that, trailing off, it’s Vallan who answers. “Because he didn’t have time to round up his entire force.”
Rirth snaps his fingers. “Right you are, big Buver.”
“Big brute,” Vall corrects. “I’m not your brother.”
Rirth snaps his fingers again, points at the giant vampire, and says nothing this time.
“You’re saying you think Aramastun won’t have the time to amass his entire army to descend on Sutlis Spire?” I ask.
“Not in less than two days, which is how much time he’s had. If I had to venture a guess, he learned our attack on the Faith Ward was happening as it was happening. Angry, he flew off like a gargoyle, came here, and did his dirty work. It screams of rash actions to justify the loss to his people and to not look humiliated. To bait us into coming to him.”
“. . . And you’re telling us to be baited?” Skar says. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Rash actions.” I bob my brows. “Recklessness? I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe we’re not so different.”
Rirth bares his teeth in a grimace. “I think he has less support than you’re giving him credit for. That’s what I’m saying, nobleblood.” He mulls that over, rubbing at his chin, pursing his lips. “In fact, it seems his plans have gone awry at every turn. He lowered Nuhav’s gates to try and draw humans into his web. To confuse us. Instead, Valenthia Yurlyth gets the brunt of the sacrificial lambs because she partnered with the Truehearts to steal the blood-sacks right from under Aramastun’s nose.”
I blink. That’s a good point. If nothing else, Rirth is making a good case for this “demonic” vampire not being as powerful as he tries to seem. “Smoke and mirrors,” I mutter.
“And if it’s not smoke and mirrors? If he rips us apart limb from limb?” Skar asks.
I shrug so high my shoulders nearly meet my ears. “Then what’s the difference if it’s tonight or it’s next year? Why give him a chance to rebuild his army when he’s weakened like this?”
He doesn’t have a rebuttal for that. His lips open, no words come out, and I feel like I’ve finally stumped the stern strategist for the first time. “Shit,” he sighs, as if realizing it at the same time. “. . . You might be right, little temptress.”
I give him a smug smile. “I know I am, love. When will you learn Ialwaysam?”
He rolls his gold-flecked eyes in such an exaggerated way it’s impossible to miss. “Take your wins gracefully, you damned brat princess.”
“Then we’re all agreed?” I ask, eyeing each man in turn. To Rirth, I say, “How quickly can you get the Silverknights up, out of bed, and ready?”
“You need them tonight? Give me three hours. I’ll send runners posthaste.”
“There’s still six hours of night left,” Vallan says.
“Go there, rescue your mother, kill the demon bloodsucker, and be back in bed by sunrise,” Garro says cheerily. “I like it.”
“How are you getting there past Aramastun’s army?” Rirth asks.
I rest an arm on Skartovius’ tall shoulder, patting him fondly. My smile is devious, and it looks like Skar is resisting another eye-roll. “We have a guy for that.”