Brack’s camp was loud and obnoxious at sunrise the next day. When Nyssa came to consciousness, she was at first irritated by the noise but then relieved when she began to recognize the sounds of a well-trained army returning to its routine. Cooks were yelling out commands to stewards for items; other men were hollering orders for tent pegs and animal feed. There was general chatter, hocking and spitting as ablutions were underway. She wanted to roll over and continue her nap, but Brack coughed loudly when he saw her move and she sighed.

“A general commander on campaign does not sleep in,” he said from somewhere behind her. “She should be out there, being seen, giving direction and instilling leadership.”

“A general commander on campaign does not sleep in. A sovereign in disguise does,” she replied.

She thought he would have something smart to say or throw something at her, but he didn’t. She rolled over to look at him. He was watching her. Waiting. She sighed loudly and got up. She went to the basin that had been set out for her, picked it up and went to the lavatory tent set up discreetly behind Brack’s large one. Morning meant intense requirements to relieve herself now, and she couldn’t ignore it. She was grateful, though, for the privacy. When she was sufficiently clean, woke, and presentable, she came out to the centre of the tent where he sat at his desk. She sat in the chair opposite and Cyrus came out of nowhere to hand her a cup of steaming camp coffee.

“How do you feel this morning, General?” she said calmly and sipped her mug. It was delicious, which was a strange talent only Cyrus possessed.

“Harumph,” he replied and looked back down at his now much cleaner desk. “Like a general on campaign,” he said.

She chuckled. He still looked tired, but the clarity had returned to his eyes. He was focused and alert.

“I sent Jara out first thing to collect the Elite. They should be fed and rested and then I assume they will escort you home,” he began.

She eyed where Jara was last seen as a lump on the floor, but Cyrus had cleaned it all away. She shrugged and looked back at him.

“I was wondering if I shouldn’t stay a little longer,” she said. “I am closer to Port Town here than at home and Ark won’t be gone but a few more weeks. His intel might prove invaluable to us and I would much rather have feedback on that sooner rather than later. Maybe you and I can branch out with some Elite and catch up to him. I am useless at home, so if you think you’re up for it, I could certainly use the company…” she said, leaving it open and lifting her mug.

Brack sat back in his chair, studying her. She had been warring with herself late into the night with this option. She was right; there was little for her to do at home. If it weren’t for Hedir, she certainly wouldn’t be there, but she missed him almost irrationally. Without question, though, her pre-married self would have found her way to Brack much sooner. She winced when she thought his recent predicament could have been caused by him being alone this far out for so long.

But Brack seemed not to think of it that way. That much was clear on his face.

“How long have you been here?” she asked then, unsure and trying to recall her reports from Patrick.

“Nearly a year,” he replied patiently. “We’ve been moving southwest, from Cross heading toward Port Town and got held up here, putting down skirmishes as we come across them, but this was different. Coming up against Bael was unexpected. Up until now, there were no mounted troops, no organized companies like he had. I think they were recently arrived and just caught up to us,” he said.

“Why did he feel he had an advantage on you?” she asked then. It’s true Bael had more men and horses, but they’d come to nothing when they were met directly.

“I awoke one morning and we were met by his cavalry, a solid and organized regiment. They were at least five deep, ten across. I stopped counting. But Bael asked for terms. I really didn’t have a choice. I’m twenty-five here and couldn’t gauge their proficiency, so I agreed and he gave me that ridiculous note,” Brack said and flipped the old note back across the desk at her.

Nyssa considered this. Brack’s camp consisted of twenty-five men and horses. A sizable camp to be surrounded let alone with twice his numbers.

“Is it possible not all those men were present on the field yesterday?” she asked him. His mouth turned up at one corner.

“Very perceptive of you, my Queen,” he said, irritation clear in his voice. “No, they certainly were not all present. Bael underestimated me, our men and your talent for unpredictability.”

She grinned at him.

“The question does remain, where did the rest of them go?” Brack continued.

“To rape and pillage,” Nyssa answered for him and she was angry. She wanted to throw her mug across the tent but thought better of it.

“Quite likely,” Brack agreed. “We were in no shape yesterday to organize ourselves out of here, but I gave the order to break camp and make ready after breakfast,” he said and nodded toward the outside. Nyssa remembered the noises from when she woke up.

“They will be moving at speed,” Nyssa said, considering the mounted men she observed the day before. “I’ve already given the order to break my Elite into smaller groups. You could leave the wagon trains in a central location for the local barrack staff to collect them and give the order that these smaller platoons join mine and move to sweep the area?”

Brack was considering it. He appeared to agree as she continued.

“We’ll need runners to keep us informed,” she continued, still thinking it through, “but you and I should go to Port Town.”

“Why?” he asked, his brow high in surprise.

“That is where you reported they arrived and mounted their attacks from. If the ships are still there, then there are captains who might know more about Dascus’s arrangements. I want to know everything we can about what they are doing here. I had sent Ark yesterday to begin those inquiries, but it would be useful if we could catch him up,” she said and rose to stretch out her back and legs. Camp furniture was not high on the comfortable list.

“Then we should bring what remains of your Elites with us,” Brack said and she turned to look at him. She wasn’t clear why it mattered. They were under her command for the time being, so it was logical.

“OK, if you wish,” she shrugged, expecting an escort and deferring to her father’s old guardsman easily. She’d brought the Elite herself. They were mostly reassigned now, however, and she had expected regular soldiers to help Jara on the return when she’d made that call, but what was left, she would keep close if he insisted.

“OK, if you wish,” she shrugged.

“Nyssa, you should always have them from now on,” he said to her. She arched an eyebrow.

“You heard what Bael said,” he said, qualifying his statement. “You, specifically, are a target like you have never been before. And this is no ‘overthrow-the-crown’ day at Rogun. Dascus is out for your blood. It sounds more sinister than usual. More dark. Even for him,” Brack added and stood up to come around the desk.

Nyssa had been trying not to think about that but was failing. Bael’s words were calculated to cut through to her, but they were just words. Still, Nyssa wasn’t naive and she knew they carried meaning and some truth. Dascus was a known tyrant. A violent and insane ruler who valued power over everything else, even wealth. He was reported to be highly paranoid, just like his father Coltair had been and hundreds of his subjects disappeared every year. At one point, Rogun had had ambassadors in Orak’Thune, even with their strained relationship between leaders. But that ended when her father’s uncle, co-regent at the time, was murdered by a Rogun servant and spy. Her father was made king and overlord from that, and the hatred between nations had intensified. The servant, denounced by Cirrus in a shoddy attempt at diplomatic sympathy, was beheaded and returned in several boxes.

But Dascus was ever his father’s son and that made him more dangerous. She also knew he was Endowed, a term used by the Bough to describe someone who had an affinity or ability to use magic. Nyssa wasn’t very knowledgeable in the details, only in that her mother, Kara, had confirmed this about Dascus for her, who, in the years before her kidnapping had even travelled to Rogun socially to visit the emperor’s son. There was talk that Dascus was part Bough, what with his abilities, but Kara had always been vague about it. She’d said that Dascus was unique, that he was troubled, but that deep down, he had once shown kindness. Haunted by what the stories relayed was a demon, Kara believed he could have helped defeat his phantom, if only he’d had more family of his own, more people who’d loved him.

Nyssa stepped away from Brack then, deep in thought. She was considering his words, and in doing so, her family history was intertwining with Bael’s message. She stood by the tent flap, staring at the camp as it came down around them. Men moved in every direction and it all blurred into nothingness, just her memory.

She was six years old and she was alone in the Crown Hall, playing on the steps in front of her father’s dais. Her brother, already strapping at the tender age of eight, had come to collect her. The memory moved in slow motion, the light diffuse, as if the room had not been lit by any natural light. She remembered grasping her brother’s hand while he led her from the hall.

Their father was in their apartment. He was clearly distraught, but he’d moved away from them. Their uncle had come toward them instead to pull them close.

“Your mother,” their uncle had said in between choked breaths, “is no longer with us, children. I am so sorry,” and he’d buried his face in their shoulders.

Nyssa remembered not understanding all the emotion around her. Whatever her uncle had just said could not possibly be true. She had seen her mother the night before. She was unwell, as she had been for some time, but she was alive; she had spoken with her.

Nyssa then pulled hard to get away from them. Her brother had tried to clasp her hand back, but she broke free and ran from the room.

She burst through to her mother’s bedroom, sending the heavy wood door wide and slamming into the wall behind it.

“Mamma!” she’d said smiling and turned toward her bed.

Two maids were there, their faces drenched with tears. They had begun to wash her mother’s body. One of them came to Nyssa quickly, trying to grab hold of her, and shoo her from the room, but Nyssa pulled free and dodged the sobbing woman. She ran up to the side of the bed.

Her mother was a shade of grey and her lips blue. Her eyes stared into emptiness. Nyssa’s heart had begun to thump hard in her chest. “Mamma?” she’d whimpered weakly.

She’d touched her skin but then snatched her hand away at the cold feeling. Her eyes left her face and saw her hair, still glossy and rich with auburn and blonde tendrils splayed on the pillow where she lay. Nyssa had reached for it instead and grasped it gently in comfort. She saw that she was naked, her small but visibly swollen belly protruding from above her hips. Nyssa remembered her mother was pregnant. She’d remembered she seemed so sad about it for some reason. She’d recalled thinking that maybe it wasn’t a fun thing to have a baby after all. Maybe her mother had been sad when she carried her brother and her too. Was that why she died? Because she was so sad?

The last thing she remembered was a maid begging her to go, to avert her eyes, and not see her mother this way. Then strong hands lifted her as though she weighed nothing, and suddenly, she felt she was floating. Her head fell to one side, resting on someone’s very large and hairy arm. From up a little higher, she could see all of her mother, and she only vaguely remembered the very large glistening blood stain under her mother’s hips and between her thighs.

Nyssa blinked hard, closing her eyes to fight back the tears. Brack was standing directly behind her now, and she was suddenly aware of him. She wanted to suck them back in, but she needed them for some reason. She turned and buried her head in his shoulder. His arms came up around her and he held her until she was done.

“I knew you would go there,” he said to her softly after a very long while and they were both back sitting around his tiny desk.

Cyrus had found her a more comfortable chair and propped it up with more pillows. She was staring into her cup. She took a large swig and felt the brandy burn her throat to her tummy where it landed and filled the void.

“Dascus did that to her,” Nyssa croaked, her voice sore and broken from crying.

“She believed something was wrong with the child,” Brack said. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”

Nyssa thought about it. She remembered her father’s broken telling of her kidnapping by Dascus, but she wondered now if she had ever heard it all. Madras had been so emotional and angry, understandably so, but maybe he’d left out some things. Things he hadn’t wanted to admit. She thought about Brack’s words some more.

“I remember she was ill with it,” Nyssa began, not wanting to talk about it, but wanting to at the same time. Brack agreed, remembering it also. Her mother had been rescued by her father before Dascus could kidnap her from Orak’Thune by boat. Madras had been hot on their trail and they hadn’t left the continent. He’d found her alive, having been missing for only a few weeks, but the damage had been done. Dascus had ridden to Orak’Thune himself, in disguise, and kidnapped her by force from the grounds outside the castle when she’d been out for some air. It is said that he threatened to kill Nyssa and Patrick if she didn’t go with him, so she had.

Believing Dascus was upset but wouldn’t harm her, Kara went with him to remove him from the proximity of her children. Hoping she could calm him and convince him to let her go, she, of course, would promise to keep Madras out of it. But Dascus was beyond negotiation, his plan well seeded and more sinister than she realized and he was beyond caring what Kara wanted.

“She told me that Dascus was different somehow,” Brack was saying, “that he had changed, was obsessed and paranoid. He didn’t sleep well, he suffered violent nightmares that woke him constantly and ate old stale bread and putrid things. He was terribly unclean and feared the water, even when they went to the boat; she said he became near hysterical.”

Nyssa looked up at him, trying to understand her mother’s telling.

“Kara also said when they were on the boat and were secured in the captain’s quarters, he calmed some, but started babbling. Repeating things over and over,” Brack continued.

“What things?” Nyssa asked, but Brack shook his head.

“She couldn’t make it out, but she did say it wasn’t common tongue,” Brack said. Nyssa narrowed her eyes, thinking about that.

“Anything else?” Nyssa asked.

Brack chewed his lip a moment and cleared his throat. He looked down at his cup and then took the decanter to refill it. Nyssa understood. There was more.

“Kara was very clear that Dascus was repeating something, but he was fighting something also,” Brack was watching her now. She didn’t look away. “She said a soldier came to tell him through the door that Madras had been seen at the gates and was on his way to the pier, that the captain wanted to be casting off,” he said.

“Dascus became like stone,” Brack continued. “She said he was frozen with indecision and he began pulling his hair and whimpering. Kara felt bad for him. She thought he was afraid of Madras and she tried to comfort him.”

“And?” Nyssa pushed him, but Brack frowned at her. He took a drink.

“You know the rest, Nyssa. Your father intercepted their escape, but things went bad before he got there. I just wanted to be sure you heard your mother’s account of how Dascus was acting up to that point. I think he’s probably a hundred times worse by now, probably completely insane.”

“They were friends once,” Nyssa said then, her voice cold. Brack sort of shrugged.

“No, she trusted him. Even after he was losing control, she trusted him,” Nyssa insisted, shaking a finger at him to get him to admit it.

“Your mother was the most kind, forgiving and gentle person I had ever met, Nyssa,” Brack said then, “she would have helped a viper from a hole even if she knew it meant she would be bitten.”

Nyssa frowned at him. “You started telling me this because you wanted me to better understand Dascus and what’s led us here,” she said impatiently. “Tell me.”

Brack regarded her for a long minute.

“Your mother said at the mention of Madras’s name, Dascus began to panic. He was banging his head into the wall, tearing at his clothing. She thought,” and he paused for a second, pursing his lips, “she thought he was arguing with something or someone.”

“In his head?” Nyssa asked.

“She thought so,” Brack replied. “At one point, she believed she had soothed him sufficiently that he had stopped physically assaulting himself and had gotten him to stand still.” Nyssa looked surprised. Her mother had made progress with a madman. Maybe their friendship was real after all.

“But the boat lurched in a wave, and Dascus broke loose again. She said he screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbed her by the arms and threw her against the wall where she injured her head and collapsed,” Brack stopped and took another drink. He leaned forward on his arms over the desk. He was looking at the surface, not at her.

“She was dazed by the fall, and he was berserk,” he said. When he looked at Nyssa, he saw her doubting the word too. “Her words, Nyssa, I even asked her about it and she said that he was definitely berserk. Gone from sanity, no longer aware, violent. Berserk.”

“I don’t remember if I am saying it right,” Brack said then, his forehead creasing in thought, obviously working to recall something.

“Trowouk idach dus brouche dom igna. Undis groog dus evran ufe.”

He splayed his hands out in front of him. Nyssa sat back abruptly and frowned at him. She thought she smelled something shift the air around them, something sickly sweet, like burning sugar.

“What was that?” she asked and Brack shook his head.

“Kara said that was what he said to her, right as he…assaulted her,” and he leaned back, clearly not wanting to elaborate.

“Take thine unto thy womb, where I shall be reborn unto life everlasting.”

Nyssa blinked. She was sitting in the same chair, but her mouth had gone so dry she couldn’t speak. She started to cough harshly, and Brack bolted upright from his chair to grab a canteen of water. He gave it to her, but she felt she was choking. He pushed her off the chair so she was draped over him while he was knelt on the floor. He poured the water in her mouth and it spilled everywhere. Some of it went down, and the coughing subsided. Her throat felt searing, like she’d drunk boiling water. She sat still and just concentrated on catching her breath, the pain gradually fading.

“What was that?” Brack asked and he too was breathing hard.

She shook her head. The translation of the words came to her, like being stabbed in the temple with a blade. It was white hot and hurt so as to blind her. She’d had to say it to get it out, but while doing so, her throat closed up and had started to sear.

“I think Dascus is possessed,” she croaked. “I don’t know that language, but I knew that sentence. A demon could do that, right, Brack?”

He sat back on his rear, still resting her in his lap. He was thinking about it.

“That’s old magic, Nyssa. Old magic. Demons are only legend now. Who would even be able to tell us anything about them these days?” he complained and shook his head in despair.

“Dascus didn’t want Mother. A demon did,” she said weakly, her throat still burning like white fire when she talked. Brack looked sharply at her. It made sense. It made perfect sense.

“The demon raped my mother, Brack, and got her with child. That’s all it wanted. Mother knew it; she just couldn’t explain it somehow. Everyone who disbelieves in the possibility of a demon would still blame Dascus, and believe me, this doesn’t exonerate him in any way, but it does explain why Mother left us. She left us to protect us, and that makes so much more sense, don’t you think?”

“The child died, Nyssa,” Brack said gently, sadness in his eyes.

He was having trouble believing that Kara felt nothing about that, the way Nyssa was describing it. Nyssa was moving to stand, but she stopped, still kneeling to look him straight on.

“She found a way, Brack. Trust me, Mother would never have allowed a demon into this world willingly, let alone birth it herself, and so no, it was not a child,” Nyssa corrected him firmly.

“We need information, Nyssa,” Brack was saying as he was pulling himself up and straightening his clothes. Nyssa nodded.

“Queen Keerie,” she said then, “she could help us with magical questions, I’m sure.”

“The Bough?” Brack asked. “I suppose they are the oldest race, and I do remember them having the most connection with magic, but I was under the impression that had to with nature,” he said and frowned.

“It’s all nature based, sure, but Orak’Thune are not the origins of magic. The Great Wood is. It’s the only place I can think of to start,” she said, shrugging.

“What do we do about Port Town?” he asked her.

Nyssa had already forgotten about their plan. She chewed her lip to think about it. She was anxious to get closer to the unrest Dascus was stirring, anxious to see if she could put it down completely in fact, but this new lead, this new information, could explain more than his forces landing on her shores. It could explain his purpose.

Nyssa spun around and stared at Brack directly, fear clear and present on her face. He was coming for her. The demon wanted to try again.

“Nyssa? What is it?” Brack said, immediately concerned.

“The threats, the…the…lines, the catchy verses, the black-robed figure…they’re…he’s…this demon, he’s mounting this war, forcing Rogun, maybe it’s using magic, but he’s coming here, Dascus is bringing it…for me,” she said, swallowing painfully.

“Yes, Nyssa. Dascus can’t win Orak’Thune if you are still alive. We understand that,” Brack said patiently, trying to force her to sit down. But she shook her head and tried to grab his hands.“No!” she cried. “It failed! It failed with my mother; it will try again. It will try with me!” she said and her blood went ice cold.

She turned quickly and nearly tripped on the rug. She caught the edge of the tent flap and retched outside. When it subsided, she wiped her hand across her mouth. She was breathing heavily. Brack came up behind her but gave her a moment; he watched her with his arms crossed.

“This whole bloody conflict is for nothing, but what it wants,” she said quietly, turning to sit now on a tiny stool in the dark corner. “People are already suffering,” she went on, breathing deeply.

“But magic, long tales and legends, that’s what this is all about. I would bet my crown, Brack,” she was still trying to catch her breath.

“And my mother died for it,” she added. “Unable to explain, but she did the only thing she could.”