Tanequil

by Terry Brooks

  “What can I say to him, Drum?” he asked quietly, their destination right in front of them now.

  Drumundoon shook his head helplessly. He had no answer to that question. Pied marshaled his courage and resolve for what lay ahead, saluted the Home Guard on duty at the tent entry, nodded for Drum to wait, and entered.

  Kellen Elessedil looked up from his own set of maps as his Captain of the Home Guard appeared through the tent opening, his young face eager and intense. Pied knew that look. It meant the King had decided on something and was impatient to act on it. It didn’t take much thinking to know what would happen next.

  “Good, you’re here.” The King’s impatience was revealed in his tone of voice. “The reports from the scouts are all in. Guess what they tell me, cousin?”

  “That you should attack.”

  The King smiled. “The Rover mercenaries have all pulled out, the whole bunch of them. Boarded their airships and flown off. They’re on their way home, back to the coast, off the Prekkendorran. We’ve confirmed it. This isn’t a stunt. Either they’ve quit or they’ve been dismissed, but either way, they’re gone. The best pilots, the best craft, the best of everything, gone. The Federation is on its own.”

  Pied nodded. “Any idea as to why this happened? Have we heard of a rift between the Federation and the Rovers? Anything out of the ordinary, I mean. Now and then, some of them quit anyway. But not all of them at once. Why now?”

  “You’re suspicious?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  The King laughed. “No, cousin. You’re suspicious enough for both of us. You always have been. It’s worrisome.”

  Kellen Elessedil was not one to sit when he could move, rest when he could work. He was a big man, taller than Pied and broader through the shoulders. There was nothing soft about him, his muscular body hardened by hours of exercise and training, his devotion to physical perfection legendary. He was so different from his grandfather and father in this respect that it was hard to believe they had come out of the same family. When they were children playing together at Arborlon, Kellen had always been better at every sport, every game. The only way to beat him, Pied had discovered early on, was to out-think him.

  Nothing had changed.

  “Part of my role as your protector is to suspect everything and everyone of being something other than what appearances suggest. So, yes, I am suspicious of this Rover withdrawal. I am suspicious of the Federation leaving itself so obviously vulnerable, of inviting us into its lair like the spider does the fly.”

  “They still have their armies, and their armies are formidable,” the King pointed out quickly. He pushed back his long dark hair and knotted his hands. “They may think these are enough to keep us at bay. They know we would never launch a frontal attack against their lines, because if we did, they would smash us to pieces.” He paused. “Which is why an aerial attack is so perfect. Look at the opportunity they’ve given us! Their fleet is big, but unwieldy. Their airship Captains are no match for ours. One quick strike and we can set fire to them all. Think of what that would mean!”

  Pied shook his head. “I know what it would mean.”

  “Complete and unchallenged superiority of the skies,” the King continued, so caught up in his vision that he was no longer even listening to his cousin. “Control of everything that flies. Once we have that, their ground forces no longer matter. We can ravage them at will, from too far up for them to do any real damage, from too far away for them to do anything but cover up. We can break them, Pied! I know we can!”

  His face was flushed with excitement, his blue eyes bright and eager. Pied had seen him that way before. When they trained together with staffs and swords in hand-to-hand combat, it was the look he assumed when he believed he had gained the upper hand. What he had never learned was to distinguish the difference between when Pied really was in trouble and when he was only pretending at it in order to lure Kellen into making a mistake.

  Nothing had changed about that, either.

  Pied nodded agreeably, hiding his frustration. “You may be right. But just to be certain about all of this, I have sent two of my Home Guards into the Federation camp to see what they can learn. I would like to wait for their return before we act.”

  The King frowned. “How long might that be?”

  “Today, I should think. Tomorrow, at the latest.”

  Kellen shook his head. “Today, perhaps. Tomorrow, no. That’s too long. By then, reserves might be called up and the odds made too great for us to chance a strike. The time to act is now, while the Federation fleet is diminished, while we are clearly superior in numbers and experience. Waiting is dangerous.”

  “Acting out of haste is more dangerous still.” Pied stepped in with both feet, his eyes locked on his cousin’s, watching as the other’s face darkened angrily. “I know you want to attack now, but something about all this doesn’t feel right. Better to wait and chance losing this opportunity than to seize it and find we have been tricked.”

  “Tricked how, Captain?” His cousin’s tone of voice had turned dark and accusatory. “What exactly is it you fear?”

  Pied shook his head. “You know I don’t have an answer for that. I don’t know enough about what the Federation’s intentions might be. Which is why I want to wait—”

  “No.”

  “—until we have a report—”

  “No, cousin! No! There will be no waiting, no hesitation, no second-guessing what seems clear to everyone but you. None of my other advisers, commanders on the field and off, has voiced your concerns. Suppose you are correct. Suppose this is a trap. What risk do we take? We fly superior airships. We can outrun and outmaneuver our enemies at will. We cannot be hurt from the ground. At worst, we will find we were mistaken about the size of their fleet and be forced to retreat. We have done so before, and it has cost us nothing. Why would this time be any different?”

  Because this time you are being invited to act against them, Pied wanted to say, but did not. He knew the argument was over and the matter settled. Kellen Elessedil was King of the Elves, and the King had the final word on everything.

  “Cousin,” the other soothed, stepping over to put his arm about him, “we have been friends a long time. I respect your opinion, which is why I asked you to come speak with me before I gave the command to proceed. I knew what you would say, but I wanted you to say it. I wanted you to question me, because frequently you are the only one who will. A King needs candid and reasoned advice from his advisers, and in most matters, no one gives better advice than you.”

  He gave Pied a small squeeze with his powerful arm. “That said, a King must listen to what his instincts tell him. He must not waver once his mind is made up. You know this.”

  He waited for Pied’s response, so it was necessary to give it. “I know, my lord.”

  “I have made a commitment to turn the tide of this war once and for all, and now, at last, I have a way to do so. It would be cowardly of me to turn away a chance such as this merely because there are risks. It would be unforgivable.”

  “I know that, as well.”

  “Will you still come with me when we fly into battle?” The King stepped away, releasing his grip. “I won’t ask it of you if you feel strongly about not going. Nor will I think less of you.”

  Pied arched one eyebrow at his cousin. “I am Captain of the Home Guard, my lord. Where you go, I must go, as well. That isn’t open to debate. Don’t make it seem as if it is.”

  The King’s intense, considering gaze locked on him. “No, cousin, I guess it isn’t. Not with someone as dedicated as you. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He paused. “I’ll give this matter several hours more thought before acting. I had planned a late afternoon strike in any case, so that we can come at them from out of the twilight, out of the shadows. You may keep watch for your scouts until then. If they return in time, bring me whatever news you think matters. I promise I will listen. But if none comes, I will see you on the plains an hour
before dusk.”

  Pied turned and started for the door. “One thing more,” the King called after him. Pied turned. “I intend to take Kiris and Wencling with me.” He must have seen the confusion in Pied’s eyes. “Aboard the flagship, cousin. I want them to watch.”

  Pied stared. Kellen Elessedil was talking about his sons. About boys who were fifteen and thirteen. About taking them into the heart of an engagement with a dangerous enemy. “No,” he said at once, before he could think better of it.

  The King seemed unruffled. “They need to see what a battle is like, to understand what happens. They need to experience it for themselves, not just hear about it. They are future Kings, and this is a part of their training.”

  “They are too young for this, my lord. There will be other times, safer times, when the risk is not so great.”

  “The risk is always great in war, cousin,” the King said, brushing his arguments aside.

  Pied took a deep, steadying breath, picturing Arling’s reaction once she found out what Kellen had done. “With any Elves-in-training, we expose them gradually to the dangers of war. We don’t just throw them out on the battlefield—not unless we are desperate. We bring them along slowly. I think that is what is needed with Kiris and Wencling. Let them come on a few overflights first, ones in which combat is not a given.”

  Kellen Elessedil took a long moment to study him, as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before, something he was not altogether pleased about. Then he said, softly, “I will think about it, cousin.”

  He motioned for Pied to go out, an odd gesture Pied had not seen before. But this was not the time for speculation. He departed quickly, happy to escape before Kellen could think of some further madness. Because he would, Pied knew. He was in that place where ideas came and went like silverfish, and each looked better than the one before, but never was.

  Outside the tent, Drumundoon fell into step beside him, his tall form bent close as he said, “Did he listen to you?”

  Pied nodded. “He listened. Then he ignored me. If I don’t give him fresh reasons to call it off, the attack takes place at dusk. Worse, he intends to take his sons along for the ride.”

  Drumundoon exhaled sharply. “Has he lost his mind?”

  “Arling would think so. I wish she were here to speak with him. She might have better luck than I.”

  Drumundoon shook his head. “I doubt it. He doesn’t listen to her, either. Although he might, where those boys are concerned. What matters is that she left them in your charge. Yours, specifically. I was there when she did so. I heard the way she spoke to you. If anything happens to her sons, she will have your head.”

  Pied glanced at him. Because I loved her once. Because I think she loved me, as well. You left that part out, Drum.

  He stalked off into the midday heat and tried not to think about it.

  NINETEEN

  By late afternoon, Acrolace and Parn had still not returned. It worried Pied, but he had learned long ago to live with the guilt associated with sending his Home Guard to spy on an enemy. It was obvious in any case that Acrolace and Parn were not going to return in time to be of any help in dissuading Kellen Elessedil from his ill-advised foray. The attack on the Federation fleet was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, and he was just going to have to make the best of it. That was sometimes a soldier’s lot, even if you were Captain of the Home Guard and cousin to the King.

  Dressed in his battle gear, his weapons strapped about him once more, he called Drumundoon to his tent, and with the sun creeping toward the horizon through a screen of thin clouds and the daylight becoming diffuse and weak, they set out for the airship field.

  “No word of any sort, Drum?”

  The aide shook his head. “Nothing. I hear that the Federation is massing soldiers along its lines, looking to shore up the weaknesses brought about by the departure of the Rovers. That’s the King’s reading of the situation, at least. It reinforces what he already believes, which makes it attractive. It supports the decision he favors. Word is, he sees this war over and done within a week.”

  “Celebrating his victory before he’s even engaged his enemy. How very like him.” Pied shook his head. “Something is going on that we don’t know about. I can feel it in my bones. This attack is a mistake. I have to find a way to stop it.”

  Drumundoon pursed his lips. “I don’t know this for a fact, but I am given to understand that the King hasn’t advised our allies as yet of his plans.”

  Pied came to an abrupt halt, staring at him. “What?”

  “He intends to inform them just before he sets out, I’m told. That way, they can’t stop him.” His aide cocked an eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t want to risk anything or anyone getting in his way. He knows he isn’t commander of the Free-born army, that he isn’t even commander of the airship fleet. But he is King of the Elves, and the Elves make up the greater part of the airship command, so in his mind, that’s sufficient justification for striking out on his own.”

  Drumundoon glanced around warily, making sure no one else was listening. “Captain, he doesn’t intend to ask for support from any quarter in this business. He intends this victory to belong solely to the Elves. Dwarves, Trolls, and Bordermen can share in it afterwards, once it has been realized, but ultimately it is the Elves who will bring it about. That’s what they say he’s decided.”

  Pied fumed. How had he not seen that coming? For more than two months, Kellen Elessedil had camped on the Prekkendorran with his Elven Hunters, an inspiring presence and little more on the face of things. But Kellen Elessedil was nothing if not driven. You could see it in his impatience with the failure of the Free-born army to effect any noticeable change in the status quo. Always anxious to be in the thick of things, always looking to see how matters so long stalemated might be resolved, the King was pressing his fellow commanders at every opportunity. The war was more than thirty years old, and the Elves were sick to death of it. The King saw it as his moral imperative to bring it to a conclusion, and no one could fault him for his commitment to do so. What was wrong with his approach was his insistence on doing it his way, on finding a solution that did not necessarily involve his Free-born allies. What was mistaken in his thinking was that the solution existed in simple terms; that somehow the answer lay in a single brilliant military stroke, and that the finding of that answer had been left up to him.

  Well, it was too late to try to explain it to him now, even supposing he would be willing to listen, which Pied was quite sure he would not.

  He started walking again, more purposefully, a mix of irritation and concern flooding through him. King or not, Kellen Elessedil was overstepping his bounds, and it would come back to haunt them all. Drumundoon matched his strides to those of his Captain and kept his peace while he did so. Neither of them spoke. There had been enough talk already.

  Pied surveyed the camp as they passed through it, taking careful note of what he saw. This section was mostly Elven; those farther on, east of where they walked, comprised Bordermen from the larger cities of Callahorn as well as Dwarves and Trolls, most of the latter mercenaries. The nominal leader of the army was an aged, though highly respected, Southlander named Droshen, but the real leader, the man who commanded the soldiers on the battlefield, was a Dwarf called Vaden Wick, a veteran of countless campaigns against the Gnome tribes before coming to the Prekkendorran. Just now, coordination of the various allied forces was loose, a condition brought about by the near inactivity of the armies on either side of the conflict over the past few years, an erosion of structure and discipline through constant changes in both ranks and command. The third generation of allies was fighting the war, and the toll was noticeable. It was assumed by most that the war would end only when the leaders finally grew so tired of it that they called it off by mutual agreement. No one thought it could be won on the battlefield. Not after so long. Not after so many failed attempts.

  Except, of course, for a few who thought like Kellen Elessedil.
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  Pied was disconcerted by what he saw that evening. The obvious lack of discipline was worrisome. The looks on the faces of the men and women as they sat around their fires, playing games of chance and drinking ale, were more worrisome still. Disinterest and resignation were mirrored in those faces. That spoke to him clearly: No one believed in the war anymore. It said that everyone was sick of the fighting and dying. It said that keeping your head down and your mouth shut was all that would get you through. These men and women were waiting things out. They were waiting to go home.

  He glanced around. No one drilled or trained. No one sharpened weapons or tightened straps on armor. There were Elven Hunters manning the walls at the front and there was a watch in place; that was enough. If something more was needed, it was somebody else’s problem.

  It was worse elsewhere, in the other armies, where discipline was even less in evidence. It wasn’t that Bordermen, Dwarves, and Trolls weren’t brave and capable; it was that they had no reason to think those attributes would be tested. The Federation army had squatted in place for almost two years without doing anything beyond sending out scouts and attempting an occasional foray into the Free-born lines. They were as indolent and disinterested in fighting as their enemies were. The mobilization of fresh forces along the Federation front in the wake of the departure of the Rover airships did not suggest to the Elves and their allies that their enemy’s attitude had changed.

  Pied glanced over at Drumundoon and gestured toward the encampment. “They don’t seem to have much to do with their time, do they?”

  Drum said nothing. There was nothing to say. He was of the same mind as his Captain. The Home Guard had a different approach to discipline than everyone else, but that was why they were Home Guard. The rest of the army regarded them as curiosities. They were a small unit assigned a single task—to protect the King. The way they conducted themselves, others believed, was mostly the result of the suspicion that the King was always watching them.