“I don’t see how you can tell him from a real bird,” Coryden remarked.
Berret replied, with a smirk, “Sometimes I can’t.”
“He has someone with him,” Dualas said, looking over the bushes.
Evadrel soon entered the clearing, accompanied by a human Northmarcher.
“You obviously found them,” Dualas said to the scout.
“Yes,” Evadrel replied. “Captain, have you ever met Thoris?”
“No,” Coryden said, nodding to the stranger.
“Captain,” Thoris replied respectfully.
“I met him on the perimeter of the camp,” Evadrel explained. “I thought it might be best if he escorted us in.”
Coryden nodded approvingly. “Better than being arrowed by our own people,” he remarked dryly. He turned to the camp. “Move out!” he shouted.
His men rose, and with the jingle of mail and the creak of leather, moved to their horses.
* * *
The squad moved slowly through the huge camp. To Coryden’s knowledge, never before had the entire Northmarch been gathered in one place at the same time. He blinked as he realized how powerful a force they actually represented. No wonder there was so much talk about which side we would take in this war, he thought.
News of their arrival had already been whispered through the camp. At every tent, heads turned to stare. Evadrel and Thoris walked ahead of the squad, while the rest remained mounted.
Coryden and his men were covered from head to toe with grime from the hard ride. That didn’t seem to bother those who stared, though Coryden noted a few knowing nods from those who recognized how hard they had ridden in a short period of time just to make it here. Just before they reached the command pavilion, two corryn ran up to them.
“Captain!” one of them hailed him.
Coryden smiled at them. It had not been easy to convince his other two squad sergeants to ride out with the rest of the Northmarch. “Greetings Luwaren, Nildan.”
“Morticai?” Nildan asked.
“We rescued him—Morticai is alive,” Coryden said. “He is … severely wounded, but they say he will live.” The full story would have to wait.
“Thank the Levani!” Luwaren exclaimed.
They reached the command pavilion. Berret pulled the two sergeants aside to fill them in on recent events as Coryden and Dualas entered the huge tent.
Kirwin sat to the left of Lord Seabrook at a large rectangular table. Coryden swallowed and tried to push back the nervousness that gripped him. He had rarely seen Lord Seabrook, let alone spoken to him. Without a word, he stood to attention and handed Seabrook the sealed letter from the Faith.
With only a brief glance at the seal, Seabrook opened the letter and read it silently. His brow furrowed and he handed the letter to Kirwin. Seabrook waited until the human commander had finished reading before he spoke. “Why were we not previously informed of this service with the Inquisition, Captain?”
“For a time,” Coryden said, “we were working with them only while off duty, and I did not think it was going to interfere with our Northmarch duties. When we were informed by the Inquisitor that we needed to remain behind because he was pressing us into service to complete what we had started, it was too late to send word to Commander Kirwin.”
Well, Coryden thought, at least it sounds plausible.
“I see,” Lord Seabrook replied. “And where is the proof that this Droken ‘army’ exists?”
“I am sorry to report that it has been taken from us, my lord. Maps were found which showed the movement of the army, but before we could secure them, they were stolen.”
Seabrook’s eyes narrowed. “And how could this army be north of us? I think it unlikely that they could have passed us. We would have noticed.”
“The army has not come from the south, my lord, but from the north, from someplace far northeast of our kingdoms. If you do not believe us, then I would suggest you send scouts north to search for the army. I was very concerned that they would come upon you, unprepared.”
“What of Morticai?” Kirwin asked.
Coryden took a deep breath. “We rescued him, Commander.”
“And destroyed the Droken temple in Watchaven,” Dualas added.
Kirwin’s eyebrows rose.
“I see,” Seabrook replied. “Commander McFerrin, take this letter to Commander Jarviel for him to read, and give orders for a patrol to scout to the north.”
“Yes, sir,” Kirwin replied.
“Your commander is very unhappy with you, Captain,” Seabrook continued once Kirwin had left.
“Yes sir, I know,” Coryden replied softly.
“Do you have anything to say regarding this?”
Coryden shook his head. “I am afraid that I cannot blame him. If I were in his position, I would also be upset. We just didn’t have time to apprise him of the situation. He knew that Morticai was working with the Inquisition, and that we were spending a bit of our off duty time with him. When Morticai disappeared, the Commander was informed that we were searching the city for him. I am at fault for not keeping Commander McFerrin informed, but at the time he was very involved maintaining order at Northgate, and I was very concerned regarding the fate of my man.”
Lord Seabrook nodded, slowly. “What else can you tell me of this army?”
“Although we do not know beyond all doubt, we have very strong suspicions that it is being led by a Droken Prince named Luthekar.”
After a moment, Seabrook replied, “Indeed? And have you seen this Droken Prince? I have always thought him to be just a bardic fantasy.”
Coryden glanced at Dualas. “Yes sir, we have.”
Another pause ensued. “Pardon?” Seabrook finally asked.
“Yes sir, we have seen Prince Luthekar,” Coryden clarified. “In fact, Sir Dualas, Morticai, and I fought against him in Watchaven, and he wounded Morticai. Commander McFerrin filed a complete report on the incident, I believe.”
“I see,” Lord Seabrook replied, obviously surprised.
Kirwin returned with Commander Jarviel. Jarviel, who was a full corryn, glanced briefly at Coryden and Dualas and then did a double take. Dualas nodded politely, and Coryden tried not to smile.
I guess he wasn’t expecting to find corryn standing here, Coryden thought.
Jarviel addressed Seabrook. “Do you believe this, sir?” Jarviel obviously didn’t.
“I do not yet know,” Lord Seabrook replied. “If there is an army to the north, our scouts will find it. The Grand Patriarch of Watchaven would not sign such a document if he did not, himself, believe it to be true. Captain, Sir Dualas, would you please wait outside a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” Coryden replied, and they stepped out.
“Well?” Berret asked anxiously. “What now?”
“We don’t know yet,” Coryden replied, “so we wait.”
The rest of the patrol had shown up. They sat in small groups with members of Berret’s squad, swapping news. Finally, Commander Jarviel emerged from the command tent.
“Come back inside, please,” Jarviel said, then disappeared back into the tent. The thought that the three officers could act as a tribunal flashed through Coryden’s mind as he stepped back inside.
“Captain,” Seabrook said, “we have discussed what type of punishment you and your men should suffer for your desertion. That you deserted cannot be denied, although the Faith obviously was a factor. At the same time, the Faith should have sent word to Commander McFerrin that they were pressing you into service. The situation would have been greatly eased if the Grand Patriarch had sent a letter before Commander McFerrin left Watchaven.
“I do not fault you for being concerned for your man’s safety,” he continued, “but you have lost men before and should be aware that at times such a sacrifice must be made. From what Commander McFe
rrin tells me, this Morticai got himself into this mess while off duty, and though good may come of it, it does not mean that disobedience of orders can be tolerated.
“The fact that you have voluntarily returned is in your favor. And if this Droken army truly exists, your return with this information is to be commended. Those factors do much to help your situation. We have decided to place you and your men on heavy duty until it is determined whether or not this army exists. Once that has been determined, we shall make a final judgment.
“You are dismissed,” Seabrook finished.
“Thank you sir,” Coryden said, though he hardly felt thankful at the moment.
* * *
King Almgren reread the note. Before him, the corryn messenger waited nervously between the guards. The tent was crowded with the king’s advisors, who were trying to read the message, and by guards who surrounded the messenger to deter any thoughts of assassination, and by his five sons, who were there out of … curiosity, he supposed.
“I want everyone out,” Almgren announced, “except for Lord Jendall and Lord Hildric.” He passed the note to his two top advisors as the room cleared.
“So,” Lord Jendall remarked, “the Dynolvans have marched all this way only to propose a parley?”
Almgren shrugged. “Perhaps. I have never fully understood King Riamel.
“It could be a trap,” Lord Hildric noted.
Almgren snorted. “I do understand Riamel that much, Hildric—it’s not his style.”
“Do you want to talk with him?” Jendall asked.
Almgren sat back and gazed abstractedly at the closed tent flap.
“Hmm. I can see no damage in it. It is true that much of this disagreement between our kingdoms has transpired through ambassadors and counsels—perhaps we should meet face to face. What do you think of our tactical position, Lord Jendall, if we should parley and the talks fail?”
Lord Jendall tilted his head, allowing his shoulder-length hair to fall forward. “We have the advantage of higher ground here, although this can hardly be called a hill.”
“It’s the closest thing to a hill for miles,” Hildric interjected.
“True. And it would give us a slight advantage. The Dynolvans have better cavalry than we—”
“How can you say such a thing!” Hildric exclaimed.
Jendall glanced at the king, who was, indeed, giving him a dark stare.
“I am sorry, your majesty,” Jendall explained, “but it would be unfair, even unwise of me to say that it was not so. It is not that the Dynolvans are better warriors, but I fear they have better horses.”
“Why?” the king asked flatly.
“They have better pasture land than we do.”
Hildric snickered. Jendall looked at the fair-haired noble and raised an eyebrow.
“That makes sense,” King Almgren said, nodding.
The smile faded from Hildric’s face.
“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep Riamel’s messenger waiting in fear all afternoon,” Almgren said, shuffling through a pile of papers on a small table beside him. He finally produced a quill, turned the note from Riamel over and began penning a reply. “How far away have the Dynolvans camped?”
“About half a day’s march,” Hildric replied.
“Hmm. There will be quite a few details to work out before we can meet. Jendall, I want you to handle the pre-meeting negotiations. I do not agree with Riamel’s proposal of meeting without guards, and I will not meet out on that god-forsaken plain. Also, I will not be ready to meet with him tomorrow. I want to give our scouts plenty of time to estimate his force’s strength. Besides, it might be best to let him sweat a little—say, two or three days. You can start by telling them that we will meet inside Mid-Keep. At least there I need not fear a cavalry charge.”
* * *
“Well?” Prince Edris said in a hissing whisper. “What did the old geezer decide?”
Hildric dropped the flap of his tent, sealing the narrow gap he had been peering through. “Begging your pardon, my prince,” he said through clenched teeth, “but you should not have come here.”
Edris lifted his chin, defiantly. “And how else am I supposed to find out anything? Certainly not through my father’s generous sharing of knowledge!”
“I would have contacted you, to be sure, my Prince,” Hildric replied. He walked over to a campaign trunk and dug through it. The noble soon produced a bottle and two glasses, and set about pouring them drinks.
Prince Edris drummed his fingers on top of another chest, but said nothing. Hildric handed him the drink.
“We are in luck,” Hildric said, “and I propose a toast.”
Edris slowly raised his glass.
“I toast Prince Luthekar’s imminent victory. And I toast your imminent coronation—very imminent.”
“Don’t play games with me,” Edris snapped.
Hildric lowered the glass. “Then I shan’t. Your father is going to meet with King Riamel in about three days’ time. It should be a perfect opportunity to complete our assignment. If we can manage it properly, I believe that not only can we kill your father and your brothers, we can lay the blame on the Dynolvans. And if I have correctly estimated my counterpart in the Dynolvan camp, I would not be surprised to find that he, too, is laying such a plan.”
* * *
Shouting echoed through the torch-lit camp, announcing the return of the patrol Lord Seabrook had sent north. The Northmarch High Commander looked up from his work—they should not have returned this quickly.
Captain Nishan, who was covered from head to toe in mud, entered the pavilion. Seabrook raised his eyebrows.
“My lord,” the captain began, “ there is, indeed, an army to the north of us! It-it,” the captain faltered.
“Yes?” Seabrook demanded.
“My lord,” the captain continued, “I-I have never seen anything like this army. Sir, it must be sixty thousand men strong!”
“Impossible!”
“Nay, my lord! It is true, though I wish it were not so. It lies just under a day’s march away!” The captain’s voice held a hint of panic.
“Captain Nishan!” Seabrook snapped. “You will calm down and deliver an orderly report! Did they spot your patrol?”
Nishan made a visible effort to regain his composure. “No, sir. We rode until dark yesterday. Early this morning, when we’d not been long on the trail, we came upon them. We skirted a small marsh to avoid being spotted by their scouts, but we are certain we were not seen.”
Midway through Nishan’s reply, Commanders McFerrin and Jarviel entered the pavilion. Lord Seabrook hesitated only long enough to be certain they had heard enough to know what had been found. “Give the order to break camp,” he said. “Now!”
“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.
Lord Seabrook grabbed his quill and sat down at the large table. It would take the scouts several days to reach the armies of Watchaven and Dynolva, but that was the only warning he would be able to give them.
Chapter Twenty
Rylan Glaedwin surveyed the dimly lit room. Mother Edana sat by the bed, holding Morticai’s hand. The Matriarch had sent him a message requesting he come immediately. Rylan noted that she had not brought her salve with her.
The Lady Adrianas, whom Morticai called Heather, sat on the far side of the bed. She had taken down her long hair, and though she was obviously weary, she was one of the most beautiful women, corryn or human, that the Inquisitor had ever seen. Rylan still wasn’t certain how this lady of court had come to be so close to Morticai. He wondered if she had been the one who had sent the dove to Morticai during his previous convalescence at the Sanctorum.
“So,” Mother Edana said, “your itching has stopped?”
“At last!” Morticai replied. “I was beginning to think it would continue forever!�
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Mother Edana smiled at the Inquisitor. “For one of deep faith, Morticai,” she said, “you have so little trust. Did I not tell you that the itching would stop?”
“Yes,” Morticai admitted. “You did. And I believed you. Truly. But it’s been days!”
“Oh, Dyluth,” Heather interjected, “all that matters is that it has stopped.”
Mother Edana glanced at Rylan. “Shall we see how Morticai has healed, Brother Glaedwin?”
Rylan inhaled deeply. “Dear Matriarch, do you think it time? It has only been nine days.”
“Aye, that is true,” she replied, as she began to unwind the bandages about Morticai’s head. “But, the discomfort has ceased—and that, I believe, means that the healing is complete. We shall see.”
“Mother?” Heather asked cautiously.
“Yes, child.”
“You are going to let me stay?”
“Yes, child. You have come here every day to sit with him, and for that, you deserve to be here for him now.”
Heather seemed confused, but she said nothing.
Morticai began to fidget with the wrappings on his wrists.
“What is wrong, Morticai?” Mother Edana asked him.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess I’m nervous. Ah … Mother Edana?”
“Yes?”
“You said that the healing is complete?”
“Yes, I believe it is, but we will not know until I remove the rest of this bandage and rinse off the ointment.”
Morticai swallowed, but asked no further questions.
Heather’s hand crept up to her mouth, and she appeared to be close to tears. Rylan moved to her side and took her hand. Mother Edana removed the last bit of bandage. This time, the healer did not ask for Rylan’s help, and he noted that she seemed not to need it.
All Rylan could see beneath the bandage was a thick layer of ointment. Heather looked away—Mother Edana might have thought her ready to be here, but Heather obviously did not share her conviction. The Matriarch rinsed the ointment away, but this time, she used a cloth as she rinsed.
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