The messenger slid down from his horse. He looked in some astonishment at the crowd of people gathered around Mina’s tent, was alarmed to see them regarding him with a baleful and threatening air. The messenger kept glancing backward at them over his shoulder as he went to deliver a scroll case to Lord Milles. Mina’s followers did not take their eyes from him, nor did they take their hands from the hilts of their swords.
Lord Milles snatched the scroll case from the messenger’s hand. So certain was he of its contents that he did not bother to retreat to the privacy of his tent to read it. He opened the plain and unadorned leather-bound case, removed the scroll, broke the seal and unfurled it with a snap. He had even filled his lungs to make the announcement that would cause the upstart female to be arrested.
The breath whistled from him as from a deflated pig’s bladder. His complexion went sallow, then livid. Sweat beaded his forehead, his tongue passed several times over his lips. He crumpled the missive in his hand and, stumbling as one blind, he fumbled at the tent flaps, trying vainly to open them. An aide stepped forward. Lord Milles shoved the man aside with a savage snarl and entered the tent, closing the flaps behind him and tying them shut.
The messenger turned to face the crowd.
“I seek a Talon leader named ‘Mina,’ ” he said, his voice loud and carrying.
“What is your business with her?” roared a gigantic minotaur, who stepped out of the crowd and confronted the messenger.
“I bear orders for her from Lord of the Night Targonne,” the messenger replied.
“Let him come forward,” called Mina.
The minotaur acted as escort. The crowd that had barred the messenger’s way cleared a path leading from Lord Milles’s tent to Mina’s.
The messenger walked along the path that was bounded by soldiers, all keeping their weapons to hand, regarding him with not very friendly looks. He kept his gaze forward, though that was not very comfortable for him since he stared squarely at the back, shoulders, and bull neck of the enormous minotaur. The messenger continued on his way, mindful of his duty.
“I am sent to find a knight officer called ‘Mina,’ ” the messenger repeated laying emphasis on the words. He stared at the young girl who confronted him in some confusion. “You are nothing but a child!”
“A child of battle. A child of war. A child of death. I am Mina,” said the girl, and there was no doubting her air of authority, the calm consciousness of command.
The messenger bowed and handed over a second scroll case. This one was bound in elegant black leather, the seal of a skull and lily graven upon it in silver. Mina opened the case and drew forth the scroll. The crowd hushed, seemed to have stopped breathing. The messenger looked about, his astonishment growing. He would later report to Targonne that he felt as if he were in a temple, not a military camp.
Mina read the missive, her face expressionless. When she finished, she handed it to Galdar. He read it. His jaw dropped so that his sharp teeth glistened in the sun, his tongue lolled. He read and reread the message, turned his amazed gaze upon Mina.
“Forgive me, Mina,” he said softly, handing the piece of parchment back to her.
“Do not ask my forgiveness, Galdar,” she said. “I am not the one you doubted.”
“What does the message say, Galdar?” Captain Samuval demanded impatiently, and his question was echoed by the crowd.
Mina raised her hand and the soldiers obeyed her unspoken command instantly. The templelike hush fell over them again.
“My orders are to march south, invade, seize, and hold the elven land of Silvanesti.”
A low and angry rumble, like the rumble of thunder from an approaching storm, sounded in the throats of the soldiers.
“No!” several shouted, incensed. “They can’t do this! Come with us, Mina! To the Abyss with Targonne! We’ll march on Jelek! Yes, that’s what we’ll do! We’ll march on Jelek!”
“Hear me!” Mina shouted above the clamor. “These orders do not come from General Targonne! His is but the hand that writes them. The orders come from the One God. It is our God’s will that we attack Silvanesti in order to prove the God’s return to all the world. We will march on Silvanesti!” Mina’s voice raised in a stirring cry. “And we will be victorious!”
“Hurrah!” The soldiers cheered and began to chant, “Mina! Mina! Mina!”
The messenger stared about him in dazed astoundment. The entire camp, a thousand voices, were chanting this girl’s name. The chant echoed off the mountains and thundered to the heavens. The chant was heard in the town of Sanction, whose residents trembled and whose Knights grimly gripped their weapons, thinking this portended some terrible doom for their besieged city.
A horrible, bubbling cry rose above the chanting, halting some of it, though those on the outskirts of the crowd continued on, unhearing. The cry came from the tent of Lord Milles. So awful was that cry that those standing near the tent backed away, regarded it in alarm.
“Go and see what has happened,” Mina ordered.
Galdar did as commanded. The messenger accompanied him, knowing that Targonne would be interested in the outcome. Drawing his sword, Galdar sliced through the leather strings that held the flap shut. He went inside and came back out a instant later.
“His lordship is dead,” he reported, “by his own hand.”
The soldiers began to cheer again, and many jeered and laughed.
Mina rounded upon those near her in anger that lit the amber eyes with a pale fire. The soldiers ceased their cheering, quailed before her. Mina said no word but walked past them, her chin set, her back rigid. She came to the entrance of the tent.
“Mina,” said Galdar, holding up the bloodstained message. “This wretch tried to have you hanged. The proof is here in Targonne’s response.”
“Lord Milles stands before the One God, now, Galdar,” Mina said, “where we will all stand one day. It is not for us to judge him.”
She took the bloody bit of paper, tucked it into her belt, and walked inside the tent. When Galdar started to go with her, she ordered him away, closed the tent flaps behind her.
Galdar put an eye to the flap. Shaking his head, he turned and mounted guard upon the entrance.
“Go about your business,” the minotaur commanded the soldiers who were milling about in front of the tent. “There’s work to be done if we’re marching to Silvanesti.”
“What is she doing in there?” asked the messenger.
“Praying,” Galdar said shortly.
“Praying!” the messenger repeated to himself in wonder. Mounting his horse, he rode off, anxious not to lose a moment in reporting the day’s astonishing events to the Lord of the Night.
“So what happened?” Captain Samuval asked, coming to stand next to Galdar.
“To Milles?” Galdar grunted. “He fell on his sword.” He handed over the message. “I found this in his hand. As we guessed he would, he sent a pack of lies to Targonne, all about how Mina nearly lost the battle and Milles saved it. Targonne may be a murdering, conniving bastard, but he’s not stupid.” Galdar spoke with grudging admiration. “He saw through Milles’s lies and ordered him to report word of his ‘victory’ directly to the great dragon Malystryx.”
“No wonder he chose this way out,” Samuval commented. “But why send Mina south to Silvanesti? What happens to Sanction?”
“Targonne has ordered General Dogah to leave Khur. He will take over the siege of Sanction. As I said, Targonne’s not stupid. He knows that Mina and her talk of One True God is a threat to him and the phony ‘Visions’ he’s been handing out. But he also knows that he will start a rebellion among the troops if he tries to have her arrested. The great dragon Malystryx has long been annoyed by Silvanesti and the fact that the elves have found a way to thwart her by hiding beneath their magical shield. Targonne can placate Malystryx on the one hand by telling her he has sent a force to attack Silvanesti, and he can rid himself of a dangerous threat to his authority at the same time.”
“Does Mina know that in order to reach Silvanesti we must march through Blöde?” Captain Samuval demanded. “A realm held by the ogres? They are already angry that we have taken some of their land. They will resent any further incursion into their territory.” Samuval shook his head. “This is suicidal! We will never even see Silvanesti. We must try to talk her out of this act of folly, Galdar.”
“It is not my place to question her,” said the minotaur. “She knew we were going to Silvanost this morning before the messenger arrived. Remember, Captain? I told you of it myself.”
“Did you?” Captain Samuval mused. “In all the excitement, I had forgotten. I wonder how she found out?”
Mina emerged from Milles’s tent. She was very pale.
“His crimes have been forgiven. His soul has been accepted.” She sighed, glanced about, appeared disappointed to find herself back among mortals. “How I envy him!”
“Mina, what are your orders?” Galdar asked.
Mina looked at him without recognition for a moment, the amber still seeing wondrous sights not given to other mortals. Then she smiled bleakly, sighed again, and came back to her surroundings.
“Assemble the troops. Captain Samuval, you will address them. You will tell them truthfully that the assignment is dangerous one. Some might say ‘suicidal.’ ” She smiled at Samuval. “I will order no man to make this march. Any who come do so of their own free will.”
“They will all come, Mina,” said Galdar softly.
Mina gazed at him, her eyes luminous, radiant. “If that be true, then the force will be too large, too unwieldy. We must move fast and we must keep our movement secret. My own Knights will accompany me, of course. You will select five hundred of the best of the foot soldiers, Galdar. The remainder will stay behind with my blessing. They must continue to besiege Sanction.”
Galdar blinked. “But, Mina, didn’t you hear? Targonne has given orders that General Dogah is to take over the siege of Sanction.”
Mina smiled. “General Dogah will receive new orders telling him that he is to turn his forces south and march with all possible haste upon Silvanesti.”
“But … where will these orders come from?” Galdar asked, gaping. “Not Targonne. He is ordering us to Silvanesti simply to get rid of us, Mina!”
“As I told you, Galdar, Targonne acts for the One God, whether he knows it or not.” Mina reached into her belt, where she had tucked the orders Milles had received from Targonne. She held the parchment to the sunlight. Targonne’s name loomed large and black at the bottom, his seal gleamed red. Mina pointed her finger to the words on the page, a page that was stained with Milles’s blood.
“What does it say, Galdar?”
Mystified, Galdar looked at the words and began to read them, read exactly what he had read before.
Lord Milles is hereby commanded …
The words suddenly began to writhe and twist in his vision. Galdar closed his eyes, rubbed them, opened them. The words continued to writhe and now they began to crawl over the page, the black of the ink mingling with the red of Milles’s blood.
“What does it say, Galdar?” Mina asked again.
Galdar felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to speak, could only whisper huskily, “General Dogah is hereby commanded to shift his forces south and march with all possible speed to Silvanesti. Signed in Targonne’s name.”
The handwriting was Targonne’s. There could be no doubt. His signature was in place, as was his seal.
Mina rolled the parchment neatly and tucked it back into the scroll case.
“I want you to deliver these orders yourself, Galdar. Then catch up with us on the road south. I will show you the route of our march. Samuval, you will be second in command until Galdar rejoins us.”
“You can count on me and on my men, Mina,” said Captain Samuval. “We would follow you into the Abyss.”
Mina regarded him thoughtfully. “The Abyss is no more, Captain. She who ruled there has left, never to return. The dead have their own realm now—a realm in which they are permitted to continue their service to the One God.”
Her gaze shifted focus, encompassed the mountains, the valley, the soldiers who were even now busy striking camp. “We will depart in the morning. The march will take us two weeks. Issue the necessary commands. I’ll want two supply wagons to accompany us. Let me know when we are ready.”
Galdar ordered his officers to call the men to assembly. Entering Mina’s tent, he found her bent over one of her maps, placing small pebbles upon it at various locations. Galdar looked to see that the pebbles were all concentrated in an area designated “Blöde.”
“You will meet us here,” she said, indicating a place on the map marked with a pebble. “I calculate that it will take you two days to meet up with General Dogah and another three days to rejoin us. The One God speed you, Galdar.”
“The One God be with you until we meet again, Mina,” said Galdar.
He meant to leave. He could yet cover many miles before daylight waned. But he found the leaving difficult. He could not imagine a day going by without seeing her amber eyes, hearing her voice. He felt as bereft as if he were suddenly shorn of all his fur, left in the world shivering and weak as a newborn calf.
Mina laid her hand upon his, upon the hand she had given him. “I will be with you wherever you go, Galdar,” she said.
He fell to one knee, pressed her hand to his forehead. Keeping the memory of her touch an amulet in his mind, he turned and ran from the tent.
Captain Samuval entered next, coming to report that, as he had foreseen, every single soldier in the camp had volunteered to come. He had chosen the five hundred he considered the best. These soldiers were now the envy of the rest.
“I fear that those left behind may desert to follow you, Mina,” Captain Samuval said.
“I will speak to them,” she said. “I will explain to them that they must continue to hold Sanction without any expectation of reinforcements. I will explain to them how it can be done. They will see their duty.”
She continued to put the small stones upon the map.
“What is that?” Samuval asked curiously.
“The location of the ogre forces,” Mina replied. “Look, Captain, if we march this way, directly east out of the Khalkist Mountains, we can make much better time heading southward across the Plains of Khur. We will avoid the largest concentration of their troops, which are down here in the southern end of the mountain range, fighting the Legion of Steel and the forces of the elf-witch, Alhana Starbreeze. We will attempt to steal a march on them by traveling along this route, the Thon-Thalas River. I fear that at some point we must fight the ogres, but if my plan works, we will fight only a diminished force. With the God’s blessing, most of us will reach our destination.”
And what happened when that destination was reached? How did she intend to break through a magical shield that had thus far baffled all attempts to enter it? Samuval did not ask her. Nor did he ask how she knew the position of the ogre forces or how she knew they were fighting the Legion of Steel and the dark elves. The Knights of Neraka had sent scouts into ogre lands but none had ever returned alive to tell what they saw. Captain Samuval did not ask Mina how she intended to hold Silvanesti with such a small force, a force that would be decimated by the time they reached their destination. Samuval asked her none of this.
He had faith. If not necessarily in this One God, he had faith in Mina.
13
The Scourge of Ansalon
he odd occurrence that befell Tasslehoff Burrfoot on the fifth night of his journey to Qualinesti in the custody of Sir Gerard can best be explained by the fact that although the days had been sunny and warm and fine for traveling, the nights had been cloudy and overcast, with a drizzly rain. Up until this night. This night the sky was clear, the air was soft and warm and alive with the sounds of the forest, crickets and owls and the occasional wolf howling.
Far north, near Sanction, the minotaur Ga
ldar ran along the road that led to Khur. Far south, in Silvanesti, Silvanoshei entered Silvanost as he had planned, in triumph and with fanfare. The entire population of Silvanost came out to welcome him and stare at him and marvel over him. Silvanoshei was shocked and troubled by how few elves remained in the city. He said nothing to anyone however and was greeted with appropriate ceremony by General Konnal and a white-robed elven wizard whose charming manners endeared him to Silvanoshei at once.
While Silvanoshei dined on elven delicaces off plates of gold and drank sparkling wine from goblets of crystal, and while Galdar munched on dried peas as he marched, Tas and Gerard ate their customary boring and tasteless meal of flatbread and dried beef washed down with nothing more interesting than plain, ordinary water. They had ridden south as far as Gateway, where they passed several inns, whose innkeepers were standing in the doors with pinched faces. These innkeepers would have barred the door against a kender before the roads were closed by the dragon. Now they had come running out to offer them lodging and a meal for the unheard-of price of a single steel.
Sir Gerard had paid no attention to them. He had ridden past without a glance. Tasslehoff had sighed deeply and looked back longingly at the inns dwindling in the distance. When he had hinted that a mug of cold ale and a plate of hot food would be a welcome change, Gerard had said no, the less attention they called to themselves the better for all concerned.
So they continued on south, traveling along a new road that ran near the river, a road Gerard said had been built by the Knights of Neraka to maintain their supply lines into Qualinesti. Tas wondered at the time why the Knights of Neraka were interested in supplying the elves of Qualinesti, but he assumed that this must be some new project the elven king Gilthas had instituted.
Tas and Gerard had slept outdoors in a drizzling rain for the last four nights. This fifth night was fine. As usual, sleep sneaked up on the kender before he was quite ready for it. He woke up in the night, jolted from his slumbers by a light shining in his eyes.
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