Jaymes stared at the priest with an expression of wry amusement on his face. Selinda, however, glared at him in fury. “How dare you intrude here? Does my father know?”
“It is your father, dear child, who sent me,” Frost replied mildly.
“Where is he? I’m going to speak to him immediately!”
“You will find him in his private drawing room, I believe. I suggest you go there at once.”
Selinda didn’t even take time to throw on a shawl. She rushed toward the door, pushed past the cleric, and started through the palace hall. She didn’t glance back, didn’t notice Jaymes Markham and Inquisitor Frost eyeing each other very carefully indeed.
“Good evening, my lord,” said the cleric… eventually. He bowed stiffly.
“Actually, let us walk together,” the lord marshal said, brushing past the inquisitor then turning to beckon him with a wave. “It’s time we all went and had a talk with the lord regent.”
“Father, you had no business sending the inquisitor to my apartments!” Selinda declared hotly as soon as she had entered the drawing room, trailed by one of the two guards.
“I’m sorry, Excellency!” the guard apologized. “I told her you couldn’t be-”
“That’s all right, Roland. You may go now. Good evening, my dear,” said du Chagne coolly, rising from his chair beside the dark hearth. “I can see that you’re upset, but surely you will understand that it was for your own good.”
“I see nothing of the sort!” she retorted. “We were having a pleasant dinner, and poor Jaymes is terribly weary from the war, from his travels. We were doing nothing wrong!”
“Of course not, child. I trust you implicitly. But you know how people talk!”
“Let them talk,” she replied, drawing herself to her full height-she was an inch taller than her father. “I’ll have something to say to them when the time is right, but for now I will say it to you in private.”
“Yes?” the regent said warily.
“I intend to marry that man,” she announced. “And there is nothing you can do to stop me!”
Her father took the news surprisingly well, she thought. He merely gave her a sharp look and sat down in his chair again. Father and daughter both turned to the door as it opened abruptly, allowing Jaymes and the lord inquisitor to enter the room.
“What are you doing here?” du Chagne demanded of the lord marshal.
“Time is short; I need to return to the front. This is no time to stand on ceremony. We might as well get some matters settled right now,” Jaymes replied evenly.
“What matters are those?”
“Your daughter and I intend to be married.”
“She was just now telling me something about that,” du Chagne replied dryly.
“Did she tell you that the ceremony is going to take place tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Impossible!” This, at last, brought the lord regent to his feet, his face purpling. As for the lord inquisitor, he looked stunned and at a loss for words.
“Tomorrow!” cried Selinda, astonished and as pleased as her father was shocked. She threw her arms around Jaymes’s neck and hugged him close. “Yes-it must be so!”
“There’s no way the arrangements can be made so quickly,” the lord inquisitor interposed, forcing himself to sound reasonable. “There are auguries to be made; an auspicious date must be determined. And of course, this is a matter of high statecraft and diplomacy-surely you’ll want to have representatives from the other Solamnic realms, at least? And Sancrist? The Grand Master himself will certainly wish to be present!”
“There’s no time for that, for any of that,” Jaymes responded curtly. “The campaign is at a crucial stage, and I must return to my army at once.”
“Why not get married when matters in the field have been resolved?” Inquisitor Frost asked after a long pause, finally finding his voice.
“Because this marriage is a key step in the ultimate victory of my army,” Jaymes replied firmly.
“I should think you’d have more important things to do than to argue this matter while your troops are still on the battlefield and the enemy is ringed around Solanthus!” Lord Regent du Chagne declared. “Ankhar remains a formidable opponent.”
Jaymes shrugged. “I have his measure. He’s formidable, indeed, but so am I. This fight won’t take much longer. But I am here to make two demands of you.”
“Demands?” The lord regent’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disdain. “Aren’t you busy enough, fighting a battle for the future of Solamnia? What else do you want besides the hand of my daughter? I suppose you’d like a dowry, a gift of gold as well!”
“I am not interested in your gold. But I am risking my army on the field of battle. Indeed, I am risking my life. I am fairly confident that my passing would not be terribly mourned by your lordship.”
Du Chagne gestured impatiently for Jaymes to get to the point.
“Two things: One, your daughter will marry me tomorrow-you see yourself that she wants it to be so and has agreed. The wedding will take place immediately… before I return to the plains.”
Du Chagne’s jaw tightened, but he said merely, “And the other demand?”
“Lord Frankish commanded the Palanthian Legion. You will recall, the general challenged me, and he paid for that mistake with his life. I believe his legion is currently without a commanding officer. I claim the legion in lieu of a dowry. There is no one more deserving of that post, no one more appropriate to command your private army.”
The lord regent appeared to consider the stakes very carefully before he spoke tersely. “Very well. You shall have the legion. Now get out of here, and let me speak to my daughter and my high priest. There is much that we have to arrange.”
Jaymes was already heading toward the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY — TWO
ACQUISITIONS
The lord marshal visited the Crier’s Guild before dawn on the following day. With the expenditure of a single sparkling stone, he contracted two dozen heralds, and by sunrise these men and women were abroad in the city, announcing the news of the royal wedding that very evening. This development stunned and excited the people of Palanthas.
By the time Jaymes returned to the lord regent’s palace at noon, riding the white gelding that Donny had tended for him, the population was joyously thronging in the street. Their displeasure with the progress of the war had been forgotten; they cheered and hailed him as he passed, and lined the roadway leading down from the palace, eagerly anticipating the wedding procession they expected to witness later in the day.
Within the palace, the lord marshal went immediately to Bakkard du Chagne.
The marshal was received by the regent in the palace drawing room. Du Chagne sat sullenly and listened to the lord marshal outline his intentions.
“I will take command of the legion immediately,” Jaymes informed du Chagne. “I intend to use an honor guard from the legion for the wedding. Immediately following the ceremony, the entire force will march with me to the plains, where I will launch the final phase of the war.”
“So you really intend to go through with this sham of a marriage? This mockery?” said du Chagne, finally finding his voice.
“Your daughter seems to be happy; I should think that would please you. She has chosen a setting for the event and has asked a priestess, a friend of hers, to preside over the vows. And yes, of course I intend to be there and as you put it, go through with it.”
“And what of me? My station-my house-my gold? I suppose you intend to claim everything eventually?” The lord regent patted at the sheen of sweat on his balding head with a handkerchief. “I’ve suspected it all along: you intend to ruin me!”
“Whether you are ruined or not is of little concern to me. But you should understand that you have brought all this upon yourself,” said the marshal with a shrug. “It was foolish to put Lord Frankish in a position where I had no choice but to kill him. It was he who challenged me, but I am certain
you were behind his foolhardy attempt on my life.”
“But I have granted you command of his legion!” du Chagne retorted. “As for my daughter, I don’t know what kind of hex you’ve placed upon her, but-”
Jaymes reached out his fist and pounded it on the desk, causing the regent to recoil with a squeal. The marshal’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he seemed to be controlling his temper only with visible effort. His hands were shaking as he drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at the pudgy man who was the father of his bride.
“Matters between your daughter and myself are not your concern,” he said sharply. “You will do well to remember that in the future. I told you that your welfare or ruin is no concern of mine, but if you try to block my plans, if you try to obstruct me…” He laughed once, a bark of contempt. “Well, you saw what happened to your assassin… and what happened to your three dukes when they tried to challenge me. Next time, my steel will be seeking your own heart. Consider yourself warned, dear father-in-law.”
Chuckling, the lord marshal walked around the large office, stopping to admire the view from the windows. Du Chagne stared at him but said nothing, nor did he attempt to rise from his chair. The first rays of the sun spilled from beneath a layer of golden clouds, casting the entire valley-the city and the bay-in a shimmering, almost ethereal glow.
The scene of transcendent beauty went unnoticed by du Chagne.
“As for this”-Jaymes gestured, encompassing the palace, the city, all the view in sight-“you can keep it. I have no interest in your station nor, believe or not, your gold. Except, of course, what may be necessary to fund military operations. That bill you will continue to pay.”
The lord regent merely glowered. There was nothing, really, that he could say. Jaymes walked to the door, turned the handle, and glanced back at du Chagne.
“The wedding will occur this evening. For reasons that I don’t fully understand, Selinda wants you to be present. So can I expect you on your best behavior?”
For several breaths the regent’s jaw worked, but his mouth couldn’t seem to form words. Finally, he nodded curtly. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
Generals Dayr, Markus, and Rankin led their separate columns eastward across the Plains of Solamnia, moving as swiftly as their exhausted troops could march and their weary knights could ride. The outposts of Ankhar’s army had no choice but to fall back before them, for without the river as a defensive barrier, they were too widely scattered to oppose. If these units-mainly goblin riders and human mercenaries-had not retreated, the mobile columns of knights would have isolated and destroyed them.
However, each of the three army wings had been brutalized by the costly river crossing; then the combined force had been shocked and battered by the passage of the monstrous elemental being. Even though the Solamnic troops had not directly confronted the creature, it had inflicted a thousand casualties in a matter of moments.
Now hundreds of wounded were being tended by clerics in a great hospital camp set up on the west bank of the river. Many supplies had been expended or lost in the crossing or burned by the elemental. Food, spare weapons, and medical resources were in short supply.
General Dayr’s Crown Army had been reduced to less than half its starting strength. The shower of arrows had killed many men in their boats, and countless others had drowned when the frail little crafts had capsized. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, the Crowns had been forced to lick their wounds on the west bank and were able to cross at a ford only when the goblin cavalry had withdrawn to avoid being outflanked.
The Sword Army of General Rankin had not lost quite as many of its rank and file, but his elite knights had been shattered in the charges against Blackgaard’s pikemen. Their courage had been epic, but their tactics disastrous. The steady lines of the defenders, their tight discipline, enabled the long weapons to gut hundreds of horses and pierce the flesh of nearly as many riders. The pathetic remnant of Sword Knights accompanying the columns of infantry eastward effectively numbered only a few hundred now.
General Markus and the Army of the Rose had fared a little better than their northern counterparts, but even that force had been considerably reduced. In addition to the casualties suffered in the crossing, Markus had been forced to detach a sizable contingent to screen the army from the prospect of attack from the Garnet Mountains.
That range was Ankhar’s home territory, and he had used the forested slopes and rocky valleys before to launch his actions. So Markus had sent companies of swordsmen and archers, positioning them to the south, where they were responsible for keeping an eye on the many routes out of the mountains. The elemental king had last been seen striding into the heights, and they were also scouting for any sign of the monster.
All three wings of the great army inched steadily eastward, however, driving Ankhar’s cavalry and mercenaries steadily before them. By the time they drew near to the city of Solanthus, scouts reported that the enemy was withdrawing from his siege lines. First reports indicated the horde was falling back to the east or southeast, possibly toward the savage realm of Lemish-known to be a stronghold of the ogre race. But details were sketchy, and the mountains also promised concealment, shelter, and a place to regroup.
Finally, the Solamnic Army stopped within sight of the Cleft Spires of Solanthus. The soldiers could clearly see the great swath of destruction where the mighty West Gate lay in ruins. Beyond stood the towers of the city. A fortified line of trenches and wooden breastworks faced them, but already it was clear that those enemy positions had been abandoned.
The three generals, Dayr, Markus, and Rankin, met face to face to debate their next move.
“Any word from the lord marshal?” asked Markus, as soon as he and the other two generals had dismounted.
“None,” Dayr replied. Rankin said the same. When the captain of the Freemen, Jaymes’s personal bodyguard, arrived a moment later, Markus put the question to Captain Powell.
“I’m sorry, General. But we have had no word since the White Witch sent him into the city-and that, I fear, was many days ago.”
“Do you think he’s still in there somewhere?” Markus asked, indicating the looming bulk of Solanthus. “Could some trap await us inside the city?”
“No, it seems like Ankhar is falling back,” Rankin guessed. “There ought to be nothing to prevent him from coming out to us now. It’s strange, this long absence and silence.”
While the three generals were discussing their options, two noblemen rode out of the city to greet them. Lords Harbor and Martin welcomed the troops of the liberating army and sadly informed the generals that the Duchess Brianna had fallen heroically in the ultimate battle just at the moment of victory.
They recounted the tale of the city’s battle with the elemental, and Jaymes’s role in that clash. But when asked about the lord marshal’s whereabouts, the two noblemen could only shrug and report that he had disappeared from within the ducal palace. No one had seen him depart the building, and several days of vigorous searching had turned up no clues.
“However, we have to believe that he left the city safely as mysteriously as he arrived,” Martin reported. “Probably by magic. The kender who came with him also disappeared, at more or less the same time. Believe me, we would know if the kender was still about.”
Mystified, the three generals and two nobles retired to the headquarters of the encampment, where they might, with more comfort, mull over a plan of action.
“Ankhar’s army is only a dozen miles to the east,” Martin explained after they had all settled with tea and a ration of biscuits. “We’ve had scouts following him, and it doesn’t seem like he’s in a great hurry to flee. Can’t you strike him there soon?”
All three generals shook their heads, though it was Markus who offered the explanation. “Our men are exhausted, and we are all woefully under strength. This army needs rest, replenishment, and reinforcements-if any can be found. It would be rash to the point of recklessness
to charge into battle now, even if we could catch up to the fiend.”
“But he’s right there, within your grasp!” insisted Lord Harbor, gesturing vaguely toward the east. “Surely this is an opportunity we can’t afford to pass up?”
“What about your own garrison?” asked General Rankin sharply. “Do you have perhaps a thousand knights ready to ride? Can you contribute five times that many footmen to our strength? Or two regiments of archers, with twenty arrows for every man?”
“Of course not!” the lord retorted. “We have barely survived this siege with a skeleton garrison. We have perhaps three hundred horses, woefully underfed. And our footmen are half starved. But we drove the enemy away-we have already given our full measure!”
“What my colleague means,” Lord Martin suggested diplomatically, “is that we have also suffered and are diminished. It seems obvious that, even if we combined all our forces, we don’t have enough troops to confront the enemy-not at the present time, at least.”
Sir Templar arrived to find the two groups huddled around the campfire, their command counsel rapidly deteriorating into sighs and long, gloomy silences.
“Sirs,” he reported breathlessly. “I have received word from one of my fellow clerics, in Palanthas.”
“Do you mean that inquisitor fellow?” asked Dayr suspiciously. “I don’t trust anything he has to tell us!”
“No, not him.” The young Clerist knight, who had proved his worth to the generals beyond any doubt when he screened the bridge attack over the Vingaard, spoke frankly. “In point of fact, I share your suspicions about the inquisitor, especially where this army is concerned. But I received an ethereal missive from a priestess, Melissa du Juliette. And she is a woman, a cleric, I trust implicitly.”
“And what did this priestess have to say?” asked Markus impatiently.
“The lord marshal is in Palanthas!” The words, the momentous news, seemed to burst excitedly from the Clerist. “He’s been there twice in the last month, apparently, most recently appearing there several days ago. Evidently he travels by magic-perhaps the White Witch teleports him. The first time he was there, he fought a duel with Lord Frankish over the Princess Selinda-it was Frankish who issued the challenge-and the lord marshal won, I’m pleased to report. Frankish himself was slain. Today the lord marshal is marrying the princess-it was she who was the cause of the duel. and finally, Lord Marshal Jaymes has taken command of the Palanthian Legion and will be marching at its head on the morrow, hastening here to join us at the front! With him are marching a thousand knights, and six or eight thousand infantry!”
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