“Nonsense. And don’t be so formal when we’re alone.”
“Aye, Sianna.”
“That’s better.” She took in a deep breath and rose from her seat. She resisted the urge to check her gown and hair to make sure everything was in place, but Iris had double-checked Lorena’s work earlier and assured her she looked a proper queen. Despite her friend’s reassurance, when she clasped her hands together, she couldn’t help but run her thumb over the ugly ridge of scar tissue where Nesnys had bitten off the small finger of her left hand.
Rafe noticed her motion before she stopped herself. “We’ve nearly matching wounds.” He held up his own mangled left hand, where he’d lost the last two fingers during an ambush from an erinys in the forest.
“So we do,” she said sadly but forced a smile onto her face.
“Sir Colm once said that a warrior loyal to the crown should be proud of the scars he wears, for they are marks of his valor and loyalty in doing his duty.”
“Sir Colm was a wise and great man. I miss him dearly.” And I could use his wisdom more than anything. “But what would he say of a queen with such an ugly scar?”
“I reckon he’d say the same—that they show our queen’s valor and loyalty to her people. I’m sure he would consider it a badge of honor.” His earnestness nearly brought a tear to Sianna’s eye.
“Thank you, Rafe. You’re a good man and quite wise yourself.” She approached him then reached out and squeezed his maimed hand with her own. “And so our wounds bind us, my friend, as does our duty. Come, let us not keep our honored guests waiting any longer.”
***
“The Queen of Ketania,” Sir Rafe announced in a booming voice.
Taren rose to his feet, along with the other humans when Sianna swept into the council chamber. She wore a golden circlet on her brow, studded with rubies, and looked every inch a proper queen. Her hair cascaded down her back in copper waves, and her dress was a deep emerald fringed with golden lace at cuffs and bodice, the green hue bringing out her eyes.
The elven and dwarven delegations remained seated, as did their monarchs. Being of the Free Kingdoms, they were considered Sianna’s equals in station. She went around and greeted each of the four monarchs with polite handshakes and a few brief words to each. A large round table dominated the room, at which the five monarchs alone sat. Behind each were seated a number of advisors from their respective kingdoms.
Taren felt honored to have been invited as one of Sianna’s advisors. He had done his best to make a good impression: he was freshly bathed and clean-shaven, dressed in a fancy set of robes delivered by a servant that morning. A great wizard from the legends might have worn such a garment, a rich blue with silver embroidery on the cuffs and collar. All he was missing was a mystical staff and funny hat.
Creel sat beside Taren, the rugged monster hunter looking as uncomfortable as he did out of place in the chamber. Similarly cleaned up, he wore a quality tunic and breeches that somehow looked wrong on him—his clothes too new and neatly pressed, boots too shiny. His rugged persona seemed oddly diminished.
Lord Lanthas and Iris were positioned on the other side of Creel. In the row of chairs behind them stood a handful of military officers and other advisors Taren didn’t know. Only a few of the dignitaries in the room were those he did know. He noted Kulnor and Harbek sitting proudly with Queen Hammerhelm’s contingent. The only other one he knew personally was Aninyel, selected as one of Nardual’s advisors. She gave him a broad smile and a wink when she saw him looking.
Sianna gestured for Taren and the others to be seated, her smile passing over them briefly like a ray of sunlight on a dreary day before she turned her attention to her peers. “I’d like to thank my esteemed guests for undertaking such long journeys to join us this day. This conclave, I hope, will bear valuable fruit in the form of renewing old alliances between the Free Kingdoms and the Kingdom of Ketania and forging alliances to take us into a brighter future. We gather here today in a dark hour, when the Nebaran Empire sows bloodshed and destruction far and wide across the lands—our homeland. Just this morning, I’ve received word that the main army is advancing toward Carran. Whether this will be a direct assault or merely posturing to further project the empire’s power, I cannot say, yet I think the threat to all of our kingdoms is plain.”
Some murmuring arose when she let them digest that news, until a cool voice spoke up.
“Humans warring with humans. These are human problems, not elven ones.” The speaker, Queen Shalaera of the Silverwood elves, spoke in a haughty tone. “Nor even dwarven problems, I daresay, lest they are foolish enough to become involved.”
“We decide what our problems be, ye old witch,” Rukk Stonefist shot back. “Methinks ye’re plenty afeared to have stirred from yer lair in those woods o’ yers.”
Shalaera spared Rukk a withering glance that might’ve been reserved for a misbehaving child. Before she could make a retort, King Nardual spoke up.
“I’ve also received news this very morning that might change your mind, Shalaera.” He turned to Sianna. “I regret to begin this palaver with more grave tidings, yet my scouts have delivered word of a second Nebaran host marching up from the south. They’ve passed the Downs of Atur and could unite with the main force in mere days.”
“Another force?” Sianna’s voice held a slight quaver.
Another force, Taren thought, echoing his queen. If so, where do they get the men? Nesnys must have set this in motion weeks ago for another force to be threatening us.
Creel cursed quietly under his breath.
A clamor of raised voices broke out, monarchs and advisors all engaging in hasty consultation. Queen Shalaera simply sat there silently as if it were no concern, her mind already made up.
“What is the strength of this second army?” Sioned asked.
“Roughly ten thousand strong,” Nardual replied.
Even Shalaera’s cold marble features looked slightly dismayed at that.
“They can only mean to finish what they began,” Sianna said. “Once they raze Carran, who’s to say they won’t continue to march north, to Stonespur Citadel or Silverwood Forest?” She glanced pointedly at Rukk and Shalaera respectively.
“Let ’em come,” Rukk said, although some of his bluster had faded. “They’ll break against our gates. Mayhap they’ll find easier prey in the witch’s woods.”
“’Twould be foolish to let these invaders advance so far,” Sioned said. “We can stop ’em with steel here on these plains afore they get any more momentum behind them.”
Rukk stroked his beard and looked thoughtful, though he kept his narrowed eyes on Shalaera.
“Sianna and I have already agreed in principle we must stand together and face these foes,” Nardual said. “Either host is within a couple swift days’ march from the borders of Fallowin Forest. To simply hope they pass us by and continue warring with our human friends would be both callow and absurd.”
Rukk snorted. “Ye’re only sayin’ so since yer feet are nearest the fire.”
Taren noticed Shalaera was staring at him, her gaze carrying a weight that made him uneasy. Her eyes provided the only color in her pale countenance, a striking black-cherry hue, equally piercing and unnerving. He nodded respectfully and looked away after their gazes had locked an uncomfortably long time. He recalled hearing she was a powerful sorceress and wondered if she was simply sizing up a possible rival.
“I would hear details of any plan on how to defeat this foe before I commit to any agreement,” Shalaera said, turning her attention back to Sianna.
Sianna sounded surprised when she answered. “Yes, of course. I would ask Lord Lanthas to speak to military matters.”
Taren let out a relieved breath. Seems we may be getting somewhere.
***
Creel stretched his back as unobtrusively as possible, wishing he could be anywhere but stuck in the conclave, which had been going on for hours. Even more than that, he wished he had a drink. He
would’ve given anything at that moment to be sitting at the Giantslayers Inn with his arm around Rada’s waist while reliving past adventures with her and Brom. But such was not to be.
He didn’t know why Sianna had asked him to attend but guessed she thought he would be honored. He supposed he should have been, but he cared little for talk of military strategies and even less for the politics of the conclave.
At least they seem on board with this alliance. Sioned and Rukk had committed formally early on after some mutual discussion, and although Shalaera had been careful not to make any commitment, Creel thought the matter nearly decided. The elf queen might detest the necessity of getting involved, but she was no fool and knew as well as the others their best chance lay in a united front and stopping Nesnys’s forces sooner rather than later. The revelation of a second host was very troubling, and thus far, no consensus had been reached as to how to confront it.
Now if they’d just sign a treaty or whatnot and let us out of here. The generals can strategize into the wee hours of the morning, for all I care.
“And we be in agreement that we should smash this first host afore the second can bolster it,” Sioned was saying. “Mayhap that’ll take the steel outta the second host.”
Uncertain as to the second part, but I agree we shouldn’t let them join up.
“Then that would mean we must take to the field in mere days.” Sianna’s face wasn’t visible, as they were seated behind her, but she sounded dismayed.
“Seems hasty, but I agree our best odds would be to strike swiftly and decisively,” Nardual agreed.
Sioned and Rukk were busy conversing with their commanders.
“I shall agree to this alliance,” Shalaera said loftily, “at least for this initial battle. Depending on the outcome, I reserve the right to reevaluate the situation and, if I deem it appropriate, withdraw if necessary.”
“We gladly welcome your support, Queen Shalaera,” Sianna said, a note of relief in her voice.
“We think the boyos can fix somethin’ up in that time,” Rukk said, turning around and seeming oblivious to Shalaera’s offer of support. “Eh, did I miss something?”
“Queen Shalaera offered her support for the first engagement,” Sianna said.
Rukk raised a bushy eyebrow. “’Bout time ye got off yer high horse and saw reason.”
Shalaera’s glare could’ve cut glass, but Rukk only chuckled heartily.
“Then may I suggest we adjourn for a couple hours until later this afternoon,” Sianna said. “Our advisors can draft up a formal proclamation to be signed, and this will give our military commanders time to hammer out a preliminary plan of attack.”
Creel had to restrain himself from bolting for the doors, remembering decorum to allow the monarchs to depart first while they stood politely. The dwarves left first, engaged in animated talks of tactics, then Sianna and Nardual departed, conversing quietly.
“Young mage, I believe we haven’t been introduced.” Shalaera was approaching them, her attention focused on Taren like a hungry hawk upon a field mouse.
Too late for a getaway. Creel restrained a groan. He sidled nearer the door but remained behind, interested in the conversation.
“I’m Taren, Your Majesty. Advisor to Queen Sianna.” He bowed respectfully.
Shalaera extended a pale, slim hand, and Taren kissed the back of it. “And responsible for your young queen standing here before us today. Tales of your valiant rescue are on everyone’s tongues. Your talents must be impressive, especially for one so young.”
Shalaera’s daughter, who served as one of her advisors, was a near duplicate of her mother, if a bit less severe looking—also a sorceress of some repute, as Creel recalled. She stood a step behind her mother and likewise regarded Taren intently.
“You’re too kind, Your Majesty,” Taren said. “I’m only happy to have been of service to my queen.”
The daughter spoke up suddenly. “That was you yesterday. You were with two others, flying overhead and observing our approach to the city.”
Ferret had filled Creel in on their activities of the past day during the banquet the previous night. He had spent a good part of yesterday at Feldegast’s to avoid such situations like this conclave presented, but unfortunately, Iris had cornered him at the feast and invited him to attend, which sounded more like a directive than a request the way she had put it.
“My daughter and heir, Julicienne,” Shalaera said.
Taren bowed to Julicienne also. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Your Highness. You’re correct. I did take my friends to see the sights yesterday.”
“See anything you fancy?” Julicienne asked with a bold stare. Whereas her mother wore a plum-colored dress laced to her neck, her daughter wore the same color but a much filmier gown, low-cut and leaving little to the imagination.
Taren flushed and looked like a drowning man for a moment.
Before he could reply, Shalaera cackled laughter. “Leave the boy be, Daughter. Let us leave the confines of this dreadful castle for a time. I do look forward to seeing your talents in use, Taren.” The hint of a smile ghosted her lips, then mother and daughter were walking away. Their retinue followed silently.
Creel grabbed Taren’s arm. “Looks like you could use a drink, lad.” He was amused at his young friend’s dismay.
Taren nodded, clearly relieved the elves had left. “Especially after that. Those two were quite… intense.”
“Aye, nothing good can come from being the subject of those two’s attentions. Let’s get out of here.”
As they took the hallway toward the rear of the castle, where they weren’t likely to be accosted again, Taren remarked, “Thank the gods we’ve made some progress here. I was dreading this would go on for days.”
“Aye. Sianna did well—she held her own in there. That’s a promising start to her reign. I don’t recall her father or grandfather ever meeting with all of the Free Kingdoms’ monarchs before.”
“She was very well-spoken and looked… radiant.”
Creel laughed at the dreamy look on Taren’s face. “Say, where’s your shadow, Mira, today?”
“Oh, she’ll be meeting us just outside the castle. Ferret too.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”
Taren tapped his temple with a forefinger. “Mother taught me a little psionics. Most of the time, I forget about it, but it can be useful.”
Creel grunted. He had heard something about Taren’s psionic talent from Ferret, but it had slipped his mind. He held the door for Taren, and they passed out a servant door to the bailey.
“Well, there’s no fighting in the castle yet, so I reckon that’s a win.” Ferret was leaning against the wall just outside the door, Mira standing beside her. “They weren’t at each others’ throats in there?”
“A few testy exchanges at the get-go, but fortunately for my numb arse, they reached an agreement to join forces,” Creel said. “At least there’ll be others to share in paying the butcher’s bill now.” Don’t know how in the Abyss we’ll pull off a victory, but at least we won’t be alone in suffering the defeat.
“Huh. Thanks for pissin’ in the ale cask, Dak,” Ferret said.
His grim statement had put somewhat of a damper on their spirits, but he knew a few drinks should lighten the mood.
The four of them passed out the postern gate and into a street behind the castle. During the past weeks spent in Carran, Creel had discovered the shortest way to Feldegast’s by way of back streets.
“Oh, Mira, ’ware the elven ice queen and her daughter—they took a definite interest in our young friend here.” Creel clapped Taren on the back.
If he had thought to ruffle Mira’s feathers, he was mistaken. “Queen Shalaera has an ill look to her,” Mira observed, unperturbed as always. “You should keep your distance from her, Taren.”
“I’ll do my best. Especially after the two of them cornered me after the conclave adjourned.”
“They wer
e eyeing him like dogs drooling over a nice bloody steak,” Creel said with a chuckle.
Taren flushed, and the others laughed.
Chapter 23
Kulnor rode with Sioned, Rukk, Harbek, and a number of dwarven advisors and engineers. They were led by Jahn, former sergeant and scout, now one of Queen Sianna’s royal guardsmen. She had dispatched Jahn as a guide so they might survey the ground the humans felt was their preferred choice of battlefield in a couple days’ time.
Already, dusk was drawing near, for they had spent nearly the entire day in the conclave, bickering at first and later strategizing. Fortunately, Sioned’s supply train was well stocked with ale casks, which had helped soothe Kulnor’s nerves before riding out after what had already been a long day.
Two nights and a day to get ready for battle… This is madness.
In days of old, if the dwarves were planning any sapping operations, they were said to take many days, if not weeks, to prepare, at least from what Kulnor had heard. To his knowledge, they hadn’t even employed their sappers on a battlefield in centuries. But he wasn’t an expert on such matters. Jarkond, an elderly dwarf in Rukk’s employ who had seen two and a half centuries, was the expert.
The land the humans favored was a relatively flat, grassy plain. Level ground stretched for nearly a quarter mile abreast, broken up on the western edge by a shallow, slow-moving stream wending amid scattered thickets. To the east was a long, stony ridge descending into a low-lying gully.
“I reckon we should dig a bolt-hole here, me king,” Jarkond called down from the top of the ridge he had been inspecting with a pair of his journeymen sappers. He had not a hair on his liver-spotted head, but his snowy beard was impressive. The elderly dwarf was stoop shouldered but still hale. “We set a few boyos to diggin’ from the bottom of that gully, then once we’ve got space to work, bring more in. Once finished, we load up the bolt-hole and wait to spring our trap on those southern pricks.”
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 20