“But, I thought they’d already… killed…”
The young man trailed off. He was probably going to mention the assassins—and he would be right. However, since none of them had survived, there was no proof that the Kel’madden had “ordered” an attack. Ridiculous, yes, and Daric hated all that politicking, but rules were rules, and even wars had them.
“It won’t be the first time you’ll be confused,” Daric told the runner as he peered over the wall towards the north. “Just do your duty, and try not to think too much.” Yes, leave the thinking to me; no reason why you should lose sleep, too.
He scanned over the squares of black and brown-clad troopers. Their formation filled the top of the Crescent. It was an impressive sight, and yet he knew those men and women he could see were barely half their number. He also knew the attack, when it came, would not be like the battles—no, skirmishes—he had once had with the Salrians. What faced them now was a real invading force, not a series of ineffectual raids. When the Kel’madden eventually attacked, a lot of people would die. It would not be a battle of hit and retreat; it would be a consistent onslaught, a barrage of thousands upon thousands of heavily armed, and armoured, attackers. He couldn’t help but lick his lips against the dryness that suddenly filled his throat.
Aware that he was staring, he took a step back and squared up to the general. Shoulders back, he asked, “Are you sure they will send an embassy? They don’t appear to be moving?”
“Yes, I am,” the general said. “It won’t be long now.”
“Do you have orders?”
Mikelmoor would have instructions from the palace. Daric had missed the meeting. Or rather, they hadn’t invited him. Maybe they thought he was still… preoccupied after last night’s attack. He didn’t care, though; he knew Mikelmoor would tell him what he needed to know—the nobles and sycophants could keep the rest.
“I’ve been instructed to play for time, ask for the day to consider terms. They might give us half a day.” Mikelmoor rubbed his chin, apparently thinking. “Still, half a day would be better than nothing. Give those friends of yours a chance to catch up, if they’re coming.”
“Oh, they’re coming,” Daric told him. “Tomorrow, the day after, they’re on their way.”
Mikelmoor, who had been looking along the line, gave him a sideways glance. The general didn’t seem as confident. But then he hadn’t met any Cren, other than Cal. No, the Woodsmen would show, and when they did, they would teach the Kel’madden the price of invading Aleras’moya.
“You may well be right, Major,” Mikelmoor said softly, so only Daric could hear, “but until they march through the Westgate, we proceed as if they’re not coming.”
Daric nodded. He had not expected anything different: a soldier never plans with forces he does not have at hand. Unless he knows for sure where they are and when they will arrive—and even then, it was best not to depend too heavily on absent assets. They would do well enough until the Cren arrived, though. The first few days of a siege were always about manoeuvring and posture.
A flaming arrow arced across the northern sky, made brighter by the backdrop of black clouds.
“Well,” Mikelmoor snorted. Pulling his tunic straight, he said, “That’s first contact. They will be coming soon.”
Sure enough, when Daric looked over the wall, a small group of Kel’madden were making their way down the southern face of the Crescent. They would be here in a few minutes.
“Do you want me to meet with them?” Daric asked. “I could go.”
“What, and miss the fun?” Mikelmoor grinned. “No, I have my instructions. Best I see they are done to the King’s liking.”
With that, Mikelmoor turned and ducked through the small doorway into the gate tower.
Daric followed.
* * *
Nana could not understand why she, of all people, had been chosen to lead the embassy. She could only assume General Turasan didn’t care how the meeting went. Maybe he was hoping she would fail. It certainly seemed that way. For one thing, she was certain the Surabhan would not be impressed at having to deal with a lowly captain, and a Toyan captain at that.
There were four in her group—embassy—besides her: two banner bearers, a very tall lieutenant who she did not recognise, and Sergeant Skelk. The bannermen walked on either side. One carried the flag of Toi’ildrieg—a blue falcon on a field of yellow. The other carried Vila’slae’s banner—a copper coloured dragon head on a black background. Of course, the dragon banner was twice the size of the other. Nana hadn’t known Vila had a banner until the man unfurled it and told her what it was. Maybe the witch had had one made especially for the occasion.
The hill was steep. The bannermen struggled to keep the flags high. As they made their way down the grassy, dew-wet slope, Nana had to resist an urge to grab Skelk’s arm. That wouldn’t do, not while Turasan was watching—and she knew he would be—never mind what the Surabhan would think.
Nana had heard about this “Crescent” from one of the other officers. It was impressive—and annoying. North being the only direction a land assault could stage an attack, the Crescent was in the ideal location. It would be next to impossible to drag siege engines up the steep slope, and any ground attack left them open to bombardment from enemy trebuchets. Yes, very clever. She wondered if Turasan had a plan to get around the problem. And at the same time, hoped that none of the Toyan forces would be part of the general’s solution. Whoever made the first run at that high wall would suffer huge losses. Yes, they would probably win in the end, but at what price? Again, she wondered why they chose her for this embassy. Was the witch bent on attacking regardless of parley? It certainly seemed so.
They reached the field at the bottom of the Crescent and walked across the now-level ground towards the only road. The Great Western Road—as Turasan had called it—was broad and well made, but ran west to east along the city’s outer wall. Assuming the general wanted to use the road for their siege engines, they would face a two-mile gauntlet before reaching the city gates. Maybe they should have built some trebuchets of their own.
Nana looked up at the north wall. It certainly had not been built for beauty. Under the dark sky, the wet, grey stone appeared almost black. The top was jagged with uneven crenellationnn. Every fifty paces, white-topped towers served as both lookout and housing for their trebuchets The main gate was damaged—that could prove useful—but getting to it wouldn’t be easy, and it was—
Nana cursed under her breath. “What am I doing? It isn’t my job to plan our attack,” she whispered.
“Did you say something, Captain?” Skelk asked.
The sergeant was his usual cheerful self. Indeed, he had laughed when Nana told him he would be joining her as part of their embassy. Doubtless, he had had the same thoughts about the general’s motives. However, unlike her, at least he had managed to laugh about it.
“Nothing, Sergeant, just thinking out loud.”
Skelk raised one eyebrow and gave her one of his I-know-what-you’re-thinking grins. He might have said something, too, but the sound of a gate opening stilled his impending sarcasm.
Well, part of the gate opened. Nana watched, as a door set into the right-hand gate—the only part still attached to the tower; the other side had been boarded up—swung out. No one came out, though; not right away.
Her group continued walking until they were within a few paces. She called a halt. The bannermen stood to attention while Skelk and the lieutenant took another pace forward. They made quite the retinue, she thought, as she stepped between Skelk and the lieutenant. Trying not to fidget, she pulled her tunic straight, folded her hands behind her back, and waited.
The first man to emerge was a woman—that surprised her—an attractive woman of about thirty years, dressed in a sky-blue cloak. A thin scarf covered hair twisted up in a bun. Two men followed. One was dark-haired, tall and broad, a handsome man, with a commanding look about him—Nana didn’t think he was in charge. The other�
� the other was a Salrian… a captain, by his rank insignia. What was he doing there? This would not please Turasan one bit! And if that were not bad enough, the next to emerge was a huge man, probably eight feet tall. Nana had heard of the Woodsmen but never thought she would see one. And she had never believed the stories about their size. Hoping her nerves didn’t show, she nodded at each in turn, but before she could speak, another man stepped through the gate.
This man was older and wore some fancy regalia. He must be in charge. If only she knew how to recognise the Surabhan’s rank. Hoping she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself, she bowed to the older man.
She was about to speak when the old man stood to one side. A large wolf jumped through the gate.
“What is this?” Nana grunted. Taking a step back, she reached for her knife.
The older man raised his hands. “Be at your ease, Captain”—seems he knew her rank well enough—“Toban is with us.”
The wolf bowed, and…
“Beg your pardon, Captain,” the wolf said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Yes, the wolf spoke. She was not hearing voices. Gathering her wits—she supposed it wasn’t that peculiar, after all, dragons could talk—she pushed her knife back into its scabbard. “Do you have any more surprises?” she asked, and then wished she had not. “I mean, are you done? Are there any more of you?”
“No, Captain, we are all here,” the older man said.
The two other men—the regular-sized ones—shot a glance at one another. They were grinning. Had they planned this circus to unhinge her, put her on the back foot? It so, it had worked.
The older man crossed his hands in front and raised his chin. “It is customary for you to introduce yourself first, Captain. Or are we done with custom?”
Custom! The man stands between a wolf and a giant and has the gall to talk of tradition.
She wanted to say as much, but instead, she introduced herself and the ranks of those with her: not their names, just rank. When finished, she couldn’t help but glance at Skelk to make sure she had done it right. The sergeant gave her a faint nod. Nana tried not to look relieved.
The woman in blue took a step forward.
“Your presence has been noted, Captain Duran,” the woman said. “If it pleases you, to recognise General Mikelmoor, the allied forces leader in Bailryn; Captain Uldmae, our Salrian liaison; Cahldien Lynar, member of the Crenach Council, and Toban, Alpha of the Rukin and representative of the Moyan Wolf Confederacy. My name is Evin Cesim, His Majesty’s Council and First Keeper of House Eidred.”
The woman curtsied. And then looked like she was waiting for something.
“Who is he?” Nana asked, nodding at the other man.
“Me?” the man said, pointing at himself. “Oh, I’m nobody, just a runner. You can call me Daric.”
Nana knew nothing of their rank or hierarchy, but she would have paid a fat gold coin to know why the man was there. He obviously wasn’t a lowly runner. And the way the general grinned at him spoke volumes about the man’s position. The woman, this Evin, looked annoyed, though.
Skelk coughed.
From the corner of her eye, Nana saw him nodding at the lieutenant. Of course… the petition. Turning to the tall officer, she held her hand out for the scroll. Maybe she should have done something else first because the man scowled at her before handing it over. With a salute for the opposing general, she handed the woman the scroll. She would have handed it to the older man, but he was still standing at the back.
The woman, Evin, unrolled the scroll and began reading.
A long moment passed as she scanned through the scroll. Now and then, the general would glance at her, and the tall man, the Cren, appeared to be reading over her shoulder. Daric and the wolf looked as if they were waiting for their dinner. Only the Salrian stood in some semblance of order.
Once finished, the woman rolled the scroll back up and handed it to the general. “About what we expected,” she said. Her voice was flat. If she was surprised by any of the terms, the First Keeper wasn’t showing it.
The general nodded at her. “Very well. Our turn.” And with that, he took a step forward.
“Cal, would you like to start?” the general asked the big man.
The Cren took a step forward. After bowing, he handed Nana a scroll. “On behalf of the Tien Council, you are at this moment given notice: the Cren’dair stand with House Eidred.”
Nana took the scroll from him. She closed her mouth. What was all this? No one had told her anything about receiving manuscripts. Before she could do anything else, the Cren stepped back and the Salrian moved forward. He, too, gave her a scroll.
The short man bowed, and then said, “The Salrian Council stand against the Kel’madden. In the interest of parley, you should also know that Salrian troops are approaching your western flank.”
Nana accepted the scroll and handed it back to her lieutenant. This was proving to be a very surprising meeting. Salrian troops? What next?
The wolf… she might have guessed. As if things hadn’t become strange enough.
“I am Toban, Alpha of the Rukin. I speak for the Rukin, the Darkin Battle-brothers, and the Broan clan. I tell you true, the wolves of Moyathair stand with House Eidred.”
The Salrian handed her another scroll.
Nana didn’t know what to say or do. She made no disguise of asking Skelk for help.
“Ask for their answer,” the sergeant whispered.
Clearing her throat, she straightened herself up and asked, “What is your reply?” That probably wasn’t the right way to phrase it, but at this point, she didn’t care.
“By the terms of the Barais Accord, we will take the day,” the general said.
“Take the… Sorry, what does that mean?”
“Ask General Turasan,” the old man told her. He turned and led the mismatched group back through the gate.
Nana watched, mouth open, as the door closed behind them. “Now what?” she asked Skelk.
“Now we go back. Deliver our report, and hope we can get out of the way before Turasan explodes.”
Skelk about faced and led the embassy back to camp. Nana followed, no longer caring about protocol; she was happy enough to tuck in at the back of the line. The bannermen had already lowered their flags.
* * *
Daric shrugged off the cloak he had borrowed from one of the captains and reached out for a mug of tea. They were back in the command post—well, the Hungry Fisherman Inn, actually. It was the closest building to the gate that was large enough for their needs and not directly in the line of fire—too close, if Daric were to have a say. Still, it was made of stone, with a red-tiled roof and thick walls. It would do well enough. The common room was plain. More so, since they had removed the decorations and replaced them with maps and requisition lists. The tables had been joined end on end, and now formed a single, long desk. The innkeeper was still there. Daric had met the man earlier, and he didn’t think a horde of dragons could shift Alim A’limb from his property. The man was Eurmacian—he would be, with a name like that—and very blunt and stubborn. Not a bit like Olam was.
Daric pushed thoughts of his friend away.
“Do you think that’ll be enough to put them off?” Mikelmoor asked. The man wasn’t far short of laughing.
“Oh, no doubt,” Daric replied, “I bet they’re packing already.” He couldn’t help a smile, either, although it wasn’t the least bit funny, not really.
“‘The Wolf Confederacy’? Where did that come from?” Toban asked Evin.
Evin shrugged. “It just came to mind, sorry.”
“Oh, don't apologize, Evin,” Mikelmoor told her. “I thought you did very well. I thought you all did,” he said, raising a goblet to the table.
Si’eth returned his salutation. “But will it work?” he asked.
“It might; it might not. Either way, we haven’t lost anything by trying. If it buys us half a day, it will have been worth it.”
/> “They’re going to know the Salrian army isn’t marching from the west,” Cal said.
“Yes,” Daric admitted, “but they don’t know there isn’t a regiment or two in the city. Did you see her face when she saw Si’eth?”
Cal mumbled something Daric couldn’t hear. The big man was probably playing the advocate.
It was a good plan; give the Kel’madden something to think about, buy some time for the Cren and others to arrive. The Kel’madden must already know about the wolves camped a few miles west. That alone should be enough to cultivate a few doubts in their minds—he hoped. And who knew, maybe the Salrians were on their way. Bre’ach had said that Uld’eth and others had made a dash for Barath to warn the Salrian Council of General Alaf’kan’s betrayal. Yes, perhaps there was an army of Salrians marching across the border.
“One way or another,” Mikelmoor said. “That’s the end of the talk. We’ll know soon enough if we’ve got our day.”
Daric nodded. It annoyed him no end, but Mikelmoor was right, all they could do now was sit and wait.
CHAPTER 4
Blowing in the Wind
General Ebon Turasan rubbed his temples as he gazed down at the three scrolls Captain Duran had handed him. The embassy was supposed to be a diversion, something to keep the enemy’s mind busy while he positioned his troops and waited for Madam Slae to return. He had not intended to honour the Barais Accord… or any other treaty. And yet, he found himself grateful for the delay.
“They’ll have their day,” he told the captain, “but only because it suits me.”
He needed to send scouts along the Great Western Road. It was doubtful the Salrians were on their way—from what he had seen of them, he did not think they had any capacity for war, never mind had an army in place—but after the message concerning missing soldiers in Crenach’coi, there was little doubt the woodsmen would be coming.
“You say there was only the one woodsman?” he asked.
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