Chee let out a particularly long string of bangs and commentary. Rocky leaned down to nudge him with his snout again. Nûd didn’t try to stop him.
“That’s pretty embroidery on that pillowcase,” said Merry. “Is it yours?”
“Uh huh,” said Nûd, reluctantly. “Damon told me my great-grandmother made it for me.”
Merry remembered Queen Carys doing embroidery during her meeting back in the palace. It seemed like that had been ages ago, but it was only this morning. She looked at Nûd with appraising eyes. Nûd noticed.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing,” said Merry. “You’ll tell me if you want to tell me.”
Nûd shook his head, slowly. “I’m not even sure I want to tell myself.”
“You’re one of Crown Prince Dâri’s bastards?”
A wide grin spread across Nûd’s face. “If only,” he said. “I don’t think he had any.”
Nûd waved toward Eynon and Fercha. “Looks like they’re almost done. You’d better finish your touch-up work with glue and magestone fragments before Fercha gets back.”
“Right,” said Merry. “Later.”
Nûd watched her ascend and went back to rubbing Rocky’s jaw. The big wyvern rumbled his contentment. Nûd wished he could share the feeling.
Chapter 59
Háiddon
Duke Háiddon had managed to sleep for a few hours before an aide woke him up near dawn. He dressed in his gambeson—the padded garment that went under his armor would be sufficient until it was time to don his full kit. It was a cool and foggy morning with frost just beginning to melt off the grass between the pavilions. He saw a lamp was burning inside the young king’s tent and expected that Dârio was feeling the full weight of his crown as the royal army prepared to take the field in a few hours.
Several soldiers were up and about. The duke stopped at a nearby campfire to encourage them and wish them well. Morale was critically important for any army, and this one hadn’t been tested, except for skirmishes with Clan Landers on the western borders and occasional disputes with Tamloch’s garrisons at the forts near the great falls to the northwest. Háiddon was pleased that the soldiers seemed confident and ready to fight for crown and kingdom. Dârio’s false reputation as a petulant and juvenile womanizer didn’t seem to affect his standing with the troops.
The duke wished he felt as confident about his own performance as the soldiers seemed about the fight ahead. He reviewed the disposition of his troops for the upcoming battle. His heavy cavalry—knights in service to nobles and the crown—would be in the center, surrounded by his most-experienced infantry. Lighter troops with longbows and crossbows would be positioned behind the massed infantry, while less experienced local levies, supported by light cavalry, would make up the army’s left and right flanks. He planned to have a contingent of wizards stay near the king and the army’s commanders near the van, while other wizards would fly above the army, ready to attack or defend as necessary.
“Are we going to smash ’em, Your Grace?” asked a well-muscled woman sharpening a sword.
“That’s the general idea,” said the duke.
“Is it true there are Roma legions on the east bank? Are they with us or with Tamloch?” asked a man with a scarred nose. He was eating cooked oats from a small bowl. Behind him, a third soldier was stirring something—probably oats—in an iron pot with a long wooden spoon.
Duke Háiddon laughed. “You’ll just have to count on me knowing how to give us every possible advantage,” he said. He rubbed his padded arm and smiled, then raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to make Tamloch’s troops miserable.”
“I’ll bet you do,” said the well-muscled woman, putting extra effort into the strokes of her oiled whetstone.
“I’ve heard the young king will be fighting with us,” said the man with the scarred nose.
“I’m trying to keep him from being the first to hit Tamloch’s shieldwall,” said Duke Háiddon.
“You’re a wise man,” said the well-muscled woman. “It wouldn’t do for the kingdom to lose its king in the first five minutes of battle.”
“Especially without a designated heir,” added scarred-nose.
“I’ll call for you if King Dârio proves to be too stubborn for his own good,” said the duke.
“Did I hear my name?” came a familiar voice. Duke Háiddon saw King Dârio and the duke’s dark-haired oldest daughter, Jenet, standing behind the soldiers at the campfire.
“Your Majesty,” said the scarred-nose man without rising. He held up his bowl. “Would you and the lady care for some oatmeal?”
The king and Jenet were wearing thick robes over long nightshirts. Both looked tousled, which earned them smiles from the soldiers. Dârio offered a small earthenware crock to the man with the scarred nose.
“Oatmeal sounds good,” said the king.
“It will be even better with this honey,” said the soldier, accepting the crock. “Some for you, too, m’lady?”
“I’d appreciate it,” said Jenet, “So long as my father remembers to eat breakfast as well.”
“Your father, m’lady?” asked scarred-nose.
“She means me,” said Duke Háiddon. He reached into his pouch and removed a small bag of raisins which he offered to scarred-nose. “These should help you stretch your breakfast.”
“Don’t be a fool and lead the first charge, Your Majesty,” said the well-muscled woman. “Wait for the second or third engagement.”
“That’s good advice,” Dârio replied.
“And you may want to wait until you’ve put on your armor,” added scarred-nose.
Jenet laughed and bowed to the soldiers, flashing a smile at each of them.
“With the two of you to advise our king, the kingdom is in good hands,” she said, then turned to Dârio. “If the king is wise enough to listen.”
“I’ll listen better after I’ve dressed and have breakfast,” said Dârio.
“Did someone mention breakfast?” said Damon as the old wizard came into the firelight. He was wearing a long nightshirt, like Dârio’s. In fact, it was one of Dârio’s, borrowed from the king’s supply of extra garments. He didn’t wear a robe and his body seemed to glow from the heat field he’d placed around him.
The soldier stirring the pot filled four bowls with cooked oats and handed them to Dârio, Jenet, Damon and the duke. Scarred-nose came by to add raisins and honey to each bowl. The well-muscled woman put her sword down on a rock and distributed spoons to the newcomers. After that was done, she found four two-foot lengths of tree-trunk and placed them near the fire for their visitors to sit on.
Dârio turned to Damon. “I’m glad you’re up. You need to be in position by the river before dawn. Wear that fancy robe, if you can. It’s impressive.”
“Good morning to you, too, Your Majesty,” said Damon. “I know my job. Don’t teach your grandmother how to bake pies.”
Dârio was about to offer a sharp reply, but Jenet touched his arm and he spooned up sweetened oatmeal instead.
“I don’t think my grandmother ever baked a pie,” mused the young king. “Neither did my great-grandmother.”
“I can bake pies,” offered Jenet. “Both fruit pies and meat pies.”
“Wait until you try the chicken and egg pies from the Dormant Dragon Inn,” said Dârio. “You’ll have to get the recipe.”
“I’ll put that on my to-do list,” said Jenet. “Maybe I’ll wait until after today’s battle.”
“Probably wise,” said Dârio.
Duke Háiddon covered his mouth with his hand and coughed softly to hide a smile. Dârio was clearly nervous about what was to come and seizing on trivial matters to distract himself. Somehow, he’d thought his daughter would provide quite a bit of distraction on her own. Thinking of his daughter reminded him to ensure three or four wizards were tasked with protecting his daughter and others who’d be left behind in the encampment when the army mustered on the open field
to the north. He ate some cooked oats and realized they were quite tasty—and that he was hungry.
“You’ll work with Damon?” the duke asked Dârio. “I have to talk to my unit commanders.”
“We’ll head for the river as soon as I finish my oats and get dressed,” said the king.
“And as soon as I’m ready,” said Damon. “It will take me a few minutes to get into my Master Mage’s robes.”
“May I assist you?” asked Jenet.
“If you’d like,” said Damon. He put his spoon in his empty bowl and placed both on top of his length of tree trunk after he stood. He began to walk away, and Jenet quickly rose to follow.
“Now who will help me get dressed?” protested Dârio with a smile.
The well-muscled soldier got up, put her sword in its sheath, and loomed over the young king.
“I’ll help,” she said. “Maybe I can give you more good advice while I do.”
Chapter 60
Eynon
“Is it working?” asked Merry.
“I can’t tell,” said Eynon. “All I can see on the other side is a white mist.”
“Did you consider that it might be foggy along the Brenavon?” asked Fercha. “I know that gate is working properly. Once you’ve made enough gates you can feel it when everything is congruent.”
“Maybe I’ll be able to tell when I’m as old as you are,” said Merry.
“Whatever happened to respectful apprentices?” Fercha mused.
Merry stuck her tongue out at Fercha and grinned. Her mentor copied Merry’s gesture. Both laughed.
Taking another look at the wide gate, Merry could tell that Eynon was right about the scene on the other side of the gate looking like so much mist or fog. It roiled about beyond the interface like low-flying clouds.
Chee was sleeping on the padded saddle in the middle of Rocky’s back, while the big black wyvern was stamping back and forth, sniffing the air, as if sensing prey nearby. Nûd was keeping pace with Rocky’s movements, speaking soothing syllables to help the wyvern remain calm. “Who’s a good boy?” asked Nûd. “You’re a good boy,” he answered.
Fercha glanced at Eynon, shook her head, then walked through the gate and disappeared into the white mist.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Eynon.
“I think you did the absolute minimum necessary,” said Merry. “You should have called out. Doethan is supposed to be on the other side.”
“I didn’t want to shout because I was afraid my voice would carry and Tamloch wizards or soldiers might hear me,” said Eynon.
“That was wise,” said Merry.
“When do you think Fercha will be back?” asked Nûd. “She’s the only one who knows how to rebuild the gate if anything happens at this end.”
“I might be able to do it,” said Merry. “I was watching her closely when she triggered the connection.”
“So long as you don’t end up sending us into the middle of the harbor at Riyas,” teased Nûd.
“I’d be more likely to drop us in the Rhuthro,” Merry noted. “But since the gate is already established, the odds are good I’d get us back where Fercha made the original connection.”
“Good to know,” said Eynon. “I hope Fercha will teach me how to set up gates, too.”
“What did Doethan ask you?” said Merry. “You were talking to him for a long time.”
“He’s concerned about Damon,” Eynon replied. “He thinks it would be a good idea for me to be there when he freezes the Brenavon.”
“Have you ever frozen anything?” asked Merry.
“He froze a field of mud pots tonight to prevent a hundred basilisks from attacking us simultaneously,” said Nûd.
“So you know the general concept?” asked Merry.
“Or my blue magestone does,” said Eynon.
“Your red magestone is pulsing,” said Merry. She pulled Eynon’s red and gold artifact out from under his jacket and linen shirt. Eynon could see crimson light flash across her face in time to his heartbeat.
“What does it mean?” Eynon asked.
“My guess is it’s telling you it’s full of heat energy,” said Nûd. “Damon’s would do that when he taught apprentices how to freeze water. You’ll want to figure out a way to release it soon.”
“Maybe shoot a fireball at the far end of the valley?” suggested Merry. “It would help with your surprise.”
“I’ll have to wait a bit, then,” said Eynon. “It’s still at least an hour before the sun’s all the way up back east, even if there were hints of light when I stepped through into the fog.”
“You need to leave now,” said Fercha to Eynon as she stepped across the interface. Four wizards Merry remembered from the Conclave’s headquarters were behind Fercha. The two men and two women all had solid sky-blue robes.
“But I need to…” began Eynon.
“You need to help Damon,” said Fercha. She moved behind Eynon and began to push him toward the wide gate. He resisted and turned to face her.
“Where do I go when I get there?” asked Eynon.
“Doethan will give you directions,” said Fercha, “but it’s simple. Just head east until you get to the river then look for Damon’s sparkling robes.”
“That should be easy,” Eynon replied. “Those robes would be visible from halfway to the moon.”
“Just get going,” Fercha insisted. “Damon’s planning to start as soon as a sliver of sun shows above the horizon. You don’t have time to waste.”
“Will you and Rocky be ready?” Eynon asked Nûd.
Chee raised his head from the saddle on Rocky’s back, then lowered his head and went back to sleep.
“We’ll be fine, won’t we big guy,” said Nûd to Rocky. The wyvern licked Nûd’s face with his long, forked tongue. “Good boy,” said Nûd. Rocky rubbed his head against Nûd’s outstretched palms.
“Go,” said Merry. “Fercha and I can help get things moving at this end.”
“You’ll have to do that on your own, with help from these fine wizards,” said Fercha, indicating the men and women in wizard’s robes who’d crossed over with her. “I’d use lightning, not fireballs, by the way.”
“Where will you be?” asked Merry.
“Doethan asked for my help, too,” said Fercha. “With luck, we’ll surprise Verro before he can surprise us.”
“Safe travels,” said Nûd. “Watch out for Tamloch wizards on flying disks guarding their army, Eynon.”
“I will,” said Eynon. He blew Merry a kiss and stepped through the gate before Fercha could push him through. It was still foggy on the other side. He reduced the glow of the sphere above his head to the equivalent of a single candle. “Hello?” he whispered.
Fercha took Eynon’s elbow and tugged him to the right, away from the front of the wide gate. “Doethan?” she asked. “Inthíra?”
“Over here,” said Doethan to Fercha. “Eynon, you’re here! Head east as fast as you can, look for…”
“Damon’s sparkling robes, I know,” said Eynon. “I’ll find him.”
“Good,” said Doethan. “Be ready to help, but only if he needs it.”
“I’ll do what I can,” said Eynon, “but I don’t understand what Damon would need my help with.”
“He’s an old man, lad—a lot older than I am—and he hasn’t worked this level of magic since before you were born,” said Doethan. “Lend him strength Eynon, but only if he needs it.”
“I’ll try my best,” said Eynon, “but who will tell Merry when Tamloch’s army is in place on this side of the gate.”
“I will,” said Inthíra. “Five of us will stay here and let her know.”
“Good,” said Eynon. He didn’t want anything to interfere with the successful execution of his plan. Doethan spoke up and interrupted Eynon’s review of the things that could still go wrong.
“Climb to thirty or forty feet and head east until you hear the river,” said Doethan. “Damon will be nearby.”
“If you see legionnaires, you’ve gone too far,” said Fercha with a smile.
“How much of the river will Damon try to freeze?” Eynon asked.
“From shore to shore and two hundred feet along the banks,” Doethan replied.
“How deep?” asked Eynon.
“Two or three feet should be enough,” said Fercha. “More would be better if you can manage it.”
“Me?” asked Eynon. “The only thing I’ve ever frozen is mud.”
“It’s the same thing,” said Fercha.
“Not exactly,” said Doethan, rubbing his chin. “The solids in the mud vary its properties when you lower its temperature, so it’s actually harder to freeze mud than water.”
“Whatever,” said Fercha. “Just go. Help Damon. We have to head south to thwart Verro.”
“Verro’s attacking from the south?” asked Eynon.
“Not your problem,” said Fercha. “Help Damon.”
“On my way,” said Eynon, climbing on his flying disk. The others mounted theirs as well.
As he sped toward the river, Eynon looked over his shoulder and saw the glowing balls above Doethan and Fercha’s heads fade into the mist to the south. With a smile, he realized he’d be able to see his surprise play out from this side of the gate once Damon worked his wizardry.
Chapter 61
Túathal
Túathal was dressed in an impressive green robe trimmed with gold. It was covered with hundreds of rounded quatrefoils, stylized clovers, picked out in gold thread. The robe had long, deep sleeves, with slits where he could slide his arms out. That made it much easier for him to eat and sign documents without dragging his robe’s fancy sleeves through sauces or ink. The king’s undertunic was dyed a rich gold and the buttons holding the tight sleeves of that garment closed were enameled green quatrefoils that matched his robe. It wasn’t something to wear under armor. Túathal had knights and soldiers to do his fighting for him.
He stood in an otherwise open section of the headquarters tent, beside one end of a trestle table set with ten places. Tibbo and Tannis were transferring platters with dried fruit, rolls and sausages to the table from a small wheeled cart. Salder had arranged for the staff of the Blue Whale inn to cater to Túathal’s every culinary need, ensuring that the king was well-fed while in the field. If that meant more ears to overhear Túathal’s plotting, so much the better.
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