by Terry Brooks
Pied took a long moment to consider how to proceed, weighing the choice of a breakthrough at a single point in the Federation line versus a breakthrough at several. The former kept things more tightly controlled, and he opted for it. They would all get through together or they would not get through at all.
He put the most dependable and seasoned of his Elven Hunters in the vanguard with Ti Auberen in command, wedged Erris Crewer and his archers in behind them with swordsmen and spear bearers on the flanks, passed the signal back to be ready to make a run for it when the front ranks broke from cover, and settled back to wait for the dawn.
We’ll need help to do this, he was thinking as he watched the gray horizon slowly brighten.
Then a Federation picket that they had thought safely turned away wandered back through the lines and stumbled on them. He was dead almost immediately, killed by one of the archers, but not before he had gotten off a warning shout that caused heads to turn.
Pied never hesitated. “Elessedil!” he shouted, and the Elves took up the cry.
They broke from the cover of the gloom and the mist and charged through the Federation camp. Pied had been right in his assessment of the situation: The Federation soldiers were just beginning to stir from their sleep, and the Elves were in their midst before most even knew what was happening. The night watch fought back bravely but was swiftly overrun, and the Elves went through the camp virtually unopposed.
The Federation soldiers who manned the fortifications were better prepared, however, and the battle to get past them was bitter and hot. Trapped against their own walls, they fought like demons, slowing the Elven rush sufficiently that for a moment it nearly stalled. Pied pushed his way to the forefront of the fighting, shouting at Ti Auberen to keep moving, to break through the lines. Home Guard warded him every step of the way, fighting to keep the enemy from getting close. From the center of the rush, Elven archers sent flurries of arrows down the siege lines, forcing the soldiers who manned them to duck for cover. In a concerted rush, the Elves slammed into the fortifications. Sandbags, earthworks, and wooden slats gave way under the crush, and the Elves were through and streaming across the flats separating the siege lines from the heights.
Ahead, the Free-born gates were barely visible, a massive barrier formed of iron-reinforced timbers set into walls that stood twenty feet high. There was activity on those walls; Pied could see the movement from the soldiers manning them as he raced across the grasslands.
But the gates were not opening to them.
For just a moment, Pied considered the possibility that Troon had not reached Vaden Wick. It had never occurred to him that she could fail.
At their backs, Federation soldiers were rallying, archers and javelin throwers trying to bring down the Elves from behind. Some among the pursued fell victim to the missiles, stricken and helpless and lost in the rush. Those in the Elven rear guard stopped to help where they could, but the press forward was intense and there was no time for hesitation. A knot of Federation soldiers swarmed onto the plains in a foolish chase that was brought up short when Erris Crewer wheeled his archers back long enough for them to use their longbows in a sustained volley that dropped the pursuers in their tracks.
Farther down the line, Federation horsemen were riding out to intercept the Elves, charging hard and closing the distance between them with alarming quickness. Pied saw that the horsemen would reach the Elves before the Elves reached the protection of the Free-born, even should the Free-born be aware of what was happening.
Why didn’t they open the gates?
They were still a hundred yards from the walls when Pied shouted for Ti Auberen to form up ranks. The Elves wheeled into triangle formations and turned to face the approaching riders. Erris Crewer brought the archers into position at the rear, their ranks three deep, and the Elves prepared to stand and fight. Pied felt his heart sink. They could hold for a time, but in the end they would be overrun, caught out in the open with no place to hide and no one to stand with them.
He moved to the front triangle to stand with Auberen. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say.
Then, with the Federation riders almost on top of them and the Elven archers already letting go with their first volleys, the gates of the Free-born defenses finally swung open and out rode the Red Cloaks, the horse unit of the Bordermen of Callahorn, successors to the fabled Border Legion. They burst through the opening in a wave of crimson and a cacophony of wild cries, charging hard for the Federation cavalry. Clad in heavy armor and wielding lances, they tore through the Federation riders as if they were so many straw men, breaking apart their ranks and shattering the attack. In only minutes, the entire Federation force was in flight, and the Red Cloaks owned the grasslands.
The Elves, meanwhile, were running for the gates once more, the cheers of the defenders urging them on. Pied ran with them, a surge of relief flooding through him. As he passed through the gates and behind the safety of the Free-born defenses, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Troon stood at his elbow, grinning broadly.
“You didn’t think I got through, did you?” she shouted at him above the din of men and horses. “Admit it, you saw the gates were closed and you thought I’d failed.” Her gray eyes danced with glee. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry?”
Pied responded by giving her a hug and was surprised when she hugged him back, even more surprised to discover how good it felt.
He moved on, searching for Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer. They had to make arrangements for what would happen next. But his Lieutenants were nowhere to be found in the surge of ebullient soldiers coming in from the grasslands. He found himself carried along by the tide, swept uphill to the heights where the main body of the Free-born was settled. There was a general milling about as the newly arrived were sorted out—the healthy directed to campsites and the wounded taken away for treatment. Pied wandered through the crowd, wondering what had possessed him to hug Troon, something commanding officers did not do to soldiers, no matter the nature of the relationship. It wasn’t really the propriety of the action that bothered him; it was the emotions it had stirred. He had known Troon since they were children, but he had never been attracted to her. She was a Tracker in his Home Guard command, the one on whom he could always rely. She was his childhood friend, someone he liked to be around and who made him smile.
But for a minute back there, he had felt like she might be something more.
He forced his thoughts to other things and walked on.
Not an hour later, as he was buckling on his weapons, he heard his name called. He’d had just enough time to find his command post, connect with Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer, wash himself from a basin of warm water, and change into fresh clothes. He looked up to see a powerfully built Dwarf with long black hair and a beard braided at the chin and just below both ears approach. Several others of similar size but less flamboyant looks flanked him, hard-eyed men wearing multiple blades and bearing scars on their hands and faces. There was not a smile to be found on any of them save for the leader, but he was smiling broadly enough for them all.
“Captain Sanderling!” he boomed, his voice deep and resonant, the sound of it strangely compelling, like that of a practiced orator. “I’m Vaden Wick, Captain. Glad you made it through. We have been anticipating your arrival ever since your Tracker informed us of your coming. Heard about your success against the Federation three days back. That was impressive. Others would simply have kept running.”
“I thought about it,” Pied said. He reached out to shake the other’s hand.
“I doubt that. You haven’t the look.” Vaden Wick tugged on the braid below his right ear, casting quick glances about the Elven camp, his sharp eyes taking in everything. “We have a lot to talk about. Can we do it now?”
He walked Pied down to the Free-born fortifications at the southern edge of the east plateau, exchanging greetings with his soldiers on the way, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned about anything. He had that quality of be
ing able to disconnect from the burden of leadership when out among those he commanded, lending a sense of confidence to everyone he passed.
But when they stopped at a watchtower that was hastily vacated for their use, he abruptly changed. “Captain, we have a problem, and I need your help in solving it.” He looked out across the Prekkendorran to where the Federation lines were dark creases against the horizon to the south, wrapping east and west about the Free-born encampment like a snake. “We’re trapped here, hemmed in on every side but the one where we don’t wish to go. We can’t allow that to last much longer. That big airship with the weapon that burned Kellen Elessedil and his fleet out of the skies was airborne yesterday, a practice run that took her just outside the rear lines but was clearly meant as a test of her fitness. Another day, maybe two, and they will come after us. When they do, we’re finished.”
He looked over at Pied. “We have to find a way to stop that airship. You fought against her and you know her better than any of us. You damaged her or she would have done a good deal more than destroy the Elven fleet. I need to know if there is some way we can disable her when she comes after us again.”
Pied shook his head. “I was lucky, that last time. We were in a skiff, too small even to be a threat, but we got behind her and under her and used rail slings to damage the steering. My guess is they won’t let that happen again. The next time she comes after us, she’ll have armor up all over.”
Vaden Wick nodded. “I would guess so, too. So we need something else. Another way to damage her. A way to stop her before she even gets to us.”
Pied looked at him, realizing suddenly what he was saying. “You plan on going after her, don’t you?”
“If I get the chance. But I have to know how to knock her down before we engage her again. We have our airships ready to go, once we find what her weakness is. You’ve fought her and lived to tell about it. I thought you might have some insight.”
Pied looked off into the distance. If he had any insight, it was eluding him. He wanted to help, but the depth of his knowledge about the Dechtera and her weapon was tiny. Mostly, he knew what would happen once the big Federation ship was aloft. Was there a weakness that the Free-born could exploit when that happened? He tried to think of one and failed.
“You think we have today and maybe tomorrow,” he repeated.
“At most.”
Pied thought about it some more. “They seem to have only one of these weapons,” he said. “One ship, one weapon.”
“So far.”
“A prototype.”
Vaden Wick looked at him, waiting.
“Can they even build another?”
The Dwarf shrugged. “Seems that if they could, they would have by now.”
Pied took a deep breath, an idea forming. “I think we need to get to her while she is still on the ground,” he said. “We need to get to her and destroy her completely. Maybe they really can’t build another.”
“We’ve thought of that. But she sits right in the center of the Federation camp, ringed by all sorts of protective barriers and hundreds of Federation soldiers. Neither a ground attack nor an air strike would even get close.”
Pied nodded. “Not if they see it coming,” he said. “But maybe we can arrange it so they don’t.”
EIGHTEEN
Pied had been sleeping for several hours when he felt the hand gently shake him. He could tell from the light seeping through the tent flap that the sun had moved west, though it wasn’t yet dusk.
He opened one eye and saw Drumundoon bending over him. At first, he thought he was dreaming. “Drum?”
His aide knelt, and Pied could see clearly his young face with its high forehead and deeply slanted eyes. “It’s me, Captain,” Drum assured him.
He experienced a sudden sinking feeling. “You didn’t get through to Arborlon?”
“Oh, yes, Captain, I got through all right.” Drum rubbed his fringe of black beard. “I got there much quicker than I expected. I see you got through, as well. Everyone is talking about it. You’ve accomplished the impossible, if I may say so.”
Pied blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his mind. “You may not.” He pushed himself up on one elbow. “Have you brought help?”
Drumundoon nodded. “Three warships, several sloops, and two companies of Elven Hunters. They landed a little over an hour ago on the Free-born airfield. More will follow. The Elven High Council was quick to act once they understood the gravity of the situation. Arling was less impressed, but she accepted that their consensus constituted an edict she could not afford to ignore.”
Drum hesitated. “Now she wants to talk to you.”
Pied pushed himself into a sitting position. “I would expect she does. But she will have to wait. I can’t go back there until this is finished.”
Drum pursed his lips. “You don’t understand, Captain. She’s here.”
“Here?” Now Pied was fully awake. “She came back with you?”
“She wouldn’t have it any other way. The Council tried to dissuade her. Bad enough that we’ve lost a King. Losing a Queen as well would be too much. I even suggested she would do better to wait. But you know Arling. Once she has her mind set on something, that’s pretty much the end of the discussion. She said she was coming or the ships and men were staying.”
Pied nodded. That was Arling. Stubborn, though in an entirely different way from Kellen. She thought matters through first before setting her mind. She considered all sides. The war on the Prekkendorran was not an undertaking she would ever willingly support. No matter what the attitude of the High Council, she would look for a way to extricate the Elves. To do that, she would want to get a firsthand look at how things stood. She was Queen now, and she knew how to rule like one.
Of course, she had come to see how things stood with him, too. He could already picture her reaction.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Right outside the tent,” his aide said. He paused while Pied absorbed that information, looking decidedly uncomfortable with having been the one to deliver it. “She is waiting for you to invite her inside. I told her I ought to wake you first.”
She would have woken me differently, had she been given the chance, Pied thought. He could already see her angry face, hear her accusatory voice. He knew what was coming with the certainty that he knew his own name.
“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said.
He stood up, straightened his clothes, and nodded. Drum gave him a sympathetic look and ducked back outside. Alone, Pied stood staring at the tent flap, trying to compose himself, to think through what he knew he had to say.
Then the flap stirred and parted, and she stepped through, golden light trailing off her gilt-edged dress, her pale amber skin, and her long blond hair. She was so beautiful that it took his breath away, just as it always did, leaving him wishing for things that he suddenly knew he would never have. The revelation left him shocked. Arling was a Queen; she was always meant to be a Queen. To think that he had ever thought there could be anything permanent between them was a fantasy he had indulged with not the slightest consideration for reality.
“Hello, Pied,” she greeted, coming up and offering her hand.
He bent to kiss it, bowing deeply out of protocol and deference. “My lady.”
She stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. Then she clasped her hands in front of her and lifted her chin slightly, a curiously commanding gesture. “What do you have to say for yourself, Pied?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? I was hoping you could do better than that. I don’t know why, though. Nothing?” She gave him a glacial stare. “When I heard what had happened to Kiris and Wencling, I would have killed you if you had been within striking distance. I would have done so without a second thought. My sons, Pied. You were given responsibility for them.”
“I know,” he said. “I failed you.”
“You failed me. You failed them. You failed y
our King. And you failed yourself.” She paused. “I am angry with you still. Furious. But not for the same reasons as before. Do you know why?”
He shook his head, feeling foolish and slow-witted.
“Because Drumundoon told me what you have apparently failed to tell anyone else. Not that he wanted to, but I see more things than I am given credit for. When he told me my sons and husband were dead and the Elven fleet was destroyed, I asked what had happened to you. He told me you were alive. He told me you had rallied the survivors and achieved a decisive victory against the Federation force sent to crush what remained of our scattered units. He was quite proud of you. He was quick to tell me that without your presence, the Federation might well have succeeded in destroying the entire army.”
She paused, studying his face. “I asked him how it was that you were in command of the Elven army. If my husband and sons were dead, why you were still alive? I asked why, as Captain of the Home Guard and protector of the King and his family, you hadn’t died with them. How could that possibly be?”
He nodded. “So he told you Kellen dismissed me from his service just before he set out.”
“For insisting that he was making a mistake in attacking the Federation, in misreading the signs of what was clearly a trap, but particularly for insisting that my sons should go with him. For recognizing that Kiris and Wencling were pawns in his stupid, stupid game, pieces to be moved about on a board by a father who was mostly concerned that they grow to be the same sort of man he was, even when it was clear to everyone else that this was a bad idea, that they would never be even remotely like he was.”