Nyssa waited until the man had gone before materializing from the shadows and stepping beneath the tent to stand at Leo’s side.
“Pointy-ear?” she muttered. “You ought to flog him for saying such a thing.”
Leo grunted in agreement. Retrieving the wine jug Cochran had sipped from, he wiped the rim with a sleeve and poured himself a cup. Rather than drink it, however, he set the goblet aside and forced a grin.
“Well, he’s not wrong,” he teased, flicking the tip of her ear with a thumb.
Nyssa swatted his hand aside and stared daggers until he dropped his insincere smile.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “It was a bad joke. Find Iresh, would you? I’m sorry for making you run all over, but—”
“It’s fine,” Nyssa interrupted. Her annoyance vanished immediately, replaced by earnest curiosity. “What do you want the Gwydon for?”
“Nothing special. Just a bit of propaganda.”
***
Leo hadn’t planned on accompanying Iresh, but the Gwydon insisted it was necessary. And so, since he could think of neither a reason nor a polite means to refuse, Leo found himself dressed, crowned, and paraded past the mustering ranks mere minutes after the sun began creeping above the horizon.
“Arise, O sleepers!” Iresh called in a loud, clear voice. “Shake off the night and hear the words of Sha’rath! We must be swift as rivers and fleeting as the dew! Do not scorn the burdens laid upon you. Carry them gladly in the knowledge that their modest yoke will shatter all others!”
Leo glanced surreptitiously from face to face, hunting for any signs of protest or exasperation. To his ears, Iresh’s words rang hollow. But evidently, the conscripted elves did not share his concerns. Most wore looks of cool determination. And although some rolled their eyes at the Gwydon’s urgent sermon, the responses were followed by more wry grins than scowls.
The trow were an entirely different matter but, once again, Leo was surprised by the tenor of their responses. Iresh trailed off as they reached the trow section of camp, no doubt aware that his words would do more harm than good among those gathered. But the gray-skinned soldiers did not even glance his way. They weren’t looking at Leo, either. Instead, the majority of the hundreds were watching Sophe.
The trow primarch said nothing. In fact, he hardly seemed aware of the stares at all. He dressed in silence, tightening the straps of his breastplate before giving a satisfied nod. Then, taking the sackcloth pouch of nails that represented his share of the wagon’s load, he looped it around the shoulder of his armor and deftly knotted it until it resembled an unwieldy pauldron.
Wordlessly, all around them, hundreds of trow followed his example.
“Fascinating,” Iresh murmured, so softly that Leo barely caught the word.
“How so?” Leo asked, turning to meet the elf’s eye. From the look he found there, Iresh had plainly not intended to elaborate. He cleared his throat and waited until Leo led them away from the trow before responding.
“I didn’t expect the trow primarch to command so much respect,” Iresh said.
“You respect Buchold.”
“Of course we do. But my people are accustomed to primarchs and the honor they are due. Trow are different. They tend to… chafe at authority.”
“And your people do not?” Leo asked. It was a gentle challenge, and he was relieved when Iresh treated it as such. The Gwydon’s expression grew somber for a moment then quickly returned to its usual, whimsical state.
“It depends on the authority,” he said, bowing. The elf did not ask Leo’s leave but simply wandered away in the direction of Buchold and the other officers they’d passed.
Leo watched him go.
The plan worked better than he could have ever hoped. There was some modest grumbling, of course, mostly from those who’d received less forgettable burdens than a sack of grain. But, generally speaking, the elves accepted both the goods and their Gwydon’s words without complaint. And compared to the first day of marching, both the army and its wagons made remarkable time.
The leagues passed so quickly that the countryside practically blurred. By the time the sun began to sink and an end to the day’s march was announced, the mild, bucolic plains and rolling hills that surrounded Ansiri had been replaced by decidedly less welcoming terrain. The valleys through which the winding commercial road snaked grew narrower while the spotty forests that crowned and sprouted from the sheer slopes on either side of them lost their gentleness. Thick, craggy oaks and twisted aspens choked out any arboreal competitors and united to form shadow-heavy tree lines that more closely resembled city walls than gentle woods.
And yet, despite the changes in scenery, Leo’s forces did not appear unnerved. Rather, they came to life.
It was not until that very moment, as he watched the elves and trow lay down their packs and begin to assemble the garrison, that Leo realized how out-of-place their kind were in Ansiri. It was, perhaps, an understandable oversight. Apart from their ears and skin, both species moved, behaved, and functioned much like the men who ruled over them. But out here, amid the wild trees and windswept dells, the differences became clear.
It was a subtle change at first, an indistinct sprightliness of step. But within minutes, Leo was seized by the sudden conviction that he must have been drugged. How else to explain the effortless grace with which his soldiers moved and the frenzied light that seemed to blaze behind their eyes. Even the simple act of stooping to hammer in a tent peg felt as impactful as a living god condescending to breathe life into the wastes.
“Leo?” Nyssa said.
And just like that, the spell was broken. Leo flinched at the sound of Nyssa’s voice, and by the time he met her eyes, the world had come back into focus. He squinted, peering deep into her silver-irises for some hint of the ecstatic glow, but found nothing. And, when he turned to look at the laboring elves a second time, he saw nothing but the slightly wearied labor of a thousand ordinary souls. Naturally, they were graceful as ever. But their movements no longer carried the weight of law.
“Leo?” Nyssa repeated, concern creeping into her voice. “Are you okay?”
Shaking himself, he nodded. “Fine,” he said, uncertain if he was lying. “Just tired.” That much, at least, he knew to be true.
The bizarre sensation returned several times over the next two days. And each time it manifested, it did so with little warning. One moment, Leo would be standing, walking, or—most inconveniently—talking. The next, he would be caught in a waking dream, surrounded by countless heavenly figures who moved with the accuracy and poise of that realm. And then, as always, the vision would flee as quickly as it arrived, and he would be left feeling foolish and disoriented.
He was fortunate, therefore, that the experience did not repeat itself in the presence of Captain Buchanan or any of the army’s senior human officers. For the most part, the odd fits seemed to occur most often when he was alone or solely in Nyssa’s presence. The one exception, however, was on the evening of the fourth marching day, as Leo froze alongside Buchold and Iresh. The former had been conveying the most recent reports of the elven scouts. And then, without warning, his words melted away to meaningless static.
Leo would have cursed if he could. He was sufficiently used to the sensation by now to know what was happening to him, but that knowledge alone served no purpose. He could not speak or move, save to sluggishly turn and watch the effervescent coronas lighting the faces of the elves around them.
Buchold and Iresh were staring at him. The primarch’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion at Leo’s sudden halt, but thanks to the beauty lent him by Leo’s vision, he could easily have passed for a contemplative statue.
Iresh, on the other hand, burned.
Leo watched in awe and astonishment as the elf glided toward him. Even through the last few days, he’d never seen anything like it. The Gwydon’s skin seemed to flicker like choppy water catching midday sunlight, tendrils of whit
ish smoke and glowing not-flame trailing in his wake as he approached. Cocking his head, he stared into Leo’s eyes.
And, for once, the elf’s unusual eyes did not give the impression of peering down a long tunnel. Instead, Leo was looking at him. And Iresh stared back, alert and so very alive.
The Gwydon laughed, his voice high and musical in Leo’s ears. And then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, the world returned to normal.
“Your Excellency?” Buchold prompted. His frown deepened.
Leo tried to speak and discovered that his throat was dry. He cleared it, swallowed, and was about to speak when Iresh beat him to it.
“It appears I was correct,” the Gwydon murmured. His lips curled into a thin, complicated smile. “Sha’rath, indeed.”
“What are you talking about?” Leo asked, recovering his voice at last.
“Your Excellency!” interrupted a sudden, urgent voice.
Leo spun to find Sophe racing toward him. For once, the trow primarch was not sullen or scowling. Rather, a look of grim excitement stretched his features until he was practically baring his teeth.
“Yes?” Leo asked. He turned slightly, watching Iresh from the corner of his eye as if to ensure the Gwydon did not escape while his back was turned. “What is it?”
“My scouts,” Sophe said. “They found something.”
And so the war began.
Chapter Eighteen
“The river is a two-hour march east of here,” Sophe explained, dragging his finger across the map. “And their army’s camped roughly an hour upstream. A little less than a league, I’d guess, assuming the maps are accurate.”
“Three hours,” Leo mused. He paced the command tent, heedless of the way his steps forced the officers to shuffle out of his path. “And there’s no sign of fortification?”
“Nothing,” Sophe said. “Plenty of sentries but nothing more.”
“Then they aren’t planning to remain there long. Numbers?”
This time, Sophe hesitated. “A few thousand, at least,” he said. “Three different scouts stumbled across the camp and each gave a different number. Four to eight thousand.”
A chorus of frustrated murmurs and sighs greeted this revelation, and it was Buchanan who finally spoke for the group.
“That’s hardly a precise estimate,” the captain said. Though he didn’t speak harshly, he turned to Leo with a grimace. “Forgive me, Your Excellency, but I’m not sure it’s wise to launch an assault until we know more. We may lose a chance to seize the initiative, but that’s better than walking into a trap.”
“I’m well aware of that, Captain,” Leo said softly. He continued to pace, his eyes unseeing. It had been easy to appear wise and in control in the past, when all he had to do was disguise his hesitation as thoughtful scheming. But now, faced with the choice either to act or wait, he found himself frozen with indecision.
Cirilla would have laughed at him, and she would have been right to do so. But unlike all the times before, there were no peers or authorities he could rely on for guidance. He was on his own, and the decision was his alone.
“Sophe, Buchold,” he said, glancing at the trow and elf in turn. “The rest of your scouts found no sign of any others?”
The pair exchanged looks. Sophe shook his head.
“No sign,” Buchold announced. “But they didn’t venture far, as per your orders. The counts could be a day’s march away and we wouldn’t know.”
Leo sighed and fought the urge to curse. The order had made sense at the time, but he now wished that he’d given the scouts a tad more leeway in following them. At the very least it would have spared him his current predicament.
“We can’t afford to pass up an opportunity like this,” he said at last. “Even if there are eight thousand, we’ll still outnumber them. By tomorrow that might change.”
Again the assembled officers murmured and sighed. This time, however, it was not frustration that prompted their reactions, but rather the terrifying relief of a decision made. The men looked about, uneasy and seeking whatever reassurance could be found in the faces of their peers. The elves, on the other hand, hardly blinked as they stared at Leo. If anything, they looked grateful to discover that their word had been taken seriously.
“We’ll rest here for a few hours,” Leo continued. “Don’t bother breaking camp. Skipper and a few dozen will remain behind to guard the wagons, golems, and supplies; the army will move faster without them. Instruct our forces to sleep as early as possible. We’ll march in a few hours. That should give us plenty of time to reach their camp and make ready. I want that count—Bordeau or whichever bastard it turns out to be—in irons by daybreak.”
His orders spread quickly. And within the hour, Leo found the camp abuzz with nervous energy. But for all that dreadful excitement, the host was quieter than it would have been otherwise. Men, elves, and trow whispered amongst themselves, their shoulders hunched and their glances fleeting as they savored the last few hours of uninterrupted peace. There was no need to impress upon them the gravity of the following morning; they knew.
For his part, Leo was almost surprised by the ease that overtook him. The decision had been made and there was nothing he could do to stop it from being executed. The only thing left to him was the waiting.
He retired early, settling onto his cot and reclining with a melancholy smile. And, for once, Karran and Sann did not press him for intimacy or affection. Rather, the pair silently joined him. Karran knelt beside the cot, rested her brow on his chest, and stretched an arm across his chest in a soothing manner. The drakonid, on the other hand, curled about his feet like an overlarge cat. She propped her head with a fist and covered his legs to the knees with a wing. Then, she grew still.
Leo breathed deeply. It should have been a bit unnerving, lying still and silent between the non-human females. And yet, for whatever reason, it was not. On the contrary, aside from a few long-departed evenings spent wrapped in Cirilla’s arms, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable.
He was still considering such things when Nyssa arrived. She wore her armor and swords and by her expression had recently been engaged in conversation with Sophe or one of the other officers. Upon spotting Leo, she paused at the entrance for the span of a heartbeat then pulled the flap shut.
“Figures I’d find you here,” she grumbled playfully as she undressed. “Give the orders and leave me to sort out the details.”
Leo grinned. The inside of the tent was dark now, but he didn’t doubt that Nyssa would spot his reaction with ease.
“Privilege of rank,” he said.
Her boot missed his head by inches and thumped loudly against the tent wall, startling him nearly as much as it did Karran. Eyes outraged and aglow, the ambrosian sat up and whirled. But Nyssa was already there, apologetically patting her crimson brow. The mock scowl she aimed at Leo, however, was somewhat less remorseful.
“Scoot,” she growled, nudging him with her shin.
Grinning, Leo obeyed.
He couldn’t tell when precisely he fell asleep, but the next thing he felt was Nyssa shaking him awake. She was gentle but insistent and did not release his shoulder until he lurched upright with an unhappy yawn.
“Sorry, Leo,” she whispered. “It’s time.”
Her words roused him more than the shaking had. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he peeled back the blankets and rose from the cot. Karran and Sann had dressed already, though the latter’s outfit consisted of little more than linen modesty wraps. Karran had donned her armor, however, and indicated Leo’s with a flick of her tail as she resumed helping Nyssa with hers.
He dressed quickly as well, though the poor light and his sluggish fingers made the process somewhat less efficient than it could have been. Someone had lit a candle but the sheer number of bodies crowding the tent meant it was almost easier to rely on the diffuse campfire light filtering through the tent fabric. Still, he managed wel
l enough, even if he did need Nyssa’s assistance to tighten some of the more obscure strap’s laces.
Armor secure, he was about to reach for the tent flap when Karran caught him by the wrist. Before he could question her, she danced away and returned a moment later with his crown. The thick circlet gleamed in the candlelight and, oddly, felt heavier than usual as she carefully deposited it atop his head.
“Thank you, Karran,” he murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek with a thumb. “That’s a kind thought, but I’m going to leave it here. I’d hate to lose it fighting.”
The ambrosian shrugged, and her eyes fluttered shut as he touched her. Smiling contentedly, she ducked her head in a gentle bow. And then, with all the sudden violence of a whip, her eyes snapped open anew. Her amber irises gleamed as they met Leo’s.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The following hours were such a blur of whispers, curses, and muted activity that Leo felt as though he’d never truly awoken. He watched by the light of campfires and torches as the men, elves, and trow that comprised his army formed into ranks. They were, by necessity, much the same as the ranks that had marked the previous few days’ marching. Long, slender, and unburdened except by arms and armor, the river of soldiers wound its way through the early morning darkness.
The scouts who’d already made the journey led the way, followed close behind by Buchanan and several of the human officers. Leo was not so bold and elected to march alongside Sophe, Buchold, and Iresh, instead. The elven and trow primarchs had apparently decided to put aside their races’ long hostility, at least for the duration of the march, and had selected a spot in the column that placed them directly between their respective divisions. While Leo couldn’t tell if this was due to some natural affinity or simply to prevent untimely flare-ups of violence, he was grateful for it nevertheless.
Despite their proximity, none of the officers spoke. And, for once, Leo was glad of their silence. The column wound through the hills and groves in utter silence, save for the crunching of soil beneath boots and the occasional curse as unseen obstacles tripped one of those marching.
Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4) Page 17