by Terry Brooks
He stood again and looked around. There was nothing to see, of course. Not by now. He was just doing it out of habit.
He beckoned, and the soldier who had led him to the carnage came over. “Any sign of who did this?” Dresch asked quietly. “Any footprints or weapons or anything?”
The soldier shook his head. “They must have been ghosts.”
Or ghostlike, Dresch thought.
“I want the entire area searched—upstream and down. Carefully. Report anything you find. Anything at all. No exceptions, no matter how insignificant or meaningless they might seem.”
The man saluted and stepped away, turning back for the camp.
Almost immediately Murian Croix was at his shoulder, leaning close. “This is the work of our friends across the river,” he said quietly.
Dresch nodded. “Seems so.”
“The Skaar,” Edeus Pressalin hissed, coming up to join them. “Why?”
Dresch looked over at him. “They’re throwing what they have done in our collective faces and challenging us to do something about it.”
There was a hushed silence. “They think we won’t do anything?” Pressalin snapped in disbelief. “That we’ll just sit on our hands?”
The first commander shrugged. “I’m not sure what they think. Maybe they are taunting us because they feel the Federation hierarchy will take a more cautious approach if there is any question at all about who’s responsible. There’s no physical evidence that the Skaar did this, after all. There are no witnesses. If Ketter Vause orders an attack, he does so with the clear knowledge that he might be making a mistake. If he sits tight…”
He trailed off. “What?” Pressalin demanded.
“He loses credibility with his enemies and allies alike.” Croix finished Dresch’s sentence, arms crossed, face intense. “Word will get around that he let an army of one thousand intimidate the Federation. How will that sit with the Coalition Council? How will it play with the Southland population once word gets out? And it will get out.”
Arraxin Dresch was staring off into the distance, considering. “I’ve sent a small command to see if these assassins perhaps left a sign, but I doubt they will find much. They were too clever to make that sort of mistake. If they managed to get behind the sentry line without anyone hearing or seeing something, they could manage to avoid leaving tracks.”
“What then?” Edeus Pressalin was impatient and angry. “What will you do? We can’t sit around and do nothing.”
“Agreed. If we just sit tight, the Skaar will simply look for another way to get our attention.” He turned to Croix. “Send a message by arrow shrike to the Prime Minister. Give him the details of what has happened, including our suspicions about the origins of the attack. Ask for orders on how to proceed.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Dresch turned to Pressalin. “I want the defenses along the shoreline expanded and strengthened. I want scouts in place all up and down the Mermidon for five miles in either direction. I want call signals established during the day and watch fires by night. We are to expect an attack at any time, but sit tight nevertheless until we hear back from Arishaig. Go.”
His subcommanders were off at once to carry out his orders. But Dresch lingered, troubled by what he could not understand. Why did any of what the Skaar had done matter in the overall scheme of things? What did it accomplish? It had to have been carried out with Ajin d’Amphere’s permission—and very likely on her orders. She was too seasoned a veteran and experienced a leader, her age notwithstanding, to have been given this command by someone else. But smart, too. She would have a reason for killing those men beyond offering a challenge or engaging in a taunt. She would know, too, that an engagement with the Federation would be disastrous. There were simply too many Federation soldiers and too few Skaar. So why did she think it necessary to offer him a reason to come after her?
He hesitated a moment longer, then turned back for the center of the camp. He needed to do what he could to find out. His gaze drifted skyward. It was a fine day for flying.
* * *
—
An hour later, he was airborne over Callahorn, following the Mermidon River east toward Varfleet. He was alone save for a pilot, crew, and personal guards. They were flying in a well-equipped and heavily armored clipper that was armed with flash rips fore and aft. He did not expect they would encounter problems if they circled in from behind and flew once over the Skaar defensive lines along the river. He just wanted a look at how those defenses were formed and how large this army might actually be. It would not surprise him to discover it was much larger than was first claimed—that others were now being brought forward to add support to those already in place. While the reports had remained unchanged over the last five days, that did not mean they would stay the same.
Take no chances with this one, he told himself, thinking of the Skaar princess, Ajin d’Amphere, watching their camp from across the river.
Once they were ten miles downriver, he ordered the pilot to turn the clipper left and cross the Mermidon. The pilot did so at once, the sleek vessel slipping swiftly and silently across a narrows in the river. Everyone on board was on standing orders to watch for signs of Skaar occupation on the far banks, but no one spoke as they finished their crossing and headed out over the forests fronting the Dragon’s Teeth. The mountains rose in front of them, huge and majestic peaks sharpened as if meant to chew up and spit out those puny humans in their airships who dared to come too close.
Dresch had no intention of taking such chances. He ordered the pilot to bring the ship left again, and they flew west now, back the way they had come, but away from the river to follow the line of the peaks as they continued west toward the Streleheim. He told the pilot to fly low above the trees, seeking to blend in as much as possible and to limit the chance of being seen by anyone not directly underneath. The clipper made no sound as it flew—a silent shadow passing just above the forest and well back from the Mermidon.
The point at which they needed to turn and fly directly over the enemy had been charted, so that they would risk as little as possible. If the Skaar were looking to avoid a direct engagement or any act of aggression that would be seen as an act of war, they would let the Federation airship pass overhead unharmed. Any move to bring it down would precipitate an immediate response. Retaliation would be swift and massive, and the Skaar would be annihilated.
Not that it would do Dresch any good if he were dead, but sometimes you had to take chances, even when you were the commander.
He had considered sending Croix or Pressalin or even bringing one or the other along, but in the end he had decided it might be better if he did this alone. Not only did it leave both of his seconds safely back should something happen to him, but it also allowed him to have his own look, to give close and careful study to what he was observing, and to consider it without interference or advice. If he was still uncertain at the end of the day, he could send one of the other two for another look and a second opinion.
When they were still just east of the Skaar defenses, Arraxin Dresch ordered their airship turned south toward the Mermidon, following a route that would carry them to the east edge of the Skaar lines. From there, they would turn west and fly over the length of the invader’s defenses, providing an opportunity to see how many soldiers were in place and perhaps what sorts of weapons they intended to bring to bear. He would emerge at the far end of the Skaar lines, where he would continue on for a short distance before returning home.
All assuming no attack was launched that would bring the clipper down.
Or annihilate it.
He moved to the near side of the airship and stood at the railing where he could look directly down at the Skaar. In minutes the river came into view, a churning grayish rapids swollen by recent rains and high against its banks. As the airship swung west, he saw the first of the enemy
soldiers scattered along the near riverbank, hunkered down behind earthen fortifications with a fair number of flash rips that, from the look of them, had obviously been stolen from the Federation. The line was staggered to provide cover against flanking assaults, and the high ground was manned with huge crossbows. These, he realized, might be powerful enough to send a bolt through the hull of his airship. But he did not call out for any change in their course. He still believed they would let him be.
And so they did. His vessel sailed on unscathed down the defensive lines to the far end before wheeling south to cross the Mermidon according to plan. He had seen what there was to see and it confirmed the reports. He could not be certain of the Skaar numbers, but at a guess he did not believe it to be more than a thousand. There was no movement on the lines and no indication of hostile intentions. Whatever they were planning, it did not include an immediate assault.
He returned to the pilot box and directed the pilot to take him back to the Federation encampment. There was nothing for him to do now but wait for a response from Arishaig and Ketter Vause.
* * *
—
Ajin d’Amphere watched the airship pass overhead, noting the insignia emblazoned on the hull and observing the figures peering down over the railing. Well, well, Vause’s first commander wants a look for himself, she thought with no small measure of satisfaction. She remained where she was, nestled in among her Skaar soldiers, until the airship was out of sight. No one on the ground had done anything to threaten its passage. They were under strict orders not to give the Federation cause for retaliation. She wanted the Federation advance force convinced of their superiority and their control of the situation. She wanted First Commander Dresch (his name supplied by the dependable Kol’Dre) and his subcommanders complacent and confident.
Wheels within wheels, but in the end those that turned the gears of fate would be hers.
She remained where she was, visiting with her soldiers, joking and trading stories, being one of them for an hour until at last Kol’Dre came to find her. He had been hunting for her until she leapt up to greet him, and his impatience by that time was pronounced.
“You might have made it easier on me,” he grumbled. “I had no idea where you were or what you were doing. Not a good idea for the commander of an army.”
She smiled. “I was watching our friends do a flyover, taking in the size and shape of our army and our defenses. I wanted to be sure of what they were doing, and hiding among our soldiers seemed the best idea. No sour faces now, Kol. We have them where we want them. Do you have news?”
She guided him out of the trenches and back into the trees where they could talk in private. “Good news,” he advised, his anger forgotten. “As you thought they might, they dispatched an arrow shrike to Arishaig with a message. Our archers brought it down.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to her. “Have a look at what our first commander has to report to Prime Minister Vause.”
She took the paper, unfolded it, and read it through quickly. “About what we thought. He sets out the facts and then makes his conclusions. Correct conclusions, as it turns out—save for the one that matters. Too bad for him.”
Kol’Dre peered at the message. “And he doesn’t actually say what he wants Vause to do. He leaves it up to his superior. Smart. If something goes wrong, he will have evidence of his blamelessness. The tone of his report suggests he would like to attack us, but he wants Vause to give the order.”
Ajin sat, and her Penetrator joined her. Side by side, they peered off into the trees, listening to the sounds of the forest.
“Vause would never order an attack without more evidence. He will prevaricate—perhaps consult the Coalition Council, but bide his time.” Ajin’s voice was low and thoughtful, her young face lifted toward the treetops. “He won’t have the chance to do anything, of course, but were we to let him have his message, that is what he would do. He might agree with Commander Dresch’s analysis, but he doesn’t know for sure that he’s right, and suspicions alone are not cause enough to start a war with an enemy who has already sued for peace.”
“How will he see things when this is done?” Kol’Dre asked. “We have our plan; we have our chance. But if all goes well for us, what does he do then? What if he doesn’t do what we think he will? Do we stay the course?”
She glanced over. “This was essentially your plan. You made the call to implement it; I simply approved. What reason do you have to doubt it now?”
He shrugged. “None. The plan will work. After we finish with Dresch, a message will be dispatched to Arborlon to inform the Elven king we are being threatened and there is reason to believe the advance force sent to intercept us at the Mermidon might attack us. Let our messenger advise the king that we are holding our position and doing nothing to give the Federation cause to attack us. But they are mobilizing and we fear the worst. Will the Elves stand with us if we are attacked?”
She stared at him. “Bold words, but I see what you intend. What if he rejects the request and tells us we are on our own?”
His smile was brittle. “Then we are no worse off than before, are we?”
“No.” She thought about it. “We might gain sympathy and a change of heart if we are seen as having been deliberately attacked.”
“More to the point, we might gain respect if we defend ourselves successfully. A man who stands his ground and wins is better than one who runs away and cowers in hiding.” He paused. “Besides, he is infatuated with you. He desires you, and he will pursue any alliance that will bring you to his bed. Correct?”
“At the very least—even though doubts will nag at him when he takes time enough to think it through.”
“If he allows himself to be rational rather than emotional. Where you are concerned, I’m not sure he can manage it.”
She laughed. “I did not encourage him all that much! Just enough to stir what is left of his youth. But an old man, even a king, holds no interest for me.”
“Not even your favorite Penetrator wields such power where you are concerned,” he said wryly. “To his regret.”
She rose. “There are good reasons we cannot be more than we are, and you are well aware of them. Let it go for now, and perhaps one day things will change.”
She could see from his expression that he did not believe her, even if he could not help hoping it was so. But Kol’Dre was not for her. He never had been, and he never would be. Rank, station in life, profession, and tradition all worked against him becoming anything more than a friend.
As they walked back to the encampment, she found herself thinking suddenly of Dar Leah. He wasn’t even a Skaar, and any logical assessment would define him as an enemy. Yet thoughts of him came unbidden and did so frequently. She could not manage to make herself forget him, even where any rational assessment of the prospects for a relationship said she must. If a partnering with Kol’Dre was unlikely, one with Dar Leah was beyond imagining.
But her heart wanted her to be wrong—wanted what was not possible to be possible. Throwing up barriers of logic and common sense did not change anything. In her young life, it never had. If she wanted something badly enough, she always managed to find a way to get it. Why not here? She was indisputably attracted to him, and if he gave himself half a chance he would feel the same toward her. She could not stop believing they could find a way to be something other than enemies. Her feelings, on which she always kept a tight wrap and which she’d come to trust, told her this was so.
He is someone I could be partnered with. Never with Kol’Dre, but possibly with Darcon Leah. I feel it down inside me where truths hide and wait to be discovered. I do not mistake them.
She sensed Kol’Dre looking at her, and she realized her face had gone hot and flushed.
“Everything is arranged?” she asked abruptly, trying to distract her
self.
He nodded. “We have our soldiers in place. We have our airships and weapons ready. When the time comes, we can act.”
“We’re risking everything,” she said quietly, stopping suddenly and pulling him about to face her, hands gripping his arms to hold him fast. “If this fails, we will be finished. Even if we survive, my father will abandon us, and my efforts to win his support will have been for nothing.”
“We won’t fail.”
“You cannot know that…”
“Listen to me, Ajin. We will not fail. Not you and I. Not our brave Skaar. We will not fail. And when we succeed…”
He left the sentence unfinished. His sudden smile said it all.
She smiled back. “When we succeed,” she echoed.
TWENTY-FOUR
It was nearing sunset, two days later, and Arraxin Dresch was standing on a hilltop well back from the water’s edge, watching as the Mermidon churned against its banks in heavy swells, fed anew by rains that were falling farther west. He glanced skyward and could see a dark line of clouds moving in. It would reach their encampment soon and make the ensuing night an uncomfortable one for those caught out in it. Overhead, the sky was still bright blue and clear, although the light was beginning to dim as the sun gradually sank behind the storm front to his left, and the coming night made a stealthy advance from his right.
He was alone at the moment, save for his personal guards—two soldiers who had served in this capacity for nearly ten years now. It was a career choice as much as an honor. The men had been assigned not only because they had showed courage and strength in battle but also because they had applied to enter into his personal service at the end of their fifteen-year tour of duty.
Anstase and Rijer. He genuinely liked these men—and respected them, too. They served at his pleasure, but they were independent-minded and kept their eyes and ears open for indications of dissatisfaction within the army. They did not gossip, but they felt no compunction about reporting things that needed it. Their relationship with their fellow soldiers was strong, and their commitment to the betterment of the Federation army thorough. He had told them recently that he would make them high-ranking officers and give them a portion of the autonomy he himself enjoyed. It was easy enough to find men willing to fight and die for the Federation; it was not so easy to find men smart enough to know how to avoid both.