“I don’t mind at all,” Cyrus said. “I apologize for my tardiness, but it has been a rather long … uh … journey.” He shot a look at Martaina, who snickered behind him. “Anyway, why don’t we get to it?” Cyrus walked to the massive table, a circular one that had a diameter greater than the height of a man and looked down at it. Painted on the surface was a map of the Kingdom of Galbadien, along with parts of Actaluere and Syloreas. The map ended at the beginning of the peninsula that contained the Endless Bridge back to Arkaria and also cut off the land of Syloreas above a mountain range. “Very impressive,” Cyrus said. “I bet it would also be good for setting up a dollhouse in the middle and then playing-”
“If I may,” the Count said tightly, bringing a long stick out to point to the open plains above Vernadam, which was marked on the map with a small, carved stone castle roughly three inches tall. It was a remarkable approximation for the size, even sitting on a small, green-painted rise on the table. “They are encamped approximately here. They will meet us in battle tomorrow, as it has been arranged,” he swept the stick down an inch, “here. The whole of the plains is relatively flat ground, as such things go-some sloping hills but nothing too disagreeable for fighting.”
“What kind of tactics have the Syloreans been using?” Longwell asked, his eyes focused on the map table.
“Less of the usual,” Ranson said. “They haven’t been engaging us on horseback nearly as much as they have in the past, preferring to use their footmen-infantry, I believe I heard your men call them,” he said with a nod to Cyrus, “and leading with their bloody magical mercenaries.”
“How has that played against our dragoons?” Longwell asked, the fingers of his right hand resting on his chin, deep in thought.
“Not well,” Ranson went on, “thanks to that bloody half-man. He holds his hand out when the dragoons charge and half our number are blasted from the backs of their horses, and their animals tend to go into a rage, spooked into stomping their own riders when they recover.”
“Sounds like a paladin, all right,” Curatio said. He leaned both hands on the table. “We’ll be needing to take him out of circulation first-him and their healer.”
“Let’s hope they don’t get the same idea about you, yes?” J’anda smirked at Curatio, who shrugged in return. “I know,” the dark elf went on, “we have more than one healer, but still-why tempt fate?”
“It’s not fate I’m worried about,” Cyrus said, staring down at the table, willing it to give him more information, a closer look at the battlefield. “It’s those mercenaries. We don’t know for sure how many there are or if they have more spellcasters in reserve. I don’t care much for surprises, and we certainly seem to be facing our share of them.”
“If we could catch them while they’re sleeping,” Ranson said, “with our dragoons on a full charge and your army dealing with the mercenaries, I feel confident the battle could be won easily.”
“You’re telling me that you can defeat the Sylorean army if we just take care of their mercenaries?” Cyrus raised an eyebrow at the count. “All right, but we’re not going to plan on that. I will focus my army one hundred percent on dispatching the mercenaries, and then we’ll rally and break the Syloreans. Are they mostly on horseback or footmen?”
“Footmen,” Ranson said. “But they have a healthy contingent of mounted cavalry as well.” The count drew himself up, swelling with pride. “They do decently well on horseback, but they’re not as well trained as our dragoons.”
“Let’s plan to hit them in the night and catch them by surprise,” Cyrus said, “preferably when they’re sleeping. No reason to make things harder on ourselves. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to improvise based on the ground we’re on when the fight unfolds. No matter what, my army will target the mercenaries until we’ve removed that threat. Then we’ll join you in breaking the rest of the Sylorean army.”
“That seems to be as much as we can plan without knowing the landscape of where we’ll be fighting,” Ranson said. “When will you be ready to march?”
“Within the hour,” Cyrus said then looked around at his officers. “We’ll ride back to the village in fifteen minutes, so gather your things and meet in the courtyard.” He heard Martaina clear her throat, and when he looked at her questioningly, she widened her eyes and stared him down, as though he were forgetting something. “Oh. Make that … uh … twenty minutes, I think.” He caught a few stares and a raised eyebrow from Terian then nodded at them all and left, Martaina trailing behind him. “What?” he asked her when they had turned a corner.
“I just wanted to suggest you might allow enough time to say a farewell to the Baroness,” she said, now walking alongside him again. “And I wasn’t sure how much time you wanted to allot for that.”
“I don’t think I have enough energy for a long goodbye,” he said, almost under his breath, drawing a chuckle from her. “But better to not rush it, right?”
“If you care about her?” She looked at him, waited for the slight nod, and went on. “Probably best not to rush it, no, sir.”
“Right you are,” he said, turning a corner. He thought of something then stopped in the corridor. Martaina’s reflexes allowed her to stop with him, without missing so much as a step. She looked at him questioningly and he gave voice to his thought. “Do you have any more spare ventra’maq? I doubt very much that they have anything like it in this land, given their lack of magic.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed. “I do need some for myself, you know.”
“When?” Cyrus asked, amused. “Do you have someone that comes to join you at my door at night? Is it one of the guards, perhaps? The wall in the hallway-is it comfortable when your back is thrust against it?”
“Ha ha,” Martaina said without humor. She reached into a pouch at her belt and withdrew a small vial of dark liquid, roughly the color of blood. “Warn her about the poor taste or she’ll likely be quite upset with you afterward.”
Cyrus held up the vial between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the liquid within. “How could I get more?” He caught a glare from her. “You know, if I needed it.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “If you keep up the same pace you’ve been going at, you’ll need it. I can gather the herbs that go into the solution, but only an enchanter can add the mystical component to make it work.”
Cyrus stared at her. “Can J’anda …?”
“He’s always done it for me.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Your diligent service does not go unnoticed, I hope you realize that.”
“And I hope you realize,” she said, somewhat irritably, “that that’s a week’s worth of protection-tell her to drink the whole thing, and she’ll be safe from unintended quickening of your seed,” she leered at him with a raised eyebrow, “or anyone else’s, for that matter-for seven days. After that, she’ll need another dose, even on the days when her month’s blood is with her-I have heard of women becoming with child while thinking they were safely immune during those times.”
“Noted,” Cyrus said as they continued down the hallway. After a few seconds, he asked his next question. “Who else do you think she’ll be getting seed from?”
Martaina sighed. “Her? I doubt anyone, but it’s impossible to tell, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Cyrus said. “For example, I knew this woman who was married, presumably happily, yet there were hints that she might not be and might indeed find need for ventra’maq when she was far, far from her husband.”
“Talking about anyone in particular?” Martaina’s voice had gone cold, frosted even, enough to chill the hallway.
“I tend not to pass judgment,” Cyrus said, keeping his tone even. “But it does make a body curious, especially someone who’s-perhaps not a close friend, but more than an acquaintance, since this person tends to stand watch outside my room whenever I bed down in a strange keep.”
“I also keep watch when you’re by a campfire on your own, at the edge of the encampment.” The bitter tinge in Martaina’s voice was gone, replaced instead by something else, something with a mournful quality to it. “And when you ride toward the edge of the army, away from the others. Or when you steal away, hoping no one will see you, so you can be by yourself. I watch out for you then, too.”