“To that end, General,” Glaucous was saying, “the capture of their leader is of the utmost importance. Bring this girl in for interrogation. She will tell me how she managed to thwart the shield’s magic.”
“What makes you think she will tell you?” Konnal asked, annoyed at the wizard and his harping on this subject alone.
“She may refuse, General,” Glaucous assured him, “but she will not have any choice in the matter. I will use the truth-seek on her.”
The two were in the general’s command tent. They had met early that morning with the elf officers. Silvan had explained his strategy. The officers had agreed that the tactics were sound.
Konnal had then dismissed them to deploy their men. The enemy was reported to be about five miles away. According to the scouts, the Knights of Neraka had halted to arm themselves and put on their armor. They were obviously preparing for battle.
“I cannot spare the men who would be required to seize a single officer, Glaucous,” the general added, recording his orders in a large book. “If the girl is captured in battle, fine. If not. . .”
He shrugged, continued writing.
“I will undertake her capture, General,” Silvan offered.
“ Absolutely not, Your Majesty,” Glaucous said hurriedly.
“Give me a small detachment of mounted warriors,” Silvan urged, coming to stand before the general. “We will circle around their flank, come in from behind. We will wait until the battle is fairly joined and then we will drive through the lines in a wedge, strike down her bodyguard, capture this commander of theirs and carry her back to our lines.”
Konnal looked up from his work.
“You said yourself, Glaucous, that discovering the means by which these evil fiends came through the shield would be useful. I think His Majesty’s plan is sound.”
“His Majesty puts himself in too much danger,” Glaucous protested.
“I will order members of my own bodyguard to ride with the king,” Konnal said. “No harm will come to him.”
“It had better not,” Glaucous said softly.
Ignoring his adviser, Konnal walked over to the map, stared down at it. He laid his finger on a certain point. “My guess is that the enemy commander will take up her position here, on this rise. That is where you should look for her and her bodyguard. You can circle around the battle by riding through this stand of trees, emerging at this point. You will be practically on top of them. You will have the element of surprise, and you should be able to strike before they are aware of you. Does Your Majesty agree?”
“The plan is an excellent one, General,” said Silvan with enthusiasm.
He was to wear new armor, beautifully made, wonderfully designed. The breastplate bore the pattern of a twelve-pointed star, his helm was formed in the likeness of two swan’s wings done in shining steel. He carried a new sword, and he now knew how to use one, having spent many hours each day since his arrival in Silvanost studying with an expert elf swordsman, who had been most complimentary on His Majesty’s progress. Silvan felt invincible. Victory would belong to the elves this day, and he was determined to playa glorious part, a part that would be celebrated in story and song for generations to come.
He left, ecstatic, to go prepare for battle. .
Glaucous lingered behind.
Konnal had returned to his work. Glaucous made no sound, but Konnal sensed his presence, as one senses hungry eyes watching one in a dark forest.
“Begone. I have work to do.”
“I am going. I only want to emphasize what I said earlier. The king must be kept safe.”
Konnal sighed, looked up. “If he comes to harm, it will not be through me. I am not an ogre, to kill one of my own kind. I spoke in haste yesterday, without thinking. I will give my guards orders to watch over him as if he were my own son.”
“Excellent, General,” said Glaucous with his beautiful smile.
“I am much relieved. My hopes for this land and its people depend on him. Silvanoshei Caladon must Jive to rule Silvanesti for many years. As did his grandfather before him.”
“Are you certain you will not reconsider and ride with us, Kiryn? This will be a battle celebrated for generations to come!”
Silvan fidgeted under the ministrations of his squire, who was attempting to buckle the straps of the king’s damascened armor and having a difficult time of it. The leather was stiff and new, the straps refused to ease into place. Silvan’s constant shifting and moving did not help matters.
“If Your Majesty would please hold still!” the exasperated squire begged.
“Sorry,” Silvan said and did as he was told, for a few seconds at any rate. Then he turned his head to look at Kiryn, who sat on a cot, watching the proceedings. “I could lend you some armor. I have another full suit.”
Kiryn shook his head. “My uncle has given me my assignment. I am to carry dispatches and messages between the officers. No armor for me. I must travel light.”
A trumpet call sounded, causing Silvan to give such a start of excitement that he undid a good quarter of an hour’s worth of work. “The enemy is in sight! Hurry, you oaf!”
The squire sucked in a breath and held his tongue. Kiryn added his assistance, and between the two of them the king was readied for battle.
“I would embrace you for luck, Cousin,” said Kiryn, “but I would be bruised for a week. I do wish you luck, though,” he said more seriously as he clasped Silvan’s hand in his. “though I hardly think you’ll need it.”
Silvan was grave, solemn for a moment. “Battles are chancy things, Samar used to say. One man’s bravery may save the day. One man’s cowardice may spoil it. That is what I fear most, Cousin. More than death. I fear that I will turn coward and flee the field. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen good men, brave men fall to their knees and tremble and weep like little children.”
“Your mother’s courage flows in your veins along with your father’s fortitude,” Kiryn reassured him. “You will not fail their memories. You will not fail your people. You will not fail yourself.”
Silvan drew in a deep breath of the flower-scented air, let it out slowly. The sunshine was like warm honey spilling from the sky. All around him were familiar sounds and smells, sounds of battle and war, smells of leather and sweat sounds and smells he had been born to, sounds and smells he had come to loathe but which, oddly, he had also come to miss. His playground had been a battlefield, a command tent his cradle. He was more at home here, he realized, than he was in his fine castle.
Smiling ruefully, he walked out of his tent his armor of silver and gold gleaming brightly, to be greeted by the enthusiastic cheers of his people.
The battle plans for both sides were simple. The elves formed ranks across the field, with the archers in the rear. The army of the Knights of Neraka extended their thinner lines among the trees of the low hillside, hoping to tempt the elves into attacking rashly, attacking up hill.
Konnal was far too smart to fall for that. He was patient if his troops were not and he kept fast hold of them. He had time, all the time in the world. The army of the Knights of Neraka, running low on supplies, did not.
Toward midafternoon, a single braying trumpet sounded from the hills. The elves gripped their weapons. The army of darkness came out of the hills on the run, shouting insults and defiance to their foes. Arrows from both sides arced into the skies, forming a canopy of death above the heads of the armies, who came together with a resounding crash.
When battle was joined, Silvan and his mounted escort galloped into the woods on the west side of the battlefield. Their small force screened by the trees, they rode around the flank of their own army, crossed over enemy lines, and rode around the enemy’s flank. No one noticed them. No one shouted or called out. Those fighting saw only the foe before them. Arriving at a point near the edge of the field, Silvan called a halt, raising his hand. He rode cautiously to the edge of the forest, taking the commander of the general’s guard with him. The two looked out upon the field of battle.