Targonne made a dismissive gesture, and the aide departed.
“Brilliant, Excellency!” Sir Roderick exclaimed. “She is an imposter. We can have her arrested and executed.”
“Hunh.” Targonne grunted. “And just what do you think your soldiers will do in that instance, Sir Roderick? Those she has healed? Those she has led to victory against the detested foe? The morale among Milles’s troops was not that good to begin with.”
Targonne flipped a hand at a stack of ledgers. “I’ve read the reports. The desertion rate is five times higher among Milles’s troops than with any other commander in the army.
“Tell me this”—Targonne eyed the other Knight shrewdly—“are you capable of having this Mina girl arrested? Do you have guards who will obey your order? Or will they most likely arrest Lord Milles instead?”
Sir Roderick opened his mouth and shut it again without replying. He looked around the room, looked at the ceiling, looked anywhere but into those steel eyes, horribly magnified by the thick glass of the spectacles, but still he seemed to see them boring into his skull.
Targonne clicked the beads upon his mental abacus. The girl was an imposter, masquerading as a Knight. She had arrived at the moment she was most needed. In the face of terrible defeat, she had achieved stunning victory. She performed “miracles” in the name of a nameless god.
Was she an asset or a liability?
If liability, could she be turned into an asset?
Targonne abhorred waste. An excellent administrator and a shrewd bargainer, he knew where and how every steel coin was spent. He was not a miser. He made certain that the Knighthood had the best quality weapons and armor, he made certain that the recruits and mercenaries were paid well. He was adamant that his officers keep accurate records of monies paid out to them.
The soldiers wanted to follow this Mina. Very well. Let them follow her. Targonne had that very morning received a message from the great dragon Malystryx wanting to know why he permitted the Silvanesti elves to defy her edicts by maintaining a magical shield over their land and refusing to pay her tribute. Targonne had prepared a letter to send in return explaining to the dragon that attacking Silvanesti would be a waste of time and manpower that could be used elsewhere to more profit. Scouts sent to investigate the magical shield had reported that the shield was impossible to penetrate, that no weapon—be it steel or sorcery—had the slightest effect on the shield. One might hurl an entire army at it—so said his scouts—and one would achieve nothing.
Add to this the fact that an army heading into Silvanesti must first travel through Blade, the homeland of the ogres. Former allies of the Dark Knights, the ogres had been infuriated when the Knights of Neraka expanded southward, taking over the ogres’ best land and driving them into the mountains, killing hundreds in the process. Reports indicated that the ogres were currently hounding the dark elf Alhana Starbreeze and her forces somewhere near the shield. But if the Knights advanced into ogre lands, the ogres would be quite happy to leave off attacking elves—something they could do any time—to take vengeance on the ally who had betrayed them.
The letter was on his desk, awaiting his signature. It had been on his desk for several days. Targonne was fully aware that this letter of refusal would infuriate the dragon, but he was much better prepared to face Malys’s fury than throwaway valuable resources in a hopeless cause. Reaching for the letter, Targonne picked it up and slowly and thoughtfully tore it into small pieces.
The only god Targonne believed in was a small, round god that could stacked up in neat piles in his treasure room. He did not believe for: a moment that this girl was a messenger from the gods. He did not believe in her miracles of healing or in the miracle of her generalship. Unlike the wretched and imbecilic Sir Roderick, Targonne didn’t feel a need to explain how she had done what she had done. All he needed to know was that she was doing it for the benefit of the Knights of Neraka—and that which benefitted the Knights benefitted Morham Targonne.
He would give her a chance to perform a “miracle.” He would send this imposter Knight and her addle-pated followers to attack and capture Silvanesti. By making a small investment of a handful of soldiers, Targonne would please the dragon, keep Malys happy. The dangerous Mina girl and her forces would be wiped out, but the loss would be offset by the gain. Let her die in the wilderness somewhere, let some ogre munch on her bones for his supper. That would be an end to the chit and her “nameless” god.
Targonne smiled upon Sir Roderick and even left his desk to walk the Knight to the door. He watched until the black-armored figure had marched down the echoing, empty hallways of the fortress, then summoned his aide to his office.
He dictated a letter to Malystryx, explaining his plan for the capture of Silvanesti. He issued an order to the commander of the Knights of Neraka in Khur to march his forces west to join the siege of Sanction, take over command from Lord Milles. He issued an order commanding Talon Leader Mina and a company of hand-picked soldiers to march south, there to attack and capture the great elven nation of Silvanesti.
“And what of Lord Milles, Excellency?” his aide asked. “Is he to be reassigned? Where is he to be sent?”
Targonne considered the matter. He was in an excellent humor, a feeling which normally came with the closing of an extremely good business deal.
“Send Milles to report in person to Malystryx. He can tell her the story of his great ‘victory’ over the Solamnics. I’m sure she will be very interested to hear how he fell into an enemy trap and in so doing came close to losing all that we have fought so hard to gain.”
“Yes, Excellency.” The aide gathered up his papers and prepared to return to his desk to execute the documents. “Shall I take Lord Milles off the rolls?” he asked, as an afterthought.
Targonne had returned to his ledger. He adjusted the spectacles carefully on his nose, picked up his pen, waved a negligent hand in acquiescence, and returned to his credits and debits, his additions and subtractions.
Chapter Eleven
The Song of Lorac
While Tasslehoff was near dying of boredom on the road to Qualinesti and while Sir Roderick was returning to Sanction, blissfully unaware that he had just delivered his commander into the jaws of the dragon, Silvanoshei and Rolan of the kirath began their journey to place Silvanoshei upon the throne of Silvanesti. Rolan’s plan was to move close to the capital city of Silvanost, but not to enter it until word spread through the city that the true head of House Royal was returning to claim his rightful place as Speaker of the Stars.
“How long will that take?” Silvan asked with the impatience and impetuosity of youth.
“The news will travel faster than we will, Your Majesty,”
Rolan replied. “Drinel and the other kirath who were with us two nights ago have already left to spread it. They will tell every other kirath they meet and any of the Wildrunners they feel that they can trust. Most of the soldiers are loyal to General Konnal, but there are a few who are starting to doubt him. They do not openly state their opposition yet, but Your Majesty’s arrival should do much to change that. The Wildrunners have always sworn allegiance to House Royal. As Konnal himself will be obliged to do—or at least make a show of doing.”
“How long will it take us to reach Silvanost, then?” Silvanoshei asked.
“We will leave the trail and travel the Thon-Thalas by boat,”
Rolan responded. “I plan to take you to my house, which IS located on the outskirts of the city. We should arrive in two days time. We ‘will take a third day to rest and to receive the reports that will be coming in by then. Four days from now, Your Majesty, if all goes well, you will enter the capital in triumph.”