“No, my friend.” Glaucous halted, turned. “I am not angry. I am hurt, that is all. Saddened.”
“It’s just that—”
“I will explain myself. Perhaps then you will believe me.”
Konnal sighed. “You purposefully misunderstand me. But, very well, I will hear your explanation.”
“I will tell you how it came about. But not here. Too many people.” Glaucous indicated a servant carrying a large wreath of laurel leaves. “Come into the library where we may talk privately.”
A large room lined with shelves of dark, polished wood filled with books and scrolls, the library was quiet, the books seeming to absorb the sounds of anyone who spoke, as if noting them down for future reference.
“When I said that the shield acted according to my wishes,”
Glaucous explained, “I did not mean that I gave the shield a specific command to admit this young man. The magic of the shield emanates from the tree in the Garden of Astarin. Acting on my direction, the Woodshapers planted and nurtured the Shield Tree. I instructed them in the magic that caused the tree to grow. The magic is very much a part of me. I devote an immense amount of my strength and energy to maintaining the magic and keeping the shield in place. I feel sometimes,” Glaucous added softly,”as if I am the shield. The shield that keeps our people safe.”
Konnal said nothing, waited to hear more.
“I have suspected before now that the shield has been reacting to my unspoken wishes,” Glaucous continued, “wishes I did not even know I was making. I have long wanted a king to sit upon the throne. The shield knew that unconscious desire of mine. Thus when Silvanoshei happened to be near it, the shield embraced him.”
The general wanted to believe this, but his doubts lingered.
Why has Glaucous said nothing of this before? Konnal wondered.
Why do his eyes avoid mine when he speaks of it? He knows something. He is keeping something from me.
Konnal turned to Glaucous. “Can you assure me that no one else will enter the shield?”
“I can assure you of that my dear General,” Glaucous answered. “I stake my life upon it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Blind Beggar
Mina’s troops left Sanction in good spirits, roaring out songs to keep the cadence of the march and speaking of the bold deeds they would do in Silvanesti in the name of their idolized commander. Whenever Mina came in sight, riding her blood-red horse, the soldiers cheered wildly, often breaking ranks (braving the ire of their commanding officers) to cluster round her and touch her for luck.
Galdar was gone. He had left several days earlier for Khur, bearing Mina’ s orders to General Dogah. Captain Samuval was in command in the minotaur’s absence. His command was easy at this point. The sun shone. The summer days were warm. The marching at this stage was safe and easy, for the Knights were only a few days out of Sanction and still in friendly territory. Soon they would enter the land of the ogres—once allies and now bitter enemies. The thought of fighting even those savage monsters could not cloud their spirits. Mina lit their shadows like a cold, pale sun.
A veteran campaigner, Samuval knew that when the weather broke and the rain set in, when the road narrowed, the wind howled and the enemy nipped at their heels, the soldiers would begin to have second thoughts about this venture. They would start to grouse and grumble, and a few might take it into their heads to start trouble. But, for now, his duties were light. He marched at Mina’s side—the envy of all in the column. He stood next to her as she sat on her horse reviewing the troops as they passed by. He was in her tent every night, studying the map and marking out the next day’s route.
He slept near her tent, wrapped in his cloak, his hand on his sword hilt, ready to rush to her defense should she have need of him.
He did not fear any of the men would try to harm her. Lying on his cloak one night, he stared into the stars in the clear sky and wondered about that. She was a young woman—a very attractive young woman. He was a man who loved women, all kinds of women. He could not begin to count the number he had bedded.
Usually the sight of a young slip of a maid as pretty as Mina would have had his blood bubbling, his loins aching. But he felt no twinge of desire in Mina’ s presence and, listening to the talk around the campfires, he knew the other men in the ranks felt the same. They loved her, they adored her. They were awestruck, reverent. But he did not want her and he could not name anyone who did.
The next morning’s march began the same as those before it.
Samuval calculated that if all went well with Galdar’s business in Khur, the minotaur would catch up to them in another two days.
Prior to this, Samuval had never had much use for minotaurs, but he was actually looking forward to seeing Galdar again. . . .
“Sir! Stop the men!” a scout shouted.
Samuval halted the column’s march and walked forward to meet the scout.
“What is it?” the captain demanded. “Ogres?”
“No, sir.” The scout saluted. “There’s a blind beggar on the path ahead, sir.”
Samuval was irate. “You called a halt for a blasted beggar?”
“Well sir”—the scout was discomfited—“he’s blocking the path.”
“Shove him out of the way then!” Samuval said, infuriated.
“There’s something strange about him, sir.” The scout was uneasy. “He’s no ordinary beggar. I think you should come talk to him, sir. He said ... he said he is waiting for Mina.” The soldier’s eyes were round.
Samuval rubbed his chin. He was not surprised to hear that word of Mina had spread abroad, but he was considerably surprised and not particularly pleased to hear that knowledge of their march and the route they were taking had also apparently traveled ahead of them.
“I’ll see to this,” he said and started to leave with the scout.
Samuval planned to question this beggar to find out what else he knew and how he knew it. Hopefully, he would be able to deal with the man before Mina heard about it.
He had taken about three steps when he heard Mina’s voice behind him.
“Captain Samuval,” she said, riding up on Foxfire, “what is the problem? Why have we stopped?”
Samuval was about to say that the road ahead was blocked by a boulder, but, before he could open his mouth, the scout had blurted out the truth in a loud voice that could be heard up and down the column.
“Mina! There’s a blind beggar up ahead. He says he’s waiting for you.”
The men were pleased, nodding and thinking it only natural that Mina should rate such attention. Fools! One would think they were parading through the streets of Jelek!
Samuval could envision the road ahead lined with the poxed and the lame from every measly village on their route, begging Mina to cure them.
“Captain,” said Mina, “bring the man to me.”
Samuval went to stand by her stirrup. “Listen a moment, Mina,” he argued. “I know you mean well, but if you stop to heal every wretched cripple between here and Silvanost, we’ll arrive in the elf kingdom in time to celebrate Yule with ’em. That is if we arrive at all. Every moment we waste is another moment the ogres have to gather their forces to come meet us.”
“The man asks for me. I will see him,” Mina said and slid down off her horse. “We have marched long. The men could do with a rest. Where he is, Rolof?”
“He’s right up ahead,” said the scout, pointing. “About half a mile. At the top of the hill.”
“Samuval, come with me,” Mina said. “The rest of you, wait here.”
Samuval saw the man before they reached him. The road they were following led up and down small hillocks and, as the scout had said, the beggar was waiting for them at the top of one of these. He sat on the ground, his back against a boulder; a long, stout staff in his hand. Hearing their approach, he rose to his feet and turned slowly and sightlessly to face them.