"Are you going to slay a dragon?" the taller of the boys asked.
"Yes," Abelar said. He put his heels into Swiftdawn. "Ride!"
Malkur sat upon his leather-barded warhorse at the side of the hard-packed road, flanked by three of his commanders, Lorgan, Reht, and Enken. With them were Vors, the war priest of Talos, and one of the company's battle mages, Mennick. All had shed the markings of their mercenary company and instead wore the gold-wheel-on-green of Ordulin.
Malkur took care to position himself in the sunlight. Since the attack on his men by the shade in service to the Hulorn, Malkur kept light about him as often as possible.
The column of his cavalry stretched along the road, a ribbon of steel and flesh. A rolling cloud of dust, creaking leather, and the chink of armor accompanied their travel. The men saluted him as they rode past, but held only rough formation. Teams of outriders rode a quarter league to fore, behind, and on the flanks, reporting back on the half-bell. The supply train, escorted by four-score riders under Gavin's command, brought up the rear of the column. The supply train slowed them, but that could not be avoided.
"The men are eager for a fight," Reht said.
"They will have one soon enough," Lorgan answered.
Enken fiddled with one of his many knives and said, "Perhaps. Or perhaps we'll find naught but an empty city and nobles cowering in their manses. They will evacuate when they learn we are coming."
All but Vors chuckled. He said, "If a ride halfway across Sembia does not have a battle at its end, I am killing one of you in Talos's name."
The men laughed still harder. Vors did not even smile.
"See to your units," Malkur said to his commanders. "We ride past dusk and into the night. We reach Saerb within five days, or you answer to me. Reht, Lorgan, and Vors, you three remain."
Enken and Mennick saluted and galloped off to rejoin their units. They shouted orders as they moved up and down the line.
"Commander?" Lorgan asked.
"Take a force and angle south of Saerb. Take three hundred fifty men. Ride hard and sweep wide. We will attack Saerb in five days. Be in position by then, but stay low before that."
Malkur wanted Lorgan to cut off any residents of Saerb or its environs who might try to flee before his army toward Selgaunt. Lorgan understood the purpose of the order.
"Those will be ripe pickings," Lorgan said.
Malkur looked to Reht. "Take seventy men, plus Vors and Mennick. Leave tonight and ride hard ahead of Lorgan's force. The Corrinthal estate is half a league east of Saerb proper. Everyone there is to die except Abelar Corrinthal's young son. His name is Elden. He was born dumb and looks it, by all accounts. Bring him back to me alive."
Vors smiled and his crazed eyes lit up at the thought of slaughter.
Reht only nodded. Killing was his work. He did not revel in it, Malkur knew, but he did not shirk it.
"I will want a force of all former Blades," Reht said. "Night fighters. We may need to dodge an army, should Saerb field one.
"Agreed," Forrin said. "Go."
Lorgan said, "I will need at least one more priest, as well."
"Take Avrek," Forrin said, naming another Talassan war priest in their company. That would leave Forrin with a handful of priests to service the main body of troops.
"Thank you, Commander," Lorgan said.
Reht, Lorgan, and Vors saluted and rode off. Vors howled with delight at the passing troops and shook his axe in the air.
Forrin watched the rest of his force ride by, satisfied. He had good fighters and strong leaders. He had arranged commissions for all of his junior commanders from the Blades, and had filled the remaining command positions in the unit with men he knew to be loyal to him from his previous days in the Sembian military. Twelve hundred medium horse were riding on Saerb, and Malkur had, directly or indirectly, handpicked all of them. They would do exactly as he wished.
And what he wished was to burn first the Corrinthal estate, then Saerb itself to the ground. The overmistress had instructed him to make Saerb an example. Malkur intended to do exactly that.
CHAPTER SIX
20 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms
A mixture of dread and relief washed over Tamlin as he received the news that part of the overmistress's army was marching on Saerb. Dread that war, real war, had finally come. Relief that it had fallen first on Saerb, rather than on Selgaunt.
Prince Rivalen, Vees Talendar, and the bull-necked Rorsim Soargyl joined him around a conference table in the palace.
Tamlin said, "Our spies report that a contingent of the overmistress's army moves on Saerb. I wish your views on how we should respond."
Rorsim looked to Vees, to Rivalen, back to Tamlin, and said, "I could put two hundred good men in the field to intercept Forrin."
Vees looked puzzled and stroked his beard. "Two hundred? What would two hundred do? Forrin has many times that."
Rorsim eyed Vees. "Our two hundred could join with Corrinthal's forces, if possible. Or assist with a retreat of Saerb's population to Selgaunt, if not. There isn't a wall built for a fight anywhere in the north. They cannot make a stand there."
"We do not even know where Corrinthal's forces are," Vees answered reasonably. "Divinations have been inconsistent. Nine Hells, he could be dead."
Rorsim cocked his bucket-sized head to concede the point.
Tamlin looked to Rivalen. "Prince? Your thoughts?"
"Where are the men you promised us?" Rorsim blurted at Rivalen. "I have done what can be done with the Helms, Scepters, and militia, but-"
Shadows swirled around Rivalen. He regarded Rorsim coolly and Rorsim retreated into the depths of his chair.
"Members of an elite unit will be available soon," Rivalen answered in his deep voice. "They are engaged in other matters at the moment."
"Other matters," Rorsim muttered. "Always other matters."
Rivalen manipulated something with his fingers, studied its corners. Tamlin saw that it was a fivestar.
Rivalen said, "Hulorn, I believe that sacrificing any of the meager force you have here would put Selgaunt in a very weak position should the army gathering at Saerloon choose to march. There are rumors that may happen soon."
Rorsim leaned forward in his chair. "We would have advance notice and would be able to return before Saerloon's forces could arrive. There is no risk to Selgaunt."
Rivalen regarded Rorsim with his golden eyes. "There is always risk in war, and unknowns. I know that much better than you, Rorsim Soargyl. How many wars have you seen firsthand? Battle is not a contractual dispute over the shipment of goods."
Rorsim's face reddened behind his beard. "I have drawn my fair share of blood, sir."
Rivalen's golden eyes flared. "I do not doubt it. But should something delay your force's return from the north, then what? Should Forrin learn of your advance and divert from Saerb to engage you, or cut off your route back to Selgaunt, then what?"
"That is sense, Deuce," Vees said to Tamlin, and leaned back in his chair.
Tamlin thought so, too. He said, "I admire your zeal for battle, Rorsim, but even if we could get men into position in time, this is not our fight."
Rorsim looked like he had eaten something sour but said nothing.
Vees said, "Take the time we have just gained to further strengthen Selgaunt's defenses."
Rivalen said, "Hulorn, the war for Sembia's future will be won or lost here, not in Saerb. That is a hard truth, but a truth nevertheless."
"Yet I am uncomfortable doing nothing," Tamlin said. "The people of Saerb…"
Rivalen tapped his fingers on the table. Shadows flared from his fingertips with each tap. "They will flee, Hulorn. And when the Shadovar troops become available to us here, they will travel to the refugees and encourage a retreat to Selgaunt. We can bring them into the city. Assuming that is acceptable to you?"