“Boldness? Desperation?” Stefan rubbed at his jaw, which still throbbed even after the mending by the King’s High Alzari.
“This was well coordinated.” Nerian turned to regard Stefan. “They struck at all my Generals. Renaida and Senden are dead. I suppose they thought to stop my invasion before it began, or at least stall it. Yes, Pilar?”
Stefan turned to the muffled footfalls on the carpet that ran down the room’s center. Head down, Pilar, one of the King’s High Alzari, shuffled past the ruddy glow of several braziers positioned next to the carved pillars lining the hundred-foot walkway. Flames crackled in one of the three hearths along the walls. Pilar stopped at the semicircular steps and dais before the throne and bowed.
“A-A report from High Zar Galiana, sire.” Gaze shifting from side to side, but not meeting the King’s, Pilar’s head bobbed several times. He dabbed at his forehead with a cloth.
“Go on.” Nerian gave a nonchalant wave.
“A-Ashishin, sire.” Pilar kept his head down.
Stefan perked up. The King’s brow knitted.
“Look at me. What do you mean by Ashishin? I sent them all back to the Tribunal.”
Pilar’s head rose slowly. Licking his lips, he shot a nervous glance Stefan’s way. “At General Dorn’s home, Your Majesty. They were Ashishin. Four of them. Our High Alzari managed to kill three, but one escaped.”
“So, again,” Nerian sounded calm, but the tightness around his eyes told of a seething anger, “the Tribunal shows their true hand. Still, I can understand them wanting to kill my Generals to hinder my plans, or for revenge, but to send four High Ashishin, three shadelings and an Erastonian Forger for a mere Dagodin?” His brow knitted as he regarded Stefan. “Why?”
Stefan wrinkled his brow at the King’s inclusion of the Erastonians and the shadeling with the Tribunal. The suggestion of Ashishin allying with the shade was akin to blasphemy. He thought about asking the King why he thought they were all working together but decided against it. Nerian was already in a bad mood.
“Any ideas, General?”
“Oh, sorry, sire … I was thinking,” Stefan said. The Erastonian’s words ran through his mind anew, but the sword was something he still wished to keep from the King. “Maybe, my reputation as Stefan the Undefeated, leader of the Unvanquished? Not to mention my wife is as strong as any High Shin and was once a part of the Tribunal.”
“Ah, yes, there is that. How could I forget?” Nerian’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Brows drawn together, the King turned to face the stained glass windows at the throne room’s rear.
Pictures drawn on the surface of the twenty-foot panes displayed the gods of Streams, Flows, and Forms in a massive battle against each other and a formless, multi-colored force. The colorful waves surrounding the nine deities reminded Stefan of the essences within the three elements of Mater those same gods represented. Nights like tonight when he faced powerful Forgers often made him wish he could do more than sense Mater. Whenever his thoughts leaned that way, he remembered the fates of such men and women: Death, insanity, or both, brought about by the power they wielded.
“GENERAL STEFAN!” King Nerian bellowed.
Stefan started. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
Face dark, the King stared at him, his lips curled and his eyes steely. “Did you not hear my question?”
Stefan bowed his head as he spoke. “I apologize again, Your Majesty. No. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you … I was thinking about my family.” Stefan waited expectantly, but he knew the King would not repeat himself. In these moods, he never did.
“The King asked if your men are prepared to march,” Kahar said.
“Yes, they are,” Stefan replied.
“Good,” Nerian said, “you leave in the morning.”
“Yes, sire. What of the plan to find a way into Everland without discovery?”
“The Scouts have proved that to be impossible, Stefan,” Nerian said. “The entire range of mountains between Harnan lands and the Vallum of Light are guarded. Regardless, after tonight, I want them to know we are attacking and when. I want them to know they can do nothing about it.”
A bold maneuver that has worked many a time, Stefan thought. Yet, he could not shake the uneasiness clawing at him. Initially, he attributed it to him not wanting to be a part of this campaign. Now, seeing that the Erastonians employed shadelings and Forgers made him wonder if they used either in battle. It would only make sense if they did, and he wasn’t sure if his men were ready for that kind of a fight. Preparation and foreknowledge won battles. He preferred more time to plan and discover the strategies of his enemy, but the attack against him and his family deserved a punishment. Besides, once angered the King would not relent until they defeated the Erastonians. If indeed the Tribunal had taken part in this action, they too would pay a price for incurring his wrath.
“I’d like to take at least one Alzari cohort with me for our first crossing into Everland,” Stefan said.
“You? Taking Matii other than Dagodin?” Nerian smirked. “The man who always rails against, what did you call it again? A Forger’s instability on a battlefield?”
“My concerns were correct on more than one occasion in the past,” Stefan said. “The massacre at the Sands of the Abandoned for example.”
“Yet, without them, our land would not only be in chaos but under the shade’s influence,” the King countered.
Stefan almost reminded Nerian that according to history, Denestia had become the way it was-a land almost thrown into dark ages-because of Matii, but belaboring the point might lead to another argument.
“Nothing to add?”
“If the Erastonians are as desperate as they seem, it makes sense to take Alzari, sire.”
Nerian smiled. “‘Attack with what and how they expect, and at the most opportune moment, when they have settled on your predictability, strike in a way they cannot anticipate.’“
“Yes, sire.” Stefan matched the King’s smile with one of his own, but his uneasiness about the coming battle made him think more in terms of defense and survival.
Several hours later, after he discussed further strategy with Garrick and Kasimir, Stefan made his way home with an Alzari escort. The manicured gardens to one side of his home were trampled and blackened. Several soldiers with torches patrolled the perimeter, snapping to attention when he passed. He bid his guardians goodnight and trudged up the stairs. This would be the last night with his family for some time, maybe five to ten years. He let out a deep sigh.
The door opened and instead of Perta, Thania greeted him. She was wearing a pink nightgown with lace on the most revealing areas. Not waiting for her to say a word, he snatched her up into his arms and kissed her. When he let her up for a breath, a tear trickled down his face.
“How are the children?” he asked.
“Fine. Asleep. They didn’t see what happened outside.”
“Good,” he replied, wiping at his face.
You’re leaving aren’t you?” Thania’s eyes glistened.
“Yes.”
“When.”
“At dawn.”
“That doesn’t give us much time,” she whispered, pulling him closer and kissing him once again.
The heat of her body radiated through his uniform. His responded with warmth of its own.
The kiss ended, and Thania stroked his face tenderly, fingers soft and supple. “Well, the kids are asleep, but there’s another issue you need to address first.”
Stefan frowned.
“Galiana is here in the training room.”
He let out an exasperated breath and straightened. “How long now?”
“Ever since she and the Alzari fought the Ashishin outside.”