Commanders were present, but Thoromarth, Rithdeliel, Atholfol Ivrithir, and Diorthiel of Araphant had been summoned to hear the report of the Lightborn.
“It will be tomorrow, then,” Rithdeliel said. “You’re here, and most of your army isn’t. Tomorrow his knights will still outnumber yours.”
Thoromarth nodded in agreement. “Nilkaran knows how close behind us our enemy is,” he said. “Expect him to attack you tomorrow, Lord Vieliessar, but don’t expect him to stand and fight. He’ll want to delay you until the Alliance can deal with you.”
“Set his camp afire tonight and he’ll surrender at dawn,” Atholfol said cheerfully.
“I need to take his army, not kill it,” Vieliessar said. “And under other circumstances, I might hold back the use of Magery on the field because I know it will make Nilkaran and his
“The Warhunt stands ready,” Iardalaith said.
“If we do not carry the day we may at least have the joy of watching Nilkaran try to decide whether he will throw Jaeglenhend’s storehouses open to the Alliance when it comes,” Diorthiel said with a faint smile. “I do not think he has realized he must declare for you or for them.”
“He’s that much of an idiot,” Isilla said bluntly. “And a monster as well. He sends knights to patrol the countryside for those commons who wish to join you. When his knights catch anyone, they strike off their hands and feet and leave them to bleed to death.”
“I wish him joy of finding Farmfolk to reap his harvests instead of leaving them to spoil in the field,” Harwing Lightbrother said with an edged smile. Vieliessar did not miss the startled glance that passed between Thoromarth and Atholfol. Her lords had been as shocked as her enemies to discover the depth of contempt their commonborn subjects felt for them.
“I will be glad to offer them my protection,” Vieliessar said. “And enrich my army at the expense of Nilkaran’s domain.”
“He’ll realize that he’s caught between wolf and lion soon, though perhaps not soon enough,” Iardalaith said. “Though I have some ideas on how the Warhunt may hasten his reflections.”
“I will hear them in a moment. But … can you Overshadow Nilkaran, Isilla?” Vieliessar asked. It was a blunter question than she really wanted to ask; Atholfol and the others disliked reminders of the power some of the Lightborn could wield. But Lord Nilkaran was the sort of prince who guarded his power jealously and ruled by rank and fear. He would not have a strong council of advisors around him, nor would he surround himself with Lords
“No,” Isilla answered instantly. “I could arrange to get close enough to him to try, but he stinks of Warding.” She rubbed her arms through the fabric of her tunic, as if her skin itched. “No spell of control or illusion will touch him, I suspect.”
“Of course, there’s still lightning,” Harwing said cheerfully. “Not that striking him dead would be especially useful,” he added hastily.
“Better, perhaps, to convince him by persuasive argument that Lord Vieliessar’s cause is just and worthy of support,” Rithdeliel said silkily.
“Yes,” Iardalaith agreed. “And while you are doing that, I shall take my Warhunt to his castel. We can strip the Wardings from its stones—and the spell’s effects will be visible at once, even to the Lightless.”
Vieliessar concealed her pleasure; it would not do for her Lords
“Let it be done, and I thank you, Iardalaith, for that was well thought of,” Vieliessar said, leaning back in her chair to stretch her tired muscles. This would be a night of planning and no sleep. “Now. Have we decent maps of Jaeglenhend? Someone get them, and we will decide where the rest of us are to make this persuasive argument.”
She had been War Prince for fourteen moonturns.
Having consulted both the maps and the scouts, she chose a rolling expanse of land a mile to the west of Nilkaran’s camp for the battle. The army was impossible to move undetected. There was the jingle of bit and spur and mail, the rattle of plate, the creaking of carts—and the bright glow of the Silverlight the Lightborn cast to light the army’s way. Incredibly, despite all of that, they’d encountered no Jaeglenhender scouts or guards. War Prince Nilkaran was either supremely confident or supremely stupid. At last they reached the place Vieliessar had chosen, and her force settled itself in loose array and prepared to wait for dawn.
“What are they
“Sleeping,” Thoromarth said simply. “Why not? Nilkaran doesn’t expect to find you waiting in his courtyard when he awakes. He expects to send an envoy with the declaration of his intentions while his army drinks its morning ale. Then he’ll march, expecting you to fling yourself onto the field without studying the lay of it, so he can cut your force to thread and string with half his meisne while he smashes your camp with the other half.”
“I grieve at the thought of how disappointing he must find me,” Vieliessar answered sardonically.
“I could go to Lord Nilkaran’s camp to tell him we demand he meet us in battle,” Ambrant Lightbrother said.
His mother snorted. “I don’t have so many children that I wish to lose one. Give it another half-mark,” she said, regarding the sky with a measuring look. “Then we can let him know we’re here.”
“Perhaps he’ll invite us to breakfast,” Thoromarth said dourly.
“If I’d ever waited to be invited over your borders, you old bandit, Oronviel would’ve smothered under its herds of sheep long before Lord Vieliessar came,” Atholfol said.
“If the two of you want to shout a little louder, we won’t need warhorns to let Nilkaran know we’re here,” Vieliessar said tartly, and both princes laughed.
Autumn was a season of dawn-mist and frost. Even as the sky lightened, the world remained colorless. The destriers were saddled and brought onto the line. The stamp of their hooves and clink of their bridles was muffled by the mist. When the sky had brightened enough that sparks of fire could be seen beneath the lacquered surfaces of armor, Vieliessar signaled the knights-herald. As one, their raised their warhorns, and the mellow handful of rising notes that were the summons and challenge to the enemy rang out.
As the echoing sound died away, Vieliessar urged her destrier forward at a slow walk. “Come,” she said. “I do not mean to give Nilkaran a spacious battlefield to work with.”
At the end of the day’s fighting, Vieliessar could claim no victory. Nilkaran had put just enough knights into the field to keep her occupied, while keeping back the majority of his force to defend his camp. Somewhat to her surprise, he did not send a meisne against her camp, but it was frustrating that when she called for a fighting retreat at midday, she wasn’t even able to entice the enemy to follow her, despite retreating encumbered by carts filled with her wounded. By mid-afternoon she’d retreated far enough that Nilkaran’s
“Is that wise?” Rithdeliel asked quietly.
“Dendinirchiel’s element should have reached the camp this morning,” Vieliessar answered. “And Kalides Brabamant and Brethrod Cirdeval were right behind her. We can’t let the Alliance catch us in these foothills.”
“I would have said otherwise,” Rithdeliel commented. “It’s good terrain for an ambush.”
“It’s good terrain to isolate portions of your enemy’s force and hold them while you bring up enough horse to
