By morning, Coryphene had convened a council of war. His warrior chiefs and the priests of the great temples gathered to listen as the Protector and Queen Uriona laid out their plans.
The warriors filled the plaza in the center of the palace level. Their faces were hard and grim. There were gaps in their ranks. The priests and priestesses, on the other hand, prayed where they stood, calling on divine aid to save them from the chilkit. This annoyed the soldiers. Honor the gods, said the warriors, but listen to Coryphene Wallbuilder, Protector of Urione.
A dais ringed by curtains was set up for Queen Uriona. Her handmaids entered the plaza and flanked the dais. In unison they bowed their heads. The elves in the plaza did likewise as Uriona entered the enclosure. Coryphene, clad in his finest armor, appeared next.
The warrior chiefs raised both hands in salute and roared, “Coryphene!
“Let there be silence,” Coryphene intoned. “We are in the presence of our divine ruler, the goddess among us, Uriona Firstborn!”
A pall of silence fell instantly over the hundreds assembled in the plaza. Uriona’s voice reached out from the veiled dais. Her words carried perfectly to every ear.
“My people,” she proclaimed, “we stand on the threshold of our destiny. Today, the hated enemy will fall to us. I have asked the gods to bring us a weapon by which the foe can be destroyed. As always, my brother gods have seen fit to do as I asked.”
Coryphene tipped a pot of gnomefire into a basin of seawater set up on the floor before the dais. It sputtered and burst into hissing flame. The priests recoiled, and many of the soldiers shifted uneasily away from a sight sea creatures had never beheld-naked flames.
“With this weapon, we cannot be defeated,” Uriona went on. “I have seen our victory, and it will be glorious.”
“Uriona!” Coryphene shouted.
The crowd took up and echoed his call over and over, until Coryphene raised a hand, signaling for silence. “The army will assemble on the plain of the kelp gardens,” ordered the Protector. “All the firelances will be distributed to the left and right wings. When the battle commences, the wing commanders will attack, forcing the chilkit back. The wings will advance until the enemy breaks, then they will join to enclose the center. None shall escape us. None shall be spared!”
Once more Coryphene had to silence their cheers before he could speak. “Keep clear of the lance heads,” he told them. “The yellow mixture inside burns when touched by water. If a pot bursts prematurely, the only way to put out the fire is to smother it with sand. Is that understood?” A clatter of weapons against shields signified the warriors’ approval. Coryphene raised his voice, the words ringing through the square. “You know your places, soldiers! To victory! To victory!”
“To victory!” they shouted in return. “Coryphene!
The chiefs marched out to join their units. The priests and priestesses waited until the fighters were gone, then bowed and filed out silently. Uriona called to her warlord.
“Coryphene.”
He went swiftly to the curtained enclosure. She seldom spoke his name. Hearing it now, feeling himself poised on the brink of his greatest victory, an intoxicating thrill went through his body. He knelt just outside the thin curtain.
“Yes, Divine Majesty?”
“Guard yourself, Coryphene. You are my instrument of destiny. Be valiant, but be careful as well.”
“With Your Divinity to watch over me, nothing can touch me.”
“Victory is assured. I have foreseen it. But-” The soft silhouette of the queen shifted on her ornate chair. “But our individual lives cannot be vouchsafed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Divine Majesty, with all my heart.”
He rose. Before he could take his leave, Uriona spoke again. “After the battle, there is a task to do. Only you can be trusted to accomplish it, Coryphene.”
“You have only to name it, my queen.”
“The drylanders must die. All of them. If any survive, it will endanger our expedition to Silvanost.”
Coryphene, despite his absolute devotion to her, was shaken. “
“Especially her. And the old colonel and the dwarf. They are a great danger to me, Coryphene. There is one other who must die. One of our own people.”
He had no trouble guessing. “Naxos,” he stated.
“Yes. He has already betrayed us to the drylanders. He plots with them to destroy us. To destroy me.”
“He will not survive the battle! I vow it, Majesty!”
“Be wary of him. My brother gods may try to protect him.”
“I fear no power but that of my divine queen,” Coryphene said fervently. To his amazement, Uriona extended her hand through the curtain and held it for him to kiss. He took the hand in his, gazing at it as though he would memorize every line. The skin was fine as musselbeard silk, the webbing between the long, elegant fingers a translucent turquoise. Slowly, with all possible deference, Coryphene touched his lips to the soft hand.
“I am Your Majesty’s slave,” he whispered.
The hand was withdrawn, and Uriona spoke no more. Coryphene rose and strode from the empty plaza. Purpose blazed in his heart. Today would be the day of reckoning. Today the Dargonesti would defeat their dread enemy.
Rank upon rank of Dargonesti soldiers marched through the market square on their way to battle. The common folk of Urione lined the way, waving and singing. Some tossed scented water on the passing troops, a sign of special favor. The warriors filed into the quays and marched into the pools.
Of all the dryland prisoners, only three were in the square watching the soldiers go to meet the chilkit invaders. Vixa, Armantaro, and Gundabyr stood together. The old colonel stood straight as a pikestaff while the Dargonesti marched by, as if he were reviewing the troops. Vixa leaned on one arm against a low wall and counted the ranks. In a quarter hour she noted five thousand Dargonesti warriors had passed her.
“And still they come,” she marveled. “Where does Coryphene get them?”
“Perhaps they’re marching out, reentering the city, and marching past again, in a loop,” Gundabyr wryly suggested. His bearded, craggy face was deeply shadowed from lack of sleep. “You know, to fool the hometown folks.”
“You’re wrong,” Armantaro said. “I’ve not seen a face repeat.” His martial stance and hawk-faced profile had attracted the attention of some of the Dargonesti soldiers. They’d begun to turn toward the Qualinesti colonel as they passed, giving a perfect “eyes left.”
“A lot of these lads are new to arms. Look at the fit of their equipment. They’re untried soldiers,” the colonel remarked.
Vixa looked more closely and had to agree with his assessment. The spears were not ported at a sharp angle, the way veterans would carry them. Helmets seemed either too big or too small. Some of the Dargonesti even had empty scabbards flapping at their sides, as there were not enough weapons to go around.
A contingent of firelancers marched by, the new weapons on their shoulders. These were the best of Coryphene’s troops, hand-picked for size and strength. Many had come from the ranks of the Protector’s own guard. Considering the ferocity and size of the enemy they were to meet, their numbers seemed terribly small.
The sight of the ill-prepared youngsters and the too-few veterans galvanized Vixa into action. “I’m going out, too,” she declared.
“What? Lady, you mustn’t!” Armantaro objected.
“Can I stand idly by while others fight for my life? No!”
“I can,” Gundabyr said calmly. “They took me prisoner, made me a slave, caused me to lose my brother. I made their damned gnomefire. Now it’s their fight, Highness. Let ’em fight it.”
“If you fight, then I shall be at your side,” said the colonel.
Vixa clasped his arms. “No, my friend. Even if you won’t admit it, I must-you’re ill. That cough of yours gets
