and she would come looking for her hated foes. He said there was a wadi north of Great Fang. It ran northwest and would conceal them from riders on the desert plain above. However, using it would take the elves away from the shelter of the Lion’s Teeth.
“We must quit the peaks sooner or later,” Gilthas said. “We will follow where you lead, Wapah.”
“It is a wise man who travels the lighted path.”
“And wiser still is he who keeps his sword in his hand,” countered Hamaramis.
The elves set out again. If all went well, they would reach the pass into Inath-Wakenti in three days.
Breetan Everride and Sergeant Jeralund entered the city of Mereklar at the end of a mile-long procession of foot soldiers. Virtually the entire army of Gathan Grayden was marshaled in the city. Jeralund cast a practiced eye over the assemblage of men, goblins, even a battalion of ogres hired out of Kern, and estimated the total strength at forty thousand. It might not be a cohesive force, but it was a formidable one.
The great concentration of might had been prompted by the debacle at the Lake of Death, where forces commanded by Lord Haym, bandit governor of Mereklar, had been bloodily repulsed. The time for economy was over. Lord Gathan intended to crush the elf rebellion once and for all, even if it meant using every able-bodied warrior in the region. Aside from a few small garrisons remaining in towns such as Shrivost, he had stripped his realm of every soldier he could find. The Knights of Neraka could seize western Qualinesti with no more than a palace guard if they chose. Breetan intended to use the Order’s Mereklar envoy, Tagath Ellimer, to send a message saying just that.
Ostensibly a “commercial advisor,” one who saw to it Nerakan traders were treated fairly by local merchants, Ellimer’s actual job was to acquire information that might be of interest to the Order.
Mereklar was larger than Samustal but couldn’t begin to hold forty thousand soldiers. Most were camped in a sprawling crescent of tents on the high ground south of the city. The smoke, smells, and noise that rose from the sea of canvas almost blotted out those from the city below it. Grayden would have to move soon. He didn’t have the resources to support so large an army for long unless it could forage (that is, plunder) the countryside as it marched. Unfortunately, his goal was Breetan’s too, and she had no desire to contend with him for I her prize.
Rumors were flying thick and fast about where the elves were heading. Current betting heavily favored New Ports and the sea. One outlandish rumor Breetan had heard was that a fleet of elf ships was sailing down from the north to reinforce the rebellion.
At Tagath Ellimer’s pleasant home, she and Jeralund were fed well and plied with excellent wine. Ellimer was a portly, merry-eyed fellow who laughed a lot and wore an extravagant mustache. Behind his jolly veneer, he was shrewd and ruthless. According to Jeralund, he once had been considered the greatest duelist in Neraka.
“The town’s aboil,” Ellimer said, pouring rose-colored wine into Breetan’s goblet. “Haven’t seen so much excitement since the demise of Beryl.”
“Does Gathan know where the rebels are?”
The envoy laughed heartily. “If he knew that, Lady, the army would be there, not here!”
“Do you think he’ll catch the elves, my lord?” Jeralund asked.
Ellimer sat back, paunch hanging between his knees. Draped in dark blue serge, with a massive gold chain hanging low from his thick neck, be looked like an ancient potentate posed on his throne.
“Lord Gathan will kill many. His army will sweep in and flush out every living soul but the rebels he seeks. That’s assuming the evil in the Lake of Death doesn’t rise up and claim his host first.”
That was what Breetan had hoped to hear. She would not besmirch the Everride name with another failure. The Scarecrow was her trophy and no one else’s.
“If you ask me,” Ellimer said, although no one had, “the rebels aren’t heading east to New Ports. I believe they will complete their circuit of the lake.”
“To what end?” Breetan asked.
“To seize Mereklar and bring all the little revolts together into one conflagration.”
The envoy certainly had a lively imagination. Breetan asked for his estimate of the rebels’ strength.
“My colleague in Frenost says between five and six thousand, mostly woodland elves, with a few former royal army warriors to lead them.” Ellimer chuckled. “He’s insane, of course, quite insane. I believe there to be no more than a few hundred. Not even Kagonesti could hide an army of five thousand so effectively. Gathan’s people are badly rattled. They see rebels under every leaf and stone.”
He changed the subject, gossiping about politics within the Order. Breetan listened with impatient politeness until she could return the conversation to the topic that interested her.
“My mission is to find the rebels’ leader,” she said. “I can’t follow in Gathan’s wake. No elfin his right mind will be found within twenty miles of that mob!”
Ellimer agreed. He rang a silver bell, and a servant appeared. To Breetan’s astonishment, the lackey was a Qualinesti elf, neatly livened in blue velvet. The envoy sent him to fetch a map case.
“You’re surprised by Azar, Lady?” Ellimer said to her.
“Don’t be. He’s been my body servant for more years than you’ve lived. I beat him in fair combat thirty years ago, and he’s been my faithful servant ever since.”
“He’ll put a knife in you One day,” Jeralund observed.
Ellimer laughed. “I hope so! What a tragedy it would be for an old campaigner like myself to die in bed, withered and infirm! One day, when I’m tired of life, I’ll invite Azar to finish our duel. He’ll still be agile and strong, and I, a fat old man, so I’m sure he’ll win!”
Breetan shook her head. She couldn’t understand knights who were so cavalier with their lives. She’d grown up with the example of her father, and Lord Burnond never left anything to chance.
Azar returned with soundless tread. He bore a long, leather- wrapped cylinder. Ellimer dismissed him then pried the cap off one end of the case. He drew out a fistful of parchment rolls, tightly wound. Thumbing through the cryptic annotations on the end of each, he found the scroll he wanted.
Jeralund moved the dishes and goblets aside, and Ellimer opened the map over the knee-high table. With his dagger, he tapped a spot on the coast, east of Nalis Aren, where the angular shoreline bent from southeast to almost due south. “The elves will turn south here,” he said.
Ellimer was convinced the Scarecrow intended to lose his bandit pursuers in the fogs and uncharted ruins and swamps surrounding the lake. The worst terrain lay between the lake’s eastern shore and the coast. The land was low there, and Beryl’s impact had caused a major subsidence. The north shore of the lake was treacherous, but the east was a deathtrap.
“It’s not a route I’d care to take,” Ellimer said, “but even changed as it is since Qualinost’s drowning, it’s still elf country and the most likely spot for them to go to ground.”
Breetan was pleased. Gathan’s huge army would be hampered by the terrain. This would allow her time to track down the elusive Scarecrow and carry out her instructions.
“I shall go to the south shoreline and let the enemy come to me.”
“An excellent plan, Lady.” Ellimer sat back, leaving his dagger on the map. He folded his hands across his round belly. “Don’t be too sanguine about the route, though. That’s perilous country. No one, neither elves nor bandits, rules there. It’s infested with all manner of wild things.”
“And wild rebels,” the sergeant added wryly. Ellimer lifted his cup in acknowledgment. Fired with excitement for her new plan, Breetan was eager to depart. Declining Ellimer’s offer to pass the night in his home, she declared her intention to ride on at once.
“May you succeed for the glory of the Order.” Despite the formal tone of his words, Ellimer grinned widely, his eyes nearly vanishing in the folds of his skin.
Breetan frowned. How in Chaos could she judge the man’s sincerity when he was so unrelentingly jolly? She took up her glass and returned his toast.
“Glory to the Order,” she said and gulped down the last of her wine.
