Sir Fellion, and little Amania.
“I see Sir Hugh,” Falaius said, giving the young Knight a nod. “Where is your companion, Sir Fellion?”
Sir Hugh looked down at his hands. “I buried him this afternoon. The healers could not stop the infection.”
“I am truly sorry.” Falaius’s face grew more troubled. “Too many have joined the ranks of the dead,” he murmured. “Too many souls.”
He said nothing more of what he knew to the younger people around him, for few would understand and none would be comforted. Only to Linsha had he once voiced his suspicion that the souls of the dead were not leaving this world. Something held them here, some great power that kept them in thrall for reasons Falaius could only guess. It galled him to think that the gallant spirits of Tomarick, Sir Fellion, and hundreds of his friends, acquaintances, and members of his fighting forces had met their deaths only to be trapped in a place where they no longer belonged.
“There is other news as well.” Mariana’s voice broke into his thoughts and drew him back to the camp. “These elves-” she indicated the two who had sat silent by her side for whole telling of the tales-“are kirath from Silvanesti. They bring their own news.”
Falaius sat up. “Friends, it is a pleasure to welcome you, but from your expressions, I fear your news is no better than ours.”
The oldest of the two bowed to the Legion commander, “This has been a summer of disasters for us both. We came hoping to ask for help only to discover you are in as dire shape as the Silvanesti.”
Falaius suddenly remembered what the kirath were. These elves who looked so wan and haggard were members of the band of elves who guarded the borders of the elf realm, Silvanesti. His understanding made a leap forward and he exclaimed, “Your shield has fallen!”
Exclamations and sounds of surprise came from the crowd all around him. Obviously, no one else had heard this. The two elves nodded.
The oldest continued, “We were telling Mariana when you were brought in. To make a long tale shorter, a Dark Knight named Mina found a way through the shield. She exposed one of our trusted ministers as Cyan Bloodbane, the green dragon of our nightmares. We killed him, and our King Silvanoshei tore down the shield tree and destroyed the shield.”
“That’s wonderful news!” someone cried.
The others took up the excitement.
“The elves could help us!”
“Silvanesti is free! It’s about time!”
Voices spoke with happiness and relief until Falaius held up a hand to silence them. He had been watching Mariana and the two elves and could see as plain as daylight that the fall of the elven shield was not wonderful news. “What happened?”
The younger elf answered, “The Dark Knight Mina had an army just outside our borders. As soon as the shield came down, they marched in. The Knights of Neraka now control Silvanost.”
A cold and empty silence dropped over the ring of listeners. Dappled sunlight danced around them and a warm breeze whisked through the camp, yet a chill of despair settled down around the huddled survivors as they pondered the scope of the disaster. There would be no help from their neighbors, no elven army to rescue the city. Now there were Dark Knights to the east and a nation in trouble.
“We had hoped to call on Iyesta and her militia for aid,” the older elf said sadly. “We did not know she was dead. I am truly sorry to hear this.”
Falaius had a number of questions he still wanted to ask the elves, but his renewed strength seemed to be quickly fading. “Stay another day or two,” he offered. “I wish to talk to you further about your new king, the green dragon, and this Knight named Mina.”
The elves exchanged glances and then agreed. Another day or two was not going to make much difference now.
“Mariana,” the Plainsman said. His eyes were drooping, and his voice was growing heavy with drowsiness. “What did you put in the wine?” He lay back on his couch.
The half-elf gave him a crooked smile. “What you needed. Rest.”
His eyes closed and his body relaxed, but he wasn’t finished with the questions yet. “What are the chances of freeing Lanther and Linsha? We need them.”
“I will look into it,” she answered. She pulled away the wine cup and the empty bowl and nodded to two Legionnaires. They took positions at their commander’s head and feet while everyone else stood and moved quietly away.
“Come,” she said to the elves. “Come to the big tent and we will talk more. I must know more about these Dark Knights.”
13
Morning came too quickly for Linsha.
The sun had barely tinted the horizon when the Tarmak guards barged into the prison, shouting and prodding people to their feet. They dropped two large kettles and an armload of rounds of unleavened bread on the ground and departed. The hungry prisoners made an orderly rush for the food. One kettle contained a soup of sorts that might have had a few vegetables or scraps of meat if they were lucky. The other kettle held water, the only water they would have until nightfall. There were no cups or plates or utensils, so the prisoners had to dip their bread into the soup and take turns drinking from the kettle. The first time or two they were given this fare, the frantic men tipped the kettles over and wasted a day’s ration of water. Since then, Sir Remmik had taken control of the prisoners and organized an orderly procession past the food and water so each person received a fair share. Linsha feared at first that he would deprive her of her share in retaliation for her punch. But as petty and obsessive as the Knight Commander could be sometimes, he proved to be ruthlessly fair about the food and water.
Feeling sore in every bone of her body, Linsha took her place in line behind Lanther and claimed her round of bread. It was hard and unappetizing as usual, but if she dipped it in the soup she could force it down her throat. She submerged the bread for a moment in the greasy-looking broth, took a long drink of water from the second kettle, and returned to her place by the wall. For a moment she stared at the pale brown loaf dripping in her hand. Her mind rebelled at the thought of eating it, but her stomach insisted. This was the only food she would get until night, and there was no telling what the Tarmaks would force her to do today. Since her capture, she had been interrogated, hung in the cage several times, beaten, and forced to work with the slave gangs on the destruction of the palace. She had found no chance to escape and no way to get word to the remaining militia at Sinking Wells. She could only hope the survivors were on their guard and would see the danger before it destroyed them.
Daylight gleamed through the bars of the prison doors when the guards returned. For once, no one was chosen to hang in the cage and no one was dragged away for questioning.
“They must have all the answers,” Linsha whispered to Lanther as the prisoners were herded out of the courtyard.
They were taken around to the front of the palace and put to work removing the rock and rubble from the second wall of the throne room that had been pulled down the day before. Centaurs had been brought this morning to pull sledges of rock to the city wall, and they stood, their faces thunderous, waiting for the sledges to be loaded.
One centaur stood out from the rest, not only for his apparent youth and smaller stature but for the color of his light hide. Even the dark stains of sweat and the coating of dust could not hide the yellowish sand color of the buckskin. Linsha saw him and felt a burst of joy. Leonidas! He made no move toward her nor any overt indication that he had seen her, but his face turned her way and one eye dropped in a quick wink of acknowledgment.
