Wartorn Obliteration

movements and maneuvers of the Felk army, with the tactics that belonged only to Dardas the Butcher and no one else. She orally reenacted the war for the assembled notables and envoys. The early Felk conquests of Callah and Windal. The brutal slaughter of U'delph, which was preceded by the Felk's first wholesale use of Far Movement magic in the field. Then the surrender of Sook, followed by the army's southward move toward the city-state of Trael.

Praulth illuminated it all, the military designs, the logic of warfare, the peculiar marks of Dardas's brilliant strategies. She answered questions when they were put to her. She didn't hesitate now. She felt no misgivings, no self-doubts. She was equal to this task. Xink was waiting outside, but she didn't need him for this.

Finally someone, a figure in much finery who, if Praulth recalled correctly, was from Ompellus Prime, said, 'Impressive. Now, will you deign to tell us why the Felk have halted cold only a day or two from Trael? It seems to me they might be considering a new course, toward, say, the city of Grat. Or, worse, my own state.'

'You would rather the Felk monsters crushed us? What a miserable, selfish creature—'

'Don't pretend to parts you can't play. By the sanity of the gods, how often have you kindhearted ones of Grat wished for our downfall? How often have you poisoned our crops? How—'

'As a response to the abduction of our beloved Jade Priestess!'

'She wanted to leave, fool! She had found love with our prince.'

'If it's crop poisoning, I'd like it explained how the river that irrigates our fields turns black twice a lune with filth dumped in it by you people upriver in Hassilc.'

'It's not your river when it flows through our lands.'

'Fiend!'

'Imbecile!'

By now the exchange had five or six participants. It was quite a vehement display. Praulth felt she understood now the genuine reason for holding this conference here atop this tower. It was so no one could easily storm out of the room, not unless he or she meant to make that entire long and steep descent.

Cultat rose from his seat, an expression of put-upon disgust on his face. He drew a short—and presumably decorative—sword from his belt and banged its bejeweled pommel three times on the tabletop, hard enough to leave an indentation.

'This is precisely what I mean,' he said, addressing no one in particular in his robust voice. 'Something intelligent is said, and the price we pay are ten useless outbursts. Silence... please. Now, Praulth, our esteemed delegate from Ompellus Prime raises a good point. Our intelligence informs us that the Felk remain encamped a short distance from Trael. They've been stalled thus several days now. Why would they do this?'

'Yes, girl, why?'

'Oh, do tell us.'

These last were sarcastic mutterings from among the nearly twenty members assembled. Praulth found she didn't like their offhand scorn. They didn't appreciate her. Her analytical abilities were a marvel. No one else could have predicted the Felk movements so far in this war so accurately. Honnis himself had said so.

The field intelligence to which Cultat referred was thanks to a secret elite unit of Petgradite wizards, a small force literally bred for their abilities to use the Far Speak magic. Honnis had relayed their war news to her at the University. Merse himself belonged to the family of gifted nobles.

This inner chamber appeared to be a formal dining hall converted for the occasion into this conference site. Lushly woven tapestries adorned the walls. Each one appeared to display multiple pictures or abstract motifs among its fabulously intricate threads, depending on at what distance one stood to view it.

Praulth hadn't taken a seat at the table. She'd stood, ignoring her tired legs, indicating this map and that, lecturing this body on the war's history, revealing its secrets. Now she straightened, folded her hands, and asked coolly, 'Why is there no representative from Trael here?'

Cultat's blue eyes flickered away, came back to her. 'That diplomatic mission failed,' he said bluntly.

Praulth knew that meant a member of the premier's family had been lost. Cultat had used his own kin to deliver the initial proposals for an alliance.

Her eyes swept the assembly. Finally she said, 'I don't know why the Felk have halted their advance.'

Someone laughed, a short unkind burst, and the chamber erupted in protest. What good was this girl, then? What sort of military expert was Cultat trying to foist on them? Praulth stood and weathered it stoically, while anger bloomed hotter inside her. She would explain in detail to these fools her scheme to use the Battle of Torran Flats against the Felk general.

While this was happening an attendant entered, went quietly to Cultat's side, and spoke urgent words to the premier. Praulth, ignoring the assembly's ignorant barbs—how much they sounded like her family just now—for the moment, watched surprise spread across Cultat's craggy face. The attendant presented a sheet of paper.

Once more Cultat brought the hubbub to an end by banging his pommel on the table.

'I may have an answer as to why we've no delegate from Trael here at this table,' Cultat said. 'A small party has just arrived in the city bearing this.' He held aloft the paper, a densely printed document of some sort. 'It's a government promissory note, for an extraordinary amount of money, which I have no intention of honoring during this crisis, and it is signed by my nephew. Why is this of interest? Because the little band that presented this—bandits, I believe—tell a tale of my nephew abandoning his mission to Trael in order to pursue a goal of his own choosing. He meant to infiltrate the Felk horde and assassinate its leader. Now, if he succeeded in this grand ambition, might that not explain why the Felk army has remained immobile these past several days?'

Cultat smiled, proud, even smug. Once again the room came shrilly alive with overlapping voices.

Praulth's first thoughts were to wonder if those were the same bandits they had met on the road, those who had seemed intent on taking the slower clandestine woodland trails to Petgrad. But these thoughts were deliberate and momentary distractions.

She felt a cold and heavy sinking in her chest. It took her a moment to identify the feeling as disappointment. Dardas... assassinated? It couldn't be. It was too haphazard, too unworthy of the great Northland war commander. That some minor relative of the premier had snuck into that camp and murdered the host body of Weisel, killing the brilliant military mind that lived within... it was almost offensive. She couldn't absorb it.

After all, she wanted to be the one who defeated Dardas.

AQUINT (1)

'What do you mean, they're gone?'

Cat regarded him with a withering, disapproving stare. 'I'd think that's a simple enough sentence to have penetrated your hangover.'

Aquint made an effort not to groan out loud as he pushed up onto his elbows. This bed was big and soft, and he remembered having at least one soft companion in it last night. Now, she, or they, were gone, and there was just his young confederate here in the room.

He'd had a lot of wine last night. It was easy to have a lot of wine when you didn't have any worries about being able to pay your tab. He was enjoying this luxurious apartment and the generous stipend he was collecting as an agent of the Felk Internal Security Corps. The fact that, as a native of this conquered city of Callah, he still regarded the Felk as basically evil wasn't interfering noticeably with his performance in their service.

Aquint ran a hand over his bleary face.

'The rebels?' he asked, focusing. 'You're talking about the group that's holed up in my old warehouse?'

Cat continued to stare with those judgmental eyes. The boy had never approved of any of Aquint's recreational habits.

'Was holed up there.'