closed the tent flaps, offering the woman another mug of water which she thankfully accepted.
“Can we speak in private?” said Mary.
Leanoric nodded, their eyes met, and Elias departed. Alone now, with shadows lengthening outside, Mary reached up to Leanoric, put her hand on his shoulder, her eyes haunted in a curious reversal, from subject to monarch, from young to old, from naive to wise.
“Did they hurt her?” snapped Leanoric. “Tell me! What did they do to her?”
Mary opened her mouth, and some tiny intuition made her close it again. What if, she wondered, Graal’s abuse of the queen made her a less than valuable commodity? Maybe, and as she looked into Leanoric’s eyes she felt a terrible guilt at her thoughts, but maybe if she told him the truth, told the king of the violent rape by General Graal, maybe he would not want her back at all. After all, it was only a few short years since Alloria’s betrayal…
“He…bit her,” said Mary, finally.
Leanoric stared at her, without understanding. “What do you mean? He bit her?”
“I know it sounds…strange. Metal teeth came out from his mouth, long metal teeth, and he bit Alloria in the throat and drank her blood.” Mary closed her mouth, confused now, aware she sounded like a mad woman. She risked a glance at Leanoric. “Graal said he had taken Jalder, he had taken Jangir, and would march on the capital, on Vor. He said if you stood in his way, he would kill Alloria.”
“Do you know where he has taken her?” Leanoric’s voice was frighteningly soft.
“Yes. She has been sent to a place called Silva Valley, in the heart of the Black Pike Mountains. Graal said it was the home of the Army of Iron. What are you going to do, Leanoric? Will you rescue Alloria? Will you stand against this man who drinks blood?”
Leanoric stood, and turned his back on Mary, his soul cold. He opened the tent flap, ushered in a physician and stepped out into fast-falling dusk. Around the camp laughter still fluttered, and Leanoric had a terrible premonition. Soon, there would be little to laugh about.
“What is it?” said Elias, stepping close.
“Walk with me.”
They strode through the camp, past the outlying ruins of Old Valantrium and up a nearby hill on which a beacon fire had been lit. Leanoric pushed a fast pace, and reaching the top, he finally turned to Elias, his face streaked with sweat, his eyes hard now as events tumbled around him, fluttering like ashes, and he set a rigid course through his confused mind. He knew what he had to do.
Jangir had a garrison brigade posting of sixteen hundred men. If Mary was right, if it had been taken…and if Graal had infiltrated as far as the Autumn Palace, and therefore had men in Vorgeth Forest, and could even now be marching with his army on Vorgeth, Fawkrin, or further east to Skulkra and Old Skulkra…Leanoric’s mind spun.
How could he not know?
How could he not realise his country was under attack? Infested, even.
“What are we going to do?” said Elias.
Leanoric gave a grim smile that had nothing to do with humour. He pulled on his battle-greaves. In a voice resonant of his father, he said, “Old friend, we are going to war.”
Standing there, as the sky streaked with red and violet, as he watched his world, his country, his beloved Falanor die under a blanket of darkness, Leanoric outlined his plan to his general, and his friend.
“These bastards have come from the north, taken Jalder, and taken Jangir. So their forces amass to the west of the Great North Road, somewhere around Corleth Moor, maybe Northern Vorgeth; this makes sense, these damn places are desolate, haunted, and people try not to go there because of the twisted history of Jangir Field. A good place to hide an army, is what I’m thinking.”
“What then?”
“I have a brigade at Gollothrim, and a division here at Valantrium. We can pull our battalion down from the Black Pike Mines, and we have a brigade near Old Skulkra. If we can surround the bastards, hit them from each flank and make sure the Black Pike infantry emerge from the north…well, we can rout them, Elias. They’ll think the whole damn world has descended on them.”
“We need more information,” said Elias, warily. “The size of the enemy force. Exact locations. Does this Graal have heavy cavalry, spears, archers? Are his men disciplined, and do they bring siege weapons?”
“There is little time, Elias. If we don’t act immediately I guarantee we will be too late. This Graal is a snake; he is striking hard and fast, and taking no prisoners. We did not see him coming. It is a perfect invasion.”
“Still, I advise despatching scouts. Three to each camp with your plans following separate routes, in case any rider is captured; we can code the messages, and pick hardy men for the task. I’ll also arrange for local spies to scour Corleth Moor; we can send message by pigeon. I have a trusted network in the north.”
Leanoric nodded. “With a little more information, and time, we can encompass them. I still only half believe Mary! Who would dare such an outrage? Who would dare the wrath of my entire army?” With twenty thousand men at his disposal, this made Leanoric perhaps the most powerful warlord between the four Mountain Worlds.
Elias considered their plan, rubbing his stubbled chin, his lined face focused with concentration. Internally, he analysed different angles, considered different options; he could see what King Leanoric said made sense, made complete sense; yet still it sat bad with him, an uneasy ally, a false lover, a cuckolded husband, a friend behind his back with a knife in his trembling fist.
“Consider,” said Elias, voice as quiet as ever, and as he spoke his hand came to rest on the hilt of his scabbarded sword-a blade no other man alive had touched. “This General Graal cannot be a foolish man. And yet he marches halfway across Falanor to steal the queen; why? What does he gain?”
“He makes me chase him.”
Elias nodded. “Possible. Either chase him, or to undermine your confidence. Maybe both. And yet he has already, so we believe, conquered two major cities with substantial garrisons. So he either has a mighty force to be reckoned with, or…”
“He’s using blood-oil magick,” said Leanoric, uneasy.
“Yes. You must seek counsel on this.”
“There is little time. If I do not muster the Eagle Divisions immediately, the entrapment may not work. Then we’d be forced to fall back…” his mind worked fast. “To Old Skulkra. It is a perfect battleground. And I have a… tactic my father spoke of, decades ago.”
“But if Graal uses the old magick, your plan will not work anyway,” said Elias. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“The Graverobber,” said Leanoric, voice sober, voice filled with dread. “I fear he will kill me on sight.”
“I will go,” said Elias.
“No, I have another job for you.”
Elias raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He knew his king would speak in good time.
Leanoric pursed his lips, lifted his hands to his face, fingers steepled, pressed against his chin. Then he sighed, and it was a sigh of sadness, of somebody who was lost. He spoke, but he would not meet his friend’s gaze.
“What I ask of you, Elias, I have no right to ask.”
“You have every right. You are king.”
“No. I ask this on a personal level. Let us put aside rank, and nobility, for just one moment. What I ask of you, is…almost certain death. But I must ask anyway.”
Elias bowed his head. “Anything, my king,” he said, voice gentle.
“I would ask you to travel to the Silva Valley.” Leanoric paused, as if by leaving the words unspoken, he would not have to condemn his general, would not have to murder his friend. He sighed. He met Elias’s gaze, and their eyes locked, in honour and truth and friendship and brotherhood. “I would ask to you find and rescue Alloria.”
“It would be my honour,” said Elias, without pause for breath.
“I recognise-”
“No.” Elias held up a hand. Leanoric stopped. “Do not say it. I am a man of the world, and if I may point out, far more seasoned a warrior than you.” He smiled to take the sting from his words. “I trained with your father, and I admired your father; but I love his son more. And I love my queen. I will do this, Leanoric, but feel no burden of guilt. I do it gladly, of my own free will.”
