A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (31 page)

A
ntonil Copernus stared at the bodies as his soldiers cut them down from the fountain. Their blood mixed with the fountain’s waters, coloring it a muddy red. There was no need to check, but as the four were dragged out onto the stone, Antonil ordered the soldiers to do so anyway. Opening the shirts of his dead soldiers, they found the four-pointed star carved into their flesh, some on the chest, some on the abdomen. Just like the three men the day before, and the two before that, all starting with the king’s adviser, Gerand Crold.

“More and more every day,” said one of his soldiers, a young man obviously shaken by the sight.

“Which is why we must remain vigilant,” Antonil said, clapping him on the shoulder. “One day it will be zero, because we’ll have finally broken the Sun Guild and their master.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but the Darkhand doesn’t seem like the type to be broken.”

The corners of Antonil’s mouth twitched, the only hint he’d give of his inward wince at the words.

“Inform their families,” he ordered, turning north toward the castle and marching away. He tried not to dwell on the soldier’s fears as he moved through the quiet evening streets, but he failed. No, the Darkhand did not seem like the type to be broken, yet despite their resurgence in guarding the streets, along with over a dozen men they’d arrested bearing the symbol of the Sun, the city had not been consumed by fire and destruction. No, instead they continually found members of the city guard hanging from the fountain, and something about it felt … petty. Not grandiose. Not a statement. Just a petty resistance to a change the Darkhand could not stop. Despite the deaths, it gave Antonil a sliver of hope.

Not that it did much to help his mood. Distant change was not something the king was fond of, and every day Antonil was forced to endure the young brat’s terrified ranting. Every day the king insisted they return to ignoring the Sun Guild, and every day Antonil responded the same way.

“This city can only have one king, and if you cower now, it will not be you.”

If there was anything Edwin was afraid of, it was losing his tentative hold on power. So Antonil insisted the man would remain safe in his castle … and did not mention the tiles lining its outer walls, tiles that could bring the whole thing crumbling down in a heartbeat.

Sometimes those incapable of handling the truth are best left in the dark
, he thought as he neared the castle.
Such a damn shame our king has to be one of them
.

As he reached the steps, he heard a commotion behind him, and when he turned he saw a lone soldier running as fast as his armor would allow, resulting in a rather obnoxious rattling of plate and chain. Frowning, Antonil stepped in his way and raised a hand.

“At ease,” he said. “What is the rush?”

The soldier was a man Antonil recognized, whose station was at the western gate. His face and neck were covered with sweat, and after a bow, he spoke in short, quick sentences while attempting to catch his breath.

“I’ve a message for the king,” he said. “Well, not a message. A request.”

“A request for what?” Antonil asked. “And from whom?”

The soldier looked torn between amusement and frustration, and he swallowed before answering.

“Perhaps it’s best I met with you first, sir,” he said. “There is an elf at the western gate of our city. He wanted in, but we denied him. Seemed the safest thing to do until we asked. So he’s outside waiting with his, uh, horse. Won’t tell us what he wants, only that he’ll speak with the king.”

Antonil frowned.

“Do you think he’ll speak with me?”

The soldier shrugged.

“When it comes to elves, does anyone know anything? Maybe yes, maybe no. But when it comes to our
king
, well…” The soldier paused, and he blatantly looked over Antonil’s shoulder to the castle. “I know who’d be more willing to listen, and who’d do a better job speaking, when it comes to an elf.”

They were dangerous words, and a sentiment that had been growing over the past year, particularly since Muzien’s arrival and the king’s complete unwillingness, or inability, to control his own capital city. Antonil knew he’d need to eventually clamp down on the open admission of such feelings, but deep down, he felt a total lack of energy to put toward such an effort. Perhaps when things calmed down, assuming they ever did.

“Go back to your post,” Antonil said. “I’ll see if this elf will speak with me. Whoever he is, he has no right to appear unannounced and demand an audience with His Majesty.”

“Of course,” said the soldier, bowing low. Spinning on his feet, he marched back down the street, and after a moment’s hesitation, Antonil followed.

It’s not like things can get much worse
, thought Antonil.
We’re due for good news, I’d say. Maybe he’s here to bring back one of their own
…

Other elves scouring the city to drag Muzien out by his feet was an amusing thought, but sadly impossible. The king would never allow so many elves into his city, not after what had happened in the southern city of Angelport.

Back through his city he marched, and he took pleasure in noting far fewer marks of the Sun Guild on the people. Prior to the bloody battle at the fountain, his men and women had grown brazen, but now … now there were only the tiles proclaiming the Sun Guild’s power. Antonil felt a shiver at the remembrance of what they could do, and he did his best to push it from his mind. Such things were currently beyond him, and he had to pray that somehow things would turn out fine in the end.

At the western gate, Antonil saw a larger-than-usual gathering of his men, no doubt ogling the elf on the other side.

“Get back to your posts,” he told them as he pushed through, exited the enormous gates, and stepped out to greet his strange visitor.

It was the elf’s horse that first grabbed Antonil’s attention, not the elf himself. The beast was magnificent, tall and strong, and head to hoof colored a brilliant white. From its back grew enormous wings, which were currently folded in and pressed against its sides. With its huge eyes, it watched Antonil as he approached, and when its elven master bowed his head in respect, so too did the horse.

“Greetings,” said the elf. “I am Dieredon, scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. With whom do I speak?”

He was tall, tanned, his long brown hair carefully trimmed and braided away from his face. Though his tone and expression were serious, his voice lacked the smugness and condescension Antonil had expected.

“My name is Antonil Copernus, and I am responsible for the safety of His Majesty’s city,” Antonil said, and despite an initial hesitation, he bowed his head also.
So what if he is an elf of a foreign land?
decided Antonil. A little civility might go a long way. Dieredon patted the horse beside him, then gestured to the castle in the distance, just barely visible beyond the top of the wall.

“Do you come speaking for your king?” he asked.

A tricky question. Antonil didn’t want to lie, nor did he wish to be dismissed or ignored due to his station.

“No, I do not,” he said. “But I am the closest you will reach to speaking with the king in this lifetime, Scoutmaster, so whatever message you have come to deliver, you may deliver it to me instead, and I will relay it to His Majesty if I deem it important.”

The elf tilted his head, and then, to Antonil’s shock, he laughed.

“Important?” he asked. “I come to aid your city, yet you would demean my potential words and insult me with politics and denials to meet your king? Perhaps I should just leave you to your fate, if you would be so insulting.”

“Wait,” Antonil said before the elf could turn to leave. “I did not mean to speak so harshly. I only wish to convey the fears of His Majesty. His ears will not be open to you, nor his mind, nor his heart. But I am here, and I will listen, and whatever message you carry I will do what I can to make sure he listens with mind, heart, and ears open … because it will come from human lips.”

What he spoke was borderline traitorous, he knew, but beneath the elf’s ire he sensed something terrible lurking, and had to know what. Besides, there were no other ears listening. For some reason, should Dieredon tell the king what he spoke, well … it’d be his word against the word of an elf. There’d be no contest. As for his plea, it seemed to have worked, for Dieredon’s face softened.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m a fool if I would pretend at my kingdom being any more free of prejudices than yours, and even if it were, I will not leave you to your fate due to my pride. An army approaches, Guard Captain, thousands of orcs gathered together under one banner, and they’ll be at Veldaren’s walls within days.”

Antonil’s entire body froze.

“An army of thousands?” he asked. “That’s impossible.”

“Surely you know their numbers exceed that in the Vile Wedge,” Dieredon said. “Though perhaps you don’t, given your isolation here.”

“No, not that,” Antonil said, shaking his head. “They are all trapped within the Vile Wedge. Even with the Citadel’s fall, there is no way for them to cross the grand chasm unless they travel so far south they must pass through the Hillock, if not the Kingstrip beyond that. How could an army of foul monsters cross such a distance unnoticed with those numbers?”

“There is a space the orcs call the Bone Ditch,” Dieredon said. “It is the most slender gap of the canyon, and they’ve used it as a burial place for centuries. They had … aid in crossing the Bone Ditch, and then skirted north of the Hillock and the waters of Sully Lake. They now approach the King’s Forest. You must prepare your defenses, and summon whatever troops you can.”

The King’s Forest? Even if they’re just reaching its northern stretches, that means …

“Three days at best,” he muttered. The elf hadn’t been exaggerating. He felt the blood drain from his face. “By Ashhur, three days? That’s not enough time, Dieredon. Even if we had a standing army waiting for us at Felwood or the Green Castle, it’d take us that long just to have our messengers arrive. The only defenders we’ll have are those already within our walls!”

“And how many men is that?” Dieredon asked.

Antonil began to answer, but realized he was taking everything at the scoutmaster’s word. What if he was lying, or trying to sniff out the strength of their defenders?

“Not as many as I would like,” he said, standing up straighter. “But enough to handle these orcs. They’re strong but stupid beasts, and that is all they are. Without ladders and siege weapons, they will break upon our walls. Let them hack at our gates with their axes and swords. It will do them no good.”

Antonil caught the look the elf gave, and it troubled him deeply.

“Unless you know something I do not,” he added, trying to pry it out of him.

The elf crossed his arms, and whatever standoffish attitude he’d had was wiped away. Instead he spoke with a sudden earnestness and honesty that left Antonil stunned, and oddly flattered.

“I should have been here sooner,” he said. “But I feared to let their army out of my sight, and then they moved with far greater speed than I anticipated. Someone is with them, Antonil. I have seen him only in glimpses, clothed in black, but I fear he is a necromancer. He is how they crossed the Bone Ditch, and I believe it is his guidance that has kept the orcs in check. They raid only the nearby farmlands to feed themselves, and have avoided any large cities, or the Green Castle. They’re coming here, and they come with a purpose.”

“He is still just one man,” Antonil argued. “How much power can one man, even a necromancer, possibly wield?”

Dieredon stared him straight in the eye.

“Enough to bring your walls and gates crumbling down. I do not expect a siege, Antonil. I expect a massacre, and I pray it is of the orcs, and not the other way around.”

The elf bowed low, then hopped up onto the back of his winged horse. Antonil stepped closer, feeling dumbstruck, his tired mind frantically trying to make sense of all he’d heard.

“Will you track them still?” he asked, hoping he might gain more information about their foes as they approached.

“No,” Dieredon said, shaking his head. “If I press Sonowin hard, I might reach Nellassar in time to muster the Ekreissar to come to your aid. It won’t be easy, but there’s a chance…”

“I understand,” Antonil said, and he bowed low. “And thank you. Even if there is no time to summon soldiers, we may still save the outlying villages from the raiding orcs. You’ve saved many lives this day.”

“And if the goddess is kind, I will save many more,” Dieredon said. “Peace be with you, Antonil.”

His horse—Sonowin, Antonil assumed—let out a loud snort, and then its wings unfolded, spreading out fifteen feet to either side. With a great whoosh of air they beat once, twice, blowing back Antonil’s hair before he retreated. The creature began running away from the walls, wings still beating, and then it soared into the air, looping about once before heading southeast toward Nellassar, the forest kingdom of the Dezren elves.

Antonil watched until it was a white dot indistinguishable from the clouds, then pulled his attention back down to the ground. An army of orcs, arriving with no time for him to muster troops, and aided by a mysterious necromancer?

“Damn it,” he said, then with more gusto, “Gods fucking damn it!”

There was no time, no time to do anything if what the elf said was true. Worst was how he could not even wait to confirm his story. Waiting meant wasting precious time, and Antonil could think of no reason for Dieredon to lie. What could it possibly gain him? Spinning about, he rushed through the great doors of his city.

“Sir?” asked one of the guards.

Antonil ignored him, picking up his pace. Instead of heading toward the castle, he walked along the wall, toward the nearest of the many guardhouses stationed throughout the city. The building was squat and square, jutting out from the interior of the wall. When Antonil stepped inside, there was barely room for him among the several men seated within at the lone table. Along all the walls were swords and armor for the men to use on their patrols. Seated at the head of the table, ax still strapped to his back, was Antonil’s good friend, the battle-scared veteran Sergan.