The Coming Storm (74 page)

Taking a breath, Elon pointed.

“Here.”

Colbreath.

It was a natural funnel with the high stony country of the Dwarven lands to the east and a small mountain range to the west that stretched out from above Aerilann down to the upper heartlands. If they were going to stop them before they reached the heartlands themselves, they would have to stop them there.

He raised his eyes to meet Ailith’s. Hers were steady as they met his but dark with pain, with loss.

With a quick reassuring look to him, though, she nodded before she turned her gaze to Daran. She lifted her chin.

Challenge met.

Satisfaction bloomed deep and strong. However Daran looked at it, he won.

She was young, yes, so they might not obey her. In which case, he’d simply name another commander and was still well rid of the first. If they did, though, how much more useless could she be then the worthless fop that had that command now? However,  if she succeeded, the disowned Heir to a lesser Kingdom, it would shame the other commanders into besting her. Which suited him as well. He wanted them shamed and brought to heel.

If it was also a slap at Elon, to remind him who was High King here, so much the better.

In either or any case, Daran couldn’t lose.

 “Guards.”

He sent one running to summon the Hunters and Woodsmen. With a nod, he assigned the other two to her.

Without daring to think too much about it, Ailith gave a quick look to Elon. His eyes were dark and nearly unreadable.

Nearly.

Her heart ached.

The understanding and concern as she met Colath’s eyes helped steady her. There was worry for her there, too.

Jalila’s dark eyes showed the same comprehension and concern.

As hard as he tried, Jareth couldn’t tear his eyes away from the map and the small token at the forefront. The one that designated Ailith’s new command.

It didn’t take a military genius to know how dangerous her position would be. A cold chill settled over him. He couldn’t credit it and so he didn’t see her look at him, nor did he see her leave.

He just looked up and she was gone.

Jareth looked at Elon. “Do you need me here?”

He glanced toward the tent flap. There was someplace he was needed more. He would go with Ailith, since she would need his skills more there. In the vanguard.

Trust Ailith, he thought, to go there, to the front lines.

Elon looked at him. Another at the front. At least Ailith wouldn’t be alone and neither would Jareth.

Thank you, old friend, Elon thought but didn’t say. If he had the chance, he would say it later. He shook his head.

“Go.”

Jalila looked at him, tilted her head in the same direction. Here, too. It was both a fear and a relief.

Taking a breath, he nodded. If need be, Jalila would get to him from anywhere.

Footsteps approached from outside. Daran gestured at another page, who scurried back into the depths of the royal tent.

“I’ve summoned all the lesser Kings – the ones who’ve already arrived, others will join us on the march – and my generals, when I received word you’d arrived,” Daran said, as the page returned with the High King’s Crown carefully balanced on a velvet pillow.

Elon was relieved to see it was the smaller of the two crowns, yet still heavily encrusted with jewels.

Settling the crown on his head, Daran said to the boy, “Send to the cooks, tell them we’re ready. There will be food and drink shortly, Elon.”

One of the guards brushed back the tent flaps. “Lord Effron of the Lakes.”

A heartlands Kingdom, Elon knew, from the plains north of Doncerric. He was surprised they could muster any levees at all.

He was the first. One by one, Kings and Queens and their staff trickled in, each announced formally as they entered.

As one, the generals arrived, arranged according to rank and position – a bad sign. It had taken time but Elon had learned that such things would lurk in the background, a hidden undercurrent that would drown all debate and logic as each fought for primacy, for points and power.

The time wasted by such protocol was foolish – but necessary in the society of men.

Were it not for the example of Jareth, a few others and now Ailith, he would have thought it true of all of them.

He didn’t miss the poorly concealed glances of both dismay and distrust as they noted his presence. He was well used to it. The looks given to Colath were less readable and more difficult to comprehend.

At his shoulder, Colath shifted slightly.

Geric.

A single glance passed between Elon and Geric.

That one, however, said nothing, his brown eyes still, blank and muddy, unreadable.

Nor could Elon himself speak, without proof and without danger to Ailith.

Who controlled Geric now? Or, with the soul gone and built of Tolan’s example, had some new entity come to rest within the remains?

There was no answer to that, only time would tell.

By the time the meeting truly began, darkness had settled, the tent was crowded and the depth of the difficulty Daran faced and Elon now accepted, was apparent.

It took nearly all his powers of persuasion and a delicate balancing of tact and diplomacy against Elven honor to simply handle Daran himself, much less some of these others. Prickly and sometimes more than a little impatient, there were no few times when Daran had to bring his own considerable wiles to bear to circumvent the effect of his own words, where Elon couldn’t. Nor did Elon miss the calculating look in those black eyes as Daran manipulated one against another. Among these folk, with their obfuscations and elaborations, his own directness caused no little resentment as well. It couldn’t be helped. Changes had to be made.

As currently laid out, resources were wasted or weighted too heavily to one side or another. Reorganization was necessary.

As the weight of even this small crown bore down and seemed to tighten around his brow, Daran was glad, now, that he hadn’t brought the formal State Crown – as much of a masterpiece of the jeweler’s art that it was. He blessed his own wisdom in commissioning both, this one a cut down version of the other.

Or was it the endless futile yammering that caused his head to ache?

Could no one agree on anything
?

Not even those few Kings he’d counted on for their sense seemed to show any this day.

Time and again Daran looked at that impassive Elven face and wished it showed a breath of the frustration he himself felt but, as always, it gave away nothing. The dark eyes were still, either focused on the speaker or on the map, letting the endless words and debate roll over and past him. In a way, that was frustrating in and of itself. Whatever thoughts or emotions went on behind those enigmatic Elven eyes, nothing showed.

It was impossible not to respect that Elven sense of honor but Daran was High King of all Men, First of the Three. Deep within him there was a small burning resentment at how much he had to rely on that sense of honor, on Elon’s impeccable reputation for integrity and for the eloquence that even now bent more than a few to the path Daran wanted and needed them to follow.

Hard as it was, Daran swallowed it. If it hadn’t been for Elon’s assistance, there would be no Agreement and no legacy. And Daran wanted that legacy. He wanted to be guaranteed his place in history, to be remembered for all time as one of the great High Kings, if not the greatest.

This war he suddenly found himself in the midst of – and which he had his own doubts about – could ruin that legacy. He would swallow anything, ignore anything, to keep that legacy alive. To do that, he must be seen as a leader. To do that, he must win this war. To do that, he had to rely on Elon of Aerilann, however much he both admired and resented him.

 Someday the Annals of the Kingdoms would record these days as the golden years of the reign of Daran, High King and First of the Three, he would make sure of it.

Jareth and Jalila caught up to Ailith, falling in on either side of her between her and the two guards before she’d gone more than a hundred paces. Gratitude nearly overwhelmed her.

“Gwillim used to say that only a fool volunteered. You would think I was the only foolish one in this place,” she said. She sighed as she looked from one to the other. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

She had lieutenants now, that would help.

The Commander’s tent was huge, more like a pavilion than a tent. Not as large as Daran’s it was, however, much brighter – brilliant slices of orange and lemon yellow. At least it was made of light Elven-silk but it was still sizable all the same. It might as well have had big targets painted on it. It was far too big for a disposable commander in the vanguard. She was under no illusions. Shaking her head in dismay she waved her warrant from Daran at the guards to get her passage inside despite their reluctance.

Once inside, she understood their hesitation. The commander was in bed. A real bed. Full size. With a real straw and feather mattress. No wonder they couldn’t move. It would take an hour to take the thing apart.

Going into battle like this? No wonder his people wouldn’t follow him
.

He wasn’t alone, he was quite naked and preoccupied with the doxy in his bed.

Oblivious to intrusion, he waved at the guards distractedly. “Go away.”

“You’re relieved of command,” Ailith said, sharply.

“I what?” The young dandy in the bed turned and goggled at her.

“Relieved of command. Orders of the High King. Get up, get dressed and get out. If you’re not out by the time I return, Daran High King will know why.”

She gestured. Turning on her heel, she walked back outside as Jareth tried to restrain laughter.

Looking at the two guards she said, “You heard?”

They nodded.

“Whatever he needs, just get him out.”

Don’t ask, just give orders and expect they’ll be carried out. If they aren’t, demand to know why.
Such had been father’s advice from long ago. From the time when he’d still been himself. Her heart twisted.

Ailith snapped orders.

The Hunters and Woodsmen appeared even as she directed the removal of the huge tent to replace it with a far more reasonable one and one to each side of it for Jareth and Jalila. All three took up about the same space as the first. Yet there was still room within hers for a small meeting space separate from the sleeping area.

She looked over the Hunters and Woodsmen and their horses, then nodded greeting.

“You’re attached to me now, by High King Daran’s orders. To all of you I’m Ailith of Riverford. I served with Gwillim. This army need scouts and you’re the best for the job. All of you know the kind of borderlands creatures you’ve hunted for years. You’re looking for them but this time looking only and looking for numbers of them. You’re our eyes. No contact, none, simply see and report back as quickly as you can. No heroes. If we have no eyes ahead of us, the army can’t see.”

She gestured behind her. “Those behind you, they now depend on you. Any questions?”

Heads shook. “Good. Daybreak tomorrow I’ll need your officers. Remember, your job isn’t to get killed. See and report directly back to me or to Jalila. Get some rest while you can, we may not get much of it from this point forward.”

Daylight had settled into twilight. Already campfires were lit and the air was fragrant with wood smoke and cooking stew. Her stomach was too tight for food yet.

By that time the men and women of the company were formed up. More or less. It was more than a little ragged around the edges. That would improve.

“My name is Ailith,” she shouted from astride Smoke. “I’m now your company commander. I understand you are the slowest company of this entire army.”

Mouths dropped.

No platitudes or homilies nor buying their cooperation with unearned approval.

“I would like to see that disproved.”