“Yes, they would,” said Gilthas quietly, “but all these forces are mortal, as are we, and can only withstand so much.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty. They could not withstand dragon fire, that is certain. Until the dragons arrive, however, we have a breathing space. Even if the dragons were to set the forests aflame, I calculate that it will take ten days for the army to reach Qualinost. That should give you time to institute the plan you outlined for us last night.”
Gilthas sighed deeply and turned his gaze from the Marshal to the brightening sky. He made no response, but silently watched the sun rise.
“Preparations for evacuation should have begun last night,” Medan stated in stern tones.
“Please, Marshal,” said Planchet in a low voice. “You do not understand.”
“He speaks truly. You do not understand, Marshal Medan,” Gilthas said, turning around. “You could not possibly understand. You love this land, you say, but you cannot love it as we do. Our blood runs in every leaf and flower. The blood of every aspen tree flows through our veins. You hear the song of the sparrow, but we understand the words of that song. The axes and flames that fell the trees cut us and scorch us. The poison that kills the birds causes a part of us to die. This morning I must tell my people that they have to leave their homes, homes that trembled in the Cataclysm and yet stood firm. They must leave their bowers and their gardens and their waterfalls and grottos. They must flee, and where will they go?”
“Your Majesty,” said Planchet, “on that score I, too, have good news for you. I received word in the night from the messenger of Alhana Starbreeze. The shield has fallen. The borders of Silvanesti are once more open.”
Gilthas stared in disbelief, not daring to hope. “Can this be possible? Are you certain? How? What happened?”
“The messenger had no details, my lord. He started on his glad journey to bring us the good tidings the moment the elves knew it to be true. The shield is indeed fallen. Alhana Starbreeze walked across the border herself. I am expecting another messenger with more information soon.”
“This is wonderful news,” Gilthas exclaimed, ecstatic. “Our people will go to Silvanesti. Our cousins cannot deny us entry. Once there, we will combine our forces and launch an attack to retake our homeland.”
Seeing Planchet regard him gravely, Gilthas sighed.
“I know, I know. You needn’t remind me. I am leaping ahead of myself. But this joyful news gives me the first hope I have known in weeks. Come,” Gilthas added, leaving the balcony and walking inside his chambers, “we must tell Mother—”
“She sleeps still, Your Majesty,” said Planchet in a low voice.
“No, I do not,” said Laurana. “Or, if I was, I will gladly wake to hear good news. What is this you say? The shield has fallen?”
Exhausted after the flight from her home in the night and a day of hearing nothing but dire news, Laurana had at last been persuaded to sleep. She had her own room in the royal palace, but Medan, fearful of Beryl’s assassins, had given orders that the palace be cleared of all servants, ladies-in-waiting, elven nobility, clerks, and cooks. He had posted elven guards around the palace with orders to allow no one to enter except for himself and his aide. Medan might not have even trusted his aide, except that he knew him to be a Solamnic Knight and loyal to Laurana. Medan had then insisted that Laurana sleep on a couch in Gilthas’s sitting room where her slumbers could be guarded. When Medan had departed for his headquarters, he had left behind the Solamnic, Gerard, as well as her son to watch over her during the night.
“The news is true, Mother,” said Gilthas, coming to stand beside her.
“The shield has fallen.”
“It sounds wonderful,” said Laurana cautiously. “Hand me my dressing gown, Planchet, so that I do not further disturb the Marshal’s sensibilities. I don’t trust the news, however. I find the timing disquieting.”
Laurana’s gown was a soft lilac color with lace at the throat. Her hair poured over her shoulders like warm honey. Her almond-shaped eyes were luminous, as blue as forget-me-nots.
She was older than Medan by many, many years and looked far younger than he did, for the elven summer of youth and beauty diminishes into the winter of old age far more slowly than it does with humans. Watching the Marshal, Gilthas saw in the man’s face not the cool reserve of chivalry, but the pain of love, a hopeless love that could never be returned, could never even be spoken. Gilthas still did not like the Marshal, but this look softened his feelings for the man and even led him to pity him. The Marshal remained staring out the window until he could regain his stern composure.
“Say that the timing is fortuitous, Mother,” urged Gilthas. “The shield falls when we most need it to fall. If there were gods, I would suppose they watch over us.”
“Yet there are no gods,” Laurana replied, wrapping her dressing gown around her. “The gods have left us. So I do not know what to say to this news except be cautious and do not build your hopes upon it.”
“I must tell the people something, Mother,” Gilthas returned impatiently. “I have called a meeting of the Senate this very morning.” He cast a glance at Medan. “You see, my lord, I have not been idle this night. We must begin the evacuation today if we are to have a hope of emptying the city of its thousands. What I must say to our people will be devastating, Mother. I need hope to offer them.”
“‘Hope is the carrot they hang in front of the horse’s nose to keep him plodding on,’“ Laurana murmured.
“What did you say, Mother?” Gilthas asked. “You spoke so softly, I could not hear you.”
“I was thinking of something someone said to me long ago. At the time I thought the person was embittered and cynical. Now I think perhaps he was wise.” Laurana sighed, shook off her memories. “I am sorry, my son. I know this isn’t helping.”
A Knight, Medan’s aide, entered the room. He stood respectfully silent, but it was clear from the tenseness of his posture that he was attempting to gain their attention. Medan was the first to notice him.
“Yes, Gerard, what is it?” Medan asked.
“A trivial matter. I do not want to disturb the Queen Mother,” said Gerard with a bow. “Might we speak in private, my lord? If His Majesty will permit?”
“You have leave,” said Gilthas, and turned back to try to persuade his mother.
Medan, with a bow, withdrew with Gerard, walking out on the balcony of the king’s chamber, overlooking the garden.
Gerard wore the armor of a Dark Knight of Neraka, although he had removed the heavy breastplate for comfort’s sake. He had washed away the blood and other traces of his recent battle with a draconian, but he still looked considerably the worse for wear. No one would have ever called the young Solamnic handsome. His hair was as yellow as corn, his face was scarred with pock-marks, and the addition of numerous fresh bruises, blue and green and purple, rising to the surface, did nothing to enhance his appearance. His eyes were his best feature, an intense, arresting blue. The blue eyes were serious, shadowed, and belied his words about the trivial nature of the interruption.
“One of the guards sent word that two people wait below, both demanding to enter the palace. One is a senator. . . .” He paused, frowning.
“I can’t recall the name—elven names are a muddle to me—but he is tall and had a way of looking down his nose at me as if I were an ant perched on the tip.”