“Watch yourself, my lord,” declared Rathskell, his rapier appearing in his hand as if by magic. The slender tip danced only a foot away from Jarrod’s keg-sized chest.
“Stop it-both of you,” demanded Selinda, stepping between them. The rapier almost brushed her cheek as Rathskell, with a grimace of irritation, yanked his weapon away. Jarrod of Thelgaard drew a deep breath and let his hands drop. She was surprised to see that the big man was trembling. His eyes were wild as he stared past the princess, as if he didn’t even see her. Suddenly she felt afraid but would not allow herself to back away, not in front of these lords whose respect she required.
The tension hung in the room.
“Enough!”
The command roared through the great hall. It was Sir Marckus, the tips of his trailing mustaches quivering in rage.
“By Joli, have your Excellencies forgotten our common cause?” Sir Marckus demanded. “You should be ashamed! The Assassin is loose in the realm! You bicker among yourselves like children while he gets farther and farther away from the justice he so richly deserves! Why…”
Marckus finally seemed to realize that he was addressing his liege, and his liege’s peers. With a visible effort he gained control of his tongue. Dukes Jarrod and Rathskell glared at him, but there had been truth in the captain’s words, and the tension was broken.
“Now, now,” said the Duke of Caergoth. “Let’s sit down and talk about this calmly. The Assassin will turn up again-such evil-doers are nothing if not habitual. We’ll get him soon enough. How about a round of drinks?” He gestured to several stewards, and they hastened to fetch bottles of wine from a nearby rack.
The dukes, with their respective entourages, withdrew toward separate tables. Selinda put her hand on Sir Marckus’s arm as he started after Duke Crawford. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He surprised her by putting his large hand over her small fingers. “No, my lady. Thank you,” he replied softly. She looked into his eyes and was pleased to note a newfound respect.
“Hurry up with that.” Duke Crawford was directing his stewards as the Princess of Palanthas once more took her throne-like chair at the raised table, facing the semicircular arrangement of tables seating Solanthus, Caergoth, and Thelgaard. Jarrod and Rathskell exchanged brief, hostile glances then each huddled with his captains, whispering and muttering as the wine was poured. The Duke of Thelgaard took his glass and half-raised it to his lips, before noticing that everyone else was waiting for Selinda. Slowly, he put the vessel back onto the table.
“Lords, Knights, and Ladies,” the princess began a toast. “Let us not forget the lessons of today-”
She stopped at the sounds of a disturbance. The great doors burst open, and a Knight of the Rose stumbled into the room. His breastplate was dented, his leggings gashed, and a wound on his cheek was crusted with dried blood. Dust covered him in a layer of light brown, and he advanced only far enough to lean both hands upon a table. His eyes, pleading and filled with grief, sought and found the Duke of Caergoth.
“My Lord!” he groaned. “Garnet is sacked and burned! The garrison has fallen to the last man save me. The goblins have come down from the mountains-they are invading the plains!”
“No, by Joli!” bellowed Jarrod of Thelgaard, leaping to his feet.
“When did this happen?” Selinda asked loudly.
“Three days since, my lady,” the knight replied, noticing the princess among the dukes for the first time. He stood straight, seeming to find strength at the sight of her. “They came in the hour before nightfall. Thousands of them, for certain-they streamed into the town from three sides at once. We had scant warning-a half a day. Sir Mikel sent as many of the women and children away as he could, making for both Thelgaard and Solanthus.”
“Take some water or wine. Then you will need to tell us more,” Selinda said gently.
The knight took a deep draught. When he looked at her, his eyes filled with anguish. “Lady,” he said, “I wanted to stay there with him, shoulder to shoulder with Sir Mikel and my comrades to the end. He ordered me to flee, and I refused. He bade me go upon the Oath and the Measure that word of the disaster could reach the dukes. I could not but obey.”
“You did right by your captain and by the Order of the Rose,” the princess replied. “Now, tell us all you know about this army. How many thousands? What manner of troops?”
The knight nodded, reflecting for several moments. “They were more a mob, Lady. No companies, regiments, brigades. Just a rampaging mob. I should guess something like four or five thousand-compared to some of the armies I saw in the War of Souls. Goblins, mostly. Some hobs, of course. Howling and screaming like madmen, tearing with claws-even feasting on the dead! They were led by a great brute, an ogre or giant I should say. They chanted his name: I will never forget it. Ankhar. Ankhar!” His tone grew bitter. “They chanted ‘Ankhar!’ as they swarmed in on the forlorn city and as I rode away into the night.”
“Did you see the direction of their march from Garnet?”
“They followed me as far as the upper ford of the Vingaard, Lady. I don’t know if they were pursuing me or if we simply traveled in the same direction. From the western bluff the next morning I could see their raiding parties extending along the bank, so I could not say where the army as a whole is going.”
“The Upper Ford!” Duke Jarrod’s voice was hoarse, and the color had all but drained from his face. “That places them only two days’ march from my own hall. War is upon us!”
“Thelgaard be damned,” cried Rathskell. “They can march up the Vingaard and reach Solanthus by tomorrow night! Captain Rankin-muster your company! Get the squires to the horses-we ride for home within the hour!”
Jarrod, too, was already spurring his knights into a frenzy of activity. Captains and sergeants ran from the hall, heralds hauled down the traveling banners. The two dukes were soon ready to leave but not before addressing Caergoth and the princess.
“Crawford-you must put your army in the field!” pleaded Jarrod of Thelgaard. “I have two thousand under my command. If you come from the west, we can smash the bastards between us.”
“Yes. That is, unless they go north,” Duke Crawford acknowledged.
“Then Solanthus will fall!” snapped Rathskell. “I have but two thousand swords in my own companies and twice as many villages to hold as Thelgaard. You can’t leave us to the wolves!”
“No, of course not,” Selinda answered for Caergoth. She looked at him earnestly. “How soon can you march?”
He blinked. “Well, I could put a force into the field, of course, but not for at least ten days. I will have to call in my own garrisons from the outlying villages. Can’t leave the city unprotected, you know. Not when there’s such evil afoot!”
“Ten days!” spluttered Jarrod. Rathskell narrowed his eyes coldly.
“Surely you can move more quickly than that,” Selinda said encouragingly. “The goblins are hundreds of miles from Caergoth, on the very doorsteps of our two great allies. Thelgaard is right about one thing-if you bring your army east, you can be the anvil on which the enemy horde is crushed.”
Her eyes swept over them as she spoke. “You must use all three of your armies, together. March in coordination, and there is no way that a ‘mob’ of raiders can stand against you!” She asked Caergoth, again, “How soon can you march?”
The duke gulped. “I can do my best to put the vanguard into the field by the day after tomorrow,” he said. He glanced at his captain. “That is, if Sir Marckus deems it feasible.”
“It is feasible, my Lord,” the knight said, his face inscrutable.
It was an hour later, after the parties of both Thelgaard and Solanthus had departed, that Selinda went to look for the captain of her own escort of guards. She found Sir Powell in the duke’s game room, looking over the unusual battlefield display with its thousands of miniature soldiers, and all their horses, catapults and wagons, deployed across imitation hills and streams. The knight captain snapped to attention as she entered.