“Er, I’m sorry, my lady,” he said in embarrassment. “The time has passed more quickly than I realized. I should have been about my duties. I know the conference has ended unexpectedly and the dukes have gone to battle, but I lingered here, curious to see if this table really existed. People gossip about it, but it is even more elaborate than I could have imagined.”
“Yes. Caergoth is quite proud of it,” the princess said. “There is no need to apologize. I need to talk to you about something.”
When the conference had so abruptly ended, she had thought of the galleons and of embarking on the sea voyage home, and her terror had returned and grown. She no longer debated her instincts-she had decided she was not getting aboard the ship.
“Lady,” the captain was saying. “If I may be bold, your father would be proud of the way you exercised your influence today.”
“Why, thank you, Sigmund,” she said, pleased at the compliment. “I didn’t want to waste any time, considering events. I want to change our plans for a return to Palanthas.”
“Well, of course, Lady,” Sir Powell said. “Of course, I immediately issued the orders. It will take a day or two to provision the ships, but we should be able to depart very soon.”
“That’s just it. Of course, we must dispatch the ships back to Father at once and send word about Garnet and this fellow Ankhar. But I have decided to return to Palanthas overland. On horseback.”
Sir Powell looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. He blinked a few times and appeared to be straining for breath. “My lady!” he finally said. His lips continued to move, but no other words came forth.
“I am sure you will attend to the requisite security arrangements,” she continued. “Of course, we can take the Westway along the foothills of the Vingaards. That will keep us far from the goblins. I don’t think Father would approve if we were to follow the route of the Vingaard River. Would he?”
“No!” he croaked. “Of course not! But, my lady-”
“Oh, it will be perfectly safe. Besides, Gennard. If I am to be the Lady Regent of Solamnia someday, then I should really have a look at those fabled plains with my own eyes, should I not?”
“Yes, my lady.” He already felt defeated, and she had to suppress an urge to give him a hug. He seemed impressed at her decisiveness, too, as he nodded in resignation.
“Yes, you should,” he concluded.
The Dukes of Solanthus and Thelgaard were gone, along with their knights. The princess and her guards would depart, traveling overland in the morning. Duke Crawford of Caergoth was back in his game room, alone with his table of miniatures-and the image of Lord Regent du Chagne in the mirror hidden in the small alcove.
“We shouldn’t get too worked up about a simple band of raiders,” the lord told his duke. “Garnet is small loss-they have rejected our protection, and this is their just desserts. For now, let Solanthus and Thelgaard prove themselves by handling the wretches-they weren’t very cooperative at the council anyway.”
“Indeed, lord. They deserve your rebuke. Though I did give them my word that I would march, with some haste.”
“Bah-let them stew!” du Chagne said. “They will learn that they cannot flaunt the will of their master! Besides, an expedition to the east will be terribly expensive. Better to wait and see if they can take care of matters without you.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Crawford. “I will postpone my deployments.”
The mirror darkened, but the duke waited until late in the evening to summon his knight captains. Sir Marckus and Sir Reynaud found their liege still in the gaming room, advancing a legion of heavy cavalry against the flank of an enemy formation. If the captains noticed that the opposing formation was comprised of Thelgaard’s knights rather than a goblin horde, they were wise enough to refrain from comment.
“I have been thinking…” the duke began, as Marckus and Reynaud stood patiently by.
“Yes, Excellency,” the captains replied dutifully.
“A hasty deployment might lead to mistakes. Even disastrous mistakes.”
The knights remained silent. Reynaud nodded approvingly. Marckus’s eyes were unreadable below his thick bushy brows.
“The princess has announced that she will depart in the morning, escorted by one hundred knights under Captain Powell.”
“Indeed, Excellency,” Marckus replied. “Your own legion, nearly six thousand men, will be ready to march to the east a few hours later.”
“You see. That is what has me worried. I don’t want to send those men willy-nilly in one direction, only to find out that we really need them somewhere else.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my lord. As of three days ago, we know the ogre horde was in Garnet.”
“They could have withdrawn back into the mountains,” Reynaud observed coolly. “Then the whole operation would be a colossal waste.”
“Correct,” the duke noted. “I think the legion should not march tomorrow. I have decided to wait two more days for more information. You know, so we don’t make a terrible mistake.”
“My lord!” said Sir Marckus, for the first time betraying an urgency in his voice. “Thelgaard and Solanthus are expecting you. They may be hard pressed! The situation is unpredictable!”
“That’s exactly right. These goblins. Well, they’re just evil. And unpredictable. We need to wait and see where they are headed, what they are trying to do, before we commit my legion.” He looked at Marckus out of the corner of his eyes, as if to gauge his captain’s level of resistance. Once again, the knight’s face was an impassive mask.
“Good. Then we’re understood. The legion will march two days after tomorrow.” He frowned, scratching his smooth chin. “That is, unless we need more time after that…”
The Nightmaster had agents everywhere in Caergoth, from the loftiest noble’s tower to the most miserable dungeon. His spies had told him the galleons of Palanthas were reprovisioning, would leave for home within another day or two. Now came word that the ships would not be carrying their most important passenger.
The priest, shrouded in mist and wearing his masking red robe, stood on the parapet of his secret temple, peering anxiously into the cold light of dawn. The city’s great gate rumbled open, and the Nightmaster watched the long column of riders depart toward the north, starting onto the wide plains of Solamnia. In the middle of that file he clearly saw the Princess of Palanthas.
One of his agents had done his job very, very well.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Where are we?” Dram asked, staggering slightly from the lingering disorienting effect of Coryn’s magic. Sulfie and Carbo hugged each other and looked around in sheer terror, while Jaymes regarded the surroundings through narrowed eyes.
They stood in a tangle of knee-high brush, half-circled by an unkempt hedge. Flagstones marked a path around both sides of the foliage, though creepers and vines now ruled the gaps between the flat rocks, covering some completely, obscuring parts of them all.
They were on a gentle-sloped bluff just above a great river valley to the south and west. In the near foreground, a magnificent stone bridge crossed that river, a span nearly half a mile long boasting a smooth, paved highway that passed very near to their location before descending to the northern terminus. Beyond, on the south side, the highway curved sharply westward, vanishing in the distance.
“Same bridge we crossed,” Dram noted, “not long ago-about two days out of Caergoth. Quite a piece of engineering, it is.”
“It was built by dwarves, you know,” Coryn said. “Back in the days when Solamnia was a true empire.”
“Mighta known, about the dwarves I mean,” replied Dram, pleased. “It’ll stand for another thousand years, at least.”