“Listen to the prince!” said Laka, shaking the skull-on-a-stick so that the teeth clattered.
“Crowns have returned to Thelgaard,” the half-giant noted, scratching his massive jaw. “That place ripe for taking. Keep is strong, but city walls low and incomplete. Too many Crowns die at the Battle of the Crossings. Not be many fighters there. What you think mother? Does Prince wish me to attack Thelgaard?”
In reply, the old shaman shook the skull again, a rattle so vigorous it looked as though she was trying to shake the firmly mounted trophy off of the end of her wand. The ghastly face merely bobbed, once again its jaw clattering.
“Treasures piled high
“ ’yond walls that are thick,
“Take your war there,
“ ’Ere trophies, they slip.”
Laka shook the talisman some more, but no more words emerged, and gradually the emerald light faded from the eye-sockets.
“What he mean? Thelgaard’s walls not thick-little treasure there, if we believe Cornellus.”
“These words of Prince,” the crone said, reaching up bony fingers to caress the broad jowl of her adopted son. “You must understand.”
The commander turned away from the warmth of the fire, from the tenderness of the old witch. He stroked his chin, looking at the vast plains spreading below. When he spoke next, Laka could discern his words, but she sensed that Ankhar was speaking more to himself. He raised a hand, pointed generally to the west.
“Thelgaard there. Three days march away.”
He swivelled to the right, pointing toward that horizon. “Solanthus there. Five days march away. Solanthus got great, thick walls. Much treasure.”
He chuckled, like a rumble of distant thunder.
“I understand the Prince. Crowns have been defeated. Time we destroy Swords and take riches.” Ankhar turned to his foster mother, who was regarding him through eyes that were brighter than the red moon nearly full in the night sky. She licked her lips, nodding happily.
“Tomorrow we march on Solanthus,” the commander said, with a self-satisfied nod.
Duke Rathskell of Solanthus was a brave man, but now he lay awake and whimpered into the darkness of his bedchamber like a terrified child. Never in his life had a dream terrified him so much as the nightmare that had just shook his mind. He found himself trembling, drenched in a chilly sweat, and everywhere he looked in his candlelit bedchamber he spotted the shadows of bogeymen, horrific monsters, and cruel, tormenting assassins.
He knew Ankhar was coming, the enemy horde marching out of the mountains toward Solanthus, but, strangely, that wasn’t the worst aspect of the threat. He could barely remember what it was exactly that had terrified him so. He only recalled some vague threat regarding his trove of gleaming gems, the great chests of his treasure, full of the fabled Stones of Garnet.
Had somebody threatened his treasures? Surely that would not have caused him such intense terror! He felt as though more than his treasure was at stake; his life, his very soul, was imperiled.
Only then did he hear the humming, the persistent drone that augured a summons from the sacred mirror. He knew where to find the source of that sound: It would be glimmering in the secret alcove of his bedroom. Alarmed at how loud the humming was, the duke looked to his side, breathing a sigh of relief.
The duchess, his lovely young plaything, slept soundly beside him in the great bed, snoring gently as the duke, his heart pounding, slipped from beneath his covers and went over to the alcove where the magical artifact was gradually coming to life. He pushed the panel to open the hidden door. Nervously glancing over his shoulder, the nobleman-a Knight of the Sword, a veteran of wars and revolution-pulled shut the door so that his wife would not wake and discover his secrets.
Only then did he take a seat on the cushioned chair, striking a match and lighting a pair of candles-not so that he could see the mirror but so that the mirror could see him.
Composing himself, mopping the sweat from his brow, he pulled down the velvet cloth that covered the mirror. He confronted an image there that was not a reflection.
“My lord duke,” said His Excellency, Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne. “My time is valuable-you have kept me waiting too long! Didn’t you hear my summons?”
“I beg your Excellency’s pardon,” said Rathskell, trying to keep a calm expression, even as new drops of sweat formed on his forehead. He dared not mop them away, could only hope that his image in the mirror would not reveal every imperfection. “I was sleeping and needed a few moments’ time to wake up.”
“Sleeping? It is not yet midnight! Bah, I am two decades older than you, and my work keeps me busy into the small hours of the night. You would do well to take that lesson from me, Duke.”
“Indeed, Excellency. I shall try to exercise greater diligence. It’s just that there is so much to do…” This time Rathskell was unable to stop himself from mopping his trickling sweat. “I most humbly apologize. It shall not happen again! If only I did not need to conceal my activities from the one who shares my chambers…”
“You know women are not to be trusted, not with such secrets as we possess. If the slut is not capable of restraining her curiosity, you must see that she sleeps elsewhere!”
“Yes, of course, my lord!” If the duke was distressed by the regent’s characterization of his wife, he gave no hint.
“Let us turn our attention to your responsibilities, then,” said the Lord Regent. “Are you aware that the forces of the Crown are defeated, cowering within the walls of Thelgaard. That Caergoth, too, has retired, taken his army south of the Garnet River again?”
“Indeed, my lord? I knew Thelgaard was routed most ignobly by the horde of the half-giant. Half his men killed, the rest falling back to the walls of his city. He refused, my lord-absolutely refused-to cooperate with me on a rational plan of defense. Caergoth was still on the field with a considerable force, while I was compelled to return to my own bastion-I did not want the barbaric rascals to get between me and my own fortifications.”
“Good course, that. Prudent, in the event. Thelgaard is a fool, and our path to empire will only be paved when he has been replaced by someone more capable and reliable. You should not risk your own army until the others’ forces have been exhausted. At the same time, you should encourage them to inflict damage upon the enemy.”
“Indeed, lord. Though it seems that Thelgaard inflicted precious little upon the foe. Have your agents informed you how Caergoth is faring?”
“Yes. He has retired to his city, driven by timidity and indecision. Your own city will be the next target of the enemy.”
The duke mumbled his agreement, shivering-for this was the very revelation that had stalked him in his most recent dream. The Lord Regent’s next words surprised him, however.
“If Solanthus falls to the goblins, it is no loss-we can retake it when we desire. However, it is important that the treasures of the vault be retained, for the good of the knighthood. Therefore, you must empty your treasury and bring the Stones of Garnet to safety. I hereby order you to bring those stones to Palanthas for safekeeping.”
“My lord!” Solanthus was appalled. “The risks of such a journey!”
He remembered what it was that had shaken him to the core. In his dream he had been trapped with the stones, here in the city! Both he and his treasure had been doomed by the surrounding horde! Surely that was the meaning of the dream. The Lord Regent was right-he needed to get them out of here for safekeeping!
“Very well, Excellency.” The duke tried to conceal how unsettled he was. In the face of such dire portents it seemed that fleeing with his riches was the only way to preserve his life and his fortune.
“Be quick and secretive about this,” instructed the lord. “You know the White Witch has been asking persistent questions, making a pest of herself, as usual. Give her wide berth.”
“She is wily, the Lady Coryn,” agreed Rathskell. “If she presses me, I do not know if I can thwart her.”