The lord marshal shrugged. “Ankhar’s army has suffered terrible losses-it will be days, at the least, before it can recover enough to make any kind of attack. By then my army should be across the Vingaard in force. If Ankhar stays put, we’ll be ready to hit him from the rear and-with fortune-break his army for once and for all.”
“Very well-but make haste!” said the nobleman, descendent of a long line of noblemen.
Jaymes merely stared at him coldly for a long time until Lord Harbor finally harrumphed, mumbled something, turned, and walked away.
“We’re grateful that you came,” Sir Martin said. “The cost has been high, but without you the battle surely would have been lost, with the effects catastrophic.”
“Your son was a very brave man, a credit to the Kingfishers,” Jaymes said. “I will see that word of his valor is carried to Sancrist, to the Whitestone Council and the Grand Master.”
“Thank you, my Lord Marshal.” For just a moment, Martin’s voice broke. Then he stood firm, at attention, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Est Sularus oth Mithas,” he said.
Generals Markus, Dayr, and Rankin rode together near the head of their massive combined army. They were making good progress, the enemy troops having fallen back all across the plains as soon as the river crossing was consolidated. Solanthus lay no more than forty miles ahead, and they were driving their troops at double time in their urge to close upon the city, break the siege, and learn what had become of the lord marshal.
Their eyes were fixed upon the horizon, seeking their first sign of the enemy or the besieged city. What they saw instead was a horror, a monstrous figure of fire and earth, wind and water, which strode across the plains like a rampaging storm. It howled down upon their vanguard, scattering the light cavalry that was screening the advance.
The generals ordered their troops to stand firm, but the hulking elemental king came on like a whirlwind, mowing through the lines. Men screamed and died, hurled through the air like chaff and smashed to the ground like children’s toys. Hundreds died, and many more fled in terror when it became apparent they could do nothing to impede the monster. The great herds of horses and cattle that accompanied the army broke away from their drovers and fled in panic, thousands of animals stampeding across the plains.
Many survived only because the horrific monster swooped down on them, tore through the lines, and moved on. It did not so much as glance over its shoulder as it stormed on, taking no more note of its pathetic victims than a tornado would notice the shattered and broken farms left damaged and ruined in its wake.
“Really?” Moptop’s eyes were wide. “You want me to go?”
“There’s no one else who would even have a chance,” Jaymes affirmed with a straight face. “This task calls for a professional guide and pathfinder extraordinaire.”
“Well, sure, if you want me to, I’ll go.” The kender nodded his head, his topknot bobbing enthusiastically. He and Jaymes were speaking together in the shadow of the Cleft Spires, even as the funeral for the duchess was proceeding through the city’s great central square. The lord marshal had brought Moptop here with a whispered word then leaned down and spoken conspiratorially to the kender.
“You know, I think she would have wanted me to go, too,” Moptop said seriously, looking out across the plaza at Duchess Brianna’s funeral procession, with the hearse pulled by a dozen black horses. The vast sea of people had parted, almost magically, to open a path for the hearse. The crowd watched, mostly in silence, though there were enough murmured prayers that the whole throng seemed to be softly chanting.
“I’m sure she would have.”
“But… I just remembered something! When we came out of the Cleft Spires, the wall turned real solid and rocky behind us, remember? I don’t think I can get back through that way. Too solid and rocky.” The kender gazed apprehensively at the tall pillars and their impermeable surface of flat, hard stone.
“No, I doubt that you can.”
“Then how do you think I should go about it?” Moptop asked, his voice wavering. “Considering, I have to go… I know she would want me to, and everything. But- how? ”
“As I said, you’re the very best professional guide and pathfinder extraordinaire,” Jaymes said. He touched the little fellow’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging squeeze. “I’m thinking you’ll have to discover a new path.”
A palace servant ushered Jaymes back to the guest chamber, which he had never slept in, and when he entered, alone, he closed the door behind himself and locked it
After a quick look around the room, he pulled the curtains away from the wall, checked inside the two large wardrobes, and went to the panel concealing the secret passage connecting this room to the sleeping chamber of the duchess. The door opened soundlessly. He took an oil lamp from a nearby table, lit it, and entered the narrow, straight corridor. The door slid shut behind him, and he made his way quickly.
When he reached the other end of the corridor, he placed his ear to the panel and listened for a moment, hearing nothing. Carefully he opened the secret door and stepped into the sleeping chamber of Duchess Brianna. He halted just inside, extinguished the lamp, and set it down. The drapes were open on the large windows, revealing a view to the west and a spectacular sunset over the area that had, hours earlier, been a bloody battleground.
The room was very much as he had left it that very morning. The bed had been made, the two wine glasses and empty decanter removed, but there was no obvious sign that the person who had lived here would not be returning at any moment. He hesitated, looking at the bed and the gauzy dressing gown draped casually over a nearby chair.
After a moment Jaymes crossed the room to the elegant, mirrored dressing table. He almost flinched at the sight of himself in that reflecting glass: he was dirty, his beard was plastered to his chin, and one eye was nearly swollen shut from a blow he’d taken during the fighting. His hands were filthy, too, and he hesitated again before touching the pearl handle on one of the lady’s dresser drawers.
But finally he took the delicate handle, so clearly designed for a lady’s slender fingers, and pulled open the drawer. Within lay a collection of gloves, in pairs, ranging from white and elegant to shiny black leather. Each pair was folded neatly, all of them nestled in rows. He lifted out a pair made of white silk, raised them to his face, and gently inhaled.
There was a hint of perfume, or perhaps it was only soap. It was a sweet and alluring scent, and the knuckles of his fingers whitened as he clenched the white silk gloves very tightly. Gently he folded them and tucked them into an interior fold of his smoke-stained, sooty tunic. He carefully closed the drawer and picked up the lamp. Without bothering to light it, he passed through the secret door and retraced his steps through the passage to his own room.
Now there was nothing left for him to do in Solanthus. He adjusted his kit and made certain that he had the helm of mind reading, his crossbows, and his great sword all carefully stowed. When he was ready, he touched the ring of teleportation on his left hand, turning the circlet on his finger as Coryn had shown him. He pictured the lord mayor’s palace in Palanthas, and particularly those rooms that belonged to the Princess Selinda.
Then he enabled the magic. A soft puff of air blew into the room, coming under the door, filling the empty place from where the lord marshal had just disappeared.
“You!” Jaymes barked in surprise.
He stood in the magical laboratory of Coryn the White’s house, right outside the alcove where she kept her porcelain bowl. His eyes narrowed as the wizard approached.
“You brought me here?” he accused.
“Instead of the chambers of that silly wench you’ve bewitched?” she asked. She picked up a rag and dipped it in a bucket of water that just happened to be resting on her bench then tossed the cloth at him. “Here,” she said. “Clean yourself up, and then we have to talk.”