“And what of me? My station-my house-my gold? I suppose you intend to claim everything eventually?” The lord regent patted at the sheen of sweat on his balding head with a handkerchief. “I’ve suspected it all along: you intend to ruin me!”
“Whether you are ruined or not is of little concern to me. But you should understand that you have brought all this upon yourself,” said the marshal with a shrug. “It was foolish to put Lord Frankish in a position where I had no choice but to kill him. It was he who challenged me, but I am certain you were behind his foolhardy attempt on my life.”
“But I have granted you command of his legion!” du Chagne retorted. “As for my daughter, I don’t know what kind of hex you’ve placed upon her, but-”
Jaymes reached out his fist and pounded it on the desk, causing the regent to recoil with a squeal. The marshal’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he seemed to be controlling his temper only with visible effort. His hands were shaking as he drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at the pudgy man who was the father of his bride.
“Matters between your daughter and myself are not your concern,” he said sharply. “You will do well to remember that in the future. I told you that your welfare or ruin is no concern of mine, but if you try to block my plans, if you try to obstruct me…” He laughed once, a bark of contempt. “Well, you saw what happened to your assassin… and what happened to your three dukes when they tried to challenge me. Next time, my steel will be seeking your own heart. Consider yourself warned, dear father-in-law.”
Chuckling, the lord marshal walked around the large office, stopping to admire the view from the windows. Du Chagne stared at him but said nothing, nor did he attempt to rise from his chair. The first rays of the sun spilled from beneath a layer of golden clouds, casting the entire valley-the city and the bay-in a shimmering, almost ethereal glow.
The scene of transcendent beauty went unnoticed by du Chagne.
“As for this”-Jaymes gestured, encompassing the palace, the city, all the view in sight-“you can keep it. I have no interest in your station nor, believe or not, your gold. Except, of course, what may be necessary to fund military operations. That bill you will continue to pay.”
The lord regent merely glowered. There was nothing, really, that he could say. Jaymes walked to the door, turned the handle, and glanced back at du Chagne.
“The wedding will occur this evening. For reasons that I don’t fully understand, Selinda wants you to be present. So can I expect you on your best behavior?”
For several breaths the regent’s jaw worked, but his mouth couldn’t seem to form words. Finally, he nodded curtly. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
Generals Dayr, Markus, and Rankin led their separate columns eastward across the Plains of Solamnia, moving as swiftly as their exhausted troops could march and their weary knights could ride. The outposts of Ankhar’s army had no choice but to fall back before them, for without the river as a defensive barrier, they were too widely scattered to oppose. If these units-mainly goblin riders and human mercenaries-had not retreated, the mobile columns of knights would have isolated and destroyed them.
However, each of the three army wings had been brutalized by the costly river crossing; then the combined force had been shocked and battered by the passage of the monstrous elemental being. Even though the Solamnic troops had not directly confronted the creature, it had inflicted a thousand casualties in a matter of moments.
Now hundreds of wounded were being tended by clerics in a great hospital camp set up on the west bank of the river. Many supplies had been expended or lost in the crossing or burned by the elemental. Food, spare weapons, and medical resources were in short supply.
General Dayr’s Crown Army had been reduced to less than half its starting strength. The shower of arrows had killed many men in their boats, and countless others had drowned when the frail little crafts had capsized. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, the Crowns had been forced to lick their wounds on the west bank and were able to cross at a ford only when the goblin cavalry had withdrawn to avoid being outflanked.
The Sword Army of General Rankin had not lost quite as many of its rank and file, but his elite knights had been shattered in the charges against Blackgaard’s pikemen. Their courage had been epic, but their tactics disastrous. The steady lines of the defenders, their tight discipline, enabled the long weapons to gut hundreds of horses and pierce the flesh of nearly as many riders. The pathetic remnant of Sword Knights accompanying the columns of infantry eastward effectively numbered only a few hundred now.
General Markus and the Army of the Rose had fared a little better than their northern counterparts, but even that force had been considerably reduced. In addition to the casualties suffered in the crossing, Markus had been forced to detach a sizable contingent to screen the army from the prospect of attack from the Garnet Mountains.
That range was Ankhar’s home territory, and he had used the forested slopes and rocky valleys before to launch his actions. So Markus had sent companies of swordsmen and archers, positioning them to the south, where they were responsible for keeping an eye on the many routes out of the mountains. The elemental king had last been seen striding into the heights, and they were also scouting for any sign of the monster.
All three wings of the great army inched steadily eastward, however, driving Ankhar’s cavalry and mercenaries steadily before them. By the time they drew near to the city of Solanthus, scouts reported that the enemy was withdrawing from his siege lines. First reports indicated the horde was falling back to the east or southeast, possibly toward the savage realm of Lemish-known to be a stronghold of the ogre race. But details were sketchy, and the mountains also promised concealment, shelter, and a place to regroup.
Finally, the Solamnic Army stopped within sight of the Cleft Spires of Solanthus. The soldiers could clearly see the great swath of destruction where the mighty West Gate lay in ruins. Beyond stood the towers of the city. A fortified line of trenches and wooden breastworks faced them, but already it was clear that those enemy positions had been abandoned.
The three generals, Dayr, Markus, and Rankin, met face to face to debate their next move.
“Any word from the lord marshal?” asked Markus, as soon as he and the other two generals had dismounted.
“None,” Dayr replied. Rankin said the same. When the captain of the Freemen, Jaymes’s personal bodyguard, arrived a moment later, Markus put the question to Captain Powell.
“I’m sorry, General. But we have had no word since the White Witch sent him into the city-and that, I fear, was many days ago.”
“Do you think he’s still in there somewhere?” Markus asked, indicating the looming bulk of Solanthus. “Could some trap await us inside the city?”
“No, it seems like Ankhar is falling back,” Rankin guessed. “There ought to be nothing to prevent him from coming out to us now. It’s strange, this long absence and silence.”
While the three generals were discussing their options, two noblemen rode out of the city to greet them. Lords Harbor and Martin welcomed the troops of the liberating army and sadly informed the generals that the Duchess Brianna had fallen heroically in the ultimate battle just at the moment of victory.
They recounted the tale of the city’s battle with the elemental, and Jaymes’s role in that clash. But when asked about the lord marshal’s whereabouts, the two noblemen could only shrug and report that he had disappeared from within the ducal palace. No one had seen him depart the building, and several days of vigorous searching had turned up no clues.
“However, we have to believe that he left the city safely as mysteriously as he arrived,” Martin reported. “Probably by magic. The kender who came with him also disappeared, at more or less the same time. Believe me, we would know if the kender was still about.”