Eton Shart and Barsimmon Oridio were among those who continued to doubt—her first minister and the general of her armies, men she could not afford to lose. They did not say so to her face or even publicly, but their aloofness was obvious.
They had served Ellenroh long and faithfully, and they had not expected to lose her. Worse, they had not expected to find someone they barely knew assuming her place. Certainly not an outsider, and a girl at that. Wren understood their reticence; she also understood that she could not permit it to continue unresolved.
Triss and the Home Guard were her real support. Triss had come with her out of Morrowindl, had seen her struggle with the power of the Elfstones, with the demons that pursued them, and with the responsibility she had been given. He accepted her as queen because he had been there when Ellenroh had named her and had exacted his pledge of loyalty. Triss had declared her queen to the High Council, to the army, and especially to the Home Guard, who were charged with her protection. The Home Guard, unlike the other branches of the Elven government, had accepted her instantly and without reservation. Having lost Ellenroh, they were now fiercely committed to her. Nothing would harm this queen, they swore. This queen would have their full protection. It was the kind of support she desperately needed, and Triss, as captain of the Home Guard, made certain that she had it.
Still, Home Guard support alone would not be enough in the long run. She needed to win over both the High Council and the army if she was to be accepted as queen. That meant she needed to win over Eton Shart and Barsimmon Oridio, and she did not know how to do that. Despite her efforts to convince them of the merits of accepting her, they remained distant and aloof, polite but decidedly cool. Time was running out. Ten days the Elves had been back in the Westland, and by now the Federation and the Shadowen knew. For more than a century the Federation had claimed that the Elves were the source of the land’s sickening, and here at last was an opportunity to put things right. No matter that it was the wrong set of Elves, she mused; the Federation was hardly likely to worry about making any distinction between good and bad. Eradicate them all and the problem was solved.
Which was why she was flying south with Tiger Ty. The effort to begin that eradication was already under way.
Tiger Ty touched Spirit lightly along the neck, and the Roc responded by swinging downward toward a bluff that faced out across the river. The bird descended easily, gracefully, and in moments they were settled on a grassy bank at the edge of a forest of broad-leaved trees. Wren disengaged herself from the straps and climbed down, stretching her cramped muscles. She was still not used to riding the giant Rocs, though she had done so several times now since her return. The Wing Riders had begun to come back into the Westland as well, resettling themselves in the old Wing Hove south of the Irrybis. Wren had gone to speak to them, asking for their support, telling them of the danger they all faced if the Shadowen weren’t stopped. Tiger Ty, a respected member of the community, had spoken in her behalf, adding his own rough assessment of her character. A girl who’s got more sand than a dozen of us, he’d said. A girl with sharp edges, but quick-thinking and smart. A girl who’s got use of the magic, but uses it with caution and respect. The Land Elves—and the Wing Riders—could do worse.
She smiled at the memory. The Wing Riders had agreed to help. Almost thirty of them were already settled at Arborlon, made a part of her personal command.
“Something to eat?” Tiger Ty asked, strolling up to her in that rolling gait he used, bowlegged and spindly. He was as grizzled and nut-brown as ever, but no longer as gruff. When he spoke to her these days there was something new in his voice—something that almost suggested deference.
She nodded, then seated herself on the grass across from him. She accepted a hunk of cheese, an apple, and a cup of ale poured from a stoppered skin. She crossed her legs and was taking a bite of the cheese when she felt a stirring against her breast. A furry face poked out of her tunic, and Faun appeared, sniffing the air tentatively.
“Ha! The Squeak doesn’t miss a thing, does she?” Tiger Ty laughed, cut off a bite of his cheese, and passed it to the little creature. Faun took it from him cautiously, slipped clear of Wren’s clothing, plopped down on the grass, and began to eat.
“She likes you,” Wren observed.
Tiger Ty snorted. “Shows you Tree Squeaks don’t have the sense of tree stumps!”
They ate in silence, finished, and sat back contentedly, staring out from the bluff across the river to where the plains of the Tirfing stretched away in an unbroken wave of dusty grasses.
“How much farther?” Wren asked after a moment.
Tiger Ty shrugged. “Another hour at most. They were traveling pretty fast when I spotted them.”
A Federation army, sighted by the patrolling Wing Rider, had brought Wren out of Arborlon in spite of the objections of Triss and the Home Guard. It was necessary, she felt, to have a close look at the enemy before she brought her plan of action before the High Council and its skeptics.
She took a final drink from her cup, finishing the last of the ale. If things had been difficult up to now, she had a feeling that they were about to get a whole lot worse.
They climbed back aboard Spirit, fastened themselves in place, and lifted off into the dazzling blue. Faun was inside her tunic, snuggled down comfortably against her body. Spirit gained height, then settled into a flat glide that swept them down the snaking length of the Mermidon to where it bypassed the Shroudslip. There they left the river and began to follow the line of the Irrybis where it bordered the Tirfing east. Time slipped quickly past, and it seemed only moments later that Tiger Ty lifted one arm to point south.
A huge column of dust rose into the swelter of summer heat that hung over the plains. Tiger Ty glanced back at her and she nodded.
The Federation army.
They continued due south, following a line parallel to the army, keeping in the shadow of the cliffs. Tiger Ty would circle back around and come in from behind the army with the sun at his back. That way they would not be seen. As yet, no one knew anything about the Wing Riders. Wren had decided it would be better if things remained that way.
Swiftly they sped south, and when the column of dust was well behind them they banked left across the plains. They continued to circle until the sun was directly behind them, then swung back toward the dust. They rose higher than before, trying to place as much glare as possible at their backs in case anyone was scanning the sky.
Minutes later, the Federation army came in sight.
It was a huge, sprawling, dark stain against the sun-scorched grasslands, three companies deep, column after column of black-and-red-garbed soldiers and horsemen, great iron-and-wood fighting machines, siege equipment, wagons and supplies. The army seemed to stretch on forever, the dust of its wake obscuring everything for miles. Wren felt her heart sink at the size of the enemy. The Elves could barely muster a tenth of the fighting men the Federation had assembled, and it was reported that there were another five thousand soldiers garrisoned in Tyrsis. If they were forced to confront this army head on, the Elves would be annihilated.
Which was the general idea, of course, she thought disconsolately.
She counted lines and columns and companies carefully as Tiger Ty took Spirit close to the back of the army and then banked the Roc sharply away again, heading south once more, still within the protective glare of the sun. There had been no shouts or pointed arms from below. Apparently they had not been seen.