Wren Elessedil understood. As Queen of the Elves that night in more than name, as her grandmother’s hope of what she could be and Garth’s promise of what she would be, something in her had been set free as well. She could feel the way the Elves looked at her. She could sense their respect. She belonged to them now. She was one of them.
Within an hour, all was ready. In stealth and silence, the Elves of Morrowindl’s past melted away into the night.
Chapter Eighteen
After an hour’s steady march, the Elves spent the remainder of that night in a forest just north of the Pykon that was backed up against the larger mass of Drey Wood and faced south toward the plains on which the Federation camp was settled. All night they could see the fires from the burning siege machines and supply wagons lighting the horizon in a bright glow, and in the still of their forest concealment they could hear faint shouts and cries.
They slept fitfully and rose again at dawn to wash, eat, and be dispatched to their duties. Desidio sent riders north to Arborlon with news of the attack and Wren’s personal request to Barsimmon Oridio that the balance of the army proceed south as soon as possible. Cavalry patrols were dispatched in all directions with orders to make certain that no other Southland force was in the field besides the one they knew about. Special attention was to be given to the garrisons within the cities of Callahorn. Wing Riders flew south to assess the extent of the damage inflicted in last night’s strike, with a particular eye toward determining how soon the column would be able to move again. The day was clouded and gray, and the Rocs would fly unseen against the dark backdrop of the Westland mountains and forest. The remainder of the Elves, after seeing to the care and feeding of their animals and the cleaning and repair of their battle gear, were sent back to sleep until midday.
Wren spent the morning with her commanders—Desidio, Triss, and Erring Rift. Tiger Ty had flown south, determined that any assessment made of the condition of the Federation army should be subject to his personal verification. Wren was both tired and excited, flushed with energy and taut with fatigue, and she knew that she needed a few hours sleep herself before she would be clear-headed again. Nevertheless, she wanted her commanders—and especially Desidio, now that she had won him over—to start considering what their small force should do next. To a great extent, that depended on what the Federation did. Still, there were only so many possibilities, and Wren wanted to steer the thinking regarding those possibilities in the right direction. With luck the Southlanders would be unable to start moving again for several days, and that would give the main body of the Elven army time to reach the Rhenn. But if they did begin to move, it would be up to Wren and the vanguard to find a way to slow them once more. Under no circumstances did she intend that they should do nothing. Standing fast was out of the question. They had won an important victory over their larger foe with last night’s strike, and she did not intend to lose the advantage that victory had established. The Federation would be looking over its collective shoulder now; she wanted to keep it looking for as long as possible. It was important that her commanders think the same way she did.
She was satisfied she had accomplished this when they were done conferring, and she went off to sleep. She slept until it was nearing midday and woke to find Tiger Ty and the Wing Rider patrol returned. The news they carried was good. The Federation army was making no attempt to advance. All of its siege equipment and most of its supplies had been reduced to ashes. The camp was sitting exactly where they had left it last night, and all of the army’s efforts seemed to be directed toward caring for the injured, burying the dead, and culling through what remained of their stores. Scouts were patrolling the perimeter and foraging parties were canvassing the countryside, but the main body of the army was still picking itself up off the ground.
Still, Tiger Ty wasn’t satisfied.
“It’s one thing to find them regrouping today,” he declared to Wren, out of hearing of the others. “You expect them to sit tight after an attack like that one. They suffered real damage, and they need to lick their wounds a bit. But don’t be fooled. They’ll be doing what we’re doing—thinking about how to react to this. If they’re still sitting there tomorrow, it’ll be time for a closer look. Because they’ll be up to something by then. You can depend on it.”
Wren nodded, then led him off to join Triss for lunch. Triss, apprised of Tiger Ty’s thinking, agreed. This was a seasoned army they faced, and its commanders would work hard at finding a way to take back the momentary advantage the Elves had won.
They had just finished eating when an Elven patrol rode in with a battered and disheveled Tib Arne in tow. The patrol had been scouting the low end of the Streleheim toward Callahorn when they had come across the boy wandering the plains in search of the Elves. Finding him alone and injured, they had picked him up and brought him directly here.
Tib was cut and bruised about the face, and covered from head to foot with dirt and dust. He was very distressed and could barely speak at first. Wren brought him over to sit, and cleaned off his face with a damp cloth. Triss and Tiger Ty stood close to listen to what he had to say.
“Tell me what happened,” she urged him after she had calmed him down sufficiently to speak.
“I am sorry, my queen,” he apologized, shamefaced now at his loss of control. “I have been out there for a day and a night with nothing to eat or drink and I haven’t had any sleep.”
“What happened to you?” she repeated.
“We were attacked, myself and the men you sent with me, not far from the Dragon’s Teeth. It was night when they came, more than a dozen of them. We were camped, and they charged out at us. The men you sent, they fought as hard as they could. But they were killed. I would have been killed as well, but for Gloon. He came to my aid, striking at my attackers, and I ran away into the dark. I could hear Gloon’s shriek, the shouts of the men fighting him, and then nothing. I hid in the darkness all night, then started back to find you. I was afraid to go on without Gloon, afraid that there were other patrols searching for me.”
“The shrike is dead?” Tiger Ty asked abruptly.
Tib dissolved into tears. “I think so. I didn’t see him again. I whistled for him when it was light, but he didn’t come.” He looked at Wren, stricken. “I’m sorry I failed you, my lady. I don’t know how they found us so easily. It was as if they knew!”
“Never mind, Tib,” she comforted him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You did your best. I’m sorry about Gloon.”
“I know,” he murmured, composing himself once more.
“You’ll stay here with us now,” she told him. “We’ll find another way to get word to the free-born, or if not, we’ll just wait for them to find us.”
She ordered food and drink for the boy, wrapped him in a woolen blanket, then pulled Tiger Ty and Triss aside. They stood beneath a towering oak with acorn shells carpeting the forest floor and clouds screening away the skies overhead and leaving the light faint and gray.
“What do you think?” she asked them.
Triss shook his head. “Those were experienced men that went with the boy. They shouldn’t have been caught unprepared. I think they were either very unlucky or the boy is right and someone was waiting for them.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Tiger Ty said. “I think it’s pretty hard to kill a war shrike even when you can see it, let alone when you can’t.”