A stinging blow on his back snapped Tol out of his glum preoccupation. Hojan had come up behind him and given his commander a comradely whack.
“My lord!” Hojan said, weaving a little on his feet. “We’re having a friendly dispute. Give us the benefit of your wisdom!”
Tol grimaced. “If I can.”
“Which is more important to a commander: training or instinct? Bessian, Manacus, and Urbath say training is more important. Illando and I say instinct.”
“And Varnacoth?”
Hojan waved a dismissive hand. “He’s too drunk!”
Tol leaned forward and looked down the table. “What does Lord Egrin say?”
Disdaining to wait for an overworked servant, the marshal had gotten up to fetch himself a trencher of bread. “The most vital characteristic of a successful commander is luck,” Egrin tossed over his shoulder.
“I agree,” Tol said.
Hojan’s ally Illando said, “But, my lord, luck is so random. How can a conscientious leader count on it?”
“He can’t, but a wise commander fosters his own luck. You must be able to seize upon any sudden change in fortune or any weakness in the enemy.”
“Was your training of no consequence then, Lord Tolandruth?” asked the squat, muscular Bessian.
“No, he was just lucky,” Kiya said. The men laughed, and she raised her voice, expanding on her claim. “Lord Tolandruth is the most fortunate man I’ve ever known. If he’d stayed a farmer, he’d have the best crops in the Eastern Hundred. If he’d become a cobbler, he’d have sold more shoes than anyone in Ergoth. Because he took up the sword, he became a famous general.”
“That’s too simple,” Hojan protested. He steadied himself by planting a heavy hand on Miya’s shoulder. Fastidiously, she lifted it off. He wobbled a moment then firmed his knees again.
“Truth is simple,” said Kiya. “That’s what makes it hard to take.”
Egrin carried his bread back to his seat on Tol’s right. “What do you say, my lord?” the marshal asked.
“Kiya’s right. I’ve been very lucky.” Tol popped a hunk of rare beef in his mouth. “I was lucky to learn a great deal from Lord Egrin and all the warriors at Juramona, who were also my teachers. Some, like Marshal Odovar, taught by bad example, but I tried to learn from them all and to put what they taught me to the test in battle.”
He warmed to the topic. “Some common wisdom was invaluable. Some was arrant nonsense. For example, when deploying foot soldiers against cavalry, I-”
A commotion among the guests interrupted Tol. All heads turned in the direction of the disturbance to see Mandes, whom had been absent from the festivities up till now. He was advancing along the lane between the tables. Richly clad in deep blue velvet, he gazed straight ahead, ignoring the merry chaos around him. When he reached the imperial table, he bowed to Ackal IV.
Tol’s fingers closed into fists. By the emperor’s order, no knives or forks were allowed at the banquet (the meat was carved into bite-sized pieces by the cooks before it was served). The order was meant to protect him, but now it spared Mandes, who otherwise would have found Tol’s dinner implements buried in his heart.
“Your Majesty sent for me?” the sorcerer said smoothly.
“I am weary, and my heart is heavy,” Ackal IV said, sighing.
“Your Majesty has had a trying day.” Mandes held out a gloved hand. A many-pointed star of flawless crystal appeared on his palm. “The stars of heaven descend this night to pay you homage, sire.”
Mandes set the ornament on the table before the emperor. It was pretty, but hardly remarkable amidst the splendor of jewels and ornate decor. Smiling slightly at Ackal’s lukewarm response, Mandes clapped his kid-covered hands. With each clap, the small star enlarged, growing to bushel-basket size. Empress Thura, seated next to her husband, gasped and applauded.
Mandes levitated the spiky ornament from the imperial table down to the pavement. He clapped his hands once more, and the glass star expanded again. The crowd around the imperial table exclaimed at the performance.
From their place far down the high table, Oropash and Helbin did not bother to hide their disapproval. Magic was high art to them, not meant for sideshow entertainment.
In addition to all his other violations of the wizards’ code, Mandes now was cheapening their craft merely to amuse the emperor and his guests.
The Mist-Maker spread his arms wide and mouthed silent words of power. The transparent star rose slowly into the air. With a tilt of his head, Mandes set it turning on one point. Catching the torchlight, the spinning star flashed and scintillated, throwing rainbows of light over the admiring crowd.
More than a little tipsy, Tol leaped to his feet. Miya clutched his arm, trying to stop him. Kiya broke her sister’s grip and cut off Miya’s protests.
Oblivious to the danger that threatened him, Mandes was embellishing his act. He put the tip of one finger to the bottommost point of the whirling star, as if balancing it there. Many in the crowd laughed. Ackal IV smiled.
All laughter died when Tol approached. The grim expression on his face spoke volumes, and someone in the crowd yelled, “Take him, Tolandruth!”
“Liar! Betrayer! Murderer!” Tol declared.
Suddenly, the star exploded. With a sound like discordant music, brilliant shards rained over the nearby tables. Mandes threw an arm over his face. Tol did not do so fast enough, and a shard cut his right cheek.
A hush fell over the plaza and all eyes went to the emperor. Far from being displeased, Ackal IV looked more alert and interested than he had all evening.
Mandes was livid. “How dare you interfere with the emperor’s diversion,” he said, drawing back from Tol. “You might have injured him, breaking the crystal orb!”
Tol wiped the line of blood from his cheek. He saw a dark object lying on the ground amid the broken slivers of glass. Mindful of the sharp shards, he bent down and picked it up. It was a lump of lead, formed into a plum-sized ball.
“Lord Tolandruth did not interfere,” called out a strong, clear voice. “I did!”
Striding down the lane between the tables came a dark-eyed young man with curly black hair. He was dressed like a foundryman in leather apron, gauntlets, and leggings. To his surprise Tol recognized Elicarno, engineer and builder of machines. He was trailed by eight young men similarly attired.
Elicarno carried a strange and complicated device. It had a heavy wooden stock, shaped for grasping at one end. At the other end, two pivoting arms stuck out nearly at right angles to the stock, their free ends connected by a thick cord, like a bowstring.
“Master Mechanician, what’s the meaning of this?” Despite the disruption, there was no anger in the emperor’s challenge. Plainly, he did not find Elicarno’s sudden arrival unwelcome.
Elicarno halted a few steps away and bowed with a wide sweep of his free arm.
“Your Majesty, my apprentices and I come to wish you a long and happy reign. I bring you this hand catapult, the latest project from my workshop.” He set the device on the imperial table.
“So it was you who shattered Mandes’s star?” Ackal IV asked.
Elicarno admitted it. He’d broken the glass star with a single lead missile loosed from his hand catapult. Mandes puffed out his chest, ready to bask in the emperor’s outrage.
“Remarkable,” was Ackal IV’s comment.
Mandes deflated visibly as the emperor fingered the tightly twisted skein of cords that powered the throwing arms. When the bowstring was drawn back, the skein was compressed further, imparting power to the arm.