The city garrison mustered, preparing itself for an attack. Couriers were dispatched with orders for Enkian to halt his army and proceed to Daltigoth with the proper small escort. The messengers never returned.
Tol found his former lord’s behavior puzzling. Lord Enkian was no hothead, bursting with fiery ambition. While Marshal of the Eastern Hundred, he’d seemed a cold man, a schemer and a plotter perhaps, but not the sort to mount a direct challenge to the succession.
News came that Enkian had halted his force five leagues from the city at a place called Verdant Isle. This “island” was in actuality a large triangular tract bounded on two sides by canals and on the third by Salamander Creek. It was a strong defensive position, and Enkian’s occupation of it increased everyone’s uncertainty. The warden could not storm the capital with only five thousand Riders, but he could raid the surrounding countryside from this stronghold, disrupting trade, terrorizing the population, and imposing a kind of long-range siege. Still, with the city supplied by the great canal, there was no way to starve Daltigoth into submission. What was in the warden’s mind? Did he seek to force concessions from the new emperor-or more frightening, was he waiting for allies to gather to his standard?
Speculation reached such a fever pitch the emperor could no longer ignore it. Late one evening, nine days after the fall of Mandes, Ackal IV sent for Tol.
Egrin and Kiya accompanied him to the palace. Miya had not been much in evidence around the Rumbold villa lately. Her sister laid these absences squarely at the feet of “that engineer,” Elicarno.
Arrayed in full battle gear (though weaponless, of course), Tol and Egrin knelt before the emperor. Kiya bowed her head briefly.
Most of the court had retired; only Chamberlain Valdid and a few guards were present. Valdid clucked his tongue at Kiya’s impertinence, but the emperor ignored the breach of protocol.
“Arise, my friends,” he said.
Ackal’s pallor was notable even in the flattering golden glow of the many candles burning in the audience hall. Deep hollows surrounded his eyes, his breathing was labored and noisy. He spoke slowly, as though forming words took a great effort.
“I have a mission for you, Lord Tolandruth. Once more I must send you into the unknown on my behalf.”
Jubilation surged through Tol, but he kept his voice respectfully low. “I will bring Mandes to justice, Majesty.”
Ackal IV’s brow furrowed. “No, there is a more pressing matter. I want you to search out Enkian Tumult and learn his intentions. It’s said he built a fortified camp at Verdant Isle. Go there in my name and find out what he’s up to.”
Tol nodded, but his disappointment was obvious. Egrin said quickly, “We’ll go at once, Majesty.”
Valdid cleared his throat significantly, and Ackal said, “No, Marshal. You shall remain. I would not send every loyal commander I possess into the hands of a possible usurper.”
“How many hordes shall I take?” Tol asked.
“None,” was Valdid’s surprising reply.
“That’s crazy!” Kiya exclaimed.
The imperial bodyguards stirred, moving closer to the brawny forester woman. Tol signaled her to hold her tongue.
“You must go alone, my lord,” Valdid said. “Yours is a mission of diplomacy, not combat. Enkian knows you, knows your fame and abilities. He will not dare deny you audience.”
“And if he does?” Kiya blurted angrily.
The chamberlain rapped his gold-capped staff smartly on the floor and glared at her but directed his response to Tol. “Should there be any trouble, we will send Lord Egrin with ten hordes to crush the rebel!”
Kiya continued to grumble, but there was shrewdness in the plan. If Enkian intended violence against the throne or had some less overt scheme in mind, Tol’s great popularity with the ordinary warriors of Ergoth made him the ideal candidate to persuade (or intimidate) the warden into abandoning his plans. The only problem was that Tol had slain Pelladrom Tumult, Enkian’s son.
All eyes were on Tol. If he refused the mission, what could they do?
For a long while he didn’t reply. The tension in the silent chamber had built to such a level that when Tol snapped his heels together the chamberlain and guards visibly flinched.
“I shall go at once, Your Majesty!” he said, saluting.
Ackal smiled at his champion. “I know the hazards you face,” he said quietly. “In token of a great task, I will give you a great reward.” He did not say what that reward would be.
The emperor asked Egrin to make ready ten hordes of the city garrison. Valdid rehearsed with Tol the exact questions the emperor wanted him to ask Enkian. When the finicky chamberlain was finally satisfied, Ackal dismissed the group.
No one spoke until they were outside the palace. On the broad steps, with the torchlit imperial plaza before them and stars above, Kiya could contain herself no longer.
“I’m going with you,” she stated.
“A fine idea,” said Egrin immediately. “Someone should guard your back. I am forbidden to go, but Kiya is a foreigner. She may do as she likes.”
As he descended the steps a little ahead of the other two, Egrin added, “I shall rest easier knowing Tol doesn’t enter this deathtrap alone.”
Tough soldier that he was, Tol was pleased to know the marshal’s affection hadn’t dimmed with time and distance. Having Egrin standing by with ten thousand men ready to sweep into Verdant Isle was a great comfort-almost as much as the presence of Kiya at his side and the nullstone in his pocket.
Dawn was still far distant when Tol and Kiya mounted up outside Rumbold villa. The air was crisp with a presentiment of autumn. A tapestry of stars glittered overhead. The white moon, Solin, was just setting among the rooftops and towers of the New City.
Kiya was unhappy, not because of their potentially dangerous mission, but because Miya still had not returned home.
“She’s a grown woman,” Tol said gently. “She has the right to be happy with the man of her choice.”
Kiya shook her head stubbornly. “Our father would be angry if he knew. She dishonors you, Husband.” She lowered her chin to her chest and added, “I will not desert you.”
Tol blinked. After all this time, had he acquired a wife in Kiya without noticing it?
Now was not the time for such thoughts, so he set them aside. Egrin and a handful of men from the Eagle horde had come to see them off.
“Watch your back,” Egrin said.
“Ah, I have a pair of eyes back there,” Tol answered, smiling toward Kiya.
They mounted. When their farewells were said, Tol touched heels to his mount’s sides.
“What happens after?” Kiya asked suddenly.
He pulled back on the reins and regarded her in confusion. “After what?”
“After we come back. The emperor is crowned, the old emperor sleeps with his ancestors. What happens to us after that?”
It was a question none of them had considered yet. With the great coronation ceremony concluded, and Pakin III buried, the warlords gathered in Daltigoth would soon disperse. Tol had been on campaign for ten years. His home had been a tent, pitched in field or forest. If there was no war to fight, what would he do? What about Valaran? Could he bring himself to leave her again?
The more he thought about it, the more bereft he felt. Struggling for an answer, he said, “Maybe I’ll travel-visit Juramona or the Great Green. Would you like to see the forest again?”
Kiya only shrugged and looked away.