13
Chaos reigned at the camp the next morning. The king was coming to oversee the arrangements for the next battle and, since there was no record of the king ever doing so, nobody had any clear idea of how it was supposed to be managed. Security problems alone gave the generals headaches, but the prospect of having to feed the king with military rations was the coup de grace. Feradac and Jaksen were both stiff and sullen after having received the news over breakfast. The general almost spat out his drink, and until the king arrived, he had a sour look on his face. The mage Havelin got a kick out of it, drank to the king, and cracked jokes throughout the morning.
Jaksen’s three bodyguards hovered around him and occasionally took messages to other commanders.
“Messenger boy again,” Yunas sighed the first time he was tasked to deliver one.
Anni floated all over the camp and, with permission from Jaksen and a caution to be sensitive about it, gathered interviews from dozens of soldiers, many of whom had been in the hospital tents and therefore unable to escape and too polite to say no. The other reporters in the tent town mostly stuck with their patron lords, and otherwise only floated around the nobility, knights, and other commanders. Anni was the only one that bothered to go to the lowest ranks to ask how they felt. By the time of the king’s scheduled arrival – just in time for lunch – she had accumulated a book’s worth of notes. Tayron marveled at the fact that her hand hadn’t fallen off from the effort.
Nobody was delusional enough to believe the king would come exactly at the advertised time, but he did. It took some scrambling to get everything in place, but the miracle was managed. Still scowling, Feradac stood in a line with Jaksen and the other generals to greet the king. Tayron and his fellow bodyguards took up position behind this line. Havelin was off having a drink somewhere, but Anni decided to attend, barely getting within sight of the proceedings. She simply was not of adequate rank to be granted the privilege of being in the king’s view. The common soldiery had been ordered to their tents, and only the knights were arrayed at attention when the monarch arrived.
In keeping with the theme of giving them the run around, the first thing the king said on arriving breka-back was “where’s the rest of the men in this camp. Surely they aren’t too busy to see their king?”
After a long wait that made up for the early arrival of the monarch, the rest of the army’s thousands were assembled for his review. In ceremonial armor and a violet cloak, his majesty strode past the troops, on occasion stopping to speak with a few casually. Making no distinction between knights and commoners, he at once impressed and set everyone on edge. Havelin came for the show after hearing that the king wanted commoners in his presence and, lined up beside Jaksen, he whispered to the councilor “quite a way he has, your king. I think I like him.”
A general dismissal signaled the start of lunch for the now hungered military. The king, with a collection of court lords beside him, joined Jaksen and the generals for the meal. Seated at half a dozen smaller mess tables joined together for the feast, the commanders and dignitaries enjoyed a meal prepared by imported cooks from Orina in the open air, with the fragrances wafting all over for miles.
“Well, if this is what we’re feeding to our troops, it’s no surprise that they aren’t fighting well, “ the king said while the throng stood at attention, waiting for him to take his seat at the table. “They must be totally out of shape. My compliments to the chefs, though.”
The king sat down and the rest followed. Except for the various bodyguards, those closest to the king were those highest in rank, the required arrangement if affairs of state were to be discussed during the meal. The king, showing a divine benevolence, did not decide to turn this plan on its head. This was tradition, while the rest had been on-the-spot invention, and the king didn’t want to put Jaksen in a worse mood than he was already in.
“Might I speak, your majesty?” Jaksen asked after they had been eating in silence for a prescribed amount of time, waiting for the king to swallow his last bite.
“Naturally,” the king answered in an amused tone.
Jaksen, nonplussed by the king’s playful attitude in the face of dire events, tried to even out the temper of his voice by clearing it several times. “With all due respect, sire, your highness’ good mood surprises us, since we have grown accustomed to seeing only the most mournful or upset face for the past day. This is a day of burial, and your highness’ arrival itself has already complicated the pursuits of such a day.”
“Do you speak for the nation or for yourself, Jaksen? In any case, your sentiments are no doubt shared by many, so answers should be provided. After some difficult negotiations, culminating perhaps in a reminder concerning who is ruler in this land, the high mages have all agreed to send support for the war. A hundred mages will be arriving shortly to bolster your ranks and ensure victory in the next battle. Then, perhaps, we can put this whole sordid affair behind us. Does this seem to you an appropriate reason for good cheer, Jaksen, even on a day like this? Or will you insist on dampening what positive developments might take place, thereby diminishing the morale of the troops?”
“The news is indeed worthy of note, and it calms my mind to know that my king has been so active in assuring our success,” Jaksen said, his face anything but calm, and frown lines establishing permanent residence.
“All the high mages, did you say, highness?” Havelin said in his usual sarcastic voice. “Far be it for me to correct the great king of this land, but am I not a high mage? I do not recall agreeing to send support for the war? Of course, I might be wrong about that.”
“Are you not here to lend support to the troops?” the king asked unconcerned. “It was clearly understood at court that you had applied your talents in the last battle. Your example was held up to the other mages and helped to convince them.”
Havelin, never speechless, stuttered “m . . . my example c. .c. .convinced them?” He shot Feradac a dirty look, to which the general responded with an apologetic grin. “I only involved myself on an ill-conceived bet with the general here. Foreseeing the future has never been one of my strong points, but this! I’m going to catch a whole lot of nastiness if I ever visit the capital again. Thank the gods I wasn’t planning to. With all due respect and a great deal of groveling, oh wily king, I still have no intention of supporting your cause over Damial’s. If the land is threatened, then the mages will not need to be asked to rise up and defend it. As it is, this is only a quarrel between two children of this land, and those two must be allowed to sort the matter out for themselves. I wouldn’t mind it if a one-on-one fight between your highness and Damial resolved this whole matter instead of this bloody and costly fighting. Since your highness would win such a fight, I have no doubt your highness would be amenable to that arrangement, either.”
“Don’t know about that, Havelin,” the king said causally. “You know the type Damial represents – he’d probably play some dastardly trick to gain the upper hand.”
“Nice try, sire, but there are as many on your side that are just as dastardly. I am not so far gone that I don’t know when to lay aside my pet peeves. I believe in honesty and uprightness in everything, but there is far too much underhandedness for me to avenge alone. The deal with Feradac has already put me on alert that this may be a situation in which I cannot be too picky. I prefer to focus on fighting trickery of a more personal, less apocalyptic, model, and I’ll stick to that sort for the time being. Much more satisfying, since the results of my handiwork don’t simply get someone else killed. If you seek a trickster to compete with Damial, we have a child of the trickster god here for you to consult with. He’ll require some practice, but I have no doubt some nobles in your court can quickly educate him in deceitful ways.”
Tayron sensed no need to speak up at this, and instead eyed the monarch to see his reaction. The king remained pleasant. “You are a new addition to the list of high mages, are you not? Perhaps it would be easier simply to drop you from that list. That would make the claim that all the high mages have agreed to send their support true, would it not?”
“The title of high mage is merely a reflection of the power of a mage, so unlike a title of nobility, it means nothing on its own,” the mage explained without masking his rising ire. “It is not something that can be given or taken away – I will be a high mage whether people are allowed to call me that or not, simply by virtue of my ability.”
A shot of unexpected laughter shot out from the king. “Good point. That’s all right, then. We’ll just have to say ‘every high mage except for Havelin the Reluctant has agreed to aid the war effort.’”
“I prefer Havelin the Reconsidered.”
The mage and king had a laugh that sounded wrong in the grim atmosphere. Even the pleasant smells of the fine cuisine had not been so out of place in the military camp. Lord Jaksen, worried by his master’s behavior, asked “surely this isn’t the only news that lightens the great king’s mood? While excellent, it is still mixed. With a mage battle ahead of us, there are bloody times ahead, as if recent times don’t already weigh on our hearts. I was long at the side of the king who recently passed, and was privileged to say that I knew his mind. However, I now find myself lost, as a ship adrift without a guide.”
“Because no one is allowed to know the king’s mind, Jaksen, not even you,” the king answered, now dead serious. “No faction will be allowed access, no side an advantage which is not justly deserved, and no man given the ability to avoid judgment. As for being a ship adrift, it is surprising that a man of your stature would be so easily thrown off.”
A profound and disturbing silence answered this pronouncement, but the king only munched on his meal contentedly. At one point, Feradac opened his mouth to say something, likely pragmatic battle talk, but chose not give voice to his thoughts. Bathis’ mouth remained opened slightly, dumbfounded – it had taken no less a man than the king to throw him off. Tayron looked down the table at Anni, who was lucky enough to have a place at the table by Jaksen’s insistence, but too far away to hear a single word that had been exchanged. The knight made a mental note to fill her in later, certain she’d be interested. As for himself, Tayron was all too familiar with court exchanges, and despite the apparent irrationality of the king’s comments, paid it no mind. This, at least, he could leave to others to deal with.
The rest chose to dismiss the king’s odd mood as well, and after Feradac finished his own food, he finally questioned the king on reinforcements, provisions, and troop availability as he had been planning to. It was dry talk until Feradac asked, “and about these mages, what am I supposed to do with them? What can I expect them to do? What part should they play in battle tactics?”
“That’s for you to decide, General. Your king is wise enough not to pretend to know anything about strategy. Our side was revealed to have a disadvantage, so the gap has now been filled. You will have to take the council of more experienced men when choosing what to do with the new material. First thing to do – imitate the enemy’s use of the mages.”
“But,” Jaksen said after he was certain the king had finished speaking, “are the mages allowed to do anything in their power, or will they set limits?”
“No limits,” the king said with a grim face. “They had to be convinced to give in on that one. There’s no way we could allow them to hold back when the rogue mages of the enemy have no such restrictions. The high mages had surprising difficulty agreeing to this, considering they deal with rogue mages as part of their duties and are aware of what those fugitives are capable of.”
“I’m sorry, sire, but I more than understand the concerns of the high mages,” Jaksen said. “They have at their disposal awesome power, and if we do not draw the line somewhere, our enemy cannot be expected to. I was hoping we could send an ambassador to negotiate limits on the use of mages this war. Quenari and Damial would certainly see the benefit of such an agreement, since the mages we have are much better trained, and more powerful, than theirs.”
“Please, Jaksen,” said the king, exhibiting more of his usual self, “tell us what good it would do to level the playing field between our mages and theirs when that might be our only advantage? Even if we can trust the enemy to obey limitations, which is naïve at best, our failure yesterday and the morale drop that caused will end up being the determining factor.”
“But think of all the casualties . . .”
“Use the mages purely defensively, then. Just have them block the attacks of Damial’s mages. It won’t be as effective as having them attack, but it will be better than handicapping them.”
Jaksen thought about it, then nodded.
“There will be a battle tomorrow after the dead are buried,” the king decreed. “It will be the Second Battle at Rippling Hills, and when its over, we will hold a feast in the enemy’s camp. That’s all that needs to be said on this matter. Your king is here to deliver good news, to lift your spirits, to see how the troops are doing firsthand, and to show his faith in your ability to end this crisis. That this visit would cause some trouble was a given, but no one at court had any expectation that it would be this disturbing to you.”
“My apologies for giving your highness the impression that your timely visit had at all disturbed us,” said Jaksen, with a small bow. “I have indeed been in need of good news and a lift to my spirits. I regret that I have been so closed to your attempts.”
“Not sure whether to take your words at face value, Jaksen, but we’ll leave it at that. Enough talk! There’s always so much talk wherever powerful people gather, because they’re all afraid to act, afraid that they’ll be blamed for mistakes.”
“Hmph,” said Feradac in indignation.
“The land begs for action. There must be action. Do you intend to bore your enemy to death, Feradac? Looking over your plans from the last battle, it seemed so.”
The general sputtered. “Granted they weren’t suited to fight mages, but even at two to one odds, those plans would have . . .”
“Yes, they were flawless, barring the flaw that the enemy conveniently used. Might it be possible that instead of creating the perfect plan based on every logical consideration you might be creative this time and develop plans like our enemies do.”
Feradac grunted.
“Action, general – make it an epic battle worthy to determine the kingship of this land. Make it stunning, make it decisive, and have the enemy running from the thought of us.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Jaksen, the mages will be under your direct command during this battle . . .”
“Excuse me, most divine, omniscient, and praise-worthy high king of this wondrous land,” said Havelin, “but would I not be more suited for that post? I was the first among the magicks to give support to your cause, after all.”
“Would you challenge Jaksen’s right to command? Considering his rank, your claim is on shaky ground.”
“My rank . . . that again.”
“Do you accept this charge, Jaksen?”
Jaksen looked elated. “Of course, highness. Thank you.” He had a revived glow about him.
“Good, good. Time to go about the troops,” the king rose to his feet and the other men and women at the table, most of whom were unaware of the conversations at the king’s end of the table, stood instinctively, some still with spoon in hand. “Please continue your meals,” he said to the gathering, “you have much work ahead of you and require as much energy as you can digest. Court life is not nearly so taxing, so will the courtiers who arrived here alongside their king join him as he surveys the camp?”
No one remained at the table after the king left. The monarch traveled around to the tents of knights and common soldiers alike, and was astoundingly successful in boosting their morale. Even among those who had just returned from burying the dead on the battlefield, his buoyancy had some effect. Meanwhile, Tayron followed Jaksen and the generals to the strategy tent. There were considerably more of them this time than in previous sessions. This might have been due to newly arrived reinforcements, but Tayron guessed that it was more because everyone thought they would have been able to command the last battle better than Feradac had, and sought to prove it. Minutes of argument right at the opening supported the guess, but Jaksen had come prepared. Seizing on the king’s words about action, he brought the meeting into order and cut off anyone that didn’t keep their words to a minimum.
The crowding eventually forced all the bodyguards to wait outside. Bathis decided to reclaim the night shift and get some extra sleep. Yunas had already taken up post outside the tent, to avoid hearing any secret plans, so Tayron joined him. The youthful knight talked rapidly about everything under the sun while his companion listened detachedly.
“Well, it’s not like they have any hope at all anyway,” he said about one sports team or another, Tayron couldn’t keep track, “but that just makes it more useless to root against them, you know? That’s the whole point in rooting for the little guy – you get a real kick out of it when they actually win. Still, why they keep themselves that far down, I have no idea. There’s about a hundred stars in the league right now and they haven’t got a single one of them.”
“What do we have here?” Tayron said, interrupting Yunas’ flow for the first time, seeing a man carrying huge rolled up sheets approaching.
“New maps,” the man explained. Short in stature, he had a peon face and humble brown hair. Anyone being remotely logical about it would have dismissed the possibility that he was up to ill deeds. Tayron was instantly on guard. If for every trick played against him, his own god would punish him a second time, he wasn’t going to take any chance on something this serious.
“Who sent you?”
“Lord Gertain, sir knight. He regretted not being able to present them himself, but he was among the courtiers accompanying the king, and so must remain at the king’s side. However, much of the lands south of Orina are his, he thought these maps of his land, more detailed than any you likely have here, would be of some use.”
“Why didn’t he present them during the lunch?”
“They hadn’t arrived yet. I just brought them from the library in his estate, and was redirected by him to come here. Besides, I imagine it would have been very awkward to present them over lunch like that, sir knight.”
There was something in the man’s voice that betrayed him. “Do you have anything to prove you were sent by Lord Gertain?”
“Oh! Yes, I forgot about that, sorry,” the deliverer said, tucking the maps under his arm and fetching a note from a jacket pocket. He handed it over to Tayron, who examined it thoroughly and verified the intricate seal on the front. The knight had seen Gertain’s seal only once before, but that had been enough. This one was genuine.
“All right, you can . . .” Tayron started, but then caught a split second sight. As the maps had crinkled under the deliverer’s grasp, two tiny parallel folds had formed, as if something inside the rolled maps about the size of a sword hilt’s width had formed them. The sight lasted only for an instant, and the lines were so miniscule that Tayron nearly didn’t register them. “Can I have a look at the maps first?”
The swords were drawn at once. Yunas had been following along raptly, and moved instinctively, as did Tayron. The assassin was not fazed by the odds, though, and the knights soon saw why. His sword doubled as a wand. While the knights waited for their enemy’s first strike, they heard a barely audible murmur emanating from him. By the time they realized what it was, there was only time to dive out of the way. The spell set the ground where they had stood aflame.
“It’s always the fire spell first,” Yunas said, throwing himself into the attack. The assassin, maniacal smirk on his face now, defended against Yunas with his sword while casting a shielding charm to block Tayron’s slash. The flames on the ground were spreading, and the men in the tent, hearing shouts and the clang of swords, came out with their own weapons unsheathed. Soldiers nearby also rushed to the aid of the knight. Surrounded before he could renew the attack, or launch himself against one of his intended targets, the assassin transformed himself into a massive bird and took off. Tayron attempted one last strike, but the metamorphosis had been too swift and surprising.
Before the bird had flown too far, Havelin stepped up and, saying “oh, fine,” gestured with his own more modest wand, without saying a word firing a bolt of lightning at the fleeing assassin. Squawking on being electrified by the bolt, the bird fell to the ground within the tent town. A few dozen soldiers rushed to the scene to deal with the situation permanently while others put out the small fire outside the strategy tent. Jaksen, the two knights, Havelin, and the generals formed a circle to take stock of the situation. After Yunas explained what had happened in complete detail, a messenger was sent to the king with the news, a recommendation that he and his court return to the safety of the capitol at once, and a request to speak to Lord Gertain at once.
“For a rogue, that mage was fairly impressive,” Havelin admitted, stroking his beard. “Not only was his magic above par with the whole transformation thing, but he was a decent swordsman if he was able to cross weapons with a knight and hold his own. Not my style, but very impressive.”
“Was he a rogue, then?” Feradac asked. “Surely Damial could enlist some confirmed mages.”
Havelin answered with studied certainty “not that one, no. Mages are always taught based on the work of other mages, so we expect to contend with others of similar powers. An educated mage would never choose to transform into something so visible as a bird, since it he’d still be in danger from spells. Most of the confirmed mages pick something that burrows, and burrows fast. I considered learning how to transform into a giant worm once, but the process sounded disgusting. Point is, you can always tell a rogue mage by little quirks like that. I should give you a list sometime – it might help. There’re few things I hate more than magery used to ill purpose.”
The messenger returned with a wholly apologetic Lord Gertain. Seeing the middle aged man bowing so profusely shocked the men there.
“I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t know. He must have been one of Quenari’s plants. I’ll step up background checks on everyone in my retinue immediately.”
“Relax, Gertain,” said Jaksen, placating. “We know it wasn’t you, because if you had sent an assassin, you wouldn’t have had him carry a letter with your seal to get past our guards. Good form of you to feel sorry about the breach of security, though.”
“Thank you for your understanding, high lord,” Gertain said humbly.
Havelin seemed happier. “Now I feel even better about having fried the bastard. Anyone up for a drink? It’s really turned out to be a good day, after all. Too bad we have to go back to war tomorrow.”
Checking that the fire had been cleared, Jaksen said, “let’s get back inside to finish our planning. Tayron, our favorite mage here suggested that you might be of some help, and I think it’s more than possible as well. We’ve got a few tricks planned and we want to see if Tayl might be able to tell you something about them. Also, of course, we’d like to hear any ideas you can come up with.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Just do your best.”
The mood in the tent was active. The generals were galvanized, even cheerful, as they recounted the details of some of the more creative ways they had come up with to use the mages. Ideas had flowed out, and it looked to Tayron like they really needed something to filter out the good ideas from the bad. That’s where he came in. Skeptically, the strategists floated the plans by him, and the first few sounded perfectly fine to him. It didn’t take long before he was wondering whether he had any skill at all in this area – whether the protection of the gods really worked this way. Others in the tent were looking at him as if they were wondering as well, but Lord Jaksen and Havelin both continued to be confident, and murmured to each other excitedly every time he confirmed one of the plans.
Just as the knight pondered if he should stop relying on intuition and reject one of the tactics just to satisfy the increasingly grim faces, Feradac introduced a plan that struck him as impossible. He said “no, that’s horrible,” with so much force that no one could doubt his certainty.
“Why not, though?” one of the generals asked.
Tayron couldn’t say why, but when he saw it play out in his mind, the tactic always ended in disaster. Jaksen and Havelin reinforced their trust in Tayron’s ability by immediately recommending that the plan be dropped. This pattern continued for a while, with the knight rejecting one out of every half dozen elements in the grand and intricate strategy, none of those ingredients being fundamental to the whole. Most of them having doubts about the very ideas he outright rejected, the generals found a newly developed faith in his judgment. He wondered if this meant he’d be getting a formal rank sometime soon. The continued ambiguity of his position in the grand scheme of this war, which had now brought him to speak as an equal in the company of generals, confused him. The fact that all nobles were peers, except for the hierarchy in court, and that all knights were equals, except for the hierarchy in the military, made mockery of any clear model of organization.
Wrapping up the session, Jaksen asked Tayron “any suggestions? You’ve seen what we have, do you have any ideas to add?”
Drained even though he hadn’t faced any physical or mental strain, the knight hurriedly said “no, not really.”
Nodding indulgently, the councilor said, “I think we can adjourn for now. Feradac, I think we can leave it to you to hammer it all out and smooth the rough edges.”
“As always,” said the general to only minor grumbles from his colleagues in the tent.
Jaksen bowed out with Havelin and Tayron in tow. Yunas joined them on the journey to Jaksen’s own tent. As far as the knights knew, it was just guard duty from here on out, but Tayron had a few questions. Conveniently, so did Jaksen.
In the drafty ill-lit tent, Jaksen sat on his bed while the other three, on invitation, took the three seats around a tiny round table. The councilor’s hands grasped his knees, and his back was razor straight. He looked like he was ready for the fight to start within the hour, but his voice was calm and satisfied. “That worked very well, didn’t it, Havelin?”
“Of course it did,” the mage said, lighting up his pipe again, “I said it would, didn’t I? For people who are actually helped by the gods, I’ve always felt the nobility spends very little time thinking about what you can and can’t do with the added power, choosing to spend more time hiring assassins. As a child, while most future mages would have been reading stories about great acts of mages, I used to read about the feats of the gods through the nobility. Very instructive.”
“I like to think I am not totally ignorant. Tayron will tell you that I saw the potential in him instantly.”
“You did, Lord Jaksen,” said Tayron, choosing this point to ask his question. “I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .”
“What your position is in all this, exactly,” Jaksen finished, reading Tayron’s mind with casual ease. “Dragging you into our strategy meeting, I knew you’d come out with that question. Tough to spend any amount of time telling generals what to do without wondering, I understand.”
Only slightly abashed that he had been so predictable, Tayron said nothing and allowed the councilor to weigh his response.
“As far as I am concerned, Tayron, you are below in rank to me, but ahead of virtually anyone – barring the king, of course. To everyone else, you are new to the court but have the backing of a powerful lord, so while you are newly rejuvenated nobility, you’re a full peer, and should not be looked down on. Here, you are a knight, which, as you have been taught, puts you on equal footing with any other knight until you are given a definite rank. So, you are Feradac’s equal unless your current commander – that’s me – chooses to give you rank, in which case you would likely be Feradac’s inferior, since I can’t simply declare someone a general without contradicting the orders of the king. I prefer not to give you rank so that you can speak up at meetings without feeling awkward. Any questions?”
“No, that cleared it up,” the knight said uncomfortably, pondering what sounded like a much higher position than he thought he had as a mere bodyguard.
Jaksen leaned back. “Good. Things seem to be on track again.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Yunas said, without the ominous tone that would have been expected considering his words. “Damial and his bunch were pretty sure of themselves too.”
“But you won’t tell us why.”
“Nope.”
Havelin puffed a cloud and said, “see what happens with this knight training they get. No mage would ever teach a student every trick in the book. This keeps the young ones humble. You idiots teach these kids everything, and give them a sword to boot. The least you could have done was make them susceptible to some kind of torture, but no – with enemies both inside and out, you couldn’t afford that. Take my advice, you need to bring these sorts down a notch.”
“I’ll take your advice into consideration,” said Jaksen, eyes still fixed on Yunas. Addressing the youthful knight again, he said, “I don’t suppose you can tell us who you think will win the battle tomorrow?”
“Oh, I think you will now that I’m with you,” Yunas grinned. “But I’m no genius, and it’s going to be pretty close. But you’ve got the better people here, and with the mages and all, I suppose you’ve got a better chance than last time. But who knows? I’m sort of superstitious, that’s all – don’t think it’s a good idea to jinx yourself by saying things are going good.”
“Nonsense!” Havelin puffed.
Before Jaksen could say anything pointed or placating, Anni appeared in the tent entrance, fresh from her coverage of the king’s arrival, and asked, “a conference, great, can I come in?” Her hair had been tossed by the wind, but with her hand glued to the pencil scribbling on her umpteenth notepad, she hadn’t thought to straighten it out. Her business-like blouse, skirt, and jacket had been kept immaculate, though.
“We don’t have any seats left, but . . .”
“I can stand,” she said, inviting herself in. “So, what are you guys talking about? I heard about the assassination attempt, could I get some comments?”
Jaksen glanced meaningfully at Tayron, who volunteered, “I’ll tell you about it later. Me and Yunas were the ones who fought him.”
“Excellent. Any comments about the king’s visit, Lord Jaksen?”
“Not right now, but I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind?”
She tucked her pencil behind her ear and said, “shoot.”
“What?”
“Oops, sorry, high lord. Been talking to the troops and they all use the usual city talk. I meant go ahead, sir.”
“Right,” Jaksen said, voice sounding like he was in need of a drink. “What is the mood of the camp? What do people think of the king’s visit?”
“Oh,” Anni said disappointed. She had expected a more probing question. “Nothing unusual. They were all very impressed by it. Anyone who talked to the king was in awe, and there were a bunch who hadn’t been sure that Damial wouldn’t have been a better choice until this visit, but now they’re convinced.” Flipping through her notepad, she continued, “a few suspected that the visit might be a sign that there’s serious trouble ahead. They had been told that this was going to be an easy run compared to the Rath’rainol border fighting. But the few that thought that way were convinced by a woman soldier – one of the few I’ve seen in the camp so far even though there all this talk in the news about how mixed our forces have become – anyway, she said that if they felt it was safe enough for the king to come to the camp, that can’t be a sign that things are going bad. This was before the whole assassination attempt thing, of course.”
“Mmm,” said Jaksen. Tayron, suddenly seizing on a good opportunity, gallantly turned his seat over to Anni, telling the group that he should be on guard duty, given recent events. From outside the tent, he heard Jaksen and Anni trade questions. The councilor occasionally told the reporter to ask Tayron about certain things, and she seemed more than glad to oblige. The knight paced menacingly in front of the tent entrance while thinking with satisfaction on the prospect of another night with Anni under the tree on the hill by his tent. Even if it was just another probing interview to her, it was time well spent to him. He wasn’t sure how it was supposed to go, but he knew everything had to start somewhere, and this was as good a beginning as any.