14
Jaksen’s reinforced auxiliary cavalry now had a definite task – to protect the mages also in his command. The lord’s three bodyguards could now take shifts while on the battlefield, instead of having to scan the field constantly, tense at the possibility of a threat. The three had made the arrangement early in the morning when Yunas, seeing Bathis sleep deprived from the night watch and Tayron still giddy for the first time in his life from his stunning success with Anni the night before, added that he would be taking the longer watch.
Yawning, Bathis growled “for the gods’ sake, Tayron, did you have sex with her or something?”
“N. . .no!” the knight answered, taken aback.
“Then stop acting so damn triumphant and join us back down here on earth.”
“I was planning to come back down in time for the battle, don’t worry,” Tayron said with his regular self, “I was just enjoying the moment for as long as possible.”
“No chance of that while I’m around.”
The army formed up differently than the last time, to compensate for the change in tactics. A first major change was the route chosen. Intelligence had been gathered concerning the sentiments of peasants in the area, and this time the road was lined with spectators, many cheering. Workers on a few fields still ignored the procession, and even glanced menacingly, but the importance of these was drastically diminished, especially since Bathis was conserving the energy for the fight, and couldn’t waste any on angry words and gestures.
Knowing almost everything that was supposed to happen was an unusual sensation for Tayron, who was more thoroughly trained on how to operate when knowing nothing at all. Even though logically the greater the amount of information one has about a situation, the better off one is, Tayron found it all a bit unnerving. He knew how to filter out information, and to simply ignore things that weren’t immediately important, but all the battle plans were important, and could readily affect their situation.
“A good general always expects a great deal of his plan to fail,” Jaksen said in a way which suggested that, rather than guessing what Tayron had been thinking, he had been worried in the same way, “and knows how to deal with it. That’s why Feradac’s important – he can deal with the huge collection of things that have to happen. His skill saved us from losing the entire army in the last battle. This is the first time I have found myself in a position requiring similar skill. It’s quite unnerving.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, sir,” Tayron reassured, relieved that the responsibility wasn’t his.
“I’m sure I will, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving.”
The opening for the battle was the first magical ruse that had occurred to all the planners. There was some question about whether the enemy would fall for it, given how obvious it was, but the consensus was that it couldn’t hurt. The mages specializing in illusions would create a false army that would attack the enemy on the left. Feradac’s main cavalry would then swoop in from the right with a single charge, and the infantry would follow closely behind. The right flank was preferable because of a set of hills on that side from which the archers and cannons could fire. Riflemen would protect the cavalry charges, except for the breka bombing runs that usually had to defend themselves against bowmen or gunmen.
Jaksen’s auxiliary was outfitted with new breka, but this time Tayron did not feel so attached to his mount, and Bathis didn’t bother to name his. It simply wasn’t the same as the first, and both riders still mourned the loss at some level. For Yunas, though, it was his first breka, and he praised it endlessly, recounting every story about the creatures that he had in him and ignoring the advice of his companions not to get too attached.
“Yunas, why do you act like a kid?” Bathis scowled after he had reached twice his normal toleration limit. “You only look like one. I know that somewhere in there is a mind as developed as ours. Why don’t you show it occasionally?”
Yunas shrugged. “It just fits, you know? It’s like water fitting the shape of a jug; it’s what comes naturally if you flow with things. Most people don’t flow, though, I know, but I do. Makes life a lot more fun, ‘cause you don’t worry about fitting in and all . . .”
“All right, all right, sorry I asked.”
Yunas then continued with more wayward philosophy, always returning it to some quality of water, developing it right up to the start of the battle, with the mages arrayed in front of them on the hill, churning up an army. Only the youthful knight’s awe of the mage’s creation kept him quiet. Looking across the field, Tayron saw the main forces of the enemy army, swelled in numbers from the last engagement, standing firm about a mile distant. A few mages with some excellent concealment spells had hidden Feradac’s real forces so that, even at this close range, half of the army was invisible to Tayron.
Within minutes, the enemy army was engaging the illusion, and the first ranks started marching toward each other. Mechanically, swords were drawn on both sides, and the clanging of moving armor sounded almost like a train. The moment that the first soldiers were about to cross swords, the armies vanished. Both armies vanished.
“Oh shit!” Bathis said as the real armies revealed themselves, both on the same side of the battlefield. There was nothing to do but plunge ahead, so Feradac’s cavalry charged and the infantries engaged.
“That was always the weakest part of our plan, anyway,” Jaksen said. “Quite funny, really. Mages, take your places. Auxiliary cavalry, one rider to each mage. Havelin, you’ll be with us to maintain communications.”
“I know, I know,” the high mage moaned. “I was there at the planning session, remember? You don’t have to order me around.”
The mages spread themselves out all around the field, some continuing to create various illusions, all approved by Tayron, while others launched long range spells to strike archers and riflemen. Some specializing in the earth element created sinkholes beneath enemy troops. Others summoned beasts from other planes of existence to fight for the few minutes that the mages could control them.
The effectiveness of the magic was balanced by similar successes achieved by the rogue mages on the opposite side of the field. Jaksen and Feradac had been correct – a great loss of life was the net result, with no advantage either way. Enter the trickster.
“Looks about time for the start of phase two,” said Jaksen, seeing a dozen of the mages congregating on two nearby hills. The wind carried to the ears of the infantry unit closest to the hills a message from Havelin to begin the mock retreat. They had been warned of the trick ahead of time, and had maintained formation to ensure a quick disengagement and an orderly retreat. As expected, the enemy flowed through the gap, giving chase without discipline and betraying their lack of formal training. The mock retreat led the pursuers right between the two hills, from which the mages rained down fiery fury on them. Not only did this destroy the opportunistic enemy unit, but also the morale of the entire enemy army was weakened. More had to be done, though, to close the gap in numbers. The enemy’s ranks had indeed swelled, and even if those ranks lacked training, they could inflict enough injury and death on the king’s men to continue Damial’s cause another day if the battle was not decisive.
Tayron looked on as trick after trick was executed, all playing on the enemy’s lack of discipline, and felt as if he was being charged up. Hair at attention, electrified and ready for the fight, he waited for the tactic that he had been most keen on, the one that would turn the tide in their favor for good.
“Repert’s charge will happen soon, won’t it?” he asked Jaksen.
Pointing to a distant dust cloud, the councilor said, “there is it.”
The cavalry, riding on fast groads that leaped across the ground more than ran across it, was also spotted by the enemy, who brought units of pikemen and riflemen up from the reserve lines to counter the charge of the pouncing beasts. These waited patiently, weapons ready, knowing that they would be the first to get trampled down into the dust if they didn’t kill the groads first. Many fled the line, reflecting not so much cowardice as the expected lack of discipline. The average man could hardly be expected to face down a cavalry hurtling toward him without some mental programming beforehand. The surprise was that so many remained.
The riflemen started firing when they judged their aim would be true, and gunpowder would not be wasted on harmless shots. A few of the cavalry fell, but gunthars had a tough skin and the charge continued. Pikemen, with the beasts within spitting range, lifted the pikes as the creatures pounced. Expecting the impact, many among the enemy troops cringed, cowered, or made a last ditch attempt to desert, only to feel nothing but the air press against them. Rank after rank of cavalry disappeared as it reached them and, realizing the illusion, the relieved enemy troops restored formation and redirected their efforts back to the main fight.
They must have thought that the illusion continued only to unnerve them, because none seemed to consider why it had been maintained after it had been revealed. Tayron couldn’t say that he would have done any better – in the middle of a tense situation, people have a tendency to believe what is most convenient – but he preferred to think that he would have figured it out.
There was a slight gap between the false cavalry and the real one. If the enemy had been paying attention, the implication would have been obvious. The first rank of the real cavalry charged flat onto the enemy’s left flank, and before any attempt to counter the charge had been set up, the damage was done. The enemy was in flight, withdrawing to avoid being surrounded. Damial’s army would probably attempt to rally if they could reestablish a firm line somewhere else, but the cavalry would prevent that.
“Time for us to join the fight, I think,” Jaksen decided. “Havelin, contact the rest of the auxiliary cavalry and . . .”
“I know, I know, I know, dammit!” Havelin shouted testily. His airborne words brought Jaksen’s men together, and once all those who were still alive were accounted for, they took off for the front. Bathis and a dozen of the breka riders were left behind to guard the mages, so Tayron and Yunas had to keep an especially close guard on Jaksen, whose impulsiveness in battle they had only recently realized the extent of.
“Don’t count on him to make your job any easier,” Bathis advised. “I think he wants to die gloriously in battle.”
Solid determination playing on the thin lips of all faces, and electric confidence raging within Tayron, the forces swooped over the landscape and, heeding Jaksen’s orders, searched for the strongest enemy units. These units had to be diminished so that they would offer no further battle. While the enemy was being routed, these normally strong foes were easy pickings. The closer to the enemy Tayron got, the more certain he was that something absolutely excellent was going to happen – that Tayl was pleased, and was going to reward the efforts of the army that had played such excellent tricks in his honor. The knight felt certain that his god, having been consulted in as direct a manner as possible about the tactics, felt that the general had honored him by doing so, and had given the proceedings his blessing. And perhaps cursed the attempts of Damial.
And there, in front of Tayron surrounded by grounded breka riders and on a wounded mount of his own, was Tayl’s crowning gift – the bloated form of Damial himself. As certain as he had been in the last battle that the form had been a trap, he knew this time it was the real thing. Busting through the ring of breka riders protecting the would-be king was no problem for the auxiliary cavalry, but they had to move quickly.
“Lord Jaksen, look there!”
It didn’t take the councilor long to register what he saw, but impulsive as he was in the heat of the fight, he was not about to be tricked twice. “Are you sure he’s the real thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right, let’s go, auxiliary cavalry!”
The strike was the same as before, with the first wave dropping explosives, and the second wave matching two to each of Damial’s guards. Once all the guards were definitely occupied, Jaksen, Tayron, and Yunas dropped in on the distressed lord, his breka squealing from the pain of the wounds it had already sustained. Jaksen and Tayron struck together and Damial, his blade wavering aimlessly between the two attackers, was eviscerated. Blood flowed from the round figure and within seconds, Havelin’s voice was heard in every ear on the field, saying, “Damial is dead, victory to the king. The rebellious host flees, victory to the king.”
No more resistance was offered from that point on, and Jaksen, having more than satisfied his thirst for battle, ordered the riders to return to the hill where Bathis, the rest of the cavalry, and the mages awaited.
“That was a breeze,” Bathis said on their return. “Honestly didn’t think it’d be that easy, but I suppose that first battle only turned out the way it did because of their mages. They had absolutely nothing this time. Then again, we didn’t really think they would have great commanders, being only courtiers and businessmen.”
“We might also have to thank Tayl for this one,” Jaksen noted.
“How right was I, eh?” Havelin boomed proudly, robes swishing on the grass and lit pipe placed at a jaunty angle between his lips. “Nothing better than being right, I always say. We’d better have some tribute to Tayl after a battle like this. Our young friend Tayron here can be the guest of honor.”
Still reeling from the battle, the eerie sensations, and the final plunge through Damial, Tayron was not prepared for anything more to think about, so he simply ignored Havelin’s words as offhand comments.
Jaksen was more difficult to block out, but his words was also thankfully less outrageous. “Looks like things are turning around for the reputation of Tayl, and his attitude toward those he protects. Don’t worry about it for now, but file it away for future reference. Life is long, and the power you have the potential for wielding will not be possible to dismiss.”
Tayron nodded and filed away the advice. At least he wasn’t the only one leaving the battlefield with an eerie feeling. Looking around him, everyone had a dazed look on his face. Not only was the battle won, but within a split second the end of the war had been secured as well.
“This is the end of the war then?” Yunas asked to make certain.
“Looks like it,” Jaksen said. “Two battles. Even in my wildest dreams I didn’t think it’d be only two battles.”
“Really too bad,” said Yunas, with his typical contrariness, “I was hoping to switch sides again after this battle, see how the guys over there’d react to it. Go figure, you can never tell how things’ll turn out and all.”
With the army formed up again and heading for the old enemy camp at Rippling Hills, Feradac came up alongside Jaksen with a smug look on his face. “That felt good. If I’ve been designed to take part in this irrational mess called war, let me at least have a few more battles like that in my record, and I’ll die an only mildly depressed man.”
Silence was kept the rest of the way, not for any reason other than a lack of things to say. Renewing the train of thought he had been forced out of by Bathis, Tayron recalled his meeting the previous night with Anni. It had started out as a formal interview, with the knight trying his best not to be too put off by the reporter’s stern manner. Then, after he had been bled dry of information, she put away her notepad and started to talk about some of the concerns she had about the kingdom, and the way her own life seemed to be a bridge between the world of the peasant and the world of the nobility.
“I really think I should be doing more instead of just reporting on everything. I’ve always wanted to improve my own life, and that’ll always be the first thing, but I’m so close to the really powerful people in the kingdom. Seems like I should be trying to put the opportunity to good use. Like you, you know? You’ve really made an impact. Few knights can say that a bunch of general asked them for advice, that their decisions might have decided the outcome of a war.”
“I can’t say that!” Tayron had objected.
“What I’m saying is, do you think I should talk to Lord Jaksen about the point of view of the farmers, and what they’re thinking about the nobility these days, or should I just stay a neutral reporter? I might be putting my career on the line if I offend people this powerful.”
“I don’t think you’d offend Lord Jaksen, especially if we win the battle, I think he’ll be in a good mood. And you should always do what you think is right. You can’t really be neutral. They taught us that at the academy and they’re probably right – if you decide not to do anything, you’re only indirectly supporting whoever wins.”
“It’s not like a battle.”
“No, but it might cost just as much, and if there’re only losers, will it make you feel any better?”
Steeling herself up, Anni had said, “you’re right. My life isn’t just about getting out of the hole I was born in and making money. I want it to mean something, so that at the end of the day I can go to sleep satisfied with what I did during the day.”
“Did I say all that?” Tayron said in mock bewilderment.
Pouncing on him, she gave him what was for her a bear hug, but for him had been awkwardly delicate. She said “you’re cute,” then kissed him. By all estimates, it had been a peck. A peck on the lips, perhaps, but still a peck. But it was more than that to him and she knew it. The way she had smiled afterwards, the way her eyes glowed, told him that she understood exactly what he thought of her, but that they were going to play by her rules.
He was just glad that they were playing by any rules at all. However little it had been, and however irrational it was to get excited about it, his underdeveloped relationship sense was hooked. This did not mean he would be inattentive to his duties, the warning voice in his mind reminded him. This was not a distraction. He had been well trained to balance out his life and to focus when focusing was necessary. But another dimension had been added to his life, and it had embraced him.
She had said “another interview after the battle, then?” as she got ready to go. “I’ll be looking forward to it,” he had answered, positively smooth. And as he made his way with the rest of the army into the enemy camp he wondered what proportion of the meeting would be interview and what proportion would be date. Not that he was picky.
“This is bad,” Havelin said suddenly to Feradac, bringing Tayron back to the present. “I don’t like this.”
Tayron looked around, expecting to see some horrendous surprise awaiting them. They hadn’t reached the enemy camp yet, and the open fields before them, while bearing some farm workers quietly overlooking the army’s progression, did not seem to hold any menace to be concerned about. The knight listened to the mage’s words for clarification.
“Everyone’s a bit too happy, if you know what I mean.”
“Sounds like superstition, Havelin,” the general responded, “I thought you didn’t tolerate such nonsense. Or, don’t tell me, you feel that because we used trickery we will be punished somehow, or should be punished.”
“There’s a fine line between mere trickery and what I fight against, it is true, but this did not have the malice of betrayal, which I attack. No, this has nothing to do with me but everything to do with the rules of faith. We are riding too high.”
“We only just won!”
Havelin gestured for another mage to come alongside. “Xern, you’re more skilled than I am at revealing the future.”
A red haired, clean-shaved mage in deep blue robes stepped forward and responded “yes, but you’ve never inquired about the future before, Havelin. I know you, and the only type of question about the future you would bother asking is the very type I refuse to answer. There are some things I simply do not want to know.”
“But you must have some clue, some idea based on the other readings you’ve done how this will turn out. Don’t do a reading, just give me your opinion.”
“My opinion?” Xern repeated bemused. “I don’t get that request very often. Everybody always wants what’s definitely going to happen. Fine, here it is. First of all, they,” the mage pointed at the farmers carefully ignoring them, “will be at the center of it. Second, the death of Damial will not be the last opportunity the enemies of the present king will have to remove him. Third, the present king will have a long reign. Satisfied?”
“You sound fairly certain about all that,” said Havelin, expecting his counterpart to qualify every answer.
“Sorry, habit. None of it’s certain, so don’t get any funny ideas. Will that be all?”
“Yes, thank you.” Xern retreated to a safe place out of shouting distance.
Feradac looked satisfied. “There you go, my chain smoking friend, all we’ve got to worry about is the peasantry and the ghost of Damial. Still worried?”
“That’s not what I heard.”
The general growled. “Well, keep it to yourself, then. At least until you’ve got something definite to tell me, I don’t want to hear about it.”
The mage grunted and puffed without his pipe. “You’re probably right.”
“Of course. And anytime me and you agree on anything, we can’t be wrong. Look! Here we are.”
A tent city, shabbier than Feradac’s Orina establishment, stood before the army. The lead units were already searching the place for traps. Reports came back that all but the largest tent had been abandoned. In the largest tent, the mess tent, a group of lords was prepared to negotiate their surrender. Before the command staff entered the camp ground, a message came back giving the all clear, signaling that no unpleasant devices had been left behind.
“All nice and friendly like,” Feradac mumbled more to himself than to Havelin, who wouldn’t have reacted anyway, being too busy talking to himself under his own breath.
Jaksen, for one, strode into the camp triumphant, without a doubt in his mind. The deserted tents held no interest for him – having heard where the lords waited their arrival he made his way to the mess tent, and entered second only to Tayron.
The knight saw about five dozen men and women, only two dozen of whom looked to be courtiers - the rest were knights with a defeated stare that looked chronic. The five who looked to be in charge were seated at one end of a table that had ten chairs around it. Jaksen took the seat at the head of the table on the unoccupied end. Automatically, four others took seats in strict accordance with court rank. Feradac was actually seated in the fifth place – the second seat on the left side of the councilor.
“You,” the lord facing Jaksen, presumably the leader of those who wished to surrender, grimaced. He was young, possibly no older than Tayron. His hair was jet black and stood up straight. Delicate pale skin marked him as extremely privileged and probably spoiled. Tayron had not seen him in court before, though, and had no idea why he had adequate rank to negotiate with Jaksen. “I was hoping that I would face anybody but you.”
“Disappointment is one of the fundamental conditions in life, young Praeger. For instance, I would have preferred to speak to your father, who at least had some experience in the ways of the court.”
“Though I have not had the opportunity to attend court and take up my father’s position yet, I am not completely unschooled, Lord Jaksen. As for your own disappointment, you can only blame yourself. Your forces killed my father, so now you have to deal with me. If it were possible, I would have preferred my father to be alive to negotiate with you as well, so it seems we have developed some common ground. Perhaps it would be best if we start from there. If we are reconciled here today, will you join me in mourning my father tomorrow?”
The young lord Praeger kept his voice calm, but no one in the room was in any doubt that he was holding back tears. His face had a red tension in it that would have been impossible to fake.
Jaksen’s voice was filled with sympathy. “Of course. Mistaken though his views were, he was a good and stalwart man.”
“Then I don’t mind telling you that I tried to dissuade him from joining with Lord Damial, and all of us here now realize our error.”
Jaksen cleared his throat to make it seem like what he was about to say was unpleasant to him. “I’m afraid that will not be enough. Everyone realizes their error when their failure is absolute. That’s no gesture of goodwill. Why should the king welcome back men who so readily abandoned him? For the king knows that there is more than mere error at work here. There is a difference in ideology, a different way of thinking. You believe you know the best way to govern this land, so what prevents you from raising rebellion when the next opportunity presents itself?”
“I don’t know how to prove anything to you, but we can provide you with a convincing gesture of our goodwill.”
Praeger gestured for the lord at his immediate right, another man unknown to Tayron, but whose wrinkled face marked him as a man Jaksen likely knew, to continue. “As a gesture of our faith in the one true king, we will divulge information which may prove vital to his cause,” the lord croaked. “First, it may interest the great lord and councilor Jaksen to know that we do not realize our error when our failure is absolute. Indeed, Lord Quenari and others have contrived other plans independent of Damial’s existence, and we could have been party to such plans. Instead, we choose to warn you of them. This, we believe is an adequate gesture. Would you agree, Lord Jaksen? We would not want to tip our hand before receiving some assurance that our offer has a chance of being accepted, and we will trust your word if you give it.”
“That is understandable,” Jaksen agreed, but didn’t give an answer before thinking over for a minute. “If you give us this information, you will have audience with the king, at which time your fate will be decided, as is custom. As you are already traitors, failure to make the gesture will result in your executions, after a military tribunal, of course.”
Praeger asked, “will you speak well of us in the king’s presence?”
“If your information satisfies me, yes.”
“Will we have individual audience, or will our fate be decided as a group?”
Tayron knew that this was a serious matter, implying the amount of honor the men were to be accorded. Nobles had to be received by the king individually. If their fate was decided as a group, it would be an indication to the court that the king had temporarily revoked their nobility until, if the ruling was in their favor, their titles would be restored. Being tried as a group and not being pardoned would mean that, not only would they lose their lives, but their lands would be confiscated and their families cast off. Individually, they might forfeit their lives, but since they retained their nobility throughout, the land and title would pass to their sons. Their ancestors would not plague them in the afterlife for failing to pass down the family legacy.
“You will be given individual audience.”
Praeger nodded to the lord to his right, who went on with his explanation. “First, Lord Jaksen, you must understand that, because we refused to be party to their plans, we do not know the full extent of their schemes.”
“Of course not, where would the fun in that be?”
“Yes, well, we do know that it has to do with Damial’s sister. She is a powerful woman, and many within the inner circle around Damial and Quenari said that she had been a great influence on the heir, and pushed him into seeking the throne. As you are aware, he was more prone to seek comfort than power, and would not have vied for the throne on his own initiative.”
“Go on.”
The lord mechanically went on. “Now that her brother has been eliminated, she will wish to lay her own claim. There is precedence for succession to a woman, even when there existed a legitimate male heir, if she was proved to be competent when he was not. She is also extremely receptive to Quenari’s beliefs. There were suggestions that the two were . . . well, having an affair.”
Jaksen’s eyebrows flew up. “How very modern of them.”
“We also know that they have spies in court . . .”
“Of course they do. Do you know who?”
The lord looked taken aback by Jaksen’s ferocity. “No one of lordly status, but definitely a courtly noble or someone with extremely close access to the king and council. Not a knight. Other than that, we know no more.”
“You know very little for men of such a high status. It would have been within your right by rank to demand more information.”
Praeger answered, “Quenari paid no attention to rank. Often times, he kept his own counsel, expecting the others to follow him blindly. That was what made me decide to warn my father against Quenari. There were rumors that Quenari had formed a committee with his pet businessmen. They could buy more troops than we could offer – our wealth is tied to the land, theirs is not – so it would make sense that he would give them first consideration. It is my belief that they would have known more than we did.”
“This is not enough, Praeger. Can you give me the names of other traitors? I would be interested in the businessmen and powerful rogue mages in particular.”
Blinking his eye in surprise, the young lord said “yes. I would have thought you would have those names already, but yes. The mages, mostly commoners who had excelled in magic but kept their skill a secret, enjoyed mingling with us nobles – they hoped it would rub off on them, I suppose. We got to know them very well, and I kept a keen eye on the more outstanding ones. Oh, but we can’t testify against them, I’m afraid. I almost forgot about that – we swore an oath on that.”
“And you would not betray that oath as the price to rejoin your king?”
Praeger flashed a weak smile. “Don’t try to trick me, Lord Jaksen. I know the old rules of honor as well as you do. I’m not as caught up in all of this revolt against tradition as some of the others are. If I break this oath now, the oath of loyalty I must speak before the king to confirm my obedience would be meaningless in your eyes. So I will keep this oath, and the one I make to the king.”
“Did you not make an oath of loyalty to Damial?”
Smile growing wider by a hair, Praeger said, “Quenari and Damial were not so secure in their plans to demand that. They knew that if they required such an oath, half of their support would be lost. Lords do not need to express their loyalty to an equal, and until he was crowned king, Damial was our equal. No, the oath we made only covered testimony.”
Leaning back from the table, Jaksen looked satisfied by the interrogation. “Very well. I will speak favorably to the king about you. But I warn you, the final decision is the king’s.”
“Naturally. Thank you, Lord Jaksen. We officially place ourselves at your mercy.”
Jaksen looked to Feradac. “General, you will take care of the details.”
“Sure, sure.”
“And you should begin moving the Orina camp here. Your presence in this area will hopefully dispel any ill influence Quenari created. Also, I believe the king might still like to have that feast here, since there don’t look to be any traps.”
“All the preparations will be sorted out,” Feradac said.
“That will be all then, gentlemen and ladies. I have had my fill of the day, and will look for the tent with the best bed so I might grab myself some rest before I’m summoned again.