“I was afraid you might have some such offer to make,” Puil’stor said sadly. “I was hoping, though, that the prince imperial might be a man of greater honor.”
“Ma’am!”
“Your cause is flawed, Prince! This campaign was provoked by treachery. ”
“It certainly was not!”
Oh yes it was, Ylo thought.
“Come!” the elf said. “We are alone here. Let us be honest in the presence of death. There was no elvish attack on Fort Exern. The garrison was not destroyed by elves, but by Imperial duplicity. ,I suspect—I hope—that the bodies were those of common felons, for I wouldst not believe the Impire capable of—”
“What you are suggesting is not what was reported to me!” Shandie shouted. Ylo stole a sideways glance at him; the tricky light made his rain-washed face seem strangely haggard.
“You are not a simpleton!” The woman’s voice was so inflected with tragedy and her face so rain-soaked that she might be weeping; it was impossible to know. “Tell me that you believe that trumped-up farrago?”
“I am a soldier, ma’am. I obey orders.”
“You were not obeying your orders when you came here.” She was right, of course. She had guessed at Shandie’s gnawing guilt, as Ylo had not. That was why Shandie had offered such extravagant terms. Ridiculous terms.
“Even if what you suggest were the case, Sirdar, I can do no more than I have already done. I can offer no more than I have already offered. Take your lives at my hand and go in peace, lest the Evil prosper more than It need. ”
Ylo had never heard Shandie’s voice quaver like that before. He glanced at the second elf, the boy, but he was watching his leader intently and the uncanny underlighting threw a strange, unholy radiance on his golden features. One of their suicidal sulks, Shandie had said. Oh, God of Slaughter! Ylo hoped that it was the bite of the cold at his bones that was causing him to shiver so. The land would run with blood.
Puil’stor lowered her gaze to stare at the lanterns flickering and hissing in the rain. She wrung her hands. “Had you any trace of justice on your side, I should accept your terms gladly, for they are generous beyond belief. But I cannot acquiesce in the triumph of so perverted a cause.”
Discipline forgotten, Ylo was frankly staring at Shandie and he saw the legate’s features twist in pain.
“Ma’am, I beg you to reconsider.”
She shook her head with a great sadness. “I shall not withdraw. Perform your slaughter, Prince Emshandar.”
“This madness will gain you nothing.”
“That may be, but we must all be true to the songs our souls sing. I shall proclaim that any who wish to accept your offer may do so, but I know that none will.”
And if seven thousand elves fought to the last man, how many imps would die with them? God of Slaughter! The first casualty was going to be a certain signifer, frozen to death before the battle even started.
Shandie replaced his helmet. “Their blood is upon your head, ma’am.”
“Nay, upon yours, for you ride a cursed road. What is conceived in evil must breed more evil.” The sirdar paused and glanced at the boy beside her. “I would ask one favor, though.”
“Ask!” Shandie said.
“Joal is a minstrel of renown. Let him accompany you tonight and pass freely from this field of sorrows, so that at least one witness may return to the tree of my ancestors and record our passing.”
Shandie bowed his head. “If that is your wish.”
What did a man feel when he was chosen as Only Survivorunspeakable relief or utter shame? Ylo looked curiously at the boyish face, but it showed no expression at all. Joal must therefore be older than he looked. He might, of course, be as old as the imperor. One never knew with elves.
For a moment the only sound was the hiss of rain on the grass. Then Joal said, “No!” His voice was a chord struck on a harp in a vaulted basilica.
The sirdar turned to him in dismay. “My love! For the children!”
He did not look at her; he was as unmoving as an Imperial sentry, although his knuckles were white on the staff of his flag. “No,” he repeated.
She sighed and faced Shandie again. “Then our business is completed, Proconsul.”
“You will not reconsider?” Shandie asked in a hoarse whisper.
The sirdar shook her head.
The parlay was over; Shandie saluted. The imperor would get his massacre, the Eighth Battle of Nefer Moor, and it would do him no good. He would have committed the error Shandie had warned of not twenty minutes ago—he would have created a cause.
“Dragons!” said a new voice.
Reflexes jerked Ylo back a step. He almost dropped the flag. His heart fell clear to his boots.
Another elf stood beside the other two. He wore a shimmering silver cloak and a jaunty cap. The glade was not yet dark enough for him to have approached unseen. He had not risen out of the grass.
Shandie also had recoiled a pace. Now he saluted, his face suddenly grimmer than ever.
“Will your legions fight dragons?” the newcomer demanded angrily.
He looked about fifteen. A dandy. A runt.
The past months had made Ylo very blase about the Four, although he had met none of them except Olybino. He had studied what was generally known of them and collected a few confidential hints from Shandie. He knew that Olybino had been East for forty-four years, so he was a much older man than his occult demeanor suggested. He knew that the warden of the south was an elf and he had held the Blue Throne for twice as long as Olybino had held the Gold. South must therefore be more than a hundred years old, and his prerogative was occult control of the dwindled population of dragons that still dwelt within Dragon Reach.
This kid looked to be about fifteen, but he was threatening Shandie with dragons. He was the warlock of the south. Dragon Reach was not very far away—as a dragon flew. May the Good preserve us!
“You know who 1 am?”
Shandie had recovered from the shock. “Warlock Lith’rian. I remember you.”
The kid smiled contemptuously. “I should hope so! And I asked if you were prepared to fight dragons tomorrow?”
Ylo sneaked a look around, hoping to find Warlock Olybino. Lith’rian must be bluffing, surely? Certainly he could use dragons as a weapon if he wished—and no one else must—but not in this war! Not against the Imperial Army. The legions were sacrosanct. Even humble Ylo in his wet and smelly signifer’s wolfskin was sacrosanct. Why, then, was the humble Ylo feeling so naked and mortal?
Shandie said quietly, “I rely on the Protocol to protect me from dragons, your Omnipotence.”
“Then you will be disappointed! I am tired of this diet of blood the old monster craves in his dotage. I despise his warped methods and devious aims. ” The warlock looked at the woman. “I applaud the sirdar’s decision! She shows us that there is still honor in the world.”
She bowed. “Your Omnipotence honors me.”
“You honor our race and the Gods. Help is on its way.” Dragons.
Ylo could barely stop his teeth from chattering. He hoped Shandie would understand that the cold and rain were doing that to him; that fear was only a small part of it.
“And what of the Protocol, your Omnipotence?” Shandie asked.
“What of it?” Lith’rian snarled. “You dare invoke its name? You cosset it when it aids you and rape it when it doesn’t!”
“I have done nothing to—”
“Legally, no! You stay within the letter and you foul the spirit. Emine never intended the Protocol to sustain such noxious ventures as yours.”
Shandie straightened his shoulders. “I had nothing to do with whatever happened at Fort Exern. I have done my duty as a soldier until tonight. Tonight I exceeded my orders in an effort to spare men’s lives. Women’s, also.”
“So you will feel better when you celebrate your triumph in Hub?”
The prince sighed. “I suppose so.”
“And I ask you again if you are prepared to fight dragons?”
“Yes,” Shandie said. “If I must. Tomorrow I will enter the valley of the Linder and occupy Fairgan, or I will the trying.” He meant it.
God of Madness! Now it was the imps who were turning suicidal.
Lith’rian adjusted the silvery cloak on his shoulders. It seemed dry, despite the rain. “I suppose you expect help from that playboy soldier in the yellow helmet? You think he will take care of my dragons for you while you savage the elves? I advise you not to count on him. Olybino has never been much of a sorcerer and he knows it. Don’t count on him, Prince Emshandar. I invited him to this meeting. I invited him to my sector. And he was too frightened to come!”