as look at it.
ontrose went north into my realm to oversee the mobilization of
my people. Though I certainly realized the necessity for that, I sorely
missed him. I dreamt about him every night and thought about him
just about every moment while I was awake. I made frequent trips
to my duchy – more than were necessary, actually – but I was the
Duchess of Erat, after all. Wasn’t it my duty to keep an eye on
things?
The armies of Wacune and Erat were not really separate, since
the two duchies were so closely linked. Baron Lathan commanded
Andrion’s forces, and Ontrose commanded mine, but all our major
strategic decisions grew out of extended conferences in either
Andrion’s palace or my manor house on Lake Erat. We were all very
close anyway, so we moved as a unit.
By the summer of 2942, everything was in place. Our combined
armies significantly outnumbered anything Carteon Iii could
muster, and if he so much as stepped across either of our borders,
we could easily crush him like an irritating bug.
‘All is now in readiness,’ Ontrose reported to Andrion and me
when he made one of his all too infrequent journeys to Vo Wacune
in the late summer of that year. ‘The army of Erat doth stand poised
on the north bank of the River Camaar within striking distance of
Vo Astur itself. Should Garteon move his forces across the Wacite
border, I will surely smash his capital. Barring the unforeseen, events
have reached a stalemate. Methinks we and the Asturians will glare
at each other across the various borders for some several seasons,
and then we may confidently expect peace overtures from Vo Astur.
The Oriman family is not well-liked by the other noble houses of
Asturia, and I should not be at all surprised should Garteon Iii e’en
as his grandfather. find his way to some high window in his palace
and take flight from that vantage-point to the courtyard beneath.’
‘Nicely put, my Lord Ontrose,’ Andrion complimented him,
‘I am a poet after all your Grace,’ Ontrose replied modestly.
‘Facility with language hath ever been a part of my nature.’
leaving our conference with Andrion, my champion and I
returned to my town house. At supper we discussed some rather
obscure and difficult points of philosophy, and I was once again
struck by the depth of this remarkable man’s understanding. I’d
have very much liked to have introduced him to uncle Beldin and
then sat back to watch the sparks fly. I knew that if my plans
worked out, that day would eventually come, and the prospect of
introducing this paragon to my family was pleasing. My father and
my uncles all lack a certain polish, and Ontrose, poet, philosopher,
courtly gentleman, and the mightiest knight alive, was so polished
that he almost glowed in the dark. Of all our Master’s original
disciples, only Belmakor could have matched his urbane civility
or so my father tells me.
After supper, we adjourned to my rose-garden as twilight
descended over the glowing city of Vo Wacune. Ontrose played his
lute and sang to me, and the cares of the day seemed to slip away.
It was one of those perfect evenings that come all too infrequently.
We talked of roses and only intermittently of the mobilization as
the gentle evening slowly grew darker and the stars came out.
Then, when it was time for bed, my champion tenderly kissed
me and bade me good night.
I didn’t sleep very much that night, but I did dream.
The following morning, my Ontrose left Vo Wacune to return to
the north.
Autumn that year had a dusty, almost regretful quality about it
that seemed to suit my mood perfectly. I’d devoted over six centuries
to beating the Arends over the head with peace, hoping to so
completely ingrain it in their nature that thoughts of war would never
occur to them again. That dream, however, was beginning to
crumble.
Winter came early that year, announced by endless fog, the curse
that bedevils northern Arendia in the off season. Fog’s one of the
more depressing weather conditions. It obliterates the sun and sky
and lays a misty blanket of gloom over everything. We endured a
kind of damp twilight for weeks on end, listening to the mournful
dripping of water from the limbs of every tree while the stone faces
of the buildings of Vo Wacune seemed to weep long strings of
tears.
The spring that followed wasn’t really much better than the winter
had been. One expects a certain amount of rain in the spring, but
there are also supposed to be sunny days now and then. This spring
seemed to have forgotten about sunshine, however. Dirty cloud’
hung over us for weeks on end, and somber gloom stalked the
streets.
Baron Lathan had been away for several months, and Andrion
and I hadn’t really paid all that much attention to his absence.
Lathan, as commander of the Wacite army, was obliged to frequently
visit military outposts, so his absence hadn’t really been that
unusual. When the miserable weather broke, however, he returned
to vo Wacune with some alarming news. Duke Andrion
immediately summoned me to the palace to hear his friend’s report. Lathan
was still wearing his mud-spattered traveling clothes, and he looked
positively exhausted. There were dark circles under his red-rimmed
eyes, and he’d quite clearly gone without sleep for several days.
,you need hot food and rest, Lathan,’ I delivered my professional
opinion.
‘There hath been scant time for that of late, your Grace,’ he replied
in an oddly dead tone of voice. Then he sighed deeply, a strangely
melancholy sigh. ‘I have but recently returned from Vo Astur
‘You what?’ I exclaimed.
‘The reports of our agents in Asturia were conflicting, your Grace,’
he explained. ‘It seemed to me essential that I see for myself what
doth transpire in that hostile duchy. I have some facility with the
uncouth speech of Asturia, and I thus experience no difficulty in
passing myself off as a native. I shall not burden thee with tiresome
details of my various subterfuges there. Suffice it to say that I was
present when diverse members of the Asturian government and
military did concoct a scheme which must needs concern thee
greatly. In short, the intent of Duke Carteon is to attack thine own
duchy. your Grace. Full well doth he realize that Wacune and Erat
do stand poised on his eastern and northern frontiers, and at his
first hostile gesture shall we move in concert to crush him.’
‘Like a rotten egg,’ Andrion added grimly.
Lathan smiled briefly. ‘Truly,’ he agreed. ‘Carteon doth realize
that an assault upon the borders of Wacune would be disastrous
for him, and thus hath he resolved to assault not Wacune, but Erat.’
‘Let him come,’ I said. ‘I’m as ready for him as Andrion is.’
‘That doth lie at the core of his plan, your Grace,’ Lathan explained
in a dead-sounding voice. ‘Carteon doth not propose a crossing of
the River Camaar. Rather hath he assembled a fleet of diverse vessels
at VO Astur. I myself did personally witness the embarkation of his
army aboard those ships, and I did also obtain by various means
the ultimate destination of that fleet. In fine, your Grace, Carteon
doth intend to sail down the Astur River and, well out of sight of
land, doth he plan to sail northward, rounding the promontory
which doth protrude from the northwestern coast of thy realm and
,,to ultimately make landfall at the mouth of the Seline River. his
,,initial goal, I do fear me, is the poorly-defended city of Seline, and
.,with that base firmly in hand, doth he intend to ravage all of
northern Erat and from thence to strike deep into the heart of thy duchy.
the alliance of Wacune and Erat hath ever blocked his evil design,
and he clearly doth intend to destroy Erat first and then to move
‘gainst Wacune.’
‘Have they sailed yet?’ I asked crisply.
‘Yea, your Grace. Carteon’s fleet did depart from Vo Astur some
three days ago.’
‘I need a map,’ I told Andrion.
Wordlessly, he reached inside his doublet and produced a folded
sheet of parchment.
I opened to the map and began measuring off distances. ‘A fleet
can only move as fast as its slowest ship,’ I mused. ‘If you’re
planning an invasion, you want all your troops in the same place at the
same time. It’s about two hundred and seventy leagues from Vo
Astur to the mouth of the Seline River. Let’s say that the best time
that fleet can make will be about twenty-five leagues a day. That
means eleven days – eight days from now.’ Then I measured off
some more distances and did some more quick arithmetic. ‘We can
make it!’ I said with some relief.
‘I do not follow thy meaning, Polgara,’ Andrion confessed.
‘My army’s poised on the north bank of the River Camaar – right