Elyon turned to the fort commander. “Sir Karter. Can we count on you and your men, if we decide to march?”
“I would need to consult my father, Sir Elyon. My brother and I have charge of the defence of this city, but if marching our soldiers to war, my lord father must give his consent. And for that to happen he will have to seek the permission of my cousin first. Only Lord Alrus can command a Pentar army to war. It may…take time.”
“We don’t have time, damn it,” Rammas thundered. “Forget your crippled cousin. His courage is as lame as that leg of his. What does your father say?”
“I…I would have to speak with him, my lord. But he is a man of strict protocol, and would not want to circumvent his nephew’s rule.”
“Does a prince’s word circumvent it?” Elyon asked.
Sir Karter looked at him, doubtful. “Sir Elyon. I know that many here in the east call you prince, but…”
“My father was declared king two days ago,” Elyon cut in.
Everyone looked at him.
“My lord?” said Sir Karter.
“It is official, sir,” Elyon said. “Lord Rodmond Taynar is the only man who could offer and counter-claim, and he has willingly bent the knee. From King’s Point to Crosswater, Varinar to Ilivar, the news is spreading. Let it spread here too. Amron Daecar is king.”
“Damn bloody right he is,” grunted Lord Rammas. “Your father’s always been king in the east.”
Rikkard and Killian both nodded; their loyalty to Amron Daecar was without question. Taynar, Amadar, Oloran, Kanabar, all would follow him now.
And the Pentars? Elyon looked at Sir Karter. “Does that change things, sir? Would your father heed me, should I speak with him? As prince.”
“I…well, I…I’m not sure, my lord. Even if this is true. Even if you are the Prince of Vandar, only the king can overrule a greatlord. We would need a sealed warrant from your father to circumvent my cousin’s rule. It might be quicker to simply seek Lord Alrus’s approval. I am sure he would be willing to consider the proposal, if you were to fly to Redhelm and speak to him yourself.”
Elyon had sincere doubts about that. “You will have heard of my previous altercation with your cousin, I’m sure. If I can avoid sharing in his counsel, then I will.” He would need to fly back to King’s Point anyway, report to the king all he’d learned. He would get his leave, then, to march out and destroy Ven’s army. “I will return to King’s Point,” Elyon said. “And come back with a letter of command from my father, signed and sealed.” He looked at Karter Pentar. “Will that serve?”
“It…should, my lord. I cannot say for certain until I speak with my lord father.”
“Then I will join you, and speak to him myself.” Elyon turned to the others before Sir Karter could respond. “I want you to discuss strategy,” he said to them. “Gather your best commanders and captains. Compile scout reports. Determine the truth of Vargo Ven’s strength. Has he been resupplied across the Bloodmarshes? How many dragons does he have? Starriders, Sunriders. Moonbears? I want a working plan by the time I return.”
The others nodded.
“How long will you be?” Rammas asked him. He opened and closed a fist. “If we wait too long…”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Elyon said. “Expect me back within a day or two.” He looked at Marian Payne. “My lady, a private word, before I go?”
She dipped her chin, and stepped out through the tent flaps. Elyon went first to his uncle before following. “Barnibus,” he said, as the others dispersed. “You were going to speak of him, before Raynald arrived.” He checked his uncle’s eyes. “Is he dead, Rikkard?”
“We don’t know. Not for certain.”
“But you fear he is?”
Rikkard gave a sigh. “Vargo Ven has been taunting us, Elyon. Before we arrived here from the Mudway, we were told that canvas bags of blood and gore had been dropped over the fort by dragons. Some held body parts; limbs, organs, even some heads. One of those heads belonged to one of Sir Solomon’s men. And an arm, with a ring on the middle finger. Another of Solomon’s company.”
Elyon understood. “So you believe the entire company might be dead? Barny included?”
“It’s possible. Or captured. Taken for information.”
“Tortured,” Elyon Daecar growled. He was starting to understand why his uncle feared a trap. “You think Ven is trying to goad us? Draw us out?”
“It’s something to consider. Rammas says these are typical Agarathi terror tactics, in response to our own, but I’m not so sure. We have to consider the risk that he’s trying to provoke us.”
Elyon nodded. “I’ll see what Father has to say of it.” He clutched Rikkard’s arm. “Be well, Uncle. I’ll see you when I get back.”
He stepped past him, out through the tent flaps, into the hectic bustle of the ward. Marian was waiting patiently outside with the few soldiers who had accompanied her to the council. Elyon recognised the man Roark among them, gruff and greying, garbed in leather and plate. The unkillable Roark, he thought, smiling to see him. “Still alive?” he said.
The old soldier grinned, ruts in his forehead and around his eyes deepening. “Just about. Think I’m through about eight of my nine lives by now, though.”
Marian rolled her eyes. “He has taken to thinking himself a cat, Elyon.”
“Or Eldur,” Roark said. “He had nine lives, didn’t he?”
“Eight,” Elyon told him. “Or seven, actually. He never died that eighth time.”
“He will,” said Marian Payne.
Elyon believed it when she said it. Lady Marian just had that way about her. “How is Braddin? Is he recovered by now?”
“Getting there.”
“And Lark? Is he well?” Elyon always liked to make a point of checking in with Saska’s old companions whenever he got the chance. Of the four soldiers who had travelled with her and Marian, only the flat-nosed Quilter had perished, falling at the Bane.
“Keeps on warbling,” Roark confirmed. “Some of his songs are getting famous too. Hear them sung about camp all the time, and not just among our own men neither. You know any of them, Sir Elyon? King Janilah’s Pride is my favourite.”
That one rang a bell. “Something about shoving forks up Janilah’s arse?”
