Elyon looked back down at the battle plans laid out before him. There were several maps, each showing the position of Ven’s forces and warcamp with different paths of assault. One was extremely direct, no doubt Rammas’s preferred strategy. Another was more elaborate and detailed, with well-thought-out battle formations and lines of attack. That would be the combined work of Rikkard and Killian, with input from Marian no doubt. Elyon had been gone for several days - busy days, in which he had found himself drawn to other matters - but it was clear by these plans that Vargo Ven had not yet made a move to retreat back to the Bane, as Rammas had feared.
He read down the list of units once more. “It says there are two Moonriders in the host.” That alone gave credence to the belief that Ven had been reinforced. There had been no Moonriders at the Battle of the Bane, after all. “Who are they? Do we know?”
“Timor Ballantris of Lumara, and Risho Ranaartan of Aramatia,” said Lady Marian. “They are two of the four known remaining Moonriders in the empire. If there are more, we are not aware of them.”
It sounded piteously few. “Are there more moonbears on the mountain?”
“Most likely. As with the dragons, not all wish to be bonded. But their numbers have always been fewer.”
And greatly so, Elyon thought. Unless there were hundreds of moonbears stalking about the heights, the dragons had them severely unnumbered. “And who leads the empire’s forces here? Is Sunlord Avam still alive?”
“We believe so,” said Rikkard. “There are no reports of his death, at least, and we know he survived the Bane.”
“Is there any way of getting a message to him?” Elyon asked. “Without Vargo Ven knowing.”
That raised a few eyebrows. “Why would you want to do that?” Rammas asked. “You’re not thinking of parleying, are you?”
That was exactly what Elyon Daecar was thinking. “The Agarathi may never agree to a ceasefire, but the men of the empire might. They are not in thrall to Eldur, as the dragonfolk are. There must be thousands of them, tens of thousands, who do not believe in this cause.”
“The same could be said of any army,” Rammas said to that. “Most men are mustered against their will. They want to stay and tend their farms and families, but a spear is shoved in their fist and they’re pushed on down the road to war. This is no different. And you’d be barking up the wrong tree with Avam. He’s a Patriot of Lumara. There’d be no getting through to him.”
Elyon nodded, taking the point. He had met Avar Avam during the parley before the Battle of the Bane, and had heard the hate in his voice. That one will never submit to a northerner. “Another commander, then?” he offered. “Who is next in line after Avam?”
“Moonrider Ballantris, we think,” said Rikkard. “Sunlord Avam is Piseki, and of a Solasi line, but Ballantris is Lumosi, born of Lumara, a moonlord in his own right, and has no affiliations with the Patriots.” He looked over at Lady Marian, who seemed the authority on this subject.
“Timor Ballantris is one of Empress Valura’s most loyal subjects,” she informed him. “He is, moreover, the most fearsome warrior in all of the empire, and the greatest active Moonrider. It may be that when he arrived, he took command of the empire’s forces, in place of Sunlord Avam. If you want to seek a conference, he would be the man to speak to.”
Rammas was shaking his head, not liking where this conversation was going. “Forget all that. We have our battle plans, and Ven’s out there waiting for us. What else is there to talk about? Let’s just march out there and meet him.”
And give Agarath the All-Father the show he craves, Elyon thought. “My father believes we should wait.”
“What? Why?” blustered Rammas.
“Because rushing into action needlessly is not wise, my lord. Our urgency to act was based on the fear that Vargo Ven would leave. He hasn’t, and likely won’t. In time he may even grow frustrated and assault us here, which would give us the advantage. And these numbers…”
“Forget the numbers,” said Rammas. “We have two men for every three or four of his. Those are good odd for us.”
“And dragons?” Elyon looked down at the sheet once more. “There is no number written here.”
“There can be no number with dragons,” Rikkard said. “If there was a battle in King’s Point, right now, would you consider yourself a part of it?”
Elyon frowned a moment, before puzzling out his meaning. “Any dragon within a hundred leagues could join the fight,” he said, nodding. “I appreciate that, Uncle. But you don’t even have an estimate.”
“We were waiting for you for that. An aerial scout will go a long way to confirming these numbers.”
That was fair. Elyon had told Lady Marian he would perform a scout of his own, and he would. “I’ll see it done,” he said. “Though not now. The skies are too overcast for me to get a good enough view, and it would serve to wait for clearer weather.”
“That could take days,” Rammas said. “What are we to do in the meantime?”
“Train, strategise, prepare.”
“But not act.” The red was rising up Rammas’s thick neck, veins pulsing. “The time is now, my prince. If we do not act, the dragon could return, and we will have lost our chance.”
“That is one of my father’s fears, Lord Rammas,” Elyon said. “There is a concern that the Dread will bear down upon us when we expose ourselves beyond these walls. We have spoken of the risk of being attacked by dragons on the march. An acceptable risk, perhaps. But not if that dragon is the Dread. Here at least we have the protection of the towers and battlements and ballistas. But out there, no. He would obliterate the entire army.”
“Or he may not. I thought you were going to fly across the sea and check.”
“I did,” Elyon said.
That brought silence to the room.
Elyon went on. “You wonder why I have been delayed in my return? My flight across the Red Sea is one such reason. I scouted south to check on the Dread, but the way was blocked by fume. The Ashmount smokes, my lords, my lady. From its summit, great plumes of black smoke fill the air, and I could not get near the Nest. Drulgar may yet be there, resting, but I cannot say for certain.”
Killian was running his fingers down his sharp chin, deep in thought. “There is a relationship between the dragon and the mountain,” he whispered. “Legend says that Drulgar was born from it, that Agarath forged him from its fires, building his body from the rock. These events may be linked. The smoking mountain may signal that the dragon is indeed recovering, a sign of his healing.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Rammas, dismissing it with an irritated wave of the hand. “It’s just a volcano, Killian. Volcanos smoke, that’s what they do.”
That was a possibility also, Elyon had to admit, though Killian Oloran was not a man to speak a theory unless it had been well thought out. To take it to its natural conclusion, that would mean that the volcano would stop smoking once the Dread was fully healed. Elyon put that to the group, and got a few nods of agreement, though Rammas continued to mutter that they were overthinking everything, and had gone ‘myth-mad’, as he called it. It was not an expression Elyon had heard before, though he got its meaning.
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But there is no harm in taking precautions. This is unprecedented ground we are treading, Lord Rammas. All eventualities must be considered.”
“All. Yes. And that’s my complaint. We spend all our time in council when we should be taking action. I lament more than ever the death of Lord Kanabar. He’d not be indulging all this prattle.”
“If you are weary of listening to it, my lord, by all means go.” Elyon opened an arm out to the flaps. “We will call upon you when it is time to act, if action is all you care for.”
Rammas bristled at that. “You’re dismissing me?”
“No. I am offering you the opportunity to leave. There is a difference.” He turned back to the command table, letting Rammas do as he wished. His warmongering is exhausting. Elyon understood, of course. The Marshlands had been raped, pillaged, brutalised and besieged by Vargo Ven and his armies, and Rammas only wanted his chance to seek vengeance. I want that myself, for Lancel, for Wallis, for Barnibus maybe too. Yet that did not mean he would be drawn to rash action, spending countless lives without due thought. “I want you to try to get a message to Moonrider Ballantris,” he said. “Is there a way of infiltrating Ven’s army with a spy?” The question was directed at Lady Marian. “You have special ointments and potions, I know, that can be used to change a person’s features, darken their skin and hair. Might you have an agent, my lady, who could pose as a Lumaran, and get close to Ballantris?”
