DW02 Dragon War (12 page)

“No,” Shulana said very softly. “He is listening to something—something very far away.”

Culdus stifled a groan as the servants lugged into the throne room a table that the general immediately recognized as his own large worktable, for it was covered with his campaign maps and blocks of wood he used to mark the positions of his legions on the maps. If these idiots had disturbed his papers....

“I wanted to show you this on your own maps, Culdus,” Ruprecht enthused. “I’ve figured it all out completely. You will be amazed.”

Culdus again exchanged glances with Valdaimon as the servants arranged the table and brought heavy wooden chairs for the king and his two highest servants.

“Sit, sit!” Ruprecht commanded, his dark eyes ablaze with the excitement that he usually reserved for moments of lust or torture. There was a different lust burning in that decadent brain now, Culdus thought. What was it?

“Go!” the king ordered the servants. What he had to say was for the ears of Valdaimon and Culdus alone.

The youth crawled up with his knees in the seat of the chair, his body perched forward on the table. “Look,” he said. “Here is a map of the entire area of our current campaign.”

Culdus hardly needed to look—that map was emblazoned in his memory. The long, east-to-west expanse of Heilesheim in the south, its border, the River Rigel, separating it from the patchwork of states called the Duchies and from Dunsford to the immediate north. Farther north was Argolia, and beyond that, the southern border of Parona, the great power of the north. In the far east, beyond Heilesheim’s own eastern desert where the city of Laga marked the farthest extent of civilization, the great Eastern Mountains rose, running northward the length of the known world. Those same mountains formed the eastern border of Parona and then turned to the west, forming its northern border as well.

Another great river, the Pregel, ran southwest from the northern mountains. Tucked against the south side of that river was the Elven Preserve, a long, narrow stretch of woodlands where the remaining elves of the world lived, protected by the Covenant that had ended the horrid wars between them and humankind. On its western and southern sides, the Elven Preserve bordered the occupied lands of Argolia and the Duchies.

Wooden blocks, carefully arranged by the king, showed the current positions of the Heilesheim army’s ten legions. Six were in Argolia, all within two days’ march of the northern border of that land, ready for rapid concentration against Parona, the next target in the plan of conquest. Two of the other four were currently involved in sieges against fortifications along the Rigel, strongpoints of the already doomed resistance. Two more were now scattered to the winds, occupied in garrison duties. These the king had indicated as being present in Dunsford—as good a representation as any, since the land route through Dunsford was the vital supply and communications artery of the entire army.

“Here,” Ruprecht said proudly, “are the present locations of our troops. Is this accurate, Culdus?” The eager young face turned up from the table.

Culdus stared at the narrow head, the sharp, aquiline nose, the thin chin, the greasy, tangled locks of curly, black hair that spilled down the king’s neck. Why, he wondered, was he giving his genius, perhaps the greatest military genius in a millennium, to this whelp who was in the thrall of Valdaimon?

“Accurate enough, Your Majesty,” the general replied.

“And as any fool can see, we are poised like a dagger near the southern border of Parona. Yet we are dispersed just enough to keep the enemy wondering where the blow will fall,” the king lectured.

“We are not yet at war with Parona,” Valdaimon reminded the king. “The schedule prepared by Baron Culdus—”

“Is not being met,” the king said shortly. “The invasion of Parona should have begun a week ago, and we are behind, behind, behind!”

“As I have earlier tonight attempted to explain to Your Majesty,” Culdus began, seeing an opening, “the failure of the League of the Black Wing to....”

“No matter,” the king snapped, cutting him off. “We are not going to invade Parona.”

“But Majesty!” thundered Culdus, “Never has there been such an opportunity for Heilesheim’s arms! We have swept the center of the world—only the northlands remain! With time to organize our rear areas, we can yet....”

“Truly, Culdus is correct, Majesty,” Valdaimon cut in. “War with Parona is inevitable, and it could never come at a better time than....”

“Then after the conquest of the Elves!” the king shouted, leaping to his feet on the tabletop, sending the carefully arranged wooden blocks flying.

Valdaimon and Culdus stared dumbly at the king.

“It is our will,” the wastrel monarch began. “No. It is our order, Lord Culdus, that you prepare the army for a movement against the Elven Preserve. We will attack first from the southwest, the narrow end of the Preserve nearest us. We will march north and east, clearing their forest world as we go, and then larger forces, now deployed in Argolia, will invade from the flank, crushing the remaining elven resistance. In the meantime, those troops will play the great role of guarding our invasion against any interference from Parona, or the few bands of rebels still roaming about in Argolia.”

Valdaimon was the first to break the awkward silence that followed the king’s outburst. The old wizard spread his thin, long, yellowing fingers flat against the smooth surface of the map, stroking it gently. “Your Majesty has obviously given this great thought,” he said. “But not even I had an idea that Your Majesty intended to renew the wars against the elves, which proved so... difficult to our ancestors.”

“See, see!” the king jubilated. “Even Valdaimon is surprised! Isn’t that grand, Culdus! Even the very father of cunning and intrigue is surprised. The whole world will be stunned by our boldness!”

“I confess that I, too, am quite surprised,” Culdus said. “Pray confide to me Your Majesty’s reasons for wishing to delay war with Parona while fighting the elves—who are not part of the Holy Alliance and have thus far maintained their neutrality in all human struggles.”

Ruprecht leapt from the tabletop to the floor. He spun around to face Culdus, a smirk on his face. “Because,” he said, “I don’t like elves.” The young ruler’s face was alight with a broad smile. His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “What greater proof of our absolute power could there be,” the king demanded, placing a hand on Culdus’s mighty forearm and stooping to gaze earnestly into the old general’s eyes, “than the extermination of an entire race merely to satisfy Our royal whim? We shall be thought of as a god!”

You shall be thought of as a demon, and a damnably stupid one at that,
Culdus thought.

“Your Majesty’s point is well taken, well taken,” Valdaimon said thoughtfully. “However, there are certain practical... obstacles to the immediate execution of this... inspired plan,” the old man oozed.

“What obstacles?” Ruprecht demanded, standing erect, a slight pout showing on his pale face. “Have not both of you informed me that I now command the greatest military force in the history of mankind?”

“That is true, Your Majesty,” Valdaimon soothed. “Very true. However, the magic of the elves is very....”

“We know all about the fabled magic of the elves,” Ruprecht retorted. “We are not impressed. At this moment is there not an elf, a very old and powerful one at that, in our dungeon in clear violation of the Covenant? What magic has he used against us? What protest has been forwarded from the Elven Council? What reprisals have the elves taken? Their magic cannot be of such great power, or they would not allow themselves to be so treated,” the king concluded.

“Their magic could destroy the entire world if it were unleashed all at once,” Valdaimon said plainly, struggling to rise. “Your Majesty is very young, and does not understand the nature of magical power. That is why Your Majesty has always relied on my judgment in such matters, and why I must implore Your Majesty to do so now. Strike Parona! Rule the human world! But do not break the Covenant at this moment. What would your own subjects say?”

“His own subjects,” Culdus interjected coldly, “would applaud such a move. At His Majesty’s orders, the entire army and much of the population has been subjected to endless tirades against the elves. I did not before see the purpose of these. Now I do,” the general said, his voice tinged with sadness.

“Precisely!” The king ran through the great empty room and leapt onto his throne. “Precisely! You see, I have politically prepared the kingdom for this step, and you did not even notice. As for the elven magic you fear, Valdaimon,” Ruprecht said, glaring at the old man from his seat of power, “if you cannot find some way to deal with it, then perhaps it is time we sought counsel from another mage, someone more youthful, more vigorous.”

Valdaimon sensed great danger. He had played for years on the boy’s ego, never dreaming that he would produce the full-blown megalomaniac that now confronted him. For his own aims to be achieved, Valdaimon still needed this king. But war with the elves was a risk beyond all calculation. How could magic of that most magical of all races—save dragons—be negated? And how could that be done now, when all Valdaimon’s energies were urgently needed to find the Golden Eggs and obtain their secret?

“I am ever Your Majesty’s servant,” Valdaimon said smoothly, forcing his stiff, withered form into a painful bow. “I shall, of course, obey Your Majesty’s will.” The old wizard turned his eyes to catch those of Culdus.
Help me, my old enemy,
he thought,
help me.
“If my services are no longer desired by....”

“Enough!” Ruprecht snapped. “As long as you obey, you may maintain your position in our court.”

“It cannot be done,” Culdus said flatly, slamming his great right hand flat on the table. “It is madness and suicide. It will destroy the army for no gain.”

“Explain yourself,” Ruprecht said coldly.

“Our entire military system is based upon fighting in open ground. We have won victory after victory that way. To fight in those tangled, infernal, enchanted woods, where our mass formations cannot be used—where the tactical finesse we have perfected over the years will be meaningless—to risk the entire army in such a campaign with untamed Parona lurking to the north, it is....”

“It is our will,” Ruprecht said, rising slowly. “Do you mean to tell me that the greatest army in history cannot root a few thousand elves out of a wood? I will not hear such nonsense. Speak it again, and you will no longer be our chief general!”

Culdus rose and bowed deeply from the waist. From the bottom of his heart he wanted nothing more than to draw his great sword, step forward, and cleave that arrogant runt from crown to crotch, ending once and for all the charade of Ruprecht’s rule. The army was the soul of Heilesheim. It had ever been the soul of the country, and it ever would be. Kings were but ornaments, like banners at the head of the marching columns. But, Culdus thought, for the army to rule, it must dip itself in the stench of politics. It must truck with the likes of merchants and peasants, and mire itself down in the trivia of politics. For the army to rule, it must corrupt itself, and thereby corrupt the soul of the nation. More honorable, Culdus thought, to die in battle than to rot from within.

“I and the army are ever Your Majesty’s loyal servants,” Culdus said slowly. “The army will obey Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” a voice called from the entrance to the hall. “An urgent communication from the captain of the palace guard.”

“Enter,” Ruprecht said lightly, waving a hand toward the groveling soldier in the doorway. “Up, up, you two,” he added, waving merrily to Culdus and Valdaimon. “We are disappointed you do not embrace our plan with enthusiasm, but we are gratified by your loyalty. Now,” he continued, turning to the messenger, “what urgent report awaits our pleasure?”

“Your Majesty,” the soldier said, kneeling with his face downcast while he spoke, “the captain of the palace guard bids me report to you that a prisoner has been brought to the palace for questioning, a spy taken at the battle of Clairton. The prisoner is an elf, Your Majesty.”

“Another elf?” Ruprecht cried, his eyes wide with delight. “You see, you see?” he called to Valdaimon and Culdus. “They were spying on us? They have broken the Covenant—they have broken the Covenant, and openly!”

“Your Majesty,” the soldier continued, “I am instructed to report that the prisoner is a female elf. She is being lodged in a cell near to the other elf prisoner in Your Majesty’s most secure dungeon.”

“A female elf? What luck! What luck!” Ruprecht exclaimed. “You see? These creatures have no shame—they even use their women as spies!”

Valdaimon began to tremble with a strange mixture of rage and joy.

“I must be about Your Majesty’s business,” he interjected bluntly. “I beg your leave to prepare the magical elements for the attack on the Elven Preserve.”

“Yes, yes, that must be done, but first, let’s all go see our new elven toy! You will join me for the interrogation of this prisoner. You, too, Culdus. It would be well for you to know what the elves have learned about our arms.” The king strode jauntily out of the great hall, leading the way gleefully toward his chamber of tortures.

“What do you mean, he’s listening?” George asked Shulana as his dagger pried at the bolts that held the old elf’s manacles to the cold, slippery wall. “Ten thousand hells!” the man added, as the blade slipped off the wet rock and jabbed him in the webbed flesh between thumb and forefinger.

Shulana thought for a moment. How could she explain to humans the matter of elven communion? How could she explain that one’s life force could seem to leave the body, flowing through the endless chain of green life that humans called plants, becoming one with that life, spreading, ever spreading, where plant was in reach of plant, observing, hearing, absorbing on a level beneath that of consciousness? Of course, only the most powerful elves could use this communion for practical purposes; for most it was a spiritual exercise and spiritual nourishment. But just as Shulana had known that Bagsby had left their camp, so Elrond now knew... what?