Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (10 page)

Placed across the stone were countless figures such as
the ones populating the diorama of Thrae Valley.  He recognized toy-like
carvings that must be Galemaran forces painted in green, and blue
representations that could only be the Noliers along the eastern border.  With
that in mind, he quickly sought figures showing the known forces of black
soldiers and their monstrous beasts.

Rather than figurines crafted by masters in the art,
simple wooden blocks of different sizes were resting near the Stoneseams.  Part
of his mind asked what else had he expected?  With events happening one after
the other in rapid succession, would anyone place importance on commissioning a
new set with so much on their plates already?

“We have been through this discussion with your
commander,” the seneschal confided while Celerity nursed her stiff-backed
posture.  “I will briefly summarize the situation for you.”

Marik nodded, holding his peace.  Why was he here? 
Why tell
him
anything other than an order to return and continue the
fight?

“You took part in the Nolier war.  I need not explain
what a major conflict that was, nor that it took the total forces we were able
to field to drive them back across the Hollister Bridge.”  The man paused in
order to ensure he had Marik’s attention.  “In fact, you of all people would
best know the circumstances of that.  You were an integral component in the
final battle.  Had you not stepped forward with your bold challenge to Duke
Ronley, the direction of the final charge might have run the opposite
direction.”

“That’s not what happened,” Marik spat out.  “That
cursed song got it completely wrong!”

The seneschal ignored his outburst.  “Therefor, you
surely understand that the Noliers crossing the Hollister again will not be a
repeat of the last time.  Their army is hurting, as ours is.  The Nolier king
cares little for that.  His decisions have been brash since the moment he took
his father’s throne.”  He inhaled deeply.  “He wants that gold mine, especially
since the ore they mined from it during their short occupation proved unusually
rich.  It could have as easily been on their side of the border.  He will
continue sending men across until he receives what he wants, with no care for
the cost.”

Marik remained silent though his interest peeked by
the moment.  Peripherally he noted that Celerity had regained her composure. 
Whatever else the seneschal might be, he could read a situation well.  That was
an observation Marik would keep in the forefront of his mind.

“Their army might still be feeling the wounds from our
last war, but they remain a threat to be taken seriously.  We know what we face
in them, and the consequences of not meeting them fully.  The majority of the
army will be returning to reeducate them on the errors of crossing us.”

“Leaving the Stoneseams completely unguarded!”  Marik
emphasized the point by slamming his palm against the tabletop.  He pointed to
stonework so incredibly detailed it might have been a painting.  “That pass is
another Hollister!  A bridge across the border letting the gods alone know how
many enemies into our kingdom!  The Noliers are only men.  They can be killed! 
Do you have any idea what the forces of these black soldiers are like?”

“Quite,” Celerity curtly answered.  She pulled a
tall-backed chair from the table and rotated it to face them.  “The royal
enclave has been scrying nonstop since we received the initial reports,” she
revealed as she imperiously settled into her seat.  “We have pieced together a
larger picture of these enemies than you could have obtained merely by fighting
them.”

“Have you truly?  Are you saying you’ve collected
blood and hair from these black soldiers to directing your scrying efforts?  Or
that you had such all along?”

Marik barely avoided sneering as he spoke.  He had
been afraid of this woman before.  This time, he
refused
to bow before her,
whatever her rank or powers.  It could very well be a mistake yet he persisted,
his confusion influencing his attitude.  Since the time he had left
Tattersfield behind he had been determined to grow into a man of strength and
independence.  Here, now, he intended to act like the man he’d chosen to be.

Her expression narrowed again when she responded. 
“Take care not to constrain your understanding of scrying to your own limited
abilities,
apprentice
Marik.  The palace has long possessed casks of
soil from every village across Galemar.  It is possible to scrye any location
using the earth as a catalyst, once you know where you must search.”

“As long as trouble is in a settled area,” he returned
silver quick, spotting the fallacy at once.  “Anyone who’s ever studied a map
of the kingdom knows that even with over four-hundred-fifty towns and villages,
not to mention the major cities, that would only account for a scarce
percentage of the land area.”

He missed seeing the slight quirk of a smile from the
seneschal.  Only Celerity’s irritation occupied him.  “Search areas can be
broadened, as you well know.  Or
should
know.  The scrye can be set to
the nearest area of trouble and moved.”

“Not into the pass.  I know that much.  The further
you shift the view, the harder it is to maintain the scrying links.  With these
black soldiers scattered across the wild lands along the mountains, you can’t
possibly keep track of a
portion
of them!”

“When Tru uses scrying spells that draw on his
magician’s talent,” she explained, turning patience into a virtue of martyrdom,
“he is capable of plumbing depths far beyond what your mage talent can reach.”

“At a cost.  If it were so easy, you would have known
long beforehand of the invasion and had forces ready to meet these strangers.”

The seneschal reasserted himself.  “No commander in
war ever has as much information as he would wish or needs.  There is no use
belaboring it.”  When Marik refocused on him, he pointed to the mosaic map. 
“You can see that the eastern border with Nolier will be occupying most of the
army.  Our difficulties in controlling the Tullainian border due to the
refugees must have seemed like an opportune gift from Hall’Kyon to Nolier.  The
re-occupation of their forces leaves us no choice but to redirect ours.”

“That is going to doom western Galemar,” Marik
pronounced.

“We are not blind to the situation, Marik Railson. 
But with two separate wars and an army bleeding from multiple wounds, we need
something akin to a miracle.”

“Then send the Arm against the black soldiers while
the main body of the army fights back Nolier.  Pulling victory from certain
defeat is what the man is supposed to be all about.”

“We have something of that nature in mind,” the
seneschal admitted.

Marik grimaced.  He could see where this was going. 
The Crimson Kings would be working under the Arm of Galemar, a man who was
undoubtedly a good fighter, but almost certainly a tactician on par with a
cheese biscuit.

“Since you have first-hand experience fighting these
invaders as well, you understand their strength.  Or, a portion of their
strengths.  I would say, and King Raymond agrees with this, when it comes to
fighting these strangers and their beasts, you could very well be the one
fighter in the kingdom with the best feel for them, despite the things you do
not yet know.”

“I figured that much on my own,” Marik informed them. 
“I can tell you everything I know from my battle experience along with any
information I learned through my mage senses, though that won’t be much.  They
aren’t Devils.  That much I am certain of.  Just animals of some kind.  But I’m
not the only fighter who was there.”

Celerity sniffed.  The seneschal nodded.  He added,
“Many were there, yes.  But you especially.  And as against the Noliers, so the
reports say, you pushed forward to carry the battle in your wake.”

With a frown, Marik contradicted the man.  “Reports
like that are misleading.”

“My eyes are as clear as they have ever been,”
Celerity waspishly retorted.  “The entire enclave watched that battle.  We were
anchored on Henodd to begin with.  After he fell, Tru maintained the scrye
until the conclusion.”

“Henodd,” Marik turned on her, well remembering the
ire he’d felt toward the man, “was hardly what I would call a capable battle
mage.  He let the enemy mage defeat him so he could unleash his magic on the
rest of us!”

“In fact, Henodd was an exceedingly capable
combatant.  You would do well to remember that.  The mage he struggled against
was of a caliber that alarms us greatly.  I might add,” she pointedly told him,
“that having witnessed your brief battle against him, I have several questions
for you regarding what I saw.  The scenes in the mirror have us keenly
interested in you.”

“You didn’t see anything that a struggling apprentice
isn’t capable of!”

“It is the fact that you
are
that very
struggling apprentice that leaves me wondering at the inexplicable occurrences
that surrounded you.”

“Whatever the explanation,” the seneschal cut in, “it
remains a fact you have twice played pivotal roles in major enemy engagements.”

“Fighting is what I do.  If you want a bard’s hero,
look to your appointed Arm.”  Marik straightened his back despite the weariness
coursing through him from a long day’s march.  He had reached the point where
he did not care who he spoke to any longer.  The facts would always be the
facts.  “Leading us against these black soldiers is the reason you have the man
around, after all.”

“The Arm will be needed in the east.  With the army
still rebuilding, his presence and the inspiration it lends the soldiers will
be crucial.”

“You said he would be fighting back the invaders!”

“I said no such thing.  What I said,” the seneschal
corrected, the quirking smile reappearing for Marik to take note of this time,
“was that we had a similar plan in mind.  Tell me, Marik Railson, how familiar
you are with the history surrounding the Arm of Galemar.”

What an inane waste of time!  Having to jump in
circles for no sane reason on top of being exhausted.  It entered his mind to
simply leave, whatever they thought about their supposed control over him as a
Kings mercenary.  Were Torrance not there, he might have given in to the
temptation.

Instead he sighed loudly on purpose.  He summarized
the histories in short shrift, ending with, “That’s why the Cerellan kings have
renewed the position since then.  To always have a warrior they could count on
above all others.  One who would protect the throne against desperate
straights.  Which is why you need him west instead of east no matter…”

The seneschal gave him a curious look.  “No matter? 
Please continue your thought.”

Annoyed, tired, which was why his tongue had slipped,
Marik cast a glance to Torrance before plowing forward.  After all, he had
already decided to stand his ground.  “No matter what he might be today, if you
truly want to know.  Not that I mean to criticize the palace or anyone in it,
but if you wanted a warrior the likes of the old Arms then you shouldn’t have
restricted the tournaments to the nobility alone, or done away with any of the
old tasks the original Arm designed.”

He waited, expecting a rebuke at his daring.  Except
the seneschal offered a shocking nod.  “A valid point, as much as Tybalt hates
to admit it.  Which he grudgingly does.  And which, though here he disagrees
strenuously, brings us to you.”

“To me?  I don’t have anything to do with this except
to tell you what I know.”

Marik felt a thump against the back of his head that
bordered on painful.  Torrance’s hand draped over his shoulders in a manner
that might have looked fatherly, yet felt anything but.  “Don’t embarrass me or
the band, Railson.  Use that head of yours.  By the reports of your old
sergeant and your friends, you aren’t using it to store old rags.”

What all did you learn about me while I was locked in
a cycle of nightmares in the chirurgeons wing?
  Torrance had crafted an insubstantial cage during
that eternal purgatory, leaving it set and waiting to ensnare him the moment he
awoke.  No doubt the commander was a man who never forgot anything that might
prove useful later.

“I’m not embarrassing anybody when no one bothers to
give me enough information to reach any sort of conclusions!”

The seneschal, in an offhand manner, stated, “One of
the tenets held by the first Arm was that men were a reflection of the times. 
The harsh years of the Unification required skills and accomplishments equal to
what was at stake.  With the long years of peace, it follows, according to his
philosophy, that the newer Arms would be paler reflections of their
predecessors since they have no need to scale the tallest peaks of their
ability.  Yet when wars the likes of what we haven’t known for over a century
break out, the natural result would be for men equal to the changed situation
to emerge.”  He nodded his head to indicate who he meant by the statement.

And it clicked inside his mind.

Be careful what you ask for boy…

Had he not, in his arrogant overestimation of his
abilities whilst on the Rovasii’s edge, actually
desired
to make such a
phenomenal showing that those who walked the hallways of nobility would take
notice?  Had he not wished to humiliate the Arm by fighting a battle
worthy
of his predecessors, and in doing so prove that common citizens bore more right
to the title than he?