Alliances

Ostensibly a “commercial advisor,” one who saw to it Nerakan traders were treated fairly by local merchants, Ellimer’s actual job was to acquire information that might be of interest to the Order.

Mereklar was larger than Samustal but couldn’t begin to hold forty thousand soldiers. Most were camped in a sprawling crescent of tents on the high ground south of the city. The smoke, smells, and noise that rose from the sea of canvas almost blotted out those from the city below it. Grayden would have to move soon. He didn’t have the resources to support so large an army for long unless it could forage (that is, plunder) the countryside as it marched. Unfortunately, his goal was Breetan’s too, and she had no desire to contend with him for I her prize.

Rumors were flying thick and fast about where the elves were heading. Current betting heavily favored New Ports and the sea. One outlandish rumor Breetan had heard was that a fleet of elf ships was sailing down from the north to reinforce the rebellion.

At Tagath Ellimer’s pleasant home, she and Jeralund were fed well and plied with excellent wine. Ellimer was a portly, merry-eyed fellow who laughed a lot and wore an extravagant mustache. Behind his jolly veneer, he was shrewd and ruthless. According to Jeralund, he once had been considered the greatest duelist in Neraka.

“The town’s aboil,” Ellimer said, pouring rose-colored wine into Breetan’s goblet. “Haven’t seen so much excitement since the demise of Beryl.”

“Does Gathan know where the rebels are?”

The envoy laughed heartily. “If he knew that, Lady, the army would be there, not here!”

“Do you think he’ll catch the elves, my lord?” Jeralund asked.

Ellimer sat back, paunch hanging between his knees. Draped in dark blue serge, with a massive gold chain hanging low from his thick neck, be looked like an ancient potentate posed on his throne.

“Lord Gathan will kill many. His army will sweep in and flush out every living soul but the rebels he seeks. That’s assuming the evil in the Lake of Death doesn’t rise up and claim his host first.”

That was what Breetan had hoped to hear. She would not besmirch the Everride name with another failure. The Scarecrow was her trophy and no one else’s.

“If you ask me,” Ellimer said, although no one had, “the rebels aren’t heading east to New Ports. I believe they will complete their circuit of the lake.”

“To what end?” Breetan asked.

“To seize Mereklar and bring all the little revolts together into one conflagration.”

The envoy certainly had a lively imagination. Breetan asked for his estimate of the rebels’ strength.

“My colleague in Frenost says between five and six thousand, mostly woodland elves, with a few former royal army warriors to lead them.” Ellimer chuckled. “He’s insane, of course, quite insane. I believe there to be no more than a few hundred. Not even Kagonesti could hide an army of five thousand so effectively. Gathan’s people are badly rattled. They see rebels under every leaf and stone.”

He changed the subject, gossiping about politics within the Order. Breetan listened with impatient politeness until she could return the conversation to the topic that interested her.

“My mission is to find the rebels’ leader,” she said. “I can’t follow in Gathan’s wake. No elfin his right mind will be found within twenty miles of that mob!”

Ellimer agreed. He rang a silver bell, and a servant appeared. To Breetan’s astonishment, the lackey was a Qualinesti elf, neatly livened in blue velvet. The envoy sent him to fetch a map case.

“You’re surprised by Azar, Lady?” Ellimer said to her.

“Don’t be. He’s been my body servant for more years than you’ve lived. I beat him in fair combat thirty years ago, and he’s been my faithful servant ever since.”

“He’ll put a knife in you One day,” Jeralund observed.

Ellimer laughed. “I hope so! What a tragedy it would be for an old campaigner like myself to die in bed, withered and infirm! One day, when I’m tired of life, I’ll invite Azar to finish our duel. He’ll still be agile and strong, and I, a fat old man, so I’m sure he’ll win!”

Breetan shook her head. She couldn’t understand knights who were so cavalier with their lives. She’d grown up with the example of her father, and Lord Burnond never left anything to chance.

Azar returned with soundless tread. He bore a long, leather-wrapped cylinder. Ellimer dismissed him then pried the cap off one end of the case. He drew out a fistful of parchment rolls, tightly wound. Thumbing through the cryptic annotations on the end of each, he found the scroll he wanted.

Jeralund moved the dishes and goblets aside, and Ellimer opened the map over the knee-high table. With his dagger, he tapped a spot on the coast, east of Nalis Aren, where the angular shoreline bent from southeast to almost due south. “The elves will turn south here,” he said.