Her odd feeling of uneasiness still lingered in the back of her mind, but it abated somewhat with the homecoming of Sir Morrec and the other Knights. Probably, she reasoned, because she knew if disaster struck, she greatly preferred the Knight Commander to be in charge than Sir Remmik. Now that he was back, he would help her put things in perspective. She thought about talking to him immediately, then changed her mind. Sir Remmik would demand his time for at least the next hour to tell him about every minute of every day that he was gone, then the Knights would want to eat. She would talk to him then, before she reported for night duty.
A messenger found Linsha before the hour had expired and asked her to attend the Knight Commander at his meal in the hall. Tidying her uniform, she made her way to the main keep to report to Sir Morrec. As she suspected, Sir Remmik sat beside him, talking ceaselessly while the man tried to eat.
Sir Morrec glanced up when she entered the hall and gave her a warm greeting. He gestured to the table laden with platters of food and to an empty chair across from him. Linsha preferred not to ruin her appetite by dining near Sir Remmik, but nevertheless she accepted the commander’s invitation and sat down. She nodded coolly to the second-in-command without actually looking at his face, and then held a wine glass out for the winebearer to fill.
Sir Remmik sat back in his chair, his expression cold, and launched into a detailed description of Linsha’s alleged transgressions that occurred while Sir Morrec was absent. Knowing he had planned this deliberately, Linsha ignored him and helped herself to a few small servings of the fish and vegetables that lay on platters close at hand.
Sir Morrec finally held up his hand to stem the flow of words. He watched Linsha eat her meal for a minute, then asked, “Is any of this true?”
Linsha lifted her eyes from her food and met his straightforward gaze. “Most of it. The situation in the Missing City has taken several interesting turns, and I have been trying to get a clear idea of what is going on.” She decided to omit any petty or childish remarks on the subject of Sir Remmik’s obsessive and shrewish demands.
“Tell me,” the Knight Commander said over his glass of wine.
In less time than Sir Remmik had taken, Linsha told her commander about her suspicions, the intruder she followed, the centaurs, the reports from her contacts and the Legion, her flight to see Thunder, the missing brasses, and Iyesta’s rage and concerns. The only part she did not mention was her journey through the labyrinth to see the eggs.
Sir Remmik glared at her as if he suspected she was making it all up, but Sir Morrec sat still, his long elegant features bathed in firelight, and watched her intently without interrupting her.
When she had completed her report, he asked, “What more does Iyesta plan to do about this?”
“I don’t know. I have not talked to her today because she has been searching for the triplets. Yesterday, she decided to call a council of her militia, the Legion, and the Solamnics. She is only waiting for you to return.”
The briefest spasm of dismay crossed the Knight’s face. Although he quickly dampened it, it was there long enough for Linsha to notice. “I have just returned from a lengthy journey. I have a great deal to do. When does she wish to have this council?”
“I’m sure she would hold it now if she was available. Sir, I would not put this off. Iyesta is deeply concerned and furious. We need to plan a defense for the city, coordinate our efforts with the Legion, offer our services to the militia, and extend our efforts in learning the truth behind these rumors.”
Sir Remmik could not contain himself any longer.
“Utter nonsense,” he snapped. “Just because a few brass dragons decide to leave the realm and Thunder has actually managed to gather a few men long enough to masquerade as an army of sorts doesn’t instantly spell disaster.”
“I agree, sir,” Linsha said, fighting to remain cool. “But it could spell the possibility of disaster. I don’t believe the three brasses left of their own accord, nor do I believe Iyesta will take Thunder’s posturing lightly. We need to be prepared.”
“We are prepared,” the Crown Knight insisted. “These Knights are the best trained, best supplied fighting men on the Plains. They are magnificent. Nothing can defeat them.”
“There is more to preparation than a stocked fortress and a strong Knight,” Linsha said. “We cannot fight here alone. We need the Legion, the centaur patrols, the tribesmen who ride the desert, the militia who guard the city’s walls. We need Iyesta.”
Sir Morrec steepled his fingers. “Will it not serve for you to attend this council in my place?”
Linsha had expected this. Although she greatly admired Sir Morrec for his fearlessness, his compassion, and his open-minded attitude toward the city and the Legion of Steel, he had one weakness: a deep-seated resentment toward dragons of all colors. A survivor of the Chaos War, the Dragon Purge, and several dragon attacks, he carried an antagonism toward all things relating to dragons and would do almost anything to avoid any contact with one. He tried to control his animosity and had even developed a grudging respect for Iyesta, but he usually left most of the Solamnic dealings with the brass up to Linsha.
“Not this time, Sir Morrec. We need to show a unified face to the dragon and the city.”
Reluctant though he was to face dragons, Sir Morrec understood his duty. Without further hesitation, he nodded once and helped himself to more mutton. “Of course. Make the arrangements.”
Satisfied, Linsha finished her meal and hurried to relieve the duty officer. She sent a message to Iyesta’s lair, notifying her of Sir Morrec’s return and asking for a time for the council. By dawn she had her reply. Midafternoon. She was expected to attend.
When her duty finished after sunrise, Linsha spoke briefly with Lanther outside the stable and confirmed the Legion, too, would be in attendance. Varia told her the area was quiet and Iyesta had settled into her lair for some needed rest. Linsha retired to her own bed, content in her mind that for at least the morning she could sleep in peace.
Midafternoon lolled around hot, sultry, and redolent with dust and flies. Linsha, Sir Morrec, and an escort of six Knights rode to Iyesta’s lair and arrived just as a contingent of centaurs trotted into the courtyard.
Someone called out to Linsha.
She looked over the shining hides and strong torsos and recognized the young buckskin, Leonidas. She waved a greeting to him before his stern uncle hushed him.
“Another friend of yours?” Sir Morrec asked as he dismounted.
Linsha pointed to an imaginary tear in her tunic. “The centaur with the crossbow.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. You certainly make friends in odd ways.”
Linsha did not comment. Her basic philosophy was one learned from her grandfather: You make friends where you can find them, because you never knew when a friend could offer invaluable aid, or even save your life.
Leonidas was not the only friend she saw in the group gathering in Iyesta’s courtyard. There were several other centaurs she knew and liked, Lanther, Falaius, and three Legionnaires she had worked with since her arrival in Mirage, and various acquaintances from the city council.
A fair-haired half-elf named Mariana Brownstem she met with occasionally caught her eye and nodded. The lean half-elf wore the uniform of a militia captain and stood protectively at the edge of the crowd. She kept her eyes moving over the people and her hands close to her weapons.