Esme, looking every inch the princess that she was, with a thin circlet of silver on her brow and sheathed in a gown of deepest vermilion-Bria’s, no doubt-approached the King’s chair to stand before the council. Her dark hair hung in rings to her shoulders; her black eyes sparked with an intense flame.
“I have come to Askelon at the behest of my father to deliver a message of warning and a plea for help. What I have heard this day makes me fear for both our lands.
“Late this spring one of my father’s ships was attacked at sea, but managed to fight off the attacker and return to port. Troen sent to discover who this enemy might be and ordered the commander of his personal vessel to search out and engage the pirateer. The ship never returned, but an answer came-for two days later, five score enemy ships were sighted off our southern coast by a fishing boat. My father issued forth the fleet to engage them; my brothers took command of our ships. I was dispatched here with the warning that a very great and powerful enemy has risen and would sieze our lands. I have also come to ask King Eskevar to send help in our time of need.”
Nothing was said following Esme’s account until Eskevar asked, “Have you then nothing to say regarding these tidings?”
They must believe her, thought Quentin, even if they do not believe my own story. Esme had spoken with such strength and assurance.
“As you tell it, my Lady, it makes a very convincing tale. But are we to understand that you believe the supposed enemy within our borders is the same that engages your father’s fleet? I find that quite unlikely.” With that speech Ameronis gained a few more nods of assent.
Eskevar exploded angrily. “You seem bent upon disavowing any evidence we bring before you. Why is that, Lord Ameronis?”
Ameronis was cool in his reply. “The realm has been at peace for many years. I do not wish to see this hard-won peace so easily discarded. I, for one, do not see cause for mustering troops to oppose an enemy which no one has seen and whose intentions are inexplicable.”
“Ah, we strike to the heart of the matter at last!” said the Dragon King. A high color had risen to his cheeks and brow. His eyes, sunken and dark-rimmed from his long illness, blazed brightly. He nodded to one of the pages who disappeared into the inner chamber to reappear a moment later with a tall stranger. The stranger, swathed in a loose-fitting blue garment with chains of gold around his neck, entered and bowed low before the assembled lords. His black beard bristled like the quills of a hedgehog, and his eyes were sharp and direct.
“I present to you Myrmior, Prime Minister to the High Suzerain of Khai-I-Quair. He it was who made possible the escape of my ward and his servant. Tell us what you have to say, brave sir.”
Myrmior bowed again and touched his fingertips to his forehead. “It is not my intention to come before you in this way, but the King has willed it so and I obey.” He spoke smoothly, and his words had an edge which cut at the pride of the assembled lords who glared at him.
“I was captured four years ago when the home of my people was brought under subjection to Nin, called the Destroyer. The High Suzerain was beheaded like a thief in the village square after a long and bloody war that lasted five years. I, his trusted minister, became a slave to one of Nin’s warlords.
“I have seen much in the years since my captivity began. Nation after nation has fallen; the realm of the mighty have been crushed; lands have been laid waste before Nin and his horde. Each victory makes the Ningaal stronger and pricks their leader’s insatiable hunger for greater conquest. He has extended his empire from Sanarrath to Pelagia, and from Haldorland to Artasia. He will not stop until he rules the world, until all lands are his and all men his slaves.
“Now he has turned his eyes upon the west and the nations of the mighty kings. If he succeeds here, as he has in every other land where he has loosed his warlords, there will be no stopping him. He will achieve what his evil heart contemplates: Nin will be the god before whom all men bow and worship.”
Myrmior’s voice had risen steadily throughout his speech, and now the last words rang in the council chamber. No one moved or breathed. All eyes were on this mysterious messenger of doom.
“Do not deceive yourselves, lords of Mensandor. You cannot hide in your castles behind your strong walls. He will search you out and destroy you as surely as the snake catches the rat.
“Hear my words and beware! He has turned his eyes upon your kingdom and will have it for his own. There is nothing he cannot do and nothing he does not dare, for his star is growing in the east and soon all men will know the terror of his name.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“THERE is naught to your discredit, Sire. You have done what a man can do. We will try again,” Theido said soothingly.
They all sat gloomily around a large oaken table in the King’s private chamber. Eskevar stared dully at his hands clasped before him. He had raged and fumed and threatened to no avail. The Council of War had ended in a deadlock. Lords Lupollen and Ameronis openly stood against raising an army, Wertwin and Fincher pledged their support, and the rest were undecided.
“I should have waited for the others to come; they could have made the difference. I was too hasty… too hasty.”
“No,” objected Durwin. “You did the right thing. The others will not arrive until tomorrow or the next day. We need to move at once. Who knows what a delay of two days might mean? Kingdoms have fallen in less time.”
“Meanwhile, Lupollen and Ameronis have ample time to sway the others to their side.” Eskevar sighed, and the room seemed to grow darker.
“They will all come around when they see the danger,” offered Ronsard.
“But will it be too late?” wondered Theido. “I say we should send the King’s knights out now to engage the invaders and hold them until an army can be raised. We must not let them reach Askelon unchallenged.”
“Noble sirs, may I offer an observation?” It was Myrmior, who had been sitting in silence since the private council had begun. His impassioned appeal before the council had been to no avail and he had retreated into a sullen mood, as had most everyone else.
“Nothing short of total strength will dismay them. Nin’s armies are well-trained and battle-ready. And there are more of them than you know. The force which Quentin and Toli met with was only one of four which are within Mensandor’s borders. They are all moving toward Askelon by various routes.”
“Why would they?” asked Ronsard. “Why not come en masse?”
“Nin long ago learned it was best when invading a strange land whose strengths were unknown to move in smaller forces, thus dividing the defense.
“A few valiant men may stand against many given a tactical advantage-is this not so?” Nods around the table affirmed that it was. “But it is almost impossible to defend on four fronts at the same time. That is what you propose to do.”
“And with few enough knights to do it,” noted the King sourly. “Our cause is lost before trumpet has been blown or blade drawn.”
“Say not so, Sire. There is much we may do with the men we have. The others will fall in line when they learn the threat is real and not imagined.” Ronsard struck the table with his fist. He looked around to the others for support of his view.
“Ronsard is right,” said Durwin slowly. “There is much we may do. And the sooner we begin, the better. It would be to our interest to-”
Just then there came a rap on the chamber door. A sentry stepped in and bowing low said, “Sire, there is a priest without who would speak to you without delay. He has been told you are in council, but will not be put off.”