“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Valaran flinched at the unexpected interruption. A lady of the court was rushing toward her. Flushed with excitement, her starched headdress askew, the woman dropped a quick curtsey, her slippers skidding on the white marble.

“Majesty! Talatha, priestess of Zivilyn who accompanied His Majesty, has sent word to the College of Wizards,” she panted. “The emperor has achieved a signal victory-the lizard invaders are defeated!”

Valaran said nothing. In fact, she was so pale, so motionless, so long silent, the lady-in-waiting grew concerned.

“Your Majesty?”

“Praise the God of Battle,” Valaran finally said, her voice toneless. “The empire is saved.”

Chapter 20

Pale predawn found Tol riding slowly down the ranks of the Juramona Militia. Tylocost rode beside him. Egrin and the mounted hordes were on their way, but with Miya at risk inside the city, Tol could not wait.

He directed the men to straighten their line, to hold shields and spears up. It wasn’t going be easy to intimidate the governor of Caergoth with only two thousand foot soldiers and five hundred Riders. Wornoth commanded at least twenty-thousand seasoned troops. Still, knowing the governor for the weakling he was, Tol felt it worth the risk to try to bluff him into releasing his prisoners.

The militia was deployed across the face of a low knoll east of the city. At their backs, scarcely a quarter-league away, flowed the Caer River. Instead of their usual close ranks, the men were positioned in open order, like spots on checkered cloth. Shields were held out on their left and spears to their right, as they tried to take up as much space as possible. From the high walls of Caergoth they might appear as though twice their number. The demi-horde of Riders Tol held in reserve, just behind the knoll.

Tol and Tylocost turned their mounts about and rode back toward the center of the line.

“What if the garrison sorties?” the Silvanesti asked. “We’ll have to hold them off till Egrin arrives.” Tylocost’s disbelief was silent but unmistakable. Tol nodded to some veterans he recognized in the ranks, then said, “What’s the matter? Don’t elves like to gamble?”

“In point of fact, no. We find the human love of hazard inexplicable. It’s an extravagance we prefer to avoid.”

Tol chuckled. As a general, Tylocost was famous for taking enormous risks. At the Battle of the Capes he defeated an Ergothian force eight times larger than his by dividing his army. The Ergothian commander, Lord Lembroth, could not attack one of Tylocost’s divisions without exposing his flank to the other. Lembroth’s nerve failed utterly after the elf repelled attacks on both forces. Lembroth lost his army and his life.

Tol was taking a terrible risk today. The treasure recovered from the nomads lay unguarded in Tylocost’s hidden camp. Egrin, with thirty thousand Riders, plus Hanira’s Tarsans, was at least half a day’s march, perhaps a whole day’s, away. If Wornoth sortied all his hordes, no one in Tol’s small army would live to greet Egrin.

Tol and Tylocost took up positions at the center of the line. The sun had cleared the knoll behind them, its light streaming across Tol’s army and onto the walls of Caergoth. Lookouts on the walls would have that glare in their eyes. So would Riders emerging from the gate on this side of the city. In a situation like this, any advantage was welcome.

Signal flags went up from the towers along the wall. Horns sounded, muted by distance and thick stone walls.

Without further ado, the eastern gate opened and a double line of horsemen emerged. At the same time, a small band of people on foot, drably dressed in brown and gray, rose up from the tall summer grass near the city wall and started running toward Tol’s position.

“Stand ready!” Tol boomed. “Close ranks at my command-and not before!” To the elf: “Can you make out who they are?”

Tylocost stared across the distance, concentrating. Fine lines grooved his forehead and the corners of his close-set eyes.

“Twenty or so kender.”

The kender troop moved across the open field. The horsemen-several hundred Riders of the Great Horde-

drew sabers and spurred forward. Their targets were the kender, not Tol and his troops.

The kender kept together until the horsemen were almost upon them. Then, as though in response to some silent signal, the little band scattered, each kender heading in a different direction. As the Riders swerved to chase the various foes, their disciplined line was reduced to confusion.

Tol laughed. Tylocost pushed back the brim of his gardener’s hat and muttered a phrase in his own language.

“I’m beginning to see why you recruited them,” he said. “They’re damned infuriating, aren’t they?”

“Best skirmishers in the world. Fighting a band of kender is like trying to count dandelion seeds in a gale!”

After several embarrassing collisions and much disorder, the Ergothians sorted themselves out. By that time the escaping kender were filtering through the open ranks of the Juramona Militia. Tol called out to one familiar face.

“Curly Windseed! Where’s your queen, and the humans she went to save?”

The brown-haired kender scrubbed his nose. “They lit out for the other side of the city. Nice of you to meet us, by the way.”

Tol saluted the brash little man. “My pleasure. How was the city?”

“Crowded.”

From one of his many pockets, Curly pulled out a bandanna to wipe his nose. Assorted trinkets-^-bracelets, rings, coins, and even a tiny silver cup-cascaded to the ground. Quite unabashed, he stuffed these back in his pockets and followed his fellows over the hill, angling north by northwest.

“The treasure’s that way, you know,” Tylocost said.

Tol sighed. “I know.”

The pursuing Riders, once more arranged in two neat lines, trotted through the high grass to within bowshot of the militia. One, bearing the emblem of a herald on his helm, detached from the rest and rode directly to the two mounted men. He hailed them, asking who they were.

Tol responded in ringing tones: “I am Tolandruth of Juramona! In command of the Army of the East!”

Although disconcerted by Tol’s name, the herald looked askance at the men ranged behind him. “Army of the East? This, uh, rabble?” he said.

“This is only the vanguard. We’ve come from the Isle of Elms, where we defeated the Firepath nomads and slew their chief, Tokasin.”

“Huh! What do you want here?”

Tol had been pondering that very question. He wanted his people back alive-Miya, Zala, Queen Casberry, and the rest of the Dom-shu. However, his men expected more. So did the landed hordes who had given their sabers to his service. The nomad menace was over. Although the bakali were still a threat, the true danger to the empire, he admitted to himself, was Ackal V.

“I have come to accept the surrender of Caergoth,” he said after a long pause.

Decades of experience allowed Tylocost to mask his astonishment. The herald had no such reserves to call upon. His jaw dropped open.

“You have taken up arms against the rightful emperor of Ergoth!” he sputtered. His horse pranced nervously, and he jerked on the reins. “You dare to threaten rebellion against His Majesty Ackal V?”

Slowly, Tol drew Number Six and rested the blade across his thighs. His voice once more boomed out, rolling across the quiet field.

“The rest of the army, thirty thousand Riders, is coming. I have no wish to shed the blood of loyal warriors, so all those who wish to may leave the city. The governor and his councilors will remain to face the justice of the people they have wronged. I give you two marks to comply, then I will take Caergoth by force.”