Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

The second fault compounded the error of underestimating his enemy. Nefrai-kesh likely knew nothing of the yrun , and certainly knew nothing of Adrogans’ connections with them. Wizards—as evidenced by the Vilwanese warmages in his army—tended to view the Zhusk as magickal curiosities, and Chytrine likely shared that view. Had she seen the Zhusk as any sort of a threat, she would have tried to wipe them out over the last quarter century.

Because his enemy was assuming his troops could not fight in winter, and because Nefrai-kesh was unaware that the yrun gave him enough information about where enemy troops were moving to position his own forces, Adrogans had no choice but to find a way to fight in the winter. The road to Svarskya had several key points that would cost him dearly to take, were they defended. By spring they would be, so if he could strike quickly and deep into Aurolani-occupied territory, he would save troops without which he could not possibly lay siege to Svarskya.

While the vast majority of his army was not well suited to operations in snowy highlands woods, he did have two groups who excelled at just that sort of thing. The Nalisk Mountain Rangers came from the central mountains of Naliserro and had even impressed the highlanders with their stoicism in the face of hardship. And the Loquelven Blackfeathers had fought hard and well at Svoin. Their leader, Mistress Gilthalarwin, still smarted from a disagreement with Adrogans, so she and her troops would take any opportunity they could to prove their worth.

Adrogans nodded slowly. He would use the Rangers and the Blackfeathers to track and destroy the forces Nefrai-kesh sent into the highlands. Striking out from there would be more difficult, but it could be done. If he could take the northern ford of the Svar River and then the Three Brothers Citadel guarding the road through the South Gorge, he’d be at the doorstep to Svarskya before spring rains came.

Phfas cackled. “If not early spring, a mild winter?”

“Not mild in terms of trouble, Uncle.” Adrogans slowly smiled. “Just one full of surprises for those who hate us.”

Will smiled as Crow unwrapped the parcel and revealed the sweetcake. “And I didn’t steal it, neither.” Crow glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “But you didn’t pay for it, did you? The baker thought he was giving to the Norrington as a gift.”

The thief blinked. “How did you know?” No one could have told Crow, since Will’s visit to the gaol had been unannounced. Will had assumed that arriving by surprise would allow him to use his status as the Norrington to bluff his way past guards, and it had. None of them were prepared to stop him, especially after he promised he had no weapons and said that his visit was vital for the defeat of the enemy.

The sweetcake had been obtained in a nearby shop where Will had loitered while studying the gaol and its guards. The shopkeeper, an older man with rosy cheeks and a roundness that made him waddle as he walked, had wrapped the sweetcake up and presented the parcel to Will with a touch of ceremony. Since they had been alone in the shop, Will knew the formality was sincere, not meant as a show that might impress others.

Will had thanked him, then headed to the gaol. A couple of guards questioned him, but armed with an imperious tone and a mask that he’d received from the hand of the king, he was not seriously hindered. He’d been ushered up rather than down, which surprised him a bit, and found Crow in a small room, but one that was clean, warm, and had a window that—despite being barred—admitted sunlight. The minimal furnishing consisted of a cot and straw mattress, a chamber pot, a single small table, and two chairs, but everything was in good repair and the chamber pot had a lid.

Crow smiled at him. “Well, I could tell you that it was the knot in the string, which was a gift-knot, but it could have been that you’d retied it that way by accident.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “So, what was it?”

“You have no purse. You carry no money.”

The thief’s mouth opened in an O, then he closed it. “Guess old habits die hard.”

“It matters not, Will. The gift is appreciated.” Crow set it on the table. “I heard that you had a talk with King Scrainwood.”

“The princess must have told you about it.”

“On her last visit, yes.” Crow smiled brightly. “I got the impression it did not go well.”

Will shifted in the chair, then leaned forward. “He wanted me to lie about you and say evil things. I told him no.”

The older man’s smile contracted into a sharp look. “Only told him?”

Will shrugged. “He hit me. He’s stupid. I couldn’t help it. I was defending myself and things got out of hand.”

Crow frowned heavily, then rose from his chair to look down at the boy. “He’s not as stupid as you think, and if you assume he is, he will hurt you. Up to now he thought he could control you, so he didn’t have to worry about you. Now he does. He is not a good enemy to have, as is evidenced by my present situation.”

“I know, I know.” Will held his hands up. “It’s been a week since all that happened…”

“But you only told the princess two days ago.”

The thief winced. “Well, I was lying low, being good and everything. The king has calmed down; otherwise, they’d not have let me in here.”

“They may not let you out.”

That sent a shiver through Will, but before he could protest that he could get himself out pretty easily, a key ground in the lock. The thief turned to look and gasped.

The barred door swung open, and through it walked a tall man in simple huntsman garb save for a silver gorget worked with a half-horse, half-fish ensign, and a slender gold band around his balding head. The man’s sun-kissed flesh had gathered into wrinkles at his eyes, and white predominated in what hair he still possessed, yet he moved with an economy of motion that suggested he was younger than his years.

Crow dropped to a knee and bowed his head. “Highness.”

Will, blinking, slipped off his chair and to a knee as well. “Highness.”

“Rise, the both of you.” King Augustus of Alcida turned and looked at the gaoler. “That will be all; you may retire.” The two bodyguards who had accompanied the king waved the gaoler further down the hallway and out of earshot.

Crow brought his chair around for the king, then pointed to the sweet-cake. “I have not much to offer, Highness, but it is yours.”

“No, my friend, that is all right. You have given much already to the world, with no thanks. I’ll not rob you of even the smallest pleasure you could find here.” The king waved Crow to the cot, then leaned heavily on the back of the chair. “I have been greatly remiss. I have owed you an apology for a quarter century.”

Crow looked up at him but said nothing. The man’s eyes tightened and Will saw a quiver in his lower lip. The king’s words had clearly had an effect on Crow.

Augustus looked up and focused distantly. “What I tell you now, Hawkins, will seem self-serving. If you judge me harshly, I can accept that, for I deserve it. I played you false, and while I could protest that I was not on the spot to defend you, I should have been. What was done to you in Yslin was unforgivable, and I should have been there.”

Crow looked down at his open hands and slowly shook his head. “You were with the army in Okrannel, saving people. That was more important than dealing with one man. You had other things to think of.”

“You forgive me too easily, Hawkins. Arcanslata were able to inform me of your situation. I didn’t know all the details, but I knew that you had not betrayed the others. I remember that last night around the campfire. What I said then was true; I would have been happy to have you with me in Okrannel. I was very happy to have your brother, Sallitt. I didn’t know, though, that the charges against you were manufactured.”