Douglas Niles - The Kinslayer Wars

Later, Suzine stared into her mirror, despairing. Though it might show ten thousand signs, to her it was still devoid of that which meant all to her. She no longer knew if Kith-Kanan was even alive, so far distant had he flown. In the ten days since General Giarna had slain Barnet, the army camp had been driven into furious activity. An array of great stone-casting catapults took shape along the lines. Building the huge wooden machines was slow work, but by the end of winter, twoscore of the war machines would be ready to rain their destruction upon Sithelbec.

A hard ground freeze had occurred during the days immediately following the brutal murder, and this had eliminated the mud that had impeded all activity. Now great parties of human riders scoured the surrounding plains, and the few bands of Wildrunners outside Sithelbec’s walls had been eliminated or driven to the shelter of the deepest forests.

Wearily Suzine turned her thoughts to her uncle, Emperor Quivalin Soth V. The mirror combed the expanse of the frozen plain to the west, and soon she found what Giarna had directed her to seek: the emperor’s great carriage, escorted by four thousand of his most loyal knights, was trundling closer to the camp.

She went to seek her commander and found him belaboring the unfortunate captains of a team sent to bring lumber from a patch of forest some dozen miles away.

“Double the size of your force if you need to!” snarled General Giarna, while six battle-scarred officers trembled before him. “But bring me the wood by tomorrow! Work on the catapults must cease until we get those timbers!”

“Sir,” ventured the boldest, “it’s the horses! We drive them until near collapse. Then they must rest! It takes two days to make the trip.”

“Drive them until they collapse, then—or perhaps you consider horseflesh to be more valuable than your own?”

“No, General!” Badly shaken, the captains left to organize another, larger, lumbering expedition.

“What have you learned?” General Giarna whirled upon Suzine, fixing her with his penetrating stare.

For a moment, Suzine looked at him, trying to banish her trembling. The Boy General reminded her, for the first time in a long time, of the vibrant and energetic officer she had first met, for whom she had once developed an infatuation. What did the death of Barnet have to do with this? In some vile way, it seemed to Suzine that the man had consumed the life force of the other, devoured his rival, and found the deed somehow invigorating.

“The emperor will arrive tomorrow,” she reported. “He makes good time, now that the ground is frozen.” “Splendid.” The general’s mind, she could see, was already preoccupied with something else, for he turned that sharp stare toward the bastion of Sithelbec. * * * * *

If Emperor Quivalin noticed any dark change in General Giarna, he didn’t say anything to Suzine. His carriage had rolled into the camp to the cheers of more than a hundred thousand of his soldiers. The great procession rumbled around the full circumference of the circular deployments before arriving at the tent where the Boy General kept his headquarters.

The two men conferred within the tent for several hours before the ruler and the commander emerged, side by side, to address the troops.

“I have appointed General Giarna as High General of the Army,” announced Quivalin, to the cheers of his men, “following the unfortunate demise of former High General Barnet.

“He has my full confidence, as do you all.” More cheers. “I feel certain that, with the coming of spring, your force will carry the walls of the elven fortress and reduce their defenses to ashes! For the glory of Ergoth, you will prevail!” Adulation rose from the troops, who surged forward to get a close look at the mighty ruler. A sweeping stare from their general, however, held them in their tracks. A slow, reluctant silence fell over the mass of warriors.

“The collapse of my predecessor, due to exhaustion, was symptomatic of the sluggishness that previously pervaded this entire army—a laxness that allowed our enemy to reach its fortress months ago,” said General Giarna. His voice was level and low, yet it seemed to carry more ominous power than the emperor’s loud exhortations.

Murmurs of discontent rose in many thousands of throats. Barnet had been a popular leader, and his death hadn’t been satisfactorily explained to the men. Yet the stark fear they felt for the Boy General prevented anyone from audibly muttering open displeasure.

“Our emperor informs me that additional troops will be joining us, a contingent of dwarves from the Theiwar Clan of Thorbardin. They are skilled miners and will be put to work digging excavations beneath the walls of the enemy defenses.

“Those of you who are not engaged in preparations for the attack will begin tomorrow a vigorous program of training. When the time comes to attack, you will be ready! And for the glory of our emperor, you will succeed!”

The firelight reflected from the walls of the cave like dancing sprites, weaving patterns of warmth and comfort. A haunch of venison sizzled on a spit over the coals, while Sithas’s cloak and leggings dried on a makeshift rack.

“No tenderloin of steer ever tasted so sweet or lay so sumptuously on the palate,” announced Kith-Kanan, with an approving smack of his lips. He reached forward and sliced another hot strip from the meat that slow-roasted above the coals.

Sithas looked at his brother, his eyes shining with pride. Unlike the sheep, which he admitted had been slain by dumb luck as much as anything, he had stalked this deer through the woods, lying in wait for long, chilly hours, until the timid creature had worked its way into bow range. He had aimed carefully and brought the animal down with one shot to the neck.

“I have to agree,” Sithas allowed as he finished his own piece. He, too, carved another strip for eating. Then he cut several other juicy morsels, piling them on a flat stone that served as a platter, before lifting the spit from the fire.

He turned to the mouth of the shallow cave, where winter’s darkness closed in. “Hey, One-Tooth.” he called. “Dinner time!” The giant’s round face, split by his characteristic massive grin, appeared. One-Tooth squinted before reaching his massive paw into the cave. His eyes lit up expectantly as Sithas handed him the spit.

“Careful—it’s hot. Eat hearty, my friend ” Sithas watched in amusement as the giant, who had learned several words of the common tongue-"hot” being high on the list-picked tentatively at the dripping meat.

“Amazing how friendly he got, once we started feeding him,” remarked Kith-Kanan. Indeed, once the hill giant had satisfied himself that the elf wasn’t going to slay him, One-Tooth had become an enthusiastic helper. He had carried Kith down the narrow trail from the ledge with all the care that a mother shows to her firstborn babe. The weight of the injured elf hadn’t seemed to slow the hill giant at all as Sithas led him back over the steep pass and into this valley. The trip had been hard on Kith-Kanan, with each step jarring his injured leg, but he had borne the punishment in silence. Indeed, he had been amazed and delighted at the degree of control with which Sithas had seized the reins of their expedition.

It had taken another day of searching, but finally the Speaker of the Stars had discovered this shallow cave, its entrance partially screened by boulders and brush. Lying in the overhang of a rock-walled riverbank, the cave itself was dry and spacious, albeit not so spacious that the giant didn’t have to remain outside. A small stream flowed within a dozen feet of its mouth, assuring a plentiful supply of water.