Galloran nodded. “After winning our way through the western pass, we need to leave sufficient men to hold it. That pass will be our only retreat if an army floods in from the east.”
“He may not even need to retake the pass,” Ferrin speculated. “What if he places a large enough army on the far side? Without the walls and the towers in his possession, he could still close the way.”
“He could very realistically do just that,” Galloran said. “We’d be caught between two armies.”
Rachel was impressed by how casually they could discus scenarios that could lead to their destruction. Hopefully, anticipating the possibilities would help them prevent the disaster from striking.
“If he can spare the soldiers,” Ferrin said, “the emperor might summon forces from Meridon. How goes the revolt there?”
“The uprising amounted to less than we had expected,” Galloran said. “A few interceptors were stolen. A few others burned. Most of the rebels fell. Vernon and Trivett perished. We will see no troops from the endeavor. In the larger scheme of things, the insurrection was a mere irritation.”
Ferrin folded his arms. “Maldor’s strategy is sound. We cannot take Felrook. No fortress in Lyrian enjoys more advantageous geography. As you know, it sits atop a mount in the center of Lake Fellion. If we try to construct a fleet of ferries, Maldor has ample armaments to sink them before they get close. And there is only one way up the cliffs to the castle gate. The path can be destroyed if needed. If left intact, the path allows very limited access. We cannot crash gates that we cannot reach. And Felrook is extremely well provisioned. Maldor could last for years against a siege.” Ferrin paused, thinking.
“Go on,” Galloran encouraged.
“The protective lake prevents soldiers from sallying forth out of Felrook and taking the offensive. To compensate, Maldor erected three keeps on high ground around the lake. The three strongholds fortify one another and allow counterattacks in the case of a siege. Taking any of them would be an enormous challenge.”
“And the ferry is protected by a wall,” Galloran said. “It could function as a fortress as well.”
Ferrin nodded grimly. “Maldor could very well trap us between a castle we cannot take and an overwhelming host we cannot fight. The valley is large. He could hide massive reserve forces. He could design any number of ambushes. In short, if I were commander, I would not lead us into that valley.”
“Nor would I,” Galloran agreed. “Not using my own reason. We do not have nearly the manpower to attack the emperor directly. We are apparently marching into a trap that should kill us all. My faith is in the oracle, and in the quest Lord Jason seeks to accomplish. There is a piece missing to this puzzle. When Jason finds it, we must be in position to take advantage.”
Ferrin exhaled slowly. “Such faith.”
Rachel worried that it might be too much faith. Should she speak up? It wasn’t like she had any real experience with battle strategy.
“Do not forget that faith in what the oracle saw is all we have left,” Galloran said. “On our own, no matter how well we fight or how cleverly we strategize, we simply lack the resources to win. Maldor is too strong. Our options are either to walk the path Esmira prescribed or to withdraw and mount a defensive stand that buys us perhaps ten years.”
“Maldor knows we’re coming,” Ferrin said quietly. “He knows what allies will join us. We know our battle strategy is unsound. We suspect he rejoices that we are marching into a trap. We are giving him the chance to eliminate his remaining opponents with a single stroke. What would have taken him years will be over in weeks. Yet it is the only chance to defeat him, so we are going forward.”
“What say you, Rachel?” Galloran muttered. “Are we fools?”
“Maybe,” Rachel said. “Our chances look really bad. The oracle warned us that we would probably lose. So we probably will. But if the prophecy is our only hope, I guess we have to try.” She looked at Ferrin. “The only way to know will be to see it through to the end.”
“I agree with Rachel,” Ferrin said. “We will probably perish. But I can think of worse ways to go.”
“A small chance beats no chance every time,” Tark said. “No matter how small.”
“We have some advantages,” Io said. “Maldor may understand what it means to fight the Amar Kabal, but his soldiers do not. Not really. Not even the eldest of the displacers. It has been too long since the seedfolk last marched to war. There are no finer warriors in Lyrian. No army can confront them casually. And we drinlings do not fall easily. We have built up our numbers larger than our foes could anticipate.”
“Even if we fail,” Galloran acknowledged, “we will make a respectable showing. Knowing there is any hope for success, I would not meet my end another way. Many of those I lead may not properly comprehend how dire the upcoming battle will be. Some of those particulars cannot be confided to the common soldier. Leading these men to probable disaster is my burden, but I am willing to bear it.”
“They know it will be grim,” Ferrin said. “Some of their expectations may be unrealistic, but you lead brave men. Cowards would not have come. The simplest among them know that we will be at a great disadvantage.”
“I am glad to know the four of you stand with me,” Galloran said. “We know by prophecy that only if we stand united can we triumph. Ferrin, the nearer we draw to Felrook, the more I will have to rely on your expertise.”
“I am here to serve as needed,” Ferrin pledged.
“We have confronted some grave realities tonight,” Galloran said. “We must not close our eyes to the hardships ahead, nor should we defeat ourselves by deciding the cause will be lost. We will defy the odds. The path to victory exists. We will find it. That is all.”
Ferrin and Tark returned with Rachel to her tent. Once inside, they sat down together. Rachel felt mildly stunned by the meeting. She had never had such a thorough explanation of why they would probably lose. What information could Jason possibly find to reverse such a doomed situation?
“I appreciated the conversation with Galloran,” Ferrin said.
“It’s good of him to keep us informed,” Tark said. “We have no real claim on that information.”
“Not just for including us in his plans,” Ferrin clarified. “I had already worked out most of what we discussed through my own observations. I was relieved for the confirmation that we are not following a deluded man. Galloran is attacking Felrook with his eyes open, so to speak. He understands the peril. He realizes that our offensive defies common sense. He leads us there for the only acceptable reason—to fulfill the prophecy.”
Rachel frowned. Their strategy made no sense to Galloran or Ferrin. Jason’s quest didn’t make much sense either. They were all ignoring their common sense because of the prophecy. Was that right?
“What if the oracle fooled us?” Rachel asked numbly. “I used to worry about the oracle being mistaken, but what if it was deliberate? What if she was working for Maldor? What if he corrupted her somehow? What if we’re chasing a false hope? What if this is all just a big scheme to trick us into making the dumbest military choices imaginable?”
The tent became silent.
“You heard how vulnerable we’ll be when we attack Felrook,” Rachel said. “Safe in his castle, Maldor just has to sit back and watch his armies destroy us. What could Jason possibly learn that would change any of that? What secret can erase fortresses and armies? What secret could possibly give us an advantage?”
“If we knew,” Tark said, “Lord Jason’s quest would be unnecessary.”
“Is it necessary?” Rachel asked. “Or is it like the hunt for the Word? The magic word that could kill Maldor, protected by trusted guardians for years. The magic word that didn’t work and was just part of a plot to mess up his enemies! What if this is no different?”
Head down, Tark shifted uncomfortably. He would not make eye contact with her.
“The oracle of Mianamon held that office for a long time,” Ferrin
said. “She had no reason to love Maldor. Quite the opposite. I have heard no rumors of Maldor holding any sway at Mianamon. Why would the oracle give her life to mislead us?”
“What if Maldor made a deal?” Rachel worried. “He likes bargains. He likes manipulation. What if he promised never to invade the jungle if she helped him crush us? What if the oracle lied to us in order to protect her people? She could have looked into the future to verify whether Maldor would keep his promise! She could have made a deal and been certain that Maldor would deliver! What if she sent Jason off on a quest for a nonexistent secret from a dead seer and sent Galloran to lead the last defenders of Lyrian to destruction?”
Ferrin gazed steadily at Rachel. His expression hinted at the thoughts whirling behind his eyes. “You could be right.”
“Or what if Maldor found a way to deliver a false prophecy to the oracle?” Rachel went on. “The torivors can get into our minds. I know that firsthand. What if they blurred her visions? She could have been sincere and still have misled us.”
“Again you could be right,” Ferrin conceded.
“Is it too late to turn back?” Rachel whispered.
“Not for us,” Ferrin said. “Not for Galloran, either, if he believed this theory. But if this theory is true, we would lose all hope. Unless we can prove the oracle misled us, I’m not sure we could ever convince Galloran to turn back.”
“Do you think I’m right?” Rachel asked.
Tark kept his eyes on the ground.
Ferrin shrugged. “There is no way to be certain. Your theory would explain our reckless offensive. It would explain seeking impossible information from a dead prophet. It certainly is the sort of deception Maldor would invent, using our hope against us, giving us reasons to keep trying that only make us fail faster. It fits. But I’m not sure we could ever prove it. And you very well might be wrong. It is all speculation.”
“Let’s face the facts,” Rachel said. “Which seems more likely? That the oracle of Mianamon somehow misled us? Or that our suicidal battle plan will be saved by some inspiring words from a prophet who died thousands of years ago?”
Ferrin chuckled. “Remember when I advised you to embrace the truth when facing hard choices?”
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“I’m afraid I created a monster.”
“Because I’m wrong?”
“Because you’ve discovered a possibility that I missed. And I’m having trouble explaining it away.”
“We should bring this to Galloran,” Tark said nervously.
Ferrin rubbed his eyes. “Should we? This doubt has the potential to destroy his faith. I know mine is already faltering. Without proof, I don’t believe our theory is certain enough to sway Galloran from his course. We might only undermine his confidence.”
“How could we get proof?” Rachel asked.
“The oracle is dead,” Ferrin said. “If she betrayed us, she would have taken that secret to her grave. If Maldor got to her, none of that communication would have been in writing. The emperor would have used torivors for something so sensitive. If the oracle was fooled, even she had no idea. In either scenario we would find no proof at Mianamon. Maldor keeps his deepest secrets to himself. Only he or the torivors could provide the evidence we would need.”
“What if I went to him?” Rachel asked dully. “What if I accepted his offer to study with him? I could try to find out if this is all another trick.”
“There will be no evidence to uncover,” Ferrin said. “It’s all in his mind.”
“Maybe I could get him to slip up,” Rachel said. “He can be very candid in private. Maybe he would think I had no way to warn anyone. Maybe he would gloat. Maybe I could somehow get inside his mind and find the truth. Maybe I could ask him questions and study his reactions. Or open myself to the torivors and search their thoughts. Maybe I could warn you guys in time. Maybe we could try to warn Jason.”
“Such a feat would be next to impossible,” Ferrin said. “Even if you were to succeed, I don’t see how you could get to Maldor in time to make any difference. Once this army crosses into the valley, we’ll have passed the point of no return.”
“So do we alert Galloran?” Tark asked.
“He is a very intelligent man,” Ferrin said. “Galloran may have already accepted that our tiny shred of hope might be based on bad information and therefore entirely unfounded. It might already be part of the measured risk that he is taking.”
“Had you thought this through already?” Rachel asked.
“Not to this extent,” Ferrin admitted. “And I am more skilled than most at sniffing out possible intrigues.”
“This is not just a risk Galloran is taking,” Tark said. “It is a risk all of Lyrian is taking along with him.”
Ferrin sighed. “I suppose it is our duty to make sure he has weighed this possibility.”
“I’ll second that,” Tark said.
“We might not be right,” Rachel fretted.
Ferrin began to fidget by repeatedly disconnecting his index finger and reattaching it. “A plausible theory is only a plausible theory. Possible is not the same as true. Heeding this conjecture could divert us from what was actually a valid prophecy.”
“But if we’re right?” Rachel pressed.
Ferrin looked away. “Then this war was over long ago.”
CHAPTER 17
MARCHING
A warm spring sun glared overhead as Rachel rode along a wide dirt road through pastoral country. The sounds and smells of men and horses surrounded her and stretched out behind. She was glad that her status as the Dark Lady allowed her to ride toward the front of the column. It turned out that thousands of soldiers on the move churned up a great deal of dust just about wherever they went. Her position near the front helped her avoid the worst of it, and the black veils that screened her face provided additional protection.
Of course, she was not truly at the front. Not in a vulnerable way. Scouts ranged far ahead in all directions, and a vanguard of mounted troops rode well beyond the main body of the army.
Galloran had anticipated trouble crossing the Telkron River. Any of the viable crossings would create a bottleneck where a relatively small amount of fighting men and manglers could stall the entire host. But there had not been any resistance. Not at the Telkron, not before, not after. The scouts continued to report no threatening enemy movements. So far the experience of marching to war had been rather dull.
Snowflake was as good a horse as Rachel had hoped—strong, tireless, and quick to obey. The mare moved more smoothly than any horse Rachel had ridden. Tark and Ferrin rode near her, but conversation was scarce. Io had been assigned as Galloran’s assistant and bodyguard, the same role Dorsio had once filled.
Galloran spent a surprising amount of time among the troops. He rode up and down the column during the day and visited their campsites at night, never lingering anywhere long, just allowing the men to see him and receive a few encouraging words. Sometimes Rachel wondered when he slept. It could not have been more than a few hours each night.
Galloran never wore his blindfold anymore except in private meetings. He had explained that a host of their size could go nowhere in secret. Some of the men had taken to brandishing their weapons at Galloran and shaking their fists when he rode past. At first Rachel had found the display disrespectful, until she realized they were sending a message to Felrook through his eyes. Galloran would sometimes scowl at the rowdy taunts to encourage them. He trusted the officers to maintain discipline and keep the joke from getting out of hand.
Every night Rachel slept in a tent on a comfortable cot. Tark and Ferrin shared the space behind a divider. Sometimes in the night Rachel would worry about lurkers intruding. She never took off the charms that shielded her mind. At times, in the dark, she clung to her necklace like a lifeline.
Galloran had a large tent that was used for meetings. Whenever a discussion was in progress, twelve burly guards surrounded the tent, three on each side. Rachel w
as not usually included in the discussions, but one evening after supper Rachel, Ferrin, and Tark were summoned to the pavilion. Galloran, blindfolded, awaited them with Io at his side. Bread and cheese covered a table topped by a large map.
“Good evening,” Galloran said. “I apologize that my time has been spread thin lately. Much of my day is occupied with eagle messages and scouting reports. I wanted to bring you up-to-date on our progress and get your reactions to the current state of our campaign. I want you all to understand our situation, and would be interested to hear your evaluations.”
“Happy to serve,” Ferrin said.
“We are currently experiencing far less resistance than I had expected,” Galloran said. “The country before us is not being burned or plundered to starve us. Our host is not being harassed. Our enemies have not bothered to destroy bridges or take any action to slow us. What does this tell you?”
“That we’re walking into a trap,” Ferrin said. “We’re going exactly where the emperor desires.”
“If that is the case,” Galloran said, “I would still expect some token effort to impede us, if for no other reason than to make his approval of our movements less obvious.”
“Such token resistance would suggest he views us as a threat,” Ferrin replied. “Maldor is in no hurry to show us any such respect. He does not want to burn crops that his subjects are otherwise sure to harvest after we are corpses. He does not want the trouble of rebuilding bridges. He has elected to belittle us with a seeming lack of attention. He is telling your soldiers that he views them as harmless. He is inviting them to march to their deaths, offering no small victories along the way.”
From behind her veil, Rachel watched Ferrin, impressed. He certainly had a sharp mind for strategy.
“I’m afraid that I agree with your assessment,” Galloran said. “Maldor knows the prophecy. He knows where we are going. He knows we mean to besiege Felrook. And he is inviting us to try.”