In the distance, Dujahn heard the trample of hooves coming down the Iron Point Road. It was the only road through the Shadows Wood and so overgrown in places that wagons had to waddle just to get through. Plunging from the thick cedar trees came a huge roan, its hooves clomping against the paving stones marking the old Shae highway. Dujahn shook his head, wondering if Folkes was a fool or if he just didn’t care how much noise he made. Gripping the handle of the hooded lantern he had secured around the saddle horn, Dujahn lifted it and pointed it towards the inbound horseman. He raised the shutter quickly and then closed it. A single wink of light went out.
The noise of the hooves slowed and hissed into the grass. Commander Folkes eased his horse up to where Dujahn waited for him. He was big – nearly as tall as General Dairron, the commander of the Kingshadow regiment who had arrived earlier that day. Dujahn was always comparing people, sizing them up and matching them against others he knew. It was how he kept things straight in his mind. As a Gray Legion spy, he needed that. Always look for the unusual. With Folkes, that wasn’t hard to do. The Bandit commander’s mismatched suit of armor showed an almost absent-minded laziness instead of tokens of his battles and opponents. A breastplate taken from a vanquished Knight of the Blade. His sword from a Vale Shae. The greaves and gauntlets were of different design, all scratched and marred beyond polishing. Unique – Folkes liked it that way. Dujahn suppressed a smile. The Provost Marshals of the East Kingdoms would have laughed at the Bandit commander with scorn. But then again, they were more known for fastidiousness, not their battle sense.
“How long...you’ve been waiting?” Folkes asked, trying to catch his breath. He lifted a leather flask to his lips and took a long drink. It smelled like ale.
“Sunset,” Dujahn answered simply. “How was the ride from Anikesh, Commander?”
“Long and thorny,” Folkes answered, wiping his mouth. “I saw a few patrols of knights, but none of them saw me.”
“Well…they would have been banned surprised to catch you out all alone.” Dujahn sat back and smirked. “Now, do you think they would have hung you right there – or bothered dragging you all the way to Owen Draw for a trial first?”
Folkes frowned and corked the flask. “I don’t pay you for jokes, Dujahn. I pay you for information. Why were there so many patrols?”
Dujahn shrugged noncommittally. “The Kiran Thall have been busy down here, Commander. Whenever they raze a village, don Rion sends down the knights to chase them away. It’s that simple. Word in don Rion’s court these days is that he wants to send the dukes of Amberdian and Cypher on a march down here to hang some Bandits.”
Folkes nodded and let out a big breath and snorted with contempt. “That rumor again? It costs too much and it takes too long. Amberdian is spineless and Cypher won’t go it alone. Nothing before year-end at least. Let’s go in,” he said, nodding towards the fortress of Landmoor.
Dujahn turned his horse around and spurred it forward lightly. He led them off the main road, about a mile or so from the fortress, veering off into the grasslands just before the hill jutted out of the valley. Steering around a pond, they pressed towards the bottom of the hill that Landmoor crowned.
It was certainly a privilege to be invited into the Rebellion’s council. The other two commanders had special advisors who joined them when answering Ballinaire’s summons. Folkes had decided it was time that he had an advisor as well, so he insisted that Dujahn be allowed to represent him. Ballinaire was distrustful, of course, but even he recognized the value of having one from the Gray Legion handy. He needed every ally he could muster.
“What did you learn about this meeting?” Folkes asked, his voice low and his eyes riveted on the torch fire high on the walls. “Do you know what Ballinaire wants?”
“He’s managed to keep that secret,” Dujahn muttered in response. “But I have managed to find out what he’s done down here so far. As you saw coming down the road, the Shoreland Regiment is bunched up together in the Shadows Wood – less than a day’s march away. Looks to me like Ballinaire is preparing to lay siege.” He nodded to the keep as they started up the rugged slopes. “He has some troops in one part of the wood, but I couldn’t get close enough to see what they were doing. I’m a spy, not a Sleepwalker – sounded like they were digging. Making trenches, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Trenches? Ballinaire won’t sit still long enough for trenches. Not if don Rion sends more than a single duke’s army.”
“I agree with you. So, in addition to the regiment, we have the Kiran Thall roving the woods and blocking the road.”
“Hmm,” Folkes murmured. “Who else is here?”
“Dairron, of course. The General came in on his Dragonshrike before the sun had even set. I asked a contact in Dos-Aralon about him. He told me that Dairron flies over Avisahn regularly – trying to catch a peek at Silverborne’s daughter, no doubt. Wants to abduct her, I’ve heard. Who knows for sure. Now, what about that advisor he’s always with? I couldn’t get much on her.”