“Certainly not, Lord Ballinaire,” Mage answered with patience and calm. “He sends his regrets, but it was not possible to make it here in time. He has to provision the regiment overseas, and he struck a deal on some stout Sheven-Ingen blades. But you may expect his arrival within the week.” The green eyes narrowed triumphantly. “The summons is finished, his regiment has gathered. He will come to take Landmoor as you ordered. When all is ready.”
Dujahn inhaled slowly, grateful that Folkes had hurried to the meeting. He would not have wanted to answer to Ballinaire for any reason. My apologies, Lord Ballinaire, but Commander Folkes was just too drunk to obey the summons. I’m assuming he’ll arrive after he’s cleared all that Spider Ale out of his bowels.
The leader of the Bandit Rebellion relented and nodded his head curtly. “I trust for good reason, Sorian. I trust he made every attempt to be here. In addition to the Shoreland Regiment, you speak for the Drugaen Nation as well?”
Mage nodded. “Naturally.”
The Drugaen were somewhat of a mystery to Dujahn. He knew little of their race other than that they were sturdy, blocky fellows who had been enslaved by Sorian to work the mines of the Ravenstone. He knew there were two factions within the Drugaen Nation – the Faradin and the Krag. The Faradin had revolted and proclaimed their freedom and still fought to uphold it. The Krag were still loyal to some Sorian who had enslaved them a thousand years ago. The Krag were superstitious and followed anyone who could muster some spark of magic. And it didn’t surprise him that another Sorian, like Mage, had met their need.
Ballinaire bowed his head. His gnarled, gloved hand trembled with age as it stroked his short white beard. Dujahn did not take it as a sign of weakness. No, Ballinaire was still strong enough to keep General Dairron from usurping his place, two Bandit Commanders from killing each other, and a pair of Sorian at his disposal. Dujahn wanted to chuckle. The King of Dos-Aralon didn’t know what he was up against.
“The time for war has arrived,” Ballinaire said suddenly. His eyes went across every face in the room. “No more waiting or plotting. No more attempts at insurrection. We have come far and fought boldly. The swords of both armies have been sheathed in blood again and again. But this time, it will be different. By year’s end, we will sup in don Rion’s palace. The valley will be ours at last.” Dairron glanced at Miestri, surprised. Folkes took a long swallow from his goblet and wiped his mouth. “Our efforts have stirred rebellion, to take what was wrongfully denied me after the Purge Wars. That insufferable king owes me a debt in blood, and I will take payment in blood. I promise you,” he added with an excited edge in his voice, “That our ranks will swell as the flood engulfs the valley and those who support Dos-Aralon. King Birtoss don Rion will lose his crown, and those who defy us will be no more. No more knights of Owen Draw. No more dukes of Amberdian and Cypher. Even Iniva and the Yukilep will come in line or crumble.” His eyes glittered with hatred. It was an emotion so intense in feeling and conviction that Dujahn felt it coiled deep within the old general’s bones. “When I march to war this time, they will all fall. Every one.”
“When?” General Dairron interrupted, his eyes gleaming and wary.
“Tonight,” Ballinaire answered. “It begins this instant.”
General Dairron stepped forward, his eyes exultant. “You’ve considered my plan then? Shall we seek a union with Avisahn, combine with them to destroy Dos-Aralon?”
“The Shae?” Ballinaire coughed, amused. “What have the Shae ever done for us? When have they ever sought an alliance with me? I tell you, General, the Bandit Rebellion will spread like fire through dried weeds this time, until this entire valley is ablaze. I will not bargain – I will not cajole with those fools across the river. I will march on this valley until the governors and princes and kings cry to me for peace, until they submit to the rule they denied me so long ago.” Lord Ballinaire shook his head slowly. “My plans have nothing to do with the Shae. We will conquer don Rion, the Yukilep, and even the Shae. We will do it alone.”
Dairron shook his head. “My Lord, we number no more than a tenth of what don Rion can put in the field. The lowlands are vast, we cannot attack with total surprise. And yet you suggest we can siege and break the city of Dos-Aralon before the winter snows? With all the other Dukes collapsing on our flanks like lions? And we can do this…by ourselves?”
“Listen to him,” Miestri said assuringly. Her black eyes glittered with mirth. She spoke to Dairron but her eyes were on Mage. The two Sorian glared at each other, almost defiantly. Folkes watched Ballinaire and Dairron. He missed out on the interplay.