“What?”
“You heard me well enough.”
Scowling, Folkes stared at him. “You’re suggesting I do the same as you?” He laughed, a choking sound. “You’re forgetting, you scheming rook, that my army is half-way through the Yukilep! It’s a little late to turn around!”
The General shook his head slowly. “Actually there is just enough time to retreat back to the Shadin Mountains. That’s why I saved telling you until today.”
“Hatefully kind of you,” Folkes spat. He shook his head. “I can’t believe this!”
He looked back and saw that his officers had assembled. They were watching and hearing the exchange. Some of the regular soldiers had drawn near to see the bird, but they stayed back far enough that he doubted they could listen in.
“Ballinaire is expecting both of our armies to augment his in Landmoor. Only Tsyrke’s is down there now—the Shoreland regiment. Your regiment sits here in the Yukilep. My army is still safely back in the Kingshadow. Are you convinced that Ballinaire can invade this valley successfully?” He shook his head. “I’m not. Even with the Everoot. Even with the Deathbane it becomes.”
“You can be banned,” Folkes said with hatred, gripping his swordhilt. He hated Dairron with a white-hot surge. “You’d leave Tsyrke all alone in Landmoor, to be cut to ribbons. Well, what if it does work? What if the Everoot is as powerful as Ballinaire promises?”
There was a glint in Dairron’s eyes. Folkes was furious, knowing the General still knew something he wasn’t letting loose.
“Perhaps this will change your mind,” Dairron said, stepping closer. Folkes eased his sword loose in its scabbard, feeling the edge ready to slip free. He’d get one chance at this. One chance to take off Dairron’s head before he could draw his weapon. He planted his rear foot, readying himself.
“The Everoot is not the only magic in Landmoor.” The General’s words were hard, like stone. “Consider this. Why would the Shae have left it unprotected?”
Folkes eyebrows furrowed. “Another magic?”
“The legacy of Everoot is dangerous. If you are going to risk claiming it, you’d better be prepared to pay the cost. Ballinaire is ignorant of Shae tradition. I am not. He thinks they will cower. I know they will fight.” He smirked. “And I do not want to be in the Shoreland when they do. I’ve seen a Ravinjon, Folkes. Nasty business.”
“This could be a lie,” Folkes said, drawing his sword. He waved the tip towards the General. “Clever schemer you are. Convince me to pull back my army while you continue sending yours. Then I’d look like the traitor and Lord Ballinaire would come after my neck with a rope.”
I’ve got you, you rook. You even blink towards your hilt and I’ll run you through…
Dairron chuckled. “It doesn’t surprise me that your limited vision would let you see it that way. Whether you are right or not, what will you do when Ballinaire falls? He will, Folkes. Not even he can live forever. What will you do? Only Tsyrke, you, or I could lead the Rebellion.” His eyes glared. “Neither you nor Tsyrke is strong enough. And I know you both realize that.”
Folkes swallowed, feeling the sweat prickle beneath his arms. Dairron had said it. His ambition had finally been revealed. Ballinaire would kill you for saying that. But why should I let him have the pleasure of doing it?
“I’m looking forward to telling him you just said that,” Folkes said in a low voice. “You know what fury he’ll be in when he hears? You just stabbed yourself in the back, Dairron. I’ll tell him what you...”
“No—you won’t.”
General Dairron drew his broadsword so quickly that Folkes barely caught glint of the sunlight on its blade. He did hear the gasps of soldiers and cavalry officers rumble all around them. A battle between generals. They would see it all.
Sweet Hate!
Folkes gripped the hilt, licking his lips. “I’m not afraid of you, Dairron.”
“I know,” the General said. He stepped forward. “That has always been your greatest weakness.”
Folkes swung. He hoped it was quick enough to catch Dairron off-guard. His blade swooped towards Dairron’s gut, but the General deflected it like a toy. Sparks sprayed from the blades as they struck. Dairron moved in, hammering while Folkes parried and blocked.