Duko said, “Isolating us from Land’s End would make sense.”
“If they could, but they’d need more than a single cavalry column. Maybe if they were sneaking other units through. . .” Jimmy said, “I have a hunch, m’lord, and I don’t like it.”
“What?”
His finger traced lines across the map. “What if the column doesn’t go northeast to Landreth, but goes due north instead?”
“That would bring them here,” said Duko. “You said you didn’t think they were trying to draw us off.”
“They aren’t. If they go straight north from here”—his finger marked a spot on the map—”they’re fifty miles east of our usual patrol route.”
“There’s nothing out there,” observed the Duke.
“There’s nothing out there to defend,” replied Jimmy. “But if they keep moving north, they intercept a trail here that runs through the foothills. It’s part of an old caravan route from the dwarven mines at Dworgin that runs to here.” His finger stabbed at the map.
“Krondor?”
“Yes,” said Jimmy. “What if they’ve been slipping columns and soldiers through there for weeks? We just caught a glimpse of this one.” He reexamined the communique. “No word of banners or markings. The soldiers could be from anywhere within the Empire.”
“They hold us static with units we’re used to facing, then bring up units from farther down in the Empire . . .”
“And they take Krondor in a flash attack.”
Duko was on his feet. He headed to the door of the headquarters and was shouting orders just as the old soldier, Matak, got the door open.
“I want every unit ready to move in an hour!” He turned to Jimmy. “My orders instruct me to defend and protect the Southern Marches. So I’m keeping the garrison intact, but if you’re correct, the Prince will need every soldier we can spare back in Krondor.”
With efficiency born of experience, he had the entire garrison moving within minutes. “Jimmy, you will lead the column, and I hope you’re in time. For if you are correct, Kesh will strike at Krondor any time now, and if they take it. . .”
Jimmy knew probably better than Duko what that would mean. It would leave the Kingdom split in half. Greylock’s army would be locked in struggle south of Ylith, Duko’s army would be forced to hold against the aggressors at Land’s End, and the garrison at Shamata would be forced to hold a defensive position to prevent a strike past them at Landreth. If Kesh held Krondor, Greylock would lose all support by land from the south, as well as any chance of retreat. He would be caught between two hostile armies. And if the Armies of the West were lost. . .
Jimmy said, “I’ll have them on the road within the hour.”
Duko said, “Good, for if Krondor falls, the West is indeed lost.”
If that observation from one of the men attempting to overthrow the West just a year prior struck Jimmy as ironic, he was too busy to register it. He hurried back inside the headquarters and shouted to the nearest orderly, “Get all my things together, and get my horse out of the stable!” He grabbed a parchment and leaned over the writing desk. He almost pushed the scribe out of his seat.
Jimmy couldn’t very well order the Knight-Marshal of Krondor to do anything, nor could Lord Duko, but he could make a suggestion. A strongly worded suggestion.
He wrote:
Reports indicate a strong likelihood of a major offensive against Krondor by Kesh, striking along old Dorgin mine road. Urge you detach whatever units can be spared and send them south by fastest means.
James, Earl of Vencar.
He grabbed a stick of sealing wax, heated it, and affixed his ring seal to it. He folded the parchment and inserted it into a message pouch.
The scribe whom he had displaced was sitting in his chair, watching the entire thing. Jimmy turned and said, “What’s your name?”
“Herbert, sir. Herbert of Rutherwood.”
“Come with me.”
The scribe glanced around the room at the other orderlies and scribes, but all returned only astonished or blank expressions.
He hurried past Duko, who was still watching over the unfolding spectacle of his entire command, save the resident garrison, getting ready to mobilize. Jimmy led the scribe down to the docks and hurried to the far end, where a Kingdom cutter lay at anchor.
He hurried up the gangplank, and when he reached the top shouted, “Captain!”
From the quarterdeck, a voice replied, “Here, sir!”
“Orders!” shouted Jimmy. “Take this man north.”
The scribe stood on the plank behind Jimmy. Jimmy reached around and grabbed him by the front of his tunic, hauling him forward and depositing him on the deck. Jimmy said, “Herbert, take this pouch. Sail north, find our army, and give this to Lord Greylock or Captain von Darkmoor. Do you understand?”
The scribe’s eyes were round and he couldn’t speak, but he nodded.