‘You fear the Dasati are poised to invade our realm?’ asked Magnus.
‘Not quite yet, but soon. If things go as I fear they will, the Dark God will call for the Great Muster within a month, and all the battle societies will join with the armies of the Karanas and the TeKarana at an appointed place, perhaps as many as two million Deathknights and several hundred thousand Deathpriests. Another four million support Lessers will accompany them. Remember, they have six worlds to draw upon for resources.’
Pug’s expression showed his shock at these numbers. ‘We never faced more than twenty thousand Tsurani over the course of twelve years, Macros. And even though the Emerald Queen sent forty thousand against the Kingdom, nearly half died at sea or in the battle for Krondor. There were less than twenty thousand strung out along a hundred miles of the King’s Highway. And a third of their army deserted before the battle of Nightmare Ridge.’
Nakor said, ‘Two million. That’s a lot.’
Pug shot his friend a quick glance, to see if he was joking and saw he wasn’t. ‘You know what this means?’
‘It means we have to prevent them from starting the war,’ said Nakor.
‘Can we?’ asked Magnus.
‘That,’ said his grandfather, ‘is the question of the hour, isn’t it?’
‘There is only one way I can think of that might achieve that,’ said Pug.
Macros nodded, as if reading his son-in-law’s mind. ‘Yes, kill the Dark God before the order to invade is given.’
CHAPTER SEVEN - Pursuit
KASPAR NODDED.
Castdanur had proven an amiable enough host, for a captor, and refreshments had been provided, meagre though they were. Kaspar had eaten enough game over the years to recognize that everything provided for the evening meal had either been hunted or gathered; nothing here was grown or otherwise cultivated.
They sat opposite one another across a low table, upon furs that kept the body’s heat from being stolen into the cold wooden floors. The venison was tough and gamey in flavour, but it was filling, and spiced with some wild herbs he didn’t recognize. There was no wine or ale, just water, and the cooked turnips were of a variety he recognized from hunting expeditions to Great Kesh when he was a boy. They had been cooked with animal fat, not butter, and the only spice used was salt, which had a bitter, metallic edge to it, as if it had been reduced from a soda spring in the mountains rather than coming from a mine or seaside salt-flats.
The old elven leader had deftly avoided any comment on Kaspar’s observation that this was a fortification occupied by a dying population, and also kept the conversation away from any revelations about his people and their history. So for the most part they had spent the evening speaking of little of importance, though each probed the other for information. Castdanur wanted to know why Kaspar and his company of men had come to the mountains as much as Kaspar wanted to know what these elves were doing here and why no Keshian ruler in history had an inkling of their occupying the mountains traditionally claimed by the Empire as their own.
As a ruler of an Eastern nation, Kaspar had had no contact with elves prior to his joining the ranks of the Conclave of Shadows, and since then only the most fleeting: one encounter with a messenger from the Elf Queen’s court who had arrived at Sorcerer’s Island while Kaspar had been there receiving instructions from Pug. He had had barely more than a glimpse of the envoy, and had never spoken to him.
This Castdanur was as deft a negotiator as Kaspar had ever encountered. Kaspar had no doubt that was what they were doing: negotiating for his life and that of his men. This enclave could never have remained undetected by Keshian intelligence, coastal pirates, or any number of people who might have chanced across it over the years without there being a deadly consequence for those who discovered Baranor. Kaspar was certain that should any human have ventured to this enclave and lived he would only be someone they trusted implicitly. And nothing he had seen since their captivity indicated that they were inclined to trust anyone from outside.
Finally, Kaspar said, ‘Are you familiar with human card games?’
‘In passing. I’ve lived a long time without contact with your race, Duke Kaspar, but that doesn’t mean over the years I’ve remained ignorant of your race and its… peculiarities. Gambling is something most elves would have trouble enjoying – our risk-taking is always about survival. These mountains can be difficult, even for those of us who’ve spent centuries here. Now, why do you ask?’
‘There’s a human expression, "it’s time to put our cards on the table", which means to show what we’ve been hiding.’ The old elf smiled. ‘I like that phrase.’
‘There are powerful forces poised to strike at this world.’