Measure and the Truth

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jaymes went to see Selinda in her rooms. There were several large trunks standing open, partially filled with clothes, while a pair of maids were busy gathering dresses from the wardrobes and carefully packing them away. When the emperor entered, the maids scurried out, leaving him alone with his wife.

“I’m leaving for the High Clerist’s Tower,” he said. “Coryn just returned with confirmation: not only did the Nightmaster and your father go there, but so did Ankhar-and a large number of his ogres. I’m going to end this once and for all.”

“They can’t be allowed to stay there, I know,” Selinda replied. “I only pray this battle brings the war-all the wars-to an end.”

He nodded with real sincerity. “I do too. It’s been too long, too much fighting. I want to rule an empire at peace.” Jaymes cleared his throat, looking at his wife awkwardly. “I will try to protect your father, if I can.”

“Do what you must,” she said curtly. “I now understand what I was to him, and that knowledge has hardened my heart.” She looked more puzzled than angry. “He served the Prince of Lies! All of it, his whole life, was a lie! I’m glad to be free of him.”

The emperor looked around, as if noticing the trunks, the empty wardrobes, for the first time. “I’ll be back when this is over. It may take some time, a month or two, but I will come home before winter to this place… I hope I can come home to you, as well.”

Selinda sighed, going over to the window and looking out over the city’s central plaza. People were walking back and forth on the great square. A pair of musicians played a lute and pipe, trying to collect tips. The temples were busy, worshipers coming and going. The little stalls of the farmers’ market were doing brisk business. It was a hot summer day, and children splashed in several of the great fountains around the square, while a few men-at-arms of the city guard ambled around, amiably watching the activities of the citizenry. She took it all in for a moment then turned back to her husband.

“This city is a good place to live in again. And so much of that is due to you. You have made mistakes-some of which are hard to forgive-but you have learned from those mistakes and grown stronger, greater.”

“Won’t you let me come back to you? Let me prove to you how I have changed?”

She shook her head. “No. I cannot.”

He gestured to the trunks. “But where will you go?” he asked.

“I’m going to the Temple of Kiri-Jolith. There is plenty of room for me there, and I will be with Melissa. I have to do a lot of thinking, and talking to her helps me clear my mind.”

The emperor winced almost as though he were in pain. When he spoke, his tone, his words, were uncharacteristically hesitant. “If… after that… after I come back… perhaps we could try again. I would like to have you at my side.”

Selinda raised her head. The sunlight coming through the windows outlined her golden hair, rendering a shimmering corona around her scalp. “I will have our baby,” she said, touching the subtle mound of her belly. “And you will have this child, as well.”

Her voice hardened. “But you will never again have me. I know my destiny, and it is not to be merely a woman of the city. My fate is tied into the fate of the nation, and yours is to forge this nation, and the others of Solamnia, into an empire. I accept that destiny and will do what I can to help you hold this empire together.

“But I will not live in your house… or share your bed.”

He nodded slowly, hiding his emotions well-except for a slight narrowing of his eyes. But he made no argument. For a few moments, he stood still then slowly turned toward the door.

“Good-bye,” he said quietly. “May all the gods watch over you.”

“And good luck to you,” she answered. “I know you will have Coryn’s help, and Dram’s, and of course all your armies. But be careful.”

“I will.” Still he hesitated.

“I think she loves you. Did you know that?” Selinda almost whispered the words.

He looked at her, puzzled, not knowing how to respond.

“Coryn. I think she’s been in love with you for years. Just… watch over her, too, will you?”

He nodded, finally opening the door. “I will do that,” he said and slowly walked away.

The High Lookout on the High Clerist’s Tower was host to a meeting of a number of eminent figures, a weighty enough gathering to justify the name of the platform not just in altitude, but in soaring rank. Ankhar the Truth was there, as was the Thorn Knight Hoarst. The former lord regent of Palanthas, Bakkard du Chagne, and the black-masked Nightmaster of Hiddukel, who had brought du Chagne there from the city, were also present.

The ogress Pond-Lily was also up on the parapet-she never strayed far from Ankhar, fearing she would get lost in the labyrinthine corridors of the great fortress-but she hung back near the door to the tower and looked fearfully at the four stern males, who paced and cursed as they argued among themselves.

The lookout was a ring-shaped space. Rising from the center of the platform was the narrow spire that supported the highest perch, called the Nest of the Kingfisher. There was one door leading from the lookout to the interior of the tower, which was merely a landing for the narrow flight of stairs spiraling up to the Kingfisher’s platform, and a much wider set of steps curling downward to the many rooms, apartments, and other rooms of the interior.

The fortress sprawling hundreds of feet below the lookout was well-patrolled. Dark Knights were visible from above, posted on the parapets of the curtain wall and the gatehouses. Ogres lolled in the courtyards. To the northeast, on the tenuous road that Blackgaard’s men had carved, a procession of soldiers bore heavy packs laden with grain and fruit from the farms in the secret valley.

“Why we hide here?” demanded Ankhar, his ham-sized hands on his hips as he glared accusingly at the others. “Inside walls? This is not how ogres fight! This is not how I fight.”

“These walls are all that is going to keep you alive,” Hoarst replied pointedly. “And the spell that brought you here saved your life, you might recall. The town of dwarves didn’t give you any walls, and your ogres were dying by the score!”

“Bah!” The half-giant didn’t want to hear it. But neither could he come up with a witty riposte, probably because the wizard spoke the truth. The defeat at New Compound still confounded, dismayed, and enraged the half-giant. How could it have gone so wrong when everything had started out so right? His brilliant battle plan-wasted! He growled deep in his chest, smashing his fist down onto the rampart, which knocked a piece of stone loose and bruised his flesh. He watched sullenly as the chip of stone tumbled down for a long time, finally shattering in the courtyard next to a very startled ogre.

“Look,” the Thorn Knight said, striving for a reasonable tone. “We have a very strong position here. A thousand Dark Knights and a thousand ogres can hold this place for a very long time-perhaps forever. Nothing can move across the pass, and so we have cut Solamnia in two. Here, too, we control access to the secret valley to the north; the farms and herds there will give us all the food we need to stay holed up here for years if need be.”

“For years! But what will happen when the emperor brings his army up from the plains!” du Chagne declared harshly.

“I am not afraid of the emperor!” Ankhar roared, the force of his voice sending du Chagne retreating behind the Nightmaster.

“We are not here because we fear the emperor,” the priest stated coldly, “but because we can give him a battle to our advantage here. I myself will take command of the south gatehouse-that’s the most likely place for him to come against us.”

“I will see to the Knights’ Spur,” Hoarst said. “It’s a good position for guarding the approach on the road up from the plains.”

“And I will stay here, on the High Lookout,” Ankhar declared haughtily, “where I can keep an eye on everything.”

“What makes you think that will be enough?” demanded du Chagne, his voice quavering. “We all know he has one of his cannons left. He can set that up on the Wings of Habbakuk and blow this tower to pieces-even if it takes him all winter.”

“True, that bombard is a threat,” Hoarst allowed.

“Then why are you so sanguine about our chances here?” demanded the former lord regent.

“Because I intend to see that his vaunted bombard never reaches the pass,” the gray wizard replied confidently.

Coryn and Jaymes teleported from Palanthas to the far side of the great pass. There they would wait for the Crown Army, the Palanthian Legion, and the dwarves of New Compound, all of whom were marching as fast as they could across the plains. Even so, they knew it would be several days before the troops arrived.

“We should find a place we can use for shelter and to keep an eye on the road,” the emperor suggested. Coryn agreed and they started to ascend the wide roadway, remaining out of sight of the tower.

Nearby they found a small herdsman’s cottage adjacent to the road, about a mile below the pass. The shepherd and his flock were apparently spending the summer in the high pastures, so the place was abandoned, and they decided it would be a cozy place to wait.

Jaymes took a walk up the road, going about a half mile before he reached the last bend below the fortress. He went far enough to look at the tower rising so high about the surrounding walls, gatehouses, and fortifications. He thought ruefully of General Markus, always the boldest of his commanders. He knew that Markus and his Rose Knights would have given a good account of themselves. He was sorry the old veteran was dead.

“We will avenge you, good knight,” he said softly before turning and making his way down the road and back to the cottage.

When he got there, he found Coryn had made herself right at home. The white wizard had produced a wide array of objects from within her bags of holding, setting up a crystal ball on the little kitchen table, taking over a pantry to store her potions and little boxes of components. Her spell books went on a shelf beside the door.

As Jaymes entered, she was seated at the table, using the scrying ball to see what she could learn about their enemies.

“They’re all in the tower,” Coryn confirmed after quick scrutiny. “The Thorn Knight and the Nightmaster have both placed many spells of detection around the place, so I couldn’t probe too deeply. But the ogres that fled New Compound are manning the walls, and Ankhar himself seems to be the one in command.”

Jaymes gazed at her. Her black hair spilled across the back of her robe, lustrous and long, a sharp contrast to the whiteness of her garb. Those traces of silvery gray-premature in a sense, for she was still a young woman-only added allure to her appearance. Lost in concentration, she held her slender fingers to her chin, absently chewing on a nail as she studied the murky globe. Abruptly she looked up, surprising him as he stared at her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking… how much we have been through together… and how grateful I am to have your help. Nothing I have accomplished would have been possible if I hadn’t had your help, your support.”

She smiled radiantly. “Why… thank you. You’ve never said anything like that to me before.”

“You’re right,” he replied in some surprise. “I guess I never have. I should have before now. Long ago, I should have.”

Coryn rose and came to him, taking his hands in hers, her black eyes looking up into his own dark gray orbs. However, her expression was cloudy and troubled. “I have done things for you that I would never have done for anyone else. I’m not proud of everything. It was all toward a good end I trust, but sometimes I do regret the means we employed toward those ends.”

He nodded with understanding. She had brewed the potion he had used to win Selinda du Chagne’s heart, to cause her to fall-at least temporarily-in love with him. It was not something they had spoken of since that time-nor was it mentioned at that moment. But Jaymes remembered how surprised he had been at Coryn’s bitterness when he had explained he needed that potion. She had complied but had done the work in a cold fury.

Suddenly he remembered Selinda’s words about Coryn. Were they true?

The white wizard turned and sat back down at the table, that time chewing on a strand of her hair as she peered into the globe again. Once, she turned to the side and saw that he was still watching her. She smiled warmly again and went back to her inspection.

Jaymes decided that almost certainly Selinda had been right.

The Palanthian Legion and the Crown Army marched up the road, climbing the pass from the plains of Vingaard toward the High Clerist’s Tower. Dram and the dwarves came behind the human troops. The mountain dwarves rode on the driver’s seat of one of the freight wagons. He had, for once, persuaded Sally to do the sensible thing and stay back in New Compound with her father and son to supervise the rebuilding that had to get under way. He missed her terribly but was glad she was not riding to war.

Five hundred dwarves accompanied Dram and his precious cargo. A mixture of hill and mountain dwarves, they had all volunteered to take part in the final battle of what the dwarves had taken to calling the Ankhar Wars. The dozens of wagons in the train were hauling hundreds of casks of black powder, each vehicle separated by some distance from the others to prevent an accident. One mistake with one wagon could turn into a disaster for the entire army.

From his seat on the first wagon, Dram was enjoying the sight of the mountains looming around him. The Garnet range was nice, with its snowy glaciers and vast pine forest, but the stark and rocky cut in the Vingaard Mountains had always appealed to him.

“Reorx knew what he was doing when he carved these grand peaks,” he had remarked to the other dwarves as the saw-toothed ridge came into view. The walls rose up on both sides of the dwarf contingent.

The lone bombard was in front of him, hauled on its great wagon in the midst of the marching legion. Because the steep, uphill road was long and curved, the dwarf had a good view of the massive gun ahead as it lumbered along, hauled by oxen.

Suddenly, even as Dram stared at the bombard, the cliff ahead uttered a groan and gave way, a crack spreading across the near face of the mountain. The section of the road where the bombard had been traveling simply dropped into the chasm, carrying the gun, the wagon, the team of oxen, and more than a hundred marching men of the Palanthian Legion into the depths.

The landslide was so sudden, so pinpoint, that it could have been provoked only by magic, Dram realized at once. The dwarf caught a glimpse of two figures, men high up on the crest of the ridge on the far side of the valley. The hair at the back of his neck prickled, but he could only fume as their sole remaining artillery plummeted into the chasm and shattered into splinters far below.

His eyes shot back to the ridge top, but he was not surprised to see that the two strangers had disappeared.

“It was an earthquake spell, no doubt, and it took us a day to carve out a new road in the gap,” Dram reported to the emperor three days later, when the column of dwarves at last reached the herdsman’s cottage. “But we’re here now. We lost probably a hundred good men. And unfortunately, we don’t have the gun.”

“Hmm, but you still have the powder, right?” Jaymes asked. He seemed surprisingly undismayed by the act of sabotage.

Looking around, Dram had to wonder if the emperor’s stay in the little cottage-he and Coryn had almost set up housekeeping in the place, the dwarf had decided with a single glance through the door-was making Jaymes soft or even apathetic.

“Yep. Plenty of powder-’bout three hundred casks, give or take.”

“Excellent,” said the emperor. “Come with me.”

They went to meet Dayr and Weaver, who were riding at the heads of their respective armies. Jaymes instructed them to put the men into large, comfortable camps on the Wings of Habbakuk, the flat plateaus spreading out a mile or so below the High Clerist’s Tower.

“Tell them to pitch their tents securely. I expect we’ll be here for at least a month or so.”

Then the emperor led Dram, together with Generals Dayr and Weaver, and Captain Franz of the White Riders, up the road. A few hundred paces carried them around the last bend before the pass, where the High Clerist’s Tower rose before them in all its majesty.

“We won’t want to get too close to the walls; the ogres on the battlements keep launching boulders at anyone who comes within range. But I can show you everything you need to see from here.”

He pointed out the great, self-contained fortress that was the south gatehouse, and indicated a wall of mountainside that was below the gatehouse, several hundred yards away and, thus, out of range of the ogre-thrown boulders.

“What about it?” Dram wondered aloud.

“Your dwarves brought picks and shovels, I presume?” the emperor asked.

“Of course. We never go far without them.”

“Then I’d like you to get them started digging-right there. And don’t stop until you have a tunnel extending all the way under the south wall, beneath the courtyard behind that gatehouse.”

“You’re going to try and mount an attack out of a tunnel?” Franz asked when no one else seemed inclined to question the mad plan. “They’ll just drop rocks on us when we try to climb out! The first man out of the hole will have to face a dozen ogres!”

The emperor smiled, taking his objection in stride. “No, the tunnel will be a dead end,” he explained. “There’s no need even to break the surface into the gatehouse. But I want the tunnel big enough and deep enough to hold all three hundred casks of the black powder.”