Armat stood in the doorway of his command tent, studying the scene before him. Men scurried about the encampment, readying for a sortie west; horses were being brushed and saddled; weapons cleaned and sharpened.
He wasn’t concerned about being seen from the air—by either a passing Icarii or the Lealfast which Ravenna had told him about—as Ravenna’s sorcery still kept him concealed from any eye not belonging to a friend or ally.
Armat, as Kezial and Lamiah, had managed virtual miracles since they had abandoned Maximilian’s camp—such miracles aided, of course, by a little more of Ravenna’s sorcery. Armat had taken the leadership role within the group of three generals. He was the youngest, but he was the more decisive, and Kezial and Lamiah had made no murmur as Armat began to take an ever more commanding role.
Armat knew they would be easy to manage when the time came. And if not, then they could be killed as easily.
Armat currently controlled almost eighty thousand soldiers, all grouped just beyond the city of Margalit. This number was composed of the forces Isaiah had left at Margalit itself, as well as several Rivers of ten thousand men that the Tyrant had left stationed in the Central Outlands and within a few day’s march south of Margalit.
There were many tens of thousands more soldiers to the south, and Lamiah and Kezial had ridden south many days ago to gather them together. Kezial had the task of combining the forces about Adab; Lamiah, the forces stationed between Adab and the Salamaan Pass.
Armat expected them to consolidate the forces, certainly, but did not truly expect them to rush back to his aid. Out on their own, with armies of their own, both generals were likely to succumb to their own personal ambitions.
Armat didn’t care very much. He could outgeneral both Lamiah and Kezial and, in the end, he would likely control the much larger army. Not right at the moment…but soon. Armat’s eyes lost their focus as he looked further to the west. Maxel was leading some two hundred thousand Isembaardian soldiers east toward Elcho Falling, but Armat didn’t expect Maximilian to have two hundred thousand for very much longer. He had his own men among Maximilian’s army, and he knew that they’d be spreading the soft word of treachery: Ride for Armat. He can give you what you need—safety for your families and land on which to prosper.
Lamiah was supposed to also discover as much news as he could about Isembaard, but Armat didn’t care one way or the other what he discovered. Isembaard was the past, Elcho Falling the future.
And Armat didn’t intend to allow the witch-woman Ravenna to control the mountain and all its riches and power.
Elcho Falling was going to be his.
But for now, Armat thanked Ravenna every time she appeared to him—which was every second day or so—and promised that the army he gathered would be used to destroy Maximilian and take Elcho Falling for Ravenna’s baby son.
Armat did not care that Ravenna would discover his duplicity eventually. In the end, witch-women were as vulnerable to the sword as any other man or woman.
“But that joy is in the future,” Armat murmured to himself, one hand checking that his sword lay correctly in its scabbard. “For now, there are more entertaining amusements to be had.”
Axis and the Lealfast.
Ravenna had told Armat all she knew about the Lealfast, which proved to be an extraordinary amount. On the face of it the Lealfast were terrifying, with powers which would render them almost unbeatable in any military confrontation.
After all, Armat had been there when one of them had made the assassination attempt on Isaiah, and had seen for himself just how easily the Lealfast assassin had escaped Isaiah’s soldiers.
Imagine what a force of twenty thousand or more would be like, attacking from the sky.
And now such a force was sent to hunt him down, with the great StarMan Axis SunSoar at its head.
Armat despised Axis. He’d had his day, and if he had won some impressive battles, then they were long in the past. All Axis had done at Isaiah’s court was wander about and play at being Isaiah’s lapdog. If it had been him…well then, Armat would have murdered Isaiah and taken control within his first half day back from death.
Axis hadn’t done a single thing to impress since he’d returned from death. He was a useless legend.
Armat was similarly unimpressed with the Lealfast. They had wings and they had magic, but they were as vulnerable to the blade as Ravenna would one day prove to be.
Armat had come away from Isaiah’s assassination attempt with one important lesson learned. The Lealfast might travel virtually invisibly, but in order to act they needed to take fleshly form, and that instantly put them back on a par with human soldiers. Armat also wondered if they might be just as vulnerable when they were less visible.
Just a hunch, but Armat was good with hunches. It was why he’d attained a generalship at such a relatively young age.
A day previously he had sent out a small party to test his hunch. They were due back today, and thus he waited in the sheltered doorway of his tent.
Waiting for confirmation that he could destroy any Lealfast sent against him.
Armat smiled in anticipation. Once the Lealfast were taken out, then Axis…
The armed party of nine men came back just before noon. Their leader rode directly to Armat’s tent, dismounted and saluted.
“Well?” said Armat.
“It was as you said, my lord.”
Armat took a deep breath, his eyes bright, then stepped inside the tent, gesturing the man to follow him. “Tell me,” he said.
“We rode two hours to the gully you spoke of,” said the soldier, Habal.
Armat nodded. They’d known the Lealfast were in their area, and no matter how magical the Lealfast were in large numbers they could be spotted—a gray snowy cloud drifting through the air. A good man could easily differentiate between a cloud of true snow and a cloud of Lealfast.
“Bruen peeled off before we arrived at the gully,” Habal said, “and took up a concealed position within the rocks at the top of the gully.”
“Yes, yes,” said Armat. “Get on with it.”
“The eight of us remaining rode into the gully, making no effort to conceal ourselves, and flying your standard. Within minutes the cloud of Lealfast drifted closer for a look.”
Habal took a deep breath. “Bruen readied his slingshot, took good aim, and slung his stone into the cloud. The Lealfast hadn’t seen him and hadn’t tried to avoid the spot where he was concealed.”
“And?” Armat was ready to murder the man for drawing it out.
“One of them fell from the sky. Not far, not all the way to the ground, for he recovered twenty paces before he hit, but he fell, clutching at a thigh where the stone had struck. My lord, the instant he was injured—”
“He became visible. Good, Habal. Good!”
Habal grinned, relieved to have made Armat happy.
“Do you think he knew what had hit him?” Armat said.
“I doubt it, my lord. He would only have felt the sting of the impact. The Lealfast must still be wondering what it was. If I may say so, my lord, your idea to use the slingshot rather than the arrow was brilliant.”
Armat didn’t say anything. He stared at Habal, his eyes glittering, then he very slowly smiled. “You are a good man, Habal. You bring me good news. Thank you.”
He clapped the man on the shoulder, then dismissed him.
Good news. The best.
The Lealfast were vulnerable, even when traveling in their magical form.
“I’m going to slaughter them,” Armat said, then laughed.