Bright Swords of Serena

Chapter 9

The seventeenth of April in King Philip's office. Lady Alice was off having her wedding dress fitted, or she would have been part of the discussion too. Ferren said to Philip, "Halfway down to Brestow, sire. Forty miles in, forty to go."

"Your people were captured?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, deliberately, according to my orders, and I'm sure let go deliberately so that they could report to me by the usual flyer networks. I'm afraid there's not much to tell you, Your Majesty. And I heartily wish for better news to offer up."

"Well, it's not you causing the bad news, colonel. I don't expect you to work miracles. Sit down and tell me what you do know."

"Yes, sire." She took the chair facing Philip. "The problem with what we know is that it's almost certainly incomplete. My people saw ten companies, but that's likely only their forward units, or King Raidon wouldn't have put the crown prince in command."

Philip nearly snapped in two the quill pen he'd been idly playing with. "Calvan's there?"

"A plain silver pennant flying over the command tent in the center of camp. And a man with a crescent-moon insignia on his collar."

"You don't think that's a ruse?"

"Why would they try to deceive us into thinking he was there if he wasn't? It would be more likely the other way, trying to hide him if he was. But they don't seem to be trying to hide him."

"Then they want us to know he's there."

"Yes, sire."

"Why?"

"I don't know yet."

"You need more information," Philip said, not guessing.

"Yes, sire."

Philip started twirling the pen again. "Why would he send his son? His only heir?"

"I'm still working on that one too, sire."

"All right, never mind. Go on."

"Whyever Prince Calvan's here, and whyever they're deliberately parading them in front of us, I'm sure he has more than a thousand troops with him. I don't know what King Raidon is up to. If Calvan weren't here, sire, I'd think it was only them taking their turn for a bit of fun with us. But since he's here, I have a number of repercussions about the matter to urge on you."

Philip grimaced. "Delicately put, colonel. Urge away."

"Brestow is now reinforced to the strength of a thousand. Calvan does only have a thousand with him at the forty-mile mark and no others in sight, so if he wants more, it may take him a little while to gather them. I repeat, may. I wouldn't count on it, Your Majesty. Brestow should be put on alert, if they aren't already."

"I agree. Go on."

"Next there's the question of Brestow itself. I have to ask this delicately, Your Majesty, but we have a plan for Brestow. Why did they land so close to it? Is it possible they know what we're going to do? Or at least that we're going to do something?"

Philip slumped back unregally, moody and cross. "I don't know. We've held it close. You, me, General Compton, and my cousin Captain Lyndon and his officers."

"And five hundred soldiers in Brestow's garrison," Ferren said.

"They don't know."

Ferren shook her head. "Bored soldiers find things out, sire."

"You can't possibly mean—our own people—"

Ferren didn't want to think it either, but she wasn't in the business of wanting to think; she had practicalities to consider. "There are always incentives, Your Majesty. Money, revenge, the pure excitement of it, love of mischief-making, just plain love..."