Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,207

spell-engine poisons the entire region and we’re forced to retreat.”

Several officers started trying to talk at once, but Selene forestalled them by leaning forward and lifting one hand quietly. The room fell silent before she addressed them. “Trolls aren’t really affected by void turyn, and neither is our marshal.” Her eyes shifted to stare at Will.

The former Darrowan Marshal, Subcommander Gravholt, was startled by the statement. “That’s why he caught the trolls?”

“Requested,” said Will. “I requested their assistance. They are our allies, not beasts or pets.” As long as we keep them fed, he thought silently.

“Exactly what do you plan?” asked Mark Nerrow. “Are you thinking you can get inside with your trolls and destroy the spell-engine on your own? That makes no sense. What of the rest of us?”

Will shook his head. “Even as powerful as the trolls are, they can’t sneak. There’s no way they could make it to the spell-engine.” He stared directly at Sub-Marshal Nerrow. “You still have the tactical rituals that Scholar Sundy brought, correct?”

His father nodded. “None of them will get past those walls, though, except the creeping death perhaps.”

“It won’t hurt the demons anyway,” said Will. “We aren’t going to use a ritual on the city, though.”

Confused and frustrated, his father started to complain, but Selene put a hand on Will’s arm. “Stop being cryptic and explain the plan so they’ll understand.”

He sighed. What was the fun of being a wizard if he couldn’t be cryptic? It’s fine when demons and fae-lords and demigods do it, but as soon as I try to have some fun everyone complains, he thought sourly. “Fine. Here’s what I plan to do…”

They were quiet and respectful until he finished, even though it took him a full ten minutes to lay out his plan. After he had finished, Sub-Marshal Nicht responded first. “I don’t think that’s possible—”

Commander Lambel interrupted him, “Remember what happened at Klendon and Maldon?”

Fulstrom closed his mouth. “Oh, yeah, that’s true.”

Sub-Marshal Nerrow waved them to silence, then focused his attention on the heir presumptive to Terabinia. “Whether it’s possible or not, are you willing to allow this plan, Your Highness?”

Selene frowned. “I am not in charge of this war, Sub-marshal.”

Mark Nerrow scowled, clearly upset. “I mean, are you fine with becoming a widow?” He pointed at Will. “If this idiot goes in there, I don’t see any way he comes out alive.”

There were several gasps around the room, both because of the way Nerrow spoke to the princess, and also because he’d called the Royal Marshal an idiot, but Will ignored all of that as he jumped to Selene’s defense. “Listen, the spell she devised will—”

“—will just as likely kill you as it will the enemy,” snapped Nerrow, finishing his sentence for him. Visibly angry, he went on, his eyes boring into the princess. “I watched you grow up, Your Highness, like you were one of my own daughters, and I never thought you’d be so cold as to agree to something like this. Does my s—does your husband mean so little that you’re willing to use him like this?”

That line resulted in an uproar. Will was on his feet, red-faced and furious, while Mark Nerrow stared back at Selene defiantly. Commander Hargast’s shout cut through the clamor, “You’ve gone too far, Lord Nerrow!”

Selene’s voice stopped them all. “Gentlemen. Sit down.” Silence fell, and after a moment they returned to their seats, though Will still glared at his father, who was still glaring defiantly at Selene. Once order had returned, she met Mark Nerrow’s gaze. “You referred to my husband as an idiot. I’ll forgive the rest, but I’ll have an apology from you for that—now.”

The sub-marshal glowered at her while she waited, but after a moment, he looked at Will and ground out the words. “I apologize for my disrespect.” Then his rebellious eyes returned to Selene.

She nodded. “That will suffice. Now for the rest—after thinking on this for the past two days, I can see no better chance for our success. I know our situation is dire, but I have faith in my husband’s ability. More to the point, you suggested I am cruel. Perhaps I am, but should he fail, I have no intention of spending the rest of my days a widow. If the worst comes, I will take up the task in his stead, and be glad to follow him to the grave.” The expression on her features dared them to argue, but no one did.

Nerrow’s face softened, his anger