say that your life is lost in either case, were she here."
"Were she here, Your Grace," Fidelias agreed. "May I proceed?"
Aquitaine stared down at Fidelias for a moment. Then he gestured toward the slave, who went scurrying, returning a moment later with parchment and pen. Aquitaine said, "Be quick. My patience is rapidly running out."
"Of course, Your Grace." Fidelias accepted the paper and pen, dipped the quill into the inkpot, and swiftly made a few notes on the paper, careful to let no one see what he was writing. No one spoke, and the scritching of the quill seemed loud in the hall, along with the crackle of the fire pits, and the impatient tapping of the High Lord's boot.
Fidelias blew on the letters, then folded the paper in half, and offered it to Aquitaine. Without looking away from the man, he said, "Your Grace, I advise you to accelerate your plans. Contact your forces and move at once."
Calix stepped forward at once, to Aquitaine's side. "Your Grace, I must disagree in the strongest terms. Now is the time for caution. If we are discovered now, all will fall into ruin."
Aquitaine stared down at the letter, then lifted his eyes to Calix. "And you believe that by doing so you will protect my interests."
"And those of my Lord," Calix said. He lifted his chin, but the gesture meant little when the High Lord towered over him. "Think of who is advising you, Your Grace."
"Ad hominem," noted Aquitaine, "is a notoriously weak logical argument. And is usually used to distract the focus of a discussion-to move it from an indefensible point and to attack the opponent."
"Your Grace," Calix said, ducking his head. "Please, listen to reason. To act now would leave you at somewhat less than half your possible strength. Only a fool throws away an advantage like that."
Aquitaine lifted his eyebrows. "Only a fool. My."
Calix swallowed, "Your Grace, I only meant-"
"What you meant is of little concern to me, Count Calix. What you said, however, is another matter entirely."
"Your Grace, please. Do not be rash. Your plans have been well laid for so long. Do not let them fall apart now."
Aquitaine glanced down at the paper and asked, "And what do you propose, Your Excellency?"
Calix squared his shoulders. "Put simply, Your Grace-stick to the original plan. Send the Windwolves to winter in Rhodes. Gather your legions when the weather breaks in the spring and use them then. Bide. Wait. In patience there is wisdom."
"Who dares wins," murmured Aquitaine back. "I cannot help but wonder at how generous Rhodes seems to be, Calix. How he is willing to host the
mercenaries, to have his name connected with them, when the matter is settled. How thoroughly he has instructed you to protect my interests."
"The High Lord is always most interested in supporting his allies, Your Grace."
Aquitaine snorted. "Of course he is. We are all so generous with one another. And forgiving. No, Calix. The Cursor-"
"Former Cursor, Your Grace," Fidelias put in.
"Former Cursor. Of course. The former Cursor here has done a very good job of predicting what you would tell me." Aquitaine consulted the paper he held. "I wonder why that is." He moved his eyes to Fidelias and arched his eyebrows.
Fidelias watched Calix and said, 'Your Grace. I believe that Rhodes sent Calix here to you as a spy and eventually as an assassin-"
"Why you-" Calix snarled.
Fidelias overrode the other man, his voice iron. "Calix wishes you to wait so that there is time to remove you over the winter, Your Grace. The mercenaries will have several months to be tempted by bribes, meanwhile robbing you of their strength. Then, when the campaign begins, he will have key positions filled with people beholden to Rhodes. He can kill you in the confusion of battle, and therefore remove the threat you represent to him. Calix, here, was likely intended to be the assassin."
"I will not stand for this insult, Your Grace."
Aquitaine looked at Calix and said, "Yes. You will." To Fidelias, he said, "And your advice? What would you have me do?"
Fidelias shrugged. "South winds rose tonight where there should have been none. Only the First Lord could call them at this time of year. At a guess, he called the furies of the southern air to assist Amara or one of the other Cursors north-either to the capital or to the Valley itself."
"It could be coincidence," Aquitaine pointed out.
"I don't believe in coincidence, Your Grace," Fidelias said. "The First Lord is far