would pass before he knew, but what little he heard before they disappeared into Lakesh was encouraging. It would be a relief when the vial reached his hands, then he’d smash it on the stones, ensuring his kingship. But all would be for naught if he didn’t get Graymon back.
The wind snapped Therrador’s cloak. Sir Alton shuffled his feet. Men and horses and things which once were men continued to shift and flow in the distance. Finally, riders separated from the host. A dozen men on fully armored horses trotted across the plain, the standard of Kanos snapping on a staff above them. A flag of truce flew below the country’s colors.
“We didn’t have to wait long to see what they were up to, did we, Sir Alton?” Therrador pointed out the riders while keeping his hand from shaking. The old knight moved to his side.
“What trickery is this?” He turned to his king, concern plain on his face. “Send them away, your highness. The Kanosee are not known for their diplomacy.”
“But we are,” Therrador said. Sienhin spoke truth and, under other circumstances when he didn’t already know the outcome, he might have taken the knight’s advice. “They fly a flag of truce. Come, Sir Alton. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
“But, your highness—”
Therrador silenced him with a scowl. The knight bowed his head in acquiescence and followed as Therrador swept by, hurrying down the steps.
“Assemble the generals, Sir Alton. We ride to meet them. I’ll speak with their leader myself.”
Sienhin nodded and excused himself. Alone, Therrador leaned against the wall for support as the strength in his legs waned. He filled his lungs with a long breath, hoping the air would force dread from his chest. It didn’t. He collected himself and continued down the stairs.
“Ready my horse, boy,” Therrador barked as he reached the stable. “And make it quick.”
He inhaled the sweet smell of hay and manure. His head spun and he put his hand against a post, supporting himself as the stable boy readied his steed.
Oh, Graymon. I’m so sorry.
Therrador bounced gently in the saddle, purple cloak swirling behind him as he rode. A short distance ahead, he saw Sir Alton and the others where he’d left them. They didn’t allow their mounts to wander or graze, instead standing ready to attack, or retreat; to do whatever their king commanded.
Are they also ready to be surprised?
Sir Alton spurred forward to meet him, halting as their horses came alongside. The old knight bowed his head without taking his eyes from the Kanosee party turning back toward their camp.
“My liege,” he said, his voice quieter than Therrador had ever heard it to keep the conversation between the two of them. “What did the dogs have to say? Did they truly offer their surrender?”
Therrador’s face remained grim despite his effort to relax.
“No, they do not surrender,” he said loud enough for all to hear. He urged his horse on forcing Sir Alton to follow.
“Then what, highness?”
Therrador rode through the cluster of knights, allowing them to fall in behind him before he answered.
“An accord has been struck,” he said finally, thankful to be riding ahead so they didn’t see the strain in his features. “There shall be no more war.”
A mumble rolled through the generals.
“When will the curs be retreating from our land, your grace?” Sir Alton asked on their behalf.
“They won’t be.”
Silence. None of the generals spoke: no murmur, no whisper, no grumbles. Shock or surprise stilled their tongues, but only for a few seconds before Sienhin voiced the question surely on all their minds.
“What do you mean, your highness?”
Therrador ground his teeth and forced a breath out through his nose.
“We will open our gates and welcome our new friends.”
A clamor of protest arose amongst the men. Therrador steeled himself and thought of Graymon. The muscles in his cheek bunched and flexed as he clenched his jaw.
“Why, my king? There’s no reason to give the fortress to these dogs. We’re not beaten.”
Therrador reined his horse to a stop so suddenly the others nearly rode into each other to avoid hitting him. He turned in his saddle to face Sir Alton.
“Do you question your king?” he roared, spittle flying from his lips.
His anger wasn’t really for this man but at the distress of having no control. He’d planned to keep this from happening, but the Archon outmaneuvered him. His only hope was to sway them to what must be to save Graymon.
“N-no, your grace,” Sir Alton stammered. “We were wondering