As the day dragged on the conversation continued haphazardly, the knights repeating the same questions again and again but finding no answers that they could believe.
“Treachery—but why? What was the motive?”
The same doubts dripped acidly from the lips of the Mongauli leader.
Amnelis had remained secreted in her pavilion for almost half a day, lost in the sorrow of Marus' death, with Gajus and Feldrik her only companions. During that time, Irrim of Talos Keep and his lieutenant Goran had been kept waiting outside, their requests for entry rejected by Amnelis' guards and servants until the two knights were nearly frantic. Although they, too, were saddened by the death of Count Marus, they were burning with the need to tell the Lady Amnelis what they had discovered; the long delay had strained the limits of etiquette. It was only after the two anxious warriors had stood for several twists sweating in the hot desert sun that they were finally permitted to enter.
The interior of the general’s pavilion was swathed in gloom, the only illumination coming from a few oil lamps burning low along the walls. In the dimness Amnelis, wearing an informal bodice, reclined upon her divan; the shadows concealed the signs of recent grief on her face, helping to maintain the carefully cultivated image of strict composure of the Lady of Ice. But Irrim and Goran had no time for such details. As soon as they were admitted to her presence they began to spill out the alarming story of Marus' betrayal and the threat it posed to Mongauli unity.
At first Amnelis appeared to pay little heed to the dramatic tale, her face inscrutable in the shadows under the fall of her long blond hair. Gajus and Feldrik seemed to take more interest in the tale, but they held their peace while the black knights had their say. Finally, as Irrim stuttered on with excitement, his words tumbling out in disorderly bursts, Amnelis sat up on her cushions and stopped him short with her stinging voice.
“Treachery—but why? What was the motive?”
The lady-general’s self-control had cracked; she uttered the two questions scathingly, fixing the two knights with a withering stare.
“It cannot be,” she added. “What could any true Mongauli possibly want with the Sem? For what would he betray us?”
“Perhaps… Ah…” At a loss, Irrim and Goran looked at each other and shrugged uncertainly.
Turning from them, Amnelis settled back into silent introspection. Then, abruptly, she stood and began to pace violently about the tent.
“I cannot imagine how it could have been done…” the lady spoke stiffly, twisting her slender fingers in agitation. “I just cannot believe it! None of my soldiers would even have had the opportunity to contact the Sem in secret during our endless battles across Nospherus. And what could the traitor gain by doing such a thing? What could the wildlings promise him? The chance to spend the rest of his life among the Sem, in the midst of desert monsters? What could half-witted monkeys possibly offer to make a Mongauli turn traitor? No, I cannot believe it.”
“If…”
Everyone turned in surprise as Gajus broke his silence.
“If this person is indeed Mongauli.”
Amnelis spun around quickly and glared at the runecaster. “What are you implying, Gajus?”
“Perhaps, my lady, we should consider the possibility that the traitor never swore loyalty to Mongaul in the first place. Perhaps he was an agent sent by fallen Parros, or by an enemy in Gohra—Kumn or Yulania…”
“Wait.”
Amnelis ceased her pacing. She looked now as though she had recovered from her earlier shock. With a clap of her hands and a few quick gestures she summoned her servants and sent them to fetch cold drinks; then she turned again to her counselors.
“This is a serious matter, Gajus.”
“Yes…”
“You realize that if what you just said is true, then the worst has happened. Our expedition is Mongaul’s secret of secrets—if it stands revealed, we will never be able to recover. If indeed a traitor from outside Mongaul has penetrated our ranks disguised as a loyal retainer and has been privy to our plans, then the worst is true. That would mean the enemy’s hand has reached the Marches patrol—and perhaps even into the Golden Scorpion Palace itself.”
“I hesitate to ask if there is something you have, ah, overlooked…” Gajus directed Amnelis' thoughts obsequiously. “The twins of Parros, my lady. After they managed to escape from the Crystal Palace, despite all our efforts to apprehend them they managed to cross the River Kes and join the Sem in Nospherus.”
“Ah!” Amnelis let out a low exclamation. Then she cried out again, louder, and struck her hands together furiously. “I had forgotten the Pearls of Parros! Somehow they slipped from my memory. What have I done!”
The lady seized a glass of honey wine from a servant and drained it in a single gulp, as if trying to calm her excoriated nerves. Then she commenced to pace about the tent again. But there was a difference in her movements, now—a fierce purpose—and it was obvious that beneath her blond hair her mind was working furiously. The rest of the company held their silence as she paced, and Irrim and Feldrik dropped their eyes to the floor, reluctant to intrude upon her thinking.
“Parros,” Amnelis whispered, and then she raised her voice as though convinced. “Parros! That is it. I am certain of it now. Always it is Parros—every time! That old ensorcelled kingdom ever bars the way for Mongaul, vexing our ambitions! And now, unknowingly, we have let a spy of Parros among us!” The lady-general gnawed her lip in frustration, remembering the twins she had momentarily held in her grasp, and their freakish demigod-protector. Not only them—she thought, too, of the citizens of the crystal city who had desperately resisted her conquest. “Gajus!”
“Yes, my lady?”
“What is your opinion?”
“It is likely that you are correct. Our spies in Kumn and Yulania would have told us if those archduchies had discovered Mongaul’s intentions, so it seems unlikely that the traitor came from either of them. I suspect the remnants of Parros have indeed formed an alliance with the Sem, since the wildlings have given shelter to the twins.”
“If that is true, then our situation is very grave.” Amnelis' lips tightened. “Feldrik.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“As soon as possible you must provide me with a list naming every soldier in this expedition whose history and identity is unclear.”
“Certainly, my lady.”
“If only we had realized this earlier—but no! Let us not think of that. If there are still some of Parros' agents among us, we must see to it that they do us no more harm.” She paused, and the gleam in her eye grew colder before she spoke again. “Anyone of doubtful loyalty must not be left alive. Soldiers with unfamiliar accents. Those with relatives in Parros. Those with peculiar habits or questionable attitudes. Don’t overlook anybody suspicious. Find them all and put them to the question!”
“Yes, my lady, I understand.”
“Send out a command to the captains to make a note of any whom the Sem seem to have avoided shooting with their poisoned arrows or attacking during battle—and Irrim!”
“Yes, my lady?”
“The traitor’s name—you said that a blue knight spoke the name as he lay dying.”
“Yes, my lady. Only one of the blue knights remained alive when we reached the valley, but he named the traitor—a man who had earned Count Marus' trust yet betrayed his debt of gratitude, a man who lied to the blue knights and led them into a trap in the village of the Sem, then sacrificed them to our enemies! It was said that Count Marus was able to hurl his sword and wound his betrayer in the right ear before the man fled.”
“What is his name?” The Lady of Ice had regained her perfect self-control; her voice was firm and deliberate, although her knuckles whitened as she grasped a silver goblet.
Irrim lifted his bearded face and spoke clearly, his words seeming to resonate in the tent. “Eru of Argon.”
“Eru of Argon…” Twice, three times Amnelis repeated the name, as if tasting an echo. Then she said coolly, “If this man should ever be captured by the knights of Mongaul…” The lady waved her hand dismissively, as if consigning the wretch to a fate so miserable it could only be guessed at.
“Yes, my lady, I understand.”
Now Amnelis spoke slowly as though she had reached a final decision. “Feldrik, gather the captains at my pavilion. From this moment onward, we will permit no further arrogance from the Sem! Separate our scouts into small troops, and send them east, west, south, north—have them scour the desert until they discover the wildlings’ main encampment! Until then the main body of the army will assemble here and prepare for the final decisive battle. You are not to let a single Sem, warrior, woman, or child, live to see tomorrow’s sun. Is that clear?”
Feldrik bowed with deep respect. “Yes, my lady.”
Amnelis' calm, quiet words had produced a greater effect on her subordinates than any yelling or display of temper could have. Feldrik had turned to hurry from the tent when the general’s voice halted him.
“Additionally, tell the captains the name of Eru of Argon. Tell them that the one who catches him alive will receive a reward of ten thousand raan and a promotion in rank. If any should kill this Eru by mistake before he can be punished, that man will receive a hundred lashes before my eyes. I want the leopard-man, the twins of Parros, and the traitor taken alive. Don’t leave any Sem breathing. Make sure the next battle will truly be the final one! No longer will I tolerate the wildlings’ existence. If they retreat, drive them into a corner and slay them, and if they surrender, slaughter them where they stand. Is that clear? This will be Marus' funereal battle.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Now go.”
“Yes. My lady.”