Only one of the queen’s three messengers made it safely over the Corag pass and rode a weary horse into the Gremurr complex; he was bedraggled and exhausted, his fingers frostbitten. “The snows are closing in. I fear my two companions will not get through, but we all knew the importance of our mission.”
Destrars Broeck and Siescu gathered around the weary rider. “What news is so desperate? Has something happened to Calay?”
The courier caught his breath. “The fate of Tierra hangs in the balance—Queen Anjine needs you. I have an urgent message regarding plans for our attack on Ishalem.”
“And about time, too!” Broeck laughed.
Siescu was more cautious. “What is the message? What does she need us to do?”
Flushed from his exertion, the man mopped his face and pushed his tangled hair out of the way. “I do not know the details, my Lords. Therefore, even Uraban torturers could not drag the information from me.” He dug a packet wrapped in thin leather out of the sweaty folds of his shirt. “This is written in a coded language that the queen says Destrar Broeck will understand.”
Broeck looked at Siescu, scratching his thick beard in puzzlement. “But I don’t know any codes.” He opened the packet, then laughed as he began to read. “Ha! Enifir used an old Iborian dialect! No Uraban spy would ever be able to translate this—even I can barely decipher it.”
Meanwhile, Firun delivered a hastily assembled meal and hot tea, and the bedraggled courier fell upon the nourishment with renewed energy.
Siescu paced the room and groused as he waited. “Well, what does the message say?”
Iaros joined them. Filled with curiosity, he looked over his uncle’s shoulder and moved his lips, struggling with the words in the letter. With a wide grin, he blurted out, “Ah, it seems our victory at Gremurr has inspired the queen! She’s rallying the whole Tierran army and navy to Ishalem.”
Broeck shot a silent, scolding glance at the young man for interrupting him, and Iaros clamped his lips shut, flushing red. The destrar sounded businesslike as he added, “Queen Anjine wants us to take our new ironclads and attack from the east in a coordinated strike. The timing will be critical since she plans to hammer the Curlies from three sides all at once.”
Siescu’s pale brow furrowed. “It will take the queen some time to gather all those forces.”
“Three months,” Broeck grumbled. “By the Fishhook, I’m ready now! But I suppose that’ll give us plenty of time to cause some mayhem of our own. Call it practice.” He already had plenty of ideas.
That evening, in front of a roaring fire in the house that had once belonged to the Uraban workmaster of the mines, Destrar Siescu treated the courier to a special dinner in order to ply him for information that had nothing to do with Tierra’s military plans. Two fat grouse roasted on the fire, shot only that day by Raga Var in the nearby hills.
“The road over the mountains might be good in fair weather, Destrar, but it’s treacherous now that winter is setting in,” the messenger reported. “I hope my two comrades gave up and went home. If not, they’ll be dead by now. Me, I’ll stay here until spring.”
Siescu had other plans. “I have no intention of spending winter in this place—I am the destrar of Corag Reach, and my people are well accustomed to snow and ice conditions in the mountains. Raga Var can lead us anywhere.”
The scout removed a grouse from the roasting spit and served the two men before helping himself to the second grouse. “I can do it, Destrar, but I’d rather not.” Though he had stripped off his furs and wore only a loincloth, Raga Var still perspired in the warm chamber.
Siescu would not be swayed from his decision. “The weather looks fine. We will depart in the morning.”
“I advise against it,” the courier replied, delicately licking grouse juices from his blistered, frostbitten fingertips.
Siescu responded with a pinched expression, since this was not what he wanted to hear. “Fortunately, you are not one of my advisers.”
The other man fell silent with a respectful, chastised bow.…
Siescu spent the night bundled in blankets, comfortably warm, and in the morning the mine workers loaded two pack animals with a shipment of Gremurr swords for the Tierran army. The blue sky was full of sunshine, and Siescu was anxious to be on the road back to his sheltered cliff city.
He said farewell to the Iborian destrar, who had come to see the two men off. “Good luck with your naval attacks, Broeck. Make the Curlies hurt.”
“Oh, we will,” Iaros said.
Destrar Broeck made sure the sword bundles were lashed securely to the ponies. “Tell the queen this is merely the first shipment of many to come from these mines.”
“When the road opens again in spring, the army may not need any more swords,” his nephew said. “The war will be over, and all of Uraba will be conquered territory.”
Broeck clapped his nephew on the back. “Even I’m not that ambitious, but it is a pretty thought.”
“We’ll tell Queen Anjine that you received her message, and she can launch her battle plan with full confidence.”
“The queen always has full confidence,” Broeck said. “Farewell.”
Siescu tugged on the lead rope of the first pony, while Raga Var sprang ahead. Leading the loaded ponies on foot, the two men headed into the mountains.