Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [131]
"I didn't think elves lived that long," said Aosinin.
"They don't," responded the king. "I think he has some of the same magic that keeps Thanderahast and the other wizards going for centuries. Yet he, the elf lord, expected to return here and find all as it was-forests instead of fields, monsters instead of cattle, trees instead of homesteads. It makes me worry."
"Worry, Sire?" asked Aosinin.
The two passed a guard. Salutes were exchanged, and Galaghard continued only once they were well past. "All that we have achieved, all that we have built, has happened in his one lifetime. Were we to fail tomorrow, to fall to the necromancers, would any record of us be here in another nine hundred years? Would the forests reclaim our fields and the monsters lair in our ruins and no one remember our names?"
"We will not fail tomorrow," said Aosinin quickly, unsure of what else to say.
"We have been on campaign for three months," said the king, "three months of living in our saddles and sleeping in our armor. If we fail tomorrow, would I rather have spent those three months with my family, with my wife, with little Rhigaerd and Tanalar and Kathla? And will it matter in the long run who truly rules Cormyr?"
Aosinin was silent. Thanderahast was obviously not the only one shaken by the elf lord's appearance. "We will not fail, my lord," he repeated at last. "You know you have the loyalty of every Cormyrean on that battle plain tomorrow. They look to you for support, for leadership. If you are sure of yourself, they'll follow you into the Pits of the Abyss itself!"
"And if I am myself unsure?" asked the king. "If I feel tired and unwilling to go another step? What then, Cousin?"
"Then I will stand by your side, Cousin," Aosinin replied, "and remind you of our duty to protect the land of Cormyr. If we fail, no amount of time will eradicate the curse of the Witch Lords. And I will remind you that I am sure you know what you are doing."
They passed the last of the sentries. The sentry was little more than a boy, but he snapped to attention at the king's approach and saluted crisply. Aosinin saw the lad's eyes in his small watch fire. They glowed with pride and respect.
Aosinin looked at his king. Galaghard's features were lit by the flames. His jaw was firm, and his eyes sparkled. He managed a small fatherly smile.
The men would follow him, and that was important, Aosinin thought. After the battle, the king could retire to his home and hearth and family, and his worries would be laid to rest. And if they failed in the morning, they'd all be beyond such worries in any event.
* * * * *
That morning came all too soon for Aosinin and the others. With the first touch of redness in the eastern sky, the squires were up and about and soon roused their masters as the troops, most of them sleeping little themselves, donned their shirts of mail and leather and saw to their weapons one last time. For some of them, it would in truth be the last time.
The squires brought Aosinin and the rest of the nobles their great suits of platemail and slowly ratcheted the bolts home, encasing the valor of Cormyr in steel. Metal covered their outer legs, their waists, and torsos, and a combination of plate and chain wreathed their upper limbs. Aosinin chose his open-faced helm, as would Galaghard. Despite the risk of arrows, the king needed to be seen, and Aosinin and the rest of the royal nobles would not let their cousin take a risk they were unwilling to engage themselves.
Across the vale, there was the sound of drums and horns. The enemy was preparing, too.
The sun's disk was just breaking the horizon when the troops of Cormyr formed their battle lines. Patriarchs of Helm the