Kell's Legend

Pike Mines, and we have a brigade near Old Skulkra. If we can surround the bastards, hit them from each flank and make sure the Black Pike infantry emerge from the north…well, we can rout them, Elias. They’ll think the whole damn world has descended on them.”
    “We need more information,” said Elias, warily. “The size of the enemy force. Exact locations. Does this Graal have heavy cavalry, spears, archers? Are his men disciplined, and do they bring siege weapons?”
    “There is little time, Elias. If we don’t act immediately I guarantee we will be too late. This Graal is asnake; he is striking hard and fast, and taking no prisoners. We did not see him coming. It is a perfect invasion.”
    “Still, I advise despatching scouts. Three to each camp with your plans following separate routes, in case any rider is captured; we can code the messages, and pick hardy men for the task. I’ll also arrange for local spies to scour Corleth Moor; we can send message by pigeon. I have a trusted network in the north.”
    Leanoric nodded. “With a little more information, and time, we can encompass them. I still only half believe Mary! Who would dare such an outrage? Who would dare the wrath of my entire army?” With twenty thousand men at his disposal, this made Leanoric perhaps the most powerful warlord between the four Mountain Worlds.
    Elias considered their plan, rubbing his stubbled chin, his lined face focused with concentration. Internally, he analysed different angles, considered different options; he could see what King Leanoric said made sense, made complete sense; yet still it sat bad with him, an uneasy ally, a false lover, a cuckolded husband, a friend behind his back with a knife in his trembling fist.
    “Consider,” said Elias, voice as quiet as ever, and as he spoke his hand came to rest on the hilt of his scabbarded sword—a blade no other man alive had touched. “This General Graal cannot be a foolish man. And yet he marches halfway across Falanor to steal the queen; why? What does he gain?”
    “He makes me chase him.”
    Elias nodded. “Possible. Either chase him, or to undermine your confidence. Maybe both. And yet he has already, so we believe, conquered two major cities with substantial garrisons. So he either has a mighty force to be reckoned with, or…”
    “He’s using blood-oil magick,” said Leanoric, uneasy.
    “Yes. You must seek counsel on this.”
    “There is little time. If I do not muster the Eagle Divisions immediately, the entrapment may not work. Then we’d be forced to fall back…” his mind worked fast. “To Old Skulkra. It is a perfect battleground. And I have a…tactic my father spoke of, decades ago.”
    “But if Graal uses the old magick, your plan will not work anyway,” said Elias. “You know what I’m thinking?”
    “The Graverobber,” said Leanoric, voice sober, voice filled with dread. “I fear he will kill me on sight.”
    “I will go,” said Elias.
    “No, I have another job for you.”
    Elias raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He knew his king would speak in good time.
    Leanoric pursed his lips, lifted his hands to his face, fingers steepled, pressed against his chin. Then he sighed, and it was a sigh of sadness, of somebody who was lost. He spoke, but he would not meet his friend’s gaze.
    “What I ask of you, Elias, I have no right to ask.”
    “You have every right. You are king.”
    “No. I ask this on a personal level. Let us put aside rank, and nobility, for just one moment. What I ask of you, is…almost certain death. But I must ask anyway.”
    Elias bowed his head. “Anything, my king,” he said, voice gentle.
    “I would ask you to travel to the Silva Valley.” Leanoric paused, as if by leaving the words unspoken, he would not have to condemn his general, would not have to murder his friend. He sighed. He met Elias’s gaze, and their eyes locked, in honour and truth and friendship and brotherhood. “I would ask to you find and rescue Alloria.”
    “It would be my honour,” said Elias, without pause for breath.
    “I recognise-”
    “No.” Elias held up a hand. Leanoric stopped. “Do not say it. I am a man of the world, and if I may point out, far more seasoned a warrior than you.” He smiled to take the sting from his words. “I trained with your father, and I admired your father; but I love his son more. And I love my queen. I will do this, Leanoric, but feel no burden of guilt. I do it gladly, of my own free