Forest For The Trees (Book 3) by Damien Lake Page A

He had obviously
noticed Marik studying it when he entered.  “A tenuous situation.”
    Marik followed the gaze down.  “So it would seem,
sir.”
    The knight-marshal shot a quick look at him, probably
as the result of the ‘sir’.  Most mercenaries clashed with any soldier they
encountered.  Little love had ever existed between the two professions.  Marik
understood the general reason why, but had never adopted the bias completely. 
Genuine fighters won his respect.  Animosity shown never gained anything except
animosity returned.  That was why he usually added the ‘sir’ whenever speaking
to an army officer unless the man had already proven he enjoyed harassing
mercenaries simply for the crime of being a mercenary.  Many of the men who had
overseen the construction of the depots during the war had indulged in the
attitude.
    His honorific made no dent in the stony visage.  “This
was a key battle fought by Basill Cerella with Faustus Hueart as his master
tactician.  It was this battle that sounded the bells of change in the
southlands.  After this, the Tristan warlords and the scattered clans
recognized that Basill was no petty tyrant as bloodthirsty as they.  They
recognized that he was far greater than that.”
    He kept his eyes locked on the diorama the entire
time.  If he watched Marik at all, it was only through peripheral vision.  His
tone of voice, too, was far from conversational.  It bore traces of cold steel
and disapproval.
    When the knight-marshal halted, waiting for a
response, Marik groped for words, finding the opening gambit in this
conversation exceedingly odd.  “I suppose, then, that means this battle…the
battle at Thrae Valley took place in the early years of the Unification.”
    That brought the man’s gaze fully upon him.  The
disapproval in his hard eyes intensified.  “Year thirteen.”  He bit the words
off forcefully.  “The wars of the Unification lasted twenty-two years.  The
Tristans had never cared one bit what the northern lords were about, and paid
Basill’s awesome efforts no heed whatsoever!  One warlord had already fallen. 
It was the subjugation of Argus Yylan that finally opened their eyes to their
dwindling days of power.”
    Marik examined the display in order to break
eye-contact with the old warrior.  “Faustus must have been an accomplished
strategist to win against such odds.”
    As soon as the words left his mouth, the truth of the
matter struck Marik.  He instantly wished he could rephrase the statement in
order to prevent the testy response already forming on the knight-marshal’s
lips.  “Faustus Hueart indeed was such an individual, as befitting the
man who would be labeled ‘Basill’s Arm’.  Later, of course, after Basill
Cerella bestowed a name upon his army, the title was altered to make him into
the hand that struck with all that formidable strength behind it.  The Arm of
Galemar.”
    His words made Marik feel foolish.  He wanted to reply
in a confident manner, yet while he struggled for such a response, he knew that
anything he said would sound inane.  In lieu of words, he elected to fold his
arms and nod once at the table.
    “You are combat experienced,” the knight-martial
observed, “and been through battles where the most unexpected turns of events
have occurred.”  He nodded at the diorama.  “If you were there, leading
the green forces, tell me what you would have done.  How would you have
attained the victory that Basill Cerella claimed that day?”
    Marik’s arms unfolded.  He wanted to ask what this was
about, but thought he might know after all, strange as it seemed.
    Since the mysterious invaders had crossed the Stoneseams,
bringing their monstrous beasts with them, Marik had been one of the few to
face them multiple times in combat.  With his mage senses active as well, it
was possible that he had greater knowledge about the bull-creatures than anyone
else with first-hand experience.  Could they