Shadow Of The Mountain by D.A. Stone Page B

tent, poking at corners or the base of walls with their spears. Other men with leashed hounds walked the area, their animals carefully sniffing the ground before moving on.
    Coming to an entrance Tenlon found two Amorian soldiers standing stiffly at attention. In full armor, they wore short swords at their side and held tall spears. Their cloaks swayed in the stormy wind as Accostas spoke to them.
    “Alert King Healianos that the mage apprentice, Tenlon, is here.”
    One of the sentries handed his spear off to the other and opened the flap, entering with the message.
    Tenlon thought he misheard the tall warrior through the thunder.
    “Did you say the king?” he asked with shock. “Why have you taken me to see the king?”
    “I don’t know what he wants, but this is where our road together ends, little mage,” Accostas smiled again. “Just wait here until you’re called upon. And don’t look so frightened! I doubt he’ll execute you. He hardly ever does that himself.”
    Tenlon turned to Desik to see if this were all a jest, but the other warrior was already walking away into the dark.
    “Be sure to drop to your knees when you see him,” Accostas said as he withdrew into the night. “It might assuage some of his anger!”
    “Why would he be angry with me? I‘ve done nothing!”
    Accostas threw up his hands as he disappeared from sight, voicing no answer.
    Tenlon muttered a curse under his breath. The king?
    This was madness, all of it. Pure madness.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
     
     
     
    Kreiden Baelik relaxed on a velvet-upholstered couch in the war room of the king’s tent, rubbing a red apple on his sleeve. Still in his battle armor and cloak, his filthy riding boots were perched on a matching plush footrest. He ran a hand through his tangled blond hair and looked around.
    The tent was suspended above the ground on a massive platform, with a floor of polished wood covered in thick rugs. The chamber had a high ceiling and was well lit by lanterns and flickering candles. Several brass braziers were spaced about, radiating the area with warmth. A large wooden table covered in maps and parchment sat at the far end of the tent. Stools surrounded the table, dwarfed by the king’s high-backed chair of oak, which was engraved with the motif of a rearing horse, glossy and shining in the lantern light. Weapon racks with various blades and spears were set behind the table and there was an ornate, full-length mirror standing near a side wall that sectioned off another of the tent’s many chambers.
    The champion took a bite of the fruit in silence, watching the king. His brother was poring over the scouting reports and casualty numbers of their first exchange with the Volrathi. Kreiden knew the numbers were not good.
    The king had doffed his cloak and armor for loose riding boots and a simple white tunic with leather trousers. The thirty-one-year-old Amorian leader had premature flecks of silver through his hair, but his thick beard was still black as moonless night. His breastplate and helm had been cleaned and now rested on an armor tree in the far corner of the chamber, scratched and dented though still in fine shape.
    As the king’s First Sword, Kreiden had ridden with Healianos the entire day, watching the man and protecting him where he could. The king always rode with an escort of superb light cavalrymen during battle, but the man had a tendency to push deep into enemy lines, letting his sword carry him away from their protection. Kreiden never tried to pull him back, only pushed in deeper beside him. Eventually the men would catch up. They always did.
    The day had been soaked in blood and Kreiden knew his longtime friend was distraught over the massive losses they had taken, and rightly so. Kreiden could feel the shadows closing in on them. They were in trouble.
    Draxakis and the fleet had been wiped out and most of Amoria’s lead mages had been slain. Kreiden was a student of war, a strategist. After