Wizard of the Grove by Tanya Huff Page B

battlefield.
    â€œYou know, I’ve never seen conscripts so willing to meet Lord Death.”
    â€œLord Death is preferable to what they’ll meet if they stay behind.”
    And both pairs of eyes turned again to the largest pavilion.
    â€œStill, they’re only peasants.”
    He grunted in agreement and raised a hand to block the sun. “Isn’t that Lord Elan?”
    Even at that distance the lord’s stocky figure was unmistakable as he entered the tent.
    â€œMaybe he’s going to plead our cause with the king.”
    â€œRight.”
    The looks exchanged said very clearly that both knew it was not, nor had it been for some time, the king who was in charge.
    â€œStill,” she bent to lift another hoof, “after losing three wars in as many years, I’d follow Chaos himself if it meant we could win one.”
    *   *   *
    â€œWe have taken the valley, Sire, and the battle has moved to the open area beyond.”
    â€œGood.” The reply came not from the king, but from the man who sat by his side. Red-gold curls fell in silken coils about his face as he inclined his head and repeated the words to the wasted body that slumped on the throne.
    Slowly, his movements a series of tiny jerks, the King of Melac raised his head. Eyes, sunk deep over axe-blade cheekbones, opened. “Good,” he echoed, then fell silent once again.
    The king’s counselor looked regally down at the kneeling lord. “Was that all?”
    â€œSire,” the elderly man came as close to turning his back on the counselor as was safe, “you must send the cavalry on ahead.”
    The king ignored him. The king’s counselor did not.
    â€œMust send the cavalry? Do you dictate to your sovereign? Would you leave him unprotected?”
    â€œSire, you are still on the Melacian side of the border. Still four hours’ hard ride from the battle. Your Guard can protect you. Without the cavalry, every foot the army advances is piled high with the bodies of the dead.”
    â€œIf the cavalry consists of such doughty fighters, able to turn the battle by their mere presence, should they not remain here to guardagainst assassination?” Slender hands spread, the tracery of gold hair on their backs glittering in the torchlight. “Or do you mean to deny His Majesty protection by the best?”
    â€œSire, I don’t . . .”
    â€œOr perhaps you don’t feel His Majesty is worth protecting?”
    â€œSire, of course I . . .”
    â€œThen why do you deny him the cavalry?”
    â€œSire, I can only repeat that without the cavalry on the field, we cannot win.”
    â€œBut we are winning, are we not?”
    â€œAre we?” the lord snapped, turning at last to glare at the man beside his king. “We gain the ground, but is it winning when three out of every five men we send into the field die?”
    Red-gold brows rose. “But what better death is there, than to die for your king? There will always be more men and they go willingly to fight.”
    â€œWillingly? They’re driven!”
    â€œReally? By what?”
    â€œYou know very well by what, you . . .”
    â€œAre you about to criticize me, Lord Elan?” His voice was as soft as the velvet that fell in sapphire folds from his shoulders, and rather more deadly than the dagger that hung at his waist.
    For an instant, for just an instant, Lord Elan’s jaw went out and the hatred that bubbled and seethed below the surface showed on his face. For an instant. Then the flesh sagged, the gray returned, and his eyes dropped. “No,” he whispered.
    â€œNo, what?”
    The hand that rested on Lord Elan’s knee quivered. “No, milord.”
    The counselor smiled. Lord Elan could always be counted on for a few moments of amusing bravado. That was why he still lived. The cavalry
was
needed at the front, but there was no need to rush,