The Burning Tears of Morlak (War of the Twelve Book 3) by Alex Robins

Author:Alex Robins [Robins, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bradypus Publishing
Published: 2021-11-22T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The Chained Man

“I do not like the word ‘risk’. It implies a lack of planning or, even worse, a lack of sufficient statistical analysis. Let us talk instead of probabilities. If the probability of retrieving information is high and, inversely, the probability of losing an asset is within acceptable parameters, then there is no logical reason for us not to proceed.”

Zygos, Seventh of the Twelve, 121 AT

*

Jelaïa twisted uneasily in the saddle, the leather fender rubbing against her raw thighs. Her snow-white palfrey whinnied in protest. “Sorry,” she whispered, patting the beast’s neck. “I know you’re tired. I’m tired too.”

The combined Kessrin-Arelian forces stretched out behind her like a snake, close to a thousand men traipsing through the windswept scrublands that bordered the north-western edge of the Redenfell Mountains. Following the rank-and-file, several hundred wagons lumbered along gracelessly, filled to bursting with sleeping soldiers and crates of supplies. Outriders dressed in the red and white livery of Arelium patrolled the flanks, galloping up and down the column carrying missives to the unit captains.

Loré del Conte and his vanguard formed the head of the serpent; a score of Arelian and Kessrin nobles on barded warhorses, their multi-coloured pennants fluttering in the breeze. They had spotted no sign of the greylings since crossing over into Talth, but it always paid to be vigilant. Jelaïa could see Loré chatting and joking amiably with two of his vassals, a different man to the angry, petulant one she had spoken to back in Kessrin.

Since leaving the maritime capital ten days ago, they had dined together every evening in Loré’s tent, often accompanied by Orkam, Xandris, and the healer. True to his word, del Conte never referred to their earlier conversation, using the time instead to regale his guests with tales of his tempestuous youth, tales that often involved an equally mischievous Listus del Arelium. Jelaïa realised just how close the two men had been and how alike they were.

It was during one particularly wine-filled evening that they learnt that the healer’s name was Belen, and that he and Xandris had met when the latter had purposely ingested a few too many apple seeds so that he could spend more time in the healer’s presence and eventually become his apprentice. The two were a good fit, each relying on the other’s strengths to compensate for their own weaknesses.

A cloud of dust appeared half a mile up the trail, quickly revealing a single horseman, riding hard. Orkam. He skidded to a halt before Loré, his stallion pawing the ground.

“Found them, Sir Loré,” he said. “About a mile from here, camped on the edge of a pine forest. But there’s a problem. They are under attack.”

“Under attack?” scoffed Loré. “Who would dare attack a hundred Knights of Brachyura and two of the Twelve? ‘Twould be folly!”

“That’s just it, my Lord. They aren’t there. Didn’t see more than twenty men fending off a sizeable force of greylings. They need help.”

Aldarin! thought Jelaïa, nudging her horse closer to the group.

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