#eladrin ca

~

Silence hung around the war table. Two scribes wrote frantically, making record of everything the young guardian – Delta – had said. Robin pored over the map in the centre of the table, adding new notes and wooden tokens as if preparing for a game of chess.

“So,” she said, placing a tiny, crude wooden ship on the map, between the painted borders of Arcane and Wind territories. “You're telling me that Queen Xandra's prize battlemage is still alive, a member of your clan, and on his way to the Sea of a Thousand Currents?” She pushed the wooden ship south, towards the canal that linked the Sea to the ocean outside the Ashfall Waste.

“Well, um,” Delta said, “maybe?” He tapped his fingers nervously on the table. Robin puzzled over him for a few moments, wondering what could have happened to him to make him so anxious. He was head and shoulders taller than her own guards, but he seemed to hold himself with painstaking care, his shoulders hunched to make his frame smaller. Robin had met a lot of dragons during her life, many of whom had displayed the same tell-tale signs as Delta. Every so often, Delta would cast an odd look across at the pearlcatcher standing silently in the corner of the room.

“Is he or isn't he?” Robin said, making her voice soft for his benefit.

“He is,” Delta said, “but I was separated from my clan before they found that ship. I don't know their status...”

Aklys cleared her throat. She stood a few paces back from the table, incongruous among the uniformed soldiers in her shaggy furs and discoloured leather. “My scouts report that the ship was damaged extensively in the conflict.” She spoke with a strange accent and paused often, as if to search for words. “It would have sunk, but a guardian pulled it towards the Sea. We lost track of it at the border of the Sirenian Empire.”

“Right,” Robin said. “Here's the plan. Delta, you need to write to your clanmates. Let them know you're alive and that you need their help. We're not going to last much longer under siege conditions like this, but I'd rather hold out until we're sure we have this John person on our side.” She stared down at the war table, her eyebrows knitted together.

She'd been planning this for months, carefully setting down her railways and scouts around the Isles and surrounding territories to building up an information network with no parallel. She knew more than Rezann did about the battlefield – or, at least, she hoped she did. There were still some pieces that needed to fall into place, but the plan was about ninety per cent complete.

“Okay,” Delta said. “I'll do that. I can't guarantee anything, y'know, since, um, John's supposed to be in hiding and all. He might not want to go into battle.”

“Fine,” Robin said, “that's his choice. But you let him know that he may be the difference between success and failure – we can fight an army, but taking out those cannons is a different matter entirely. At the very least, see if you can get the schematics for his magic from him.”

With a nod, Delta uncertainly rose to his feet. When no one told him to sit, he headed for the door and let himself out. He and his two travelling companions had been given beds in the barracks, as well as food and supplies, as long as they promised to fight in the coming battle.

Once he was gone, Robin sighed gently and sat back again. She dragged a hand down her face. A nervous, electric atmosphere filled the air, exacerbated by the silence. Sitting still was impossible, so she rose to her feet and circled the table, studying the map pinned to the thick oak surface.

The area surrounding the citadel was crowded with wooden moth tokens. Her own forces were in hiding to the north and south, waiting to fall upon the Commander's assembled troops. A jumble of element tokens showed the positions of Rezann's generals. The Shadow, Wind, and Light tokens were off the map; Robin had personally dispatched the Shadow general. She didn't know where the other two were. The Wind general had been missing for years, so she wasn't particularly worried about them, but Fain, the Light general, could be an issue...

She stopped by the single window. This war chamber had been built on the side of one of the stationary central crystals, affording sweeping views across the countryside to the east beyond the city walls. Rezann's army blackened the green fields, a hive of activity. Three enormous cannons faced the city head-on. The other six were still unaccounted-for. If Robin wanted to win the battle, she would have to find some way to take out all nine before the actual fighting started.

“Ma'am,” a timid voice at her side said. Eladrin had come to stand by the window with her, his pale eyes fixed on the army outside. “I'm sure I can destroy the cannons, you don't have to rely on outside help.”

This was probably true. Eladrin, the shade-touched skydancer, caused magic to backfire violently in his presence.

“You can't be in nine places at once,” Robin said. “It's too dangerous.” She rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. “You're too important to throw away this early, Eladrin... no one else can do your job.”

Eladrin nodded, his crest lowering.

“President,” a voice said from behind. “The king wishes to speak with you.”

More good news. With a broad smile Robin turned and beckoned to the page who had come into the room. The page set down a scrying mirror on the war table and turned it to face her. Eladrin had to leave for this, for fear that his presence would disrupt the signal. The hooded pearlcatcher moved forward to stand behind Robin, her hands clasped behind her back.

She sat in front of the mirror. Its reflective surface shimmered for a moment, then solidified into a view of an elaborate black and gold tapestry. A moment later, a young guardian leant into the frame, as if to check that the mirror was working.

“Hello?” he said.

Robin inclined her head. “Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“President Robin,” he said, settling in front of the mirror. In comparison to the monochrome tapestry behind him, he was brilliantly coloured, green and cyan and deep red. Court Dorchadas' newest king was a dead ringer for his father, and Robin dearly hoped that the resemblance was only skin-deep.

“So I suppose you got my letter?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. No time to waste on pleasantries. “You want an alliance. Forgive me, but I thought that Court Dorchadas was allied with the Rezann?”

Emiliano nodded. “We used to be. Rather, we were allied with the Winterborn company, which primarily serves the Commander. But recent events have changed that for good. I would go to war with the Company in a second, but it's impossible to do so without also declaring war on Rezann. The Company's owner, Zaer, is Rezann's strongest ally. You can see where I'm getting at here, right?”

“I can,” Robin said. “So how about this: help us defeat Rezann now, and later I'll give any aid I can to help take down the Company. That includes my navy, my armed forces, my steam trains – should the need arise – and my magicians.”

“That sounds great,” Emiliano said earnestly. “We're ready to march at your word.”

“Well,” Robin said, “you can start marching now. The sooner you arrive, the better. I'll send someone out to discuss my terms and plans with you – we can't say too much over the mirrors, the Commander uses them too and he most definitely knows how to crack their encryption.”

“Of course. I'll get my militia ready. Thank you for this, President.”

Later, when Robin returned to her workshop to study in peace, she felt the faintest burst of guilt. With a sigh she sat at her desk and got to work, pressing a tiny mold blank into a dense pile of sand, ready to pour in molten iron. The result was a gear as fine as a wedding ring. She worked on it until the torchlight overtook sunlight as the primary source of illumination, slowly constructing each tiny necessary part for her creation.

There was a gentle knock on the door. The pearlcatcher let herself in, and as Robin glanced up she lowered her hood.

“This is a mistake, Robin,” she said softly, coming to lean against the side of the desk. “You're catching a tiger by the tail with this Dorchadas business.”

“I know, Lee,” Robin murmured, fitting another minuscule gear into the shell of her new pocket-watch. “But we don't have any other choice. We need their help.”

Lee lowered her dark gaze. She was entirely colourless – her skin and hair and eyes as grey as dilute ink. There was something unworldly about her. She was a necromancer, and it almost seemed like she herself was dead.

“If King Emiliano finds out...” she said.