Forest For The Trees (Book 3) Read Online Free

“Ilona
might be long departed by the time our wounded straggle in.  Still, it won’t
hurt to ask.  I think I’ll ask him to check the records for the first blade I
took out of the armory and ask for one as close to that as possible.  It’s
shorter than my last sword, but I never had any problems with it for close-in
fighting.”
    Dietrik nodded.  “Your last blade had a complication
or two fighting around the buildings in Thoenar.  Will you be able to use the
smaller sword in combination with your strength working?”
    “I can, if I’m careful.  The blade will be damaged
badly if I try using it directly against armor.  That’s why I need my custom
sword.  With that, I can switch between them at need.”
    “You had better go and see if you can raid the command
tent for writing supplies, then.  We will be leaving upon first light.”
    Marik cursed softly and forced his mind to abandon the
rest he had been sinking back into.  Truly there was no rest for the wicked.
     
    *        *        *        *        *
     
    Night’s enshrouding cloak wrapped around the
encampment sitting on the Southern Road.  Flickering torches were scattered
between the small army tents to drive away the darkness.  All they accomplished
was to make the blackness beyond the torches’ nimbus so much the darker,
seemingly impenetrable to all but animal eyes.  With an unknown number of
bestial Taurs running loose in this corner of the kingdom, nighttime had become
a trial of endurance.  Every slight breeze became the heavy breath of a monster
lurking in the nearby shadows, and every distant call of nocturnal predators instantly
made seasoned soldiers grip their hilts in sweat-slicked palms.
    Tension gripped the Galemaran men in a vice all the
tighter for the men’s fevered imaginations.  The memories of the hellish
creatures slaughtering their shieldmates without mercy painted the night with
possibilities known only to the damned suffering perdition in the hells.  Yet
the strain rested most heavily on the forms tied at the wrists, huddled back to
back in tight groups to ward off the cold.  No canvas roof sheltered them against
the night, no fire was allowed close enough to provide a burning brand to the
hand of desperate men.  Winter eve made the men shiver endlessly, adding to the
trembles that already plagued them for their intimate knowledge of what would
happen if the Taurs did leap from the darkness in a carnivorous frenzy.
    Adrian Ceylon had far more to plague his mind than
fears that the monstrous beasts they had enslaved would return to visit
retribution on them.  Such a turn of events might be comforting after a strange
fashion.  It would be an end to his problems.
    He was a prisoner of war.
    Never, not once in his entire dedicated career to king
and homeland had he come close to a defeat.  Now this !
    That was bad enough, but worst of all, the events
leading to this disgrace were still broken and disjointed.  His memories were
fragmented, and the accounts from his surviving personal guards tallied not a
whit with anything else he knew.
    He had given
the command to push forward from Kallied and invade the neighboring kingdom of
Galemar with all speed?  Him commanding the army to disregard caution,
to advance without secure supply lines in place, or securing the lands taken
until they were locked in the iron grip of the Arronathian Armed Forces? 
Impossible!  It flew in the face of all the military wisdom he’d ever learned
or crafted.
    He would have called Bayonne a liar except for the
long years of service over which Adrian had come to know the man like a son. 
Even then he would suspect the man’s story if not for the rest of his guards
confirming the tales, each speaking to him separately and clearly without
collusion.
    There could be no doubt that his actions were in
keeping with the histories his men related.  In any other man he would
pronounce the decisions to be criminally