Page 76 of Kingdom of Feathers

Wren frowned as she thought it over, but she seemed to see the sense of the argument, because eventually she nodded.

His point carried, the guard fell back slightly as they urged their horses to a faster pace, and Basil took the opportunity for more private speech with Wren. “I’m going to ride ahead, get to my general as quickly as I can. If you find any hint of magic, follow it to its source, as best you can. I’ll do the same on my side, if there is any. I’ll return as soon as possible, and we can discuss whatever we’ve found.”

Wren looked confused, but the guard—clearly still suspicious—had drawn close again, so Basil just gave her a reassuring nod and redirected his horse toward his own group.

Unsurprisingly, the arrival of the silent princess had made Lord Baldwin more uneasy than ever, but Basil had no time for his vaguely formed protests. Cutting him off without compunction, he turned to the merchant woman.

“I want you to stay with Princess Wren,” he said curtly. His eyes flicked to the enchantress’s husband. “Both of you, if it would make you more comfortable. See if you can help her find any magic on the Mistran side.”

“Stay in Mistra?” the enchantress repeated nervously. “But she’ll think I’m plotting something if I follow her instead of you.”

“No she won’t,” said Basil confidently. “She’s an ally in the effort to end the war, not an enemy. I trust her implicitly. I want you to do whatever she asks you to do, and you can consider that an order from your king.”

Both husband and wife looked taken aback at his strong words, but they didn’t press the matter.

“But how will you find anything without a magic-user with you?” the enchantress pressed. “What’s the point of you crossing to the Entolian side at all?”

“I’ll manage,” said Basil, shrugging a shoulder. He turned to see his guards watching him expectantly, and Lord Baldwin, predictably, hovering reluctantly behind. “Come on, My Lord,” Basil said imperiously. “You’re with me.” There was no way he was going to subject Wren to Lord Baldwin’s company. The enchantress and her husband might be strangers to her, but Basil had every expectation they would treat her with respect.

With a final murmured protest, Lord Baldwin joined him, and together with Basil’s guards, the two men spurred their horses into a canter. They skirted around the main Mistran camp and made for the checkpoint they’d passed through on their way to Myst. By the time they reached the long trench cut across the Mistran side of no man’s land, they’d gathered a sizable escort of Mistran soldiers. Basil knew where they could cross the trench, but he slowed his pace, recognizing that he would need to make his intentions known to whichever senior officer was sent to intercept him.

Sure enough, his horse had barely dropped to a walk when a rider approached from the main camp, flanked by half a dozen others. Basil didn’t recognize the officer, who wore the uniform of a colonel. Most likely the return of the enemy king would normally be enough to bring the general himself—whom Basil knew had returned to the front lines from Myst—but Basil suspected he was currently occupied dealing with the unprecedented event of Princess Wren showing up at the battlefield without even a proper escort.

“Your Majesty,” the colonel said, his horse stamping restlessly beneath him. “We received word from King Lloyd that you wished to pass through.” His eyes scanned the small group, and Basil could see his confusion. “Are you returning to Entolia? Are your negotiations complete?”

“No, Colonel,” Basil said reassuringly. He could understand why the soldiers, having loitered for two months of uneasy armistice, would be vitally interested in a precipitate flight back over the border by the Entolian king. “Negotiations are ongoing. I merely wish to speak with my general regarding the matters under discussion.”

The colonel nodded. “Allow us to escort you.”

In spite of the formal words, the group of Mistran soldiers barely saw Basil over the trench before they came to a halt, spreading out into a line to watch Basil and his companions cross the empty space between the two army camps. Basil was aware that in the last six years of fighting, the line between the armies had moved many times. At one point, he understood that the Mistrans had managed to occupy the entire ore field. But the Entolians had immediately mounted an offensive which had pushed their enemies back further even than their original position. No one had yet managed to hold much ground.

For now, though, both forces had withdrawn enough to leave a wide space of currently unclaimed land. They’d even been in position long enough for permanent structures to be built, dotted some distance behind the trenches.

Basil led his horse into the dividing space at a walk. It wasn’t safe to go faster. The once fertile ground had been churned by many hooves and tramping feet into something unrecognizable, barren mounds of mud and debris stretching out ahead of him. There had been no rain for at least a week, but every now and then he caught sight of a puddle of fetid water sitting unmoving in hollows that had probably once been bright with wildflowers. There were still some stumps and fallen trunks dotted around, showing that this land had once supported trees, and the horses had to step with care.

Eventually, feeling disheartened and faintly ill, Basil reached the first checkpoint of the Entolian side, where ten uniformed soldiers awaited him, clearly having spotted his approach. They led him quickly to the general’s tent, right in the heart of the army camp. The Entolians had also constructed buildings, used for storage, and surveillance, but all of the troops—even the general—still lived in the tents, ready to move at a moment’s notice if fighting resumed.

Basil couldn’t help but notice on the way through the encampment, that the general state of the army had deteriorated since he’d ridden through all those weeks before. Then the soldiers had all stood to attention as he passed, their swords gleaming and their uniforms tidy. Now many of them were just milling around. More than one soldier started at sight of their king, hastening to tuck in uniforms, or even stow away dice, clearly having been whiling away the time with games of chance. Apparently two months of inaction had taken its toll.

There was nothing sloppy in the appearance of Basil’s general, however. His tent was as orderly as Basil remembered from his previous passage, and his posture was just as ramrod straight. He wasn’t a tall man—shorter in fact than Basil—but he was wiry, and there was strength in every muscle.

“Well, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing a little mechanically. “I was surprised to receive your courier’s message, but I am glad to host you here once again.”

Basil gave a wry smile. “Glad to see me emerge alive, General? I know you disapproved of my visit to Myst.”

The general observed him out of unblinking eyes. Basil half expected him to point out that not just he, but everyone had disapproved of Basil’s plans. But he should have known better. His general wasn’t such a plain speaker.

“I am of course pleased to see you in such excellent health,” was all he said.

Basil nodded briskly. “Thank you. I don’t intend to make a long visit,” he explained. “A couple of days at most. I’m expected back in Myst, where I still have hopes of negotiating a permanent armistice. In the meantime, however, I wish to examine our encampment for signs of magical interference.”

The general started visibly. “Magical interference, Your Majesty?” He looked perplexed. “King Thorn never authorized the use of magic on the battlefield. It was discussed, I believe, but the resources were not forthcoming.”

Basil nodded. “That’s what I thought as well. And I wish to confirm the truth or otherwise of my belief. A similar investigation is currently being conducted in the Mistran encampment.”

The general actually raised an eyebrow this time. “By whom, Your Majesty? Surely not our people?”

“A combination of Entolians and Mistrans,” said Basil, as if it was the most natural situation imaginable.

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