Page 126 of Heart Cradle
The leaders of the realms moved from the great hall, and the war chamber of Elanthir Keep was no longer still. Map glyphs shimmered across the central table, layered in motion, scout reports and magical projections casting flickers of light onto the faces gathered around it. Voices rose and fell in steady bursts, some clipped and efficient, others heated, the air smelled of sweat, wax, and charred magic.
Every few minutes, another messenger entered from the corridor with an update, encoded scrolls from transport stone waypoints, field sigils from forwards scouts and scry-notes blinked into existence midair. Branfil acting as war-coordinator by necessity, stood at the table’s edge, sorting intelligence into stacks by priority.
There would be no sleep, not for those who wanted to lead. King Orilan stood at the head of the table, hands braced, to his right stood Taelin and Yendel hovered near the far end, fingertips flickering with spelllight as he deciphered the latest magical alerts.
General Kareth Stonebind of Armathen cut through the voices first. “We cannot stay reactive, you all see what these scouts report. Avelan legions are converging, and they’re not creeping, they’re digging in.” He jabbed a finger at the red glow pulsing along the Armathen coast. “If we wait much longer, we’ll be staring down a united front of fully supplied Avelan legions. They’ll overrun the coast, then split inland. This is the time to strike.”
“And lose a thousand fae if we miscalculate?” came the cool, measured voice of Rinya, ruler of the Storm Coasts. “We strike, yes, but only if we know the terrain and the timing.”
“We do know it, Rinya.” Kareth snapped.
“Enough.” The single word from Orilan was not loud, but it held weight and the room stilled.
Branfil stepped forwards, setting a glowing sigil on the table. It unfurled into a pulsing image of the eastern coast, sketched in gold and crimson. “Our scouts report that Avelan forces are gathering along the Armathen and Melrathen outer cliffs. Not just patrols. There are fortified camps, temporary fortresses. There are anchor wards, they’re not acting like raiders anymore. They’re moving as settlers, like they plan to stay.”
He glanced at Orilan, who gave a slight nod.
Branfil continued. “We believe the legions are merging there to push inland in one massive force.”
“They’re not just testing the border,” Taelin added. “They’re establishing it.”
The room darkened briefly as Yendel adjusted the projection. “Their ward lines are blood-anchored, but unstable. If we locate the lead caster, likely a necromancer, and sever their thread, the entire defensive grid should collapse.”
Another voice, smooth and honey-laced, “Then perhaps it’s time Edhenvale clarified its stance.”
All eyes turned to the far end of the table. Prince Thalen stood with his usual half-smile, hands folded neatly in front of his dark robes. Light from the table played across the faint glamour that clung to him, silver glinting at his throat.
“My father, the High King of Edhenvale, is too ill to sit in council,” Thalen said. “As regent, I speak with his authority, and I speak plainly now. Edhenvale will not permit the Pale Court to trespass on its soil, or on the soil of any realm that still holds its sovereignty.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We’ve been isolationist, yes. Cautious perhaps, but not passive. We have waited, watched and now we will act.” He flicked his fingers, and two image-glyphs appeared behind him. “Edhenvale offers its full strength. Our ground battalions ride mist elk, they’re swift, silent, enchantment-bound to the forest, and our sky forces will come on stormwings, high-altitude flyers that vanish between clouds, both have seen much battle. We are ready.”
Orilan tilted his head slightly in approval.
Kareth gave a satisfied grunt. “About time the woods showed teeth.”
Thalen dipped his head, still smiling. “We prefer to bite only once.”
“Then we have what we need,” Orilan said. His voice had hardened, sharpened into something like finality. “If Edhenvale joins us, the southern perimeter is no longer a gap, it’s an opportunity.”
“You mean to trap them?” Rinya asked, her brow raised.
Branfil swept another marker across the glowing terrain. “Yes. With forces pushing from the north ridge, and Edhenvale’s battalions flanking from the forest, we may be able to trap the Avelan army between the higher terrain and the coast.”
“And the Thunder from above,” Taelin added. “Dragons and screivens in formation, cutting their retreat.”
“They’ll try to hold their wards,” Yendel warned. “But if our timing is precise, we won’t need to hold the line. We break theirs.”
Rinya crossed her arms. “I’ll place warships at the coastal points. Three fleets, and tide-riders along the southern reef line. Nothing will get past.”
“Let’s not forget the fifteen thousand promised Fayean horn-striders.” Taelin nodded to Branfil. “Send for Ghaul of the Glimmerhold.”
“We strike before the week’s end.” Orilan straightened, adding, “We don’t delay, we don’t scatter, we remain. This is not about repelling. This is about ending the march before it begins.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine – The Sky For You
“Mind your tilt, little ember. Your right wing’s dipping.” Xelaini chided.
