Chapter 3

"What do you mean he isn't one of the command cadre?" asked Thurus, eyeing the newly-arrived commander. They stood over Verus as he lay in the cot, sleeping soundly. Morlani had said he would sleep a day or two but would awaken mostly well and ready to rise.

Ghurian stood beside Thurus and shook his head. "I've never seen him before, and at his age, I would have met him long before now," he said. The old ranger rubbed a hand over his balding skull. "This man is NOT one of our commanders."

Thurus blinked a few times. "Then who is he?"

"You said his name is Critus Tanverus?" asked Ghurian.

"Yes, sir," replied Captain Thurus. "He had a half-elven aide with him, named Lemovaur of clan Velithar."

The old ranger pondered this for long moments. "You are certain the aid was of clan Velithar?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," repeated Thurus. "Is that significant?"

"It may well be," said Ghurian. "Clan Velithar was a clan that left Windir eight centuries ago to live in a deeply forested section of what was then the Northern Extents of the Western Realms."

"What is it now?" asked the captain.

Ghurian paused a moment. This was a thing that he did, which drove Thurus, and other junior commanders quite mad - his theatrical pauses. "The Senmarch region of Abia," he said.

Thurus quickly forgave the theatrical pause, as it was quite called for, in this instance. "His aide was an Abian half-elf?" he asked. He then turned toward Verus, sleeping on the cot. "That means, he's Abian?"

"It would seem," said Ghurian, a hardness coming to his old gray eyes.

"Still," said the captain, suddenly perplexed, "why, then, did he deliver to us a victory over the Abian legions?"

"Are you certain he did?" asked the commander.

"Yes, sir, he did. Believe me when I say: Without his leadership, we would be routing toward the capital right now with three cohorts of legionnaires on our heels," pronounced Thurus. "His plan was genius. We even had a good laugh when he arrived, that his name sounded like the old Centurion from Abia, Verus. I'll be damned if he didn't deliver us a victory like Verus would have, were he an Islander."

The commander thought a long moment again. Command was reinforcing the garrison even now, by more than a hundred rangers and two hundred more militia. It was in the best defense that the High Command could manage for it, presently. "Load him onto a wagon, one with a decent ride, and prepare for us to remove him to Rondall, we will sort out his identity there."

In under an hour, soldiers transferred Verus to a wagon, with an attendant healer, and Commander Ghurian's contingent left Rennik, bound for the capital. Verus slept through the trip, the wagon, true to Ghurian's request, rode smoothly, even over ruts and muddy road. It was one of the wagons formerly used by merchants to haul fragile goods and fruits. A suspension of leather straps, which reduced the movements to those similar to a ship on water, supported it. Sea sickness was a possibility, and the healer succumbed to it twice, but the ride was smooth enough to allow a recovering, wounded, old soldier to sleep.

On the eve of the second day, they rolled into the beleaguered capital of the Windy Isles. A city of fewer than ten thousands, now swelled to nearly thirty with refugees and military units drawn from throughout the islands and even beyond. Elves were in great evidence, dozens of them, as they felt, in large part, responsible for this invasion, and were freely giving of themselves to reinforce the troubled and invaded nation.

They formed the core of the healer cadre, as their natural ability to mend wounds could well count for more during a battle between men than even their keen aim and skilled swords. Every Islander military unit had at least one elf with it, attending to the duty of being the commander's aide and, secondarily, as the unit's healer. Some units, those expected to see more activity, had many elves in their ranks, both bolstering their numbers with skilled scouts and provided added insurance of healing.

However, the war was going poorly. It seemed that no matter how many galleons the valiant navies of the Isles and Windir sank, more legionnaires were constantly streaming forth from their three beachheads on the Isles. In the last week, the Abians had taken one of the precious trimarans, further demoralizing the Islanders, and terrifying the elves. Until then, the trimarans had represented a form of invulnerability to the Abian threat. They were bulwarks that, while not utterly a wall, represented a massive hindrance to the reinforcement of the Abian camps.

The remaining trimaran captains were now cautious, and the number of ships they were sinking reduced. Scouts reported that the Abian legions were reinforcing strongly now, and they would soon be at full strength. Rumors from spies within Abia also confirmed that four full legions were in the west of the empire, near port cities. The fear was that these legions were poised for a massive assault upon the Isles and all indications were that this was true.

Commander Ghurian meant to find out who this man was, this Critus Tanverus, and discover his part in things. His mind dwelt upon the unpleasantness that an intense interrogation might involve, and looked at the wagon that contained the old man. He did not wish to do what he knew he would probably have to.

However, the decision was not his to make, he discovered. As his company moved through town, they were stopped by a, for elves, massive formation of elven troops. They wore the silver and green livery of the elven king, and were the guards of the ranking elven representative on the Isles, Lord Ambassador Levethan.

"What is this about, commander?" asked Ghurian as the leader of the elven company stepped forward, a grizzled elven soldier named Rethas.

Rethas stood tall, despite his rather diminutive stature, and his presence was palpable. He watched as the old ranger dismounted, and then said, "The Lord Ambassador believes that you are escorting a prison to whom he wishes very much to speak." His Syrisian was clipped and precise, and it carried the unmistakable accent that an elf was speaking.

There was some murmuring among Ghurian's company, but the commander silenced it with a mere glance. He then turned back to Commander Rethas. "He holds no official jurisdiction within the Windy Isles, Commander Rethas. This is my prisoner, and I will not yield him up to a foreign dignitary to be spirited away to sovereign land within my own nation."

The elf considered his words for a moment, though Ghurian could see him controlling a small measure of wroth with care. "Then, Commander Ghurian, honorable veteran of many battles by mine own side, will you not consider a joint custody on your own terms?"

The elves had been prepared for his refusal, and this worried Ghurian more than their mere insistence on taking the captive for their own holding. He put one of his great hands on Rethas' shoulder, in a traditional greeting among warriors of elves and men. "Let us speak in private, my old friend, and perhaps we can make a more reasoned decision," said the old ranger. He looked toward his second. "No one moves until we return."

The captain nodded and began issuing orders. Rethas and Ghurian walked to the side, and, spying a tavern, they walked inside. The innkeeper cleared a side room for the two of them and brought them a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Now, Rethas, what is this about?" said Ghurian, taking a small sip of the wine. He winced at the sourness of it. The wine had been poor since the start of the war as most of the best vineyards were in the south of the isles. Two of the best areas were now beachheads for the Abians.

A minuscule narrowing of the eyes was the only reaction the ever-polite elf granted to the poor quality of the wine. "The man you are carrying is more important than you know, friend."

"I know he is a very accomplished spy, is what I know," said Ghurian. "One so highly valued that the Abians very likely suffered a major defeat to simply to allow him to gain trust."

The old elf, and he was an old elf, bearing gray hair and many lines on his face, very unusual for elves in general, focused his silver eyes upon Ghurian. "We do not believe that was the case," he said. "We believe that the man you transport, and mean to interrogate is none other than Verus, the retired Abian Centurion."

Ghurian barked out a laugh. "I believe the much-vaunted elven spies have, for once, failed you, friend," he said. He took another sip of the sour wine. "Verus retired ten years ago from the service of the Empire, it is well known, for most of their enemies breathed a deep sigh of relief. Hell, I studied his battles at the academy, under your own tuteledge, I might add."

"Be that as maybe," said Rethas, "we believe that you bear him now into Rondall."

Commander Ghurian blinked at him a few times, then asked, "Why do you believe that?"

"I tell you this only as a friend, and it may sour that friendship," said the old elf. "The Lord Ambassador was secretly working on a peace agreement with the Abians to get them to leave the Isles in exchange for certain concessions from the elves."

"What sort of concessions?" asked Ghurian, suddenly very worried.

"We were to agree to training a legion of their forces to ranger status, for the agreement of peace and withdrawal from the Isles and two hundreds of years of non-agression," said Rethas.

"You were going to train rangers for them?" asked the old ranger, stunned. "And you believed they would abide by their half of the agreement?"

"No," said Rethas, "we did not." He looked out the window at the two companies standing, and facing toward one another in the road. "But we figured they would at least withdraw for a while and give your people the respite needed to rebuild and train your own defences."

"Then be set upon by rangers under the enemy's banner!" screamed Ghurian, slamming his fists down on the table.

"The proffered agreement is now moot, friend, please calm yourself," said Rethas. "There will be no training, and no peace. As a matter of fact, there will only be our ultimate defeat, if that man is Verus, and you try and execute him as a spy."

"Wait a moment," said Ghurian. "You never explained why you thought this particular man was Verus. So far, you've only shown me that elves can be as sneaky and foolish as men."

"Old friend, I am not certain if that was an insult or a compliment," said Rethas, chuckling.

Ghurian's expression softened a bit. "Okay, I apologize," he said. "But why do you think that was Verus?"

"Our spies reported that Verus was to escort the Abian negotiator for the cause, a half-elven noblewoman from a clan living in Abia," said the old elf. "The Lady Emogen, who is still regarded as trustworthy by our folk." He sat back and regarded the wine still in his glass dubiously. "We have heard that a half-elven aide was at the side of this 'commander' when he arrived in Rennik. She matches the description we have of Lady Emogen."

"I heard her description, as well, and it would cover about a quarter of all the half-elven women who have been on the Isles," said Ghurian. "You must have more to go on than that."

The elf shrugged. "There is also the matter of the trimaran," said Rethas. "We only recovered the crew that was set adrift two days ago, and they say that it was Verus who bested them."

"Well, a crew would at least hope that a worthy opponent was victorious over them, for certain," said Ghurian. "But it was bound to happen that a trimaran would eventually be overwhelmed by superior numbers."

Rethas laughed. "That is exactly the point, friend Ghurian," he said, "they were bested by a single galleon, and not even a troop transport, at that."

"What?" asked the ranger. "One galleon?"

"One," repeated the elf, holding up a single digit to reinforce the concept.

Ghurian peered out the window again and stared at the wagon with the man aboard. Was that man Verus, the terror of all who faced Abia for nearly thirty years?

"Why would they send their most treasured commander, ever, into harm's way like this?" asked the old ranger.

The elf looked at him levelly. "So we would kill him," he said.

Ghurian blinked a few times, then shook his head. "That makes no sense," he said after the pause.

"Think, if you will, like the Praetor, commander," said Rethas. "You are conducting an unpopular war. Your armies are only barely following your orders, and they refuse to commit further legions to a cause you need at least two more legions to complete. Your finest commander, who would hand you victory easily, refuses to help, and stays in retirement. So, what do you do? You find a way to get the armies to fall into line. Conveniently, that same obstinate leader is also unbelievably popular with the legions. You talk him into a mission to the enemies land, a peace mission, a treaty offering. When the enemy treacherously kills him, your legions immediately fall into lockstep and are more than willing to extract revenge upon the offending nation."

The old commander sighed. "You get four legions, which are conveniently positioned to move quickly, to attack a few days later," he said hoarsely, almost wheezed.

"Seven legions, friend, would crush us like a vintner would crush grapes," said Rethas, setting down his glass. "Though I wager we would be a finer vintage than this rotted fruit."

"I will release the prisoner to you," said Ghurian. "On condition that I can remain with him at all times."

"You, of course would have unlimi..." started Rethas.

"At all times," the commander restated, interrupting the elf. "I do not leave his side."

The elf smiled. "Acceptable," he said.

"You, sir, had better damn well be who we think you are," said Ghurian as Verus blinked at the dim illumination in the room.

He looked around slowly, taking in the surroundings. Wood-paneled walls and finely wrought tapestries met his gaze. He immediately saw the hands of elves in the decor, the delicate scrollwork on the moldings and the intricateness of the tapestries attested to fingers far mor nimble than those of men.

Lastly, his eyes fell of Commander Ghurian, sitting in a chair nearby, sliding a war sword over a whetstone. "If you are not Verus, then you will be very dead shortly."

Verus gave him a weak and resigned smile. "I am Verus," he said. The wave of relief that overcame the old Centurion was like a ton of lead ingots being lifted from his neck and shoulders. He was no longer skulking and was himself again. Verus was a soldier, not a spy, and he discovered that he would rather face death than be deceitful again.

"Good," said the old commander, who looked to be about the same age as Verus, himself. "Though you will excuse me if I seek proof of that claim."

Verus sighed and laid his head back onto the pillow. "If I can prove it, then I shall," he said. He was not even trying to project the Islander accent onto his Syrisian anymore, and spoke plainly.

"Right, then," said Ghurian and stood. He walked to the door and poked his head out, then returned to his seat.

A few minutes later, Commander Rethas entered the room, with a adolescent elven girl with him.

Verus blinked at the two of them and could not help but smile at the girl, who looked very nervous and exceedingly tiny.

"He says he will submit to proving his identity," said Ghurian.

The old elf nodded. Verus noted the war sword on the elf's hip, so he was another soldier. The young girl, obviously, was unarmed. The elf spoke to the girl in his own language, a melodious babble that soothed Verus' ears with its softness and beauty.

The girl answered in a soprano reply, the sound even more soothing than the old soldier's.

She smiled weakly and turned to Verus. "I am called Revandis," she said. "I am the means by which you will prove yourself." Her face was nervous, as was her body language. However, her golden eyes were steady as she regarded him. "You will have to trust me."

"I do," said Verus, his mind drifting to two of his granddaughters, who looked to be this girl's age. He had to remind himself that she was elvenborn, and was probably in her forties.

She nodded again. "Then relax your mind, and think of that trust," she said.

Verus was not quite sure how to do that, but did what he thought was relaxing his mind.

A moment later, he felt something inside his head. It was as if part of his psyche had become like clay, and was being molded. Her eyes dominated everything that he saw. As a matter of fact, her eyes were all that he now saw. A small place in his mind was now empty, his own thoughts pushed aside from that area. Then there was something there.

She was there. He could feel her soft and warm mind inside his skull. It was not as if he were being invaded, though, and a part of him felt ashamed to have such intimacy with such a young woman. His breathing grew short as she filled the void she had created. Her own breathing was short, as well, and her face was shining with sweat.

He thought, incongruously of his mother's cooking, of cinnamon-spiced biscuits. The scent came from the girl, from Revandis. Her smile grew broader. "I am within him," she said, finally. "Ask what you will."

Verus found he could break the intense gaze now. She had left a part of herself within him, he could feel her peering through his mind. It was not enough of her to make him feel occupied, if felt more like a stray thought that was not entirely his own.

Is that you, Revandis? He asked the thought.

There was a brief pause as he felt part of his mind being prodded, then he heard, it is a part of me, Verus, yes, it said.

"Are you, indeed, the Abian Centurion, Primus Pilum Verus?" asked Ghurian.

"I was," Verus replied. Revandis nodded at the same instant. Not only was part of her mind within his, part of his mind was within her.

The old commander's eyes widened a bit at the confirmation. A few moments passed as he thought on this. "Primus Pilum, why have you come?" he asked.

"I came to assist the Lady Emogen in reaching this city to negotiate with the elves for peace," said Verus.

The young elven girl nodded agreement.

"You aren't spying?" asked Commander Ghurian.

"No," said Verus. "If anything, I've committed treason upon my own nation, by aiding Windy Island forces in the defeat of three cohorts of legionnaires."

Again, Revandis nodded, a smile upon her face. "He thinks we should win," she added.

Verus turned quickly toward her.

"Revandis!" said Rethas, then began speaking harsh words in elven. Gone was the soft, melodious tones, and tears welled in the little girl's eyes.

"Stop it!" yelled Verus, with such vehemence that both Ghurian and Rethas took a step back and the elf even reached for his sword, so sure was he that the human would attack him. "She didn't mean to read past my answer, It was my thought, not her doing."