"He has his own tongue, Duke," the queen said with deadly softness. Grand Pip fell immediately silent, unaccustomed, like everyone present, to such steel in Claire's voice. Little Pip clamped his mouth shut, his gaze flicking between his father's stern face and the queen's unnerving calm.

  "Hmph... though perhaps there's truth in what you say," Claire gave a humorless smile. "Perhaps even the tens of thousands mustered here in Phyal are as dust before the Godman tide." She rested her head against the throne's high back. Rhones noticed the unshed tear glistening in the corner of her eye. "Does any other lord wish to speak?" she asked after a measured silence.

  "In truth..." Sir Loyes, the commander-in-chief, seemed to have been restraining himself with difficulty. "I had not intended to commit significant forces to Pafaheim's defense. Our numerical disadvantage is too pronounced; engaging the enemy outside our walls would favor them decidedly. A small but elite contingent defending the gate should suffice to delay the Godmans' advance..."

  "Delay?" The word was ice in the queen's voice. "Why delay, Sir Loyes, and not stop them?"

  "We cannot guarantee the gate will hold, Your Majesty. Should we commit excessive forces to Pafaheim or Wafflo, they risk annihilation by the Godman vanguard. We would then lack sufficient numbers to defend Phyal and its immediate territories. My strategy concerns not merely the outer defenses, but the inner. I will dispatch reinforcements according to the enemy's movements, Your Majesty. This represents our most viable approach."

  Claire Grace sat straighter, her teeth worrying her lower lip for a moment. Then, a curt nod.

  "I, too, favor reinforcing Kadenford," declared Grand Pip, after directing a withering glare at his son. "Sir Grace, what force do you propose to lead back?"

  "My command numbers but twelve hundred. That constitutes my entire strength." Grand Pip's brow furrowed. "Twelve hundred, even combined with your son's forces, may prove insufficient. I could detach a portion of my men to accompany you."

  "You've already lent men to the Shadowgreen Knights," his son whispered. Grand Pip shot him another quelling look.

  "I thank you for the offer, Earl Berlid. But your men must meet the first shock of the Godman assault, whether at the gates or before them. To weaken your shield wall now would be folly."

  "Numbers need not concern you," Duke Snit interjected, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "I have long prepared to meet the Godmans beyond our walls. Moreover, I will secure assistance from the Duke of Pafaheim."

  "The Duke of Pafaheim?" Claire asked Rhones Lord in a low voice. "He takes his name from the city?"

  "Indeed, the city bears the family name," the knight explained. "His lineage stretches back to Cynthia's founding—one of the original noble houses."

  "A founding house?" the queen asked, perplexed. "Why then has he never attended court? I cannot recall ever having met him."

  Snit's mouth twisted with undisguised contempt. "Never seen the old relic step inside the palace myself. He sits guarding his own little patch of dirt like a brooding hen."

  "Your Majesty," the Archmage intervened, "the Duke's absence from court stems from his advanced years. Whether this constitutes a genuine excuse remains debatable, but I understand well the infirmities of age..." He massaged his lower back with a grimace. "Moreover, until recently, the Duke busied himself with resettling rural populations within city walls. And he did attend King Salt's funeral—a robust knight with a snow-white beard. Perhaps Your Majesty recalls him?"

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  "Ah... yes, of course." (Not the slightest recollection.) "Very well. But pray tell, how many men does he command?"

  "His household guard numbered twelve thousand once, Your Majesty."

  "Why was I not informed of this sooner?" Claire Grace exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. "With such numbers at our disposal, we could easily reinforce Kadenford..."

  "Originally, Your Majesty. I specified the historical count." Archmage Hamilton sighed heavily, his beard quivering with the motion. "Those forces have since been fully integrated into Cynthia's regular army."

  "...You mean to say..."

  "From the moment he commenced evacuating the countryside, every infantryman and knight under his command was transferred to Cynthia's royal forces. He desired his vassals to march beneath Cynthia's banner, to fight for the realm rather than for Pafaheim alone. The Duke retains merely a few hundred men to safeguard his personal estate." He cast a meaningful glance toward Duke Snit. "So you see, Your Majesty, the Duke's men are already counted within our royal army."

  Claire Grace appeared unsurprised by this revelation. "Take my men as well, Sir Grace," Grand Pip insisted. "I shall retain sufficient numbers to secure Pafaheim." Baron Grace nodded, resignation evident in his bearing. "Your enthusiasm overwhelms, gentlemen, yet you neglect to await Her Majesty's command," Duke Snit observed dryly.

  "I appreciate your reminder, Duke Snit." The queen offered a thin smile, determination hardening in her eyes. "Have all present spoken?" When silence confirmed it, she thought, (Good... Their counsel is given. No more time for hesitation, no further excuses. Decide, Claire. You are queen, sovereign of Cynthia, descendant of the Argonians, heir to Alaxia's legacy.) She continued aloud, "On balance, I concur with Baron Grace—Kadenford must receive reinforcement. However, I impose one condition." She paused deliberately. "I shall accompany the force."

  A stunned murmur swept the hall. "This cannot be permitted, Your Majesty!" Archmage Hamilton forgot his spinal complaints, springing to his feet. "Even departing immediately, without a moment's delay, the journey to Kadenford requires the better part of a day. Furthermore, the royal carriage cannot maintain speed consistently—many roads are too treacherous for such conveyance. These elven-crafted carriages serve ceremonial purposes, not wartime exigencies."

  "The Archmage speaks wisely, Your Majesty," Rhones Lord added urgently. "Safety considerations alone render this impractical. Amid battlefield chaos, ensuring your protection becomes virtually impossible."

  (They see me as a child still, a hatchling tucked beneath the wing.) "Who spoke of carriages?" She arched an eyebrow. "I intend to ride. Meaning... ah..." She momentarily struggled to articulate her thoughts. "I shall accompany the army, understand? No—rather, I shall lead the reinforcement personally. Is my meaning now clear?"

  A thick silence fell upon the Hall of Glory once more, broken only by the flicker of candlelight on utterly bewildered faces. "Your Majesty," Baron Grace ventured cautiously, "you propose to personally command the relief force to Kadenford?"

  "Precisely." Claire Grace lifted her chin, the smooth column of her throat catching the light. "Does my decision present difficulties? And naturally, Baron Grace, you shall accompany me..."

  The baron studied his queen carefully. "My concern lies not with my own circumstances, Your Majesty, but with yours. You intend to personally ride forth and command an army? This seems somewhat... irregular."

  "Irregular?" Suddenly she rose from the throne. The assembled nobles scrambled hastily to their feet. (Stand firm, Claire. This moment defines you. Remember your lineage.) She drew a steadying breath. "Then pray enlighten me, Baron Grace—when my late husband, King Salt, resolved to lead our forces to Crividsylvan's aid, did you declare his decision 'irregular'?"

  "I did not, Your Majesty." Rhones knew he'd struck one nerve, and now twisted the knife in another. "But King Salt... King Salt was a King. And you, Your Majesty, are 'only' a Queen."

  "And what distinction do you perceive?" She fought to master the complex emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "A queen, no less than a king, represents the sovereign authority."