"I am here, Your Majesty." A voice like a great bronze bell filled the Hall of Glory. Grand Pip stood resplendent in armor glazed dark green, matching his son's. Both sets were remnants of the time when House Berlid ruled Halfhill Fort, along with the massive sword "Bonecrusher" now slung across the back of "Black Bear" Grand Pip Berlid. He strode to the red carpet and dropped to one knee. "Save for a small garrison at Halfhill Fort, I've brought all our forces to serve Your Majesty. At your word, they'll charge into the deepest hells themselves."

  "Of that I have no doubt, Lord Grand Pip," the Queen smiled. "You must be worn to the bone after that ride from Halfhill Fort. After the session, please, make yourself at home in the West Palace. The view of the Lunes River is something to behold."

  "The old man left yesterday afternoon. Should've been here by nightfall, but he took the scenic route - said he was afraid the Child Ghouls would give him a boot in the arse!"

  Laughter rippled through the court. Even Grand Pip looked torn between anger and amusement. "You little rascal, mocking your old man now? Who used to wet his pants at the mere mention of Child Ghouls?" He stepped forward and swept his son into a bear hug. "Gods, boy, your voice has grown even louder."

  (A father and son, reunited at last,) Claire thought, watching them with quiet satisfaction. Little Pip had left home upon reaching manhood, moving to the city. Once they'd met every other year, but with monsters plaguing East Kuren Mountain lately, Grand Pip rarely ventured down. Three years had passed since their last meeting.

  "How touching, this reunion." The words, nearly lost in the laughter, came from a man lounging in a modest chair, arms crossed. Beside him sat Duke Snyth - they could have been twins, both lean and sharp-eyed, sharing the same sardonic drawl. "Well, with Lord Grand Pip's five thousand, I guess there's bugger-all for my two thousand greenhorns to do."

  "You mistake the matter, Lord Grace," Archmage Hamilton stroked his white beard. "These are desperate times - we need every sword. Your elite forces will only sharpen our blade."

  (Another one with that mocking tone,) the Queen mused, though she preferred it to the booming voices. "Who commands Hilltop Fort now?"

  "My son, Your Majesty," Grace bowed. Rhones Lord whispered swiftly in the Queen's ear. "Ah, Lord Penlico," she smiled. "It has been so long since I saw him last." (Truth be told, I've never seen him at all.)

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  "I left that useless boy some men. The rest I brought here." Grace's fingers drummed rhythmically. "What moves do we make next?"

  The Archmage returned to his seat. "Forgive me, my lords. These old bones protest long standing." Once seated, he waved away his staff. "To plan our next step, we must know where we stand." He nodded to a knight at his side, who stepped forward.

  "The Shadowgreen Knight presents himself to Your Majesty." The knight, wrapped in dark green, knelt.

  "Ah, Sir Lothar." (Him I do remember.) The Queen smiled warmly. "Rise, please. Tell us how the war progresses."

  "By your command, Majesty." Rising, he resumed his place. "We've won small victories. At first, our Shadowgreen Knights held the enemy completely - they couldn't even cross the Doby Stream. But now things grow dire. Godma's reinforcements arrive daily. By our count, they numbered eighty thousand as of last night."

  "And more come," Sir Kevon added.

  "Indeed. Their reinforcements continue flowing in. Using their numbers, they gnaw at our outskirts. They've taken half of Ronnar, a quarter of Sida. Soon they'll control all our suburbs - even Wafflo, right at our gates."

  "Let me lead the charge, Majesty," Grand Pip declared. "Give me a month, I'll send them running home like whipped dogs."

  "Direct confrontation serves us ill, Lord Grand Pip," Baron Grace propped his chin on his fist. "Did you not hear? They number eighty thousand. We might as well march our entire army outside the walls - we'd die slightly slower that way."

  Archmage Hamilton ignored the barb. "Sir Lothar, what forces remain outside our walls?"

  "Fewer than a thousand Shadowgreen Knights," Lothar's face darkened. "That's why I'm here. We need more men to face their growing numbers."

  "I understand your situation, Sir Lothar," the Queen forced a smile. "But last time you stood before us, you also requested reinforcements. I gave you five hundred then. To send more now means drawing from our regular army - no small matter."

  "Take my men, Your Majesty!" Grand Pip boomed. "Lothar, lad, just say the word!" Lothar bowed in gratitude.

  "Ah, then we thank you, Lord Grand Pip," the Queen kept smiling. (At least they show sense.)

  "Still, relying solely on Shadowgreen Knights to harass the enemy isn't enough. We must prepare for siege," the Archmage said. "What becomes of their cloaks when they fall?"

  "They burn themselves away." Lothar looked proud. "The dryads' magic ensures it. When the wearer dies, the cloak ignites. The enemy won't claim our green cloaks."

  "Good." The Archmage twisted his beard. "If those fell into enemy hands, our dryad alliance might falter." He turned to the Queen. "Majesty, one last piece of news remains. I fear it brings no comfort."

  "Speak freely, dear Archmage," the Queen said. "You haven't been secretly negotiating with Godma, have you?"