He rose, stretched to relieve cramped muscles, and stared down at the maps one final time. The whole of the Prekkendorran lay revealed in cartographic rendering, the positions of each army, Free-born and Federation, painstakingly delineated. It had taken someone a long time to do this, he thought. But it was a onetime job, since neither army had moved more than a few feet in over two years.

Until now, perhaps.

He reached for his weapons and began buckling them on. A brace of long knives went about his waist, and a short sword was strapped over one shoulder. He picked up his longbow as well, an unusual weapon for a member of the Home Guard. Their primary duty was to defend the King, which more often than not entailed hand-to-hand combat. But Pied favored the longbow, a weapon both versatile and reliable. Like most members of the Elven army, he had done a tour of duty on the Prekkendorran, serving as an archer in the ranks for six months, then as the leader of a long-range scouting unit that spent the bulk of its time deep in enemy territory. Both assignments required extensive reliance on the longbow, and he had never felt comfortable without it since. It was his work on the Prekkendorran that had gotten him noticed and appointed to the Home Guard on his return. The longbow was his good-luck charm.

Besides, he was short and slight of build, and hand-to-hand combat with broadswords was never going to favor him. Skill and quickness were what he relied on, and the longbow was a weapon that utilized both.

He glanced around his quarters to see if anything else needed doing, decided it didn’t, that he had stalled as long as he was able—though not nearly long enough to suit him—threw on his cloak, and went out through the tent flap.

Drumundoon came to attention, a habit he couldn’t seem to break, even when only the two of them were present. Tall and lanky, he towered over the shorter Sanderling. “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning, Drum.” Pied led the way as they moved down through the Elven camp toward the King’s tent. He brushed back his mop of sandy hair and squinted up at the cloudless sky. “So he’s made up his mind.” He shook his head. “I wish he’dwait.”

“You don’t know what he’s decided,” Drumundoon ventured hopefully. “He might have decided not to try it.”