“No.” Pied shook his head. “He had his mind made up last night when I left him, and he’s not changed it. I know him. He goes with his first impression of a plan, and he liked this one right from the start. It doesn’t matter what the risks are. It doesn’t matter that the source is suspect. All that matters is that it’s bold and it favors his nature. Like his father, all he lives for is to break the stalemate and drive the Federation down off the heights and south again. He’s obsessed with it.” He shook his head again. “I can’t reason with him.”

“You have to try.”

“Of course, I have to try. I am being summoned to try. He likes it when he can win these arguments. He forgets that he wins them solely because he is King. But that is the way things are, and I can’t change them.”

They walked in silence, wending their way through the Home Guard units encamped about the King’s pavilion tent, where brightly colored banners flew bravely in the midday breeze, marking the territories they had occupied for months or, in some cases, for years. Elven Hunters came and went with the beginnings and endings of their tours of duty, but the camps remained, like markers in a landscape that had been trampled and pummeled and fought over for so long that nothing recognizable was left. The desolation depressed Pied, the barren earth and broken rock, the colors all brown and gray. He missed the green of his Westland home. He missed the lushness of the trees, the cool breeze off the Rill Song, and the sound of birds singing. He wanted it all back again. Wanted it now. But he would have to wait. Even though he had been there almost two months, he knew it would be another two at least before the King lost interest and went home again.

Still, he knew the situation—had known it from the moment he had accepted his appointment. A Captain of the Home Guard was the King’s right hand, and where the King went, he went, too. This King was not a stay-at-home King. This King was restless.

“You sent Acrolace and Parn to see what they could discover?” he asked finally.

Drumundoon nodded. “Last night. They haven’t returned. Can you stall until they do?”

“Probably not.” He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I wish this wasn’t being rushed so. I would feel better about things if a little more thought were being given to the probable consequences of guessing wrong. It bothers me that we are so eager to charge into things.”

“The King,” Drumundoon pointed out.

“The King, indeed. What sort of advice is he getting? If someone besides me would speak up, we might be able to bring him to his senses.”