The aide shook his head. “Nothing. I hear that the Federation is massing soldiers along its lines, looking to shore up the weaknesses brought about by the departure of the Rovers. That’s the King’s reading of the situation, at least. It reinforces what he already believes, which makes it attractive. It supports the decision he favors. Word is, he sees this war over and done within a week.”

“Celebrating his victory before he’s even engaged his enemy. How very like him.” Pied shook his head. “Something is going on that we don’t know about. I can feel it in my bones. This attack is a mistake. I have to find a way to stop it.”

Drumundoon pursed his lips. “I don’t know this for a fact, but I am given to understand that the King hasn’t advised our allies as yet of his plans.”

Pied came to an abrupt halt, staring at him. “What?”

“He intends to inform them just before he sets out, I’m told. That way, they can’t stop him.” His aide cocked an eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t want to risk anything or anyone getting in his way. He knows he isn’t commander of the Free-born army, that he isn’t even commander of the airship fleet. But he is King of the Elves, and the Elves make up the greater part of the airship command, so in his mind, that’s sufficient justification for striking out on his own.”

Drumundoon glanced around warily, making sure no one else was listening. “Captain, he doesn’t intend to ask for support from any quarter in this business. He intends this victory to belong solely to the Elves. Dwarves, Trolls, and Bordermen can share in it afterwards, once it has been realized, but ultimately it is the Elves who will bring it about. That’s what they say he’s decided.”