Storm Rising by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page B

Valde-marans wouldn’t keep an assassin alive. They’re probably working out ways to pickle his head and send it to High Priest Solaris in Karse.
    In fact, given the evidence from Valdemar, the assassin must have been caught before he did any damage. Only that would account for the seamless way in which Selenay and her allies were presenting themselves.
    He botched the assassination, then he botched his attempt to escape. That’s what I get for relying on operatives someone else puts in place.
    He shook his head and checked in a desk drawer for a headache remedy. Like the Hardornens, he had other things to worry about besides far-off Valdemar. At the moment, there was nothing they could or could not do to him or the Imperial forces. And there was nothing he could do to or about them.
    It was far more important to deal with the immediate survival of his own troops.
    I must have those plans for winter quarters. ShouldI step up the patrols? What are we going to do about food supplies if the plan can’t be carried out?
    Could he get his men to help the locals make a really
efficient
harvest? There was always grain left in the fields, but if he sent his men out to glean behind the harvesters, there would be that much more—
    It might not seem like much, but experience had taught him that many small gains often added up to a large total. If he could just find enough of those little gains, he might have enough to ensure his victory against his real enemy.
    Not Valdemar, but the mage-storms, and what the storms gave birth to.
Concentrate on one enemy at a time. I can’t afford to divide my attention or my re-sources….
    Frantic pounding at his bedroom door woke him. He had taken to leaving a single lamp burning, not because the darkness disturbed him, but because he might be awakened at any hour. He raised himself up on one elbow, instantly alert. “Enter!” he called imperiously. Keitel, Sejanes’ apprentice, burst in the moment he spoke the word. Behind him trailed his aides with more lamps and his clothing. Only one thing could have brought Keitel and the aides here at this hour, in such a state of excitement.
    “The Portal?” he asked, reaching for his trews and pulling them on.
    “It’s up, Commander,” the skinny youngster blurted, every hair on his head standing up in a different direction. “Sejanes sent for the men—he said to tell you the Portal’s unstable, he doesn’t know how long he can hold it open, but that you’ll have the time for what we need most.”
    “Get back to him, then; he’ll need everyone to keep it open, including you.” Excitement chased the last sleep-fog from his mind. The youngster nodded, hesitated for a moment, then fled the room. Tremane pulled on the rest of his clothing, his aides handing each piece to him as quickly as he donned the last. From his bedside table he took the packet of papers he had readyand stuffed it into the breast of his tunic. He jumped to his feet, stamping hard to settle his boots in place, and turning that motion into a leap of his own for the door. His aides and guards sprinted down the hall behind him; from their panting he was amused to think they were finding it unexpectedly difficult to keep up with “the old man.”
    Didn’t pay any attention to the amount of time my swordmaster spends training me, obviously.
The few guards and the like that he passed stared after him with eyes wide and mouths agape. The Commander never ran—
    Except when time is against us.
If Sejanes said that the Portal was unstable, he was not exaggerating for effect. Tremane cursed as his boot soles slipped and skidded on the stone floors; this would be a fine time to slip and break an ankle!
    The manor was built around a central courtyard, and it was here that the mages had set up their working area. Tonight the courtyard was ablaze with light, torches in every available sconce—and in the center of the courtyard, doubling the illumination, was the Portal.
    To