and—”
“I don’t want to make a big thing of this, girl, but he needs to go. Today. So just tell him what he wants to know.”
Now it had begun, and she had only one chance to make this work with all involved. First—her father.
“And lose out on a perfect opportunity?” she asked, her heart beating fast, although she knew her face showed her father nothing.
“What opportunity? What you think you’ll get from him?”
“Father,” she said, making sure to add a note of impatience, “if you’re simply going to hand the information over to him anyway, give me ten minutes to see what I can get on my own. Where’s the harm?”
“I don’t know—”
“At the very least let Eymund try,” she offered innocently. “Lord Gwenvael seems to like him.”
“No!” Her father took a breath, fought for calm. She made sure to look appropriately bewildered, hours in front of her mirror practicing finally paying off. He motioned her toward the door. “Go. Talk to him. You got until I get myself a pint to get something out of him. After that you tell him everything and get him out of here.”
“Yes, Father.” She pushed open the door, walked in, and quietly shut it.
She sat in her father’s chair on the other side of the table. The dragon, in chain mail and a surcoat, had his boot-shod feet up on the table.
He smiled at her. “Well?”
“We’ve got ten minutes.”
“All right.” He dropped his feet to the floor and placed his hands on top of the wood. They stared at each other across the distance. “So what do you want?”
“Five legions.”
“Five?” he asked, incredulous. “Are you mad?”
“No. You want to save that precious queen of yours, don’t you?”
“Ten army units. That seems fair.”
“Don’t insult me, Lord Gwenvael. Four legions.”
“How do I know your information is worth even one army unit, much less four full legions?”
“It is.”
He sat back in his chair. “If what you have to tell me is solid…perhaps one legion.”
“One?”
“That’s fifty-two-hundred men, Lady Dagmar.”
Dagmar let out a sigh, tapped her fingers against the table until grudgingly answering, “Fine.”
“Good. Now tell me what you know.”
“Someone wants your queen dead.”
Dagmar jumped when Gwenvael’s head hit the table, his arms flying out at his sides. “Is that the best you have to tell me?” Reason help her, he did have a love of the dramatic.
His head lifted from the table, and he speared her with his glare. “I know this already. Everybody wants her dead. They’ve wanted her dead for years! Tell me I haven’t wasted my time here!”
“Are you done? Because I’m not.”
“Thank the gods for that.” He impatiently gestured for her to continue.
“It’s my understanding that a party from the Ice Lands is making its way south, toward Dark Plains.”
“The Ice Lands? I didn’t know anyone even lived there.”
“They do. You think this terrain is harsh? It’s nothing compared to there. The people there are strong, hearty, and very unfriendly. And the bigger problem for you is that most travel underground.”
“Whatever for?”
“There are sudden, deadly ice storms that hit at any moment of any day in the Ice Lands—hence the name.” He snorted, and she continued. “So the dwarves began digging tunnels. First just leading from mine to mine, clan to clan. But they quickly realized they could make money offering ways in and out of the territory for those other than dwarves.”
“You’re telling me someone’s sent assassins underground? That’s worth about twenty army units, my lady.”
“They’re not assassins. There are hundreds of cults in the Ice Lands. They live to serve the gods who, in my opinion, deserted them long ago. The ones coming for your queen worshipped Arzhela. In honor of her they want your queen’s babes. They want their blood. As you well know, my lord, those hired to fight are vastly different from those who believe in a cause. They’ll stop at nothing. Absolutely nothing to kill your queen and her unborn offspring.”
All drama and humor left the dragon’s face as he stared at her, knowing the truth of her words. He slumped back in his chair. “Are you sure this information is accurate?”
“My source is impeccable.”
“Understood.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “One legion.”
“Excellent.”
He stood and Dagmar knew she had to take her chance now.
“There’s something else.”
Gwenvael looked down at her. “What?”
“The tunnels from the Ice Lands lead through the Northlands, into the south, until they reach the desert lands of Alsandair.”
His face went blank, his jaw slack. “I don’t…what?”
“If they took the right tunnel, they could come up in the middle of your Main Hall and you wouldn’t know it until they speared you clean, tore her apart, and took her babes.” She sat back in her chair. “None of you know about the tunnels, do you?”
“I don’t understand. If those tunnels exist, how come none of your kinsmen—”
“To bring a full army through there would be impossible. The dwarves made sure of that. Plus its use wasn’t for Northlanders but for those from the Ice Lands who rarely call for war against anyone but each other. Most Northlanders don’t even know the tunnels exist. And the few who do are not keen on the idea of battling anything underground. Tunnels are always risky.”
“But you know this information.”
“I have learned friends.”
“You said if they take the right tunnels. I need to know which tunnels those are—I need to know all the tunnels.”
Dagmar’s toes curled in her boots. “I could get you that information.” She took a breath. “For a price.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Two legions. Total.”
“No.”
