The Seven Towers by Patricia C. Wrede

“Kird is a good captain; he knows when to force his men.”
    “I don’t disagree, but he isn’t dealing with trained soldiers, remember,” said a short, brown-haired woman who had been introduced to Jermain as one of Carachel’s advisers. “Even Kird can’t do much with raw peasants.”
    “If we have another week of good weather, he’ll be here,” the commander said stubbornly.
    “I am afraid you are wrong, Suris,” Carachel said, looking up from his own conversation with a stiff little man in red. “Kird and his men will not reach us in time.”
    “What?” Commander Suris jerked his head in Carachel’s direction.
    “Kird will not reach us before we begin to move,” Carachel repeated.
    “Why not, my lord?”
    “Because I cannot wait any longer. We march south tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 7
    M arreth’s face grew even darker. “New information? Ridiculous! You weren’t even here when Trevannon was exiled.”
    “Pity about that; I might have been able to keep you from getting into this mess,” Vandaris said. “Not that you’d ever listen to me.”
    “Trevannon was plotting against me!”
    Eltiron opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. Vandaris must have some reason for baiting Marreth so deliberately, and he doubted that an outburst from him would help any. At the edge of his vision, he saw Terrel moving toward the argument, and he shifted position slightly so he could watch Terrel without being too noticeable.
    Marreth was still bellowing at Vandaris in a voice that shook the crystal goblets on the tables behind him. “. . . a traitor, and he’s been exiled, and that’s the end of it!”
    “Not if you’re wrong, lard brain.”
    Marreth stopped short and stared at Vandaris through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”
    Eltiron saw a startled expression cross Terrel’s face, and then Vandaris said, “You really want to talk about it here?”
    Marreth shook his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And you’d better be able to explain, or I’ll send you after Trevannon!”
    “I can think of worse things that could happen. Getting fat and out of shape, for instance.”
    “I’ve had enough of your insults! You’ve had your say; now leave.”
    “Did I say anything about you? I didn’t think I had. Let’s see.” Vandaris looked Marreth over critically and shook her head. “Now that you mention it, you don’t look particularly well. You really ought to do something about yourself, Marreth, or you’ll collapse in the middle of a Council someday, the way old Carawn did. Darinhal is a better physician than the one Carawn had, but there are limits.”
    “Out! Get out of this room at once! Now! ”
    “And miss dinner? Of course not! I don’t have to worry about eating too much.”
    “Vandaris! . . .”
    Vandaris smiled and sketched a bow. “Until tomorrow, then.” Without even glancing at Marreth’s outraged face, she turned and strolled toward the tables. Eltiron nearly followed her, but prudence kept him standing where he was. Following Vandaris would only irritate Marreth further, and besides, there would be little likelihood of talking to her privately until the dinner was over.
    Eltiron’s reflections were interrupted by Marreth, demanding that the steward have dinner served at once. The castle servitors responded quickly, and soon the long tables were full of rich food and nervous courtiers. Marreth spent most of the meal glowering down the length of the table at his sister; he barely noticed the ornamental woman who had joined him at the head of the table. Terrel, for once, did not make Eltiron the object of his barbed comments. He, too, was watching Vandaris, with an odd, speculative look that Eltiron disliked intensely.
    As a result of Terrel’s preoccupation, Eltiron had no need to make conversation during the meal. He was glad to be spared the effort; he was determined to talk to Vandaris privately, and he spent much of dinner planning the best way of doing so. When the meal