The Tyrant's Tomb

Bless him, Frank managed to maintain a poker face. “Okay. I can leave if
—”
“No, no.” I slipped the arrow back in my quiver. “It needs time to
process. What brings you out here?”
“Walking the elephant.” Frank pointed to Hannibal, in case I might be
wondering which elephant. “He gets stir-crazy when we don’t have war
games. Bobby used to be our elephant handler, but…”
Frank shrugged helplessly. I got his meaning: Bobby had been another
casualty of the battle. Killed…or maybe worse.
Hannibal grunted deep in his chest. He wrapped his trunk around a
broken battering ram, picked it up, and started pounding it into the ground
like a pestle.
I remembered my elephant friend Livia back at the Waystation in
Indianapolis. She, too, had been grief-stricken, having lost her mate to
Commodus’s brutal games. If we survived this upcoming battle, perhaps I
should try to introduce Livia and Hannibal. They’d make a cute couple.
I mentally slapped myself. What was I thinking? I had enough to worry
about without playing matchmaker to pachyderms.
I climbed down from my perch, careful to protect my bandaged gut.
Frank studied me, perhaps worried by how stiffly I was moving.
“You ready for your quest?” he asked.
“Is the answer to that question ever yes?”
“Good point.”
“And what will you do while we’re gone?”
Frank ran a hand across his buzz cut. “Everything we can. Shore up the
valley’s defenses. Keep Ella and Tyson working on the Sibylline Books.
Send eagles to scout the coast. Keep the legion drilling so they don’t have
time to worry about what’s coming. Mostly, though? It’s about being with
the troops, assuring them that everything is going to be okay.”
Lying to them, in other words, I thought, though that was bitter and
uncharitable.
Hannibal stuck his battering ram upright in a sinkhole. He patted the old
tree trunk as if to say, There you go, little fella. Now you can start growing
again.
Even the elephant was hopelessly optimistic.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I admitted. “Staying positive after all
that’s happened.”