‘About that,’ Obadrian replied, biting his lip a little; it was mostly his gargantuan diplomatic efforts that had finally secured the south’s support after all.
‘Including our three thousand heavy cavalry, for once we may even outmatch them.’
It was the King’s turn to take a drink. ‘And to think that Leontius believes that we are on our knees.’ He laughed, Obadrian felt he had never seen him happier. ‘When he
arrives to discuss a settlement he will find Mytha’s own surprise waiting for him – fifteen thousand men ready to crush him for once and for all. If he surrenders and agrees to my
terms, then all is well and good; if he does not, then, Terze, it will be your job to make him reconsider. Where are their troops now?’
‘I have had fresh reports in this morning, Your Majesty,’ said Terze. ‘As you know, they have two armies. The Grand Duke has left Grest recently; he has some five thousand
under his command. The advance army with the forces of Felmere and the south are just the other side of the lake waiting for him; they number another five thousand or so. I am not quite so sure as
to who commands them.’
‘A good question, Your Majesty,’ said Obadrian. ‘We still do not know if the assassin completed her mission; she has yet to return to us.’
‘Which means nothing,’ said the King. ‘She is either dead or on her way here after being successful. For now, let us assume she is dead – it matters not – events
have overtaken her missions anyway. All that matters now is that the Grand Duke has accepted my invitation to discuss terms and is on his way... Personally I cannot wait for his arrival.’
Obadrian fidgeted uneasily in his chair; the King noticed and raised his eyebrow, waiting for the question.
‘There are a couple of matters of concern, Your Majesty – if I may be so bold as to speak of them here and now.’
‘Go on.’ The King was used to Obadrian’s evasiveness.
‘The first thing, Your Majesty, is the concessions we have made to the south to secure their support; we just do not have the gold for...’
‘Leontius will supply the gold; it will be part of the diplomatic settlement.’
‘But Your Maj...’
‘Leontius will supply the gold. The matter is closed. Your other concern?’
‘Chira, Your Majesty. I have heard that they have somehow found out about our turning to Koze for aid. Ambassador Hylas is said to be on his way here to demand an explanation. I just
wondered...’
‘Hylas wintered in Kibil; it will take him a couple of weeks to get here. A couple of weeks for us to end this war and secure lands up to the Helkus or Broken River. There may have been a
time when I wanted to possess all the lands up to Athkaril, but heads must rule hearts given our current constraints. Who knows, though, if we hammer the Grand Duke enough or even capture or kill
him we may still end up with a lot more than we currently imagine possible.’
‘One way or another then, Your Majesty, this war has to end in the next couple of weeks.’ Terze voice was grim, in complete contrast to the King’s exultant mood.
‘Correct, General, prepare my golden armour; this war has to end before Hylas arrives. I need the Grand Duke’s signature on a treaty or it will probably be all of our heads on a
Chiran pike. And, gentleman,’ – the King rested his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the table – ‘I have absolutely no intention of letting that happen.’
Mud and sediment churned up from the bed of the waterway turned the fair river Helkus into a viscous soup as, thus agitated, it continued to roll southwards through a country
of light woods interspersed with plains of tall grass. The reason for the river’s disturbed state was primarily the large column of soldiers and cavalry fording it at its shallowest point.
Sweating and footsore, with the river up over their knees, they trudged onwards, relieved by the thought that they would be making camp soon.
Held aloft at the front of the column as it snaked far into the distance was the great blue banner of Tanaren and the living embodiment of that banner, the Grand Duke himself, sitting atop his
great black charger on the river’s east bank watching the army pass. With him were the Barons Fillebrand and Richney, three men with plenty to think about as they brooded silently under the
dappled sunlight.
It was almost hypnotising, spear after spear after spear marching solemnly past their generals, saluting to the best of their ability when they saw who was watching them. Fillebrand wanted to
broach a subject with his superior but of late Leontius had been remote and uncommunicative. Even a trusted advisor like Fillebrand had found it difficult to talk to him. He decided to try
anyway.
‘My Lord, we are ahead of schedule; we will be at Roshythe in a week or so. Perhaps we could ease up on the forced march for a couple of days. Some of the men are looking leg weary and we
need them fresh at the end of the journey.’
‘Do we?’ said Leontius, singularly unimpressed. ‘We are going to talk terms, not fight.’
‘But, my Lord, we cannot trust Arshumans; bitter experience has taught us that. The men need to be battle ready, no matter how decimated the enemy claims to be. There is nothing more
dangerous than a wounded bear.’
Leontius snapped at him. ‘Fillebrand, a rebellion has been crushed in the north, a rebellion has been almost crushed out here in the east, and a rebellion still festers in the very heart
of my country, barely a hundred miles from my capital. Barons...’ – he glared at Richney – ‘...continue to disobey my instructions and now you wish to warn me of trouble
that hasn’t even materialised yet! Let us deal with one problem at a time.’
Fillebrand bowed his head. ‘As you wish, my Lord, but I would ask you not to be too hard on Baron Richney. It is not always the fault of the general if his army is caught in an
ambush.’
‘Then perhaps you could explain to him the meaning of the phrase “no open engagements” the next time he decides to lead three hundred men to their deaths in a suicidal charge.
I have only kept him here because, let off his leash, he is the enemy’s best weapon!’ Richney reddened but did not speak. His stock had fallen so far in the last few months, he knew
there would be nothing he could say in his defence that Leontius would accept.
‘I would have brought Cooper with me otherwise.’ The Grand Duke continued in a slightly more mollifying tone. ‘Rather than leave him to besiege Axmian; I hope he isn’t
too successful there in a way. I would love to be there when the place finally falls so I can punish the ringleaders myself!’
‘Well,’ said Fillebrand quietly. ‘You have already punished some of them.’
This indeed was true. After the breaking of the siege of Felmere, Tetha Vinoyen had surrendered almost immediately, leaving Axmian and Haslan Falls as the only parts of West Arshuma remaining.
The Grand Duke had launched his own siege of the island fort as soon as he could. Within a week a couple of the ‘barons’ promoted by Fenchard had tried a daring night escape in a small
boat, attempting to get to Haslan Falls. Not daring enough, though, for both were captured the following morning. And to them Leontius had shown no mercy. An hour on the rack had given them the
names of the other traitor barons, before they were both hung within sight of the towers of Axmian. But they were not alone. All the family members of both barons were taken and hung, too. A
curious display, indeed – some fifty people aged between three and seventy, both men and women, hung from a few lengthy scaffolds and left to rot. Haslan Falls had surrendered as soon as the
news of the execution reached them; Axmian, though, would now hang on to the bitter end.
Fillebrand, fighting the rebellion near Tanaren City when he heard the news, had been quite shocked. The Leontius of just a couple of months ago would never have countenanced such actions. But
times had changed. And it was the rebellion at the heart of the country that had affected him most.
It had started following the suspicious death of a baron known to be hostile to Leontius. Schurmann inspired a fierce loyalty among his people, who as a reprisal attacked and burned villages of
those loyal to the Grand Duke. Fillebrand, sent back to deal with the problem, had found that things had escalated in a very short time. Baron Lasthena had become the rebels’ leader and,
although Fillebrand defeated his forces in a couple of battles, they had melted into the Morrathnay Forest from whence they started a hit-and-run guerrilla war that would be very difficult to put
down. Leontius himself had left the war in the east in an attempt to calm the restless populace and he had done well, touring villages and personally talking its people round. He soon saw that this
would be a protracted conflict, though, and so returned to the east to conclude matters there before returning to his capital. Even worse news followed shortly after, however – the north had
rebelled, too. Duke Hartfield was resolving matters there, but his daughter, Leontius’s bride-to-be, had vanished, presumed dead, and dragons, creatures of dread from the pages of history,
had seemingly returned to this world. Tanaren was a country in ferment, a barrel with a dozen leaks, and no one, least of all the Grand Duke, knew which leak to stop up first.
Why were they here now? Well, as they watched the walls of Axmian with snow strewn over the hard ground, a letter arrived from the Arshuman king. As a goodwill gesture he had withdrawn his
troops from Grest and invited the Grand Duke to Roshythe in the spring to discuss peace terms. Leontius, desperate for good news, had accepted immediately and so, after instructing Felmere to do
the same, he had marched as soon as the weather turned, leaving Cooper and a still-formidable force to continue Axmian’s siege.
Leontius looked tortured now; his hair had started to grey and his handsome features were permanently twisted into a concerned grimace. As Fillebrand readied himself to speak again, Leontius
pre-empted him.
‘You are right, Fillebrand. Stand the men down; there is no need to march them into an early grave. Truth be told, I am eager to get back to my palace to deal with things there. Get peace
here and I can concentrate on what really matters to me.’
‘You fret too much about the Morrathnay rebellion, my Lord. They have no figurehead, so they are no real threat to your power. Lasthena is not a figure for thousands to rally
around.’
Leontius shook his head. ‘One will not be long coming if we do not act fast. Lemuel, my brother, could be one; Ysabel, my sister, could be another; you, Fillebrand, could be yet one
more.’
‘My Lord!’ Fillebrand protested. ‘You jest surely. My loyalty to you cannot be questioned!’
At last Leontius smiled. ‘No, it cannot my friend; I just mentioned you for illustrative purposes. We will get peace here and return home together to face this problem.’
Fillebrand appeared pacified. ‘Thank you, my Lord. And both Lemuel and Ysabel’s husband lack the wit or courage to defy you.’
‘Lemuel can be manipulated, and fair Ysabel has ambition, intelligence and beauty enough for two people. And there are others! Rulership makes as many enemies as friends. I need a wife and
child quickly, now my first choice is dead.’
‘Disappeared, not dead,’ Fillebrand corrected him. ‘But there are many good candidates – a late-spring or early-summer wedding cannot harm you, can it?’
‘No,’ said Leontius circumspectly. He raised his arm to attract his captain, the one in charge of signals. ‘We will camp here then. I am happy to concede some territory to
Aganosticlan as long as I can get back quickly; I tire of this part of the world already.’ He rode off to give his orders, leaving Richney and Fillebrand alone. Richney half mumbled to his
companion.
‘The way he has been treating me, I would be happy to be a figure for the rebels to rally around.’
‘Enough of that treason,’ Fillebrand admonished him sharply. ‘Do you want to lie on the rack before watching your family being strung up in front of you? Your position is your
own fault. Had you shown more competence you would be with Duneck at the army’s head, not hidden behind me as an afterthought!’
Richney was silent. Surly but silent. Fillebrand spat on to the ground. Even Leontius’s most loyal nobles were having doubts. A war in the east appeared to be nearly over but the fate of
the country itself, and its potential for civil war, hung on a knife edge. Fillebrand just prayed that he would pick the right side if and when it started; the thought of his wife and children
swinging in the breeze, eyeless with blackened swollen tongues lolling out of their mouths, was too horrific for him to contemplate.
The jailor, smiling politely, led Cedric to the same cell door that had once held Syalin. A Knight of the Thorn stood outside it, winged helmet on, so that only his eyes could
be seen. Cedric was tiring of the sight of such knights for he had just spent an hour with several of them, discussing the fate of the prisoner he was about to visit. The knight stood aside as the
jailor unlocked the door and invited Cedric inside. Cedric nodded cheerfully at him before walking into the cell. ‘Half-hour only,’ he heard the knight say before the door was locked
behind him.
Cheris was wearing a long, shapeless black robe tied with red cord. Mage robes provided by the knights, the robes of a prisoner. She was pale and looked tired but that did not stop her rising
from her seat, smiling and taking his hand. She returned to her seat as Cedric pulled out a stool from behind the small table and sat opposite her.
‘You look well,’ Cheris said. ‘The change in weather must be helping you.’
‘Yes.’ Cedric nodded his head. ‘The weather and Astania are helping; my joints do seem to loosen a little in the warmth. And what do you make of your new rooms? Hardly
preferable to Mathilde’s old chambers, I would imagine.’
‘It is like my room back on the island, only airier. It would be churlish of me to complain.’
‘And futile, I fear. The knights are not forgiving of your transgressions, not yet anyway.’
There was a small pewter plate on the table with a piece of dried bread lying idly on it. Cheris picked it up and started to nibble at it, as fastidious as a hamster.