Albreck offered Karis a goblet of wine, but she refused. ‘I must leave you, my lord. I am meeting Ozhobar at his forge.’
‘Of course,’ said Albreck, rising with her. ‘But first tell me how your plans are progressing.’
She shrugged. ‘That is hard to say, sir. The weapons are untried against the Daroth, and much depends on the strategies they adopt.’
‘And what of your strategies, Karis?’
She gave a weary smile. ‘In war it is best to act, and therefore force your enemy to react. We do not have the luxury of such a strategy. To attack the Daroth on open ground would be suicidal, therefore the first advantage is his. When you add to that the simple fact that our enemy is telepathic, and many times more powerful than any human warrior, our problems become mountainous. Because of their mental powers I cannot even explain my tactics to my commanders, for fear that the Daroth will discover them. All in all the prospects are bleak.’
‘You sound defeatist,’ he said.
Karis shook her head. ‘Not at all, sir. If the Daroth act as I suspect they will, then we have a chance to hold them. If we can beat off their first attack, we will further sow the seeds of doubt in them. The miracle of the forest will have worried them. If we stop them without magic, it will worry them further. And doubt is a demon that can destroy an army.’
Duke Albreck smiled. ‘Thank you, General. Please continue your duties.’
Karis bowed and left the room. Moving through to
the rear of his apartments, the Duke lit two lanterns and stood staring at the armour hanging on the wooden frame. It had been his grandfather’s, and had been worn by his father in several battles. Albreck himself had never worn it. The helm of iron, polished until it shone like silver, was embellished with the golden head of a roaring lion. The image of a lion had also been added in gold to the breastplate. It was altogether garish and hideously eye-catching. Albreck had always viewed it with distaste.
‘A ruler has to be seen by his warriors,’ his father had told him. ‘And seen in battle as a colossal figure, head and shoulders above other men. A leader must be inspirational. This armour you sneer at, boy, serves that purpose. For when I wear it, I am Corduin.’
Albreck remembered the day his father had led the army from the city. He had watched, with his mother and brother, from an upper balcony in the palace. And that night, when the victorious Duke had returned, he had understood his father’s words. In the moonlight his father had looked like a god.
The memories brought a sigh from him, and he drew the longsword from its scabbard. It was blade-heavy, a knight’s weapon, designed to be wielded from the saddle, striking down at enemy foot soldiers.
Albreck returned it to its scabbard.
A servant entered bearing a tray. ‘Your supper, my lord,’ he said.
‘Set it upon the table.’
‘Yes, my lord. Very fine armour, my lord.’
‘Indeed it is. Tomorrow have it returned to the museum.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Albreck returned to the main room and sat down by the fire, leaving the meal untouched. He fell asleep in the
chair. His night servant found him there, and covered him with a soft blanket.
Avil had never achieved any promotion. He had been a scout now for six years, and had done his job as well as any man. He had just been unlucky. Anyone could have missed a small raiding party coming through the Salian canyon; there were any number of branch passes along the route. It had been so unfair to be forced to carry the blame. Had they known he had been asleep during the raid he would have been hanged. But then a man had to sleep, and Avil felt no guilt about the incident.
But this new woman general, she knew his worth. She had spoken to him personally about this mission, and Avil intended to prove himself to her. She had summoned him to her private quarters, and given him a goblet of fine wine.