‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Jomil, without enthusiasm.
Premian grinned at him. ‘How is it that a man can face swords, axes, arrows and spears without flinching, yet be terrified of a small needle and a length of thread?’
‘I get to whack the buggers with the swords and axes,’ said Jomil. Premian laughed aloud, then moved to the poolside. The water was deep, clear and cool. Kneeling, he cupped his hands and drank deeply, then rising, he walked to the line of Nadir dead. Eighteen men, some of them little more than boys. Anger churned inside him: what a wasted exercise this was. What a futile little war! Two thousand highly trained Gothir soldiers marching through a wasteland to sack a Shrine.
Yet something was wrong, Premian could feel it. An invisible worry nagged at his subconscious. An infantry soldier approached him and saluted. The man had a bloody bandage around his scalp.
‘Can we start cook-fires, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but move further into the rocks. I don’t want the smoke to spook the wagon horses when they arrive. It’ll be hard enough getting them up the slope.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Premian walked to his horse and took needle and thread from his saddle-bag. Jomil saw him and cursed under his breath. Only two hours past dawn, and already the heat was formidable, radiating from the red rocks. Premian knelt by Jomil’s side and eased the flap of skin into place over his right cheekbone. Expertly he stitched the wound. ‘There,’ he said, at last, ‘now you’ll have a fine scar to bewitch the ladies.’
‘I already have more than enough scars to brag of,’ grumbled Jomil. Then he grinned. ‘You remember that battle outside Lincairn Pass, sir?’
‘Yes. You received an unfortunate wound, I recall.’
‘I don’t know about unfortunate. The ladies love the story about that one. Not sure why.’
‘Buttock wounds are always a source of great merriment,’ said Premian. ‘As I recall, you were awarded forty gold crowns for bravery. Did you save any of it?’
‘Not a copper of it. I spent most of it on strong drink, fat women and gambling. The rest I wasted.’ Premian glanced back at the Nadir dead. ‘Something bothering you, sir?’ asked Jomil.
‘Yes . . . but I don’t know what.’
‘You expected there to be more of them, sir?’
‘Perhaps a few.’ Premian strolled to the line of dead warriors, then called out to a young Gothir Lancer. The man ran to his side. ‘You were involved in the first attack. Which of these is the leader?’ The Lancer gazed down at all the faces.
‘It is hard to say, sir. They all look alike to me, vomit-coloured and slant-eyed.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Premian irritably. ‘But what do you remember of the man?’
‘He had a white scarf over his head. Oh . . . and rotting teeth. I remember that. They were yellow and black. Vile.’
‘Check the teeth of the dead,’ ordered Premian. ‘Find him for me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the man, without enthusiasm.
Moving back to Jomil, he reached out, taking the man’s extended hand and hauling him to his feet. ‘Time to work, sergeant,’ he said. ‘Get the infantry out on the slope. I want all the boulders pushed from the trail. We’ve fourteen wagons on the way, and it will be bad enough trying to get them up the slope without needing to negotiate them through a maze of scattered rocks.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The Lancer returned from his examination of the corpses. ‘He’s not there, sir; he must have run off.’
‘Run off? A man who would leap from rock twenty feet high and launch himself into a group of Lancers? A man who could inspire his warriors to die for him? Run off? That is most unlikely. If he is not here then . . . sweet Kama!’ Premian swung on Jomil. ‘The wagons; he has gone after the wagons!’
‘He can’t have more than a handful of men,’ argued Jomil. ‘There are fourteen drivers, tough and armed.’
Premian ran to his horse and stepped into the saddle. Calling out to two of his officers, he ordered them to gather their companies and follow him. Kicking the horse into a run, he left the pool and galloped out on to the slope. As he breasted the rise he saw the smoke more than a mile to the south. At full gallop he pushed the gelding hard. Behind him came fifty Lancers.