certain troops of yours?”
“That goes without saying,” Tempus growled while Theron looked back and forth
between the two, uncomprehending.
When Molin had hurried away in a swish of robes, Theron elbowed Tempus and said,
light eyes sparkling, “Don’t suppose you’d tell an old warhorse what all that
was about?”
“Petty squabbles, unimportant. Now tell me about this expedition you want to
mount-the one to the uncharted east, beyond the sea. It interests me; I’m
restless. My men need some mortal enemies to fight-this going up against magics
and the gods tends to dull an army’s spirit. They want a battle they can win
upon their own.”
And Theron was glad to do that. They worked it out, on the way down to see
Nikodemos and the fabled Stormchildren in their nursery: Tempus would take his
forces-Stepsons and 3rd Commando and whomever else he chose from the empire’s
legions, and strike east. He’d ship the horses such cavalry must have, and
weapons and provisions; he’d bring back intelligence and rare goods, if there
were any; he’d set up embassies for trade and size up weak principalities for
conquest. And he’d do it without any help from witch or god-taking just Jihan
(and Randal) and his fighters.
The two old friends shook hands as they came down a flight of stairs and headed
for the nursery, with Theron sighing wistfully, “I only wish that I could join
you, Riddler. This kinging is even less than it’s cracked up to be. But it makes
me feel less trapped, setting you free, even for a few months….”
Tempus pushed the door inward and Theron fell silent.