‘Indeed so, sir. Then why not make it two thousand?’
The Grey Man had smiled. ‘Why not five hundred?’
Chardyn had chuckled then. ‘The thousand is ample, sir. I was but jesting.’
The Grey Man dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled across to the little group. He moved, Chardyn noted, with an easy grace that spoke of confidence and power. He was wearing a dark chainmail shoulder-guard over a black leather shirt, leggings and boots. Two short-swords were strapped to his waist, and over his shoulder was slung a small double-winged crossbow. There was not a glint of shining metal upon him, and even the chainmail had been dyed black. Though Chardyn had chosen the priesthood he had been raised in a military family. No soldier, in his experience, would pay extra to have his armour dulled. Most wanted to stand out, to shine in battle. The Grey Man’s garb achieved the exact opposite. Chardyn flicked a glance at the steeldust gelding. The stirrups and bridle, and even the straps on the saddlebags, were dulled. Interesting, he thought.
The Grey Man nodded towards Chardyn, and gave a courteous bow to the Duke.
‘Your company was not requested,’ said the Duke, ‘but I thank you for taking the trouble to join us.’
If the Grey Man registered the mild rebuke he did not show it. He glanced at the screen of archers. ‘If the mist appears it will swamp them,’ he said. ‘They will need to be more closely grouped. They also need to be told to shoot swiftly at first sight of a black hound. Their bite carries vile poison.’
‘My men are well trained,’ said Lord Aric. ‘They can look after themselves.’
The Grey Man shrugged. ‘So be it.’ Tapping the Chiatze warrior on the arm, he led him deeper into the ruins, where they sat in close conversation.
‘He is an arrogant man,’ snapped Aric.
‘With much to be arrogant about,’ put in Chardyn.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Aric.
‘Exactly what it says, my lord. He is a man of power – and not just due to his wealth. You can see it in his every movement and gesture. He is, as my father would have said, a man of dangerous ashes.’
The Duke laughed. ‘It is a long time since I heard that phrase. But I tend to agree.’
‘I have never heard it at all, sire,’ said Aric. ‘It sounds meaningless.’
‘It’s from an old tale,’ said the Duke. ‘There was an outlaw named Karinal Bezan. A deadly man who killed a great many people, most of them in one-on-one combat. He was arrested and sentenced to be burnt at the stake. When the executioner stepped forward and applied the torch to the tinder Karinal managed to get one hand free. He grabbed the man and dragged him into the flames and they died together, the man screaming and Karinal’s laughter ringing above the roar of the blaze. Some time after that the phrase “You can burn him – but walk wide around the ashes” came into use to describe a certain kind of man. Our friend is just such a man. With that in mind, I suggest you move your men closer to the camp and pass on his warnings about the black hounds.’
‘Yes, sire,’ said Aric, struggling to control his anger.
The Duke rose and stretched. ‘And you, sir,’ he said to Chardyn, ‘should walk among the men and offer them the blessing of the Source. They are far too nervous, and it will stiffen their resolve.’
And who will stiffen mine? thought Chardyn.
Kysumu listened quietly as Waylander told him of his conversation with the priestess. The Rajnee tapped the black hilt of his sword. ‘There is no proof that he is the enemy. If there was I would slay him.’
‘Ustarte says he cannot be killed.’
‘You believe that?’
Waylander shrugged. ‘I find it hard to believe he could survive a bolt through his heart, but then he is a magicker, and such powers are beyond my understanding.’
Kysumu glanced round at the archers, taking up fresh positions. ‘If the mist comes, many will die here,’ he said softly. Waylander nodded, and watched as the priest, Chardyn, strolled among the men, administering blessings. ‘You think Eldicar Manushan plans to kill us all?’