‘I understand,’ said Astila dully. ‘I will go and prepare for the night.’
‘No. We must accept that we have lost the greater battle – merely put a shield on Karnak and those of his officers we can cover.’
‘The Brotherhood will have the run of the fortress.’
‘So be it. These are strong men, Astila. Good men. They will stand, even against the despair-clouds.’
‘You believe that? Truly?’
‘What else is there to believe when we are bereft of choice? Some will falter, some will die. Others will fight back. I cannot believe that evil will triumph. I cannot.’
‘It has triumphed elsewhere and now the land is in ruins.’
‘It has not triumphed here, Astila.’
‘The war is not yet over, Dardalion.’
Jonat’s sleep was plagued with bad dreams and he awoke with a start. He had seen his dead father dance as they cut him down from the gallows tree, his face purple, his tongue distended. Yet still he danced as the nobles laughed and threw copper coins – the nobles, dining on larks’ tongues while his father begged for bread; paying more for a goblet of wine than his family saw in a month. Jeering, mocking.
He sat up, shivering. High on the walls Karnak walked with Gellan and Dundas. Jonat spat.
If only they had listened to him a year ago, the Vagrians would never have invaded. But the nobles thought differently. Cut down the Legion. Throw soldiers out of honest work. Let them starve, for the farms could not support them all. And who cared about the common soldier? No one. Least of all silk-robed noblemen with their gem-encrusted swords. What would they do if all the common soldiers went home? Both Vagrian and Drenai? Would the nobles fight among themselves? No. The game would be over, the fun spoiled.
He was jerked from his thoughts by Gellan’s arrival. The officer sat down beside him.
‘I saw you were awake. Mind if I join you?’
‘Why not?’
‘How are you faring?’
‘Well enough.’
‘I wish I was. I don’t think I can handle too many days like today. You ever feel like that?’
‘Sometimes. It’ll pass, sir – when the first attack comes tomorrow.’
‘I hope so. You did well today, Jonat; you held them together when all seemed lost. Not many men could have done that. It’s a gift and I saw it in you from the first. I’m proud of you – I mean that. That’s why I promoted you.’
‘Not because I was a rabble-rouser?’ snapped Jonat.
‘No. You were what you were because you cared. You cared about the Legion, the real Legion, the men. And you had drive and energy and you commanded respect. An officer needs respect. The title is nothing unless the man is right. You were right. You are right.’
‘But not right by birth,’ said Jonat.
‘I neither know nor care about your ancestry, but if it matters to you then let me tell you that my father was a fishmonger. No more than that. And I am proud of him, because he slaved to give me an education.’
‘My father was a drunk – he was hung for riding a nobleman’s horse.’
‘You are not your father.’
‘Damned right I am not! And I tell you this: I’ll never serve another king.’
‘Nor I. But that’s a battle for another day. Now I am going to get some sleep.’
As Gellan stood, Jonat grinned. ‘Was your father really a fishmonger?’
‘No, he was an earl. I just said it to annoy you.’
‘I would sooner believe that.’
‘So would I. Good night, Jonat.’
‘Good night, sir.’
‘By the way, Dardalion says the priests can no longer hold back the power of the Brotherhood. He says to watch out for signs of despair among the men – the enemy will work on the weak. So keep an eye out.’
‘I will.’
‘I know. I have no worries about your section.’
Gellan moved away into the darkness and chuckled softly. His father had owned five fishing fleets and Gellan wondered how the earl would have relished the title of fishmonger.
Waylander slept for an hour, then saddled his horse and bade farewell to the ferryman. The night was clear and the distant mountains loomed like the wall at the end of the world.