He found himself on a dark mountain, under strange stars, his mind dazed and confused. Before him was an old man in ragged brown robes. His eyes were closed as he spoke:
‘Welcome, general. Do you seek the Armour?’
‘Armour?’ asked Kaem. ‘What armour?’
‘The Armour of Bronze. Orien’s Armour.’
‘He hid it.’ said Kaem. ‘No man knows where.’
‘I know.’
Kaem sat down opposite the old man. Like all students of modern history, he had heard of this Armour. Some claimed it had magical properties which ensured victory to the wearer, but these were simple souls, or saga-poets. Kaem had long studied the process of war and knew that Orien was merely a master strategist. And yet the Armour was a symbol and a powerful one.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
The old man did not open his eyes. ‘How badly do you desire it?’
‘I would like it,’ said Kaem, ‘but it is not important.’
‘How do you define importance?’
‘I will win with it, or without it.’
‘Are you so sure, general? Purdol resists you and Egel has an army within Skultik.’
‘Purdol is mine. It may take a month, but it will fall. And Egel is trapped – he cannot harm me.’
‘He can if he has the Armour.’
‘How so? Is it magic, then?’
‘No, it is merely metal. But it is a symbol and the Drenai will flock to the man who wears it. Even your own soldiers know of its supposed properties and their morale will suffer. You know this is true.’
‘Very well,’ said Kaem. ‘I accept that it could harm me. Where is it?’
‘In the lands of the Nadir.’
‘That covers a wide area, old man.’
‘It is hidden in the heart of the Mountains of the Moon.’
‘Why do you tell me this? Who are you?’
‘I am a dreamer within a dream – your dream, Kaem. My words are true, and your hopes rest on how you interpret them.’
‘How will I find the Armour?’
‘Follow the man who seeks it.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘Whom do you fear most in the world of flesh?’
‘Waylander?’
The same.’
‘Why would he seek the Armour? He has no interest in this war.’
‘He killed the King for you, Kaem. And yet you hunt him. The Drenai would kill him if they knew and the Vagrians will kill him if they find him. Perhaps he seeks to bargain.’
‘How does he know its whereabouts?’
‘I told him.’
‘Why? What game is this?’
‘A game of death, Kaem.’
The old man’s eyes opened and Kaem screamed as tongues of fire flashed about him.
And he woke.
For three nights Kaem’s dreams were haunted by visions of bronze armour and two fabulous swords. Once he saw the Armour floating above Skultik forest, shining like a second sun. Then it dropped, so slowly, towards the trees and he saw Egel’s army bathed in its light. The army grew in number as the trees themselves became men – a vast, invincible force.
On the second night he saw Waylander coming through the trees bearing one of those terrible swords, and then he realised that the assassin was stalking him. He had run, but his legs were weak and heavy and he had watched in horror as Waylander slowly dismembered him.
On the third night he saw himself clad in the Armour of Orien, mounting the marble steps to Vagria’s throne. The cheering of the crowds filled him with joy, and when he looked into the eyes of his new subjects he saw adoration.
On the morning of the fourth day, he found his mind wandering as he listened to the reports from his junior generals.
Kaem forced himself to concentrate through the seemingly endless series of small problems which affect an army at war. Supplies were slow from the west, since wagons had proved more scarce than expected; new wagons were under construction. Six hundred horses had been slaughtered near Drenan after a small number had been found coughing blood; it was thought that the disease had been checked. Some breakdown in discipline among the men had been severely dealt with, but it had to be remembered that they were now on short rations.