‘What about the Lentrians?’ asked Kaem.
Xertes, a young officer distantly related to the Emperor, stepped forward. ‘They repulsed our first attack, my lord. But we have now pushed them back.’
‘You promised me that with an army of ten thousand you could take Lentria within a week.’
‘The men lacked courage,’ said Xertes.
‘That has never been a Vagrian weakness. What they lacked was leadership.’
‘Not from me,’ said Xertes fiercely. ‘I ordered Misalas to take the high ground on their right flank so that I could push forward with a wedge through their centre. But he failed – it was not my fault.’
‘Misalas is light cavalry – leather breastplates and sabres. The enemy right flank was dug in and the hill covered with trees. How in the name of the Spirit did you expect light cavalry to take that position? They were cut to pieces by archers.’
‘I will not be humiliated in this way,’ shouted Xertes. ‘I will write to my uncle.’
‘Noble birth does not exclude you from responsibilities,’ stated Kaem. ‘You made many promises and have fulfilled not one. Pushed back, you say? My understanding is that the Lentrians gave you a bloody nose and then repositioned themselves ready to give you another. I told you to move into Lentria at speed, giving them no time to dig in. What did you do? You camped on their borders and had your scouts examine the land, making it clear to a blind man where you planned to attack. You have cost me two thousand men.’
‘That is not fair!’
‘Be silent, you worm! You are dismissed from my service. Go home, boy!’
The colour faded from Xertes’ face and his hand moved close to his ornate dagger.
Kaem smiled …
Xertes froze, bowed swiftly and marched stiff-legged from the room. Kaem looked around the group: ten officers rigidly at attention, not one set of eyes meeting his own.
‘Dismissed,’ he said and when they had gone he summoned Dalnor to him. The young officer entered and Kaem offered him a chair.
‘Xertes is going home,’ said Kaem.
‘I heard, my lord.’
‘It is a dangerous journey … much could happen.’
‘Indeed, my lord.’
‘The assassin Waylander, for example?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘The Emperor would be appalled if such a man were to kill someone of royal Vagrian blood.’
‘He would indeed, my lord. He would use all his resources to have him tracked down and killed.’
‘Then we must ensure that nothing untoward happens to young Xertes. See that he has an escort.’
‘I will, my lord.’
‘And Dalnor…’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Waylander uses a small crossbow with bolts of black iron.’
7
The old fort had only three good walls, each twenty feet high, the fourth having been partly stripped by villagers using the stones for foundations. Now the village was deserted and the fort stood like a crippled guard over the remains. The Keep – such as it was – was damp and cold, part of the roof having fallen in some years before, and there was some evidence that the central chamber had been used as a cattle store, the stench remaining long after the animals had been moved.
Gellan had the carts moved into place against the exposed fourth wall, providing a barrier of sorts against Vagrian attack. And the rain pounded down, lashing the stone of the ancient battlements and making them glisten like marble.
Lightning blazed across the night sky and thunder rumbled in the east as Gellan drew his cloak about him and stared to the north. Sarvaj climbed the creaking, rotted steps to the battlements and moved alongside the officer.
‘I hope you are right,’ he said, but Gellan did not respond. His despair was almost complete.
On the first day he had been convinced the Vagrians would find them. On the second his worries had grown. On the third he had allowed himself some hope that they would arrive in Skultik to a fanfare of triumph.
Then the rain had struck, bogging down the wagons in a sea of mud. At that point he should have destroyed the supplies and made a run for the forest – he knew that now. But he had dithered too long, and the Vagrians had circled ahead of him.