Sovereign

'Thank you both for coming tonight,' Areava said, standing up. 'We will talk again before long.'

Charion and Galen stood up. 'Your Majesty, one request,' Galen asked.

'If I can grant it.'

'My knights and I can re-equip ourselves with armour before another day has gone, and then it is only two days hard ride to where the Great Army gathers. If you would—'

'I read your mind, Galen Amptra, but no. Your number now is so small that no matter how valiant you prove yourselves to be, you will not decide the day of battle one way or the other; yet if Lynan and his army should reach Kendra, your contribution here could be decisive.'

Galen could not hide his disappointment, but he nodded. 'As you wish.'

As they were leaving, Areava said: 'Galen, I find it hard to reconcile myself with the Twenty Houses, for long they were enemies of my mother and—I believed—myself, but obviously there are some in that group whom I would have as friends.'

'You may have more friends in the Twenty Houses than you know, your Majesty,' Galen replied.

It was dark and cold on the sea. The Gentle Tide was not big enough for Dejanus's liking, heaving low to the water and too easily rolled by any wave. Its crew of ten worked the single lateen sail and sheets with practised ease but had little time for the constable as night voyages were never completely safe, no matter how well the captain might pretend to know the route.

Left largely to his own devices Dejanus sat behind the wheelhouse which protected him from the worst of the spray for the whole journey, standing up only to relieve himself over the side; the first time he went for a piss he almost slipped over the wale, resulting in him emptying his stomach as well as his bladder into the churning waves.

By the time the Gentle Tide was easing against the dock of a small fishing village in south Chandra the sun was still an hour from rising and he could see there was no one to greet him. As soon as the pinnace was secured he got off, leaving no thanks for the captain and her crew for the safe and quick journey. They silently cursed him and then set about unloading the rest of their cargo.

Dejanus walked into the village, heading for the building that most looked like it might be the local equivalent of an inn. The door was locked. He banged on it until some old, sleep-encrusted man opened it a crack and demanded to know who was banging away at this hour. Dejanus used his strength to shove the door wide open, sending the man sprawling on the floor. He stepped in and saw the long drinking bench that showed he had guessed right. In the wall opposite the bench a large fire still burned.

'My name is General Dejanus,' he said. 'Are any of my officers staying here?'

'One, your Mightiness,' the man grovelled. 'He arrived late last night—'

Dejanus picked the man up by the collar of his nightshirt. 'You are going to do three things. First, get me a warm wine. Second, wake the officer and tell him to report to me immediately. Third, make me breakfast. I'm very hungry.'

'Yes, your Mightiness!' the man said and disappeared, his feet pattering away into the darkness behind the bench.

Dejanus chose a seat near the fire, put his legs up on one of the tables and waited. Before he was warm the old man returned with a wooden cup brim full with mulled wine and cinnamon. Half a cup later a skinny, nervous ensign appeared, helmet under one arm and a sheaf of papers under the other.

'Why weren't you at the dock to greet me?' Dejanus demanded.

'Sir, you weren't due until this morning.'

Dejanus considered humiliating him, but he was tired after the voyage and there was no audience to learn the lesson. Instead, he harrumphed and pointed to the papers. 'What are those?'

'The General's papers, sir.'

'I don't have any papers, Ensign.'

'Begging your pardon, General, sir, but Chancellor Orkid Gravespear says you do.' With that the ensign held them out. Dejanus, automatically flushing with the mention of Orkid's name, took them with little grace.

'Is there anything else the general wants, sir?'

'Hoping to get back to bed, Ensign?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, sit down. You can wait until I've gone through each and every one of these papers. Before you do, though, see what's holding up my breakfast and get me a proper lantern.'

Dejanus turned over the first paper. It had something to do with supplies, but he was not sure if it was supplies that had arrived or supplies still to come or supplies awaiting distribution. Under items were listed shoes, belts, pots. Then there were three other columns, and he had no idea what they represented. The second paper was an invoice from a local farmer, but Dejanus could not tell if it had been paid or not. The third paper was a series of squares linked by lines, and each square had the name of a Lurisian infantry unit in it. What was this supposed to represent? He scrabbled through the papers for something useful, for something he could understand and act on. One of the last papers had his name on the top, and the names of other officers underneath, one or two of which he recognised. These were the commanders of the units in his army. Probably cocky long-servers all of them, thinking they were going to have it all over him because he had been 'head door-opener' in the palace. Well, he would show them, he would show them all.

The ensign and old man returned, the latter carrying a large tray with bacon and eggs and ham and another cup of mulled wine.

'I'll just go and get the young officer some,' he said as he scurried away.

'You'll do no such thing!' Dejanus roared after him, and then to the ensign: 'You can wait until bloody morning when everyone else gets fed.'

'Sir,' the ensign said dejectedly.

Dejanus put the papers aside. He would put them all on the spike at the shit hole when he got to the army camp. He wondered if generals got their own shit hole.

He turned to the food and wolfed it down. The voyage had made him hungry. Must have been all that sea air. And jittery. He could not sit still.

'So much to do,' he mumbled around a mouthful of lam.

'Sorry, sir?'

Dejanus glared at the ensign. 'I was talking over my breakfast. But since you asked… how far to the camp?'

'About an hour's ride, General. I've got two horses ready for us.'

'Good. Get packed. Now. We leave as soon as I finish here.'

The ensign sighed resignedly and left to pack.

'I'll show you all,' Dejanus said to his back.

The ensign pretended not to hear.

CHAPTER 31

It was an excited scout, riding hard and raising a small cloud of dust, that told Lynan his army was approaching. He could not help tensing. He had dreaded this day since sending a message to Daavis for Korigan to bring the Chetts south to Sparro, and asking her to let Ager and Gudon know that Jenrosa had died fighting Silona. He would soon have to face his friends and prove to them not only that he was free at last from Silona's influence, but also Lynan Rosetheme again in every sense, and ready to lead his army to victory against Queen Areava.

Duty, he reminded himself. Sometimes it is due to individuals, and not just groups.

The scout rode up to Lynan and Tomar. 'The Chert army is an hour behind me,' he said, his eyes wide with wonder. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: 'A small group rides ahead of them.'

'That will be your friends,' Tomar said.

'Would you mind if I went ahead and met them by myself?'

'I understand. I will wait for you here with the… ah… official delegation.'

Lynan smiled. The official delegation consisted of

Tomar, Barys Malayka and a nervous mayor of Sparro decked out in his official robes and chains.

'I won't be long,' Lynan said, and spurred his horse. A short while later he saw three people dressed in Chett ponchos and wearing the wide-brimmed Chett hat coming in his direction. He reined in and waited. Although he no longer had the excellent vision he possessed while Silona was alive, he could tell well enough by the way they rode that it was Korigan, Ager and Gudon. The Chett queen was the best rider he knew—it was like watching some creature that was half-human, half-horse. Gudon rode with the slight sway he learned as a barge pilot on the Barda River, and Ager rode as if he was designed for walking, although with his crookback he was not actually designed for either.