“Speak,” said the General. His voice was low but it carried through the hubbub of the room. Despite all the people present, he felt the General’s attention was focused totally on him. He had to fight to stop himself babbling as he told his tale. Azaar heard him out without interrupting and then asked a few questions about the nature of the enemy troops and their disposition, before raising his hand.
“My Lords,” he said. “Business calls. It seems we have encountered the enemy sooner than we expected. I regret we must turn our attention from this fine food to matters more martial. If the Colonels will join me in my tent, I would be grateful. I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. There will be battle on the morrow. My sister, I regret we must interrupt this feast of welcome.”
Asea nodded graciously. "Duty must come first."
One by one the Terrarchs rose, bowed to Azaar and Asea and to each other then withdrew.
Azaar looked at the three Foragers. “Hold yourself in readiness here in case I need to question you again. My servants have gone to find you dry clothing. Help yourself to any food you want on the table. Leave the wine alone for now. I want you clear-headed.”
Rik was surprised. Azaar’s speech did not have any of the patronising quality he had come to expect from the Terrarchs. It was not friendly, but it was not contemptuous either, and his manner said that he really did appreciate the dangers they had run to bring him this news and would reward them in time.
A moment later, Azaar swept out of the tent followed by the regimental commanders and their adjutants. The three men found themselves alone with the servants and the Lady Asea. She fanned herself and studied them from the corner of her eye, without seeming to.
The Barbarian eyed her with a frank appreciation that Rik expected to get him hauled off and whipped. Weasel was already at the table, selecting dainties and sticking them in his pockets for later. The mark of an old soldier, Rik thought, was that he never let an opportunity for such plunder pass.
Asea gestured at Rik. At first he was not sure she meant him, but she repeated it and he walked over.
“You look a little bedraggled, soldier,” she said.
“We swam a river tonight, milady” he said.
“And encountered a relic of the Serpent Men,” she said. “That’s a strange omen.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you will soon.”
She smiled at him and the smile was ravishing, though there was a coldness to it that put him on his guard. “I have not forgotten what we talked of in the mines beneath Achenar. We will talk again when the time is right.” She gestured with her fan to the two soldiers and the servants who had already set to clearing the table. “This is not the time or the place.”
“I appreciate that, milady,” Rik said. His heart raced. It seemed that she really had not forgotten about him, and he had not lost his chance to learn sorcery and to rise in the world. Suddenly his old suppressed ambitions returned.
She nodded pleasantly to him, rose and then left the tent. Two maids followed her, and Rik caught sight of one of her dark clad bodyguards moving to join her, silent as a shadow and dangerous as a tiger.
The Barbarian strode over. The nudge of his elbow almost knocked Rik from his feet. “What were you talking about with Her Loveliness?”
Rik gave the big man a sharp look. Was he really smitten with Asea or was this just some sort of crude joke?
“We were talking about the Serpent Man.”
“What did she say?” asked Weasel, around a mouthful of pastry.
“She said it was a strange omen.”
“She would know about such things. Magic is her business.” Weasel looked thoughtful. “They say she spent a lot of time on the southern continent, Xulander, that’s where the last Serpent Men dwell. The Quartermaster claims that she picked up those strange-eyed bodyguards of hers there.”
The Quartermaster was very well informed about all manner of strange things. Rik did not doubt that he would be very well informed about the substance of this conversation after Weasel had a word with him. He resolved to keep his mouth shut about the apprenticeship business. That was not something he wanted babbled around the camp. Nor did Asea, it seemed.
He helped himself to some bread and some preserve. It was very fine, but he did not recognise the taste at all. He asked one of the servants, who looked at him as if he had just crawled out of a sewer. “It is bloodberry jelly preserved in dreamspider venom, sir,” said the man. “It causes elation in humans.” He spoke the words as if humans were a different species from himself.
More servants arrived. They were carrying new uniforms, and greatcoats. They were dark and bore the house mark of Lady Asea.
“The Lady has asked Lord Azaar to be allowed to have the heroes of Achenar be her bodyguards on the morrow. His Lordship had kindly granted permission,” said the chief servant who had brought the clothes.
Rik changed right there and then, grateful for the moment to be dry and well-fed. As he rested he heard couriers being dispatched with messages. It looked like Lord Azaar had some plans for the morrow.
Rik woke early the next day. His head lay on a rolled up cloak. Someone had covered him in a greatcoat. The Barbarian lay nearby. Weasel lay on one elbow, smoking a pipe. He winked when he saw Rik was awake. They were still in the great pavilion. No one had come to ask them any more questions in the night. They seemed to have been forgotten. Rik remembered sleeping uneasily, constantly awakening to the shouts of men, the clatter of carts, the passing of horses and wyrms. He sniffed. The air smelled of sour wine and stale incense.
“Morning, Halfbreed,” said Weasel. “Breakfast?”
He offered a crumbled pastry from the pocket of his greatcoat. Rik shook his head and rose. The table had been cleared during the night, but someone had thought to leave some cold meat and some half-stale bread. Rik was surprised to find the servants so thoughtful. Perhaps they had been given orders.
“What’s it like outside?” he asked.
“Stick your head out the door and take a look. I’ve not been out myself.”
The sun was bright. The pavilion sat on a rise. The standards of the army flapped in a light breeze nearby. He looked down on a camp buzzing with activity, an anthill poked with a stick. Units of men moved in controlled chaos. Massive, long-necked bridgebacks, big as houses, headed off towards the east. Units of cavalry followed them. Scarlet-coated Terrarch officers bustled over the hill, coming and going, doubtless getting final instructions.
Asea’s black clad bodyguard approached. The cowl of his tunic covered his hair; a scarf was wrapped around the lower part of his face. Only his eerie animal-like eyes and the swarthy skin of his forehead was visible.
“Good,” he said, his accent foreign. “You are up. The mistress commands you to her presence. In the absence of my brothers, she requires bodyguards and she seems to think you three are worthy.”
The rest of Asea’s black-clad protectors had died in the hellhole beneath Achenar. Rik wondered how this man felt about that. Had the men been his kin or part of his religion or was there some other reason for his calling the dead men brothers.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he said, hoping to draw the man out.
“Do not be. They died performing their duty. It is what they wished. There is no greater honour.” Rik could think of a few but now did not seem to be the time to point this out.
“I am Rik.”
“Karim is my name.”
He glanced inside to see that Weasel had already woken the Barbarian. They were eating away merrily.
“Time to go,” he said. “The Lady Asea commands our presence.”