‘A part of you is doing just that,’ he said.
‘An interesting riddle. Perhaps you would explain.’
‘I might be wrong, Highness, but did you not send the Legend Riders to him?’
She looked at him closely, then shook her head and smiled. ‘I always forget how clever you are, my dear. But this is your crowning moment. How could you possibly know that? Did Memnon tell you?’
‘No, Highness. I knew that you and Kilvanen had found the Armour of Bronze. It seemed rather too coincidental that a wandering Drenai rider should discover the site.’
‘And what conclusions do you draw?’ she asked him.
‘The wars with Agrias here, and Pendashal in the east, are of your own making. You crave excitement, and, in reality, there is no-one who can truly defeat you. Once I realized that, then I knew the discovery of the Armour was not happenstance.’
‘Ah, Unwallis, if you had only been a soldier, or developed some strategic skills.’
‘I am happy I did not, Highness, for perhaps then I would have been buried alive like poor Agrias. As it is I fear my candour will cost me my life.’
‘Then why risk it?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘the truth just has to be spoken, no matter what the consequences. Landis Kan was a friend of mine. He knew of your manipulations. He also knew you were hoping he would join Agrias. The two of them might have really tested you.’
‘His plans were rather more dangerous to me,’ she said.
‘I think he surprised you with those. Even so, you have sought to give Skilgannon a greater chance than he would have had.’
‘He deserves it,’ she said, refilling her goblet. ‘I never had a braver or more dedicated friend. Olek risked his life many times for me. Without him I would never have escaped the city. My father’s murderers would have caught me and killed me, as they did my mother. Skilgannon lost his friends and his youth to my cause. Through the darkest times — when we thought we were finished — he stayed loyal.
He won battles no other general could have. Outnumbered, sometimes outmanoeuvred, occasionally even — in those early days — outclassed, he won. He was unstoppable. His men revered him. They fought with utter belief in his ultimate victory. It was a sight to behold.’
‘And this is the man you have given an army to? Do you want to be defeated, Highness?’
‘Sometimes,’ she said, her voice slurring. ‘Come to my bed, Unwallis. I don’t want sex. I just want to fall asleep next to a friend.’
‘Then you are not going to have me killed?’
‘Ask me in the morning,’ she told him.
Chapter Nineteen
Skilgannon headed his chestnut gelding up the steep, rocky slope, pausing below the crest and dismounting. Leaving the gelding’s reins trailing he eased his way to the top and gazed out over the rugged, arid lands which stretched from the mountains to the sea. Unlike the deserts across the ocean there was no heat to speak of here. It was a desert simply because the ground lacked topsoil, consisting almost entirely of rock. Harsh winds blew across the plateau, and what plants could grow in this inhospitable place were thin and spiky. The few trees were dry, the wood snapping and crumbling under the faintest of pressures.
Skilgannon’s throat was dry, his hair grey with rock dust. His eyes felt gritty. Seeing the land below was empty of movement he waved the others forward. Decado and Alahir rode their horses up.
‘No sign of them yet,’ said Skilgannon.
‘Why would she warn you?’ asked Decado.
‘I cannot answer that.’
‘I still think she might have been lying,’ said Alahir. Skilgannon glanced at him. The events of the morning lay heavy on the Drenai leader. After days of easy travelling they had disembarked on the banks of the Rostrias and headed north for the temple site. The riders had been glad to be free of the boats, as indeed had the Jiamads. The two-day march to the temple mountains had been without incident. Stavut and his pack had caught and killed eight bighorn sheep, and everyone had tasted fresh meat.
This morning had seen the first tragedy.
They had arrived at the temple mountains, and Skilgannon had seen for himself the enormous crater where the temple had been. It was a disconcerting sight. Although Gamal had said it was gone Skilgannon had nursed the hope that the man had been mistaken; that he and his companion had travelled to the wrong place.
The riders had reined in on the edge of the crater. Shakul had wandered over the rim, his great head swaying. Then he had stumbled, and almost fallen. Alahir’s young aide, Bagalan, had dismounted. When Shakul seemed in trouble he had run forward. Then he had screamed. Shakul grabbed the rider and lurched back over the rim. Bagalan had writhed in his grasp, blood bursting from his mouth and throat.
Shakul lowered him to the ground and the riders had gathered round. Alahir was the first to the young man’s side. Blood was seeping through Bagalan’s armour. His body went through a series of violent spasms. Then he died.
Alahir stared down at the boy’s twisted armour. His chain-mail gorget was mangled and blood-covered, his breastplate cracked. Lower down his hauberk was embedded in the flesh of his right thigh. It was as if his armour had come alive, and had eaten its way into his body.
Skilgannon stood over the corpse. He did not remind them that he had warned the riders to stay clear of the crater. There was no need. Bagalan’s mutilated corpse was enough of a reminder.
‘No way for a Drenai warrior to die,’ said the veteran Gilden. ‘We cannot even take his armour.’
Alahir tried to draw the boy’s sword from its scabbard, but even this had twisted and melded.
‘What kind of magic does this?’ he asked, his face ghostly pale.
‘I don’t know,’ said Skilgannon.
One of the riders swore and pointed at the crater. Bagalan’s helm was writhing on the dusty ground. It was changing shape — as if a giant, unseen hammer was pounding it. Then, as they watched, the helm rose from the ground, twisting and shimmering in the sunlight. It flew higher, then moved north, like a silver bird. The riders watched it until it disappeared. No-one spoke.
‘Move back from the rim,’ said Skilgannon, at last. ‘Set up camp over there by the stand of rocks.’
Moving to his horse he stepped into the saddle. ‘Alahir!’ he called. ‘Ride with me. We need to scout for a defensive position.’
Alahir backed away from the corpse and mounted his horse. As Skilgannon headed away towards the east Alahir and Decado joined him.
‘Maybe the bitch was lying,’ said Alahir.
‘It is a possibility, but I don’t think so. Therefore, until we know differently, we will assume we are facing a thousand riders and two hundred Jiamads. We cannot take them on open ground. They will flank us.’
‘I’ve seen the Eternal Guard in action,’ said Decado. ‘They are rather splendid, you know.’ He looked at Alahir. ‘No offence to you and your men, but I’d back the Guard to take any force. Would it not be better to stay mobile, rather than pick a battle site?’
‘Look around you, Decado,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Open land with no cover? A few water holes, and no trees. No hiding places. We cannot run. Our only hope is to locate the temple and end the magic’
‘You have not seen the Legend Riders fight,’ Alahir told Decado. ‘I would wager they will turn back these Guards of yours.’
‘An interesting idea,’ said Decado, with a wide smile. ‘However, if you lose how would you pay the wager?’
‘We do not lose,’ snapped Alahir.
‘Let us move on,’ said Skilgannon.
For two hours they rode over the arid land. Skilgannon stopped often to study the ground. He questioned Alahir about the route the Guard would take. Alahir, who had never been this far north, could offer little constructive advice. Decado volunteered his opinion. ‘They would have taken ship from Draspartha,’ he said, ‘and followed the coast. Beyond the mountains ahead of us is the Pelucid Sea.