Urthryn frowned angrily, but Oslang continued.
‘We became introverted, parochial, neglected our duty to be out in the world, watching, listening, learning. The Fyordyn let slip their duty to watch both Narsindal and their very government. Your people, Ffyrst, the least offenders thus far, let Morlider land unhindered and unseen.’
Urthryn bristled, but Oslang waved a mitigating hand. ‘I make no judgements,’ he said, hastily. ‘There are seemingly sound reasons for all these things, but they’re irrelevant except insofar as they should be learned from. What is relevant is the dreadful whole they make.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Urthryn said, taken aback slightly by Oslang’s unexpected conclusion.
‘If the Lords can’t restore Fyorlund, or if the country is seriously weakened by civil war, then an army from Narsindal could walk straight through it and down through Orthlund, probably without resistance, unless the Orthlundyn have taken Hawklan’s advice to heart.’ It was Olvric. He had not spoken before, leaving the telling of their news to Yengar. Now his voice was cold. ‘And if the Morlider land in force they’ll fully occupy the Muster, as they did before, and an army could march down the Pass of Elewart to attack your rear leaving Riddin wide open… ’
Urthryn interrupted. ‘No, no, no,’ he protested loudly, gesticulating violently. ‘Too fast. Too fast. There are too many ifs here, Goraidin. Nobody’s mentioned armies yet. And one Morlider raiding party doesn’t make an army.’
Olvric was unabashed. ‘What else but an army slaughtered Lord Evison and his men, and gutted his castle?’ he said, an anger pervading his voice that was made the more chilling by its very restraint. ‘An army that included heavily equipped Mandrocs! Infantrymen! Evison had no doubts that Sumeral had risen, and you, above all, knew his worth as a fighter and leader. He did you service enough.’
Urthryn turned his face away at this reproach.
Olvric continued, less severely. ‘Consider, Ffyrst. In the Mathidrin, Dan-Tor has built up, armed, and trained thousands of men; unknown to us all. My belief is that they’re the officer corps of Sumeral’s army. Some of them are just ruffians, admittedly, but some aren’t. The group that chased Yengar and me half across the country were very capable.’
Yengar nodded in agreement.
‘As for the Morlider,’ Olvric went on, ‘you’re right. One raiding party amp;mdashif it was a raiding party amp;mdashdoesn’t make an army. But their leader said some ominous things, and they had torches with them that are like Dan-Tor’s globes. Twenty years ago they couldn’t even make an ordinary torch or prepare radiant stones; they still used fire of all things! We asked you to keep them captive so that we could question them, and get some facts, but there’s enough already to sketch out an overall pattern of strategy, and my every instinct tells me… ’
A knock at the door interrupted him.
‘Come in,’ Urthryn said.
The door opened to reveal Drago escorted by two large men in Muster livery. Urthryn motioned them forwards.
‘You’re not the only one with instincts, Goraidin,’ he said to Olvric. ‘I thought we’d be needing this one eventually. Let’s question him together.’
Drago scowled as he caught this remark, then laughed scornfully. ‘Question?’ he said. ‘You?’ He laughed again, then struck his chest with his clenched fist. ‘I’ve sailed through seas with waves twice the height of this building, through winds that’d pull your hair out by the roots, seen lightning burn half my crew to blackened cinders and known weather so cold it’d freeze your eyelids shut. What could you do to make me answer your questions?’
At Urthryn’s signal, the two guards ushered Drago to an empty seat and pushed him into it. He looked oddly incongruous, seated, rugged and blustering, in the midst of the quiet elegance of the Ffyrst’s chamber. His bombast faltered slightly, however, as he caught Olvric’s eye and his manner became at once quieter and more resolute.
‘And, anyway, what could you do to me that the Chief couldn’t do ten times worse with a flick of his hand?’ he asked.
‘Which chief’s this, Drago?’ Yengar asked casually. ‘Your tribe’s?’
Drago scowled indignantly and struck his chest again. ‘I’m the chief of our tribe, Fyordyn.’
Yengar looked puzzled, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, disparagingly. ‘You might have your own ship. Perhaps even be your chief’s right hand. But you’re no chief. The few I met in the war bent the knee before no one, and you were so scared of yours you were prepared to burden yourself with a pregnant woman when anyone in his senses could see it was folly.’
For an instant, Drago looked as though he was about to leap at Yengar, but something restrained him.
‘The war was twenty years ago,’ he said. ‘Things have changed since, as you’ll find out soon enough, believe me.’
‘You mean your raiding parties will sweep ruthlessly across Riddin, except when they have to run back to their chiefs with any pregnant Muster women they come across?’ Yengar said, chuckling.
Drago’s eyes blazed, but again he restrained himself.
‘Raiding parties!’ he sneered. ‘Our armies will sweep across Riddin, because we won’t quarrel amongst ourselves this time and because we’ll not have to flee after our islands.’
‘I don’t want to rake over dead ashes, Drago,’ Yen-gar said, almost offhandedly. ‘I appreciate you’ve had to make your own excuses about why you lost, just to be able to live with yourselves. But lose you did, and you’ll lose again every time you come. Let’s be honest: your people are brave, but they don’t have the skills to cope with disciplined troops.’ He gestured towards Urthryn. ‘The Muster are more active than ever now, and if you come in force again, our people and the Orthlundyn will be over the mountains without any delay this time.’ He leaned back, relaxed. ‘And even if you’ve got faster ships, you’ll still have to leave when the tides carry your islands too far away. Everything’s against you.’
Yengar’s manner had become increasingly disdain-ful and casual as he spoke but, unexpectedly, Drago did not rise to his subtle taunting.
‘That was twenty years ago, High Guard,’ he re-peated, shaking his head, knowingly. ‘I told you, things have changed. We’ve learned how to fight your way.’ He waved his hands about. ‘In lines and squares. And our islands aren’t moved at the whim of the tides anymore.’
Yengar turned to Olvric. ‘I said there’d be no point talking to him,’ he said. ‘He’s just an under-chief of some kind. Blustering because a woman bested him.’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘Armies!’ he said to himself with a chuckle. ‘Lines and squares. Morlider Infantry!’ Then, with a laugh, and his hands holding imaginary reins, ‘It’ll be Morlider Muster next.’ His manner was cruelly infectious and the laughter spread round the group.
‘And how do you defy the tides, Drago? How do you stop your islands floating away?’ he managed after a moment. ‘All line up on the shore with oars, and row?’
Drago leapt to his feet furiously as the laughter rose around him. The two guards restrained him, although he did not struggle. ‘You’ll sing a different song when our fleets land and when we cut through your precious horses without even breaking step,’ he shouted. ‘As for the Fyordyn and the Orthlundyn, let them come amp;mdashas fast as they like. We’ll deal with them when they get here and then we’ll take their lands too.’
Yengar pulled a face of mock concern. ‘Riddin, Orthlund and Fyorlund,’ he said. ‘Things have changed. Your chief must be quite a big talker.’
Surprisingly, Drago’s anger fell from him, and for an instant he looked frightened. ‘I wouldn’t be too free with your abuse, if I were you,’ he said, sitting down again.