"Of course, but you want me to burn down your fort here within the next few days . . . I can't do both."
"No matter." The old man smiled. "I'll burn it myself and lay the blame on you. As long as you are interested, we will talk later, and by the time you leave tomorrow you'll know everything there is to know about the Outlanders. the route they'll take and the place where you can set your trap." Herliss paused then, frowning, and asked the next question in his mind. "What of your Cousin Merlyn? How is he?"
Uther fought to keep his face expressionless and his voice casual. "Merlyn? He is well enough. He was badly wounded last summer, and it left him incapacitated for long months, but he improves daily now and will be himself come the new year. Why do you ask?"
"Because that's not what Lot's spies have been telling him. They have brought word that Merlyn of Camulod has lost his mind . . . that he was struck down last year by a metal ball swung on a chain and has not been right in the head since then. They say his skull was broken and his memory dashed from his mind so that now he does not even know his own name. They say he'll never lead the armies of Camulod again, and that in fact he never leaves the fortress nowadays . . . and they say he cannot even remember the name of his own wife. How much of that is true, Uther?"
Uther sat straighter, looking from Herliss to Lagan and finally to Ygraine. Then he nodded his head, once, acknowledging the truth. "All of it," he said. "It's all true. But it is not as bad as it sounds. He could regain his memory at any time, and there's nothing wrong with him physically. He's as strong and as skilled as he ever was."
"Aye, but he is not himself, is that not so? And so who has taken his place as Commander of Camulod?"
"No one . . . or no one in particular. We have several excellent senior officers, any one of whom is capable of commanding all our forces at any time."
"Good. Are any of them as good as Merlyn was?"
Uther hesitated, unwilling to lie and mentally reviewing the list of candidates for the supreme leadership in Merlyn's place. Before he could respond, Herliss was speaking again.
"Aye . . . that's what I thought. Well, they're going to have to be, because those other two whoresons, Issa and Loholt, have convinced Lot to allow them to carry out a two-pronged attack on Camulod. from the south and the east. Now understand me clearly here. I'm not talking about a two-pronged attack by a split force, I am talking about two separate attack campaigns by two separate armies. Issa and Loholt are as jealous of each other as a pair of spitting whores, and each of them knows that the first army to enter Camulod will have not just the pick of the booty but all of it, so the competition to sack Camulod is going to be fierce. The only compromise those two have made to each other at this stage is to agree to spin a coin in order to decide which of them will have the southern attack and which the east. The southern route to Camulod is shorter, but the other army will leave a week ahead of the southern attackers. We'll see what happens."
"What happens if the earlier army steals the southern route? What then?"
"What then indeed? I wouldn't be surprised to see that happen, particularly if Issa wins the toss. There's not much to choose between those two, but I think I might take Loholt's word before I'd trust Issa's. Anyway, that is enough from me on that topic. You must have some questions."
Uther rose from his chair and began pacing the floor. "Aye, a hundred of them. You said you had a plan of some description, but all you've done is tell me that I won't be here at all next year, because I'll be too busy staving off catastrophe in Cambria and Camulod. I must be missing something."
"You're missing nothing except, as you said, the connections. You know now that these invasions are planned, and you know where they'll be coming from, particularly in your own lands in Cambria, so you have the entire winter to prepare some surprises for the invaders. Will that be long enough for you? Can you be ready in time, think you?"
"To defeat them in Cambria, aye. The terrain there is mine, and the advantage will be mine, but—" An image Hashed into Uther's mind of Camulod and the huge, barren drilling plain that lay at the foot of its hill. He saw Herliss's expression sharpen as the old man noticed the expression on his face, and then he nodded. "Aye," he grunted, "and in Camulod, too, now that I think of it. I have an idea that might work well . . . and as you say, we have six months at least, perhaps seven, in which to make ready. We'll be prepared to welcome them with more than milk and honey when they come . . . So what are the connections that I'm missing?"
"Numbers, Uther. We spoke of four of Lot's good generals going into your lands. He has six, you may remember."
"Four good ones and two others, the two incompetents you mentioned earlier. . . Ralla, and I forget the name of the other one."
"Cuneglas. Neither of them is fit to be allowed to go to the latrine alone, but they will remain behind in Cornwall to organize the remaining holding army. Theirs will be the honour of keeping Cornwall safe for Gulrhys Lot."
"And?"
"And by the time you have drawn first blood from those invading you, and they begin to learn that all might not be quite as simple as they had foreseen, we—myself and my son here, with the able help of the decent men left in this country—will have taken control of the forces of Cornwall . . . the real forces of Cornwall. Most of the mercenaries will be in Cambria and Camulod, because none of them will want to stay behind when there's booty and plunder to be had. The forces that remain behind will be Cornish, with perhaps a strengthening core of Outlanders. We'll soon be rid of those, and of Ralla and Cuneglas. And if, with the blessings of the gods. Lot has remained in Cornwall, we'll rid ourselves of him at the same time, and most of our troubles will be over. I doubt, though, that our noble King will run the risk of staying here at home when all his mercenary allies are away. That might be too much to hope for.
"Then, my friend . . . then everything will depend on you, because if you do your part properly and break your attackers' teeth in the first charge, you should be able to have your forces ready to combine as soon as you've thrown back the invaders—in both places, Cambria and Camulod. If you've hit them hard enough, if you've taken enough advantage of your advance warning, you should have taken the wind out of their sails to a great extent, and when you finally send them limping home, they'll find their strongholds there are held by a determined enemy. You must follow hard on their heels then, harassing them with the biggest army you can muster. With us holding Lot's forts and denying them entry, and you and your cavalry and those wild bowmen of yours hacking and shooting at their backs, we should be able to smash them finally, and get rid of Gulrhys Lot. What say you?"
"What say I? I say I'd be a fool to say anything before thinking all of this through. Where does your information come from?"
Herliss shrugged slightly and shifted in his seat, opening one hand, palm upward, and then gesturing towards the Queen. Uther sat blinking, not having expected that, and Ygraine turned her eyes to meet his gaze directly, the slightest tinge of colour beginning to stain her cheeks.
Finally, after what seemed to him like an unconscionably long time, he was able to clear his throat and speak to her. "I, ah . . . Ph'hmmm . . . Are you so far. . .?" He stopped short, feeling a great, threatening panic begin to well up deep inside him, and then he charged ahead, blurting out what was in his mind. "Are you then so far restored into your husband's favour, lady, that you enjoy his confidence again?"